MOM'S CHOCOLATE-COVERED CHERRY CAPER

By Nancy Gilbride Casey

My Mom, Ann Kozlina Gilbride, allowed herself few indulgences as we were growing up. She had a few chocolate vices you could say: chocolate marshmallow Pinwheels cookies, Brach's chocolate stars, chocolate-covered peanuts.

These goodies were put up on the higher shelves in the kitchen cupboards, supposedly away from her children's sticky fingers. When Mom was of a mind to allow us candy, it was doled out in careful increments of one or two pieces at a time, to make is last (and no doubt, to keep our teeth intact!).

But my Mom loved chocolate-covered cherries. They were one of her favorite Christmas candies. She bought them every year during the holidays like clockwork—the Queen Anne brand, with ten candies to a rectangular, red box. Ten syrupy, gooey, fruity, chocolatey nuggets of heaven. If we were lucky, she would share their eye-popping sweetness with us before they got put out for company.

One year, when I was in my early 20s, I accompanied Mom to a local store in Eastlake, Ohio, to do some Christmas shopping. It was a time for us to catch up, chat and to ooh and aah over all the cute Christmas decorations that she loved so much, while we checked off items on her list. We filled up a cart with baking goods, little gifts, soda, and other items, and made our way to the checkout line. We unloaded all the items, paid the cashier, bundled up against the December cold, and wheeled the cart out to the parking lot together.

Behind her car, as we unloaded the last of the bags into her trunk, and readied to take the shopping cart back to the rack, Mom lifted her large purse from the cart seat.

And there they were: A box of Queen Anne chocolate-covered cherries which had been buried behind her purse.

And we had not paid for them!

Mom picked the box up. We looked at one another aghast at our mistake. We were good people. We did not mean to steal them. How could this have happened? What were we to do?

Without much hesitation, and in a moment I will never forget, Mom said:

"Ah, the hell with it."

And with a flick of her wrist, she tossed the box into the trunk along with our purchases.

I'm sure my jaw dropped, but I wasn't going to argue with her. After all, it was cold, we were tired, and it was a long walk back to the store from the parking lot. As we made what felt like a getaway and drove home, we looked at each other in nervous disbelief, and giggled at the audacity of our crime. I'm sure we probably checked the rear view mirrors a few times for flashing red and blue lights as well.

Every Christmas after, when Mom would put out the box of Queen Anne chocolate-covered cherries at Christmastime for family gatherings, we would always retell the story, and laugh and giggle some more about the day Mom became a thief.

And now, in her honor, I buy a box or two of Queen Anne chocolate-covered cherries each Christmas, and retell that story to anyone who will listen.

It's a new Christmas tradition.

Until next time...