Friends, there's no doubt that this year has been challenging on every level here at The Moth, we're thankful for a vibrant moth community made of listeners like you who support confirms that storytelling is a vital source of inspiration, joy and humanity, even during the hardest of times. We're turning to you now to ask that you please remember the moth in your end of year giving if you can support the moth with a new gift of any level before December 31st. At midnight, we would be forever grateful to give simply text give moth to four one four four four.

That's one word. Give e m o t h give moth to four one for four for your continued support will ensure that we can bring you engaging and empathy building stories on our stages and airwaves in 2021 and beyond. Until then, we wish you, your families and your communities a healthy, restful and story where the winter holiday season. This is the Moth Radio Hour from NPR. I'm Sarah Austin Ginés. This is our annual December holiday episode. We have stories of feasts, traditions celebrating, not celebrating, connecting with family and friends and just wanting to be alone.

Six stories that explore the mixed emotions that come with this last month in the year.

Our first storyteller is mothe veteran Peter Acquaro. Peter calls this story Me and Mama versus Christmas. Lots of people go overboard at Christmas. It's a time of excess, the decorations and the gifts and the food. But what if money is tight? Peter told the story at Ammonite we produced in partnership with West Virginia Public Radio. Here's Peter Iguazu. So I just finished my first semester of college and I have a big bag of laundry and I come through the door of the house and things aren't looking too good for me and my mom, the first thing I notice is that the piano's gone.

She had that ever since she was a little girl and her piano lessons, we always put the Nativity on top of it. Around Christmas time, I took piano lessons for for two weeks, but I still took piano lessons on that piano and that's gone. I go through the living room and the only thing that's left is just one couch sets with Broken Springs sticking out of it. There are two televisions, one on top of the other. One has a picture that works and one has sound that works.

Over in the corner are the impressions still from my dad's lazy boy that has been gone for four years now. And that's the only furniture in the room. I go upstairs, the dining room is empty. There used to be this big, beautiful dining room set with carved chairs and a glass from the buffet table. And that's gone. And the kitchen, there's the kitchen set. There's two chairs there used to be for, but I broke one of them and the other chair.

I also broke and there's only two left. And I go upstairs to the bedrooms and in my mom's room there's nothing left but her mattress on the floor. And there's nothing quite as damning as a bedroom without furniture because you you see all the dings and the scratches in the wallpaper, like all the mistakes that can usually be covered up. But you see them all now. My sister's room is exactly the way it looked when she moved out to go live with my dad.

It's Pepto, Bismullah, pink walls and a canopy bed and this big toy box in the shape of a rubber strawbery as if she was going to move back in and be the little girl that she was before she moved out. My room looks exactly the way it was when I left. There's posters all over the walls and it's ridiculous like. Like me. So I start to do my laundry and my mom comes home from work and she immediately takes over.

It doesn't let me do it myself and I end up helping her with it. And she's happy to see me. She's happy that I'm home when we're done, that we go out to have dinner. My mom makes tomato casserole. Was one of my favorite things is canned tomatoes with cubes of Wonder Bread and American cheese baked in the oven. If you put enough Shaki cheese on, it's delicious, you know. So we're sitting there in the two kitchen chairs and we're I'm telling her all about my first semester at college and how it finished up.

And she's so proud of me and she's telling me about work. My mom's a nurse and she's been taking all of the shifts that she can. But she had warned me that she was starting to have to sell stuff in the House to be able to catch up on the bills because the House was too big for the for the two of us. Now that I was away at school, it was just her. So she was doing everything she could and she warned me.

But it was still shocking. You know, she had just taken a second job, a part time seasonal job at the mall behind the perfume counter. My mom didn't like people telling her what to do, so I knew that wasn't going to last very long. And while we're sitting there dinner, she tells me that she says we're not going to have a lot of money this year for Christmas. So I don't think we're going to be able to give each other presents.

And I said, that's OK, Mom. And I'm being completely honest. I'm just happy to be home with her. I don't need anything. And that's the truth. And we sit there eating quietly for a minute and then she says, you know, be funny. What if we cut out pictures of things from magazines that we would give to each other if we could? And I we laughed about it and then we cried about it because it's really sad, really sad thing.

But then we laughed again because, like, no matter how hard things are, you just have to laugh. You know, the next day I decided I'm going to make the house look as Christmassy as possible.

And I go up to the attic and I get the boxes down to the lights and I hang the lights in the bushes out front and around the gutters. I want to go get a Christmas tree. I grew up in a small town in New Jersey called the Lanco is a little small town of 2500 people, mostly farms. It was at that time there wasn't a Wal-Mart or big stores or anything. So I went over to the local Christmas tree farm to get a Christmas tree.

I figured they'd give me a deal because I used to date their daughter. But turns out they didn't give me a deal because I used to date their daughter and a Christmas. She was like, forty bucks, man, I couldn't afford that. So I went back home and I got an old saw out of the garage and I cut out a tree from the side yard and I brought it in and it wasn't even like a pine tree. It was like a stunted maple tree.

