Stollen Time

Christmas traditions are spare in my family, the most persistent tradition being that we didn’t celebrate it at all for many years. But recently, various traditions from past years have been reborn. Driving through the neighborhood on Christmas Eve to look at all the lights. A decorative plate piled high with chilled fudge and placed on the sideboard. I would love to follow the Icelandic tradition and spend the entire night before Christmas curled up before the fireplace with a good book, but I have yet to stay awake long enough to make it a reality.

This year is different though. This year has taught us to appreciate the time we have with the ones we love, and to honor the memories of those who are gone. This Christmas, I am blessed to be with my mom and my aunt, and we are forging our own traditions alongside one of my grandmother’s – Stollen bread. My grandfather’s family hails from Germany many, many years ago and this is the only tradition I’m aware of to have survived the generations.

Flour, sugar, salt and butter:

Mix and beat and fold together.

The sun outside is warm and bright,

For dough to rise in winter’s light.

Christmas in Arizona is not the same,

But born anew, our traditions remain.

Nana’s recipe for German bread,

Passed down to us through daughter’s hand,

Brings cheer of old and joy of new -

Threads of love that hold like glue.

The fruit is mixed and set to rise,

Then Nana’s bread under watchful eyes

Slides into the oven there to bake

Until a golden brown its color takes.

The smell of dough and candied fruits

Fills up the house like hers used to.

Those many years ago from German shores,

Came folks to start this family of ours.

Today we keep traditions close,

Our hearts remember loved ones lost.

But rejoicing in those left behind,

Nana’s girls have Stollen Time.