The Atkins Boys' Favorite Christmas Cookies

Pomanders

Carl's mother never failed to make molasses cookies for Christmas. Her recipe is in "The Larkin Housewives' Cook Book" dated 1923, the year she was married. They are plain brown undecorated cookies but, to her, they were special. That means they are special to Carl as well.

A festive cookie recipe called Pomanders came along much later and immediately became part of the younger Atkins family's Christmas cookie tradition. When Scott married and moved to Atlanta, he didn't always make it home for Christmas. One year, on a whim, his mother packaged up a batch of Pomanders and mailed them along with his other gifts. Feedback arrived that Scott opened the cookies and exclaimed, "NOW, it's Christmas!" Needless to say, he has had Pomanders every Christmas since then. Because they're special to Scott, they are also special to Greg. The two youngest Atkins boys receive a batch of Pomanders every year on December 3, Greg's birthday, for both of them to enjoy till Christmas arrives.

Here for your enjoyment are the recipes for the Atkins Boys' favorite Christmas cookies:

SOFT MOLASSES COOKIES

Cream one and one-half cups brown sugar and one cup lard. Add two eggs and one cup molasses; beat well. Sift together five cups bread flour, one teaspoon soda, one tablespoon ground ginger, one teaspoon salt; add to other ingredients. Now add one cup boiling water very gradually and beat well. Drop by the spoonful onto greased baking sheets and bake in hot oven. Note: Crisco is an adequate substitute for lard.

POMANDERS

1 cup chocolate chips
½ cup sugar
¼ cup light corn syrup
¼ cup water
2 ½ cups finely crushed vanilla wafers
1 cup pecans or walnuts, finely chopped
1 tsp. orange extract
Red and green sugar crystals

Melt chocolate chips. Stir in sugar and corn syrup. Blend in water. Combine vanilla wafers and nuts. Add to chocolate chip mixture along with orange extract. Mix well. Form into 1-inch balls. Roll in colored sugars. Makes approximately 4 ½ dozen. These keep for 3 to 4 weeks in a tightly covered container. Add apple or orange slices to the container if cookies begin to dry out.

Merry Christmas from the Atkins Boys! May Santa always bring your favorite cookies.

The Atkins Elves

Every Christmas, the mantel in Scott and Greg's house is miraculously decorated while they are at work and school.

Every year, it looks the same. Santa of the Forest, cross-stitched for Greg by his Grammy when he was a little boy, takes pride of place with white twinkle lights and fresh evergreen boughs beneath.

Every year, little antique elves nestle among the lights and greenery. These elves are very special. Carl's mother loved elves and these are the elves she bought and treasured. They are not special because they are fancy and ornate. They are special because they belonged to Mary Alice Ulbrich Atkins and we are reminded of her when they take their places on the mantel every year.

It was a huge surprise a few weeks ago to find a picture of our head elf on the front page of the AJC Homefinder section accompanied by a headline that read "Vintage and Modern Trend in Designer's Decorations." It seems that one of Mary Alice's elves was patterned after a character in an obscure children's book – something we never knew.

A disaster occurred last week. The elves were missing. They were not in the drawer where they are placed every year. They were not among any of the decorations stored in the attic. They were not with the wrapping paper and ribbon. They were not with the spare bulbs or candles for the windows. They were nowhere to be found although Carl remembered bringing them home in a brown paper bag. The mantel was not going to be the same this year and it just didn't feel right.

When finally told the elves were M.I.A., Scott remembered putting them in a brown bag from Ingles and either giving them to Carl or bringing them back himself but, before heading out to do a little shopping, he decided to take one last look. Lo and behold, he found not only the elves but also the Christmas pickle. Christmas is going to be just fine for the Atkins Boys this year in spite of the fact that the two older ones seem to have faulty memories. And Merry Christmas to you, Mary Alice. Your elves are back where they belong.

Family Traditions

GREG FINDS THE PICKLE

Without meaning to, every family develops traditions. They aren't limited to any particular time of the year or special occasions.

Family traditions can last for unbelievable lengths of time as long as someone likes to talk about their own memories and stories they've heard from older family members. In our family, that someone is me - Sarah Anne Burns Atkins.Not all traditions are heartwarming. Some are downright silly.

