Saturday, Dec. 15, 2007 - 8:34 pm

My Mom used to collect recipes. There was no form or function to her collection. She nabbed them from everywhere. Magazine pages from waiting rooms all over the place, the back of boxes, canned food labels. She had cookbook upon cookbook. Every kind of cookbook you could think of, she probably had one. If there was a mail-in offer for a free cookbook, she’d get it. In the 70’s she belonged to one of those mail order things that would send you a little box with a packet of recipe cards and every month they would send you new a new packet. She had them all. She would stick loose recipe pages in books or other magazines and forget about them and find them years later. I’m still finding them and it makes me laugh every time. The funny thing about her recipe collection is that she rarely ever got around to actually making the dishes. I used to tease her about it all the time and if you knew my Mom you’ll know the “Oh shut up” look she would give just before she stuck her tongue out at me.

When she did make one of the dishes she had yanked a recipe for she would never follow it to the letter and she didn’t use measuring cups or spoons. She was good like that. Come to think of it, I don’t really remember her having the recipe in front of her while she was cooking. She’d read it, get the general idea, stick the recipe somewhere to be forgotten and then go to town. Everything would always turn out fantastic.

Mom was a great cook and seemed to be able to take very little food and make it stretch out into multiple meals. She was very resourceful when it came to creating meals out of practically nothing. It was a useful talent because we never had any money and sometimes groceries were scarce. Yet somehow she managed to raise a healthy, strong and skinny kid who grew much too fast but was never hungry.

My Mom would sing and dance around in the kitchen while she was cooking. She didn’t realize she was doing it until she would hit a sour note and get a smartass comment from me in the other room.

She loved to cook but my Mom never took an interest in baking. It’s not that she wasn’t good at it she just didn’t get as much enjoyment out of baking as she did creating a meal. Nana was the baker. She would make all different kinds of yummy cookies, divinity and fudge for the holidays and she didn’t use any of her recipes while she was baking. She had everything all in her cute little head. As she got older she couldn’t stir the batters as well because her arms would get tired and her hands would cramp. She refused to use a mixer of any kind. She was also starting to forget little things so sometimes the batches would be just a little “off”. One of the Twin Moron Uncles finally got her to dig out her cookie recipes so he could type them up on index cards for her. They were all handwritten on slips of scratch paper, some in pencil that was so faded it was barely legible. I wish I had those recipes but he took them when she died and at the time I just didn’t think to ask if I could copy them. Most of you know why I’ll never see those recipes again.

Nana was an okay cook, but I would have never said that out loud. However, my Twin Moron Uncles would always have to say something negative about this or that not being just so and it would hurt her feelings terribly and cause everyone to get into an argument. When she cooked meat it was always very well done to the point of being dry. My Mom explained that when Nana was very young they had to cook the hell out of meat to make sure no one got sick. The rest of the food was always somewhat bland, but that’s how she liked it and with her declining health it was all her stomach could take. Nana did have one specialty, handmade noodles. She would roll them out by hand until later years when it became too painful. I offered to roll them out for her if she would just tell me what to do, but no. They were my favorite part of having holiday dinners at her house.

Where am I going with all of this? I recently noticed something about myself. I have been subconsciously clipping and saving recipes! But I keep mine all in the same place. They are in an envelope taped to the inside back cover of my Better Homes & Gardens Cookbook. You know the red and white checked three ring binder hard cover cookbook? That’s the one! When I first moved out on my own that is the cookbook I said I wanted because Nana had a version and my Mom had a version and I wanted one too. I always associated that particular cookbook with Nana and Mom and I saw it as something we could all have in common. I ended up with a paperback version of it too but somehow it’s just…wrong.

I never really thought I’d say it, but I do like to cook and I’m pretty good at it. I was never allowed in Nana’s kitchen during the holiday cooking and my Mom liked to do everything herself when cooking at home so I would just watch her while she did her thing. I tried to take in as much as I could and I taught myself the rest. I don’t have everything in my head and probably never will. I have to have the recipe in front of me with my measuring cups and spoons all over the place. I have to consult the text numerous times to make sure I’m doing everything right. I make changes and substitutions to the recipes as I go and after I’ve made something once or twice I can usually do it from memory. I try to make new things often since I teased my Mom so much for clipping recipes she would never make. It’s okay though, I have made a couple of the dishes she had deemed clip-worthy.