And I put it in the tree holder had like five branches. I put twenty ornaments on each branch and just kind of put the lights on it and called it a day. And and that's, you know, my mom came home for work and she just laughed about it. You know, when I when I was visiting my friends who are also home from college, I would steal their mom's fancy catalogs and bring them home and cut out pictures and stuff like, you know, my mom always wanted a green Jaguar convertible.

I found a picture of one of those and kind of had pictures of. Gold and diamonds and jewelry and Ireland, like all these things that I would love to be able to give my mom for Christmas and like as I was doing it, I knew it was sad. It was like a sad thing to do. But I kept collecting them and folding them up and tying them up with ribbons and hide in my room. And I was waiting to put them under the tree.

And like I said, it was a sad thing, but I knew it was something that would bring us together. I knew it was something that we would always be able to hold on to, something that we would be able to hold on to together, you know. There's one night in mid-December, toward the end of December, close to Christmas, when we're sitting there in the living room watching the TVs and the Charlie Brown Christmas special is on, one of the TV's Hooked Up the cable and the other one gets the antenna.

So the sound doesn't quite jibe up, you know, and where we're sitting there just right next to each other on the couch, we're worlds apart. My mom's exhausted. I've been trying to get her to sell the house for years because I knew it was just too big for her to be in by herself. It was too big for the two of us to be there. If I'm being honest, it was too big when all four of us were living there.

And I don't know why they got it in the first place, but four years before that.

My parents, who had been separated on and off the whole time that they were married, they were giving it one last try and the plan was that they were going to sell the house and take the money and we were going to move to Georgia from Jersey and have a fresh start. And that was the big plan. And and it went along OK for a couple of weeks. And then somebody just came in and poured the eggshells all over the floor again and they started the fight and things were back to normal.

And that fresh start never really happened. And it culminated with us, the four of us in the third Puritz in Kazimierz church in Riverside, New Jersey, for Christmas Eve, midnight mass. And right before the priest started the mass and the packed church, my dad stood up and he walked out of the church. And the only sound you could hear in the sound of church was a hydraulic door.

Just go shoot. And the four of us, the three of us left stood up and we went outside past the priest and everyone we knew and we walked the two blocks to where the car was parked. And my dad was nowhere to be found, but he left the keys in the car on the hood. And that year my parents were done. That was it. I got what I wanted for Christmas that year. My parents never got back together.

But so here we are now today, the two of us sitting on this couch and trying to watch this thing and let us be happy or something, and she's a million miles away, it's all killing her, trying to pay the bills, trying to keep it together. She did everything she could to try to keep the house so there would be some semblance of normalcy to the outside world. I know that she took a big hit on her pride.

She's a very prideful woman. And I knew that when everyone that she knew in her life saw our family disintegrate that midnight mass, I knew that it was just ripping apart. But she was trying to keep the house together, you know, and she was a million miles away. My mom was my best friend. It was the two of us. And she was my partner. She was like she was like my road dog, you know, like me and her against the world.

And I like being there with her and having her be a million miles away. It was killing me, just like I knew this house was killing her two.

Well, you know, it got to be Christmas Eve, and my buddy Brian came over and picked me up and we went to a different church for midnight mass. When you're under 21, you can't go to a bar. So you go see your friends at Mass. And we split a jug of wine in the parking lot and we went and the mass was awesome. It was pretty great. And afterwards, I come home and the next morning I wake up and it's Christmas morning, so I go and I gather up all the little pictures of the gifts that I want to give them.

My mother all wrapped up and tied in ribbon. And I put them under the tree and I hear my mom staring upstairs and she comes downstairs and her hair's in corkscrews and she's got this big flannel housecoat on. And her big red plastic, Sally Jessy Raphael, morning glasses with a broken ear thing on the side, taped up, you know, and I say, Merry Christmas, Mom. And she goes, Oh, honey. Oh, hold on.

And she goes upstairs and she's upstairs for a minute. And then she comes back down and she has a few and I give her hers first. And there's, you know, there's the Jaguar and and the jewelry and the island and a picture of a baby grand piano and a picture of a new dining room set and a picture of a new mahogany bedroom set and all these things I wish I could replace for her. And she's smiling and laughing the whole time.

And then when it's all done, she gives me mine and there's three of them. There's a picture of Bagger Reese's Peanut Butter Cups. There's a picture of a pair of Homer Simpson slippers, and there's a picture of a karaoke machine. And they were all from the same writing catalogue that was up in her bathroom because she had completely forgotten about this thing that I thought was going to bring us together because she was working so hard. So we're stuck in the middle of this O'Henry story that he never should have written.