For instance, my parents, grandparents, aunts and uncles were likely to say, without warning, "Twelve o'clock, Wheeler Thomas," and burst into laughter. When I was old enough to notice, I finally asked who Wheeler Thomas was. As it turns out, no one knew and that's what was so funny. My Uncle Virgil had suddenly sat up in bed in the middle of the night, made this statement, and promptly went back to sleep. Aunt Milly told on him and he swore he did not know anyone named Wheeler Thomas.

Other traditions come from our heritage. The now-oldest Atkins boy, Carl, has a German heritage from the Ulbrich family who came to America in the late 1870s. Although his family didn't practice it, one German tradition is hanging a pickle ornament on the Christmas tree. The person who finds it gets an extra gift. This became part of our Christmas tradition when we unexpectedly found such an ornament one year. It was actually made in Germany.

The other part of this tradition at our house is that the same person, miraculously, always finds the pickle – Greg. It started when he was very small and continues. A calamity almost occurred last year when he couldn't find it. It seems that the traditional ornament didn't make it out of the attic and some enterprising person hung a real pickle on the tree. Suddenly, Greg was in a pickle! It took a lot of coaching for the Atkins family to continue this particular tradition. Although he is now 21 years old, Greg goes along with it. He'd never want to be responsible for ending a family tradition that he can tell his own children about someday. Especially since he'll, undoubtedly, inherit the Atkins family pickle.

Happy Twenty-First Birthday, Greg!

Gregory Michael Atkins is now 21 years old. He is officially no longer a boy.

This is a good time to look back at things our friends and family have learned from Greg:

. Being good is not too hard.

. Learn to entertain others by doing creative things – like climbing through coat hangers.

. Be brave enough to wear your Grammy's knee boots while playing Zorro. (Could this be an inherited trait similar to the famous red tights episode from the past?)

. Plan ahead. Like starting a business called G&G Pizza. (Greg & Grammy's Pizza – you do the cooking and I'll take the money.)

. Make up a word now and then. Things can get really exigut in the Atkins family.

. Do things with Dad. You'll never regret it.

. Picking herbs makes your pockets smell like pizza.

. Compliments about food will bring you an unending supply of good stuff.

. Your grandparents' friends are funny - especially when they give you advice.

. Don't try to keep a secret from your parents. They have radar. And so do Cops.

It seems impossible that Greg has reached this milestone when, just yesterday, he looked like the picture you see here. An only child and an only grandson, just like his Dad. Carrier of the Atkins family name. He is our future. What could be more special?

Every Boy Needs A Dog

Hundreds of years ago, or perhaps thousands, humans discovered that every boy needs a dog. Since then, little boys everywhere have waged relentless campaigns to convince their parents that this is true.Less than a hundred years ago, it was easy to welcome a new puppy into one's home. Farm life offered lots of room to roam and cozy outbuildings for sleeping. Table scraps were considered appropriate dog food. The only grooming that took place was picking burrs from tangled fur in the fall.

This is not the situation today. Dogs live indoors with their families and are routinely treated to annual physical exams, expensive shots, heartworm and flea preventives, monthly trips to the groomer, and special diets. Leash laws dictate a fenced yard and dogs must learn acceptable indoor habits. Bringing a puppy home is a major life-changing event - especially when parents work outside the home all day.

Nevertheless, Gregory Michael Atkins, at about age six, succeeded in convincing his parents and grandparents he needed a dog. What kind of dog? A black dog that wasn't too big. The end result was a black cocker spaniel named Star Ball (since shortened to Star). It didn't matter that Star was all black with no white stars. She did like playing with balls and she was destined to become the star of all pets.

Star was a surprise. After interviewing several little black dogs, Aunt Judy determined that this particular one passed her test: Didn't try to get away, tolerated being turned on her back, and snuggled up to everyone who held her. Greg's grammy made the necessary arrangements. Greg was nowhere in sight when Star arrived. In fact, when he came downstairs, he took a cursory look at her and said, "Why, hello Bridget," thinking she was the little poodle they sometimes took care of. When told to look again, there was an instant flash of love. MY DOG!

And so she is. Star went where Greg went from that day on but she couldn't follow him to school in Athens. Scott now has custody but Greg comes home every weekend. Star is a little grey around the muzzle, somewhat arthritic, and can no longer hear. A faithful friend and Atkins family member. Every boy needs a dog.

