Like many people I know, the timbre of the holidays has changed.  Life has evolved, Christmas magic can be bittersweet (I really miss not believing in Santa Claus) and being without my parents, most especially my mom, new traditions need discovery.  My husband and I began developing some of our own traditions years ago, and they’re wonderful.  Yet, without my mom, I no longer get to play the role of child – and the special joy that comes with that.  I am now, without any excuse, the adult in the Christmas scenario…and need to find joy in watching the children in my life – which we all need to do at some point.  It’s nice, sure.  But its not the same.  I now help make the magic….or in this case, bake it.

During the holidays, my mom always enjoyed baking a few special things.  Not the traditional sugar or Christmas cookies.  She had two concoctions for which she was known.  Her New York Cheesecake and an interesting tart she called Walnut Cups…both made from scratch.  Growing up, I enjoyed the fruits of her baking labors, but never assisted in their creation.  I was the holiday alchoholic drinking wine and swapping stories with my pop and family while the “womenfolk” were in the kitchen.

As life would have it, my pop passed, and mom’s eyesight failed, and I suddenly found myself in the position of reluctant assistant baker.  “You want me to knead that with my hands?  What about my nails?”

Mom, God bless her, was a patient woman with an easy laugh.  Her normal retort was to giggle and exclaim “Oh Patti Ann!”

So I helped her.  I kneaded dough, I measured sugar, I creamed egg yolks.  Her last Christmas, I made the cheesecake by myself.  And screwed it up.  Not enough sugar.  Sitting at my kitchen table, Mom took a bite.  Paused for a moment and said “It tastes like cheese.” (Which unfortunately is not the same as cheeseCAKE).  Sadly, I never had the opportunity to fix it for her.  She was gone before the next holiday season.

But I had learned.  I had the recipes.  I had the memories: her showing me how to patiently add the ingredients to the bowl and letting the Sunbeam mixer do the work, using a spoon to make the perfect “cup” in the pan….and all the while laughing.  Always laughing.

So nowadays, while I still do my fair share of wine drinking and story swapping, I now spend several hours during the holidays creating those two wonderful treats.  It makes me feel like she’s there with me, with her exasperated “Oh Patti Ann!”  An unexpected benefit has been that I feel like I’m continuing an important tradition for my family.  My nephew LOVED Mom’s Walnut Cups.  I love the look of joy on his face when I bring him a batch.

So while I can lament the fact that Santa is a myth and being grown up isn’t nearly as much fun, 

I can get up to my elbows in flour, 

hear my mom’s laugh resonate in my heart, 

and realize that the magic of Christmas is still very sweet.