#memories

“The Imperfect Christmas”

/ Anne Dennish / Leave a comment

For years, when my children were younger, I tried to create the perfect Christmas.

Matching outfits. A formal Christmas portrait every year, one that would hang on our walls and become the family Christmas card. With five children, I had quite a few people to convince to cooperate with my vision.

Then one year, I let them wear whatever they wanted.

My oldest wore a bandana and went barefoot.

And you know what? I love that picture.

When I look at it now, I remember who my children were then. Their personalities, their likes and dislikes, their own little ideas about how they wanted to look. I’m glad I let those things have a place in our Christmas picture.

It took me a few years to appreciate that.

There was the Christmas when everyone had the stomach virus, and the year my little daughter spotted her dollhouse from the stairs, yelled “Christmas!” and promptly fell down the last few steps. There were pictures on Santa’s lap with someone crying when I’d been hoping for smiles and giggles.

I certainly wasn’t wishing for stomach viruses or tumbles, but all these years later, those moments are part of the Christmas stories I still tell. I can picture the excitement, hear the voices, and remember what it felt like to have all five children little and home.

I spent so much time trying to get everything just right. Now, I’m grateful for the pictures that caught things as they were, even the tears and occasional bare feet in our pictures.

My children are grown, and I can’t gather those younger versions of them around the tree again, but I have those photographs and those stories, and every December, they bring a little of that wonderful commotion back to me.

If you’re trying to get everyone dressed, smiling, and looking in the same direction this Christmas, take the picture anyway.

Someday, you will love every imperfect bit of it.

Wishing you love and light,

~Anne Dennish~

“A Scrapbook Christmas Tree”

/ Anne Dennish / Leave a comment

Yesterday, I decorated my Christmas tree and as I took out each ornament, I realized I was unpacking nearly 38 years of memories.

My five children are grown now, with homes of their own and traditions they’re creating, but on my Christmas tree, little pieces of their childhood still find their place every year. There are ornaments from each of their first Christmases—ones I bought, ones their grandmothers and their aunt chose, and others given by family who loved them. Some are nearly 38 years old now. I pick one up, and there’s a story. Then another, and there’s a whole different memory.

I suppose my tree is a scrapbook on branches. Every year, I get to turn the pages.

And at the very top is a construction paper star with my third child’s kindergarten picture on it. It’s about 27 years old now, and it still graces the top of my tree every Christmas. I’ve never found a tree topper I’d rather have.

As I hung everything yesterday, I wondered which ornaments my children will treasure years from now. Which ones will they carefully unwrap and smile at? What little handmade decoration will earn a permanent place on their tree?

That’s one of the lovely things about traditions. We carry some with us, change a few, and make room for new ones as our lives grow.

My children are making Christmas their own now, and I love that. Meanwhile, here in my home, I’m finding just the right branch for another memory.

And that construction paper star? It’s right where it belongs.

Wishing you love and light,

~Anne Dennish~

“November 1st”

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Yesterday was November 1, and yes, I put my Christmas tree up. There isn’t a single decoration on it yet, but just seeing it there makes me happy. The ornaments will come, along with the memories tucked inside the boxes. For now, I’m enjoying the beginning of something I love, without feeling the need to get it all done in one day.

And putting up a Christmas tree doesn’t mean I’m rushing past the season of gratitude. There’s room for both. I’m thankful for a home I can make cozy, for the people I love, and for the little things that give me something to look forward to. Some days, gratitude comes easily. Other days, we have to look a little harder. Yesterday, I found mine in an undecorated Christmas tree and the thought of all the mornings I’ll spend enjoying it.

Wishing you love and light,

~Anne Dennish~

“Open the Windows”

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When I lived in New Jersey, I couldn’t wait for that first spring day when I could turn off the heat and open every window. Fresh air would move through the house, and suddenly I’d be ready to dust, clean, and let winter go. I loved that feeling.

Now that I live in Florida, I wait for it in the fall. After months of air conditioning and closed windows, the first cool day makes me want to open up the house and tackle all those little cleaning jobs I’ve been putting off. It’s funny how moving south turned my spring cleaning into fall cleaning.

The season has changed, but the feeling hasn’t. There’s something wonderful about fresh air coming through the windows and a house that feels ready for a new beginning.

Embrace that feeling of opening the windows wide and letting the sweet smell of the fresh air of a new season in! 

