The book lives in my cupboard.
Dog-eared and worn, cover long since lost.
It comes out once a year as Christmas tradition demands its recipe for peanut butter cookies.
So we sit together, stirring and scooping the peanut butter goodness.
The years fall away. The girls grow and the tradition remains as if nothing has shifted.
It doesn’t recognize one less person around the counter.
The tradition delights in the joy of the making of a moment.
As each candy is unwrapped, it doesn’t acknowledge that this year Ellie is the one to make the candy train and Audrey has graduated to rolling peanut butter balls.
Nor does it see that Sid is actually in charge of the baking and I their momma am now just a witness to it all unfolding. My hands are no longer needed, just my gaze taking it all in, recording the memory.
The tradition will out survive me.
My girls will teach their girls and what will be left is that book and
the feelings of joy in the moment.