A Neighborly Christmas
My mom must have baked for a month before Christmas every year. She had tubs of cookies in the stand alone freezer, tucked into closets, and usually all over the countertops in the kitchen for most of December. My mouth waters just thinking of them--split seconds, almond toffee, candycane cookies, butterscotch oatmeal cookies, chocolate chip cookies, snickerdoodles, fudge, divinity, some strange concoction involving nuts and long stringy, crunchy things dipped in chocolate. That's just to name a few.
The cookies were placed on plates--each plate featuring a wonderful assortment--covered with saran wrap, topped with a stick-on bow, and then delivered throughout the neighborhood. When we were younger, we went as a family and caroled at the homes where we delivered plates. As the cooperative singing children became less cooperative and tight-lipped teens, the caroling ended, but we were still tasked with delivering plates to dozens and dozens of homes. I don't think my mom ever left a family in our neighborhood out, and when we moved across town, she still remembered families in our previous neighborhood. Add the families of people my father worked with, families of people my mother worked and volunteered with, families of friends, and relatives (there were many), and you understand that my mother was pretty much single-handedly running a small bakery.
These days, if you stop by my mother's home at Christmas time, be prepared to answer the door several times every evening as neighbors and friends stop by, many reciprocating the gift of goodies. Her table is covered not only with the treats she plans to deliver, but with cookies, candies, breads, cakes, popcorn balls, and other treats that have been delivered to her.
Writing this makes me homesick. Cheers to you Mom. I think I'll bake some split seconds for my New Jersey neighbors in your honor.
The cookies were placed on plates--each plate featuring a wonderful assortment--covered with saran wrap, topped with a stick-on bow, and then delivered throughout the neighborhood. When we were younger, we went as a family and caroled at the homes where we delivered plates. As the cooperative singing children became less cooperative and tight-lipped teens, the caroling ended, but we were still tasked with delivering plates to dozens and dozens of homes. I don't think my mom ever left a family in our neighborhood out, and when we moved across town, she still remembered families in our previous neighborhood. Add the families of people my father worked with, families of people my mother worked and volunteered with, families of friends, and relatives (there were many), and you understand that my mother was pretty much single-handedly running a small bakery.
These days, if you stop by my mother's home at Christmas time, be prepared to answer the door several times every evening as neighbors and friends stop by, many reciprocating the gift of goodies. Her table is covered not only with the treats she plans to deliver, but with cookies, candies, breads, cakes, popcorn balls, and other treats that have been delivered to her.
Writing this makes me homesick. Cheers to you Mom. I think I'll bake some split seconds for my New Jersey neighbors in your honor.
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