
Every Christmas while I was growing up my grandma sent fruitcake to our house. She insisted it was the best and tastiest around and it was a tradition. Ironically, during all those years of getting fruitcake no one in my family ever ate it. The routine went something like this: Package arrived from fruitcake company, mom removed fruitcake from decorative tin (she kept that for Christmas cookies), boxed up the cake and sent it to a friend of hers in Texas. We didn’t mind really. I mean, we loved our Grandma but who likes fruitcake?
Eventually, Tom and I got married and celebrated our first Christmas together. I’ll never forget when my first and only fruitcake showed up at the door. To be honest, I panicked. A flood of memories came rushing back. Who would I send this too? I didn’t know anyone in Texas. Would I have to EAT it? After all my worrying, I eventually found a loving and safe home for my fruitcake but vowed to never again be put in that horrifying situation.
There are very few things that would make me look a fruitcake in the face again. Following a life long dream is one of them. As it turns out this year, we’re one fruitcake short of a Christmas miracle. The miracle being, us finally beginning our adventure to West Africa. Of course, we don’t really need an actual fruitcake - it’s just a way of saying that we’re super close to leaving. Check out our December Update and see what I mean but please don’t send any fruitcake.