Teachers\u2019 days are jam-packed, and in December my schedule got even crazier than usual because I\u2019m a music teacher. There were extra practices and lessons to gear up for our middle school\u2019s holiday concerts, plus rehearsals and performances with the handbell choir at church.<\/p>\n
Everything I did at home that month was all about efficiency. One Sunday evening I was thumbing through my old recipe box for a dish that would feed my husband, Gary, and our three kids for a few nights when I came across an index card, yellowed and stained, ingredients typed on a typewriter with a familiar dark ribbon. Mom\u2019s clutter recipe!<\/p>\n
I pulled out the card, my original purpose forgotten. My mind drifted back to my childhood. I could see Mom at her oven with Grandma, baking a batch of their signature holiday snack. Clutter was a party mix they made only at Christmastime, and it had something for everyone\u2014sweet cereal, salty pretzels, crunchy nuts, tangy spices.<\/p>\n
It was more than the world\u2019s tastiest party mix. Clutter meant family. Grandma lived in Idaho, far from our Kansas City home, and we only saw her once a year. She\u2019d fly in right after Thanksgiving and stay until New Year\u2019s. Every afternoon I\u2019d race home off the school bus to see what she\u2019d been up to. The house was filled with heavenly just-baked smells. Chocolate chip cookies, orange rolls, yeast bread\u2026and, of course, clutter.<\/p>\n
Grandma made huge batches using our big enamel roasting pan. She basted the mix every 15 minutes for four hours until it was just the right shade of golden brown. Mom and I helped. I loved gabbing and laughing with them as much as I loved devouring the clutter with my friends. My teachers got bags of it for Christmas. The five of us\u2014Grandma, Mom, Dad, my brother and I\u2014would sit around the kitchen table playing Rack-O, Scrabble and Rook and munching on clutter. It was a tradition.<\/p>\n
A tradition that had died with my mother and grandmother. Mom died young, of breast cancer, when I was a newlywed. Grandma passed away a few years after that. Work brought Gary and me to Cincinnati, 600 miles away from my remaining relatives and childhood friends, anyone who might have shared my memories of clutter.<\/p>\n
What holiday memories have I given my kids?<\/em> I wondered.<\/p>\n Just then Gary wandered into the kitchen. \u201cWhat do you have there?\u201d he asked, glancing at the worn card. \u201cAn old Christmas recipe of Mom\u2019s,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n \u201cYou still miss her, don\u2019t you,\u201d Gary said gently.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n I nodded. \u201cI was remembering the traditions I grew up with,\u201d I said. \u201cDo you think our kids\u2019 main Christmas memory is of the mom who wasn\u2019t there because she had another gig?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cOf course not,\u201d Gary said. \u201cBesides, they know concerts are part of your job.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI want them to have something they can pass along to their children,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n I brought Mom\u2019s recipe to the grocery store the next weekend, more as a guide than for exact measurements. Who knew what \u201chalf a small box of Kix\u201d amounted to these days? I could see the boxes of cereal lined up on her kitchen counter but I couldn\u2019t picture how much went into the mix. I filled my cart with the ingredients Mom had typed out.<\/p>\n Back home, I lined up all the boxes on my kitchen counter and got out my biggest roasting pan. I called to my 11-year-old daughter, Lauren, \u201cWant to help me make something we had for Christmas when I was your age?\u201d<\/p>\n We experimented. Our hands got sticky with melted butter. Spices stained our aprons. We stuck a batch in the oven, and each time we opened it to baste the clutter, the kitchen grew toastier.<\/p>\n I told Lauren our family history of clutter, and we gabbed and laughed just as I had with Mom and Grandma. Four hours went by like it was nothing. Finally we pulled the pan from the oven. The clutter was the right golden brown.<\/p>\n \u201cNow for the moment of truth,\u201d<\/p>\n Lauren said, grinning. We each scooped up a handful and had a taste. \u201cIs it as good as you remember?\u201d she asked.<\/p>\n \u201cBetter,\u201d I said. \u201cBecause I got to share it with you.\u201d<\/p>\n That was the just first batch we made that year (the kids didn\u2019t mind \u201cbabysitting\u201d a batch if I had to dash to a gig). Everyone got clutter for Christmas: the kids\u2019 teachers, my coworkers, my handbell choir at church. And our family got a renewed tradition we\u2019ve been known for ever since.<\/p>\n