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Author's
Note: This article was written many years ago and originally published
in an edition of a newsletter, TPConnections, that I used to send to all
of my clients. The original circulation of the story was about 200 copies.
I am re-publishing it here primarily because I like the story very much
and because I'm hoping it will find a wider audience. I hope you enjoy it.
There
are Christmas gifts that transcend the time, place, and people who receive
them. Sometimes, these gifts do not immediately appear to reach that
height. And yet, when one scratches beneath the surface, one finds that it
is these gifts, however mundane, that aspire to greatness and succeed.
Such is the case with my Grandma's cookies.
When
I was a child, the entire family would gather with Grandma and Grandpa in
their small four room house for Christmas dinner. Grandpa had a wood stove
in the sitting room that he stoked up until the iron nearly glowed. In the
overwhelming warmth of that fire, we would gather around a pine tree that
Grandpa cut down in the woods and Grandma decorated with popcorn strings,
old Christmas ornaments, home-made gingerbread men, candy canes, a string
of indoor-outdoor lights with huge bulbs, and some tinsel icicles.
Each
of the grandchildren exchanged gifts (we drew names at Thanksgiving so we
would not have to buy something for everyone). And eventually, Grandma
would give each grandchild a small toy wrapped with inexpensive gift-wrap.
Then, after dinner with the din of kids playing and adults talking over
the noise, we would find the cookies. All kinds of cookies. There were
sugar cookies, peanut butter cookies, gingerbread men, and best of all
there were the pecan balls covered in that white, powdery sugar that gets
all over your clothes, hands, and face. And to each of us, Christmas was
complete.
After
we all got older and I was in college, Grandpa died and the Christmas day
gathering got a bit smaller as each of the grand-kids seemed to have more
and more visits to make and other things to do. And so, Christmas at
Grandma's changed a little. Instead of all visiting at once, we each made
it a point to stop by and visit with her individually. Although it lasted
all day for her and was probably pretty tiring, she was always excited to
see each and every one of us as we came in the door. Grandma didn't drive
and after Grandpa died, she could not get out to buy Christmas gifts for
each of us, so she had an idea that has become a tradition. Grandma made
cookies. Lots of cookies.
Grandma
made up a bag of cookies for each grandchild with their own special
assortment of the flavors we each liked best. I got lots of pecan balls
and sugar cookies, since she knew I did not enjoy gingerbread men quite as
much. My cousin David, always got lots of peanut butter cookies. Cousin
Missy got sugar cookies and peanut butter. Grandma put the cookies in
plastic bags and then put each bag into a small, brown paper sack that she
had saved from a visit to the grocery store. On the outside of each bag,
she wrote our name so they would not get mixed up. Although the plastic
bag was to keep them fresh, it was probably unnecessary, because the
cookies never lasted that long anyway.
In
themselves, they were just cookies. And yet, their importance cannot be
underestimated. Those cookies have taken on a meaning beyond their taste.
They are flavors, memories, emotions, gifts, and love all wrapped up into
a tasty morsel that only she can create. I know because I've tried to use
her recipe and my cookies just do not taste the same. My Grandma has made
cookies every Christmas for as long as I can remember. And for as long as
I live, I will remember those cookies, Christmas at Grandma's house, and
the love she baked into each and every one.
Paul H. Tarver |
