On the holiday a couple of years ago, my parents had a Thanksgiving get-together that had not happened in several years–about four or five years–since the last of us had moved ourselves out of their grand old house.  The invites were sent a month hence, and this guaranteed that all of us could make it.  It was terrifying actually.  The reason?  My grandparents had moved into the nursing home only a couple of months before…  The reason?  They were incapable of taking care of themselves.

So, it was a Halloween scare we had for our Thanksgiving dinner.  With special guidance and help, we took them out to the house.  We, the kids, were all feeling that this would be the last time we were seeing our stalwarts.  My grand mother and my grandfather came from the old country, and we always saw them as part of a grand old past.  Great in their day, and great in their time.  So, watching these people face their possible end, on earth, to go, to… perhaps… heaven?…  we felt trepidation and concern and possibly, even, guilt about the whole situation.

Emails were shot out, back and forth, between all of us.  There is nothing to do, in all possibility, when faced with a certain end.  So, we bothered ourselves with industriousness.  None of it was going to benefit us in any monetary way, in fact, we were anticipating a great expenditure of time and space and money, just to get through it all.

I don’t know what was worse about that particular holiday:  all the things that we had to do that was involving us in death, or not knowing what would happen even when we did everything right…  everything that we knew how to do.  We could not have certainty, even if we did our utmost.  Our best.

Now, a couple of years later, our grandparents are still here, in the nursing home, idling (as we do to accuse them of enjoying their time in Club Med.)  And, we are celebrating the coming Thanksgiving on our own.  We will visit, since we are a short drive away, only, and bring them treats that are sweet and savory…  things that we purchase at the Farmers’ Market as we pass by several of these markets on our way in. I know that they like these little gifts and that even in their momentary enjoyment of it all, that they they truly enjoy it all, not regretting not leaving yet,  as we all know, that heaven is absolutely the best, the most perfect, place to ever be.  So, I doubt that they actually do not regret it.

That particular year, the year of the first Thanksgiving that my grandparents had to stay inside the nursing home, we brought everything, all the treats, all the gifts, that would come at Thanksgiving, as well as all of the that that would be had at Christmas.  And why do I remember this, so especially?  The Short Bread Cookies we bought at the Farmers’ Market got crushed and crumbled underneath some heavier groceries.  What could w e do with all this waste?  At that, it is our grandmother’s favorite savory.  Well, because I am not the only foody, I called the other best foody I know; my brother, and we concocted an apple crumble recipe that would have a topping of Short Bread.  It did work.  And now, with our grandmother’s very hard-won approval, we now have an annual tradition of Sort Bread Crumble.

Even if my grandmother will not be here to insist on it, Short Bread Crumble has become a family favorite at each and every fall and winter holiday.  Often, we take turns picking up the ingredients and baking it into the food that we will eat.  Part of the growing joy is giving these baked squares in pretty packages to everyone who is close.  We spend a weekend baking, and the gifts are done for the holidays.  How many toys and how many hundred dollar bills can actually be useful?  How much food will not be contributing to the weight-gain of the nation? Where we found such as tasty and satisfying gift as our Short Bread Crumble, we immediately stored it, filed it, away into our Secrecy File.  It is an official family tradition, and it is as if it is our official, institutionalized, treasure–of our family.

How will the growing joy, grow?  How will my grandchildren eat it?  Will they want more sugar, or, is the savory buttery, weight, satisfying enough?  Is it already perfection?  Or will there be a second recipe by the time my grandchildren are old and married?  As I am now, I cherish the greatness of our crumble, that it is right now.  As the months of the year go by, starting  from the start in January, I find my anticipation growing.  Will there be opportunity for another weekend of baking?  Will my grandmother do another surprising thing, and ask for rainbow sprinkles on the top of the Short Bread Crumble?  Will she insist on this suggestion, insisting that the crunch and the color of the sprinkles is what makes it Short Bread and not just butter and brown sugar?

The greatest value of this family recipe is the accident it was just before it was made into something to cherish.  Each time we remake it, each time we re-cherish it, taste it, , I enjoy it.  So, occupying my time, I feel I am not wasting any of it.

As for the coming holiday, I am wishing that everyone will have wonderful holidays.  That everyone will have joy and merriment.  So, with a bit of earliness, Happy Holidays!