Remembering parent's life

[wildhawk]

My Mom died when I was in college - we were very close. I think of her everyday, but especially at Christmas. She was an avid Elvis fan and her favorite song was Blue Christmas. One year she got an all white christmas tree and decorated it with all blue lights and tiny little blue crocheted snowflakes that she made. When she died my sister and I divided her little snowflakes, each keeping half, and at the holidays we play our Elvis Blue Christmas album for her. Last year my DH and I found a tree ornmament of Elvis singing Blue Christmas and we bought a small white tree and decorated it with Mama’s snowflakes and all blue lights. I placed a photo of her and my Dad beneath it (he passed away exactly ten years later than she did). I have numerous things that I do to remember them both - they were incredible parents and eventhough they did not live very long (she was 52 and he died at 64), they gave us such wonderful memories and as I get older I see more of my Mom in me. Thanks for starting this thread - I enjoy reading about the baking and loved the snow people. Awesome memories folks! Brings up lots of warm and fuzzy memories for me too!

[lph]

Great stories. I'm enjoying reading how people live on in your memories of them. I taught myself to bake lemon meringue pie in memory of my brother. My parents were, if not terrible cooks, let's say, disinterested cooks. Food was food, to be made and eaten when necessary. My brother was different. He excelled in baking cakes, pies, cookies or other desserts, and from the age of 11 or so he baked his own birthday cakes. As an adult he was very softspoken, a bit moody and quite shy, while my parents and I are loud, impatient and talkative. My brother wouldn't say much, but he'd COOK, he'd bring homemade cookies or cake to any gathering, and he even tried to gather us for a Thanksgiving celebration for a few years (non-existent in Norway, but our mother was born in the US). Lemon meringue pie was one of his specialties, my absolute favourite (and that of my mother) but neither of us could ever be bothered to try and make something that elaborate.

When he died abruptly 2 years ago, my SIL, his widow, asked us to bring cakes to the gathering at their house after the funeral. I decided I would d*mn well roll my sleeves up and make my own pie to bring. I got two different recipes and tried both, fumbling and cussing and crying all the time. One was a disaster, the lemon filling was liquid and poured out when you cut into it, the other one had a fine filling but the crust was rock hard But I did make pie.

I now make it for family gatherings at Christmas and for my son's birthday, since he *loves* it. After a few tries I managed to combine the two recipes and tweak a little to get one that works for me. One memorable time I made it we had just got our cat, and my hands were full of little kitten scratches. We didn't have a lemon squeezer then, so I was cutting the 2 lemons into quarters and squeezing the juice out by handpower... giving me lemon juice all over my hands. My usual kitchen cussing reached an alltime high.

So that's the story behind my lemon meringue pie. I'm still a lazy cook and I don't bake it often, but when I do I always think of my patient, quiet big brother. I think he would have been pleased and maybe even a bit proud of me.