“Grandpa, how do you make your famous cinnamon candy?”
My daughter, Harriet, asked this of my dad several years ago. He wasn’t someone you’d often find in the kitchen, but his cinnamon candy was the exception — a homemade tradition he’d take on each year during Christmas. He’d make batches of it, wrapping and gifting the fiery, red sweets to neighbors, friends, co-workers, and family. At some point, he must have told Harriet he was “famous” for it.
One day, nearing the holidays, she asked him how it was made. So, my dad pulled out the recipe and the ingredients. She stood beside him in the kitchen, absorbing each step: boiling the sugar, adding just the right amount of red dye, adjusting the spice for friends, family — and maybe a little extra kick for the occasional frenemy. In that quiet, sweet-smelling afternoon, she inherited more than a recipe; she inherited a part of him.
A photo was snapped of them both creating in the kitchen, and it’s a picture I often return to. My father passed away two years ago, but this memory endures — a joyful thread woven into the fabric of grief. I’m so grateful he paused to guide her through that recipe.
Moments like these open the door to larger questions, don’t they? What do we hope to pass on to the next generation? What recipes — literal or metaphorical — will we entrust to others?
Just this past week, I sat with a donor at the Foundation where I work. He was wrestling with these kinds of questions, ensuring his legacy was carefully prepared. What would his giving look like after he was gone? How could he sustain the causes he cared about? Who would carry forward the generosity that defined him?
As I sat there I was reminded of cinnamon candy. There we were, metaphorically standing in the kitchen with him, making small adjustments to the recipe.
Friends, these are the intentional moments that allow our deepest loves to ripple into the future. As we reflect on what matters most, are we taking the steps to prepare? Have we clearly outlined the values and hopes we want to endure? Through thoughtful planning, the essence of who we are — the best of us — can be passed along, like a granddaughter learning the joys of cinnamon candy from her grandfather.
Coming up in 2025, the Foundation will host a series of consultation classes on estate planning and charitable giving. If you’re interested, we’d be honored to help you explore how your values and generosity can live on. Together, we can stand in the kitchen, crafting something beautiful to pass along to the next generation.
Tim Coons is President/CEO of the Weld Community Foundation, a nonprofit that helps donors create charitable funds which strengthen our community through grants, scholarships, and program support. He loves the question, “What does it mean to be a true community?” [email protected]
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