Through the years we all we be together, if the fates allow

I had no idea at first what my blog topic would be tonight. After writing a poem about dog poo, where does one go?

And then my darling Elizabeth texted me this:

Do you have Nan's recipe for anisette cookies?

After informing her that her Aunt Jo-Ann has it (I'm pretty sure) and sat and thought. Then I thought some more. I was, to be honest, lost in thought, in memories, in my own heart. I felt full and empty simultaneously. I miss my grandmother.

And although I feel quite certain that all my blog readers know about the anisette cookies, I am going to repeat this glorious tale.

I think it was Christmas of 1976. I would have been four and Elizabeth would have been eight. She and I were in my Nanny's kitchen creating the dough for her anisette cookies. She measured and added the ingredients one by one. And when it came to the anisette (Nan's favorite drink, by the way) she poured about a shot from the bottle into the dough stating, "A little for the cookies." Then took a swig herself and continued, "And a little for Nanny."

It is fraction of a fragment of a moment in my and Liz's lives, but we cherish it. And, we teased her about it for the next 32 years! It is a family legend of sorts.

The day before we buried Nanny I stopped at a liquor store and bought a bottle of anisette. I took it with me to share a shot with Liz after the funeral.

Me, Liz, Christopher, Jessica, Drew and Uncle Fran (I think I got everyone!) all prepared to do a shot.

My mom began, "A little for the cookies -"

And the rest of us finished, "And a little for Nanny!"

A fitting toast if you knew and loved her. And we did.

(Dio ti benedica, Nanny. Ti amo.)

My title is from Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas.