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Last nite I made fruitcakes. Nine, to be exact. I struggle with this fruitcake making every year. They are sticky and messy to make. They are also expensive to make. The fruit alone costs about $4 per cake. It's just that I have never not made fruitcake at Christmas. Ever since I left home, I have taken the "secret" family recipe with me--the one my grandmother allegedly found on the back of a cereal box in the '30s. It's something that joins my mother and I together every holiday.

"How many are you making this year?"
"I dunno. They are a pain in the butt to make."
"Yeah, expensive too."
"A freakin' sticky mess."
"Yeah."
"Get me enough fruit to make 5 batches."
"Five batches? Are you nuts?"
"Well, somehow they all disappear."
"Yeah, I know."
"Do you have pans?" (Ed: Disposable tinfoil pans)
"I'll get you pans"
"Okay."
"I really don't feel like making the things this year."
"Me neither."

And yet the fruitcakes get made. Every year. Some traditions die a slow death.