In memory of Andra

[Posted recently to a guest book set up for my Aunt (Andra) who passed away on Memorial day at the age of 59 after months in the hospital.]

Ten years this summer my wife and I were married near her home town in Germany. This made it an impossibility for many of my family to come (Andra and Tommy included). Wedding planners had not caught on in Europe and much of the work fell onto us. Stressful as you can imagine, it allowed us to create a few traditions of our own for the ceremony.

My mother and father arrived in Germany a few days before the wedding and instead of the usual carry on luggage they stepped off the plane with three cardboard boxes. Customs must have assumed they carried crystal goblets or maybe family heirlooms or something as such. They wouldn't be far wrong. Breakable yes, but the cargo was more of the crumble kind then the crack or shatter kind.

The wedding went well and at the reception after everyone had eaten dinner my wife and I took two silver platters and walked around the room. On the plate of each guest we placed two small gifts from my wife and I as a sign of the sweetness of life we hoped to share together and we wished to share with all of them. The gift? Italian cookies which my mother had carried over to Germany after Andra had made them as a personal request for our wedding.

The standard cookie was a dome of sugary goodness slightly smaller then a table-tennis ball. Christmas in Birmingham was always fun as a child, but the cookies that Andra made were the proverbial icing on top. These buttery balls of dough covered with a pastel colored glaze of sugar are hard to describe. Think short-bread with a doughy quality but far far better.

One labor intensive variant on the cookie was the same dough that wrapped a dollop prune preserves. Andra had sent some of those to Germany also and I must admit with much guilt to hording most of these cookies from the reception. Andra knew these were my favorites and always insured a few were set aside whenever we visited Birmingham.

Andra's love could never know a better metaphor: bit size, made with all her heart, given with all her heart, plenty for everyone, and willing to travel the world in order to find their recipient.