A woman with shorn white hair is standing at the kitchen window. She is wearing tennis shoes and a shapeless gray sweater over a summery calico dress. She is small and spritely, like a bantam hen; but, due to a long youthful illness, her shoulders are pitifully hunched. Her face is remarkable--not unlike Lincoln's, craggy like that, and tinted by sun and wind; but it is delicate too, finely boned, and her eyes are sherry-colored and timid. "Oh my," she exclaims, her breath smoking the window pane, "it's fruitcake weather!"
from Truman Capote, A Christmas Memory
I heart fruitcake, yes I do, and I think if more people had
good fruitcake, they would like it, too. Sadly, for many Americans living above the Mason-Dixon line, the idea of fruitcake is a dry-as-dust, oblong, studded-with-dayglo mystery fruit. It has become the butt of jokes, and a favorite object for "re-gifting". Now I have heard that down South, a delicious fruitcake can be had. As a yankee, my key to success was to find a source from someone who is not American. Not un-American. NOT American. Someone who was born in a country where fruitcake is appreciated and lovingly made. My recipes have come from both across the pond and down under. I feel it is my civic duty to spread the fruitcake love, my charge as an ambassador, trying to change the mind of one fruitcake-hater at a time...
I start with 7 pounds of mixed dried fruit--apricots, figs, strawberries, blueberries, raisins, etc. Soak overnight in two cups of blackberry brandy.
1 pound sugar
1 dozen eggs
1 pound flour
1 pound butter
1/2 jar marmalade (approx. 7 ounces)
1/2 jar berry jam (approx. 7 ounces)
Cream the butter and sugar. Add the yolks of the eggs, then the flour and slightly beaten egg whites. Add the fruit and the jam. Put a greased or buttered paper at the bottom of the pan and also on the top of the cake mixture--I use parchment paper liners and an old Courier and Ives cookie tin to bake in. Pour the batter into the pan. Keep top covered with the parchment for the first two hours of baking, then remove. Bake at 300 degrees for three hours. Douse with more brandy if you like.
I like using a cookie tin because I can both bake and store the cake in it. Let the cake cool completely before removing. The paper-lined bottom will make it easy to shake out.
It's been a rough couple of weeks dealing with some family illnesses. But a few "jolly" times were squeezed in between which made it not so bad. 
One being that my friend Sarah invited me over to her house to teach me how to make... 
...an honest-to-goodness English Christmas cake...
...with marzipan
...and more marzipan
...and royal icing
pretty, pretty, wrapped up and waiting to be served with Christmas dinner. Thank you, Sarah!
My second mental health day was spent making these bird ornaments. The how-to came from a Martha Stewart Christmas craft issue from a couple of years ago.
You make a clay from one cup of applesauce, a half cup of cinnamon, and a quarter cup of white glue. Now I experiment with these measurements, giving or taking until I get a soft, pliable mixture that can be rolled out with a rolling pin, not unlike making sugar cookies.
Using cardboard templates that my husband made from the pictures in the magazine, I cut out the bird shapes. Put a hole in the top middle with a toothpick so you can thread a string for hanging.
I have one of those plug-in heat-coil food dehydrators that I use to dry the ornaments in. Or you can simply let them air dry. I learned the hard way that it's best to flip them over now and then while they dry. Otherwise they tend to warp. Flipping them helps them to remain flat. 
Lastly, go buck-wild with the glitter, beads, and glue.
The letters are gorgeous, full of the ancient gent's "shaky" penmanship.
Not to mention the authors' own charming illustrations. When I first read this, I was so inspired that I wished I could have done something similar for my own children, but they were too old. Sigh...
Now I'm not claiming to be half as clever as Tolkien. But I do have some lovely bottles of ink, pens, parchment paper, and a delightful, adorable, irresistable
grandchild who lives far away from her adoring granny.
My dearest girl...
Who's that knocking at the door?
Welcome, dear St. Nicholas...
We've been good children all year!
I heart fruitcake, yes I do, and I think if more people had good fruitcake, they would like it, too. Sadly, for many Americans living above the Mason-Dixon line, the idea of fruitcake is a dry-as-dust, oblong, studded-with-dayglo mystery fruit. It has become the butt of jokes, and a favorite object for "re-gifting". Now I have heard that down South, a delicious fruitcake can be had. As a yankee, my key to success was to find a source from someone who is not American. Not un-American. NOT American. Someone who was born in a country where fruitcake is appreciated and lovingly made. My recipes have come from both across the pond and down under. I feel it is my civic duty to spread the fruitcake love, my charge as an ambassador, trying to change the mind of one fruitcake-hater at a time...
I start with 7 pounds of mixed dried fruit--apricots, figs, strawberries, blueberries, raisins, etc. Soak overnight in two cups of blackberry brandy. 
Cream the butter and sugar. Add the yolks of the eggs, then the flour and slightly beaten egg whites. Add the fruit and the jam. Put a greased or buttered paper at the bottom of the pan and also on the top of the cake mixture--I use parchment paper liners and an old Courier and Ives cookie tin to bake in. Pour the batter into the pan. Keep top covered with the parchment for the first two hours of baking, then remove. Bake at 300 degrees for three hours. Douse with more brandy if you like. 
I like using a cookie tin because I can both bake and store the cake in it. Let the cake cool completely before removing. The paper-lined bottom will make it easy to shake out.
292 - first night of Advent
293 - pomanders
294 - flour covered fingers
295 - when the house smells like pie
296 - the ridiculously extravagant birthday cake from our favorite French bakery that my family blesses me with every year
297 - the heavens declare...
