A Christmas Memory by Carole Fuqua, 2021

 "In Eastern Montana, Glendive, winter nights were long but not boring.  Basketball games, Community Concerts, sledding under street lights and exciting radio programs.

I heard my first harp when I was in first grade, sitting on the first row of DCHS auditorium (without parents) eagerly looking up at the beautiful lady playing this etheral instrument.  She smiled at me and I was forever smitten by a harp. 

Great fun and memorable was to come home from sledding to find my Mom stirring up a batch of fudge.  You could use a candy thermometer to get it right or just drop a bit into a glass of cold water to see if the proper soft ball stage was reached.  It was now ready to remove from the fire (we cooked with gas), drop in the butter and vanilla and begin to beat it with a wooden spoon.

Mom wrapped a towel around the hot pan and propped it in the crook of her arm and began to beat.  Too much beating and it would turn to a crumbly mess.  Just enough and it would lose its gleam and be ready to  pour in a buttered dish.  When it was firm to the touch, it was cut into squares or sometimes rolled in a log (not too often on that one).  It was delicious and with a large family you didn't have a chance to overeat.  The pan and spoon was given to the yougest to lick, me.  Many times it was shared with brother Dick in the Navy or brother and sisters at college.

Some like nuts in it, some don't.  I liked either.  Enjoy and Merry Christmas!"

Carole Anderson Fuqua