On a shelf in the utility room is a stack of old round tins in various sizes. Some are decorated in Christmas motifs and one is an old Charles Chips cookie tin. They are all well worn, with barely imperceptible hints of rust around the smooth finished edges of both the lids and containers. When I was a child, they were brought to the kitchen for use only once a year….for the holiday baking season.

From my earliest memories of holiday baking, I picture Mom making Spritz cookies squeezed from a cookie press in the shapes of Christmas trees, wreaths, and camels. Trees and wreaths were made from colored dough, individually decorated with sprinkles, and the camel had a solitary chocolate jimmie placed carefully to make an eye. These cookies were the first required treat. The second treat, cheese straws, were also squeezed from the cookie press. They were made from New York State Sharp Cheddar block cheese, hand grated from a manually rolled cheese grater that looked as if it might have come over on the Mayflower. As a child of the 60’s, this was WAY before you could buy cheese finely grated in the store. But as I would later discover when I started baking them myself, pre-packaged shredded cheese just does not work for this recipe….at all.

The third required Christmas treat was peanut brittle. Every year I watched Mom meticulously measure the Karo syrup, sugar and raw peanuts into the Revere ware copper bottomed sauce pan, and carefully secure the candy thermometer on the side. Mom stirred the mixture continuously until it reached hard crack, at which time she deftly mixed in baking soda making it foam, and quickly poured it onto a pre-buttered and chilled baking pan. The last steps were a perfectly coordinated act of measure, mix, stir, pour, and spread that was accomplished in less than 30 seconds. After cooling, the brittle was broken into large pieces and was the sweetest melt-in-your-mouth confection! Mom was famous for her brittle, and after years of careful observation, I am proud to say it is a traditional treat I now make and gift each holiday season.

The fourth and last required Christmas treat was my absolute favorite…..lady fingers. These special cookies are known by other names, but lady fingers is what Mom always called them. She mixed the stiff dough of flour, butter, chopped pecans and a few other ingredients by hand until a large ball was formed. Then, bit by bit, she measured out heaping tablespoons full of the dough and rolled them into little logs or “finger” shapes…..dozens of them. After baking, the “fingers” were gently tossed in powdered sugar to coat, and placed in one of the cookie tins with layers of waxed paper in between. It was always obvious when you’d eaten a lady finger because of the tell-tale white powdered sugar on your lips and fingers, and sugar dusting on your clothes!

The utility room is just inside the side entrance door to the house. In this storage room are a collection of items and appliances taking up floor and shelf space, including a water heater and upright freezer, holiday decorations, and suitcases stored for the next trip. One of the last Christmases Mom was healthy enough to live at home, and before dementia robbed her of the ability to follow a recipe, I stopped by for a visit. Being the holiday season, I went into the utility room to see what goodies Mom had made.

I lifted three containers from the shelf, and sat down on the stool. With them carefully balanced on my lap, I opened the tins one by one, sampled the contents, and closed the lids back tightly. The last tin was the smallest, but held the most precious treat…..my beloved lady fingers! I gently picked up a little finger and shook off some of the powered sugar so I wouldn’t have the evidence on me when I emerged from the utility room. As I started to eat my second one, I could hear Mom’s voice calling my name.

The utility room door opened. “What are you doing in here?”… but she knew exactly what I was doing! There I sat, with powered sugar on my lips, fingers, and shirt…..and tears flowing so hard I couldn’t even see her.

I hugged her especially tight, sobbing as I thanked her for making the lady fingers, even though I knew it physically hurt her to do so. I think I might have been the only one to eat them that year, because they lasted a long time, and I knew Mom couldn’t make any more. I savored each and every one because I knew in my heart that would be the last batch she would ever make.

I’ve never appreciated anything any more than the gift of love she put into making those little cookies. It wasn’t actually the cookies that meant the most and brought me to tears. It was the time and sacrifice Mom made of her own comfort to make each individual lady finger. And making them required the most precious commodity of all which can’t be bought- time. She didn’t announce “look what I made you” or say “I worked so hard to make these treats for you”. She let me quietly discover my cherished lady fingers in the small blue tin, knowing how much I would enjoy them, just like a child.

I would give anything to have more time with Mom, including baking Christmas treats. Gone are the opportunities to make new memories with my mother, so it is necessary to hold on tightly to the ones I do have. I wish I would have slowed down and paid closer attention to our conversations when we were together. If only I had asked more questions about Mom’s life and advice she had for me. I wish I would have had the wisdom years ago to thoroughly soak up the lessons learned from all the life experiences I shared with my Mom as I grew from a child to an adult.

Often when reflecting on life’s journey, you find the most important yet simpilest lessons in the most unlikely places. For me, sitting on a wooden stepstool in the utility room and holding a little Christmas tin full of lady fingers, I truly comprehended why time with loved ones is the most precious gift of all.