If there was ever too much of a good thing it was my grandmother Erwin’s kitchen around Christmas time. Cookies, homemade jams and jellies, pies in the oven, and her bourbon soaked fruit cakes. Yes, there were fresh hams, homemade biscuits, vegetables of every kind, and just about every side dish one would expect at a grand southern feast. My sisters and I would visit every chance we got to get our fill of the aromas and hopefully a cookie or two.
Grandmother Erwin’s house would also fill with too much of a good thing in the family and friends who would arrive. My first cousins on my mother’s side would always come. That meant I had boy cousins around to play ball and roughhouse. Aunts and uncles would show, and even mysterious family from Water Valley, Mississippi would show at some point. The door was always open to people ringing the doorbell and saying, “Christmas gift.”
For some reason, I thought about those days during my meditation. In all the years we spent with my grandmother, I never heard her complain about all the work she did to prepare for the onslaught of family and friends. Too much of a good thing was her gift. Not a bad legacy.