David Heiller
One sign of Christmas hit me at work on Monday, December 8. Hazel had
brought peppernuts to work for our coffee break. I said, “You know it’s
Christmas when Hazel brings peppernuts to work.”
Peppernuts are like miniature gingersnap cookies.
They are about the size of a nickel. They must be hard to make, because they
are so small. Yet Hazel makes them by the hundreds every Christmas.
I don’t want to go overboard describing
Hazel’s peppernuts. Α man could get in trouble doing that.
Besides, Hazel is still mad at me for going
overboard about her in last week’s column, when I wrote about what a nice
sewing lady she is.
But you haven’t really lived till you’ve tossed a fist full of Hazel’s peppernuts into your mouth and washed them
down with a cup of coffee. Wow.
My wife, Cindy, makes a cookie that always reminds
me of Christmas too. They are chocolate cookies, chewy and soft, with just the
right amount of chocolate.
 |
| I still make Grandma Schnick's chocolate cookies using her recipe card every Christmas. |
She got the recipe from my Grandma Schnick.
Cindy still
uses the recipe card that Grandma gave her. It must be a good feeling, taking out that old recipe card once
a year and seeing Grandma’s friendly handwriting.
Grandma only made chocolate cookies at Christmas, and Cindy has kept with
that strict regimen. She subscribes to the rule that absence makes the heart
grow fonder and the stomach growl louder.
The chocolate cookies remind me of Grandma
and the happy days of youth, and they remind me of the happy days, still ongoing, of my adult life with Cindy
and the kids.
YOU KNOW IT’S
CHRISTMAS when you watch the movie, “It’s
A Wonderful Life.” It’s another thing that can be consumed only at Christmas,
at least in our house.
Just as absence makes the heart grow
fonder, I believe another saying is equally true: familiarity breeds contempt. You don’t want to overdo a movie like “It’s A Wonderful Life.” It’s too precious.
I think about this movie quite a bit
throughout the year. I even have some of the passages memorized.
Like when the mean bartender says, “Listen,
Mack, we serve hard liquor to people who want to get drunk fast, and we don’t
need any characters to give the joint atmosphere.” Don’t you know a few bars fit
that description?
Or these:
When George Sr. says to his son at the
supper table: “You were born old, George.” I know some people that seem
like they were
born old.
When ΖuZu says at the end of the movie: “Teacher says when a bell
rings, an angel gets his weeeeennngggs.” That kid is just too cute.
When George realizes he has fallen for his future wife: “I don’t want any
plastics and I don’t want any ground floors and I don’t want to ever get married.”
This saying is followed by a kiss in which Cindy and I mash our cheeks together
with the force of a wood splitter, like in the movie. Maybe that’s how
people kissed in 1934. I’ll have to ask Red Hansen.
I usually say these passages for laughs.
But there’s one saying that strikes close to a part of all of us. It first
comes when George Bailey calls Mr. Potter a “warped, frustrated old man.” It’s
true. Potter is a cynical, greedy miser. He’s not working for the betterment of
his fellow man, as George is.
But then Potter cruelly turns the phrase back on George when George comes
seeking help at the end: “What are you but a warped, frustrated YOUNG man?”
Potter asks, and you wonder if there isn’t a bit of truth in it.
George is frustrated. He never left Bedford
Falls. He’s stuck. Maybe he never did want to get married and spend his life
working at a broken down savings and loan.
Sometimes I think things like that about myself.
We all get in ruts. Most people have a time or two when they wonder if the
world wouldn’t be better without them.
Most of us can usually pull out of those doldrums
and count our blessings, like George is able to do at the end, with the help of
his many friends.
Every so often someone can’t.
That’s sadder than words can express.
I’m glad it’s Christmas, glad for peppernuts and chocolate
cookies and A Wonderful Life.
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