She has always baked dozens of Christmas cookies. My memory is filled with visions of tins stacked in the basement to keep cool, the piles growing higher and higher as December 25th approached; watching wide-eyed as an entire gingerbread village took shape under her deft hands; of tantalizing smells that filled every room of the small home of my childhood.
She is recovering well from her broken hip - determined to do everything to get well again. She is even taking tentative steps without the aid of a cane, but...."I just don't think I can bake this year." These days she is , she says, mourning the loss of the things she simply cannot do any more.
"We will come, and we'll do it together!" So three generations gathered in her kitchen yesterday, and the baking began.
There was a brief interruption when a certain young man called from Paris.
Then back to business.
We began with Russian tea cakes.
Then it was Thumbprints. When those were baking in the oven, she said we had done enough for one day. So we set a date for next week. We plan to fill more tins with delicious cookies and our hearts with precious memories.
I don't know what next Christmas will bring. One will be an ocean away. I am thankful for this Christmas; for this day. I leave my tomorrows in His hands. He gives good and perfect gifts.