A half-mutilated Raggedy Andy, a Two-cotton balled Snowman, a silver fish perforated Dog and other Christmas Treasures

Every year about this time we all head off to the local high school tree lot, the garden center at the home improvement store or maybe just up into the dark recesses of our silver fish-infested attic -- all in search of the perfect Christmas tree. We hog-tie them to our cars; and then, like giant bonsai trees, shape them into perfect cones -- fat on the bottom, equally full on all sides and pointed enough on top for an angel or a smiling Santa face. It is quite the ceremony.  Fake and real, flocked and tinseled, our Christmas trees are more than just an expression of the season. They are, in some ways, the story of our lives.

Let me just be honest for a second. My tree is not the Van Gogh variety. It is not likely to be featured in a Southern Living or any other home magazine. It is, in a word, pitiful.  There are no antique glass ornaments, no color theme to speak-just the snowman that my daughter made in school that is now down to two balls, six black dots and a lop-sided top hat.

You see, in the early days money was tight. There was barely enough for presents and certainly no extra for store-bought ornaments. Instead, I bought a bolt of red and white gingham ribbon and made bows for the tree limbs. My girls contributed with ornaments made in their art class and my clients with their homemade gift labels which then became ornaments. All-in-all, our tree was cheerful but it’s safe to say it never would have made it in the Festival of Trees.

Today, I reflect on last year’s tree ceremony when a close friend offered to help hang the ornaments and, as a trade-off, I put her hair color on.  As we unveiled those silver fish- affected boxes, out came the crispy, dry, wrinkled bows held by thin frail wire, the picture frame ornaments still with their “place photo here” insert sheets, the bare-thin dog, Raggedy Andy, and the sad toy soldier…all of them parading onto the tree.  We even created sections, like in a hospital ward, by how “affected” they were.  We laughed so hard, it took us forever to finish that sucker and her color might have gone a little bit too dark!

But laughter brought on reflection when my friend said “I know you can afford nice ornaments!  What’s up with this picture?” Well, you see, every year when I unpack those hand-made ornaments from my girls’ childhood or the special tokens my clients gave me at the holidays, I think of my life and the journey I’ve been on. Each make-shift ornament reminds me of how far I’ve come and those who helped me along the way. I can remember friends who made sure to remember a single mom at Christmas; my kids and how they grew and changed with each passing season; and special times when joy was measured in memories and not in the total of a sales receipt.

This season, as you put up your tree, I invite you to reflect on your own Christmases past. Are you still close with the people whose ornaments you now find wrapped in tissue? What traditions and Christmas vacations do you still hold dear? And now that you are grown, can you still recall the joy of Christmas morning and the sound of your little padded feet coming down the hall?

Merry Christmas y Feliz Navidad!

The Taste of Tradition

Years ago I was dating a man who spent an entire holiday season bragging about his aunt’s pecan pie: “The custard is like velvet.” “The crust is so flaky.” And on and on it went. What I soon came to realize was that his attachment wasn’t to that piece of pie, it was to the traditions it represented -- the traditions he was missing.

Now we all know this Latin girl is not from the South. I can whip up a fierce flan but I’m at a loss when it comes to pecan pie. Determined to give my guy a slice of home, I turned to one of my clients for her family’s recipe for Texas pecan pie. To say it was a hit would be an understatement. It may have just been a pie, but to this guy it was evidence that I understood what it was like to be away from the ones you loved, I knew that the traditions of our childhood were powerful things, and, most of all, I cared.

What about you? If you close your eyes and recall the tastes of your childhood, the memories of your holidays growing up, what comes to mind? In my family it’s pork. In fact, my son-in-law, who currently plays for the Atlanta Braves, once told a reporter that what he was most looking forward to over the holidays was my slow-roasted pork. We sit around the table, push up our sleeves and dive into that tender meat stopping only long enough to grab some greasy pork rinds. It may not be everyone’s idea of Thanksgiving, but it’s ours.

Over the years, I’ve tweaked that pecan pie recipe -- added a bit of this and a touch of that -- and I hand it out over the holiday season. I’m no longer dating that man, but his pie still lives on. I hope that everyone who eats it tastes more than just a yummy dessert. I hope, like him, they taste the love.

Texas Pecan Pie

• 1 9" unbaked pie shell
• 1/2 cup granulated sugar
• 1/2 cup dark brown sugar
• 1/2 light corn syrup
• 1/4 cup melted butter (=1/2 a stick, I use salted)
• 3 well beaten eggs
• 1 1/2 cups pecans
• 1 tsp. vanilla

Mix sugar, corn syrup, and melted butter. Add beaten eggs, vanilla, and pecans.  Fill pie shell.  Bake at 325 for 30-45min.  I move/wiggle the pie while inthe oven before taking it out, if the center moves, it is not done.  Check every 5 mins.  If the crust is cooking too fast, cover border with foil.  Cool thoroughly before slicing.

Other variations:

Substitute with Macadamia nuts
Add handful of chocolate chip morsels


Enjoy!!