The Mystery Fruitcake

 

Jenn McKinlay: There was a long running mystery in my house growing up. My grandparents received a fruitcake--the classic Collin Street Bakery fruitcake in the iconic tin--every holiday season. It was addressed to my grandfather John P. Norris but there was never any indication of who sent it. My grandfather passed away in 1962 (years before I was born) but the fruitcake kept on coming. 

My grandmother would bring it to our house every Christmas and so I began to associate this tin and its contents with Christmas. In her later years, my grandmother moved to Arizona, leaving her house to my mom and still the fruitcake kept coming even while the house was empty. 

The only person who enjoyed it was my brother so he ate the lion's share. I tried it every year but never warmed up to the taste, although now I'm wondering if I should try it again just for nostalgia's sake. 

Eventually, my mom sold her house and downsized into the house her parents had built. And, yes, the fruitcake kept coming. 

My mother, being a librarian, naturally tried to solve the mystery of who was sending the fruitcake. She could never track them down. But then, one year in the early 2000's, the fruitcake stopped coming. My brother was the only one who missed the cake while I missed having the holiday mystery of who had been so fond of my grandfather that he/she/they continued to send him a fruitcake every holiday for forty years after he'd passed. May we all leave behind such a positive impression when we depart this mortal coil.

How about you, Reds and Readers, any holiday mysteries to share? And what's your take on fruitcake? Thumbs up or down?

LIES. LIES. LIES. by Jenn McKinlay

 

JENN MCKINLAY: When I was about seven years old, I remember cornering my dad and asking him point blank. "Is Santa Claus real?"

We were standing in his studio (Pop was an artist) and he cupped his chin and pondered my questions while I quivered in anticipation of his answer. My friends told me Santa was fake, but the dewy eyed child inside of me wanted to believe in magic and kept the story of the "right jolly old elf" clutched in her pudgy little hand. Finally, after what seemed like days in child time but was mere seconds in adult time, my dad met my gaze and said, "If you don't believe, you don't receive."

I was rocked back on my heels. Had Pop just given me the secret? Did the kids who didn't believe stop receiving and that's why they thought they were right? Hallelujah! I hugged him tight and assured him that I most definitely did believe.

Fast forward twenty-eight years when I had my own dewy eyed little hooligans and I'm a guest at a wedding right before the holidays, sitting with a bunch of moms discussing holiday stuff. One mom addresses the group of us and declares that if you LIE to your child about Santa, you're breaking trust with them, they'll never believe you about anything, you're a terrible mother, and your children will abandon you to your throne of lies once they grow up. If her goal was to end the conversation between moms, she did a bang up job. I don't think any of us made eye contact after that judgement grenade and we all quickly scuttled off to find our spouses. 

See, here's the thing with Hub and me. We fairy-taled the shizzle out of the boys' childhoods. Not only did we keep the Santa myth going until they were 9 and 10 respectively, no small achievement with the internet and whatnot, but we made up tall tales about everything. 

When they came with me to the post office to mail packages, I told them the postal workers attached wings to the boxes and launched them. Then we stood in the parking lot, checking the skies for our packages winging their way to wherever. People thought we were deranged. Hilarious! Hub's classic was to tell the boys we adopted them from monkey island at the Phoenix Zoo but we had to remove their tails so they could leave. Those boys spent a lot of time checking their backsides to see if their tails were growing back. We also told them the piped in music at the grocery store was for people to dance while they shopped and then we had "dance breaks" in the middle of the aisle. And that's just a few of the more memorable ones. Good times!

We never discussed or planned the whoppers we told our kids. It came to us in the moment and we went with it. We both believed that the magic of being a kid and the joy of childhood should be encouraged in every possible way even if it meant...fibbing.

I don't know what happened to that mama or what her relationship with her kids is. I hope it's what she wanted. But I do know that Hub and I are besties with the Hooligans and I like to think it's because they appreciate that we worked really hard to make their childhood something special.

How about you, Reds and Readers? Where do you stand on the magic of believing versus the brutal truth at all times? Did your family have any particular tall tales that you remember fondly?

End of an Hair-a (Get it? Hair-a instead of Era?)

JENN McKINLAY I married into my hair stylist. I know it sounds weird, but Ben the hair wizard started cutting the Hub's hair when Hub was eighteen. Hub is just shy of sixty now so that's a very long relationship between a man and his hair guy. When I married the Hub, Ben became my hair wizard, too. Naturally, when the Hooligans came along, they got their first haircuts with Ben and remained his clients until they moved away from home. 

