Mildred Lurvy was known for her fruitcake in the same way the Mob is known for organized crime. Unlike the Mob, “grandma” Lurvy’s activity was not yet under FBI surveillance. Consequently, each Christmas Mildred’s neighbors were forced to fend for themselves. This year Mrs. Lurvy and her fruitcake arrived at Steve Forester’s doorstep a week before Thanksgiving. This created a moral dilemma for Mr. Forester.
About a month previous, Steve had realized Christmas in its current cultural form had become nothing short of intolerable. The excess was beyond rational. Someone needed to do something to turn the tide against the progressive corruption of the holiday. For Steve, this meant re-envisioning the entire celebration. Like many revolutionaries, Steve began his revolution by trying to write a treatise full of resolutions. Like many male revolutionaries, he did this without any input from his family.
Instead, he went away to a solitary place and began to contemplate the right way to celebrate the Savior’s birth. Two hours later, Steve emerged from the bathroom with his first Christmas edict. The commandment was straightforward: “Thou shall not do anything related to Christmas until the first of December!”
As a good disciple of his own revelation, Steve placed a Christmas moratorium on his entire household. Nothing Christmas related was allowed within the Forester homestead. In relation to holiday merriment, November was to remain undefiled. Steve’s wife and two daughters greeted this Christmas directive with a fair amount of wait and see skepticism. The integrity of his resolve would certainly be called into question. This came mid-November in the form of a 76-year-old widow and wheelbarrow full of fruitcakes.
“Well, hello Steven!” Mrs. Lurvy did not have the habit of pausing for conversational reciprocity. She had a small frame but a strong diaphragm. “I hope I didn’t bother you, but tomorrow I’m heading out to see my sister in Tempe. I just couldn’t leave town without spreading a little holiday cheer.” Behind Mildred, two steps down from the porch, rested a green wheelbarrow, piled high with brick stacked fruitcakes.
Mildred’s feeble arm lunged a fruitcake in Steve’s direction. The weight of the pastry barbell magnified grandma Lurvy’s hand tremor. Even so, Steve’s arms remained at his side, momentarily unwilling to reach out and receive the first fruits of Christmas.
To the casual observer, this may seem like a rather crass reflex. However, this action must be viewed in a larger fruitcake context. The history of fruitcake reaches back as far as Cain and Abel. The Bible says Cain brought God an offering consisting of the “fruit of the ground.” This displeased God, which has led some theologians to suspect Cain’s offering came in the form of a fruitcake. This may also shed light on the weapon Cain may have used to kill his brother.
Evidence suggests fruitcakes were placed in the burial chambers of the Pharaohs. Some archeologists believe this was done to provide sustenance for the afterlife, while others believe fruitcakes were used as part of the mummification process. Either way, grave robbers left these treats untouched.
During the Middle Ages crusaders traveled with fruitcakes to ward off hunger and to throw at the infidels. In the modern era, fruitcake seems to have entered Christmas lore in the late 1700’s. The English would pass out slices of fruitcake to poor Christmas caroling women. This did little to dissuade the practice of caroling.
The fruitcake made its way to the Americas as immigrant families tried to recapture the misery of their homeland. As of yet, no migrant group has been willing to accept full responsibility for the fruit loaf’s migration. Oddly enough it is difficult to find reliable numbers concerning modern fruitcake production. This is primarily due to the perpetual recycling of old loaves and to the unregulated prolific productivity of independent fruitcake producers. However, it remains clear that production has always exceeded consumption. Unfortunately, Mildred Lurvy’s fruitcake output was only exacerbating the problem.
With this in mind, Steve was faced with a moral dilemma. If he took the loaf from Mrs. Lurvy’s trembling hand, he would break his first Christmas edict and perpetuate a cycle of excessive fruitcake fabrication. If he refused the loaf, public perception would most likely place him somewhere between the Grinch and Ebenezer Scrooge.
Fortunately for Steve’s slowly fraying conscience, grandma Lurvy kept speaking. “Go ahead and take it, Steve. It really is my joy to give these away. You know every time I make a batch, I remember how much Chet loved these things. Every year he’d say ‘Mildred, I don’t think you realize how much people appreciate your fruitcake.’” Mildred’s eyes began to well up.
“It just makes my heart glad to know I can carry a little bit of Chet’s memory with me through these silly old fruitcakes.” Mildred’s departed husband sealed the deal. Steve reached out, grabbed the fruitcake, listened a while longer, waved goodbye, and firmly shut the door. As he headed towards the garbage, the fruitcake weighed particularly heavy in his hand and on his conscience.
(Part Three tomorrow)
Douglas Bursch is the author of Posting Peace: Why Social Media Divides Us and What We Can Do About It. He also hosts The Fairly Spiritual Show podcast.