Sweet
Memorial
I
periodically pretend to clean out the basement, throwing out or
giving away things I've held onto long enough – old clothes and
toys, storage containers, empty boxes - rearranging the remaining
objects to look like there is less stuff down there than there
actually is. On my last decluttering adventure to the basement, I
found an old metal can that I had held onto for so long that I don't
really know how old it is – more than thirty years, perhaps? I
thought about getting rid of it, but it only got as far as the
garage, where it eventually ended up in a photo shoot on the front
seat of my car.
The
can had at one time contained Tavener's hard candy, a fruit-flavored
jewel-like sweet in bright colors of green, red, orange and yellow.
I don't remember how or why I got the can of candy, but I do remember
why I've kept it for so long.
Sweet
memorial...
When
I was a child, my grandfather had a metal can of Tavener's on the
front seat of his car. Always. I do remember the original candy in
the can, and it is possible he had more than one can over the life of
his cars, but that familiar Tavener's can was a permanent fixture on
the front seat, just to his right when he sat in the car. And we
kids all knew it was there – me, my brother, my cousins. We knew
that where Grandpa was, there was candy. The original candies were
just a classic hard candy, ranging from bright red (yummy cherry) to
bright green (yucky lime – my least favorite...). When the
original candy ran out, Grandpa would refill the can with a random
assortment of other sweets. The candy in the can was not often what
it said on the outside of the can, but candy of some sort was always
in the Taverner's can on the front seat.
My
brother and I spent a lot of time in the car with Grandpa growing up.
He took us fishing and crabbing, out to nearby lakes to feed the
ducks. He drove my Grandma to the store, to doctor appointments, and
more often than not, my brother and I were left in the car with
Grandpa to let my grandmother run her errands unemcumbered by two
small children. We were good at entertaining ourselves, but we knew
if things got a little frenetic in the back seat, there was always a
bribe sitting on the front seat in a little metal can. “Want a
piece of candy?” Grandpa would say, and quiet would reign again –
at least for the length of time it would take for my brother and I to
finish sucking on whatever we had chosen out of the can.
Objects
tied to memories are precious...and biblical.
In
the book of Exodus, God gives Moses specific instructions about
making an ephod and a breastpiece, overgarments to be worn by the
high priest when entering the Holy Place. They both contained
jewels, as colorful as Tavener's candy, to represent the sons of
Israel – objects, but associated with people, the purpose being a
reminder, a memorial before the Lord:
Take
two onyx stones and engrave on them the names of the sons of Israel
in the order of their birth—six names on one stone and the
remaining six on the other. Engrave the names of the sons of Israel
on the two stones the way a gem cutter engraves a seal. Then mount
the stones in gold filigree settings and fasten them on the shoulder
pieces of the ephod as memorial
stones
for the sons of Israel. Aaron is to bear the names on his shoulders
as a
memorial
before the Lord. (Exodus 28:9-12)
Then
mount four rows of precious stones on it. The first row shall be
carnelian, chrysolite and beryl; the second row shall be turquoise,
lapis lazuli and emerald; the third row shall be jacinth, agate and
amethyst; the fourth row shall be topaz, onyx and jasper. Mount them
in gold filigree settings. There are to be twelve stones, one for
each of the names of the sons of Israel, each engraved like a seal
with the name of one of the twelve tribes...Whenever Aaron enters the
Holy Place, he will bear the names of the sons of Israel over his
heart on the breastpiece of decision as a continuing memorial
before the Lord. (Exodus 28: 17-21, 29)
After
crossing the Jordan River, Joshua also directs the making of a
memorial. This one is made with stones from the river itself, to
remind the people of God Himself, of His power and loving deliverance
toward the people of Israel:
So
Joshua called together the twelve men he had appointed from the
Israelites, one from each tribe, and said to them, “Go over before
the ark of the Lord your God into the middle of the Jordan. Each of
you is to take up a stone on his shoulder, according to the number of
the tribes of the Israelites, to serve as a sign among you. In the
future, when your children ask you, ‘What do these stones mean?’
tell them that the flow of the Jordan was cut off before the ark of
the covenant of the Lord. When it crossed the Jordan, the waters of
the Jordan were cut off. These stones are to be a memorial
to the people of Israel forever. (Joshua 4:4-7)
We
are all surrounded by tangible memorials to God's goodness –
family, homes, jobs, experiences - that most of us acknowledge in
some way the fourth Thursday of each November. I acknowledge an
additional November memorial, a remembrance – November 30, the
feast of St. Andrew. In the eastern European culture where my
grandfather grew up, name days were celebrated more than birthdays.
As children, my brother and I were coached by Mom and Grandma to wish
Grandpa, his name being Andrew, a happy “Andrej” - an
acknowledgment of his name day.* So I suppose it is timely I came
across that old Taverner's can in the basement recently. No, it's
not the original can, the candy tin that Grandpa actually had on his
front seat – but it is the same kind of can, same size, same old
Tavener's graphic – and when I see it, it reminds me of Grandpa.
The can serves as a memorial of the times spent in the car with him,
the presence he was in my life for so many years, the only in-house
father figure I knew as a little girl.
Needless
to say, the can didn't get any farther than the garage. And somehow,
the basement doesn't seem to be the appropriate place for it anymore.
When it made its trip upstairs and into my memories, it demanded a
more prominent place in my living space. Memorials are like that...
*My
brother and I were taught the abbreviated version of a long Slovak
saying that was traditionally said to the person celebrating his
name day. Roughly translated, it went something like this: “I'm
wishing you, I'm wishing you and I'm not going to stop wishing you
until you give me something...” This usually earned a quarter for
each of us from Grandpa.
One
day, you’ll be just a memory for some people. Do your best to be a
good one. - Unknown
I
usually plant too many Italian plum tomato plants, but I expect to
freeze their fruit for the winter, so don't worry too much when my
counter is covered with red orbs come the end of October. In the
past I've made sauce and froze it and roasted halved tomatoes and
froze them, but the fall produce season usually produces a glut of
produce and not enough time to process it all. Over the years I've
fallen into taking the easiest and least time-consuming way of
dealing with all the tomatoes, a tip given to me years ago by a woman
who had ten kids. (Note: Always listen to tips given by women who
have ten children. They have learned how to become incredibly
efficient in most areas of their lives, especially in the area of
food storage and preparation.) This woman would pick and wash her
tomatoes, cut out the stem end of each tomato and freeze them as is
in freezer bags or plastic storage containers. I started doing this
just to get the tomatoes off my counter before November. I also
found that a frozen tomato, with a hole cut in the stem end, could
easily be skinned by dipping the tomato in some lukewarm water for a
minute and simply squeezing the tomato out of the skin. The
remaining frozen orb could be thawed slightly, chopped and then thrown
in soups or stews or chili. My favorite use of the frozen tomatoes in
my freezer, however, is for a roasted tomato sauce. Below is the
recipe. I just take the desired amount of frozen tomatoes out of the
freezer, usually enough to cover the bottom of a roasting pan, put
them in a bowl of lukewarm tap water, slip them out of their skins
and put them into the roasting pan. Then follow this recipe:
Desired amount of
skinned, frozen plum tomatoes, enough to cover the bottom of a 13”
x 9” roasting pan
