Dear Grandma, I still love cornbread
My grandma and me.
Margaritas to celebrate my college graduation.
… and a New Year’s Eve vibe.
She and I were tipsy off of Moscoto that night. It was a simpler time.
The holidays.. oh what fun!
Sort of.
When I was growing up, this corridor of time was fun. School breaks, the SalSoul Orchestra’s holiday album on vinyl playing on the record player, gifts, relatives visiting and going to visit relatives, and gifts to eagerly anticipate. As I got older, the magic of the holidays didn’t exactly fade, but it evolved. Suddenly there were social obligations, gift exchanges at work, and looking for the perfect present for my then boyfriend. By the time I was single again in 2017, my excitement for the holidays turned into dread. I became that friend who got invited to the family gatherings of their friends. I didn’t initially mind being that friend, but one year at a friend’s home, one of their extended family members was in the kitchen and probably thought I was out of earshot when they asked my friend, “why isn’t she with her family? Doesn’t she have any family?”
I felt like I was punched in the stomach.
This stranger likely didn’t mean anything too terrible by their questions, and if they knew I heard them they probably would be mortified, but it made me immediately uncomfortable and while I stayed for dinner (because let’s not be ridiculous), it was the last time I would allow myself to be that friend. Since then, I’ve either stayed home and ordered takeout, or taken myself out for a solo dinner at my favorite restaurant, Blend on the Water. And this year was likely going to be much of the same, but that all changed when a friend invited me over for Thanksgiving dinner. She was planning to make dinner for herself with all the fixings and reached out to see what my plans were. She confirmed that it would just be us and I happily accepted the invite!
As my friend excitedly ran through her menu ideas she asked me if there was anything in particular that I would like to eat. I requested cornbread. My friend’s cornbread is awesome (I’ve had it twice), but when thinking about having the closest thing to a traditional Thanksgiving than I’ve had in years, I couldn’t think of a dish more closely tied to the happy memories I had with my grandmother during the holidays.
As a kid, making the cornbread and slicing the cranberry sauce (because canned jellied cranberry sauce with the rings on it so you know where to slice is the best, fight me) was my responsibility. My grandmother would always sing this silly song to me about me loving cornbread..
“Cornbread, cornbread do you love me? Yes Melissa, I love thee”. I’d laugh and roll my eyes, but we’d mostly laugh.
In the grand scheme of culinary delights, there’s nothing special about the cornbread I would make. It was a Jiffy box mix, pretty straightforward. But making it in the kitchen with my grandmother nearby was always something I looked forward to. I miss a lot of things about my grandmother. She was strong, stubborn, funny, God - fearing, strict at times, but it almost always was grounded in love (even when it didn’t feel or sound like it). It’s things like this silly cornbread song that have stayed with me, even as her absence on this earth looms large during the holidays.
I didn’t get the chance to say goodbye to her, or to attend her memorial service. While she passed 4 years ago, this lack of closure is something so many people have had to face, this year in particular, because the pandemic didn’t allow for relatives to be nearby in those final moments, or even to gather for funerals in the same fashion. Somehow though, I think our loved ones know our hearts. I see my grandparents often in my dreams, and most of the time, I wake up smiling.
I know somewhere, somehow, my grandmother knows I’m writing this...so old lady, if you’re reading this, I miss you, and I still love cornbread. - MB
