In February of 2013, we lost a great man. Ken's uncle, Don Jacobs, was much loved and will be missed. He was stricken with ALS, officially diagnosed in October 2012. It is still hard to believe how quickly he slipped away. More thoughts/memories follow the recipe.
We will remember Uncle Don for many things, but one of my favorite memories was his ability to whip up a quick batch of chocolate chip cookies while we were visiting. He inspired me, early on, to memorize the same recipe he used (Toll House) and to be able to make a batch while carrying on a conversation so that guests hardly noticed what was happening until lovely, warm cookies appeared before them, just like Don did for us. Uncle Don's Chocolate Chip Cookies (adapted to be GF) 2 1/4 cups flour (I use 1 1/4 cup brown rice flour, 1/2 cup potato starch, 1/2 cup tapioca starch, and 1 tsp xantham gum in place of wheat flour) 1 tsp baking soda 1 tsp salt 3/4 cup brown sugar 3/4 cup white sugar 2 eggs 1 tsp vanilla 1 cup butter chocolate chips 1. Soften butter. Add sugars, eggs, and vanilla. Beat until well combined. 2. In a separate bowl, mix dry ingredients. Add to the previously combined ingredients. Mix well. Add chocolate chips and stir until evenly distributed. 3. Place by spoonfuls onto cookie sheets. Bake at 375 degrees for 8-10 minutes. Dear Uncle Don, I don’t understand why it has to end this way for you. I would have pictured you going in another way – you have always been so vigorous and capable and strong. I find it particularly cruel that YOU have been stricken with this disease, as I have never known you to hold still for more than 5 minutes. Now you can’t move at all. I want you to know how I will remember you, because I can’t align how you look now, your physical shell, with the man you actually are, with your soul. I will not remember you stripped of your faculties as you have been for this tiny percentage of your life, but rather as you have been for the 18 years I have known you. You were the first of Ken’s family that I ever met. Because you lived here in the Boston area, we could visit often. I met you just a few months after Ken and I had met. I think of us, showing up on the doorstep of one of your beautiful homes, the two of us dressed in thrift shop khakis and corduroys, fleece and hiking boots, Ken’s homemade hats, two college kids who had the world figured out. I remember you with your open arms and your lack of judgment. You always seemed interested in what we had to say, always encouraged us. You have always been an incredible host, a wonderful cook, a fantastic conversationalist. It was never awkward. You became part of our story. I can’t recall our early days of dating without thinking of you. You and your family embraced us like one of your own kids. You and Ken bear an uncanny resemblance to one another, and it was always definitely “family time” when we got together. You were one of the first in the family to know that Ken planned to propose to me. Never, at least to our faces, did you question that choice, even though we were young, even though we weren’t through college yet, even though we had just met. I remember support. I remember celebration. I remember you and your family at the wedding, joining in with us. We visited fairly often over the years. Sometimes we babysat your youngest daughter, other times we celebrated holidays together. Sometimes we just stopped by, just because. We were always welcome. We brought the boys to visit when they were new babies. You came up to see our first house. We spent Thanksgivings together. When we decided to move to Turkey, you expressed concern, but encouraged and supported us despite that concern. You were kind and generous in spirit, even though you didn’t always understand our choices. When we came home for summer visits, we always made time to see each other. And in the time that we’ve been back, just over a year and a half now, we have had the privilege of multiple visits. Even though our visits over the years have been in a number of homes, under a number of circumstances, this is how I see you: standing in the kitchen, cooking (and talking) up a storm, pouring me a glass of wine (you always had a bottle of white chilled when I came over), putting out yet more and more crackers and cheese, chips and salsa, veggies and dip, teasing the boys, but pampering them with special seats in your leather chairs and movies on demand, letting them eat in the living room. (Remember how Patrick ate salad at your house? And loved it? It’s the only salad he’s ever eaten gleefully like that.) I will always see you standing over a mixing bowl, making chocolate chip cookies, or preparing a pan of roasted asparagus, or getting a steak ready to throw on the grill. You, on your feet, talking, cooking, laughing, joking. That’s how I choose to remember you. Even now, I have dreams that you are talking to me, you have your legs and your voice back. You can swallow and eat again. And in my dreams, I am so happy to see that you’ve been restored. When I wake up and I know it’s not true, I remember to pray. I pray that on the other side of this nightmare, you will have peace and comfort again, an end to this illness, and an end to this grief. We love you. Thanks for the memories. You will be remembered in our home with spontaneous cookie baking, a glass of wine on a Sunday afternoon, a dash of herbs de Provence on a pan of asparagus drizzled with olive oil. You will be remembered in the beautiful places where we met up from time to time: Newburyport, Portsmouth, downtown Boston. You will be remembered by a nephew, his wife, and their two sons who so enjoyed time with you. You will be remembered by Noah, who sleeps with your leather flight bag next to his bed, your books and tapes and headphones arranged on his bedroom shelves. You will be remembered into the future, and even more so when we will try to meet our college-aged sons with the same lack of judgment and the same unconditional love and hospitality that you extended to Ken and me. This is for sure: You will never be forgotten. Thanks for the memories. We look forward to hanging out again one day.
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AuthorI'm Emily. I currently work in online education management, but I also have a Masters degree in Nutritional Sciences (my true passion). In addition, I am a mom, cook, avid reader, novice gardener, and enjoy all kinds of outdoor activities. On my blog, you will find articles on food, fitness, weight management, and eating issues. ALL recipes on my blog are gluten-free. Many are low-carbohydrate. Most are grain free. Enjoy! Categories
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