Crack it Open and Give it a Whirl

As a kid, going into the basement or garage of my parent’s home was like going back in time.  The old

Samples of food found in our basement

books, old clothes, old jewelry, old everything.  Some of it was so old we didn’t even know what it was so we made a game (surprise!) out of guessing what it was and what it was used for.  It was so much fun seeing the old record albums, smelling the dust and must, and seeing all the old...food??  Wait!  What is that tucked back behind the box of Grandma’s ancient sheet music from the 40’s? A quart of tomatoes canned in 1974?  “The seal’s still good.  Let’s crack it open and give it a whirl,” is a phrase I’ve heard way too many times in my life.  Then there is his statement of, “Sugar is like wheat.   It never gets old.”  On the contrary, Dad, some foods do get old.

Let’s talk about the time Dad brought home all the Army Surplus rations for our food storage.  Bless his heart, Dad saw “Free Food” and jumped on that bandwagon.  Unfortunately he missed some of the subtleties that went along with the fine print, like THE FOOD WAS SO OLD THE ARMY DIDN'T EVEN WANT IT!!  It’s all good, though.  We made it through and Grace just wears her hair long to hide the beginnings of a third ear we ground down when she was little.  She barely even remembers the trauma.  Maybe Chris can add a chapter to her cook book entitled, “101 Ways to Prepare Army Surplus Crackers.”  It would read something like this : 1) Throw them away. 2) Haul them to the dump 3) Spread with butter, broil, and feed to the birds.  Note:  The birds won’t eat them, so you’ll be cleaning them up later 4) Loosely crumble and use as slug bait 5) Carve into star shapes and use as Ninja throwing stars...you get the idea.

Anyway, I’ve digressed.  Food.  Old food.  Old edible food.  When we were recently visiting my father-in-law, he took us out to one of his storage sheds and announced to us, “Take anything you want.  I have more than I need and more than I can eat.  You want it, just let me know,” and he meant it.  I was in awe of his collection of stuff.  A phonograph, records, typewriters, books, vases, blankets, fabric from the beginning of time, hand crocheted baby clothes, tatted table cloths, gloves and snowmobiling gear from when my husband was a teenager, and of course, food.  Shelves and shelves of home canned, bottled, and dehydrated food and juices.  

“Peggy, I think you need some of this,” and down would come a #10 can of dried beans.  “And some
of this,” would be accompanied by a couple of quarts of dark, partially crystallized honey.  But my favorite was the ten gallon glass (not plastic) jar of Reed’s candies.  “I know you want this one,” he said, and he was right.  Not necessarily because I wanted to eat the candy, but because it was filled with licorice and root beer flavored candies.  “Sugar is like wheat.  It never gets old,” echoed through my brain.  I think I surprised everyone when I laughed out loud and said, “Yes indeed, I do want that!”

Reed's candy circa 1921

After loading our treasure trove of goodies into the trunk of our car, minus a few rolls of candy, we went inside to “give it a whirl” and taste test them.  When my husband told me that these candies were probably given to his parents by his grandparents, I did some research and discovered that Reed’s candy made licorice and root beer flavors circa 1921.  I’m happy to announce that they weren’t very gummy and actually tasted like licorice and root beer.  What I’m not happy to announce is that I probably just ate candy from one of the original batches made in 1921.  On the other hand, I’m alive to pester my kids another day!  Gotta love our parents.  And our grandparents too. We can learn a lot from their “craziness.”  I can totally see my kids sitting around with my grandkids saying, “Remember the time when Mom cooked lasagna and my fork broke when I cut into it?”  Ya.  They will totally do that, because they’ve already started with that one...

Peggy - #4

Crazy Cady Sisters interview the brothers. Child #2, Prince Cady

Once upon a time in a far off land called Washington, there was a little boy. He was a prince, beloved of his family, especially his seven astonishingly beautiful fair sisters.  He was tall and dark, and moderately good looking in a leaning towards handsome way. He was kind to animals and loved to read, especially long and convoluted books which may or may not have involved elves and fairies and such. He had a wondrous gift with plants and spent many an afternoon in his greenhouse planting and potting and repotting as needed. Indeed his sisters often wondered if he perhaps had installed a large screen television and a gaming system in the greenhouse, so long were his hours therein.

While in his youth this boy shared a room with his younger brother(s), a perfectly nice room which he proceeded to booby trap, to the dismay of all who entered. He would bring whole jars of peaches and eat them within the room, and leave the mason jars scattered throughout. Sometimes it was a land mine you kicked as you teetered by and sometimes it would be a stink bomb of epic proportion.

This prince grew up to be a man who was known throughout the land as a quietly stubborn individual, who did things in his own time and in his own way. He was not particularly interested in what others thought, but rather lived life in his own way and on his own terms.To this day he is still beloved of his family, especially his nieces and nephews who love his ever witty sayings such as “What’s up, chicken butt”, and “Tickle tickle cut the pickle”. 

I sat down with him this week and here is a bit of our conversation:

So,  how did you survive having seven sisters? I remember spending a lot of time holed up in my bedroom, ignoring them as much as possible. I mean, sure it was fun much of the time, but sometimes I just had to slowly back away and let them fight it out among themselves. It was every man for himself.

What was it like being a boy among all the girls? I thought it was normal, and didn’t know any different. Even when it got wild and crazy it was still fun. I liked growing up in a large family, and even today I know that no matter what happens my family is there to support me. Many people don’t have that luxury.

What is the worst thing about having sisters? They are emotional. When my sisters were younger they fought hard and the claws came out. And they hold grudges! One year I had to drive them all to school, and they had the gall to complain because we were tardy a time or two (note: 28 times one semester). Just because I tried to brighten their day and give them a scenic tour of town and the surrounding neighborhoods. Where is the gratitude?

Who was your favorite sister? No comment! Umm, really, I can't choose. Please, don't ask me again.

Gotta run. See ya later, Alligator. In a while, Crocodile.