Well, it’s Christmastime again. I find myself feeling homesick and lonely. At other times in my life when I felt this way, I would just go home and visit the folks. A dose of Mom and Dad always did the trick. Now, however, that home no longer exists. The house has been sold and the folks have passed on. There’s nowhere to turn to that relieves the aching in my heart except the stories in my mind. I know what I’m longing for and it’s just not “out there” anymore, but is deep inside where I’ve held it close all these many years. There are many fun memories that would be worth re-living again.

I want to sit at the kitchen table and chat with my mother and siblings while she makes her “made from scratch” fudge. She had one pot that she used to make it in that seemed to work. She measured out the sugar, cocoa powder and butter then stood at the stove watching it cook as we talked about whatever came to mind. She tested it with the old “cold water in a cup” method by spooning a little into the cup of water then molding it with her fingers to see if it was ready. She never owned a candy thermometer. This was her tried and true method. Once ready, she took it off the heat to cool. It seemed to take forever in that thick old pot. We would anxiously await and try to distract ourselves while waiting, but the aroma of fresh made fudge permeated the whole house and made it very difficult. When it was finally cool, we would take turns stirring until it was perfect and we could add the vanilla and the black walnuts that we so diligently cracked with a hammer for hours so they could be added to the fudge. It was a rare thing that her fudge didn’t turn out perfect, but even if it didn’t, we ate it anyway. It was always a special treat that only Mom knew how to make.

I want to sit on my Dad’s lap while he hugs me and gives me whisker burns. He always had the best hugs, the best laugh and the best stories. I miss his smile as it lights up his face when I walk into the room.

I want to see a snowfall and watch our little black cat as she tiptoes through the snow, finally jumping up to land on the fence line so she can sit and bask in the sun. She stands out starkly against the white backdrop and it makes me smile.

I want to see something like my Mom’s “gumdrop tree” again. That was one of a kind. She bought the gumdrops and it wasn’t good enough just putting them in a bowl. She wanted to make it fun so she went outside and found a branch from the tree that had a lot of extending branches and brought it in the house. She found a pot to stick it in then proceeded to put gumdrops on every branch. The funniest thing about it was that it wasn’t a deterrent for us to eat them. It was still candy and it didn’t matter if we ate gumdrops from a dirty tree branch or not.

I want to watch as Mom dusts off the old green candy dish to hold her annual hard tack candy purchase. She wasn’t big on buying sweets throughout the year, but at Christmastime it was a whole different thing. Orange slices, gumdrops and hard tack were all over the house.

I want to smell the fruitcake and carrot pudding as it bakes. Not many people like fruitcake, but my Mom could make it so it tasted really good. She made a point to purchase all the little colored jellies and raisins that went in it. It was so moist and yummy especially fresh out of the oven. I don’t think it hung around long enough for it to get hard and nasty because we either ate it or she gave it away to the neighbors.

I want to witness Mom as she gathers everything together to make carrot pudding. She always wanted that to be a special part of our Christmas dinner. For some reason, she just couldn’t cook it in a loaf pan. She would go on a hunt to find old tin cans, large and small. She would mix up the batter and stuff those tin cans full then put them in the oven to bake. She had a pan of water in the oven so they would stay moist as they baked. They had to be baked in tin cans so they would be round when they came out. Maybe she was trying to make a Yule log? I’m not sure.  I just know that she would get them out of the oven and carefully out of those tin cans. She would tip the cakes on their side so she could slice them and they would be neatly round slices. She would top them with her homemade caramel sauce and it was delicious.

I want to participate in another school pageant. I don’t know who was responsible for planning these at the grade school, but kudos to them for doing such a spectacular job! My first one is etched in my memory. The whole gymnasium was decorated like a winter wonderland! Our class sang Silver Bells as we “wandered the city street.” I was transported to a magical place. At the end, of course, Santa showed up for all of us. Sixth grade was just as memorable. Our teacher, Mrs. Pearson, (I wonder where she is now?) was from Kauai, Hawaii. She introduced us to the Hawaiian culture that year, fresh coconuts and all. At the Christmas pageant, we performed our own Hula dance (yes, we had grass skirts) to the song “Mele Kalikimaka.” I can still do some of it to this day. (You can actually see the dance on You Tube now)

I want to stay up half the night with my brother waiting to see Santa Claus. It was so exciting laughing and talking with anticipation, then finally drifting off to sleep. Only to find in the morning that we’d missed him yet again.

I want to feel the anticipation of knowing my older brothers and sisters are coming home for Christmas Dinner as I stand at the large picture window watching every car coming down the highway. Patiently waiting, watching. Knowing they will be home soon because Mom said they were coming. I stand at the window watching each car rise over the hill and am disappointed over and over until finally their car pulls into the driveway. They’re here and I jump up and down with joy!

I miss them so and we don’t see each other often enough anymore. We are all older and involved with our own families and lives, but I still miss them. Maybe it’s the plight of being the youngest in the family. I sometimes feel like the forgotten one. Maybe it’s just the mindset of always being the one left behind as they moved on with their lives. I would think by now that feeling would have gone away, but it’s still there from time to time. Being the youngest isn’t always the prime spot in the family as some would have you believe. It can be lonely at times.

I don’t know if this stroll down memory lane has helped ease my aching heart, but I’m glad I have such great memories to fall back on during the holidays. It helps bring a smile to my face as I remember home. Even though I can’t go back there, I can hold on to the good times as they bubble up in my mind waiting to be remembered, waiting to be written, waiting to be shared.

Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year to all!