And and I thank you so much for the gifts. And we go upstairs and my mom makes the best pancakes in the world. You might think your mom does, but I'm so sorry. You're wrong. My mom made the pancakes and but this morning she burned them a little bit. And I'm sitting in the kitchen eating these pancakes, cutting around the burnt pieces, and I'm looking out through our backyard at everybody else's houses and all the light in their houses.

Looks like orange and colorful and friendly with all these people in our house. Just feels empty and stark and white and the fluorescent light in these pancakes and silence together, the two of us. A couple of months later, she finally did send me my present, I was back in college, had meant I taken out all the tuition and loans and we couldn't afford it otherwise. But it was important to her that I go and I just finished a day of classes and I was heading to the dining hall and I stopped over to check my mail.

Remember mail when people used to send mail and I open up the mailbox and there's an envelope with my mother's postmark on it and I take it up and I fill up my dining hall and I fill up my tray with too much food because that's what you do. And I go over to a table and I sit down before I start eating. I open up that envelope and inside there's no note. There's just one photograph. It's of her standing in front of the house with a for sale sign.

And the hassle pretty quickly, and if she got it and she offloaded it and she took a little bit of a hit financially and she took a bigger hit on her pride, and she moved into a much smaller place that she could afford. And, you know, it hurt her. I know it hurt her. And it took a big hit. But the most important thing to me was right then we're looking at that picture. I got my girl back.

Thank you. That was Peter Ignarro. Peter says at the moment, he's most likely to be found making pottery and listening to the Allman Brothers, Peter makes his home in Queens with his wife, Sarah, and his mom is now happily married to. As for Christmas traditions, Peter and his mom now do breakfast with as many meats as possible. Last year, Peter says mom made a seven meat breakfast and it was pretty awesome. Tracy Sagara is our next storyteller.

She won an open mic moth story slam in New York where we partner with public radio station WNYC, and that win earned her a spot and a grand slam, which is where this story was told. The theme of the night was Growing Pains.

Here's Tracy live at The Moth, its 1996, and I'm on an express bus from the Bronx heading into Manhattan to go wedding dress shopping with my future mother in law.

And I'm not looking forward to this because she and I are not exactly friends.

Rita and I come from very different worlds.

She is this Sicilian from the Bronx waitress and a secretary and a Jehovah's Witness, devout Jehovah's Witness, this strange religion I know nothing about.

And I'm this middle class Jew from Long Island. So when I start dating her son, a lapsed Jehovah's Witness who she dearly would like to come back into the fold, she and I kind of circle each other warily.

And we are polite but cold. But when Fred and I decide to get married, I realize that I should make some effort to get to know this woman who's going to be part of my life.

So here we are. And the ride down is very uncomfortable. She and I have never been alone in a room together, so it's very awkward.

But when we get to the bridal salon and I start trying on all these gowns, she tells me I look beautiful in every single one, which is a complete lie, but the sweetest of lies.

And I feel myself starting to soften towards her. And then afterwards, when we get back to the Bronx and it's time to say goodbye, she suddenly grabs me and she gives me a hug. And it's the kind of hug that tells me how much it must have meant to her, that I invited her to do this with me.

And it breaks open a place in my heart for her and we start to become friends. And over the next two years, we bond over the two things that Rita loves the most eating and shopping.

Nobody can devour a lobster like Rita Romeo and she doesn't care where she shops. It could be a dollar store or a hardware store. Although dollar stores are her favorites, she just loves to shop.

But then when my twin daughters are born in 2000, she is my savior, I'm so overwhelmed by these creatures. And every Friday she comes out from the Bronx and she spends the weekend with us. And when I hear that screen door open each Friday, it's like the cavalry has arrived and I can finally breathe.

And she absolutely adores her granddaughters, but she is not your typical cookie baking grandma, she's a Sicilian from the Bronx, you know. And one year when the girls about two or three, I hear her talking to them in the other room and I hear her say, oh, I love you so much.

I just want to punch you.

But she also has her tender side, and once when we go to visit them in the Bronx, I notice that she's been stealing things from the girls like little things, like a stuffed animal or a barrette.

And I can't figure out why until it dawns on me that she literally wants something of theirs to hold on to when she can't be with them.

When the girls are about four, I send out holiday cards every year, usually just season's greetings cards. But this year I decided to send out a Hanukkah card. The girls are getting a little older. I'm starting to think about sending them to Hebrew school, but I don't send it to Rita because witnesses don't celebrate holidays. But I do send it to Fred's aunt, who lives near them in the Bronx and likes to display the cards.

And about a week later, Fred gets a call from his mother and she tells him that since we've decided to raise our daughters as Jews, that she can no longer be part of our lives. And I'm shocked because she and I have never discussed religion, so I had no idea she might feel this way. And then I'm hurt because this is me, you know, like, how could she do this to me? And then I get angry because this has to be the most anti-Semitic thing that's ever happened to me and this is my family.

But then I think, oh, you know, she's just in shock. She'll get over it. She'll call me, should apologize and everything will be fine.

