Whatever the occasion that is celebrated, often, there are favoured traditions observed through the years.
Making gingerbread cookies was just such a custom for our family. I can recall my grandmother making these delicious cookies in a very plain and simple style.
Later, my mother would take out the baking board, set it on the kitchen table and proceed to mix together the magic of flour, molasses, cinnamon and, most of all, ginger to make some scrumptious cookies. Again, they were tasty but unadorned, characteristics that mattered little to me and my seven siblings. Knowing our preference for these treats, my mother often froze batches of gingerbread cookies, only to be wryly disappointed when she discovered some half-empty containers in the freezer!
When it came to be my turn to bake gingerbread treats, I bought a few cookie cutters for my children to use. Sometimes we used icing or sparkles to decorate the cookies. Overall, this became an annual tradition to which we looked forward on a snowy December afternoon.
Today as some snowflakes were falling, I was reminded of those cookie making times.
Making gingerbread houses was another favoured tradition. Have to admit that I did buy a boxful of supplies for designing these architectural wonders. My daughter and son had fun constructing their individual houses and decorating them with Smarties, hard candies, icing and greenery. Their handiwork was on display for at least a couple of weeks. Sometimes, the decorations seemed to disappear as the days went by, possibly eaten by little elves.
A recent gingerbread design, seen here in black and white photo, has inspired a poem from me, in response to a prompt at IGWRT.