Hurdling the first 'first'

Yes!
The Pecan Pie was absolutely delicious and my mother would have been proud!
Now, wait 'til you taste the Pumpkin Pie (see below).

We had a lovely Thanksgiving - just the four of us at my son and daughter-in-law's beautiful home. She went all out, baking a turkey with dressing, fresh green beans, sweet potato gnocchi, roasted carrots and parsnips and - of course - gravy. The turkey was so moist it just burst with flavor with every bite. The steamed green beans were cooked with bacon, pecans and pepper, making them (for me) the surprise of the day with their spicy deliciousness. And the sweet potato gnocchi and roasted carrots were just as tasty.

My son and his wife were both so kind to understand the hurdle of "my first 'first.'" And equally as kind when I presented them with two of Granny's cross-stitched ornaments, and cried.

It's funny - there are things in my house that I don't want moved, and then there are things that I want to share with the rest of the family. I can't explain the difference.

Mother called her portion of the house her apartment -- her bedroom, a bathroom and her living room. For the most part, her rooms remain basically untouched, and I don't want things moved around or removed just yet. Other than a few small pieces of jewelry, she didn't have anything of any value, but she did leave a will with instructions on which of her children where to receive which items that were of extreme value to her. Jewelry went to daughters, but her marble coffee table was to go to my brother, and since he lives out of state and was here during my mother's transition into the Lord's arms, it only made sense that he would take the table back home with him.

My brother will learn today that I didn't really want the table removed, that it changed the feel and makeup of mother's living room, and that it seemed like a piece of my parents (as well as my childhood) went with the table. Isn't it funny how we attach ourselves to some things and not so much to others? My mother's wedding ring, a watch my father had given her when she graduated from high school and other pieces of jewelry went with my sisters, but the coffee table has had the most effect on me. Both of my parents enjoyed that piece of furniture. It's where my mother would put her treasured hurricane tracking maps every June through November; as a child, I'd lay on the floor in front of the coffee table and fall asleep watching TV with my parents and sister; it's where mother put her crystal candy dish that she'd store her hard candies in for those times she'd lose energy; it's where she put the flower arrangements she receive monthly from her church; and it's where she placed her magnificent Nativity at Christmas time.  It isn't the table. That can be replaced. It's the fact that something as inconsequential as a coffee table can have such unforseen value to one.

Just like my mother's recipe cards. I'm not ready to part with them. They are small index cards all in her hand-writing and, for me, each one tells a story of how much she loved caring for her family, how much she enjoyed cooking, how much she looked forward to trying new things and how much she taught me.

I lost quite a bit of weight during the month before and after my mother's passing. It's certainly not the way I'd like to lose it. I'd far rather have her here and the weight on my hips.

Unfortunately, since the reality of her passing is hitting home, I've eaten my way through each dark cloud of blues, gaining all of the weight back. That's another question I can't answer -- why some of us find so much comfort in food.

My Pumpkin Pie is one of those things. I've been baking this pie from scratch, using our carved Halloween Jack-o-lantern, for about 38 years. Mom encouraged me back in the 1980s to enter the pie in the local county fair. So, I did, and for nine years straight (until I stopped entering the pie) I won blue ribbons for my Pumpin Pie. Here it is:

Sydney's Pumpkin Pie

Mom and I go to the local pumpkin patch that is hosted by a small Methodist church and buy a bunch of pumpkins every year. Since I no longer have any children at home, I don't carve them -- but I do use them as decor throughout the house. These were used as a centerpice on my dining room table, but once Halloween was over, they became pumpkin smoosh.

Cut the pumpkin in half or quarter and place face down on a cookie sheet. Put in a 350-degree oven and bake until a knife inserted comes out easily and clean. No need to remove seeds at this point.

Once the pumpkin is cooled, scrape the seeds and strings and remove the skin. Cut into smaller chunks and put the chunks (a few at a time) into a food processor. You'll need about 2-cups of processed pumpkin.

Here's rest of the recipe:
2-cups of freshly processed pumpkin          3/4-cup of sugar
1/2 tsp. salt                                                   1 1/2 tsp. of ground cinnamon
1 tsp. ground ginger                                     1/2 tsp. ground nutmeg
1/2 tsp. ground cloves

3 slightly beaten eggs                                   1 1/4 cups of milk
2/3 cup of evaporated milk

1 9-inch unbaked pie shell

Combine the pumpkin, sugar, salt and spices. Then blend in the beaten eggs, milk and evaporated milk. Pour into the pie shell. This is a big recipe, so be sure to have the edges of the pie shell crimped high.
Bake at 400-degrees for about 50-minutes or until a knife inserted halfway between center and edge comes out clean.

Using leftover piecrust pastry and small cookie cutters, I make leaf shapes. Bake them for about 10-15 minutes and after they have cooled, I place on top of the cooled pie.

Mom would have enjoyed our quiet Thanksgiving - especially the new recipes shared by my daughter-in-law. I do believe -- and hope -- that we've begun a new Thanksgiving tradition. Spending the holiday with my son and his wife was more joyous than they know, making the 'first hurdle' easier to bear. I'm thankful for the decades of memories resulting from the long line of family traditions, but I'm also grateful for new traditions in the making.