Marjorie Turner Hollman helps support nonfiction authors to self-publish their books. She is also a disability advocate, sharing information about Easy Walks (not too many roots or rocks, relatively level with firm footing, and something of interest along the way) in open space. Let’s get in touch.
My long-time friend asked if we could set aside time to make candy mints for her niece’s wedding. Her request reminded me of the many times in years past when we would set up ingredients in her kitchen to bake together or pursue other crafty projects. Right behind those memories came images of the countless walks we have taken together—picking wild blueberries, strolling next to Silver Lake or swimming in the lake itself, hiking in a nearby state forest, attempting (and failing miserably) to train our dog to come on command, or hunting with our kids for dinosaur tracks alongside the Connecticut River.
But it was the term “old friends” that I kept struggling with. You see, we are both over seventy. That’s feeling kind of old. At least, no longer young. So are we “old” friends? Or old in friendship longevity? The answer, I believe, is both.
The appointed day arrived, and she joined me, bearing all the ingredients needed to create mints for her beloved niece. My contribution? The rubber molds gifted to me by my mother. Mom had used the molds over many years to make mints for the wedding receptions held at her church. These were “all church weddings.” Everyone in the congregation was invited. The brides were active members of the congregation. The “church ladies” all pitched in to provide the refreshments. Mom’s contribution? Wedding mints, every time.
And thus, Sue and I dragged out the mixing bowls, and knives and forks to blend the cream cheese and powdered sugar. I checked the molds to assure they were clean, and advised Sue on which ones might work best for her goal. I had recently attempted to make mints for my own church event but was frustrated in my efforts to obtain the right mix of cream cheese and sugar.
Sue is much more methodical than I am. She paid close attention to the recipe, and divided the sugar into four bowls, one each for different flavorings: almond, vanilla, lemon, and of course, mint extracts. She insisted that each design have a different color and separate flavoring. “Paper, please,” she said. Each mold was labeled with a specific flavor and food dye. Her experience in keeping track of complicated projects shone through. I was happy to follow her lead and defer to her experience.
As we cut the cream cheese into the sugar, we chatted, catching up with how our kids and grands are doing. We spoke of travel; (hers) and lack of travel (mine, due to health issues).
Sue used to be a neighbor but moved to the Pioneer Valley in Massachusetts years ago. That’s part of the “old” I referenced earlier. It’s been over twenty years since we could simply say, “I’m coming over,” and ten minutes later find ourselves at one another’s door, ready to go. I miss those spur-of-the-moment opportunities.
As we talked and stirred, my thoughts strayed to other times we have supported each other. Many years before, Sue watched my 3-year-old daughter while I worked. Returning to pick up my daughter, I learned that baking had been on their agenda that day, and that my little one had learned to crack eggs herself. Such an accomplishment! I felt grateful for the success, and that it had occurred in Sue’s kitchen, not mine. Sue has a much greater tolerance for moving through mess and chaos than I have. It’s one of the many things about her I value greatly.
Yet more memories stirred: tiling her kitchen floor, which turned out to be more than either of us bargained for. Helping my son make a cape for his high school adventures.
Collaborating in the planning of untold neighborhood celebrations with yet another long-time friend and our kiddos. Sadly. this mutual neighbor and “co-conspirator” did not live long enough to become an “old” friend.
Time passed quickly as the mixture began to hold together. We added only a few drops of color, and sparingly flavored the different mixtures as Sue had dictated. The recipe instructed us to roll the dough into small balls. The repetitive, mindless nature of the task allowed our conversation to flow with ease. The many years of shared experience meant we hardly needed to explain details of the stories we related.
I cannot count the ways we had been there for each other. Providing space for our kids to develop enduring friendships with each other. Babysitting and dog sitting when needed. Housecleaning when she was working full-time. Offering shelter in the midst of a failing marriage. Being available and saying “yes” to silly ideas that turned out to be great fun.
As we allowed the shiny balls to “rest” per our recipe’s advice, we grabbed some lunch, repeating once again a long practiced “leftovers lunch” habit from days gone by.
The final step, squashing dough into rubber molds, proceeded smoothly. I credit Sue for this success.
Her sense of order, judgment, and attention to detail almost guaranteed that the result would be stunning little confections. As has often been the case, she was willing to provide the initiative and I happily gave the needed support to help make it happen. Over the years we have made a good team. It was a sweet reminder of why our friendship has endured.
So here we were again, on this occasion to spend time to create a gift of love for a bride.
Mom would be pleased.
Marjorie
