A couple days ago I had to clear my head; with school, work and life's crazy curve balls I figured I would go back to the neighborhood where I grew up. Thankfully, I didn't have to travel far. Baltimore City was my destination and the holidays always makes one thankful for what they have, but when I visited I sadly remembered that the people that made the holidays for me had either moved or passed away along with their traditions. There was nothing like the holidays (Thanksgiving through New Years) in South Baltimore (now affectionately called Federal Hill).

As soon as Halloween was over, it was like a commercial: perfectly synchronized, the neighbors would all come out and start taking down the decorations as the smell of Windex and Pledge wafted through the air. The wives of the South Baltimore residents would bravely climb out their window on the second floor of their row homes to make sure they cleaned every inch. Some, like my grandmother, would step out onto their back roofs leveling themselves on their kitchen extension (that would probably make their husbands fall through the roof if they tried it) to clean the back windows as well.

Brown, red, and yellow leaves peppered the windows, and handmade stitched turkeys and other iconic Thanksgiving characters would hang on the door, faded from the many years before. It was rare that a decoration was purchased. If a purchase had to be made, it was from a corner store on Fort Avenue that the neighbors dubbed "the junk store." It was owned by an elderly lady and was one room. It would fit maybe five people (maximum) at a time. The most popular products were the window clings and everyone on the street had to have them.

The Thanksgiving dinner started cooking the night before, which meant everyone woke up to the smell of turkey cooking instead of breakfast. When Thanksgiving actually arrived, there were staples that every table had to have: homemade stuffing (Stovetop didn't exist this particular day), canned cranberry sauce, and sauerkraut.

The dinner wasn't just isolated to one household, it wasn't uncommon to have a neighbor stop by with a pie or a six pack of beer and stay until 11 a.m. If one wanted to visit a family member, they could just walk right across the street, because every body's family lived in the same block or radius.

Christmas was a whole different story. It would snow every Christmas, but the synchronized window washing and decorating would take place despite the cold weather.

Thomas Kinkade be damned, it was a sight to behold, this urban Christmas. There would be snow on the windowsills and everybody's Christmas tree would be displayed in their front window (it was a must that one outdid their neighbor) with lights covering the front doors and wrapping around the railings. Everything had to be decorated; the everyday plates and dishes had to be put away and out came plates framed with pictures of holly leaves and cups featuring red berries.

Some neighbors would go all out and decorate the entire downstairs with large animatronic figurines of Santa and company with holiday music in the background. Then they would let complete strangers walk in to view their decorations.

Christmas cards were also very important. If one didn't get a Christmas card from someone in the vicinity, then something was wrong and a phone call had to be made. The more cards one got, the better, because it allowed them to fill up their poultry string that they ran across their living room wall, hanging all their cards on it to make one long banner.

New Years, however, was more relaxed and everybody would watch TV between 4 and 5 p.m. (recovering time). Then, the teenagers in the neighborhood would start coming to houses so that the adults could go to the local pub or party hall-Thanksgiving and Christmas was enough family time. When midnight hit it was either a phone call or some parents would come home to beat pots and pans outside in the cold weather with their children and scream "Happy New Year."

While some of the traditions were a little dangerous and sometimes downright confusing (like the pots and pans), that was what made South Baltimore Federal Hill.