Day Eighty-Nine

Today was a day of LOTS of baking. The amount of butter I've used in the past two days is shameful. I won't tell you how many pounds. But, that said, it's something that I enjoy...very much. And most of all, I enjoy giving it away or watching others enjoy my baked goods.

I bake two things around Christmas time: Cinnamon rolls and Grandma Balsbaugh's Christmas sugar cookies. One new tradition... and one old.

In fact, as I was mixing the dough for the famous Balsbaugh cookies, I couldn't help but recall happy memories from days of old. Tears came....laughter...and smiles as I told stories to the boys of decorating cookies with my sisters and cousins and then learning to make dough from my grandma and Aunt Ann. I remembered the first year I tried to make the dough on my own. I used too much flour (the recipe doesn't give you an exact amount). The cookies were hard, not deliciously soft and buttery. I cried. JJ didn't understand. "They're all wrong!!" "Not like Grandma's!"

My boys don't remember Grandma. Aidan was just three years old when she died...Dominic just a baby. They know her face from a few snapshots. Aidan has a few memories of her house. But, they do know how much she meant to me....because I tell them stories.

Cookies. It all started with baking cookies, with butter, sugar, flour and eggs. It started with "Mama, can we help you?"... and it turned into sharing of family history, of stories that made the boys laugh and ended with their small hands patting my back when I teared up and said, "Sometimes I just miss my Grandma."

Dominic comforted me by saying, "It's okay Mama...you'll see her in heaven some day." And for him, that's that. For me, it's hard some times. There are days when I want nothing else than to sit by her side, holding her hand, listening to her say the words she said so often..."Oh, honey, you're so beautiful." That warm smile. The stories she told. Playing Scrabble (and getting killed by Grandma).

Memories further back...sleepovers and hot cocoa made from scratch (not water and a tear-open packet)...the smell of fresh sheets on her hide-a-bed, the chicken coop, red hots in a jar and Ritz crackers, the drawer with boxed cereal, being chased up a tree by her cows, Tic-Tacs, the game closet, big family get-togethers, climbing the tall fir tree, home-canned peaches and pears, playing in the shop, walking around in the field, the hot tub, the fruit trees, the smell of her perfume, hankies... and hugs and kisses on the lips.

Grandma, you are missed. My cookies will never be what yours were, but I hope that I will leave a legacy like yours behind. I don't wear dresses every day and I certainly need to learn to hold my tongue to be more like you....but there's still time. God's not finished with me yet.