Tag Archives: “A Christmas Memory”

Fairhope + Point Clear: Part One, New Angles

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My annual December respite to Mobile Bay got off to an amazing start as I stayed at a new place above downtown Fairhope’s French Quarter alley of quaint shops and a popular eatery. The French Quarter Chateau is a spacious one-bedroom apartment with a huge balcony overlooking the French Quarter and one of Fairhope’s main streets. The balcony wraps around two sides of the apartment and, due to Fairhope’s mild climate, is comfortable throughout the year. There are multiple places to sit outside and, depending on your selection, you can sit and watch the foot and motor traffic on Section Street or watch people come and go at the French Quarter or both from my favorite nook beside a trickling fountain amid wisteria vines.

The chateau became an instant special place; for me, it is made even more special by its location – in the middle of a bustling small town at Christmas time – and its peace and solitude. The host, Allison, has furnished and equipped the place to charming perfection and I am content just to stay there and read, or people watch, or occasionally doze off. You, too, can be content there: French Quarter Chateau in Lovely Downtown Fairhope – Apartments for Rent in Fairhope, Alabama, United States – Airbnb.

The location makes it possible to park the car and walk to whatever is needed. Greer’s, a local market, is just across the street; as soon as I arrived, I crossed the street for basics for the refrigerator before dashing down the street for a dinner reservation.

In the morning, after coffee in the apartment, I walk down the spiral staircase through lush greenery for more coffee and beignets at Panini Pete’s in the French Quarter courtyard, beside the fountain among the specialty shops. It was raining, but plastic enclosures shielded the outdoor tables from the soft December trickle.

“Marble,” one of the French Quarter cats, stood outside the kitchen door begging for treats. “Are you waiting for some turkey?” asked a server. “Let’s see what I can find.” Marble patiently took a seat at a nearby table and waited for the treats that another server soon sprinkled in a corner of the patio, eating quietly as other morning diners gathered and rain trailed down clear plastic. Finally, brushing the dusting of powdered sugar off my shirt and pants, I head back up to the apartment, stopping to give Miss Fancy, the dowager of the French Quarter cats, a rub on the head and chin (no stomach rubs, please). Do not mistake Fancy for homeless and take her back to Birmingham as some “well-meaning” tourists did not long ago (it made the news).

As the rain stopped, I headed back down the stairs and casually browsed some of the shops, picking up some Christmas presents along the way. My first stop in downtown Fairhope (after Greer’s) is usually Page and Palette, a bookstore and community gathering place since 1968, with a coffee shop, Latte Da, and Book Cellar bar attached. Just down De La Mare Avenue from Page and Palette is Happy Olive, a go-to place for specialty olive oils and vinegars. Other shops a block over along Fairhope Avenue yield other pleasures and gift ideas.

The pull of the chateau balcony is strong, however, and I spend the bulk of the afternoon out there – reading, finishing a book review, napping. I rouse myself long enough to go out for my first plate of raw oysters of the trip at Sunset Pointe. Of course, it’s Murder Point oysters from across the Bay near Bayou La Batre, a storied fishing village.

With the oyster urge satisfied for a while, it’s back to the apartment. It is my long-time habit to read Truman Capote’s “A Christmas Memory” sometime during the holiday season, usually somewhere near Alabama’s Eastern Shore. After running across a newspaper article about the filming of the 1966 television version of the short story, I decided to watch the television “special” – my first exposure to the story when I was a boy. It is a wondrous thing. Filmed in Alabama, starring Geraldine Page as “Sook,” directed by Frank Perry, and narrated by Capote himself – the very definition of “bittersweet.” You can watch the full film here: Truman Capote’s A Christmas Memory (1966 Emmy Winner) – DVD Color.

One of my favorite casual dining spots in downtown Fairhope was Dragonfly foodbar. I read earlier in the year that Dragonfly had left its downtown location for a spot farther south. Wandering around before the rains moved in on my last full day at the apartment, I happened to pass the old location and was pleased to see that it is now occupied by one of my favorite places up the highway in Daphne. Market by the Bay has just moved into the Dragonfly location and I was pleased to have the opportunity to have one of their unbeatable shrimp po’boys.

That night, I enjoyed dinner at Dragonfly with friends Allison and Richard. Doug Kerr’s creative menu, heavy on tacos and bowls, was as enticing as ever in the expansive and noisy new digs. By the time Allison and Richard dropped me off at the apartment, the rain was getting harder. The rest of the evening was spent on the balcony watching the rain. Distant lightning was visible from the Gulf. Sounds of people chattering and laughing as they left the Book Cellar and hopped puddles to their cars mixed with the sounds of the rain.

It was hard to leave the balcony and go to bed. But tomorrow is moving day and I need to pack and leave my downtown oasis for the bay views of the Grand Hotel down at Point Clear.

Capote’s “A Christmas Memory”

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On this Christmas morning, as I walked across frozen ground to refill the bird feeder, I was reminded of Truman Capote’s autobiographical short story, “A Christmas Memory,” and his elderly child-like cousin’s declaration of “Oh my, it’s fruitcake weather.” This is the start of an annual Depression-era adventure in which the boy and his cousin count their change and set out to buy the ingredients for thirty-one fruitcakes – including moonshine whiskey from Mr. Haha Jones – with just shy of $13.

On this Christmas in central Alabama, we’re far beyond Sook Faulk’s frosty fruitcake weather as the past few days have stayed well below freezing. This is clearly not a big deal to our friends in Buffalo and locales north, suffering mightily under feet of snow, but some records were set here in Alabama and the thermometer crept only a couple of degrees above freezing on Christmas afternoon. That’s enough winter weather to last me for a good long while.

