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Welcome to Stuff I Learned Yesterday. My name is Mark Des Cotes, I love egg nog and drink way too much of it this time of year, and I believe if you aren’t learning, you aren’t living. In today’s episode of Stuff I Learned Yesterday I share how a freak storm created one of my most memorable Christmases ever.
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What I Learned Yesterday:
My mom made magic in the kitchen. I remember watching her cook while growing up. I don’t think she ever followed a recipe. Sure she would open a book, read off the ingredients and instructions, but then she would start changing them. Swapping out one spice for anther, doubling one ingredient while cutting down on different one or adding something completely different to the recipe. She always said she could taste the changes in her head as she imagined them, and when it tasted right in her mind she knew she had it.
She also loved watching cooking shows on TV. She never wrote anything down but weeks and sometimes months later she would recreate what she had seen from memory. Adding her own special touches of course. Everyone always raved about her cooking.
Growing up, other than a few staples, we never had the same meal twice. Mom was always experimenting and trying something new. On very rare occasions she would make a flop that wasn’t that great, but she always learned from them and would use that knowledge to improve some future meals.
Although my mom lived for creating new and interesting meals for our family, she was never happier than when she was cooking for a large group. We used to host huge gatherings. My father was a member of several clubs and we would often host gatherings for the various groups. My mom never wanted any help as she spent days preparing all the various dishes. It was like clockwork. She had everything timed so that certain things would be cooked than placed in the fridge or freezer only to be taken out at a designated time. Meals were served in courses, and although there was always a place at the table for her to sit with us, mom usually ate on her feet while juggling all her wonderful dishes and making sure everything ran smoothly.
Her favourite time of the year was Christmas. She came from a large family with 11 siblings, and each year they, along with all their children would come to our house for Christmas dinner. There would usually be between 30-40 people visiting. I loved seeing my aunts and uncles. And especially my cousins, some of which I only saw once a year. I was the youngest of the bunch, and they all thought I was cute so I got lots of attention.
We lived in Cornwall Ontario and most of my mom’s family lived in or around Montreal Quebec. For most of them it was between a one and a half to two hour drive to our place. One year, I’m not sure which, but I know I was very young, there was a huge snow storm on Christmas Eve that ran long into the night. The following morning, one by one, my aunts and uncles called saying they wouldn’t be making the drive to Cornwall. Not a single one of them would be coming. I was devastated. As I said, I only saw some of my cousins once a year and now I probably wouldn’t be seeing them until the following Christmas.
My mother was really disappointed that she wouldn’t be entertaining her family that year but she wasn’t defeated. She had been slaving all week to prepare a special feast for the gathering. We had enough food to feed an army, and since it was going to be just us, there was no way she would allow all that food to go to waste. Now I don’t know who’s idea it was but shortly after the last cancellation, my Dad was on the phone making calls. It was Christmas morning so he had to make quite a few calls, wishing best wishes and all the required small talk, but he finally tracked down the person he was trying to reach. I wasn’t sure what was happening, but before I knew it my mom, dad, brothers and I were dividing dishes into smaller containers and packing boxes full of food, setting a little aside to go back in the fridge. Once complete, we packed all the boxes into the car and the whole family got in.
You see, my father was friends with the person that ran the local shelter and food bank. After tracking him down, my dad asked for the names and addresses of local families in need. He was giving a half dozen names of families that could barely put food on their tables, let along prepare a Christmas feast. That afternoon we made the rounds, stopping at each house to drop off a box with more than enough food to feed the family.
I think that was the first time I ever saw an adult cry, even though they were tears of joy. I remember standing there next to by brother holding boxes while my mom and dad rang on door bells and explained to the families, that we, complete strangers, were giving them all this excess food we had. Some of them broke down in tears as they took the boxes and hugged each of us, saying it was a Christmas Miracle. Every one of them invited us in but my dad kindly refused, saying we had to move on to another house. Even after giving away the last box my dad politely turned down their offer to go in. He later told me he didn’t want to impose in case they offered us some of the food they so desperately needed.
We returned home where we had a quite supper with just my immediate family. We ate the little bit we had saved for ourselves as we talked about our best Christmas ever. The food was delicious as always.
Here’s what I learned
As I stated at the beginning of my story, I was very young when this happened. It was a time when Christmas was all about me. Much like Darrell’s story from Monday, I had made my list of all the toys I wanted and had never really given any thought about others. Even our Christmas feast was also about me, I got to see my aunts and uncles, I got to play with my seldom seen cousins and be the centre of attention.
That Christmas opened my eyes as to what the season was really about. Seeing those families changed me. Moms and dads rejoicing in what we were giving them, a chance to truly celebrate Christmas. Kids my age peeking out from doorways wondering if what they were hearing was true. That year I realized that Christmas was a season of giving. That those of us that can spare, no matter how little, should do so to help those less fortunate than us.
It’s hard to tell just by looking around sometimes. Neighbours you talk to all the time could be struggling without you knowing it. Kids you see out and about might not have enough food on their plate each day. We see commercials on TV all the time about the poverty in 3rd world countries but we don’t realize that there are problems much closer to home. We all struggle from time to time, but every little bit we can do helps. And we don’t have go out of our way, or suffer ourselves in order to make a difference. Sometimes all it takes is the change from our pocket dropped in a donation jar. Someone, somewhere will be benefit from it and I guarantee they will be grateful.
I don’t remember what toys I got on that Christmas all those year ago, but close to 40 years later I still remember the faces of those families and how a simple box of food meant so much to them.
May you have a wonderful Christmas, or Hanukkah or whatever you may be celebrating this time of year. I wish you and yours nothing but the best.
I’m Mark Des Cotes and this has been stuff I learned yesterday.
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