It was during the Depression and there weren't many treats to share with the little ones. But, Christmas wouldn't be Christmas without tea cakes.
She lifted the heavy green bowl out of the cupboard. Measured out the flour, dropped a clump of butter right into the middle of it and, not having a pastry cutter, she started to roll portions of flour and butter together with her hands until the entire amount was fine as meal.
Then she added the other ingredients, eggs, vanilla. etc.
She sprinkled some flour on the countertop, placed her dough in the center and rolled it all out. Her cutter was a drinking glass.
While the cookies baked in the oven, she took out a pan, poured her ingredients into it and stirred it on the stovetop until she had a fudge like icing. This was what made the tea cakes so special.
Once the cookies were cooled, she smeared a dab between two baked cookies. Soon a platter was stacked high with tea cake sandwiches.
A small face appeared around the door frame, the scent of goodness filling her nostrils. She slowly approached the table and with a nod from her mother took a cookie from the platter and ran off to play with her paper dolls.
This story is a true one. That is how I remember my Mother at Christmas time.