I made my second (and presumptively last) batch of my family’s traditional Christmas caramels today. Last year was the first time I undertook this venture on my own, so the process of caramel-making solo is still a little new to me (though when it comes to wrapping the candies, I have enlisted the help of very generous friends). While caramels are not incredibly complicated, candy making in general is more complicated than cooking in general; it tends to be easier to mess up caramels than a casserole. Successful candy making is contingent on attention to random details: what is the overall humidity of the house – of the day’s weather? Is the stove on medium or medium-high? Does the temperature need to go up or down? What do I do if the sugar starts to crystallize?
Despite the fact that caramel making has been part of my family’s Christmas tradition for as long as I remember and the process does come easier with practice, you cannot assume that having made a successful batch before will guarantee a good outcome this time. Every batch is different, because measurements and calculations have to be refined, recalibrated, once the conditions of that unique situation are evaluated. Last week I overcooked the batch, making the candy hard, like a See’s sucker. (For you East Coast people, See’s is the definitive West Coast candy store – also synonymous with Christmas in my family, as many of Dad’s clients often give him one or two-pound boxes of chocolate as part of his year end bonus.) I have a feeling I didn’t quite cook today’s batch quite long enough since I was sensitive to overdoing them. I will only be able to find that out tomorrow once it sets.
Life is sort of the same way. Okay, maybe it’s a silly analogy. But I am one of those people who doesn’t mind sameness. I like stability. I don’t have huge political or academic aspirations. In moments of honesty, I would confess that, given the chance, I would be more than happy to freeze my world as it is and life in it for the remainder of my days.
But life doesn’t work like that. I can put in the same ingredients and do all the same things I did yesterday and the day before and quite easily have a much different day than I did before. That’s because people, circumstances, and that which is ambiguously identified as stuff changes. Moves and marriages happen. Jobs disappear and are created. People (myself included) make decisions that alter the course of… everything. Or nothing. But we won’t know for days, months, decades.
I know this is not a bad thing. Left to my own devices, I would never grow, for necessity would not push me to it. People always talk about the need to push yourself outside your comfort zone, but I know were it not for the tumultuousness of life, I would know neither faith nor trust.
Nevertheless, in my weaker moments, I’d gladly accept (and memorize) a fail proof recipe.
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While the reality of consistent change is omnipresent, there are moments where time seems to stop. The past and the future fade into the background, because the present, that long, ever-existent moment is handed to you as gift – a most vivid memory being made before your eyes. To fans of stability like me, these moments are somehow harbingers of heaven. In spite of seeming chaos all around… you can really breathe. And smile. And realize this peace is what God and sinners reconciled is all about.
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