Happy Birthday Scott!

At ten minutes after 5:00 p.m. on a certain Thursday, little Aaron Scott Atkins entered this world. Since it was a time before ultrasounds, his gender was a surprise to both parents.

It's a good thing he was a boy because his father was determined to name him Eloise if he'd been a girl while his mother was determined that she would never, under any circumstances, name a daughter of hers Eloise. This was the only unsettled disagreement they'd ever had in their one year and five month long marriage.

Because he was very overdue, his skin was red, wrinkled, and dried out. His hair was stuck to his head like glue the entire time he was in the hospital because of a forceps wound. He never opened his eyes once when he was brought to nurse. One can imagine the thoughts that went through a 20-year-old mother's mind. A comment to the nurse about the fact that he was always asleep brought the response, "That's because he spends all of his time in the nursery crying." As it turned out, no truer words were ever spoken.

But, as usually happens, this tiny, squalling, little ugly duckling turned into the most beautiful, cutest, smartest, best baby that had ever come down the pike the minute they took him home (if only he would sleep). After all these years, he is still the best, most handsome, most loving, smartest son that anyone could ever have. It has been many years since he caused sleepless nights although there were a few anxious moments when he was getting through his teens.

Unlike most American households, the Atkins holiday season doesn't begin with Thanksgiving. Scott's birthday kicks it off, followed by Thanksgiving, Greg's birthday, and then Christmas. The Atkins household has a lot to be thankful for this time of year. One of the best is Aaron Scott Atkins who turned out to be exactly the kind of son that anyone could ever wish for.

Happy Birthday Scott.

Clothes Make The Man

Needless to say, this was one of Carl's stellar costume moments. His wife doesn't look too shabby either. The occasion was a Halloween party thrown by Ohio neighbors, Howard and Norma Lamprecht. Their costumes were hand made except for Carl's red tights. No cheap store-bought costumes were acceptable at a Lamprecht Halloween party.

Those tights took on a life of their own later that same year when first-grader, Scotty, informed his mother at 9:00 p.m. one evening that he had to be a pixie for their Christmas play tomorrow.

There was no time to shop. In a frantic, last-minute effort to make her son look good at this late date, Scotty's mom looked through her fabric scraps and managed to sew a blue & white pixie shirt, a red felt pixie hat, and felt pointed slippers to be worn over regular shoes. The next morning Scotty completed his costume with the above red tights, pulled up as far as they would go on his little pixie legs and held there with rubber bands.

A couple of days later, Scotty's teacher relayed the following conversation to his mom:

Little girl classmate: "I'm wearing my sister's tights."

Scotty: "Big deal! I'm wearing my Dad's tights!"

The teaching staff at Colonial Hills Elementary School never viewed Carl in quite the same way after that.

The Atkins Boys' Dream Vacation

The Atkins Boys' favorite vacation spot is the Burns family farm near Leon, West Virginia. Due to the generosity of its current owner, Juanita Burdette, many wonderful memories have been created there.

With no phones, no television, and nothing else to distract, the necessity of amusing oneself takes over and peace descends. It's a place where guys can practice target shooting, have paint ball battles, and fish to their hearts' content. When all else fails, there is the option of sitting on the porch or walking over to explore the barn and confirm that nothing has changed since last year.

Evening brings the joys of reading or fast moving games such as dominoes. One can also examine the wonders of a square-winged dragonfly up close.

When the lights go out, the youngest Atkins boy experiences dark like no dark he has ever seen before and silence like he has never heard before. There's nothing to see except moonlight and starlight and nothing to hear except the croaking of the bullfrogs at the edge of the pond and, occasionally, a whippoorwill.

No wonder that, given the choice between an Alaskan cruise and one more week at the farm in Leon, the Atkins boys chose the farm for their 2004 vacation together.

It's Finally Confirmed. All Of The Atkins Boys Can Cook

Carl has been renowned for his chili for many years and his other favorite recipe, Pork Roast on a Bed of Potatoes so impressed one of Scott's high school buddies that he asked for the recipe to take home to his mom. Steve later reported that his mom's version didn't turn out nearly as well as Carl's.

