Home For The Holidays

For those of you who also go by the name ‘grandma’, this phrase has a whole new meaning. We are going ‘home’ on Wednesday, heading out to Bend to my daughter’s home.  She and I have had several conversations that have been very odd, in a way, for me.  First we discussed making pies together, which I did with my mother, whose pie crusts are still the best in the world, at least to me (and to others who have eaten them).  I made the crust here last week, froze them, and will bring them in a soft freezer bag in my suitcase.  It seemed easier to us both that I do that, rather than traveling for almost 5 hours and then beginning.  This way we can just do the insides together.  On Thursday we will arise, make the stuffing from the New York Time cookbook, and slide the stuffed turkey into the oven.  The same turkey I made for years for my daughter and our friends for our Thanksgiving repast when she was growing up.  What I did with and for my mom, she will do with me, but she has sons: will they learn how to make pie, or will the tradition die with the two of us?  I sure hope not. They’re damn good pies and a lovely tradition.  Last coincidence: my daughter called to ask me if I minded that she was going to invite some friends to the feast who were alone, or whose families were far away, etc.  I don’t know if she remembers, but that is exactly what I used to do, for years, when she was a kid.  A second tradition that will continue, I hope, through many generations.  I will get used to ‘going home for the holiday’ to one of my daughter’s homes, rather than hosting.  Probably a good thing, as I age.