Life through Big Brown Eyes

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.

I have a very big family…and I’m not actually related to most of them.

There’s a conglomeration of exes, steps, halves, in-laws, in-laws of in-laws, exes of in-laws, lifelong friends, children of life-long friends, and so on and so forth.  I was never a mom myself, but revel in my roles as aunt, great-aunt, and aunt by osmosis, and sister by osmosis.  I’m blessed that I consider some of my family as friends, and some of my friends as family.

There are challenges in explaining the dynamic to someone who is new to the loving chaos.  Yet, once they begin to see the forest for the family tree, they’re fairly amazed that there is so much harmony in what really should be a 1980’s nighttime soap opera.  There’s no scheming, back-biting, or arguing.  It’s a large group of people who generally get along.

It’s not perfect.  No family is.  

There’s a missing branch here and there. That absence is felt keenly at times, but everyone else lends support to the person(s) impacted.  Sometimes it’s easy to feel a little lost in the shuffle.  With so many grey areas, it can be challenging to have a defined role, or be comfortable with my place.  I have a tendency to let the little green monster in when others get to spend time together and I’m not available or included (not that I necessarily should be – but the little green monster doesn’t make those distinctions).  It’s important, as my niece recently told me, that I insert myself (which kind of supports my jostling for position analogy.) I have a tendency to forget my nieces and nephews are tax-paying, home-owning, hardworking, child rearing adults themselves and try to boss them around.  That never goes well.  Distance can be a challenge.  Not everyone is within an easy drive.  Some live on the other side of the state, and some live several states away.

The beautiful part, and what makes us all family, is the history woven through each conversation.  The years of memories.  The knowledge- as Spock would say- that the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few, or the one.  What could be a hotbed of egos, resentments, and heartache is pushed off the table so that everyone can enjoy the children, and their children.

It doesn’t matter that my ex-brother-in-law’s first ex-wife’s daughter with her 2nd ex-husband is not actually related to me.  I’ve known her since she was little. It doesn’t matter that the mother-in-law of my nephew’s half brother (who, by the way I also consider my nephew as equally) will be considered an honorary grandmother to his daughter who is due to arrive in a couple of months. What matters is the history, the love, the laughter…and the openness to welcoming someone new, whether it’s a girlfriend, boyfriend, new spouse, or new baby.

And all of that is just my side of my family.  My husband’s side is a lot less complicated – but has its share of entanglements. They are a fun-loving group as well,that has always enveloped me as a member of the clan.As an adopted child, I learned very early that genetic relation is not required.  My family tree, with all of its complicated branches, continues to constantly prove my assertion that love is stronger than blood.