Always I'm reminded by the Jewish New Year of my paternal roots and my Grandma F's honey cake. I remember sitting in her delicious-smelling kitchen, as she and my Aunt Yetta worked up a recipe for me. Along with the instructions, G'ma gave me an old jelly glass, to use for measuring ingredients. Funny how that memory is so easily conjured up in my mind's eye. Chances are that after working out the baking details, I had a wicked game of checkers with Grandpa F. He patiently amused all the Grands with his gaming skills. Again, I can envision the front stoop of the house, his favorite place to play with us.
And for my boys who have surely forgotten this little family tidbit: Both sets of my Grandparents lived in that Jamaica, NY, residence. After Italian Catholic G'pa Nicholas died, Gran Mary sold the home to Russian Jew Grandparents Isaac and Sarah. Talk about rich in tradition...
My Dad's half is here to wish y'all a coming year that is positively dripping with sweetness.
