"Stir up, we beseech thee, O Lord, the wills of thy faithful people; that they, plenteously bringing forth the fruit of good works, may by thee be plenteously rewarded. Through Jesus Christ our Lord, Amen."

Those coming from an Anglican/COE/Episcopalian background might recognize the collect. (And people who are really into those particular faith traditions will remark that I am ten days behind...)

That is the "collect" from the last Sunday before Advent. Traditionally, in British Anglican families, the "stir up" was a reminder to whoever was the cook to begin the Christmas pudding (or in some cases, the fruitcakes).

(I am not Anglican but I have read enough British novels - and I have a little copy of Book of Common Prayer where I looked the collect up. I use it sometimes, as a spiritual resource. There have been a few times I've opened it and, spookily, it's opened on the particular prayer I needed at that point in time.)

I thought of that little tidbit of knowledge today.

I LOVE those kind of little tidbits of folk-knowledge and it makes me sad to think that many of them are slowly being forgotten.

(More on Stir-up Sunday.)



I am stirring up my fruitcake for this year. It is the same recipe as always - sort of like a lighter version of poundcake with lots of fruit (raisins, candied fruit, and candied cherries for on the top), nuts (both in and decorating), and coconut (again: some people hate coconut with a passion and I am sorry, that is your loss. I LOVE coconut, always have, even as a kid).

As you can see, it barely fits in the largest bowl I own. It takes 6 cups of flour and it gets a little hard to work with towards the end.

(And as you can also see, my kitchen is quite cluttered. What can I say? It's a "one- butt" kitchen but I also like to have lots of spices and herbs and different kinds of cooking implements on hand.)



And here it is ready for the oven. It is baking right now. It has to bake very long, I suppose because it's quite rich. I have to break halfway through and move all the pans around so things bake evenly.

(If you want, more detail and a recipe are here.)

This is one of the things I ALWAYS do. I like the cake, for one reason. (And it keeps well, if refrigerated; I have still found it fine as late as March or so. If it lasts that long). But I also do it for other reasons - I don't have a whole lot of personal holiday traditions and this is one. And I do it, in a way, to honor my great-grandmother, whose recipe this is. I never met her but I still feel a connection. And I do it to honor my Scots forebearers, I think this is a Scots recipe (great-grandma Ames was a Burt before she married and was of Scots extraction).

And I also do it as a bit of a cock-snoot at those who malign fruitcake. Yes, there is a lot of bad fruitcake out there, much of it commercially made (and I tend to think the dark fruitcakes - the ones with lots of molasses or dark corn syrup or brandy are not as good as the Dundee-cake type of cake I make).

And I also do it because, well, it's Christmas. And Christmas for me is in part baking and in part fruitcake.

And I also think of this story when I make fruitcake. Especially now that I live in the South.

(I am always touched by the idea of "Buddy" and Sook sending fruitcakes off to the White House and other assorted dignitaries:

"Who are they for?

Friends. Not necessarily neighbor friends: indeed, the larger share is intended for persons we've met maybe once, perhaps not at all. People who've struck our fancy. Like President Roosevelt. Like the Reverend and Mrs. J. C. Lucey, Baptist missionaries to Borneo who lectured here last winter. Or the little knife grinder who comes through town twice a year. Or Abner Packer, the driver of the six o'clock bus from Mobile, who exchanges waves with us every day as he passes in a dust-cloud whoosh. Or the young Wistons, a California couple whose car one afternoon broke down outside the house and who spent a pleasant hour chatting with us on the porch (young Mr. Wiston snapped our picture, the only one we've ever had taken). Is it because my friend is shy with everyone except strangers that these strangers, and merest acquaintances, seem to us our truest friends? I think yes. Also, the scrapbooks we keep of thank-you's on White House stationery, time-to-time communications from California and Borneo, the knife grinder's penny post cards, make us feel connected to eventful worlds beyond the kitchen with its view of a sky that stops.")

I guess for me it is about more than wanting to HAVE the cake that I make them; the cake itself is secondary. It is the process, it is the now-it-is-Christmas-again feeling they bring, it is the sense-memory of the stirring and the creaming of butter and sugar and the mixing in of all the fruit.

I don't bake a whole lot - I'm busy, and besides, it's better for me to have mostly fruit on hand for desserts rather than cake or cookies - but when I get the chance, it's a great joy. One of life's simple pleasures.