As for baking, I’m not all that good at it. I’m okay with baking as long as the recipes are very simple and don’t call for the use of gadgets or special pans or sheets that I don’t own. I’m all about the NO BAKE recipes. Amy hit the nail right on the head for me when she said that baking is an exact science with all the measuring and timing, but cooking is a lot more flexible and forgiving.

When I moved out west the holidays were a little strange, even when John was around. When my Mom came to Arizona to live with me we were able to have a couple of really nice holiday seasons together, just the two of us. Those holidays were very peaceful and relaxed. There was absolutely no bickering and no feelings got hurt. We ate what we wanted to, served up how we wanted it and cooked the way we liked. You’d have to know my Nana and the holiday dinner ‘rules’ to understand what a big deal this was. After I lost my Mom things got strange again for a couple of years until I moved back here. My wonderful and well meaning friends would invite me to spend the holidays with their families because they couldn’t bear the thought of me being alone. I appreciated their kindness more than they’ll ever know but I almost always felt out of place. None of the things that meant family and holidays to me were present because I was taking part in someone else’s family traditions. Sometimes that made me feel even more alone.

However, some of my fondest memories from Arizona happen to be the holidays I spent at Laura and Calvin’s house. I miss Laura even more this time of year. I called her tonight because I was making a list of things I’m going to need for my Christmas dinner next week and I was laughing at myself because I had all these cookbooks and recipes around me. I knew she would be one of the only people I could call that would truly understand why it was so funny. I told her some of the things I have planned and she suggested I make Magic Cookie Bars. She read my mind because I had decided I was going to make them yesterday.

I remember busting into uncontrollable giggles at the dinner table because Laura said “These mashed potatoes are so creamy”. The rest of the family just stared at us and questioned our sanity. She remembers the time Calvin was bugging her while she was trying to cook so I distracted him by telling him someone said one of the taillights was out on my car just to get him away from her. I’m sure Calvin has wished more than once that he had never introduced us, especially when we are harassing him as a team.

It’s possible that I didn’t feel as out of place at Calvin and Laura’s around the holidays because Laura was also a little out of place. I don’t mean out of place in her own home or with her own family. It was the missing. I was missing my Mom. She was missing her Grammy (which ironically is what Amy called my Mom). She was missing Maine. I was missing Indiana. In addition to all that we have in common, Laura possesses many of the wonderful nurturing qualities that were so predominant in my Mom. The holiday traditions in their household might have been different from my own but a familiar warmth and closeness was present.

Since moving home, I have had Thanksgiving and Christmas dinner at my house every year for a couple of friends. I make the holiday dishes that Nana and Mom made because it makes me feel close to them. I miss Laura. Magic Cookie Bars always make me think of her so I wanted to add them to the menu so I can feel closer to her too. Tonight on the phone Laura might have had a better explanation as to why this has become so important to me. Laura said that when she cooks or bakes for her family and friends she wants so much for them to love what she’s created because it is her way of showing them how much she loves them. The more intricate the recipe and the more effort she puts in, the bigger the love.

I now have a better understanding of why Nana would get so hurt when one of the Twin Moron Uncles would offer up a less than flattering dinner critique. Unlike my Mom, my Nana was not an affectionate woman. She told us that she loved us, but it was always part of a goodbye. Either before hanging up the phone or during the hugs we gave her as we left her house. She wasn’t the kind of person that gave hugs and kisses for absolutely no reason. She wasn’t the mom or grandmother we could cuddle with or snuggle up to. But Nana cooked and baked for us and through that she was telling us in her own way how much she loved us and, aside from being just plain rude, my Twin Moron Uncles had repeatedly broken her heart.

Where I've Been. - What's Next.