And so I wait. But after four weeks of waiting, it's clear she's not calling. And so then I took again and I say, you know what, if she cannot accept us and how we're going to raise our daughters, then I don't want her in my life and I'm done. And months pass. But about nine months later, a new dollar store opens up in my neighborhood and I think of Rita and I want to call her and the urge to call her is just so strong that I pick up the phone.

I have no idea when I'm going to say. And she answers on the first ring. Hi, I say it's Tracy. Hi. She says. I miss you, I say. I miss you, too, she says. And just like that, it's over, we never discuss it, we just step over that time in our lives as if it never happened. And over the next seven years, she becomes my second mother.

In 2011, Rita passes away. And I miss her, I miss her every day.

But I think about what we almost missed, like that time when the girls were five and they had their first and only ballet recital where they proved that they are much more adept at pratfalls than graceful pirouettes or the time when they were eight and we told ghost stories around the fireplace.

And, you know, I know I would have been justified all those years ago and keeping Rita out of my life, what she did was hurtful and cruel and it was wrong. But in the end, I decided I didn't want to stand on my principles if it meant I had to stand there all alone. At the end of her life, I go to visit Rita because I need to tell her how much she meant to me and what an impact she had on my life.

And she tries to see something back, but she's wearing an oxygen mask and it's really difficult to understand her. And then the moments just gone. So I don't know what she wanted to tell me, but I'd like to think that it was some variation of I love you so much. I just want to punch you. That was Tracy Sagara at a math grandslam, Tracy is a former wire service reporter turned marketer in her free time. She hosts and produces her own Long Island based storytelling show.

Now you're talking.

Tracy said Rita was a hell of a woman. I wish she had lived to see her granddaughters grow up. Tracy and her daughters celebrate Hanukkah and Christmas. They light candles every night of Hanukkah and every Christmas they exchange gifts and have a traditional dinner. They also like to bake unique holiday treats to see a photo of one of their creations, Reindeer Pritzl Cupcakes and a photo of Rita with her granddaughters.

Go to the morgue. When we come back, we try to escape the holidays with a trip to Puerto Vallarta.

Stay tuned. The Moth Radio Hour is produced by Atlantic Public Media in Woods Hole, Massachusetts, and presented by the Public Radio Exchange PUREX Doug.

This is the Moth Radio Hour, I'm Sarah Austin Jinnah's and I'm your host. Welcome back to our annual December holiday, A. holiday episode. I say a. holiday because there are lots of people listening who don't celebrate the holidays in December.

In the traditional sense, they escape. The typical trappings of this month may be in favor of rest and rejuvenation in a far off land. Our next story is all about that. Steve Glickman told it at a moth story slam in Chicago, where we partner with public radio station WBCSD. The theme of the night was refuge here. Steve, live at The Moth.

It's Christmas Eve in 2005, and I am packed and ready to go to Puerto Vallarta. My flight leaves in 12 hours and I cannot wait to get out of Chicago. It's been an awful year. I broke up with my boyfriend of seven years and I've been living in a fog months of therapy, sleepless nights, just the worst year ever, but somehow I made it to Christmas Eve and I am ready to reboot my life starting now.

I cannot wait to get to that beautiful beach in Puerto Vallarta and order a pina colada served out of a coconut and kiss this awful year goodbye.

I'm packed and ready to go. All I need is my passport.

I look in my desk drawer not there. I look at my file cabinet not there.

I look in my bedroom closet, my dresser, the kitchen cabinets, not there. Where the fuck is my passport? Then I panic, I ransack my apartment going from room to room, emptying every drawer, every closet, every cabinet, and I throw its contents on the floor where I can see it all clearly. I get down on my hands and knees and I'm sifting through the piles of stuff like a crazed burglar. And after I've turned my apartment upside down for hours, nothing.

Where the fuck is my passport? It's after midnight and I'm exhausted. Sitting on my bedroom floor, staring at all the piles of junk. I say to myself out loud, as calmly as possible. I've lost my passport. I've looked everywhere I know of, but it's gone. I am not going to Puerto Vallarta for Christmas and then I cry. The next morning, I make a pot of coffee and I contemplate how I might spend Christmas week in Chicago.

I can't visit my family, they're not in town.

I can't visit my friends because they all think I'm in Puerto Vallarta and that's what I want them to think.

I boasted to everyone that I was going to spend Christmas week on the beach in Mexico and they could all have their white Christmas in Chicago.

I told my co-workers, I told my volleyball team, I told George the star hitter on my volleyball team, who is a dreamboat and who I have a crush on.

I can't fathom telling them I lost my passport.

I will never hear the end of it. I feel like the biggest loser ever.

I just can't catch a break. And then I get an idea.

I hide out in my apartment all week long, I spend my time watching movies and reading Mexico travel blogs, when I leave the apartment, I wear sunglasses and a hoodie because I'm incognito and I leave for only two reasons to go to the grocery store or to the tanning salon.

