Post #88 – Women’s Memoir Writing, ScrapMoir – Matilda Butler and Kendra Bonnett
SCRAPBOOKING OUR STORIES, ONE MEMORY AT A TIME: MEMOIR WRITING CONTEST AWARD WINNER
Memories are precious to us. Yet when we write them down and share them with family members or more broadly, our personal treasures become joys to others as well. Who knows, perhaps your stories will be repeated by others in the future.
Constance Blasjo Doty shares an ordinary yet special Christmas memory with us in her award-winning memoir story. Let it remind you of all the treasured stories in your life that span the seasons.
MEMOIR WRITING CONTEST, FINALIST
MOTHER SAVES THE DAY
Constance Blasjo Doty
The snow was still gently falling as I trudged dejectedly up the pathway to my parents’ country home. My arms were loaded down with the ever-present teacher-planning portfolios as well as a neatly-packed Samsonite weekender. The quiet whiteness surrounding the farm house usually exuded a welcoming sense of peace that was much needed after the hectic pace of life in the city. But this time the burden of work tempered my usual sense of joy at being home.
I shed my gloves hastily and flung my coat onto the chair as soon as I burst through the door, pausing only briefly to greet my Mom. Soon I was enveloped by the smells of cooking and baking. Encouraged by the warmth of my Mom, I soon let all the frustrations of the past day tumble out in a rapid fire delivery of discouragement, accompanied by sighs of frustration.
YES, my first graders had been having a magical time molding their clay candle holder gifts that were going to surprise their moms with a delightful keepsake Christmas gift. AND YES, the kids that had been absent with the flu had managed to squeeze in their make-up ceramic session with the help of their most able peers. BUT…NO, they would not get fired in the kiln in time to finish and wrap them in the few days left before vacation the following week. An electrical failure had caused a malfunction in the kiln that no one, NO ONE COULD FIX!
“Now what will I do for the 36 gifts?”
My mother studied my distraught face for a moment, paused, and then asked no questions, but simply responded, “We will have to think of something else.” In the next moments, I rehearsed and relished the pronoun, we. Mom was in on finding a solution and she could always be counted on for resourceful action.
The yeast bread for Santa Lucia buns was rising on the back of the stove and looked ready for shaping, but in a quiet deft stroke it was punched down for another rising, while my teacher/homemaker/Mom with a look of determined contemplation, stepped out onto the porch.
Soon Mom returned with an assemblage of pine branches, cone, and red berries that she laid out on the kitchen table after pushing back the bread board. She whipped out a spool of fine wire from a miscellany drawer and in practically no time, had assembled a stunning Christmas corsage. “You can easily add a red bow,” she said.
The next step was to get more cones. “Do you remember that pine tree down by the crabapple trees? It has been loaded with cones — the miniature kind — this year. You could go and gather some right now.” It had always been a short pleasant walk in the summertime, but even now it was a possibility with promise. I pulled on a pair of old country snow boots that Mom kept in the closet and grabbed a bucket so that I could take the hike before it got too dark. Mom must have detected my wistful look for companionship for she assured me, “I’d love to go too, if I were not in the midst of baking that really must get in the oven.”
With the hood of my warm parka pulled up, I trekked off with a heart lighter than seemed possible such a short time earlier. The beauty of the lightly falling snow caused me to pause and ponder the glory of the land, but not for long. The sinking sun’s pink glow reminded me that there was no time to waste if I didn’t want to search for pinecones in the dark. My pace quickened and the gathering was soon accomplished. As I retraced my homeward trail, the sun dipped below the horizon, and the dark blue of descending nightfall was soon upon me. Even though I had not walked this trail recently, all of the old familiar landmarks — the gate closings, the bridge over the frozen creek — were so indelibly etched in my mind that I enjoyed the hike with a lightness in my heart that prompted me to hum Christmas carols as I returned. When I stepped out of the wooded part of the trail and looked up to the clearing ahead, I saw the beautiful full moon in the eastern sky, transforming the snow covered field into a diamond encrusted wonderland of breathtaking beauty. When I approached the house with its shadeless windows casting beams of light in all directions, and smoke curling up from the chimney, I suddenly broke into an exuberant gallop, prancing up the walkways with my collection of pinecones.
Entering the kitchen, I smelled the fragrance of Mom’s cardamon bread wafting through the kitchen. Suddenly the house seemed filled with memories, reminding me of the bountiful riches in my life — a mother who spoke the word “we” and collaborated to find a solution; a prototype project that first graders could handle; and an absolutely incredible walk through the snowy woods to gather nature’s largess, which would transform into a “saved day” for simple gifts.
And there, on the counter, were two steaming-hot celebratory cups of coffee to accompany a sample bun still warm from the oven.
Beside the cups, a bolt of red ribbon had suddenly appeared.
What a joyous December day. What a memory.
Santa Lucia Buns
2 pkgs acive dry yeast
1/2 c warm water (110 degrees)
1 1/2 c warm milk (also 110 degrees)
1 c sugar
3/4 c soft butter
1 egg
3/4 t salt
1 1/2 t ground cardamom
7 1/2 c all purpose flour (approx.)
Raisins (about 1/2 c), optional
In a mixing bowl combine the yeast and warm water; let stand 5 minutes to soften.
Blend in the warm milk, sugar, butter, egg, salt, and cardamom.
Stir in enough of the flour (about 6 1/2 cups) to form a stiff dough. Turn dough out onto a lightly floured board and knead until smooth and elastic (about 10 minutes). Add balance of flour as needed to prevent dough from sticked.
Place dough ball in a greased bowl, turn over to grease top, cover, and let rise in a warm place until double. About 1 hour. Punch down dough, turn out onto a lighly floured board and knead lighted to expel air bubbles. Pull equal amounts of dough (about 24). Form in desired shape (usually an S) and place on a lightly greased baking sheep. Add a few raisins on top, if desired) and let rise in a warm place until almost double (about 25 minutes). If desired, brush buns with a mixture of 2 egg yolks mixed with 1 1/2 T water.
Bake in a 350 degree oven until golden brown (25 to 30 minutes).
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