The Connie Gun

Grandma always had her Christmas party the first Saturday after the 25th. Having six children, the long tables in the basement quickly filled with grandkids, great grandkids and more. The meal wasn’t fancy, but it was special, consisting of good, wholesome country cooking. The huge spattering of my aunts, uncles and cousins mixed with the potluck lunch gave everyone a chance to catch up.

As the group grew, heavy throwaway Chinet plates replaced regular plates to make things easier. It was more about being together than eating off fancy antique plates, anyway.

Grandma always made a large turkey and 20+ lbs. of mashed potatoes, while the rest of the family complemented the meal with side dishes and desserts. The whole meal was simple goodness, mixed with the magical atmosphere only a large family produces.

Everyone loved Grandma’s Christmas party and the mood and mingling proved it! It was alive with lots of laughing, tasteful teasing and just plain conversation. At its peak, 60+ relatives gathered for the noon meal. Grandma’s main helper was my Aunt Connie.

Olfactory Overload

Entering Grandma’s house, you’d be knocked over by the aroma of baking rolls and other goodies, as the warmth hit your face when opening the door. Connie was in the kitchen, a blur of busyness and hard work. While boiling the potatoes, she’d be baking rolls and cooking the corn, all while icing a cake. How she managed it all, I haven’t a clue.

She was a little eccentric, in a good sort of way, with everyone loving her nervous nelly notions. We all pitched in, but Connie was the catalyst in the kitchen, making sure it got done and done right. Besides doing the day’s cooking, she helped grandma bake an avalanche’s worth of assorted Christmas cookies, starting the day after Thanksgiving.

I remember sneaking down to Grandma’s freezer during hunting season and pinching a few cookies before bed, for “good luck” every opening day eve of buck season, even as an adult. They were always there, stuffed in round, plastic gallon ice cream containers.

Lastly, Connie made her famous peanut butter fudge. It was worthy of any royalty and its secret ingredient was marshmallow fluff. It was drool worthy moist and melted in your mouth, always making you feel like a kid. It was one of my favorites after the wonderful meal with my aunts, uncles and cousins — and Connie knew it.

Decisions, Decisions …

“What gun would it be?” I thought to myself. More an accumulator than collector, my guns are far from safe queens. They are shot and shot hard. It had to be a special gun! One I wouldn’t normally buy on my own accord — and worthy of Connie. One day while perusing my local gun shop, I saw it! It was a Freedom Arms Model 83, field grade, which had a brushed finish, perfect for hunting.

It had just been placed in the used gun display case. It was chambered in none other than the potent .454 Casull. Being used, and barely shot, it was quite a bargain. Freedom Arms are the Cadillacs of Big Bore Single- Action pistols.

It was the perfect Connie gun, one that would immortalize her and be worthy of her “specialness” to me. Whenever I pull her from the safe, shoot her on the range, or pack her over hill and dale on hunts, I’m reminded of Connie, her generosity, her love for family and, of course, her peanut butter fudge.

Many have tried duplicating her peanut butter fudge, but it just isn’t quite the same. I guess it’s only right. It was her signature treat and if easily duplicated, it wouldn’t be as special. I’m forever grateful for Aunt Connie, aka “the fudge fairy” and the one last “treat” she made possible for me to remember her by.

I’m reminded by this as my daughter just graduated college and will be off to Veterinary School, partly because of Connie’s help. That’s what family is all about. Eye, yi, yi … Miss you Aunt Connie.

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