Ice Cream Diaries - 22                                                                                                                   December 21, 2006
Hearty Holiday greetings from Ehamp.   Seems I always start my diaries entries with some form of rant about why I haven't written in so long.   Looks like this issue will be no exception.   The good news is business remains brisk, significant thanks to one strangely warm Fall here in the Northeast.   The temps have been in the 50's every day, and we've had barely a couple frosty nights.   Great for those heating bills and certainly doesn't hurt my off-season ice cream sales.   Who knows, if it turns outs that Al G. actually is telling the 'truth', perhaps I was wise to have chosen ice cream making over that snowmobile dealership I was eyeing a few years ago.   Hopefully, it'll be a while before the Mt.Tom ridge becomes that sand-castle wall protecting our quaint little town from the rising tides of the Atlantic.   In any apocalyptic event, here I am, sneaking in a few waning shopping day minutes to catch you up and send you off with all the merriest holiday cheer I can muster.
I'll try to keep it shorter this time, since I'm smack dab in the middle of the crazy Christmas rush, and I'm sure you're trying to finish up that big work project or sneak out early to get those last few stocking stuffers before you break for the holiday.
The shop is looking festive, and the cabinets are overflowing with truffles, candy canes, eggnog ice cream, foil wrapped Santa's and all things Christmassy.    Even scored some awesome heavyweight laser embroidered Mt.Tom's hoodies and a fresh batch of colorful tees.  With a little luck and continued mild weather, last minute stocking stuffers and procrastinators will help bring 2006 home with a bang.
It's hard to believe I've been at this for three years now.   Dad always said time flies when you're making ice cream.   I'm looking forward to my annual three week break coming up soon, but I must admit, all summer fatigue and staffing challenges considered, I'm still having a blast at it, so I think I'll keep on scoopin'.   I've always told myself the day it starts to feel like work, I will either quit and do something else, or make changes, like hire a manager.   Speaking of staff, our buddy Matt, the cake and pie maker, has left for grayer pastures.  He took a plane loader job with Southwest Airlines.   This has left me short staffed, but I can't say I blame him for jumping to a job that pays double, even if it's de-icer and not ice cream that gets on your sleeves.   I'm riding it out until the end of the year and will start the search for a suitable replacement when I reopen in late January.   I'm working with HolyokeCommunity   College and their culinary program to score a Co-Op'er to assume the cake decorating reins.   I don't mind doing the cakes, but it really was nice to be able to delegate that.    Wish me luck, and if you have a friend, niece, or grandson who is an aspiring pastry chef and within commuting distance of Cottage   Street, Easthampton, MA, send 'em my way.   Thanks man.
One of my favorite Diaries moments of the past few months occurred a couple days ago.   Root Beer Rudy strolled in with his brother Reej - a rare occurrence in and of itself, seeing the two together in one room without Mom and Pa Rudy in tow.   I've always had the impression that sibling rivalry ruled that roost.     Rudy, with his rich new deep voice, confidently orders up a Mt.Tom's giftcard.    After I finish charging one up, I hand it over to Rudy, and he in turn, hands it right over to Reej and says, 'Merry Christmas bro' and nonchalantly turns toward the door.   The moment was gone in an instant, but it kept me warm all day.
Unfortunately, I won't get to spend Christmas with the family this year.   They'll all be rockin' around the Christmas palm tree and dipping in brother Mike and wife Elspeth's new pool in sunny Florida.     While waiting in a giant line at the post office today, as I pushed my box of presents postmarked for Melbourne,  Florida along the floor, I had a few minutes to stir up in my mind a few ghosts of my Christmases past.     There are many from my childhood, most involve Christmas Eve family gatherings at Grandma's house in Fitchburg,  Massachusetts.    If you're familiar with the geography of Massachusetts, you know Fitchburg is near Worcester, the snow capital of the BayState.   Seems whenever there's a storm brewin', it drops buckets there, even if Boston proper is awash in a tropical rainstorm.   When we were kids, going to Fitchburg for Christmas was like a trip to the North Pole on the Polar Express.
