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Fruitcake Weather
Nov. 3rd, 2006 01:51 amToday, it rained. I took it as an announcement. It's fruitcake weather.
It would have been fruitcake weather regardless of what the sky did today. I've spent the last week candying cherries and the peels of several dozen lemons and grapefruits and oranges. In fact, I candied way too much. I have a bucket-sized tub of frosted citrus peel. So now I get to figure out what to do with that. After the candying, there was the chopping, and the chopping, and then— for variety— more chopping. Figs, and dates, and walnuts, and endless, endless raisins, both dark and golden, which needed to be snipped, just so, according to my grandmother.
I found an ancient Victorian plum cake recipe that shocked me, it was so similar to Gramma Sloniker's. It included directions for cutting and folding greasepaper strips into walls and a flat cap over the cake, to prevent over-browning, which is exactly how my grandmother taught my mother how to do it. I picked it up from her, but instead of using coffee can rings, I used my springform pan. I want to make sure the recipe works, before I inflict littler cakes on people I like.
I wish I had fonder fruitcake-making memories, so that I could continue what, for many, is a poignant tradition. I don't, though. I just really like good fruitcake, made right.
Gramma was crazy. Like, honest to goodness sick. So was mom. I don't talk about this very often, although it explains a lot. Mom was hospitalized during my formative years. I attribute their cruelty and carelessness to their mental illness. That way, I can forgive a lot. Still, I have no good memories of my grandmother, and not a lot of mom.
This time of year is difficult. Usually I can get along by not thinking about it. It doesn't often come up these days, and when it does, it's usually in a way I can laugh about.
Randy called me tonight. We briefly talked about Halloween candy. I lost a considerable amount of weight this year by eating loads and loads of nothing but salad. That Halloween candy, though. Oh boy. I couldn't stop stuffing myself with it. Randy and I laughed at my brain chemistry, how it screamed at me, "Yes! Yes! More candy! Cram it in! More Starbursts! This is what your mother's love would have felt like!"
Randy and I find this insupportably hilarious, because to survive we both had to develop a ruthless sense of humor about our parents. Usually that sense of humor is all I need. This time of year, though, with its constant implicit (and explicit) reminders of the "importance of family", I do have a hard time. I'm not speaking to anyone I grew up with. The holidays are icky and weird.
It was fruitcake weather today. A big fat Victorian plum cake is cooling on my countertop. It smells glorious. I just wish it didn't have meaning.
It would have been fruitcake weather regardless of what the sky did today. I've spent the last week candying cherries and the peels of several dozen lemons and grapefruits and oranges. In fact, I candied way too much. I have a bucket-sized tub of frosted citrus peel. So now I get to figure out what to do with that. After the candying, there was the chopping, and the chopping, and then— for variety— more chopping. Figs, and dates, and walnuts, and endless, endless raisins, both dark and golden, which needed to be snipped, just so, according to my grandmother.
I found an ancient Victorian plum cake recipe that shocked me, it was so similar to Gramma Sloniker's. It included directions for cutting and folding greasepaper strips into walls and a flat cap over the cake, to prevent over-browning, which is exactly how my grandmother taught my mother how to do it. I picked it up from her, but instead of using coffee can rings, I used my springform pan. I want to make sure the recipe works, before I inflict littler cakes on people I like.
I wish I had fonder fruitcake-making memories, so that I could continue what, for many, is a poignant tradition. I don't, though. I just really like good fruitcake, made right.
Gramma was crazy. Like, honest to goodness sick. So was mom. I don't talk about this very often, although it explains a lot. Mom was hospitalized during my formative years. I attribute their cruelty and carelessness to their mental illness. That way, I can forgive a lot. Still, I have no good memories of my grandmother, and not a lot of mom.
This time of year is difficult. Usually I can get along by not thinking about it. It doesn't often come up these days, and when it does, it's usually in a way I can laugh about.
Randy called me tonight. We briefly talked about Halloween candy. I lost a considerable amount of weight this year by eating loads and loads of nothing but salad. That Halloween candy, though. Oh boy. I couldn't stop stuffing myself with it. Randy and I laughed at my brain chemistry, how it screamed at me, "Yes! Yes! More candy! Cram it in! More Starbursts! This is what your mother's love would have felt like!"
Randy and I find this insupportably hilarious, because to survive we both had to develop a ruthless sense of humor about our parents. Usually that sense of humor is all I need. This time of year, though, with its constant implicit (and explicit) reminders of the "importance of family", I do have a hard time. I'm not speaking to anyone I grew up with. The holidays are icky and weird.
It was fruitcake weather today. A big fat Victorian plum cake is cooling on my countertop. It smells glorious. I just wish it didn't have meaning.
