A Praline Christmas Story

So I know I haven't blogged in forever, but it's not for a lack of me trying. Ethan's in soccer, faith classes and other assorted things that I'm not always sure if I'm coming or going (but man does the North Dallas Tollway get their fair share of me). One of my resolutions is to blog more. More about Ethan and what he's doing and just things that are going on in ourlives that's fun and exciting. My goal is once a week, but we will see how that one goes between soccer, faith classes and the other assorted things Ethan does.

However, I wanted to take some time and slow things down a bit and share with my readers my version of a Christmas story and what Christmas means to me. Each year I make pralines for my friends, family and neighbors - 30-35 batches a year (although I think I might have made 40 this year - there is no telling) and I like to joke with people that I make these ever-so-tasty goodies because I don't eat pralines; ergo I don't have to worry about any unwanted extra pounds that come from taste testing these little Christmas goodies. Smart huh (don't you wish you had thought of that (insert evil little grin))?!?

But to be honest that's not 100% of why I make them; in fact it's only 1%. So why do I make these little candy cookies that take an hour to make and only yield 12-14 a batch - sounds like way too much work for something people just ingest right? Well for me it doesn't matter if I slave over the stove or sing gleefully over it. What matters to me is what those twelve little cookies mean to me.
(Insert fade to flash-back) I consider my hometown New Orleans. And yes, while I only lived there the first 3 years of my life; it's where my grandparents lived and visited often and every corner of my mind is filled with sweet memories of them, their stories and great times. My grandparents were the kind of people who would slave over a stove for days making tasty red beans and rice or fried egg plant and stocked the freezer full of ice cream if they knew you were coming and liked it. It was their way of saying - I'm glad you're here.

Ten days after Christopher passed; my grandmother passed away too. To say it was a low point in my life is an understatement of epic proportions. It was at that point that God and I had a little conversation where I did most of the talking and while I explained I wasn't renouncing him or my faith in him, I just didn't agree with his choices or plan. My life was crushed...and just a few short months before the holiday season was about to be upon us. What was I going to do? How was I going to handle it? And how do I tell these neighbors who were there for me the whole time that I appreciated them more than I could ever put down in words when all I wanted to do is crawl under a rock and hope the holidays to pass quickly?

As Christmas came closer and closer I asked got to bring my mind peace found my thoughts drifting to Christopher and his giving heart and my Grandmother and how she showed loved through her cooking (she was truly the best cook and I can only hope and pray that I'm as good as her). My mind twisted and turned around the memories of both of them and how they both taught me that life isn't about what you have, but who you share it with and to tell them forth right how much they mean to you. A plan began to form and before I knew it was standing over a stove making something I had never made before - tweaking and testing, tweaking and guessing and before I knew it I had made one, then two, four, twelve, twenty batches of something that reminded me of the love and care that two people brought to my life. There in these assorted shapes and sizes was a tasty treat for others, but chalked full of memories, tears and joy that danced in my head while I made them. Each dozen was carefully placed in a pretty little box with a white bow. Hand delivered with Ethan in tow and as each person opened their doors to us and their eyes got big and each person cracked a smile it filled my heart with joy.


For me sharing those little boxes of my heart was the best gift that I could share with those that had been there for me; it was the best way to keep the memory of two people who mean/meant the world to me and always reminded me it's not what you have, but what is in your heart. The next year, I made them again, then the year after that and again this year. The number of batches has grown from my original twenty to almost 35-40, but it doesn't matter to me. Each batch is made with love, memories, great conversations from whom ever happens to stop over while I'm making them. They are a little piece of New Orleans that I call home. But most of all they are the little reminders of those I love and lost and how they help keep the meaning of life, love and Christmas in my heart. It's not what you can buy for your self or others, it's giving that little part of you to others to share and love. It's about always telling those around you how much they mean to you and how thankful you are to have them in your life. And most importantly it's about the tenderness of goodwill that we share with those that fill our lives every day and might only pass through it once.

I wish you all a Merry Christmas.
Pax
Denise