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Seven-year-old Buddy knows that the Christmas season has arrived when his cousin, Miss Sook Falk exclaims: "It's fruitcake weather!" Thus begins an unforgettable portrait of an odd, but enduring, friendship between two innocent souls—one young and one old—and the memories they share of beloved holiday rituals. I loved his descriptions of the coming of winter and trekking with her through the frozen woods as they prepared for Christmas. It’s a bittersweet story, and “Sook”, as he actually called the real woman, Nanny Rumbley Faulk, made such an impact that it obviously remained with him forever. This is the cover of one edition of the book, and it’s a photograph of the two of them. What a delight for anyone who loves seeing small children and old people do what they do best – love each other and be kind to the world. I wish that I could have gone down that lemony sun pool path with seven year old Buddy (Truman Capote) and his cousin Miss Sook. What a delightful woman she was, and he was so fortunate to have had her in is life. Together they made Christmas a joy. Miss Sook made around 30 fruitcakes for people that she knew in town, storekeepers, the mailman, and anyone else that they liked, and this year when they bought whiskey for the cake, they bought it from Mr. HaHa, who gave it to them in exchange for a fruitcake. He was a scary man to approach, but approach him they did. Whether you celebrate Christmas, Kwanzaa, Hanukkah, or nothing at all, I wish each of you the best of memories for the coming day.
Perhaps I should say this is not so much the review of a book, but the response A Christmas Memory still draws from me each year when I read it. Perhaps it is just a simple statement of the preciousness of memory and the gift it brings us to keep things alive within us, though those things have been gone from us for many years.They struggle hauling the heavy thing home, and a car carrying a rich mill owner’s wife stops and the wife offers to buy the tree off of them for “twobits.” The cousin refuses. Today my mother's kitchen will be redolent with the aromas of Roast Turkey, buttermilk pie, sweet potato souffle and sweet bourbon corn pudding. The cornbread dressing will be steaming and the giblet gravy will be hot and succulent. I will share the table today with my wife and mother. I will be thankful for home and family and the memory of those I love who will not be sharing our table today, whether separated by simple miles or death itself. I will raise a toast to each of those dear to me and I will feel their presence around the table because of two little books given to me one Christmas morning more than thirty years ago. He is seven, she is sixty-something and they are the best of pals. We’re told there are others in the household, but they don’t figure in this gorgeous little story of scrimping and saving all year for the money to buy the ingredients.
The universe of these two is restricted to the house in which they live with other somewhat abstract relatives, walks in the nearby woods, and occasional visits to local shops. They, however, regard their simple life as equal to the most pleasant one that may be had in the world outside. I've watched the television special - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oQGEU... - countless times now, so it was impossible to read this without hearing Capote's voice. Truman Capote’s childhood memory of his adored cousin, the “sixty-something” yet childlike best friend of his youth, is brimming with richly evoked country seasonal preparations to immerse you in the holiday spirit.
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The Thanksgiving Visitor and A Christmas Memory have both been carried to Wilmington. Holiday dinners there are not small affairs. Friends and neighbors fill the house. Extra tables and chairs are brought in. Each couple, group, single, brings a dish.
The Christmas dinner described above was the last my wife and I shared with my Mother. We were fortunate to have her with us through Thanksgiving and Christmas. Our homes were two doors apart. My wife and I moved into her home to be her caregivers. Mother died February 1, 2012. I am fortunate to have a number of books given to me by her through the years. I am mindful of the poet W.S. Merwin who told us, “What you remember saves you.” Yes, it does. Oh my,” she [Buddy’s friend] exclaims, her breath smoking the windowpane, “it’s fruitcake weather!” The author by narrating this little episode gently reminds us to value those whom we love, appreciate what we have at the present moment, and attempt to make the most of it. The mill owner’s wife persists. ‘A dollar, my foot! Fifty cents. That’s my last offer. Goodness, woman, you can get another one.’This sums up their relationship best. I liked how the narrator constantly called the lady “my friend.” The narrator's pride in their friendship can be felt in how he constantly calls the lady “my friend.” She is the only person who understands Buddy. These reflections have been written over the course of nearly three years. After my wife read these thoughts, she pointed out the importance of marking the time of thoughts in connection with the events of our lives. Normally two slender volumes stand next to the Capote short stories . They are slipcased editions of "The Thanksgiving Visitor" and a "Christmas Memory." I have taken them to the bedside table because it is time to read them once more. The Holidays have begun. Thanksgiving has come and gone. I could re-shelve "The Thanksgiving Visitor, but I never do until I have read "A Christmas Memory" once more.
It is that inscription that urges me to take these little books out each year. For in addition to the joy and simple kindness of Capote's holiday memories are the memories of my own Thanksgivings and Christmases, some joyous and some not, especially those holidays without my grandparents, both of whom have been gone now over twenty years. Yet I still long for their presence, I find them with me more often now because of the gift of memories, especially the sweetest ones. How could anyone read this without a sense of nostalgia? Even if you never lived in a place with a fireplace or a wood stove or made any kind of holiday food, you can imagine what it must have been like for little Truman Capote, for this is his Christmas and his elderly relative who is making her annual fruitcakes. So it is not that I am without family. I am embraced by them, particularly Zola Mae who loves how I say Alabama. That our accents are not that different has not occurred to her. In all our lives we have memories both bitter and sweet. Nobody said it better than Robert Frost. "In three words I can sum up everything I’ve learned about life: it goes on." This is what simple people understand that the rich often do not: appreciation for the uniqueness of what we have.Following dinner, I have read each of Capote's memoirs aloud in character. And these stories have become part of the memories of many others over two previous holiday seasons. I can do it straight. And, yes, I can channel Capote, which rather unnerves even me. The financial resources of our friends are very limited, and, in addition to baking cakes, presents have to be prepared, and a Christmas Tree found and decorated. But do not worry, Buddy and his friend will find a solution and both end up being delighted with their holidays and the presents they give each other. They have another friend - a dog named Queenie. She also expects to receive a Christmas present. I have walked the streets of Monroeville, Alabama, many times. There is little sign of Truman Capote or Nelle Harper Lee in that town, other than the old Courthouse, now a museum. Truman Capote's childhood summer and Christmas home is a vacant lot. Ms. Lee's home, if my geography is right, is occupied by something akin to a Dairy Queen, though some owner long past decided the name recognition was not worth the franchise price to have it. we have lived together --- well, as long as I can remember. Other people inhabit the house, relatives; and though they have power over us, and frequently make us cry, we are not, on the whole, too much aware of them.
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