How in the world we all squeezed into my grandma’s little house on Phelps Street, I’ll never know.
But I do remember that none of us ever complained about sitting at the children’s table — which was usually set up in the garage — because hanging out with cousins was the very best part of any family gathering, the kind many families remember from Christmases past.
Grandma’s house was small. Really small. But Christmas there felt anything but.
Every year, we packed ourselves inside, coats piled on beds, voices overlapping, and plates balanced wherever there was space…