I love the tanning salon. I love lying on the tanning bed in my Speedo, groovin to my playlist surrounded by the gentle warmth and humming of the UV lights as they slowly cook my skin to a deep golden brown.

And when I close my eyes, it feels just like I'm lying on that beautiful beach in Puerto Vallarta the first week in January.

We have volleyball practice and I show up at the gym armed with a deep tan and stories from the Mexico travel blocks.

I scan the gym for my team and then I spot Dreamboat Jorge.

I'm nervous and part of me wants to walk out of that gym and go back into hiding for the rest of winter. But I know that won't solve anything. I know I have to get out there and live in the world, meet people and take risks even if I don't feel like it. That's what all the self-help books say.

And so I walk up to Dreamboat Jorge with a smile on my face and he smiles right back and he says, So how was Puerto Vallarta?

I say, Muy bueno. The weather was perfect, the beaches were fantastic and oh, the food so mucho delicioso.

And as I'm talking, I'm thinking, is he buying this bullshit? I study his face for signs of doubt and I can't really be sure, but I think he might be. My other teammates gather round. I tell them the more the same story and every time I tell it, I get more confident and I add more details like a snorkeling trip and a sunset cruise.

Suddenly I realize I'm actually pretty good at this dream.

But George says I'm so jealous, which are the words I longed to hear.

I simply smile and nod. I sat on this secret for 11 years. Over time, I got my confidence back. I got a new boyfriend and we've traveled a bit, but never to Puerto Vallarta because I don't like to repeat.

So last December, I was cleaning out my bedroom closet and I reach in and I pull out a radical jacket and just as I'm throwing it in the trash, I feel something hard in the breast pocket.

So I reach in and I pull out my fucking passport.

Steve has no pictures from his failed vacation, of course, but in the spirit of second chances, you can visit our website, the Morgue, to see a picture of him on a successful vacation with his boyfriend. He's never misplaced his passport again. Our next storyteller is Don Frazier. Don is one of the instructors in our community program. She travels around the world with the moth, workshopping personal stories with all sorts of community groups. This story was recorded in Kampala, Uganda, in an intimate setting where women shared stories for the first time.

They were only about 20 people in the room. Here's Don Frazier at The Moth in Uganda.

OK, so many of you know that my family comes from Trinidad and Tobago and my family came through New York and then moved to California in the United States. And so when I moved to New York, I totally expected that I would be able to be free to meet other first generation Trinidadians and just have a good time. But my first year in New York, my mom calls me up and she's like, Donnie, you're coming home for Christmas? And I was like, Yeah, I'm coming home for Christmas.

Why? What's up? She's like, well, I need you to do me a favor. And I was like, OK, well, what do you have to do? So she's like phosphors. You're going to go run down to Nostrand Avenue. And Ocean Avenue is like where all the Trinidadians live. She like, go run down an Ocean Avenue. You're going to pick up 12 Jamaican patties, OK? Six chicken, six beef. Then you're going to pick up 12 Rorty, 12 rotty skin.

OK, but in these 12 rotty skin between these 12 Jamaican patties and bring some swordfish back with you from New York to California. And I was like, wait, what? Like, why? Why would I do that? Why? That makes no sense. And she said, Well, don't you want a Caribbean Christmas in California? Oh, yeah. Well, we can order Caribbean Christmas in California. She's like, well then bring the food.

And I'm like, oh, like, OK.

But I was I was mad because I had the suitcase and my suitcase. You know, I'm going from New York to California, so it's going to be warm. I just had my flip flops, my tank tops, but now I have to take all the stuff out of my bag to pack all this other stuff for my mom. So I'm just aggravated. So I pack all the food, the salt fish, the rotty, all kind of stuff.

And I bring the stuff to California so that we could have a Caribbean Christmas.

And I get there. And I was like, Mom, you know, there are black people in California, right? You know, I can go to Oakland and go get some selfish and some roti. She's like, no, no, but it's not the same. We want a good authentic stuff from New York. And I was like, really?

OK, whatever whatever the and then, you know, we have a good feast and we live it up.

The next year my mom calls me up again and she's like, Don, you're coming home for Christmas. And I was like, Yeah, I'm coming home for Christmas. Why? What's up? She's like, well, I needed to do me a favor.

I'm like, OK, what what do you need me to do this time?

So, like, well, this year we're going to go to Trinidad for for Christmas, OK? And I was like, oh, sweet. So I'm thinking to myself, this is awesome. I don't need to bring any type of like rotty. I don't need to bring any salt fish. I don't need any Jamaican patties. I'm like, OK, cool, cool. What do you what do you need me to do? She says, go run down to the Pathmark, OK, the supermarket and go go pick up a thirty pound turkey.

OK, I got to check this turkey. They're going to put it in the freezer. I got a deep freeze, this turkey. All right, you're going to bring this turkey with you from New York to Trinidad.