Unbeknownst to the younger folk, our family has always owned a Santa suit.  It hibernated in Grandma's attic until Christmas Eve, when it became the costume of choice for one uncle, aunt, older cousin, or jolly neighbor.   Shortly after the traditional holiday feast, replete with Finnish delicacies like luntaloita (no idea how to spell it, but it's fun to say), we'd hear bells jangling outside.   Away we'd dash to the windows to catch our first glimpse of Santa, as a hearty 'Ho, Ho, Ho!' echoed through the backyard.   Adrenaline raced through our veins and jacked us up like we'd just eaten a pound of gummy bears from Mt.Tom's (shameless plug), as all eyes shot to the door.    In would saunter one tacky Santa, a.k.a.  Uncle Ed, cousin Ricky or Dad.   He'd make small talk with the ladies, sometimes grabbing an eggnog from the makeshift bar/card table, lingering just long enough to weave a quick tale about how agonizing his night would be.   Finally, he'd settle into Grandpa's well-worn Lazyboy and do what he does best, pass out the Christmas bounty.
I remember when I reached that fateful age of doubting Santa.  The older kids and I would scan the room and try to deduce which jolly old uncle had conveniently gone to the bathroom at such an inopportune time.   Believer or not, I hold those cheesy photo-op Santas as some of my favorite holiday memories.   That probably explains why we continued the tradition even during the years between generations when everyone in the house was in the know about Santa's mythical status.   Shortly after Santa's visit, Mom and Dad would drop the back seat of the station wagon, unroll our superhero sleeping bags, and tuck us in for the hour-long drive home.   We'd gaze out the window for as long as our eyes would stay open, hoping to catch a glimpse of eight tiny reindeer or a big red flashing nose streaking above the tree line.    When we got home to Mansfield, we'd dash into our house to see if Santa had been there yet.   He never did get there first, a phenomenon easily explained by the fact that we lived directly south of Fitchburg and there were a lot of chimneys to be climbed down on his way to ours.
After my grandparents were gone, we began having Christmas Eve at different homes, sometimes ours, but for a few years it was my Uncle Jim and Aunt Joyce's.  It was here that we had one of my favorite Christmas gatherings.   They live in Bethlehem, Connecticut, so just being able to tell all my friends we were going to Bethlehem to celebrate the birth of Jesus was particularly cool, in a dorky way.   One year, a colossal ice storm blasted through New England, turning Connecticut into a giant skating rink.     Everything was coated with a layer of ice, beautiful and almost mystical, but deadly to tree limbs.   Since their home is deep in the woods, when the power failed during the storm, they knew it would be a long time before the lights came back.   Somehow we all got word that the power was off but the party was still on.  It turned out to be one of the coolest Yules ever.   The house was completely accessorized with candles, for function as well as form.    There's such a peaceful quiet that comes with a storm and a power failure.   That quiet may be a source of anxiety for me now as an owner of eight freezers full of ice cream at any given moment, but that Christmas's silent night was blissful.
The holiday was full of the usual Christmas Eve shenanigans - uncle Santa's visit, eating, drinking, and catching up with great relatives seen too infrequently, but this one had a different feel.   I remember sitting around that holiday table, candles flickering from all directions as we shared cartons of Chinese food from the local place downtown with the generator, and thinking, religious elements aside, this is what holidays are really about.   Peaceful moments spent with family and great friends.   Aside from the Johnny Lightning racer set and that Stretch Armstrong action figure, I can barely remember a toy Santa ever brought.   But moments, I can recall many...   The joy of seeing that stocking, overflowing with candy and trinkets, at the end of my bed in the morning.   Those rare and elusive white Christmases.   Finishing my paper route as fast as I could pedal, early on Christmas morning, a morning so full of anticipation you could feel it emanating from the still darkened homes in the neighborhood.    Covering the family dog with bows from opened presents.   Looking forward to Mom's Christmas pudding, not for the sweet hard tack topping, although that was tasty, but for the hope of getting one of the dimes buried within.   Those Whos in Whoville had it right.  When the reindeer dust settles, it's not about the new Ipod or Xbox360 (although those would be nice), it's about great moments spent with those you hold close to your heart.
This holiday, I wish you great moments spent with those you hold close.    And if circumstances don't cooperate, I wish you pleasant thoughts like the ones I've just enjoyed in writing to you today.
There are a few more diaries-like stories to tell, but aside from mentioning my first real art show last week, (thanks to Briana for the crash course in frame making!)  I think I'll save them for next year.   I'd better get back to the reindeer chocolate pops.  I'm sure you've got things to do too.    I know I wasn't quite so prolific this year with the Diaries, but I still want to say thanks for listening, and I hope to see you soon.   In the meantime, I wish you and yours the very best of everything this holiday season, Happy New Year, and here's to an even better 2007.
Peace and Wicked Goodwill
Your bud,
Jim