The Christmas Bag

I spent lots of time at my Grannie’s house when I was growing up. (Side note: my Grannie has always spelled her “name” with an -ie at the end and I love it! So fancy and always makes me smile.) No matter the day of the week or time of the year, there was usually a homemade treat on the kitchen counter at Grannie’s house. Delicious pound cake made from a recipe memorized years ago. Decadent pecan pie topped with pecans harvested right from the front yard. Desserts so tasty my mouth is watering just thinking about them. I still scan the counter for homemade treats every time I visit Grannie.

There was a special kind of magic that began each December in Grannie’s kitchen. Treats that were reserved for Christmastime started appearing. At any given time, the dining room table would be covered in wax paper and these once-a-year confections as they cooled. Martha Washington candy, Buckeyes, Rocky Mountain Snow Drops, chocolate-covered peanuts just to name a few. Then, the day would come, a day I had looked forward to since the year before. All the delicious candies would disappear off the dining room table and these large Christmas bags would appear.

Grannie always put the Christmas tree in the corner of the living room. Multi-colored lights and ornaments older than me covered the tree and an angel dressed in white stood her post on top. And the large Christmas bags, too tall to fit under the tree, were placed perfectly around the tree where they waited patiently to be opened. Patience was not to be had on my end. I knew what was in those bags and I knew one was for Buck’s family (Buck’s family = my parents, me and my sister) and I couldn’t wait!

Usually one night close to Christmas we would go to Grannie’s house for a visit and, if we were lucky, she would ask if we wanted to take our bag home. Yes! Please! We want to take it home! We would quickly read the tags to find the one that belonged to us. The bag felt like it weighed at least 15 pounds. We could smell the sweet goodness before we even opened it. I imagine that’s what heaven smells like. Inside were bags of all the yummy treats Grannie had made that year. Waiting until we got home to open the big bag and then the smaller bags was not even an option. We usually couldn’t even wait until we got to the truck. The first bite of a Rocky Mountain Snow Drop after not having had one for a whole year was indescribable. Those were always my favorite of the treats. Perfect little mounds of white chocolate, marshmallows, peanuts, and love. That last ingredient is the one I noticed the most. My Grannie poured her love into making treats for us each year; I bet she didn’t realize the wonderful memories she was also putting in the Christmas bag.

Dear Friends,
When you are eating your Christmas goodies this year, 
I hope you taste the love.

Merry Christmas,
C Bass