And I was like, wait, wait, wait. There's no Turkey is in Trinidad. She's like, you don't want a good big Caribbean, Trinidadian Turkey for Christmas. And I was like, well, yeah, I want a big Trinidadian, I guess. Well, whatever she's like then bring the turkey. And I like I was like, Mom, mom, seriously, this sounds like foul play, OK? Like this is like like literally crossing the line.

And is this legal? You know, she's like, just bring it, just bring it. So I take this turkey and I put it in my freezer and and I deep freeze it for about two weeks. And then the day comes where I'm flying off to Trinidad for Christmas and it's wrapped up in all this foil, all this aluminum, all this type of stuff. And I throw it in my backpack and my mom was in this little little tiny village way in the corner of Tobago.

And so in order to get there, I first had to fly from JFK Airport to Miami Airport, from Miami Airport to Trinidad's airport to Trinidad Airport, a little too propeller jet into Tobago.

I'm going through this process and I still got this this thirty pound turkey on my bag.

But as I get to to Trinidad's immigration, I'm starting to trip and I don't know if this is going to work.

So I am looking at the immigration official and he says to me, Mom, you have anything to declare? And I'm thinking, OK, I don't know if I need to declare a turkey, so I say no. He's like. OK, I got on the other little two propeller jet, I get to Tobago, Turkey's dripping, dripping, dripping, dripping. This is just going to be a wreck. Take two hours to get to my mom's little village in Charleville.

I'm there. I'm happy. I was like, I've gone this long, extensive trip to bring this turkey. I get there. I was like, Mom, here it is. Your turkey has arrived here. It's here. She's like, oh, good, good. Go put it in the freezer. Quick, quick. Because everybody's waiting. Your sister, she brought the ham. I'm your cousin. He brought the three layer cake I like with the three layer cake from where she's like, oh, he just brought it from Florida.

He put it up in the in the in the here, put it up in the area, you know, above in the plane. And I was like, so wait. I brought a turkey, my cousin brought this three layer cake, my sister brought this ham and here I was thinking that I was going to be saving the day with my big old, like, you know, Turkey. And that's what it hit me, that all these years of, like, traveling back and forth with food and all the stuff wasn't a pain.

It was just something that I guess that our family did. We just travel with food.

That's what we do.

I guess as a family, as a Fraser, this is what I'm expected to do.

So last year when I was returning to California for Christmas, when my mom called me up and she's like, you're coming home for Christmas, I was like, yeah, I'm coming home for Christmas. And I looked down at my suitcase. It was empty and ready to be filled with whatever food she needed.

Don Frazier is an instructor in the Moth's Community program. She's also a communications coach and the host of the podcast Barbershop Stories. When I told Don that this story was included in our holiday hour, she said the timing couldn't be better.

She had just traveled to Florida with her sister's wedding cake to see photos of Don's family Christmas in Trinidad and Tobago, including the turkey she brought that year, plus the roti, pigs', feet, patties and other Caribbean goodies.

She brought the next year and four other stories from the Moth Community program. Go to the morgue. After our break, our last two stories, the Jewish tradition of asking for what you want twice and the sheer stress of planning your first kiss on New Year's Eve when the Moth Radio Hour continues.

The Moth Radio Hour is produced by Atlantic Public Media in Woods Hole, Massachusetts, and presented by the Public Radio Exchange Project's Doug.

I'm Sarah Austin Janez, and you're listening to the Moth Radio Hour from PUREX. We're up to our last two stories as part of this December special. No matter what our plans are in the next few weeks, December can remind us of family and friends who have died, and that's bittersweet. Evan Lund told this next story at a moth slam in Boston, where we partner with public radio station WBAY and PUREX, the Public Radio Exchange. The theme was The Wonders.

Here's Evan Lund lives. Now, I am not religious at all. My mother is Jewish. My father is a nice little goyim. I was a nice mix. They said you can do whatever you want. And I said, great, I choose neither. I'm going to choose the holidays that have the best food. So Lent was out the window. Yom Kippur was out the window.

But my grandmother, on the other hand, Elizabeth Tabqa, she was very religious.

She was the nice Jew that had the Ladka in her pocket when we, you know, went through her clothes after she died and we found we were expecting to find money.

We were expecting fine jewelry, but we found in the latke and it was great.

You know, we would visit her in the nursing home and she would celebrate the holidays with us and she would celebrate all of the little you know, we'd have Hanukkah celebration with her. We'd have a Passover Seder. She wouldn't remember who I was, but we have Passover Seder with her.

And that continued. And I had her menorah. And I one day I said, Mom, can I take this menorah to college with me? And she looked at me, said, absolutely not.

This is in my family for too long. You can't take it with you. And I said, Mom, can I? You know, it's tradition in the Jewish faith. In case you're not familiar, that's twice.

And I said, Mom, can I please take this where the college with me, and she said, Fine, I'm going to wrap it up all nice, I'm going to put in a little box and you're not going to touch it until Hanukkah.

