Laura's Christmas cookies
Cheryl Unruh
Originally published 02:18 p.m., December 18, 2007
Updated 02:18 p.m., December 18, 2007
In previous Novembers, a box from Texas always arrived at the home of Will and Laura Stibal.
The box, sent by daughter Judy, contained a variety of nuts for Laura to use in the annual baking-of-the-Christmas-cookies.
Laura measured and stirred pecan and walnut pieces into the countless batches of cookies that she made every December.
This year is different. And sad. The Stibals are missing their shining star; Laura passed away on September 30. She was 87.
Laura was my friend, and on visits to the Stibal home in Decembers past, I spent time with her in the kitchen. I’d help by pulling hot cookies from the oven and scooting them onto cooling racks.
She’d insist I sample each kind. (Not that I minded, mind you.)
“Have you tried one of these Russian tea cakes yet?” she’d ask.
So then I’d have my fifth cookie of the afternoon.
As a cookie connoisseur, I can say with complete confidence that Laura was one of the finest bakers of homemade goodness on the planet.
Laura spent the last couple years of her life in a wheelchair. Weakened by Parkinson’s disease, she had trouble standing. The illness slowed her down, but it didn’t stop her from baking.
It was difficult for her to maneuver the wheelchair. Just for her to get an egg from the refrigerator may have taken five minutes. But Laura had the kind of patience that you’d expect from a mother of nine.
Occasionally, she’d express frustration that her body wouldn’t cooperate, but I never heard any bitterness. Laura was a woman of faith, a woman of quiet strength.
Last year, I helped her make a batch of peanut brittle, my first attempt at candy-making.
Laura sat nearby and guided me. I stirred, watched the thermometer, and added the peanuts, vanilla and baking soda.
At her direction, I removed the pan from the stove. Then she and Will and I, armed with greased spoons, hurriedly spread out the liquid mixture on cookie sheets until the candy hardened and we could spread no more.
Laura often talked about her Minnesota childhood as she dropped spoonfuls of sticky dough onto cookie sheets.
These were just everyday stories she told — about going ice fishing with her dad, or that she was a pretty good basketball player.
I heard about one time when she and her father walked from their home on the outskirts of town into St. Cloud so he could buy her a new blouse.
She mentioned the days in the 1940s when Will was off to war.
And her eyes always sparkled as she talked about her kids when they were young. “I loved those babies,” she said.
Many of Laura’s favorite cookie recipes were included in a family cookbook compiled several years ago by granddaughter Kelly.
But I’d often find Laura thumbing through a half-dozen other cookbooks, searching for that one elusive cookie recipe she wanted to make.
When company stopped in, they were offered chocolate crinkles, ginger creams, peanut butter, or sour cream cookies.
There were always peppernuts, mint surprises and the easy and festive no-bake green wreaths.
Green wreaths — Melt the following over hot water: 40 marshmallows, 1 stick margarine, lots of green food coloring. Pour mixture over 8 cups of Cornflakes. Form into small wreaths and decorate with Red Hots.
In those last years, age and disease didn’t stop Laura from stirring together sugar and flour and eggs. The cookies were a tangible expression of love.
Those days in the Stibal kitchen are now treasured memories. Her cookies were the best, but it’s Laura that I miss — her stories, her bright spirit, her kind heart.
“Flyover People” is online at www.flyoverpeople.net.
• Cheryl Unruh can be reached at cheryl@flyoverpeople.net.
steakbuffet (anonymous) says...
A touching tribute to a loyal friend.
December 18, 2007 at 4:13 p.m. ( permalink | suggest removal )