Well, the Christmas season has finally arrived, and I start reminiscing about our Christmases growing up! We didn’t have much, but we did have Mom’s Christmas cookies.
Coming home from work, it being December, cold, dark, a bit of snow in the air (and maybe a rough day at work with all the holiday shoppers) when two doors away from home the aroma would start and there would be a little “pick-up” in my step because I knew this would be the day!
Rushing to open my front door – looking beyond the darkened living room into the brightly lit kitchen, there was my mother greasing tray after tray of those magical gems we waited for all year. Every surface in the kitchen was covered with cherry tarts, pecan crescents, stripe with red or green sugar or better yet, chocolate jimmies. Then there were the sprinkles, the gingerbread boy and girls and pizzelles.
A couple of days before, we kids would be in charge of moving all the dishes and decorations into our rooms to make room for the treasures that were to come. Wherever they would put them. The cookies held priority. And on the chosen day, as soon as we were all on our way to work or school, she would start and wouldn’t stop until we started coming home and would start making dinner. And yes! She did it all by herself.
If we were lucky, we got to test a couple of the gems. Maybe this batch was a little too dark or “I’m not sure I put enough extract in that batch.” As if! And we were happy to oblige. They were her gift to humanity, and she was the star of the neighborhood. It was a good thing butter was cheaper then because it took 2 pounds of butter for a double batch of cookies, and she never made a single batch.
She has been gone since 1993 and for a few years we did not have her cookies. Because she did it all herself and did not share her recipe, we did not have a clue where to start.
But then my five sisters and I noticed that whenever we got together and started talking about her cooking and especially her cookies, our children would say they wished they could have tasted them.
So, we searched and finally found her recipe and decided we would bring “her” to her grandchildren (and now great-grands) and now, every year, we have a Christmas Cookies Party, and everyone helps making cookies. A real production line – one or two of us making the batches of dough, one or two working the cookie presser, one controlling the oven, and the rest packing up the take-home containers. We even have the kids decorating their own tray of cookies.
Needless to say, it is a day of connecting. Pizzas, sandwiches, salads, and snacks; and a lot of good conversation (and maybe a few drinks and tears in between) and the kids learning about their grandmother.
There are not so many of us left anymore, but every year, someone has to have a Cookie Party and whomever can make it, is there. And now, it’s more than just cookies. It’s bringing pictures and stories and maybe some “show and tell” when you might have found an old letter from her or a scarf she gave you or better yet, one of her afghans.
Oh yes! The price of admission is you have to bring 2 pounds of butter!
Devine writes from Villas.