And I said, OK, fine. So Hanukkah comes around.

This is now last year around Hanukkah was late last year around Christmastime. So my house that I lived in with eight other people was mostly Christians.

So we had the Christmas tree and I said, OK, I'm going to, you know, Jew this up a little bit. I'm going to put the menorah right next to the Christmas tree, right in the window on the second floor. So everyone else on the street can see it. And I said, my grandmother would love this. It's her menora, she would love this. And each night I would go up and I would walk upstairs because I lived on the first floor and I'd light the menorah and first night went by.

Great. Second I went by. Great. Haven't burned anything down. This was an old house there that goes by. Great. Fourth night comes and I'm feeling a little down. This was my senior year of college.

Was a little rough for me, as I'm sure it's a little rough for most people. You know, your writing thesis, you're dealing with relationships. It's a time.

And I'm lighting the menorah and I say, all right, you know what?

Here's something I haven't done in a long time.

In fact, my entire life, I'm going to pray and, you know, I do my little I do my little. I sing the song to no one. There's no one there.

Everyone's doing their own thing. I'm going to sing it to myself and then my grandmother. God bless. And I say, all right, I'm going to pray and I say, all right, I get I'm not on my knees because it's a dirty floor, but I'm going to sit down in my chair and I say, all right, how do I start, Elizabeth?

No, that's too formal.

Grandma, can you hear me?

And I say, I'm going to light my candles for you tonight and I'm going through and I'm lighting the candles and it's the fourth night. So you light five candles and I'm going through the prayer and I say, Grandma, can you hear me?

And I look out and looking out the window, nothing gets cloudy looking out the window.

Maybe I'll see some things or cat know she like cats and. I'm sitting there and I'm just looking at the candles and they're flickering and they're flickering and all of a sudden they go out. Like, that was weird. There's no wind, I'm inside, there shouldn't be a draft.

I paid rent this month and I say, Grandma, is that you?

And. There's a knock on the door. That's weird. Again, I paid rent this month, there shouldn't be a knock on the door, shouldn't be anyone coming for me, I promise. And I go down and there's no one there. And they come back up and it turns out one candle had stayed lit and it's the Shamis, which is the candle that you light all the other candles with.

And that was the night I realized my grandmother was still with me.

Thank you. That was Evan Lund, Evan is a chemistry student at the University of Pennsylvania outside of the lab. He likes playing cello, doing crossword puzzles and finding other people's dogs to pet. He celebrates Hanukkah every year now, and he keeps the tradition of putting his grandmother's menorah out. Our final story starts in December, but ends in January, making New Year's plans is a little stressful. And if you add to that a budding new relationship and plotting a first kiss.

Yikes. Bernie Summers told this at a romance themed slam in Los Angeles. Well, we partner with public radio station KSW. Here's Bernie live at the mall.

So I met this girl and I really liked her. She was kind of a nerd, but nice, like a nice nerdy little girl.

And I in the day and our first day, we had a wonderful time, but I didn't kiss her. I'd even try to kiss her because on the first day, just like to talk and listen and you get to know the person.

And then I asked her on a second date. Now, the second day is when I usually, you know. Going for the kill. And I will attempt to kiss good night, but on our second date, I took it to this Italian restaurant and whatever, I had had so much onion and garlic in it that a Tic TAC would have just suffocated in my mouth.

So I just I didn't kiss her good night.

I just sort of hugged her goodnight and then asked her on a third day and I thought, you know, I got to kiss her tonight. I mean, if she doesn't if I don't kiss it tonight, I think I'm the shy, insecure coward, which I am.

But I don't want her to know that. So on our third date, I took her to this jazz club and this jazz club was like this dark, intimate club.

And, you know, it was a couple of days after Christmas. So these pretty Christmas lights hanging from the ceiling. And her and I were sharing this cozy booth.

And it's just perfect moment to share our first kiss. You know, it was very romantic.

In fact, the piano player at the bar was singing the song, isn't it romantic music?

Isn't it romantic meal to be young on a night like this? Is it romantic even though the song is like a lover's kiss?

Sweet symbols in the moonlight. Do you think that I might fall in love perchance? Isn't it romantic? So the moment was screaming, kiss her and then she talking about this New Year's Eve party, she was going to Iran. If I want to go with her, I said, yeah, sure.

Then I thought, you know, it'd be kind of cool if our first kiss was our New Year's Eve kiss.

Be very symbolic, the beginning of a new year, beginning of a new relationship. So at that moment in my mind, I decided that was when I was going to kiss her at the stroke of midnight on New Year's Eve, which meant I couldn't kiss her tonight because if I kissed her tonight that our New Year's Eve kiss would be our second kiss. And that's just lame. But here's the thing.

This nerd wanted me to kiss her tonight.

