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Following a link from a link from a link today, I came across this page, part, I guess, of someone's blog. I'd never read any of his writing before, but a friend had referred me to something else, which then led me there.
Odd how life does that to you.
Today is my grandmother's birthday. Were she still alive, she would be, I think, 87. I'll have to check with my mom on the years, but if I'm off, it's by a minimal amount.
I spent an hour of Will's naptime today making peanut butter cookies for Amy's shower tomorrow. The cookies are made with my Aunt Emma's recipe, and are the best damn peanut butter cookies I've ever had. Well, Aunt Emma's were, anyway. Mine are a distant second.
I think I've written about Aunt Emma in here before, but I'm not sure where, so indulge me if this is information I've already shared. She was sick for the last several years of her life--really, horribly sick, with emphysema and several other things that make you not love to have little kids around. Sadly, most of my memories are of her when she was sick. She died when I was about 14. But I remember making cookies with her.
As I grew up and started baking on my own, her recipe became a favorite of mine. I had a problem keeping my hands on it, though. Couldn't explain why, but when I'd go to make the cookies, the recipe would be gone. So I'd call my grandmother.
"Nana, I'm all set to make peanut butter cookies, but I lost the recipe. Would you read it to me?"
She'd laugh as she pulled down her recipe box, shuffling through cards until she found the right one. I'd write it down carefully, promising to put it in a safe place this time. Then we'd talk as I measured and mixed. By the time we'd hang up, the smell of fresh-baked cookies would fill the air and I'd walk away from the phone happy and satisfied.
Eventually, I managed to put the recipe in a place it didn't disappear from. Never told her that, though. I didn't want to spoil our ritual.
When Nana died, I took her recipe box from her kitchen. Such family history in there. Aunt Emma's Peanut Butter Crisscrosses, Nona's Italian Cookies, with or without the anisette, the paper-thin and crisp Pepparkokkar, sphingi--the Italian doughnuts we'd make in the fry baby and roll in cinnamon sugar, Nona's sauce, my grandfather's gnocci. All in that box. All in her handwriting. The only inheritance I wanted.
Fitting that today, on her birthday, I would pull out the card with the peanut butter cookie recipe on it and fill the house with that familiar, wonderful smell.
I only wish I had her on the other end of the phone.
Happy birthday, Nana. I miss you.
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