My Fondest Memory of Christmas as a Child

Posted on December 23, 2012 by Mama Cormier

…. I love telling this story and couldn’t wait till Christmas to share it with you

When I started blogging I wanted to share stories and memories of my family as I grew up. This story is one of my earlier memories. The details ring clear as a bell for me. It’s like it happened yesterday. I hope you enjoy it.

The Best Christmas Present

It was December 24th, 1958. I was six years old. I remember that it was a frosty cold day and my mother was fretting because we still didn’t have our tree. In Germany it was traditional to put the tree up Christmas Eve but Mom had been in Canada long enough to know that trees were sold well in advance of the big day and that finding one at this late date would be challenging. My father, however, the complete optimist, reassured us that bringing home a tree today would not be a problem.

Early in the afternoon, Dad got into his big black Ford and left Mom, my sister and I to prepare the house for the arrival of Santa Claus. Hours passed and I remember my mother started to worry. There were no cell phones and stores were already closed. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity my father arrived with not one, but two trees.

My mother was aghast. What were we to do with two trees and two spindly trees at that? My father, again, reassured us that he had it all under control and disappeared into the basement with both trees in tow. For the next hour or so we heard the hand saw cut away at one of the trees and a hand drill bore holes into the other.

Weary and smiling from ear to ear, Dad emerged from the basement with a beautiful, full, and perfectly formed ‘Tannenbaum’. Christmas was looking up and we quickly adorned our new tree with glass ornaments that had been carefully brought over from Germany. The electric candles were meticulously arranged and then we were allowed to place the icicles on the lower branches while the adults worked on the upper ones.

Darkness came early as it always has on Christmas Eve and I remember the excitement I felt and the anticipation of hearing and maybe seeing Santa Claus come through the front door in an hour or so. When it was time my mother hurried us into our bedroom and sat with us while we waited for Santa’s arrival.

The knock was loud and resounding and my father opened the door to welcome our special guest. It was always the same greeting. “Ho, ho, ho!” while Santa noisily stamped the snow from his boots. The two men exchanged a few words, loud enough so that we could hear through the door and then as quickly as he arrived, Santa left.

My father called for us to come out and see what Santa had left us. It was always magical walking into the living room at that particular moment in time. The candles were lit for the first time, the rest of the lights in the house were dimmed and lo and behold the base of the tree was miraculously laden with beautifully wrapped gifts that hadn’t been there 20 minutes earlier.

Our tradition was always to sing a few Carols before opening our gifts. I wrung my hands as I dutifully sang and my little sister stood next to me with her cheeks flushed, partially due to the excitement and the late hour. The one present I remember both of receiving that night were matching life-size baby dolls. I named mine Barbara. Unbeknownst to us, the best present was yet to arrive.

Our next door neighbours dutifully arrived soon after all our gifts had been opened and we were hustled off to bed with our new ‘babies’. Little did we know that my parents’ friends were there to babysit us while my mom and dad drove to the hospital. It’s funny how I have no recollection of my mother even being pregnant and I certainly had no clue that she had been in labour that entire day.

The rest of the story is how I remember it being retold by my mother and father.

After putting us to bed, with her little suitcase in hand, my mother got into the car with my father at the wheel and sped off to the hospital. At the time we lived in Oakville and my mother’s doctor worked out of a hospital in Toronto. The fastest way to get there was via the expressway.

Before I continue with my story I need preface it with a little more information about my father. My father has always been a very carefree and spontaneous sort of fellow. He was a hard worker and provided for his family but his judgement about certain things was not always prudent. One of those things was how far he could travel on a tank of gas. That said let me continue with my story.

It must have been close to 11:00 at night when the unspeakable happened. In the middle of the QEW the car ran out of gas. I guess after driving around all afternoon looking for a tree my father forgot how much gas he used. Remember this was a time when everything was closed on Christmas Eve and 24 hour gas stations did not exist. I can’t imagine what my mother was thinking as her contractions were getting closer and closer. This baby was coming quickly.

Over the years as I remember this story I can’t believe that my father got out of the car and left my mom by the side of the highway while he looked for a gas station. As luck would have it my father managed to find an open service station and bought enough gas to get them to the hospital. My parents arrived minutes before midnight and about 10 minutes later my sister was born.

The next morning, on Christmas Day, I remember my sister and I climbing into bed with my father where he gave us the news of our new sister. Each year on this day I fondly remember the events that led up to this special day and the birth of my sister….my best childhood Christmas present, ever. Love you Cathy!

Wishing all my loyal readers and followers and my family and friends a very special holiday season, whether it be Christmas, Hanukkah, Kwanza or Diwali. May you all have special memories to cherish and share.

Carol

What Do You Do With Nine Pounds of Plums?

Posted on September 24, 2012 by Mama Cormier

…..make plum jam of course

I love plum cake, plum jam and Polish donuts with plum filling.

