We’re cranberry crazy over here. It’s partly because I signed up for a huge shipment of organic cranberries, direct from Maine, many months ago, and have been dolling them into muffins and cakes, bundt and loaves ever since. But mostly because cranberries remind me of my grandmother, who always stood, steadfast, quietly grinding cranberries with oranges and orange peel, apples and sugar through her own cast-iron meat grinder, making the sauce at every holiday meal.

I’m missing her, and my own mother, this year. Missing the smell of zest and tart cranberry filling the air, mingling alongside carols from my parent’s retro stereo, on morning till night, from Thanksgiving till New Year’s Day.

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