A few months ago, Ben told us he and his wife Barb, also a hair stylist, were retiring. We were thrilled for them but a bit bereft for us. We have known them for decades. We didn’t even have to explain the cut  or in my case the color that we wanted, because they knew. Getting a haircut at Ben and Barb's was like visiting family. I even wrote them into one of my books WAIT FOR IT.

Hub and I had our final haircuts with them last week, and it was a surprisingly emotional experience even though I know we'll see them again at one of Hub's gigs or when we get together at their place up north. Still, it was the end of an hair-a and I'm pretty bummed.

How about you, Reds, have you ever had to say good-bye to a professional that you've known forever -- hairdresser, mechanic, accountant -- an wondered, well, shoot, now what am I going to do?

LUCY BURDETTE: That’s a long hair relationship! I hate when that happens! Here’s the thing I dread the most: losing my dental hygienist. Trudy’s been taking care of my teeth since I moved to New Haven in 1984 and she does the best job. She’s a little older than me, so it wouldn’t be unreasonable for her to retire…but I beg her every time I see her and she assures me all is well. We know all about each other’s families, and we chat about books and Broadway shows, even though it’s not that easy to talk with your mouth full of equipment. She stops in at all my Connecticut booksignings. Oh Trudy, please don’t leave me!

HALLIE EPHRON: Recently my primary care physician retired. My first criteria, aside from competence, was AGE! I wanted someone much younger than me. My new PCP is just a few years out of medical school.

Youth was my #1 criteria when I had to be assigned a new editor at HarperCollins. (Sadly, publishing houses are known for laying off their oldest and most experienced editors.)

I also miss my mechanics – brothers (Brian and Greg) and before them their dad (Mr. Egan) who owned my local Sunoco station. I’d put them in one of my books and brought over a signed copy.

Marching into the future, kicking and screaming.

HANK PHILLIPPI RYAN: Oh, Jenn, this is SUCH a thing! First, my primary care physician retired, she was so great, and we had been together for gosh, so many years? I mean, I know I got older, but she was not allowed to. Think of the history.  She’s seen me go from 36 to 76. I mean–that is a process! 

The replacement is a version of how the original was, she’s fine.  But it’s a different relationship. Although she probably knows newer things–I guess. What’s “standard” is certainly different, for better and for worse.

My dentist recently informed me he was retiring, too, SHEESH. And he is enthusiastic about the person who is taking over the practice. “You’ll love her,” he says. We shall see.

And yeah, even my dermatologist, who is famous and fabulous? Yup, gonzo in three months.

But if my hair guy retires, I’m just going to stay out of the public eye for the rest of my life. Clearly there is no other option.

RHYS BOWEN:  I am still in recovery mode from my hairdresser going back to Thailand with no warning after twenty plus years. I’ve tried two people since. Both disappointing. I may have to fly to Thailand!  And my doctor is getting on in years too. John’s is retiring at the end of the year and a new, young concierge is double the price.  If my house cleaner stops working I’ll be in despair!

DEBORAH CROMBIE: Jenn, losing your hair person is the worst! Or quitting your hair person. I stopped going to my long-time stylist, who was also a friend, during covid, when she wouldn’t get vaccinated. And then, when I’d cut my own hair for a year (argh) it would have felt really weird to go back, as well as still unsafe. So I found a new stylist, who has since moved to another salon and I drive 30 minutes to get my hair cut!

But the worst is losing your primary care doctor. Ours, who had been our doctor for 18 years, moved to Missouri last year. He was also a neighbor, and he even made housecalls! We miss him so much. The new doctor is very nice but it takes years to build a relationship.

JULIA SPENCER-FLEMING: You may have noticed my hair is always up in a bun these days. I'm hoping it makes me look like a stern Latin professor at a women's college in Oxford, but I fear it really just reads "Granny who makes biscuits." The reason I haven't cut it is because during the pandemic my hairdresser, whom I had found after going from place to place for several years, left the state! The nerve of her, to go get married and move in with her new husband.

I've been waiting for the energy to find a new stylist, but honestly, I found the right place to get my Shih Tzus groomed, and that may be as far as it goes. (The groomer is only in his twenties; I'm hoping  the dogs and I will all be in the ground before he retires.)

How about you, Readers? Have you lost any professionals in your life that you can't replace?