We knew that Scott could cook after a neighbor observed him standing in front of our kitchen stove at about age eight, stirring the chocolate pudding he was making. Howard leaned over, looked into the pan, and observed, "Whatcha' making there, Scotty? Chocolate soup?" This episode was followed later by one of Scott's friends exclaiming in horror, "You mean you put eggs in your milkshakes? Yuck!" Scott's matter-of-fact response of "What do you think makes it thick, Dummy?" convinced Mark to drink it and declare it really good.

In case you're wondering how eggs worked their way into our family's milkshake recipe, let's just say that desperate mothers will do almost anything to get nourishing food into the stomach of a picky eater.

Although we have heard that Greg cooks, none of us has seen any real evidence until a couple of weeks ago when the phone rang. "What's for dinner?" (Haven't decided yet.) "Uh, I thought I'd fix dinner tonight." (For EVERYONE?) "Yep." And that sealed the deal.

Above you see concrete evidence that the youngest Atkins Boy can, indeed, cook. He can set the table too. Our menu that evening was roasted marinated pork tenderloin, green beans, and mashed potatoes. Yummy stuff. Dessert was little lime cookies our neighbor, Faye, brought us from her trip to Savannah.

Guess who did the dishes?

SNIPE HUNTING

If you're a male of certain age who grew up in a rural area or had relatives who did, chances are you went snipe hunting when you were a boy. This is a rite of passage that seems to have died out lately and that's too bad.

A snipe hunt usually began after supper with older male members of the family reminiscing about their adventures while snipe hunting; how hard it is to catch a snipe, and how tonight might be just the right kind of night to catch one if anyone wanted to try. By the time they were finished, most little boys ten years old and under wanted to go.

What could be more exciting than bravely standing in the middle of a pitch black field or forest, alone, holding a bag, while waiting for your older male relatives to drive the snipes toward you? The scary dark night, the suspense building, the certainty that tonight, for certain tonight, you are finally going to be the one who captures an elusive snipe. The waiting. The sound of voices that gradually grow more faint and then disappear altogether. What was that rustle? A snipe? Maybe I should rattle the bag a little louder to attract it in! But what if it's not a snipe? What if it's a big snake? Or something with claws and teeth? Where is everyone?

Then, finally, you can't stand it any longer. "Dad?" you say in a quavering little voice. "Uncle Carl? Scott? Where are you?" Miraculously, they appear from the darkness of the trees, strolling casually toward you. "Did you catch one? You weren't scared; were you? Didn't you even hear one? Oh well, maybe next time. Maybe you didn't hold the bag just right. You sure did try, though," they say as all of you walk toward the safety of the house where the females of the family are waiting to hear all about your experience.

Although it may take a while, it finally occurs to you to ask what snipes look like and to wonder if there is really such a thing. Don't hold your breath waiting for a definitive answer. After all, no one has ever really seen a snipe – they've only hunted snipes.

We were reminded of our nephew, Neil's, snipe hunting experience recently. This is what he said: "Out of all the memories that I have of your family, the first thing that pops in my mind when I think of you guys is fearlessly attending my first (and only) snipe hunting expedition in your field. Doggon' it, I thought I had really nailed the ability to rub the paper bag just right to attract a snipe into it. I still chuckle at that and I continue to hope that I'll have the ability to repeat the prank someday."

A little boy has to be very brave to go snipe hunting.

SCOTT'S RAT PATROL

Everyone who knows the Atkins boys knows they simply cannot be without a project waiting in the wings.

Scott's latest project is a 1951 Chevy he couldn't resist buying from their secretary's father. According to her, "It was in good running condition when my dad parked it."

Well. It may have been in running condition but it was not in driving condition when it finally arrived at 381 Village Green Court in Lilburn. Why? The stench! No human being in his right mind could stand sitting behind the wheel of that car.

Further investigation revealed that a large family of rats had taken up residence at some point in time and the previous owner had the bright idea to put rat poison in the car to drive them out. Hah!

Now most thinking people would have known this was not a great idea. No self-respecting Atkins boy would have ever done such a thing. The rats promptly crawled up inside the seats and died there.

There was nothing else to do but tackle the problem. Here you see Scott, suitably clothed in the mask, rubber gloves, and disposable clothing he donned before he approached this unplanned and undesirable task. The result? Eight rat carcasses in varying stages of disintegration were removed. You'll have to take our word for that because we don't want to offend our readers' sensibilities with the evidence.

