Fruits and Nuts

There are fruits and there are nuts. Careful combinations of fruits and nuts sometimes yield wonderful concoctions. One of my most poignantly clear memories of Christmastime centers on this mixture. My memory deals with fruits and nuts of all sorts. Not only are the people in my family contained in my memory, but so are those fruit and nuts that are used for nourishment. In both cases, my mom was responsible for the combinations. In both cases it seemed like she had a pretty great recipe. As I keep reaching inside myself to find a way to smile again, I realize that memories of Christmastime bring forth the smile quite easily. It is easy to see that my smile is rooted in the combination of fruits and nuts and the magic of the added ingredients. My memory stems from my sixth grade year at East Side Elementary School. It was on the morning of the last day of class before the holiday break and I was walking to school as usual. I was loaded down with Christmas gifts for my teachers. In sixth grade we had several teachers and I was so excited to be taking a gift to each one. The surprises were home made. They were relatively heavy. They were wrapped in foil. They were each tied with a red ribbon. They were fresh and they smelled wonderful. And, I was so proud. I had a gift that I knew my teachers would love. Even then I thought teachers were the greatest people on Earth and I was pretty sure my gifts were perfect for such an important group. Each year every one of my teachers would receive a fruitcake and this year was no different. All I knew is that my Mom made them, and if Mom made them and liked them, then my teachers would like them as well. Nothing my mom did could be less than the best. As I hit my teenage years, I suddenly became aware that I should be embarrassed to take fruitcakes for gifts to my teachers. Even though I had heard all of the jokes about what people did with the fruitcakes they received as Christmas gifts, I was still not completely convinced that my teachers would not want one that was made from scratch by my mom. However, the prospect of actually taking a fruitcake to school in front of all of my peers was just too much. So, after my 7th grade year, my teachers at Jacksonville Jr. High missed out on my mom’s famous Christmas recipe. Looking back I am convinced that my mom had to be grateful for my embarrassment. Can you imagine how many fruitcakes she had to make each Christmas just for her kids’ teachers? If I was in sixth grade, that left Randy, Pat, Grace and Sallie in the grades below me and Martin, Bill, and Mary Claire in jr.high and high school. The rest of the kids were in college. Many of us had several teachers. Think about it. That is a lot of fruitcakes. That does not even count the garbage man, the beauty shop lady, the neighbors, the mailman, and the milkman. Yes, Christmastime meant that we were completely surrounded by fruits and nuts. That alone is enough to make anyone smile.

Christmastime in our extraordinarily large family had to seem a little nutty to normal people. Most of the townsfolk would make the drive by our house part of their yearly Christmas tradition. If there was a brochure on sights to see during this holiday season in Jacksonville, Texas, I imagine that 847 Ft. Worth Street would have been near the top of the list. Was it the large, rambling house all beautifully lit that drew the masses? No, that many lights would have blown a fuse and caused a power outage in Jacksonville. Was it the lawn ornaments so lovingly set out that coaxed people into the spirit of Christmas? Not unless footballs, basketballs, Frisbees, bicycles, and patches of dirt were inspirational in some way. Was it awe-inspiring Christmas music from carolers huddled on our front porch? Not unless “ollie ollie in come free” counted as a song. No. The cars lined up to see our mantel. Not a beautifully theme decorated mantel, but a mantel full of stockings. The stockings were in plain sight to anyone driving by. Do you think my Mom knew what she was starting when she first made Cookie, Hunter, Jimmie and Mary Claire a stocking? Perhaps if she could have seen the future, she would have made a whole slew of stockings way back then. How much easier it would have been back in the days when she had only four children and oodles and oodles of spare time? I cannot imagine how she found the time to make each stocking for each child. Every stocking had the year of the child’s birth, hand embroidered. Every stocking had the number of the child, sequined onto the cuff. Every boy stocking had an appliquéd train with separate boxcars each one sporting something of interest to the child. Every girl stocking was adorned with an angel also hand appliquéd onto the body of the stocking and displaying their items of special interest. The boys had matching red stockings while the girls had stockings of white. As the grandchildren arrived on the scene, which was only two years after Sallie was born, a smaller version of the original stockings were added to the mantel. Then, upon the arrival of the great grandchildren an even smaller edition was added to the display. Not only was our mantel covered, but the walls were adorned with stockings as well. I don’t really remember Santa ever putting anything in our stockings. I am sure that if he did, however, it would have been fruits and nuts. I am also sure that we would have found a magical way to mix them up.

