Carrie and I met once briefly a few years ago at the very first Tweetup I ever attended. We followed each other on twitter and friended each other on facebook. Basically the story of how people become friends in almost 2012. She, like myself, has a soft spot for animals and in her case people in need of some extra love. She is a Mom, Foster Mom, Business Owner and all around amazing person. She of course also has the best name ever. Visit her twitter page (@CandidCarrie)
A stuffed monkey tucked under my arm, a dining room chair topped with two couch pillows, legs swinging, dishes whizzing past.
Two flavors of Jello, strawberry banana and lime. Cucumbers, vinegar and oil with salt and onions. Green beans, buttered corn, pickled beets. Raw beef, red onions, rye bread. Turkey, beef tips, ham. Mashed potatoes, stuffing, gravy. Butter, butter and more butter. Pickles, olives, carrots. Milk. Iceburg lettuce, tangy dressing. Mogen David wine.
My grandmother never sat during the holidays, she stood and served, refilled and passed. She encouraged us to eat. “More, please eat more!” So we did.
As our stomachs filled, our large dinner plates were removed and pumpkin pie topped with Dream Whip was slid in front of each of us.
Polka music. Tap dancing in my church shoes on a black and white tile floor, cookie crumbs spilling from my gap-toothed smile.
Molasses cookies iced with cream cheese frosting topped with crushed candy canes. Gingerbread men, so big each one needed their own cookie sheet. Buttery pecan crescents rolled in powdered sugar. Sour cream cookies, shaped like angels, yellow sprinkles for their hair, blue frosting representing their heavenly robes.
Chex mix, ribbon candy, ice cream drinks, kiddie cocktails, maraschino cherries, walnuts, and almonds.
And if love could be measured by the amount of food and drink you are offered in one day, December 25, 1963, I was the most beloved child in the United States of America.
I can’t imagine that this post hasn’t brought memories of your own family Christmas gatherings to mind. To be honest between reading this post and Jennifer Keller’s post last night, I got a little misty eyed. I was thinking about how this year there won’t be any of my Grandma’s pear bread under the tree for me. I wish I would have got her mother’s applesauce cake recipe before she passed. It was amazing, so moist and thick cream cheese frosting on top. This post also reminded me that instead of thinking about calling my other Grandma and setting up a day to make her coffee cake bread, that I need to do it. These are the memories that matter. Food in itself can be nothing special but coming from a place of love a meal can stick in our minds forever.