While old car restoration can bring great satisfaction, it does, sometimes, have a down side. Stay tuned for the up side.

WHAT KIND OF WINE DOES CARL MAKE?

Carl took a wine making class many years ago when we lived in Ohio and has developed his wine-making skills into practically an art form. People are always curious about the kind of wine he makes. The answer is that he can make any kind of wine that it's possible to make.

Thanks to the availability of grape concentrates, he makes Cabernet Sauvignon, Pinot Noir, Pino Grigio, Liebfraumilch, Zinfandel, Chardonnay, Riesling, Chamblis, Chenin Blanc, and Port, to name a few. In addition to that, he makes all kinds of wine from fresh fruit – strawberry, black raspberry, and plum are favorites. The produce manager at our local grocery store has become a good friend.

When we lived in Marengo, Ohio, he made wonderful dandelion, elderberry, blackberry, and sparkling apple wine from fruit we picked on our property. We do not dwell on other less-than-memorable wines his friends talked him into. Suffice it to say that banana wine and tomato wine are every bit as bad as one might imagine. He learned that orange, peach, and pineapple wine made from fresh fruit is pretty awful. If you see these wines for sale they are probably grape wine with artificial flavorings. Run the other way!

Because he uses the same products, techniques, and care as any commercial winery, Carl's wine cannot be classed with most homemade wines. What you see in the picture above is the result of 40 pounds of plums beginning the aging process along with five gallons of Zinfandel. And, no, he doesn't sell it. To do so is illegal. We do look forward to a nice glass of wine before dinner. Our friends enjoy it too.

HOW ACCURATE IS HISTORY ANYWAY?

A certain Judge James H. Miller wrote the following description of Carl's paternal ancestors in the early 1900s. The person who sent it to us was hoping it was his family. He wanted to have the history printed on vellum, elaborately framed, and hung in his den. Alas, he could not claim them but we can. Here, for your enjoyment, is the Honorable Judge's opinion of our early family:

"One of the oldest families of people in all this region of the New River Valley was that of Adkins/Atkins or Atkins. They are said to have come into this region during the time of the Revolutionary War, and were first discovered living under cliffs on the Summers side of the river from New Richmond Falls, supposed to be the magnificent cliffs in the canyon at the mouth of Laurel Creek which empties into the New River half a mile from Lick Creek at New Richmond Post Office. They were hunters and trappers in the earliest days, and have continued so as long as there was game in this region, and their descendants are scattered one place and another throughout this region and other counties.

Once in awhile you will find a member of the generation rising above the common level, but no great advancements have been made in this race. There was a Parker Adkins/Atkins, a man noted for his nose, the end of it being half the size of a man's fist; Riley Adkins/Atkins, known as the "Chestnut Mountain Lawyer"; Leonard Adkins/Atkins living in the Chestnut Mountain area; Albert Adkins/Atkins, one of the most intelligent, lives near Hinton. Hen Adkins/Atkins, one of the race, was drowned in Laurel Creek with L. M. Alderson's wedding suit on. Mr. Alderson was married twice and this was the suit he had purchased for his first marriage. He said that he sold a steer to secure the broadcloth suit. Sometimes the name is spelled Atkins and sometimes Adkins/Atkins. The Gills are said to have come into the country about the same time and to have lived about the same way. The Gills and the Adkins/Atkins have intermarried. There is an intelligent family by the name of Atkins, now residing in the Little Bluestone country of a different generation. A thriftless, harmless, indolent, unambitious race of people but without malicious cunning or dangerous, indigenous race are the Gills and Adkins/Atkins. Possibly the ancestors were Tories who emigrated into this then vastness to escape military service."

Now I have to tell you the honorable Judge was wrong about a few things. Several of the Adkins/Atkins males served in the Revolutionary War and received large land grants in the area that became West Virginia. They undoubtedly owned those cliffs they were living under. Although Carl's grandfather was named Parker Adkins, he wasn't this particular Parker with the big nose and we claim no knowledge of Mr. Alderson's wedding suit or why one of the family was wearing it that day. We only know one Gill family, Sue and Jim, but they are from Florida and they don't look like us. There may be some strong cliff-dwelling tendencies remaining to the present day, however, as evidenced by these photographs of Carl and his bride. Where in the world could he have found her? She must have been from a similar race.

