Gingerbread

Ah..today, I made gingerbread cookies. There is the wonderful smell of ginger, cinnamon and cloves hanging in the air, that truly makes the house smell like Christmas, especially for me.

When I was young, every Christmas, my mom would make them and we would decorate them with her. It was a tradition at our house and one that I do every year. Maybe it helps me feel I'm with her.. I miss her alot, especially at this time of year.

My mom and dad came to Canada in the '50's. My dad is Polish and drove trucks for the Americans in Germany during the war. After the war was over, he worked in a dairy, making cheese. My mom is German. They were very different and came from completely different backgrounds.

My dad came from a very poor family, what you would call dirt poor, I guess, since the farm he grew up on didn't have real floors, just dirt. In the wintertime, they would spread hay on the ground and even let the animals in the house if it was too cold.

My mother, on the other hand, came from a very fortunate family. Her grandfather was a mathematician and a pianist and her father had several businesses including a mill and a general store. My grandfather was the first man in his town to own a car.

They met after the war, got married and decided to move to Canada.

People around the world have different traditions.. Most Americans seem to celebrate Christmas by waking up Christmas day morning and seeing what Santa had left them. Quebecers, usually go to midnight mass and celebrate when they get home until the early morning hours.

Christmas at our house was always on Christmas Eve, just as it was for my mom when she was a child. We would go to sleep in the late afternoon so Santa could come.. and come, he always did.

We would each have a special plate with our name on it.. with special candies, mandarins, gingerbread cookies ... and my favorite treat, Marzipan. Ah.. Marzipan .. wonderful, delicious Marzipan.. covered with dark chocolate. It was shaped as a loaf or a half cigar if you want and was very delicious. She would send for it especially for Christmas. When I'm lucky, I sometimes find some in Montreal and bring it home for Christmas. Too often, there is none.

When we were young, my dad would drag us off to church. My mother would follow along but this was the only time of the year that she went to church. My mother was raised a Lutheran and when she married my dad, she had to change religion or they (the Catholic church) wouldn't allow the marriage. I think that may have turned her off religion. Did it really matter what church you went to.. did it really make you a better person? She didn't think so, and neither do I.

The other tradition we had was the breaking of the host. My dad would get a huge rectangular host from his country and he would get it blessed by the priest. The host was broken into the same number of pieces as the members of your family. You then go around and give a piece of your host to another member and tell he or she how much you love them and what you wish for them in the New Year. I guess the giving of the host was a sort of communion thing.. but we, as children, didn't think of it that way. Today, we still do this although we don't get it blessed by a priest and there is no longer any religious connotation connected to it.. but trading your pieces and sharing with your family, your siblings, your children ... looking them in the eye and telling them that you love them and are proud of them is very touching.

Then everyone opens their gifts. There are few things as gratifying as the smile on a child's face getting something he or she really wished for. Their eyes light up and everything seems good in the world for that moment.