For weeks before Christ's birthday,
Cookies piled up in the freezer;
Cakes of many kinds were stashed
And finally, the bread, baked for
Even the names are redolent of
Then came wrapping day;
Mailman, paper boy, meter readers
Neighbors, friends, relatives were the
And finally, the week before Christmas,
Out would come the rest of the
And at last, the "good" cookies
When the morning finally came,
and we'd open the pile of presents.
Everyone is gone to someplace else now,
And sometimes family, when I can.
I can still smell Christmas in my memory
This was another "exercise"
The house was filled with the sensuous
Fragrance of holiday baking.
(Why do we only get the burnt ones, Mom?)
packed according to recipe.
in the pantry, soaking in one kind of
liquor or another.
Christmas morning, for presents,
for drop-in company.
the holiday; Oulu Pumpernickle,
Potato Rye, Jule Kaka, Niisua.
cookies in brightly decorated bags,
pies and cakes in boxes.
would take their little bags with a
"Smells wonderful, thanks!"
recipients of bread and cookies, or
cake and cookies, or pies and cookies.
when the house was filled with gifts
in various stages of being finished,
goodies from the freezer, to be arranged
on my fancy plates to serve to company.
became dessert for the family,
while the pies stacked up for Christmas dinner.
Baba would wake up Rick so he
would wake the others,
Then, amidst the litter and the spoils,
we feast on oranges and Jule Kaka.
and we spend the holidays in exotic places.
I still bake the breads for neighbors,
Baba is gone, too, so we sleep late, and
those fragrant days are only memories.
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