A labor of love
Since I was raised in a Christian tradition this time of the year I think of celebrating Christmas. As children my siblings and I were not introduced to the fact that time of the year is also a holiday for many other religious and cultural traditions.. Actually, in my immediate family it was a very secular holiday. Grandma Fannie and the local Baptist pastor did remind us that it was the date set aside to celebrate the birth of the baby Jesus in the stable. Many children were “encouraged” to take part in the portrayal of the birth of Jesus which was presented to the congregation during this season. The regional, country school seemed to have no hesitation to act as if all good people would be celebrating the Christian version of the holiday.
Our parents, despite the fact that money was always a concern, did their best to ensure that there were filled Christmas stockings and a gift for each of us. The stockings would be filled with special treats of fresh fruit, nuts and perhaps some candy. Often the best gifts were those such as the used guitar I received one year which had been carefully restored by our father. Our mother also made sure that there were holiday cookies and other treats. At some point dad might remove the accordion from its case and play Christmas songs. He might also remove the battery from the car to which he could then connect the radio so we could hear Bing Crosby and others sing holiday songs. All this was accomplished with what I recall a great deal of tension since money for gifts and food was always in short supply.
When I think of Christmas what first comes to mind, however, is the fruitcake which Grandma Fannie had lovingly assembled and baked. I suspect that she gathered ingredients for many weeks or even months. The candied fruit (I suspect dried was not easily obtained), the flour, nuts, cinnamon, salt and molasses was added to the farm fresh ingredients of butter, eggs and a small bit of milk. For this occasion she also purchased rum and cheesecloth. Once baked, the cakes were wrapped in rum soaked cheesecloth and allowed to age before being sent off to various relatives including her son our father and his family. After I left home and as long as Grandma Fannie was living, I received my very own fruitcake via the mail. Despite the seemingly agreed upon public distain for fruitcake I looked forward to it. The heavy, dense fruitcake would last for months. Each small bite was a reminder of all the comfort I associated with Grandma Fannie. Her love of music, learning, flowers, writing, cooking, coffee, farm fresh eggs, cream and milk were all carefully stirred into the fruitcake.
I was careful to not risk the mocking of my peers by sharing my love of fruitcake. I was content to keep the secret while firming holding on to the rich emotional and spiritual substance which was contained in that box which some post person carried all the way from Grandma Fannie’s country home in Oklahoma to wherever I was living at the time.
Merry Christmas Grandma Fannie.
Written December 18, 2017
Since I was raised in a Christian tradition this time of the year I think of celebrating Christmas. As children my siblings and I were not introduced to the fact that time of the year is also a holiday for many other religious and cultural traditions.. Actually, in my immediate family it was a very secular holiday. Grandma Fannie and the local Baptist pastor did remind us that it was the date set aside to celebrate the birth of the baby Jesus in the stable. Many children were “encouraged” to take part in the portrayal of the birth of Jesus which was presented to the congregation during this season. The regional, country school seemed to have no hesitation to act as if all good people would be celebrating the Christian version of the holiday.
Our parents, despite the fact that money was always a concern, did their best to ensure that there were filled Christmas stockings and a gift for each of us. The stockings would be filled with special treats of fresh fruit, nuts and perhaps some candy. Often the best gifts were those such as the used guitar I received one year which had been carefully restored by our father. Our mother also made sure that there were holiday cookies and other treats. At some point dad might remove the accordion from its case and play Christmas songs. He might also remove the battery from the car to which he could then connect the radio so we could hear Bing Crosby and others sing holiday songs. All this was accomplished with what I recall a great deal of tension since money for gifts and food was always in short supply.
When I think of Christmas what first comes to mind, however, is the fruitcake which Grandma Fannie had lovingly assembled and baked. I suspect that she gathered ingredients for many weeks or even months. The candied fruit (I suspect dried was not easily obtained), the flour, nuts, cinnamon, salt and molasses was added to the farm fresh ingredients of butter, eggs and a small bit of milk. For this occasion she also purchased rum and cheesecloth. Once baked, the cakes were wrapped in rum soaked cheesecloth and allowed to age before being sent off to various relatives including her son our father and his family. After I left home and as long as Grandma Fannie was living, I received my very own fruitcake via the mail. Despite the seemingly agreed upon public distain for fruitcake I looked forward to it. The heavy, dense fruitcake would last for months. Each small bite was a reminder of all the comfort I associated with Grandma Fannie. Her love of music, learning, flowers, writing, cooking, coffee, farm fresh eggs, cream and milk were all carefully stirred into the fruitcake.
I was careful to not risk the mocking of my peers by sharing my love of fruitcake. I was content to keep the secret while firming holding on to the rich emotional and spiritual substance which was contained in that box which some post person carried all the way from Grandma Fannie’s country home in Oklahoma to wherever I was living at the time.
Merry Christmas Grandma Fannie.
Written December 18, 2017
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