Nanny Reed's Tea Cakes

                I have been blessed with four fabulous grandparents.  My Nanny Turner, my maternal grandmother, sat Indian style on the floor and played War with me all the time when I was little, and hosted family gatherings every holiday.  I can remember sitting in her backyard husking corn, or hulling beans and laughing the afternoon away with my aunts, grandmother, and mom. We had conversations about what I wanted to be when I grew up, and how she had wanted to be a singer (just like me).

                My Pawpaw Turner drove me to Krispy Kreme for late evening snacks and to watch the donuts being made.  Funny how much I miss those donuts now that I am older.  He took me to get my driver’s license, and would just about maim you if you tickled him.  He could wiggle his ears and make a quack that sounded just like Donald Duck.  I learned how to wiggle my ears from him, or maybe it is a Turner family trait, because now my oldest prides herself on that ability.

                My Pawpaw Reed honked at the air, which never failed to make me howl with glee. He wore bolo ties and cowboy boots and loved my Nanny Reed unfailingly. He taught me about hornet’s nests, and made leg traps for me as I walked by.  We drank Coca-Colas on the front porch and talked while we swung on the swing.

                My Nanny Reed listened as I lamented my first crush, read me stories about trains, and made me cookies.  The cookies formed much of our relationship as I grew into my teens.  I tended to be a moody teen, and honestly, from what I am told, was just not very pleasant to be around.  Nanny was sick for several of her last years on earth, though I did not realize just how sick until it was too late. But, even through her sickness, she made those cookies.  Tea cakes, with homemade jam or jelly sandwiched in between two thin tea cake wafers.  Every single time I saw her, no matter how sick she had been, she had a tin full of cookies for me. I don’t think she made them for others, or at least I like to think they were special just for me. I can remember, I would hold those cookies in my room - the tin kept them air tight – and eat one cookie a day, until they were gone. (Clearly I had more self control in my youth.)  I loved those cookies.  They were delicious, but more than that, they were from her to me – a special link between Nanny and granddaughter.

                I said that she always made them, no matter how sick she was, but there was once, when she did not have a tin waiting for me.  The last time I saw her.   I had driven down from college to visit her in the hospital.  She had been in the hospital many times; I was not worried.  I was young enough, that I assumed being in the hospital simply meant that you didn’t feel well, nothing more. And so, I had sat in the room with Nanny, assuming that this was just like the other times, and that there would be many more times to talk, and certainly many more cookies. 

                And we did talk, that day in the hospital.  We talked of family history, and that day I learned more than I had ever known about my aunt, and uncle, and my ancestors. Nanny admitted to me that she had struggled to know what to say to me, during my teen years (I was a worldly 22 by then), and I wondered if she had made the cookies to fill the silence, to find a way to connect with a teenager who no longer needed or wanted to sit on the porch and drink Coca Colas.  It was a good day.  I left feeling good, and not at all concerned that it might be the last day.

                But, it was. Just a short time later, my father called to tell me she was gone.  She had died in the same hospital that we shared our last conversation in.  I was heartbroken.  It was the first time I had dealt with death so close to me before. I had seen the deaths of friends, but not in my family. I went to the funeral, and I can remember wanting to shout at the pastor as he mispronounced her name, her beautiful name, Marion Christine, McConnell Reed. 

                So it shook me, down to my core.  When I prayed to God, I asked him to tell Nanny I loved her and I missed her, and to fill her in on what was going on in my life. I tried not to have to go to Nanny and Pawpaw’s house, because it just was not the same without her there.

                But life goes on, and I was in the midst of planning my wedding and graduating from college, so I had plenty to consume my thoughts.  It was several months before I thought about the recipe for my cookies.  I asked my stepmother if she had it, certain she would.  But she did not.  She had thought she had the recipe, but having followed it, she realized it was wrong, not Nanny’s recipe at all. I think when that happened, when there was no chance of getting Nanny’s cookie ever again, Nanny died again, for me, more completely this time.  

                This past December was 16 years since Nanny passed away, and still, not having that recipe remained one of my life’s chief regrets. So I took my sadness to Facebook and posted a tribute to my Nanny ending with a lament about missing her delicious cookies.  Remarkably, my Aunt posted back, telling me she did not have the recipe but that she knew that Nanny had gotten it from an Auburn cookbook written in the 50s.  Since I was not sure how to come across this cookbook, I thought the chances of finding the recipe were still pretty slim.  I filed it away as something that I would keep my eyes open for, but to not hope for.

                A few weeks passed, and I opened my email one day at school. My daddy had sent an email with the title “Recipes.” I assumed that it was some recipes that my stepmom, Pat, and I had discussed sharing, and I did not open the email immediately.  It was not till later in the day, that I took the time to look.  The first recipe was from Pat, and I scrolled past it to see which other one she had sent.  Tears sprang to my eyes immediately, as I saw the name of the second recipe, “Nanny Reed’s Tea Cake Cookies.”  I read through the recipe and realized how difficult they must have been to make when she felt so poorly.  Calling my father, he told me that my aunt had been able to locate a cookbook and sent the recipe on to him.

                I wish I could say that I had rushed home to make the cookies, but they take several hours of chilling and rolling and cutting, so I have not.  I want to have a large amount of time to devote to them, so that the first tasting is perfect.  So, after 16 years, I finally have a way to connect to my Nanny Reed again, by tasting her tea cakes.  I cannot wait to share them with my daughters and pass on those memories to them.