Why I Dread the Holidays but Can’t Forget My Grandmother’s Irresistible Cookies

I noticed the flood before I could see it. A quiet drip turned into a trickle then a stream. Realizing the water was inside my home made me scramble to save my grandmother’s Christmas cookie recipes. I tossed them to safety, thankful they survived better than I was in that moment.

Maybe these recipes were meant to stay hidden, a kind of justice for my complicated feelings about Christmas. Digging deep, I can find a few warm memories—my dad reading A Child’s Christmas in Wales aloud, a Snoopy ornament, and a cheese ball during family gatherings. But mostly, I remember the stress that crept in during the holidays.

I was anxious as a child, soaking up the tension around me like a thirsty tree. December felt like a pressure cooker, where smiles clashed with reality. My mother was stressed, which made me stressed too. I knew good moments were happening, but my brain felt clouded, and only one thing could lift that gloom: my grandmother’s cookies.

Grandma Thelma insisted on using real butter and quality ingredients for her cookies. Each holiday, she and my Aunt Myrna would bake thousands, wrapping each batch with care. While there might’ve been the usual chocolate chip cookies, I craved the unique flavors: Swedish gems, cherry winks, and my absolute favorite—jam-filled Hungarians. They only appeared during the holidays, like magic.

There were unspoken rules about cookie sharing. My sister and I often quarreled over treats, but breaking those rules meant missing out completely, so we made peace each year. When Thelma’s hands grew weaker, she didn’t stop baking. Instead, she asked for an electric sifter to keep the traditions alive. After her passing in 1997, Aunt Myrna took over until her own death six years later. My sister Anne tried to carry on, but it became too overwhelming between her demanding job and family.

At one point, I thought I had lost all those treasured recipes. But in December 2012, a miracle happened. My cousin Nicole reached out after I mentioned Thelma’s cookies in a story. She had the recipes! Soon, two folders arrived at my door, filled with photocopies of all the beloved treats. I placed those papers carefully on my bookshelf but didn’t bake a single cookie that holiday season. Excuses filled my mind—traveling, feeling low, stomach issues. I kept putting it off, year after year.

Honestly, I was scared. What if I couldn’t recreate those cookies as Grandma did? What if the memories were just illusions, and they weren’t as good as I remembered? I wanted them to taste like the warm hugs I received as a child from my grandmother, who lived far longer than expected and filled my life with warmth.

Just before the flood, I managed to grab those recipe pages again. I lost some of my prized cookbooks but felt it was worth the trade. A few years back, I promised myself that 2020 would be the year I’d try my hand at baking those cookies. Little did I know what was coming. I still haven’t attempted it. Maybe one day my sister can take the lead, while I hold onto the sweet memories of what those cookies represent.

According to a recent survey, over 60% of people experience mixed emotions about the holiday season. Many feel nostalgia and stress simultaneously, making the act of baking bittersweet. It’s a reminder that traditions often come with both joy and pressure, and that’s okay. Holding onto memories can sometimes be just as important as recreating them.

Source link