She had her hand on my thigh. She's got her face close to my she's looking into my eyes. I mean, she's doing everything but saying, kiss me stupid. But I can't, you know, I'm saving myself for New Year's.

So New Year's Eve comes New Year's Eve day and, you know, get ready for the party, I'm in the bathroom really excited, and I'm shaving and brushing and flossing and, you know, and all day long, that song is ringing through my head.

Isn't it romantic, me being on a night like this and it's like the song is telling my brain, don't blow it, Bernie, kiss her tonight.

So we're at the New Year's Eve party and we're in this very crowded laugh and we're sipping champagne, talking and laughing. And I look at my watch like ten minutes to midnight. So I said to go to the bathroom because I remember I saw a bottle of mouthwash in there.

So I thought, you know, I'll gargle. So when I kiss her at midnight, I'll have minty fresh breath. So I go in the bathroom, I gargle and I wash my hands and comb my hair and step out of the bathroom.

And I see that the number of people at the party is like double. I mean, I've always packed when I was like jam packed. You know, you can't even move a muscle. And I look at my watch and it's five minutes to midnight.

I'm trying to get to her, but I don't even see her.

And then before you know it, I hear ten, nine, eight. And I'm like squeezed to the party trying to find her seven, six, five. And then I see her. She's in the corner, but I can't reach her. You know, there's just too many people between us.

Three, two, one. Happy New Year.

And everyone is kissing someone.

And I see her there in the corner all alone looking sad and nerdy.

And by the time I reach her, it's like 20 minutes after midnight. And before I can say anything, she says, Bernie, I'm leaving. She grabbed her car and she leaves the party.

And she's obviously very angry at me.

I don't blame her. You know, it's like our first day to having orchestra. I leave her alone on New Year's Eve. So I chase after and we're outside. And I kind of grabbed by the army say no way. And she said, no, Bernie, I'm sensing you're not all that into me, so I'm just going to go home.

I said, let me explain.

I think you on the first date because I just don't get on the first date and then kiss her second date has had really bad onion, garlic breath. And it was on the third date because I'd be on the first date tonight, but I couldn't reach you tonight to go to the party and reach. And I'm really sorry.

I think she came to this look, you know, you know, it's just hard to read, you know, because sometimes a woman will look at you and you have no idea what they're thinking.

And then she said, goodbye, Barney, and she walked off. So New Year's Day came.

And I'm just feeling very lonely and depressed was a terrible way to bring in the new year later that I'm lying in bed sleeping and there's a knock at the door and I'm thinking, who's knocking on my door in the middle of the night?

So I go to answer and it's her. I say, What are you doing here? She says, Let me in. I said, Why? Says, Hurry up, let me in. So she comes in. I said, What's going on? It's past midnight. You said, Well, actually it's 1058. So we have two minutes to you kiss me.

And I said, what?

Because, well, I know you want to kiss me your stroke of midnight New Year's Eve, but you know what? Burning everybody kiss in the stroke of midnight New Year's Eve. We're going to be original kiss on the stroke of midnight on New Year's Day.

I said, OK. And she said, Do you have champagne? And I said, I have Snapple.

She said, get it, hurry up to 11, 59, so I'm in the kids, I'm getting a snap on the songs. Rushing through my head is a romantic Neil Young. And I guess that's a yes and living.

Do you have champagne glasses? And I said, I have Batman and Robin coffee mug. How do you have 20 seconds?

Romantic music lovers kiss everyone into the living room with a coffee mug. Sweet. Some of the moonlight. Do you think we might fall in love? Pretend we're sitting on the couch together with a man, Ron Kaufman, to the Snapple, and she's looking down and watch us doing the countdown. Three, two, one. And we lock eyes and I say to her.

You were the coolest girl I have ever met in my entire life, and she said, shut up and kiss me.

Isn't it romantic? That was Bernie Sanders. Bernie is a New York writer who finds his dysfunctional lovely, a great source for comic material. He and his New Year's date eventually ended up parting ways, but he hopes to have a date for Valentine's Day on February 15th.

That's it for this episode of The Moth Radio Hour. We hope you'll join us next time. Happy December. Your host this hour was Sarah Austin Ginés, Kathryn Burns directed the stories in the show, along with Jennifer Hicks and the rest of the MOS directorial staff includes Sarah Habermann and Meg Bowles production support by Timothy Lee.

The Moth Stories Are True is remembered and affirmed by the storytellers. Our theme music is by the drift.

Other music in this hour from melody creators, Modern Mandolin Quartet, C.S. Heath, Nigel Kennedy and the band Pawiak Go Solo and Ruby Braff and George Barnes quartet.

The Moth is produced for radio by me Jay Allison with Viki Merrick at Atlantic Public Media in Woods Hole, Massachusetts.

This hour was produced with funds from the National Endowment for the Arts. Moth Radio Hour is presented by Breck's.

For more about our podcast information on pitching us your own story and everything else, go to our website, The Moth Dog, and have a great holiday season.