Wishing you love and light,

~Anne Dennish~

“Can You Taste the Love?”

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For as long as I can remember, food has been more than something we put on the table. It has been a way of bringing people together, sharing stories, and holding on to the people we love. 

Some of my favorite memories of motherhood happened in the kitchen, cooking meals for my children, gathering everyone around the table, and creating traditions that had little to do with the food itself and everything to do with the time spent together. 

When my children were little, I used to ask them a question every time I baked cookies, packed lunches, or put dinner on the table.

“Can you taste the love?”

Of course they would giggle. They were little and thought Mommy was being silly, but I would tell them the same thing every time:“I put a lot of love in that.”

Years later, they started saying it back to me and sometimes after taking a bite of dinner one of them would smile and say, “Mom, you put extra love in this today.”

Over the years, I came to realize that recipes are really family stories written on index cards, scraps of paper, and in worn cookbooks. My grandmother’s beef, barley, and vegetable soup still reminds me of home and simpler days. In Rob’s family, Sunday gravy was passed down through generations, a tradition built on San Marzano tomatoes, garlic, basil, patience, and love. 

Food has a way of connecting generations. A recipe can outlive the person who created it. A family meal can become a treasured memory decades later. Every time I make one of those handed-down dishes, I feel connected to the people who came before me and grateful for the people who gather around my table today. 

For me, food isn’t really about cooking at all. It’s about love, memories, tradition, and time. And sometimes, the greatest ingredient in any recipe is simply the act of sharing it with someone you care about.  

I have one question for you: “Can you taste the love?”

Wishing you love and light,

~Anne Dennish~

“Dreams, Magic and Adulting”

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“Magic.” I love that word. 

“Dream.” I love this word, too.

“Adult.” I’m starting to believe that this is the word that makes us forget that the above two words are still possible.

I love being called a “dreamer” even though some of the people that call me that don’t necessarily mean it as a compliment, but more as someone with no grasp on reality. That’s so not true. It means that I still believe that all things are possible.

And “magic?” I believe in it. I have seen it on the faces of two people in love, and heard it in the laughter of a child. I have tasted food that reminds me of my childhood and  smelled the familiar scent of a loved one that’s passed on. Those things are magical!

And” adult?” This is a term used to depict our age but I believe that we’re as young as we feel. All too often the labels we’re given dictate who we are, what we do or even what we believe in. 

I believe that growing old is a gift and believing in dreams and magic is a blessing. 

I am a person who is grateful to be growing older as a dreamer who still believes in magic. 

Do you?

Wishing you love and light,

~Anne Dennish~

“Finding A Memory”

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Did you ever go looking for something and find something else instead? I did just that the other day and what wonderful memories it brought back. 

I went looking for a particular item in my closet and opened a random box. Inside were quite a few mementos and then, there she was, my pink Ipod! I knew that I had kept it but haven’t seen it in a million years!

I ordered a charger, plugged it in, and guess what? It worked and there, right in front of me, were all of the songs that I listened to back in 2002 or 2003! She definitely showed signs of wear and tear from all the times I used her but still, it was amazing how many memories came flooding back.

I remembered the day I got it. It was on April 27, 2002 or 2003, one of my kids’ birthdays. My then husband gave it to me with a beautiful inscription on the back. Suddenly, I was back in time. 

I remembered having it with me as I walked the Spring Lake, New Jersey boardwalk at 5:30 in the morning every day. I remember it being strapped to my left arm as I worked out at the gym. I remembered listening to it as I cooked breakfast for my five beautiful children and I remembered how much joy it brought me. 

Today as I scroll through my playlists I can remember what each one meant to me and the times I played them. I can vividly see those days, hear the sounds and smell the scents. 

I can smell the ocean as I walk on the boardwalk to the sounds of Matchbox Twenty. I can remember sitting on the beach with my coffee afterwards listening to Anita Baker and I can remember working on the weight machines at my gym listening to the music of Nirvana. 

So many memories and a delightful visit to my past. I know that there were troubles beginning during that time but this tiny little electronic device washed them away for me. 

And it washed away the memories of those times now.

You never know what you’ll find when you’re looking for something else. 

 I found an old friend that reminded me of a happy and simpler time in my life.

And for that, I’m grateful.

Wishing you love and light,


~Anne Dennish~