Last Sunday we had our Memorial Day gathering, and it was a good thing we had planned to have the meal inside. Rain had been predicted, and rain we had. Although it was disappointing to be inside and even more disappointing not to have Clif’s grilled bread, we nonetheless had a cozy gathering at our little house in the big woods.

There were eight of us—Mike, Shannon, Alice, Joel, Sybil, Diane, Clif and me—-and we know each so well that finding something to talk about is never a problem. We all love movies, books, and food, and those three things alone can keep us going for hours. Throw in a handful of talk about family, a pinch of politics, as well as a dash of sports, and a whole afternoon can pass in a snap.

This gathering was a potluck, and I must say that I am blessed to have friends (and a daughter!) who are very good cooks. Alice brought a sweet potato tart; Shannon, a wheat berry, dill, pine nut and mozzarella salad; and Diane, a beet, quinoa, and feta salad. I made black bean burgers and a Southwest nacho casserole. For dessert, Sybil made an oh-so-elegant flan, rich yet smooth. And then there were Mom’s gingersnaps.

“Did she freeze some for you to thaw for your gatherings?” Sybil teased me when I called them Mom’s gingersnaps.

No, no, I admitted with a smile, they are mine, made fresh the day before. But somehow, whenever I make those gingersnaps, it feels as though they are Mom’s cookies rather than mine. Maybe it’s because she made them so often that they became her speciality. Maybe it’s because I use her hand-written recipe to make the cookies. Or maybe, as Ida LeClair might say, it’s completely “woo-woo” and I am channelling my mother. Who knows?

By the end of the day, after coffee and tea, those gingersnaps were mostly gone, and the few that were left went home in little baggies with our guests. I promised everyone a rain check, when with any luck, the weather would be better, and we could eat outside and have grilled bread. “Good!” Diane said. “I have to have that grilled bread at least once a year.”

“Mark your calendars for the Fourth of July,” I replied.

Everyone nodded. Duly noted. Our friend Jill, who lives part-time in Michigan and part-time in Maine, will also be invited for our Fourth of July gathering.

Right now, the Fourth of July seems far away. We have a whole month to go before we get there, with lots happening in June. In the meantime, there will be casual suppers, some with just Clif and me and some with a few friends, but all will be enjoyed on the patio if the weather allows.

[amd-zlrecipe-recipe:24]