Note to Self: Next Year Make the Stuffing

There is something about airports and airplanes that inevitably makes me emotional. The last several farewells have left me sniffling through the security line at various airports. And, on the plane? Well, I no longer allow myself to do things like write reminiscences or trip logs in my journal or read sad books. And, after an embarrassing episode of non-stop tear-streaming while watching Juno on a plane to Asia several years ago, I always switch off the in-seat TV. For most flights, I now equip myself with an upbeat iPod mix and a Lucky magazine. And if I'm not traveling for business, I always order a cocktail.

Of course, the holidays make everything a little more emotional. I thought I had expelled all the holiday sadness from my system during my night of tree decorating. Go ahead, picture the scene... a 400 square-foot studio apartment, one six-foot fir tree, loads of sentimental ornaments, hooks and pine needles everywhere, a tangled mess of string pearls, White Christmas "radio" on Pandora, a bottle of wine, and a box of tissues.

I purged it from my system and went on to have a lovely Christmas in Illinois with the fam. But, then, at my O'Hare departure, my dad said, "Think about your mom. I've been thinking about her a lot, especially over the holidays."

I walked into the terminal blinking fiercely, and thought, "Darn it. I should have made mom's stuffing..." We dressed the table with one of the many holiday cloths she had collected and used her china--from gravy pitcher to antique serving bowl--but not one dish was "hers." And in that moment in the airport terminal, I was very sad.

My sadness was soon usurped by irritation at the security line, then at a travel delay. My irritation was abated when the flight attendant gave me two mini bottles for my gin and soda, and never came back for my credit card. Yes, that lightened my mood quite a bit. By the time I was in a car flying down the BQE toward home, I was chuckling at the memory of my dad's bichon passed out next to an errant tea cup from the play set I had given my toddler niece.

The bichon and the tea cup

Our Christmas eve was filled with delicious (if not traditional) food; the relentless, yet positive, energy of children; and yes, a little booze--though of course not for the children or the dogs (despite the implications of the photographic evidence).

We had a wonderful holiday--gastronomic and otherwise. I nearly nailed the sage, squash, and cornbread casserole I've been working on for awhile and discovered a fantastic, crowd-pleasing recipe for scalloped potatoes with mushrooms and shallots from Mollie Katzen (in her book Vegetable Heaven). Brother K roasted a delicious medley of simply roasted vegetables, my dad took charge of the turkey breast and pork roast, and my sister-in-law CB baked tasty pies of apple and pumpkin.

So, instead of continuing to be sad on the way home, I made a note to self: next year continue to perfect the sage casserole, but make mom's stuffing too, because it's a nice way to remember how much she loved the holidays... oh, and definitely set aside time to bake the potica.

Whatever holiday you celebrated (or didn't celebrate), I hope you find some light and love during this dark winter time. And, as you toast the coming of the New Year, may you forgive the things you've done (or failed to do) and think instead, on all the bright, new, shiny moments to come in 2013.

Cheers, my friends. I will see you next year!

Mom at Christmas circa 1979