Christmas shopping, too, was a unique experience around our house. I guess the uniqueness came from the fact that there really wasn’t much of it. My dad would come home early on Christmas Eve, have a private conversation with my mom, gather up a couple of the older kids and off he would go to do some Christmas shopping. That was the extent of their shopping. On some level, I am sure that my parents had to secretly dread the approach of the holiday season. That comes not from feelings from my childhood, but from my own perspective as a parent and all of the looming challenges that the holiday brings with it. So many gifts to buy, and so little money. So many people to remember, and so little time. Such difficult questions to ponder and so many wavering answers. Questions like, “Should I spend what little money I have on things the kids really need like socks, underwear, and shoes; or splurge for Christmas on a game or toy that is not really a necessity?” I don’t think any of us were ever aware of any hesitancy on the part of my parents with the approach of this most magical season. Neither do I remember any wishes not coming true. All I remember is everyone seemed so excited that the holidays were just around the corner and with the constant cooking of fruitcakes, the house always smelled wonderful. The excitement intensified when all five of the little ones embarked our own yearly shopping trip. One of the older kids would drop us off downtown where we would start the hunt for the perfect gifts. By combining our resources, we would search places like Western Auto, Duke and Ayers, Discount City, and JB Whites. I thought I was in charge of this crew. Now I realize that Randy always held the money. Grace gave the directions. Sallie usually had the final approval. And, Pat always provided entertainment. (Using a coat hangar, he would fashion a wreath of mistletoe over his head to wear on our excursions among other things.) What did I do? I guess just imagined that I was the Person In Charge. After we purchased things like Hai Karate for Martin, a Letterman album for Bill, a jewelry box for mom, and an ashtray for Papa; we would always head straight for Wood Drug Store where JB would cook each of us a hamburger at the soda fountain. At the time that meal always seemed to be the best food we ever tasted. Was it because we were on our own and sitting together in a booth at the fountain? Perhaps it was because we knew that we had purchased the best gifts ever. I am not sure why those trips were so important to me and my brothers and sisters. I do know that there must be some kind of magic involved somehow in the whole gift giving phenomenon. My bachelor Uncle Jim lavished gifts on all of his extended family. No one, young or old, was left out. He seemed to revel in the confusion and mayhem that accompanied our family during this holiday and I am convinced that his greatest pleasure in life was watching all of us as we opened his gifts. Today, my kids still draw names and team up to make their gifts perfect for their siblings. As my kids get married and in-laws and grandkids join in the family celebrations, I love to watch as they all seem to get much more pleasure from the giving. Even though my smile is irrepressible as I conjure up these Christmas memories, it sometimes falters as I imagine the rest of my Christmas mornings without James. James with his bright smile and even brighter eyes as he watches his kids. James with his “First National Bank of Dad” T-shirt worn proudly. James on the floor playing with the grandkids as they enjoy the paper and wrappings better than the toys and trappings. My challenge now is to continue to foster the feeling of warmth that is inherent with this holiday. I understand that it is up to me to continue to build more memories of which James would be proud. That seems to be easier as I slowly learn to recognize the fruits and nuts that surround me. The first Christmas memory that brought back my smile since James’ death is from last year. Randy, Pat, Grace and Sallie embraced my spirit as we somehow ended up together on a shopping trip to Discount City. It was not planned and we were not buying for anyone in particular. My family circled the wagons for me and my memories. And then, they opened their arms for the greatest gift ever as they included my kids in the circle. My kids got to participate as we took that journey down memory lane and laughter filled the aisles. For just a moment I wished for a parcel of mom’s fruitcakes to hand out to all of the shoppers. What a sure way to share the joy of the season.

Our Swanson family Christmas cards presented a detailed history of Christmases past. The first Christmas card went out with the picture of Cookie, Hunter, and Jimmie. Mary Claire was added to the picture the next year and the numbers kept growing with each passing year. The cards continued to be sent until there was not enough room to fit everyone in a picture with any clarity. With the original 11, in-laws, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren, the numbers were staggering. Upon studying the family through these yearly portraits, I continue to be amazed by my parents. How in the world did they accomplish the monumental task of rounding up an annual pictorial greeting of their ever expanding family? Everyone was always dressed nicely and usually looked happy. To this day I have people stop me and tell me that they still have every Christmas card ever sent by my parents. Can they feel the stories that accompany the pictures? Are they reminded of their own stories of icicle wars as the Christmas tree was decorated and re-decorated solely by the kids? Do the pictures jog memories of their own wall to wall softies and constant streams of people and friends? Did all families have endless trips to the store for food, perpetual football games and entertaining meetings by a growing Cousin’s Club? Every family has their own traditions that accompany this holiday. Perhaps it is one like my brother and his family of hanging a rubber chicken from the rafters instead of decorating a tree, or something as soothing as singing carols as you sip hot chocolate with the neighbors. I can still see the poinsettias that mom always made sure were adorning the church in December and smile as I see Grace continuing in that role. Maybe the tradition is nothing more than just baking a fruitcake. Like them or not, I am now convinced that fruitcakes allowed my mom to show us how to give from the heart. They allowed me to develop a sense of pride in my mom, my family, my teachers, and myself. Fruitcakes established a tradition that signaled the beginning of a celebration. I know that baking a truckload of fruitcakes helped to reassure my mom that it really did not matter what was in short supply that year, for there was always an abundance of goodwill. She then had the energy to show us that this spirit of giving was indeed the most important of gifts and that the more we could share that thought, the more the celebration would bring. Yes, some of my teachers may still have one of those fruitcakes that I was so proud of. Perhaps they even preserved it so they could bring it out to be placed on their mantel at Christmas time. Just as a reminder. A sort of trophy indicating that they survived their years as a teacher; fruitcakes and all. Maybe it will trigger for them an automatic smile as they remember their own traditions that envelop the season. As I look back on this holiday, I see that it does not matter if you are surrounded by fruits and nuts, or just your kids; the spirit of the holiday is what you make it. When I think of Christmas, I do not think of a lack of money, or embarrassment of a homemade teacher gift, or doing without. I just get that same fuzzy feeling that I had when I walked out of the door toward my sixth grade class. I am so grateful that James and I had access to the magic of the recipe and I certainly plan on passing it down. I don’t care what anyone says. Nothing is better than a fruitcake at Christmas.