It’s part of my German upbringing. Every August/September, growing up, my mom would make ‘pflaumenkuchen mit streusel’ and serve it with freshly whipped cream. It was truly special.

Months after my mother’s death I purchased a plum cake from a local bakery situated near the cottage. When I served it, my youngest daughter started to cry because it reminded her of her Oma. No one, in her young memory made a better pflaumenkuchen.

I have tried to recreate her recipe. Of course she didn’t share the recipe with us and we only have our memories of the taste and appearance to go by. My father’s wife makes a wonderful version of this traditional German cake but always makes it with a yeast dough. I’m pretty sure that Mom used a batter made with butter, flour, sugar and baking powder.

http://www.huettenhilfe.de/wp-content/uploads/2010/08/Pflaumenkuchen.jpg

Ah, memories…… however, I am trying to lose more weight and baking a plum cake right now would be counter productive. So most of the plums that we bought have gone into making plum jam and most of the jars will be gifted to family and friends.

My husband found an interesting recipe from a cookbook called My Berlin Kitchen by Luisa Weiss. It uses less sugar than most jams and is baked in the oven for 2 hours. We’ve tweaked the recipe somewhat and doubled the amounts suggested in the original recipe. I also love the name ‘Pflaumenmus’. If you’d like the original recipe go to: http://www.foodinjars.com/2012/09/my-berlin-kitchen-giveaway-spiced-plum-butter/

Eight pounds of plums soaking in sugar, cinnamon and cloves.

Pflaumenmus (Spiced Plum Butter)

8 pounds of Italian plums, washed, quartered and pitted

4 cups of sugar

4 cinnamon sticks

8 cloves or 2 tsp. ground cloves

1. Place the washed, quartered and pitted plums in a large ovenproof pot or baking dish.

2. Sprinkle the sugar and cloves over the plums and place the cinnamon sticks under the plums.

3. Place the pan or pot in the refrigerator for several hours or overnight.

4. Put the pan of plums in a preheated oven (350 degrees) and bake for 2 hours.

5. Here is where we tweaked the recipe. The mixture was very soupy so we put the pan on the stovetop and cooked it longer until some of the liquid cooked down.

6. Place the mixture in a blender or use an immersion blender and puree the mixture until you get the desired consistency. If you like a chunkier jam, blend less and longer if you like it smoother.

7. Place the hot jam in hot sterilized jars. Make sure that the rims are clean and place the lids carefully on top and screw on the rings.

8. Process in a hot water bath for 10 minutes.

Three of the 14 jars of Pflaumenmus we made with 8 pounds of plums.

Enjoy!

Feeling a Little Melancholy

Posted on April 18, 2012 by Mama Cormier

April 18th! This would have been Mom’s 81st birthday. Hard to believe that she’s been gone for 19 years. She taught me everything; how to cook, knit, sew, clean a house (how I hated that) but more importantly how to love and be patient with the ones you love. We had our differences over the years. The teen years were particularly hard but as a young woman and wife (pretty much happened at the same time) we became closer.

I remember in the awkward preteen years she always told me I was beautiful and I always responded by saying “you’re my mom, you have to say that!” She encouraged me when I tried to lose weight but she didn’t realize that it was never going to happen until I was ready to do so and that it had to be my idea. I know she only wanted the best for me. She herself struggled a little bit with weight, especially as she got older.

After the birth of our first daughter, I did lose a lot of weight and got down to 132 pounds. An all time low for me. Many of my family friends thought I was too thin but in hind sight I think it was a good thing because soon after I became pregnant with twins. That’s a story for another time.

Thanks Mom. I miss you. I know you’re watching over me.

In the 60’s with Mom and my sisters.

My sisters, me and our Mom.

When Food Became my Enemy

Posted on April 17, 2012 by Mama Cormier

How dramatic! I’ve always loved food. Both my parents were great cooks. I remember when they started a catering business from our kitchen. It was the first time I had shrimp. I was hooked. I loved watching them prepare food for the fancy parties they catered and of course I was allowed to sample. Yum! Good thing I was a pretty active little girl. I always played outside, walked to school and rode my bike around the neighbourhood. I was a little on the pudgy side but not what I would consider fat.

When I was nine I contracted hepatitis A and was bed ridden for months. I missed a lot of school and couldn’t play with my friends but the worst part was the fat reduced diet I was put on. That was shear hell for someone who loved whipped cream, ice cream, cake and the crispy skin from the chicken. For some reason the chicken skin really stood out for me. I don’t know how much weight I lost but from photos I could see a noticeable change.

That was the beginning of my yo-yo dieting life. It didn’t help that my mother was made to feel guilty and responsible for my weight status by our family doctor. At the age of 11 when I weighed 120 pounds I remember how our female doctor reamed me out and tried to shame me into losing weight. At the time I was close to 5 feet tall and still growing. I did lose 10 pounds but I couldn’t maintain it. The fact that I grew 5 more inches and entered puberty might have had something to do with it.