Kitchen: a gathering place for friends and family, a place where memories are homemade and seasoned with love.

So many holiday memories center around the kitchen, from preparing a meal to sitting around the kitchen table and swapping stories at the grandparents’ house to being part of the cleanup crew.

Elementary-aged me anticipated the countdown to the first Saturday in December, when our family would bake cookies and make candies. We each had our specialty. Dad made peanut or cashew clusters. Laurie whipped up batches of sugar cookies. Mom stood patiently near the stove, bringing sugar, water and corn syrup to a boil until it reached 252 degrees and we were minutes away from having a delectable batch of divinity. Typically, I was in charge of making fantasy fudge. (For those unfamiliar with fantasy fudge, the recipe appeared on the marshmallow creme jar. Delicious.)

At our grandparents’ home, by the time we reached high school, we were promoted to the adult table in the dining room, instead of being banished to the breakfast nook in the kitchen. The promotion meant two things. We were required to assist with setting the dining room table and cleanup duty had our names all over it. Well, at least for us girls.

I loved taking each piece of delicate china out of grandma’s hutch and organizing place settings. Dinner plate topped with a salad plate and draped with a napkin. Bread plate above the salad and dinner forks. Water and wine glasses strategically placed on the right-hand side. Dessert spoons above the dinner plate.

Perfection. Until ... Grandma told me to ditch the dessert utensils because it meant more dishes to wash. (When Grandma spoke, you listened and did as told.)

As the years passed, formal place settings morphed into informal layouts. The living room became dining central for some of the men in the family as they balanced watching football and holding a dinner plate.

Through the years, the kitchen has remained the centerpiece of family holidays. Its seen babies grow into adults. It survived a roaster pan of what we affectionately call “skunk stew.” Its blown a fuse or two because of the gagillion crock pots we plug in.

Over the years, our complicated, multiple-course meals have turned into a never-ending buffet, complete with charcuterie boards, dip-mas (yes, it’s what it sounds like ... dips, veggies, crackers), soups, sandwiches and goodies. The expensive china has given way to Chinette.

The kitchen remains the place where cousins share secrets, where young mothers dry tears from their child’s eyes when they become overwhelmed by our oversized family, where my generation schools our kids and grandkids in nonstop rounds of 10-point pitch or a heated game of Aggravation.

Here, in the kitchen, memories are always homemade and seasoned with love.

From our kitchen to yours, Scott and I wish you a merry Christmas.