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Pure Magic
by
Anne Michael
Seasoned Lightly is on hiatus until after the first of the year when Anne Michael, who is taking a break, will return to BiblioBuffet. In the meantime, we invite you to revisit some of her early pieces.
Do you believe in magic? I do. I’m not talking the magic that David Copperfield or David Blain does. I mean the magic that comes with living, that sparkles and shimmers in the air as you look into the eyes of the person you love and realize with a start that the spark you thought long gone is still there. Or the magic of the first huge fluffy snowflakes of the season that transforms the world into something bright, white and shining, or even the laughter of children at play.
Sometimes it’s easy to go through days and not notice things around me so engrossed am I in the mechanics of everyday living. I hate when I become an automaton, too focused on those mindless sorts of tasks. I can fall into that far too easily and without even noticing.
Life has been that way the past couple of weeks. But they’ve not been bad weeks. In fact, the days have been quite ordinary, so much so that even my diary is bored and the dogs curl at my feet and issue long, slow, mournful sighs as though in sympathy.
The other evening, my mother-in-law, Phyllis, and I were talking of the upcoming Thanksgiving holiday, trying to decide what scrumptious fare we would prepare this year as we sat idly leafing through a magazine she had gotten in the mail. This kind of conversation usually brings up memories of years gone by. This one was no exception. Mom told me about a cake her great-grandmother used to make—a burnt sugar cake. She loved it and remembered it fondly, but had never made it herself. Then suddenly and without a word, Mom left the room. A wee while later, when the dishes were done and things tidied up to my satisfaction, Phyllis returned. In her hand was a book that looked positively ancient, the pages crumbling at the ends.
The magic flared inside me. An old book will do that. Suddenly I was no longer in mechanical mode. I could feel the blood pulsing in my veins. I was certainly intrigued. With a twinkle in her eyes, the corners of them crinkling with mirth, Mom handed her mother, Lillian’s, cookbook to me. A green leather cover was held together with rubber bands. It proclaimed itself a diary, and it was dated 1929. It was meant to be used by Fidelity and Guaranty Company salesmen as a record book for tracking insurance premiums it was their job to collect.
The pages are now brittle and the color of rich caramel. They hold recipes written in an elegant and well-schooled hand, each one bearing the name of the person who had given Granny the recipe along with the date. This collection of recipes spanned the whole of Granny’s adult life, which was long and active. She passed away not quite ten years ago at age 101. In addition to the recipes written out, there was a wide range clipped from newspapers and magazines glued in or tucked in the pages. For hours, Mom and I sat poring over the recipes—exclaiming at the advertisements on the backs—beginning in the 1930s and continuing through the next six decades. Her collection of recipes was as eclectic as Granny who was herself endearingly eccentric. Here’s the most interesting part: Granny did not cook. My husband was surprised to find that his grandmother owned a cookbook, even if it was one of her own making.
Happily, we did find the recipe for burnt sugar cake and Mom and I have decided to try it, perhaps for the holidays. There are so many amazing recipes, some of which are bizarre like Jellied Meat Loaf. My imagination, as good as it can be, can find no delight in meatloaf encased in clear gelatin. In fact it sounds hideous. There was one recipe that made us laugh out loud. It is not written with the same tender care as the rest, though it is too wonderful not to share. We have no idea what it actually ends up to be since the title of the recipe, “Remember,” gives no clue. But the way it is written is splendid (see below). If you try it, please let me know what happens.
 Remember
2 1/3 cups vanilla wafer crumbs
1/2 cup butter
1 1/2 cups powdered sugar
1/2 cup nuts
2 eggs
1 #2 can crushed pine drained
1/2 pt whipping cream
Combine butter, sugar, eggs & beat well. Whip cream. Add pineapple & nuts to whipping cream and add this mess to the egg mess. Put 1/2 crumbs in bottom of Pyrex dish. Add egg & pineapple filling. Put rest of crumbs on top. (And there the instructions end.)
This handmade collection of recipes gathered over a lifetime is a treasure trove of historical tidbits, and the source of the magic that transformed my world from ordinary to extraordinary over the past few days. The scent of old paper, white glue and worn leather filled my head as I leafed repeatedly through the book, hearing in my mind the warm laugh and delighted giggle of Steve’s grandmother, and feeling glad I can be a part of the smile and great stories shared by my mother-in-law of her family. It has been pure magic. And I am grateful for that.
Happy Thanksgiving to one and all. I wish you the magic of family, friends and good food.
At age 10, Anne realized she was never going to get to be Miss America since reading a book was not an acceptable talent. So she went on to get a job and raise a family. Along the way, she fixed meals, picked up toys, helped with homework, and collected a drawer full of rejection slips for her “great American novel.” It was not all bad, however, since she ended up wallpapering a closet with them. She currently designs and creates greeting cards for her tiny company, The Frog Prints, LLC, and also works full-time as a Training Specialist. Anne is currently tethered to reality by a loving spouse, two dogs and the occasional hurricane that blows through Florida, although falling headlong and happily into a book is still her favorite “talent.” Contact Anne.
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