I re-read “A Christmas Memory” at the height of our current freeze and was struck again by the moving prose of a young Capote. My own memory was stirred to remember the Christmas of 2014 – the last Christmas my ailing father was able to spend at home.

On that Christmas Eve, Dad was resting in bed and Mother and I had finished most of our last-minute preparations for the next day. I retired to a bedroom and started reading “Á Christmas Memory.” When I came to the part where the narrator describes his cousin’s reaction to chocolate-covered cherries – “I could live on them, Buddy, Lord yes I could – and that’s not taking His name in vain” – I glanced at the clock, saw that it was 5:40, and threw on a coat, telling Mother that I had to go out for a last-minute errand.

Dad loved chocolate-covered cherries, the cheap kind that you always find on drug store shelves in the Christmas season. His love for the sweets was well-known and over the years friends would gift him a box at Christmastime. He appreciated the home-made chocolate-covered cherry mice that my sister-in-law and nephew would bring; I tried to up the ante with annual boxes of the fancier chocolate-covered cherries ordered from the Harry and David catalog, but it was clear that Dad preferred the gooier, less expensive Queen Anne brand from a drugstore shelf.

By 2014, many of those friends who could always be depended on to send over a box of chocolate-covered cherries were themselves ailing, or gone, and Sook’s declaration reminded me that there were no boxes for Dad on Christmas Day. I rushed into the closest pharmacy just minutes before its Christmas Eve closing time of 6:00 p.m., grabbed a box of chocolate-covered cherries, went back to the house, and placed the box under the tree.

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Late in Truman Capote’s life, I attended a reading he gave at the University of Alabama. The selections were a sample of writings from his career, delivered in that simpering manner that was always his trademark. He ended with “A Christmas Memory.” Finally, gone were the affectations and snarling attitude Capote was famous for, replaced by a middle-aged man’s simple recitation of an authentic cherished memory. That performance has become a cherished memory for me, too.

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A few days before Christmas this year, I stopped at a drugstore to pick up a prescription. As I was getting out of the car, Mother said, “If you see a box of chocolate-covered cherries, get them.”

“Why?” I asked. “You don’t eat them and neither do I.”

“Just for old times’ sake,” she said.

As we pulled away from the drugstore, Mother asked, “Do we have time to go by the cemetery?”

We headed a few miles to Elmwood and to my father’s grave, decorated already with Christmas greenery and a University of Alabama flag. As we sat in the car, Mother said, “Let’s put the chocolates at his grave.”

Done.

Last Minute Shopping for Chocolate-Covered Cherries

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IMG_1074   My parents’ house was quiet and last minute preps were pretty much finished by 5:00 p.m. on Christmas Eve when I retreated to the bedroom to reread “A Christmas Memory,” Truman Capote’s timeless and touching memoir of a childhood Christmas in Alabama. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve read that beautifully written story.

As tumultuous as Capote’s later life became, “A Christmas Memory” is an enchanting and innocent tale of a seven-year-old boy and his 60-something-year-old distant cousin making fruitcakes and homemade presents in Monroeville in Depression-era south Alabama. I saw Capote read the story live during an appearance at The University of Alabama and it is still a cherished and moving literary memory.

Capote was in his later years – he was only 59 when he died in 1984 – and his various addictions and career disappointments had taken their toll. His legendary bitchiness was definitely on view that night in Tuscaloosa as he read and commented on various passages from his career.

When he read “A Christmas Memory” to end the evening, however, he seemed somehow transformed. The arch bitterness left his voice and one felt like we were seeing a brand new Capote – untouched by the jadedness and later trials of his life. There were many cynics in that audience – I was one of them – and I will venture to guess that most of those in the room were Alabamians who had grown up with the story; it was my first-hand observation that none of us left the room unmoved by the power of that beautifully written memoir told in such an honest and loving voice.

On this Christmas Eve 2014, as I reread the story, I got to the familiar passage in which the narrator lists the things he would like to be financially able to give to his cousin.  “I would like to buy her a pearl-handled knife, a radio, a whole pound of chocolate-covered cherries …”

Then it hit me. I have seen no chocolate-covered cherries in my parents’ house this year. My dad loves chocolate-covered cherries at Christmas – the inexpensive kind you find at the discount stores. As long as I can recall, there were always boxes of them at the house, gifts from friends who know about Dad’s passion.

Some of the friends who always supplied the boxes of cherry treats are now too far away for the gift exchange. My sister-in-law and nephew always make chocolate-covered cherry mice around the holidays and this year’s batch had already come and gone closer to Thanksgiving.

For years, I would send Dad a box of the Harry and David chocolate-glazed Bing cherries until my mother confided that he really preferred the cheap cherries you could get at the drugstore.

And this year it was Christmas Eve and there were no chocolate-covered cherries in the house. I looked at the clock – 5:20 – and went in to where Mother was reading.

“Did anybody bring Dad chocolate-covered cherries this year?”

She grimaced and said “I completely forgot.”

I told her I’d be back and headed for the door. She whispered who is going to be open now? and I assured her that there were places open until 6 or later on Christmas Eve.

“Try the drugstore first,” she said.

The drugstore was crowded but near the front door were shelves with chocolate-covered cherries on sale – two boxes for the price of one.

I grabbed two boxes, wished the cashier a Merry Christmas, drove back to the house, and passed the chocolates off to Mother who put them in stockings at the fireplace.

With my Christmas shopping finally done,  the clock struck 6:00 as I went back to the bedroom and finished Capote’s story.