Christmas Morning
(by Brana Dane)
Some things never change. I’m a vegan now, but still, food holds such a tremendous power to transport you to a different time and place. I can’t remember the first time my mother made Finnish pancakes—the custard-y, egg-y goodness that goes hand in hand with my childhood. I must have been a toddler when she copied down that recipe from the women’s magazine she found while patiently waiting on queue at the grocery store.
Despite my young years, certain images and thoughts remain from this formative time. I remember lying in my young mother’s arms and reaching up, absolutely absorbed and enthralled by a small protruding mole on my mother’s neck. Apparently, she had this removed before I turned one year old; it’s hard to say though, because my mother’s memory historically exaggerates with passing years. She still insists that my great-grandpa Olin played the banjo on the radio after he