YANK'S STUDEBAKER

Since this is a guy blog, we must stick to guy kinds of things. Today we will feature Yank's Studebaker. Yank is an antique car buff who is also Santa Claus each Christmas with his glorious white fluffy beard. Scott and Greg met him at the car shows they frequent.

Unfortunately, we have no pictures of Yank but we do have pictures of his Studebaker. It's a most unique old car that, like most old cars, needs tender loving care to restore it to its former glory – especially when it comes to everything made of cloth.

Now there is no more meticulous person than Scott when it comes to upholstery. It's a skill he learned during his high school days while working at Egelhoff Interiors in Columbus, Ohio. In between doing upholstery, he filled in at the Egelhoff Art Gallery openings where he dressed up in his black leather custom-made hat, black pants and shirt, and served sherry to discerning patrons of the arts. But that's another story.

Today we're sharing some of Scott's handiwork on Yank's Studebaker. Now I ask you, doesn't it look like a brand new car?

THERE'S A LESSON HERE, SOMEWHERE

This T-shirt was a Christmas gift to Gregory Michael Atkins last year.

Never let it be said that he isn't a careful driver - most of the time. But common sense has a way of going out the window when one is nineteen years old and on the way to Charleston, South Carolina, on spring break with a couple of friends in the car.

Uh oh! Cop! Too late! Those flashing blue lights were not a beautiful sight. A big fine ensued which was duly paid and I'm sure prayers were said that what happens in South Carolina stays in South Carolina. 'Twas not to be.

A very unexpected greeting showed up in the mail from the Georgia Highway Department giving the place and time where a certain unnamed person was expected to relinquish a certain driver's license for a period of six months.

Now six months without a driver's license when one is going to school in Athens, GA, is not a desirable situation – especially when one lives 8 miles from campus. A guy reaches a point in life when lessons learned do not require that parents add insult to injury. Grandparents, however, are allowed to buy T-shirts for Christmas.

Those of you who know Carl well, know he is a cat lover. He inherited that from his mother who was never without a cat. Mostly black cats.

Lily Pearl is the most recent cat occupying Carl's space. He fell in love with Lily's snow white fur and sky blue eyes when he saw her as a tiny kitten. He could hardly wait to bring her home.

This was their first day together. He hasn't had a moment's peace since but that's another story.

Speaking of funky pets, this is Fuzzy. Fuzzy is normally, well, fuzzy. Winter brings lots of hairballs and you are seeing Fuzzy after her summer shave.

She appeared on Scott and Greg's doorstep one late fall day a few years ago and simply wouldn't leave. Having inherited the Atkins trait of feeling sorry for homeless and hungry creatures, Scott eventually gave her milk. After resisting for a while, he named her Fuzzy because she is very, well, fuzzy.

Winter approached. Fuzzy grew more fuzzy and she was, after all, an outdoor cat. But one night the temperature was predicted to drop to sixteen degrees. Scott's mother, who is also very sorry for homeless and hungry creatures, couldn't stand the thought of Fuzzy being out there with no shelter so she talked Scott into letting Fuzzy into the garage where she would be out of the damp and warmed by an electric heater.

Fuzzy was nowhere in sight the next morning so Scott went to work and gave his parents the task of letting Fuzzy out. Fuzzy could be heard but not seen (the opposite of the way children are supposed to behave). After many searches, she was discovered marooned in the loft and had to be bodily removed, along with much hissing and growling but no scratching and biting. Her next night was spent in Scott's van with no heat. At least she had shelter.

Saturday dawned and brought a typical project for the Atkins boys - building Fuzzy a house. It was just the right size and had a heating pad for the floor. Fuzzy didn't like it. What to do?

Fuzzy's house moved to the back of the van - she liked the van but not the house. Off came the roof, in went a bowl of food and water. Fuzzy discovered the heated floor and she loved it. Since the van is used only occasionally, it is now known as Fuzzy's House, duly furnished with an additional cat bed, foam cushions, and quilts in the winter time. I suppose one could say her address is Ms. Fuzzy Atkins, 381 1/2 Village Green Court.