Rice Mush

I have a very mysterious childhood memory. It is of a book. I didn't read the book. It was read to me in class on one of the public television shows that preceded "Reading Rainbow". The story was set in a Scandinavian country. It was about a mother and two children struggling to live while the father is away at war. I don't remember much else about the book except the rice pudding or mush that is made on Christmas. The children manage to scrape together enough money to buy the ingredients for rice pudding - rice, milk, raisins, almonds. I clearly remember the description of the ingredients wrapped in brown paper and tied with twine. The mother's surprise and delight at the gift. And that is it. I don't remember anything else about the story. I think the title of the book was "Children of the Earth".

I've searched for this book. I have never found it. It is a mysterious and perhaps imaginary book. A lonely child's dream of family and tradition.

I've never found the book. Yet, the dream came true (and now I'm getting all weepy). My step-father, Phil, made rice mush on Christmas morning for many years. It was a tradition in his Norwegian family. Rice mush is basically rice cooked in milk. It is warm, creamy, simple and earthy. Along with the rich mush, Phil brought with him the gift of family - sisters, aunts, uncles, cousins - they took me in as one of their own. They are my family. And I love them in ways that even I don't always understand. And I am so grateful to them and for them.

This morning I made rice mush.

Merry Christmas everyone!