Post #18 – Women’s Memoirs, ScrapMoir – Matilda Butler and Kendra Bonnett
By Barbara Bottini
The sugar and spice memories of my childhood are filled with wonderful smells, tastes and recollections. Mostly they are
memories of special gifts, sparkling decorations, delicious feasts and mounting anticipation. Our Christmas tree was always fresh and the tangy scent of Douglas fir permeated the living room. The packages slowly accumulated under the tree. The ones from the Weiss family were especially appreciated because they had no paper wrapping–only wide, satin ribbon tied in a bow that easily slid to one side allowing a highly curious child the opportunity to glance inside and savor the
contents several days before the appointed hour of official gift opening. I still treasure the memory of my doll houses–one carefully crafted by my father from left-over plaster board, and the later two-story model that was store bought. I still have my bride doll complete with her wedding finery as well as the Monopoly game from my grandfather.
Christmas meant special cookies that only appeared at that magic time of year: apricot party bars stuffed with maraschino cherries, Nanaimo bars loaded with rich, dark chocolate, thumbprint cookies filled with raspberry jam and, of course, marzipan–that extra sweet, extra rich almond paste confection that Mother mixed, colored and then showed us how to shape into miniature fruits. Our skill at producing realistic looking fruits led Mrs. Dausse, our next-door neighbor to keep the marzipan filled container that we gave her for years–never tasting the ?delectable treats, just repeat-edly bringing it out for display every December.
And if gifts, decorations and cookies weren’t enough, there was Christmas dinner. Mother was a very good cook and her rare prime rib roast with Yorkshire pudding, mashed potatoes and gravy, creamed spinach and stuffed mushrooms could easily transport a diner to culinary heaven. The culmination of the feast was the show-stopping, brandy-soaked, flaming Christmas pudding, served with hard sauce.
“I got it. I got it.” I remember excitedly shouting out when my fork reached the surprise in the dessert. Each carefully cut pudding piece contained a foil wrapped treat. Mother cleverly hid several individual dimes and a single quarter in the pudding. We waited with baited breath to see who would be the lucky recipient of the larger coin.
Well, the fuzzy, warm memories go on and on, but there is one Christmas memory lodged firmly in my recollections that is not warm and decidedly not fuzzy. In fact, it sticks in my memory like a burr sticks to a sock after walking through a field in a late August afternoon.
I am referring to Christmas of 1949. I remember it vividly, but not for the reasons you might expect. I recall that it was cold, the sky gray and overcast the night before. Santa probably used a couple of extra quilts or blankets as he made his magical course across the midnight sky.
The long-awaited day finally arrived; stockings were waiting for my sister Cathy, my brother David, and me. Santa had been there and left all sorts of goodies to charm us. The weather was of little interest to us as we three children tore into our stocking prizes and then began to unwrap the mighty pile of gifts from grandparents, godparents, and Mom and Dad.
My participation was a bit muted that year, in spite of the excitement and pleasure of all those presents because I was sick with the chicken pox. Not just sick. I was sick in bed. Much of Christmas had been brought upstairs to me as I lay in my bed. Once our gifts had been opened, Mother went back downstairs to finalize preparations for Christmas dinner. I dozed, drifting in and out of the festivities from time to time. Early afternoon approached and with it came the gentle, persistent fall of snow.
Well, as you might imagine, we three children all wanted to go out and play in the snow. This was a treat not to be ignored. Who knew when it might happen again. David and Cathy began to get into their warmest outdoor clothes; rubber boots were pulled on over street shoes and scarves were wound around necks while mittens were hastily filled with hands that were itching to shape and throw snowballs.
And where was I? That’s right; I was stuck in bed with the chicken box! “You’re too sick to go outside,” said Dad. How could Mother Nature do this to me? I was devastated. How could I possibly convey my heartbreak as I glumly watched my siblings rush outside, down the walk and into the best play yard ever?
My dad took this photo from the front porch of our house to document the incredible, rare weather occurrence. See our three-tiered yard leading down to the street below? Snow blankets the street beyond the boundaries of our yard as well as the neighbors’ roofs and every garden on the block.
I know there are many Christmas songs that include snowy weather. But i grew up in San Anselmo, which is at sea level and located in California’s area of Mediterranean climate. This means that it rarely, ever, almost never gets cold enough to snow.
But snow it did on Christmas Day in 1949.
And then my well-meaning dad added insult to injury, at least to my young way of thinking. He brought me a small dish of snow. I was so unhappy at the unfair turn of events
that I could hardly contain myself. It took all my self control not to take the dish and hurl it across the room. I wanted to smash that offending piece of china and obliterate its contents. I didn’t; I was polite and said, “Thank you.”
Eventually, the day ended and the snow melted. I re-cuperated and went on with my life. But I did not forget my “Christmas Horribilus.” To paraphrase Franklin Roosevelt, that was a day that will live in infamy, just like my ninth birthday. But, that’s story for another day.
My mother faithfully continued to make plum puddings until her death in 2004. Today, my sister and I continue the tradition.
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Barbara Bottini is a retired teacher, living in Gilroy, California, who remains quite active. Among her many interests are her involvement with the South Valley Symphony, Gilroy Historical Museum, Pintello Comedy Theater, the Gilroy Public Library and world travel. In addition to these activities, she remains in touch with many friends she met while teaching overseas for ten years on American military bases in Korea and Germany.
