like water for chocolate

just irresponsibly finished "like water for chocolate." I love Spanish writers who twist a little bit of mysticism in their stories. Esquivel also used so many recipes that it made my heart hurt for home and the foods that are just as good as the feeling you get when your mommy wipes away your tears.



Making Christmas candy and Texas Trash means waking up at the butt crack of dawn and heading to Grammy's house. Mom had already turned on the light in my room. That was a sort of last warning call--get up now or I will get you up and I promise you won't like it. I forced myself out from under my perfect temperature covers and dressed in less than five minutes.
"OK, I'm going to go warm up the car, and then we'll head out," Mom told me very matter-of-factly. She slipped on her driving gloves and braced herself as she dashed out the door. Within five minutes she was back.
"Booger, it's cold!" Hmm. "Booger" was probably one of my favorite expletives my mom uses. Let's be honest, the woman has no qualms about cussing like a sailor if need be. However, she saves "booger" for when it's unbelievably cold outside. I can always rely on Christmas to bring me boogers.
We made it to the car and Mom promptly put on Christmas music and attempted to sing. Not just any Christmas music, mind you. Mom loves the Celine Dion variety of Christmas music. You know, anything with a female powerhouse hitting notes only audible to a few humans and dogs. At 5:45 in the morning, that is the last thing I want to hear. She pinched me gently on the arm because I was already set on being Mister Grinch as I turned my body to the window.
"Mooooommmmmm..."
"All right. Fine. But you better straighten up by the time we get to Papa's house."
Good. Great. Awesome. I could do that. Just freaking leave me alone for five minutes. I will be straight as a board if need be. Just. Give. Me. This. Car. Ride.
She gently hummed with good ol' Celine under her breath.
We made it to Grammy and Papa's house after what seemed a Celine-Mariah-Braxton eternity. I got out the car to be welcomed inside by my grammy and a kiss. She cradled my face with her warm hands.
"Hi honey, not awake yet?"
I managed a small smile. "Uh, no..."
"Well you'd better wake up fast! We gotta lot of work to do!"
Yay.
I decided to plunk myself down on the chair in the kitchen. I knew going into the living room would be a death sentence. Grammy and Papa didn't have central heat. Instead, they had these large space heaters installed into the wall that emit copious amounts of dry, toasted air. When you breathe it in, not only are you a.) immediately warm for the next three years, but you are also b.) lulled into a dream-like state that can only be remedied by plopping on the couch and sleeping it off. Sleeping through Christmas candy making would mean certain death by my own mother's hands.
Papa came into the kitchen, announcing himself yards before by whistling. He slapped and squeezed my shoulder simultaneously.
"Howdy, gal. Lookin' good this mornin'!" He laughed at his own joke in a way that shows all of his false teeth. Even though I was slightly peeved that he was poking fun of my misery, I loved it when that man laughed.
Fudge and Divinity were the tasks of the day, with my aunt, grandma, cousin Charyl, mom, and I all laboring together. Grandma mostly took a watching glance over us as she attempted to teach me the magic of making the items without relying on candy thermometers. Aunt Charlene joked that even after candy thermometers came out, they liked their ancient method of deciding when the sugary substance was ready better. Texas Trash kind of makes itself. I liked mixing it together in the big vats that are meant to cook turkeys and the like. I always nip at the bits of pretzel and peanuts as much as I can before Mom tells me to quit.
My favorite part of it all has to be the insanity of all of those women singing together. My Aunt Charlene is my favorite to watch. Try as she might, she cannot sing for the life of her. Instead, she shakes her little pear shaped bottom to an inner rhythm and hums to something indiscernible except to herself.
After everything is finished, all of the Divinity is separated and placed on wax paper. The wax paper is then carefully transported to the room that used to be Mommy's for drying and hardening. Then, everything gets separated into colorful tins for every family of the family to have their own.
Before you know it, it's time for sandwiches (or grilled cheeses in my case, duh), and nap time. Sneak a few pieces of fudge, head to bed, wake up with dry toasted air in your lungs and light filtering through the mini blinds, and wonder what it's like for someone who doesn't get to have a crazy, wonderful family like this.


*edit. when telling my mom about this post, she exclaimed, "I always say colder than a well-digger's ass in Montana, and booger-cold, not just booger!"
see? told you.