Dear Church Family,

Tonight is our annual church Thanksgiving dinner. I signed up to make my Mom’s Fresh Apple Cake. At the time I signed up for what to bring, I was selfishly thinking “What is easy?” or not as selfishly “If I end up not being able to do it myself today, what will be easy for the girls?” Is it also selfish of me to want to cut a piece out of it before I send it to church with my family? Because I might do it.

What I didn’t know when I was a teen and in my 20’s was to appreciate that Fresh Apple Cake would become my Mom’s signature dish for all things potluck, all family gatherings, all trips. It’s a totally made from scratch, nothing from a can or box cake.  I get it now, Mom. Thank you for the legacy thought! It’s a true family age old recipe! I’m learning these are the best for passing on.


What I didn’t know as I made my Mom’s Fresh Apple Cake is that seeing my now 30+ year old recipe card, now stained with oil drops and sandy with flour, sugar, and cinnamon is that it would move me to tears. I didn’t know the memories that would flood. Even though my daughter agreed to get her copy out of her recipe book, I wanted to use the recipe card I’d copied back in the day from the card in my Mom’s recipe box. Thank you, Mom, for teaching me to value small things like personal touch and seeing the person in the memory, in a recipe card. We don’t get that in the digital age and on Pinterest! Thank you for teaching me shorthand because your Mom knew it and used it, and for what I’d need to know when I got to college and my nursing degree. There’s shared history and value in the actual writing. I remember Grammie S. in all of this too. This was originally her recipe. Thank you for sharing that history with me.

I didn’t know that as I diced apples into the mixing bowl, I’d be dicing a piece of my heart into that bowl. I didn’t know I’d hear her voice from 836 miles away with advice: “I always just put one more apple than what the recipe calls for for good measure.” as she put a slice of apple into her mouth and said “Yum. Good.” (I didn’t do this, so be at ease, Church family. This is a post Covid-19 era, and I wouldn’t eat while I baked the cake.)  Her advice was to always use Macintosh apples, too, for what it is worth to you. It means something to me. I get it now, Mom. I really was listening when I rolled my eyes at your seemingly frugal and archaic ways. I was a disrespectful 20-something know it all. I’m sorry for that. It’s a deep regret. I *really* do get it now. Thank you for making these memories for me, and for teaching me Joy in Simplicity.

What I didn’t know as I made my Mom’s Fresh Apple Cake is that I’d cry the tears bottled up for all the ways I have guilt for not appreciating my parents over the years, or words I’ve spoken that have hurt them, or words that seemed to judge them for the baggage they carry from hard experiences in their own lives. I get it now, Mom, and I’ve had to go through some hard stuff all on my own to get here. Words and the tongue are double edged swords, and the way they are phrased or spoken can unintentionally harm, but they can also build up. Maybe the way I heard them weren’t the way you meant them and I misunderstood. Thank you for teaching me Grace the best way you knew how.

I didn’t know that I’d be wondering as I diced the apples without any new shiny latest and greatest Pampered Chef tool, just my hands and my good old fashioned 1990’s wedding gift knife “Is someone helping Mom bake Dad an apple cake for breakfast? Does he bake it now? He doesn’t ever follow a recipe.” I didn’t know I’d be wondering if I should bake my Dad a cake the next time I travel to see them, or if Fresh Apple Cake is USPS friendly. Thank you, Mom, for teaching me the gift of consideration for others. I get it and all the time I get it even more.

My Mom told stories of packing my Dad’s favorite chocolate chip cookies into a coffee can and mailing them overseas for a taste of love and home when he was shipped out to sea with the Navy. I get it now, Mom. Would you like me to send Dad cookies for Christmas with your name on them? I remember that he likes them crunchy, even though I don’t. I’ll do it for you, Mom, if you want me to. Your Memories may be fading, but we can carry them on for you. LEGACY, Mom.)

My Mom is still very much alive, just not able to make cookies and Fresh Apple Cake. She has some demons she now wrestles, and right with her, I and my brothers and my Dad and our children all wrestle demons of our own for her.

Thank you, Mom, for teaching me about persistence and overcoming, doing our best, laughing at bad situations, making the best of hard things, and working hard. We might not have been financially rich growing up, but you made us appreciate the better things in life. I didn’t appreciate those lessons when I was younger. I do now. I’ve tried to pass these traits on to my children too, for you, for better or worse, and whether I did it well or not.

Just like you, Mom.

I’m more like you than I ever appreciated and realized. I’m thankful for that.

Thank you, Mom. It took more than 30 years, but I get it now. I love you now, and I always have.

Church family, enjoy my Mom’s legendary apple cake at Church Thanksgiving dinner tonight. There really may be a piece missing when I send it, but know that I replaced it with a really big piece of my heart.

I’m off to make a not so legendary Green Bean Casserole for the church family for tonight, too. I got it off the interwebs and the Google. <insert a 20 something’s eye roll here> There may be a piece out of that as well, because a girl’s gotta eat you know.

But no worries, I am not a canned cream of mushroom soup kind of girl, either, and I know some don’t like mushrooms. So at least it’s void of ‘shrooms and made from scratch. Well, except the canned green beans I used this time. I usually don’t use those. I was looking for easy–again. It does have flour in it if my gluten free family need to know. Signing off as the Whole Foods kind of girl. See Mom? I can attempt goofy humor in spite of a broken heart just like you do! Thank you for the gift of humor in the middle of some really garbage-y times.

With Love & A Broken Heart,

Blessings,

Deb