It became so blatantly that time of the year as soon as she opened up jar of cloves to scoop out a teaspoon and a half and the smell of the spice wafted. What she was doing was primarily an act to solidify Christmas in her own mind, to ensure that it kept some of it’s similarities to the Christmases of her childhood. And secondly because of the taste, and thirdly because she loved to bake! She was mixing swedish gingerbread cookies, a McNeill family favourite. It was probably the only cookie in the book that took so much effort and time. Melt this with that, let it cool, mix it with that, refrigerate it, then roll and cut a quarter of the dough at a time. Yes time consuming and so worthwhile. Although, somehow everything she made could never be compared to the perfection of anything her mom made. Mom’s gingerbread men were just a pile of twins; none of them waved or kicked their legs out of uniform. A perfectly splendid army of gingerbread men. It didn’t help that she stepped out of tradition cutting the cookies out in the shape of stars as well as the classic gingerbread men and traditional hearts. Oh well. Some things never stay the same. Change cannot be out run, it is inevitable. And so she does her best despite the meagerness of the situation to keep Christmas alive, real and as close to that of her childhood as she can. Of course she doesn’t over-try because she still remembers the last Christmas, the last wonderful winter when it was just her and her family. A strange eden despite the whirlwind just around the corner. That winter she felt quite strongly about ensuring everything went without a hitch, it had to be perfect simply because she knew that things would never be the same. It was a choking fear and when she tried her very best to suppress it as utterly and completely as she could, it was rather overwhelming and resulted in a less than perfect Christmas.

And so for the past three or so Christmases she has melted and mixed as she made those sweet gingerbread cookies, while memories – sweet and lovely – flooded her mind. This rich traditional will continue and you will see her in her kitchen each December remembering and reminiscing in a sea of nearly satisfying recollections of Christmases that were.