Kitty’s Fruitcake Cookies

Kitty and Randolph always stopped by my grandparents’ house in Blackshear, Georgia on Christmas Day with a big, round, heavy tin of fresh-baked fruitcake cookies. The grownups would sit in the parlor on the antique furniture by the silver tinsel tree and talk and talk and talk, while my brother and I would figure out ways to steal cookies. We didn’t know we weren’t supposed to like fruitcake cookies, so we liked them – and still do. We are among the small percentage of the population who can actually savor a slice of fruitcake with a cup of coffee.

My grandparents were natural social distancers back in the 1970s, but Kitty and Randolph were part of their small circle of friends- close enough to make it past the front door. Kitty was always smiling and laughing, but Randolph was quiet and reserved.

My maternal grandparents lived life unto themselves. They both worked – she in the Sears Catalog department in downtown Waycross, Georgia, and he for Seaboard Coast Line Railroad in Waycross. Both worked hard and came home at the end of the day to each other, their impeccably clean house, and their manicured lawn that they took great weekend pride in landscaping during the warm months. 

Those Christmases, so full of vivid paperdoll and red wagon and Daisy gun and army men and fruitcake memories, come rushing to mind as I sit here in my living room thinking of my early childhood years when we traveled to visit our grandparents in our metallic blue and woodgrain-sided Buick station wagon through the back roads of rural Georgia, my brother and I lying flat on our backs on a quilt in “the way back” (third seat flattened to a bed area, with no seatbelts, of course) looking up at the stars in the clear night as pine tree tops whizzed past. 

My eyes gaze upward to the window over our front door, out to the stars past the pine tree tops, realizing that the years, too, have whizzed past faster than I could have imagined. I’m older now than my grandparents were then, and understand in these years more than ever before how fleeting time truly is. 

And I wonder whether fruitcake-filled Currier and Ives Christmas tins with lids of horses pulling sleighs over snowdrifts out by the old two-story farmhouse are still a thing anywhere. I’d like to steal some cookies and tuck myself away in all the wonder of a silvery tinsel tree, reliving just a few moments of those good old days, hearing Kitty tell stories and coffee cups clink and antique chairs creak as folks laughed, before screens came along and disrupted real human conversation. 

Those were the best days. 

Pumpkin Bread and Pinecone Feeders

Two important traditions rooted in books still prevail during Christmas holidays, continuing from the days when my children were small. They still ask for the pumpkin bread from the Frederica Fare cookbook, so I baked two fresh loaves Sunday morning and we devoured one, slathering each slice with our favorite Irish butter. Christmas isn’t Christmas without it.

We make pinecone birdfeeders each year after we read the book Night Tree by Eve Bunting, taking the treats to a tree in our yard and hanging them for the songbirds and other critters to have their Christmas feast. The kids enjoyed the sensory experience of gathering pinecones, coating them with Crisco, and rolling them in birdseed. This year, it was a special moment seeing my son and his family all engaged in this time-honored tradition that is a testament to the power of a book to create family pastimes.

The book was a Christmas gift that my daughter’s kindergarten teacher purchased with book club points for each child in the class back in 1992. Once we read the book together that year, we decided to make our own tree. We’ve been doing it ever since. In fact, the morning my son called at the end of 2012 from Tennessee to say he was planning to propose that evening, I was outside with the oldest grandchild making our Night Tree. A decade and five children later, here they are – – carrying on the tradition that started in the pages of a childhood book.

I also shared this book with one of our school district’s partner preschool centers this year in a professional development session at the beginning of December. Teachers read the book to each class, and they made their own class critter trees. The teachers sent me the photos of smiling, proud little ones who now watch from the windows to see the birds come, just as we do. 

Never underestimate the power of a book to make a difference and shape thinking. Cookbooks and children’s picture books are filled with all sorts of magic. Sharing sacred traditions with the next generation is a rich gift of grandparenthood.