Mary, Joseph and the Kids

“You girls forget, we are very old people.” My sister Janie and I teased Mom and Dad for the rest of the trip about that line.

But you know, we did forget.

We hoisted them up castle keeps in Dorset, dragged them through brocantes in Normandy and pulled them through the trenches at Vimy Ridge.

I guess they were old; they certainly worried more than they used to. Dad worried that we wouldn’t get accommodation. Mom worried that we would run out of gas. One Saturday night, we wheeled into the English seaside resort of Sidmouth – hungry, looking for a place to stay and our gas tank registering empty. The police stopped us at the edge of town. “You’ll have to park here tonight, the carnival is on.” We parallel-parked the car with encouragement from four staggering young lads, singing and splashing their pints onto the sidewalk.

It was late, it was dark and the search for accommodation was on. Mom stayed in the car. Janie headed in one direction, Dad and I in the other. The carnival was a strange parade, part Mardi Gras, part Coney Island circa 1940. I held Dad’s hand as we pushed through the crowd. “It’s Raining Men, Hallelujah” blasted from a tinny speaker on one of the floats.

“Can’t say we don’t show you a good time, Dad,” I said, squeezing his hand.

By 10 p.m. we’d found one twin bed in a four-storey Edwardian hotel overlooking the sea. It had a most unusual floor plan with split-levels and a labyrinth of staircases and rooms.

“Your mom and I can sleep in a twin,” said Dad.

I looked at his 6 foot 4 inch frame and thought to myself, “Riiiiiiight!”

At that point, we were willing to take anything, although I knew my sister and I deserved the doghouse.

“Maybe I can give you the manager’s room,” said the boy at the reception desk. He barely looked old enough to be up that late. “We’ll take the stable at this point,” said Dad.

“I’ll see what I can do, Joseph,” the kid smiled.

10:20 p.m. – Two twin beds, things were looking up.

“If you don’t mind the bell tower, I can put two cots up there,” suggested our host.

10:30 p.m. – Two twin beds and two cots in the bell tower. We were in!

The streets were almost quiet by the time we retrieved Mom from the car. Too late for dinner, we crammed into Dad’s room and had a three-course meal of single malt. Between each course we cleansed our palate with Mom’s cheddar shorties.

At midnight, Dad kicked us out and we began our search for Mom’s room. Fifteen minutes later we tucked her into a tiny alcove.

“Thanks for getting me home girls,” she laughed. Our final challenge was to find the stairs that led to the bell tower. Dragging her leg like Quasimodo, Janie guided me – the unsuspecting (and a tad tipsy) Esmeralda – through a small attic door.

In the morning, Janie set off to find Mom while I began my search for Dad. We arrived in the breakfast room twenty minutes later, me with Mom, and she with Dad.

As we were leaving, Mom stuffed £10 into an envelope with a note for the boy at the reception desk. She wrote on the envelope: “Thanks again for your help. Sincerely, Mary, Joseph and the kids.”

CHEDDAR SHORTIES

Preheat oven to 400F.
Lightly grease a baking sheet.

Blend together in medium sized mixing bowl:
1 cup flour
1/2 tsp. paprika
1/4 tsp. dry mustard
pinch of cayenne pepper/dash of hot sauce

In a separate bowl cream:
1/2 cup butter

Gradually blend in:
2 cups shredded aged Canadian cheddar cheese

Stir dry ingredients into creamed mixture. Shape into logs about 1 inch in diameter. Wrap in wax paper and chill 1 hour. Slice into ¼ inch slices and place 1 inch apart on baking sheet.

Brush with milk and sprinkle with poppy seeds.

Bake 8 to 10 minutes or until golden brown.

Makes 4 dozen.

Enjoy with single malt scotch and well-aged parents.