Memories are unreliable, especially for food that are always entwined with the rest of the senses.
This takes me to 3:42 a.m. It’s not that I can not sleep, it’s that I can not stay asleep.
There are presents to wrap, blessings to add to the family’s current list. The first of many warm holiday winter drinks wait to be brewed.
Lisa bakes cookies between making gifts and decorations and preparing for multiple family feasts. She bakes at night after working eight hours. Once she brought in a box the size of a small dog carrier that overflowed with what seemed hundreds of different kinds of cookies. She was also seven months pregnant.
Dad’s favorite Christmas song was Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas. It hasn’t been the same since.
In between, we satisfied ourselves with calling Margie which allowed us to conclude her good humor was seeing her through her isolation.
Of all the dishes Mom spread across the holiday table, her stuffing recipe is the one I religiously follow.
Three years ago today my aunt and I dressed up for Halloween.
The first lesson Madame imparted to the women was an understanding that she would be bestowing a skill to them that would prove more valuable than any their husbands might possess
For years, I quietly mourned how the absence of suet deprived me of the complete memory of a time when everyone in my family gathered around an evening meal, secure in knowing together what the rest of the week held for us.