For several years now, my mother's family has held our Christmas celebration on Christmas Eve. I think this started sometime after Grandma died to compensate for spousal sides of family. I think when Grandma was still with us, we all saw each other on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day for church and dinner. All of us meant more people than it does now, too... a cousin has abandoned us and some of my other cousins work or have other obligations during family time. Now it's dinner Christmas Eve and brunch Christmas morning.
I think it's this lack of her that also changed our menu over the years.
As I've mentioned before, we always have stuffing at these end of the year dinners... but, tonight, we had a soup and salad evening. There were three kinds of soup: potato, chili, and Brunswick stew. It is cold outside, so, I'm not really complaining. It's a simple alteration to food options... maybe even healthier. The aunts are a little more conscientious of their diets than they were when we were younger. That's fine...
...but it reminds me of the hole in the heart of my family.
One of the few things that remains the same is my aunt's sugar cookies. She's been making them for most holidays as long as I can remember. She chooses the appropriate shape of cookie cutter which ranges from Easter eggs to bats to Christmas trees. I remember these cookies in particular because they're not just any sugar cookies. My aunt makes this amazing, light frosting... it's a lemon flavor, sweet and tart. It's always been among my favorites.
But, I guess not everything has to stay the same. One of our new Christmas traditions since we lost my grandmother includes a recipe given to me by a dear friend's mother. I've made it so many times now that I can pour the juices by heart. It's an old recipe for a special, hot Christmas punch called Wassail (Yes, that references that carol you might have sung in choir: Wassail, Wassail, All over the town, Our toast it is white, And our ale it is brown, Our bowl it is made of the white maple tree, With a wassailing bowl we'll drink to thee.) My cousins drink seconds, thirds, and sometimes fourth cups of wassail. It's expected. That's a nice feeling...
...because, in this way, I've sort of turned into my grandmother. I can't tell them how to make it. I lost the recipe a long time ago. I just eyeball the portions and simmer the juices with spices. When my grandmother was asked to write down her stuffing recipe, she did, but with difficulty. She also just "eyeballed" the portions and had trouble putting measurements to her recipe. To this day, we still can't make it like she did. I guess, if I depart from her habits, I'll at least teach one of my younger cousins, and/or maybe their kids, how to make the wassail by making it with someone several times. It's not as complicated as stuffing, but it's a touch-and-go process that might need a little repetition to commit to memory.
I'm contented and even excited about new additions to our menu... but the omissions remind me strongly of what is missing. She's been gone for12 years since December 15th... the quietest, saddest Christmas of my life. We sat in her living room, as we had every year before then, openned gifts, and looked around the house rather than at one another. We were remembering previous Christmases, making a mental map of a place we knew would never be the same... a place that would, in weeks, start to lose its pictures, furniture, and scent.
I miss her so much tonight.
I know I'm not the only one looking around at a Christmas tonight that, no matter how merry, will never be the same. May we all find peace in the old traditions, the new additions, and shared memories that keep our loved ones alive.
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