I was one of the younger daughters of a large Italian immigrant family, growing up in a small town in northern New Jersey. Although our Christmases were meager in terms of lavish Christmas presents, we enjoyed happy times with our close-knit family and friends. My father worked hard on the New Jersey State Department of Highways. In the summer he worked on maintaining the highways, and in winter he was part of the snow-removal team. We hated when he was called out on cold, snowy nights, but the work had to be done. We were all hoping he would not have to go to work one particular Christmas Eve and that the predicted snowfall would not come.
We had spent many happy days baking cookies and pastries using Mother's Italian recipes. However, we never had the luxury of homemade candy at Christmas such as yummy chocolates, toffee or peanut brittle. One Christmas Eve, when I was about 8 years old, my older sisters managed to save enough money to buy the ingredients for peanut brittle. We would all make the peanut brittle to surprise Mom and Pop on Christmas morning.After a nice Christmas Eve dinner, which Mom always prepared for us, and before Midnight Mass, Mom and Pop walked over to visit our aunt and uncle, which was always the custom. We would use this time to prepare the candy. I wasn't old enough to work at the stove, but I could run errands such as getting out pans, measuring spoons, etc. I was allowed to do this so I could feel that I, too, was making what would be delicious candy. My sisters ordered the boys out of the kitchen, so they disappeared to the parlor to listen to "The Shadow" and other popular radio mysteries since we didn't have television sets in those days.
My sisters were taking turns stirring the candy mixture, and since we didn't own a candy thermometer, they had to guess when it was the right consistency to pour into the pans for cooling. The mixture looked very thin and runny. Since it was a very, very cold New Jersey night, with lightly falling snow, one of my sisters got the bright idea to place the pan on a wide ledge on the back porch. It would certainly harden overnight and be just right on Christmas morning for our big surprise. When we were through we hurriedly tidied up the kitchen and my folks came home, never knowing what we had accomplished by ourselves.
We awoke early on Christmas morning and looked forward to exchanging our few gifts around the tree, but Mom told us that Pop had been called out to work on the snow-covered highways. We felt disappointed but enjoyed a nice breakfast while we waited for Pop to come home, hoping he would not have to work through the morning hours. No matter what happened we would wait for him so he could enjoy the happy occasion with us. The peanut brittle on the back porch was forgotten for the moment.
As we were finishing breakfast, the door swung open and there stood a happy, tired father. We knew he wanted desperately to go to bed and sleep, but he would not leave us on this important occasion. After we exchanged our few gifts around the tree, my sister announced I had another surprise for everyone, but especially for Mom and Pop. I was so pleased that I was chosen to do the honors. I ran out to the back porch and grabbed the pan from the ledge. Imagine everyone's surprise and shock when I walked in, pan in hand, and a tiny, live mouse was stuck in the center of our peanut brittle. The mouse probably smelled the sweetness and as he enjoyed the contents, the candy hardened and he couldn't get out.
There were different emotions in that room. Some were shrieking to get rid of it, while others, especially the boys, gathered around in curiosity. What should be done with the mouse? We couldn't kill the little thing on Christmas Day, could we? Pop took the pan, mouse and all, out in the back yard. As the mouse awaited his fate, Pop carefully broke all the candy away from the little helpless mouse. He disposed of all the candy we were expecting to savor. He managed to free the mouse, which ran off with peanut brittle still clinging to parts of his body.
We know at least someone enjoyed the candy that day, and he probably shared it with his family and friends.
Who knows, we may have the ingredients for building a better mousetrap.
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ADDITIONAL INFORMATION
About the author
Although Alice Dinkelman of Salt Lake City has traveled the world spending Christmas in such far-off places as Muslim-dominated Turkey, she says her most nostalgic Christmas memory is related in this story.
She and her husband, John, a former U.S. Army officer who served during World War II and in Vietnam, are the parents of three children and seven grandchildren.
Another of Dinkelman's stories was published in the 1987 Deseret News "Christmas I Remember Best" writing contest.
Originally from Scotch Plains, N.J., Alice Dinkelman loves traveling, reading and cooking Italian dishes.