navwin » Main Forums » Passions in Prose » Christmas Traditions Dance With Memories
Passions in Prose
Post A Reply Post New Topic Christmas Traditions Dance With Memories Go to Previous / Newer Topic Back to Topic List Go to Next / Older Topic
aziza
Member Elite
since 2006-07-09
Posts 2995
Lumpy Oatmeal makes me Crazy!

0 posted 2007-12-07 12:21 PM


Christmas Traditions Dance With Memories


Weeks before Christmas my family’s house would be rich with the scent of baked goods.   Each family member had their specialties to bake and I still think of their creation and associate it with them.

My father made the Christmas Stollen.  My brother and I would be tasked to help him (which usually meant, before the baking was done, we would be sitting in chairs across from each other.  Time-out was a huge part of baking with my father.  I think we just got bored.).   I wish I had paid attention.  Stollent was my father’s contribution – a tradition passed down from his father’s side of the family.  Honestly, I never cared for Stollen; but I am still in love with his Shoofly Pie.  My sister emailed me the other day for the recipe for Shoofly pie.  Out of all of us children, she knew I would have it and be able to satisfy her craving.

My Mother made the fruit cake.  Now, I know people are gagging.  I didn’t like the fruit, but the cake – the cake was heavenly (and lethal).  She would make it a couple of months before Christmas and lace it with brandy.  Next, my Mother would carefully wrap it in cheesecloth, and then poured brandy over it too.  She would place each cake in its own coffee can, tightly seal the tops and then hide them in the back of a dark cupboard.  Everyone once in a while, I would see her drenching her cakes.  I think she had a taste or two of the brandy as she did.  I know I would.  

My mother gave me her favorite cookbook a number of years ago.  She handed it to me like it was the Holy Grail.  The book was wrapped in rubber bands and had a down-trodden look about it.  She said, in almost a whisper, “There is an excellent biscuit recipe in here.”  She told me that the page was marked and she would make it when she was exceptionally angry at my Father.

The recipe instructed the baker to beat the rolled out dough with a rolling pin. She said, in her anger, she would wail on that dough until he shouted, “What in the heck are you doing in there?”

She would yell back equally as loud, “I am MAKING biscuits!!!”

I have the book safely tucked away and her rolling pin is packed beside it.

Each of my sisters and I made cookies.  These were “Man-Sized” cookies.  They would have made any farm hand proud of us.  We would triple the batch and then proceed to bake cookies the size of small cakes.  One of my sisters specialized in King Size Gingersnaps; another in Oatmeal Raisin cookies, and the third would bake M&M cookies.  These may not be the traditional cookies of Christmas.  But, they are the traditional cookies in my family.  We baked the cookies we loved and filled coffee cans filled with them.  

What kind did I make?

I made Snickerdoodles.  I was the champion Snickerdoodle baker.   Before I could make these cookies, I was the champion Snickerdoodle eater!  Therefore, when I got my first cat at the age of five – Snickerdoodle was the perfect name for him.  After that, I assumed ownership of the Snickerdoodle cookie in my family.  Yes, I am the Snickerdoodle Queen.

My brother did not bake.  My brother ate.  He loved all the cookies and he was our biggest fan.  Food was a big part of our family.  My Mother never was much of a cook, but she was a wonderful baker.  My Father’s family came from a long line of German bakers.  

As Christmas approaches, I plan my projects.  Baking is right around the corner.  To truly be part of Christmas, I have to fill my house with the smell of cinnamon and nutmeg and ginger and cloves.  I have to take tins of cookies to work, the local store at the end of my road, and to the soldiers close to where I work.  

Christmas is coming - and I am baking Snickerdoodles.

We were rich with traditions.  Christmas Eve was a big day for us.  After breakfast, my Mother would get out the boxes of Christmas ornaments.    We would all help carry them down the stairs into the large one room living area.  My Father and all five of us children would bundle up in hats, mittens, snow pants, coats and large boots.  We would call the dogs and tumble out the door.  Dad would carry an axe, my brother had the saw – and we would walk miles through our property looking for the perfect Christmas tree.  We would wander through the woods and hayfields, laughing and singing Christmas carols.   It was hard to find a tree that six agreed was the tree of our dreams – but we did it.  After cutting it down, we all had to carry it home.  I was always at the end.  My job, as the baby, was to carry the tip of the tree.  

By the time we got home, we were cold and snow-covered.  Our cheeks were bright pink and we all were telling Mom about how we found the tree.  She always had a large pot of cocoa on the stove and would be ladling it into mugs for us.  The tree would be propped into the corner until later when Dad would get it stood for decoration.  After he carefully (and tediously) put the lights on we would be ready to dress it in fine splendor.

Our Mom handed each ornament, one by one, to us children.  Many of them came with a story.  We each had certain ornaments that we hung each year.  There also were five elves.  Each elf was doing something different.  One played a horn.  One played the drums.  One sang.  One played a flute.  The last one directed the others.  Each elf was a different color.  Mine was red.  Every year I hang two elves on my tree.  One sings and one plays the drums.  One is blue and one is red.  One was mine and one was my brother’s.  They hang side-by-side close to each other and smile at children that gaze upon them.  

We covered the tree with tinsel and candy canes and preened as we gazed upon it.  We had the best Christmas tree ever.

After a light dinner of oyster stew, we would turn off the lights and light candles.  My Father would turn on the tree lights with a flourish and grin as we all sighed.  All of his tedious efforts suddenly became magical.

All seven of us would look upon the tree and sing the old traditional Christmas carols until it was time for bed.  

The magic of my history lives inside me.  I still feel the wonderful feeling of love – and I remember the good part of being part of my family.   My Father and brother continue to live in the traditions of my Christmas.


Alison


© Copyright 2007 Alison - All Rights Reserved
latearrival
Member Ascendant
since 2003-03-21
Posts 5499
Florida
1 posted 2007-12-07 02:05 PM


Oh how wonderful you describe it all. I can see you all  walking through the woods and finding that perfect tree. And then again sitting around the table sipping hot chocolate. Your parents gave you a wonderful legacy. Thank you for writing it out."late"
JamesMichael
Member Empyrean
since 1999-11-16
Posts 33336
Kapolei, Hawaii, USA
2 posted 2008-01-16 03:12 PM


This is delicious...wonderful memories you have and you shared them so well...James
Post A Reply Post New Topic ⇧ top of page ⇧ Go to Previous / Newer Topic Back to Topic List Go to Next / Older Topic
All times are ET (US). All dates are in Year-Month-Day format.
navwin » Main Forums » Passions in Prose » Christmas Traditions Dance With Memories

Passions in Poetry | pipTalk Home Page | Main Poetry Forums | 100 Best Poems

How to Join | Member's Area / Help | Private Library | Search | Contact Us | Login
Discussion | Tech Talk | Archives | Sanctuary