Christmas Traditions—Fruitcake

Every year, my mom would make a boatload of fruitcakes. I'm not really sure what was in them, except for chunks of dates, a few nuts, and these slimy little jellied candy blobs. Since my mother was a teetotaler, I doubt there were any alcoholic spirits in them, but she did set them out to "cure" for a few days before wrapping them in aluminum foil for delivery to the recipient.

That meant that for a couple of frightening days, there were fruitcakes lying atop whatever space was available in the house, making the place look like some kind of baked goods Gettysburg. The house smelled good, and if you sampled the fruitcake during the first hour or so after it emerged from the oven, it tasted pretty good, too. But it looked weird.

Everybody got one—The mailman, the milkman, the paperboy, and even the gas and electric meter reader. The preacher also got one, as did the choir director, most of the neighbors, and even Mr. Roper the trumpet teacher.

I have no idea if any of them actually ate the things.

We did, though. And if microwave ovens would've existed back then, we probably would've enjoyed the leftovers even more. The fruitcake itself seemed to be impervious to the ravages of time, and would probably last for years without the application of preservation techniques, but some of the little colored jelly doodads started to become somewhat, uh, suspicious as time went on. There was no clearly-stamped expiration date, and no mold ever appeared...but there was still a point where we decided "You know, I'm just not gonna eat any more of this," and tossed it in the trash.

Thinking about all this does bring up some regrets about things I miss, including some of the things that are no longer common in our society. It seems sad that we no longer have personal relationships with our postal carriers or newspaper delivery personnel. Neighbors don't exchange food "just 'cuz", any more. And I suspect that most homes no longer have any sort of elaborate baking traditions that involved the entire family and left cakes curing on every exposed surface.

But mostly, I just miss my mom.