Opinion: There on the tray were four oat encrusted blocks. “Oh my!” I exclaimed. “Matrimonial Squares! Where on earth did you get these?”
The toddlers were busy dismantling the playroom.
Recommended Videos
She waved a hand in their general direction while posing the question, “Coffee?”
With the glazed quality of a sleep-deprived field marshal — you know, a sort of autopilot efficiency acquired only through combat — she set the kettle to boil and assembled the necessary components, all the while delivering apple slices to her young charges. From my place beside the indoor climbing apparatus and the Fisher-Price activity centre, I could hear her opening drawers and rummaging in the fridge. Moments later, she set down a tray with two cups of coffee, cream, sugar, spoons and a plate of home baking.
I was impressed. I would have hollered “Cream?” from the kitchen long before I decanted actual cream into an actual jug. But what really caught my attention was the baking.
There on the tray, alongside an array of cookies, were four oat-encrusted blocks.
“Oh my!” I exclaimed. “Matrimonial Squares! Where on earth did you get these?”
She gave me a puzzled look.
“Matrimonial Squares?”
“Yes, yes … this! This!” I explained while biting down on one.
“Oh, you mean the date square?”
“Well, yes … I guess, although when I was a kid, we called them Matrimonial Squares.”
She told me she’d made them. That they were all the rage on the internet these days. The reason for their sudden popularity, it turned out, was a health claim. Dates, it seems, have low ranking on the glycemic index. You can eat dates without experiencing a spike in your blood glucose levels. On top of that benefit, dates have proven to be nutritional powerhouses. Two Medjool dates provide 14 per cent of the recommended daily intake of fibre. Dates are also high in key minerals and vitamins, like vitamin D and B6, along with potassium, calcium, magnesium, and iron. This is why she had taken the time to make these old-timey treats.
As we chatted over our coffee, she asked me why they were called Matrimonial Squares. I told her that, even as a child, I’d been mystified by the name. I recall wondering if they were, somehow, a part of weddings or bridal showers. I’d never bothered to find out.
Until now.
It turns out, Matrimonial Squares are Canadian, through and through. The first known recipe for these delicious squares appeared in May of 1928 in The Irma Times, the local newspaper in Irma, Alberta. Sugar was a luxury back in those days, but dates, with their natural sweetness, offered a way to satisfy a sweet tooth without sugar. Given that recipes for Matrimonial Squares don’t call for eggs and rely more on oatmeal rather than flour made them an economical option for families.
As for why they were called Matrimonial Squares? Well, there’s lots of conjecture there. Some sources say it was because the two layers were bound together by dates. Some say it was because the squares had a firm foundation but a sweet centre. Another legend says they are based on the wedding cakes of Scottish immigrants where a first layer was baked upon the announcement of the wedding and a second layer was tiered onto the first with a layer of fruit filling in between.
I’m not fussed about the name. I’m just glad that Matrimonial Squares — by any name — are making a comeback … and the really good news is, this time around, they’ve got a medical seal of approval.
This week’s question for readers:
Question: Any old-timey edibles that you miss?
Last week’s question for readers:
Question: What’s your song? And why?
• It may have been low-hanging fruit, but I sang The Beatles song, Good Night (Ringo’s song off The White Album, final cut, side 4) to my now 29-year-old son, every time I put him to bed, until he was about two. One line, “Now the sun turns off his light, good night, sleep tight” always made me tear up when I saw him close his eyes. Thank you for helping bring back that memory.
David Goldman
• Last April, my youngest grandson, Mateo (age two), was diagnosed with neuroblastoma. He has endured intense treatment at B.C. Children’s Hospital, which has been fabulous, and he is now cancer free, but still has more chemo to come. During this time, I came upon a beautiful Indigenous lullaby, and began singing it to little Mateo. He has quickly recognized this as “our song” and doesn’t mind at all about how I sing it. Thank-you Fawn Wood and her “Mommy’s Little Guy” which I have changed to “Yaya’s Little Guy” — “Yaya” being “grandmother” in Greek.
Ines Zagoudakis
• My husband’s favourite song was and still is “Tougher Than The Rest” by Bruce Springsteen. Growing up, our daughters listened to that song multiple times a day, every day, usually at a very high volume. When my daughter got married, she searched for a song for her father/daughter dance that was special to them. Unbeknownst to us, she had decided on Dad’s Song. When the first few bars of the song came through the speakers, it literally brought my husband to his knees. Tears streaming down both faces and not a dry eye in the house. This is what a special song does.
Maggie Basa
• What a Sophie’s Choice. For me, songs bring back specific memories from my generation, when the best music was created. Some happy, some sad. Some thought provoking. All part of the gumbo that makes us who we are. “Yesterday” is the memory of my first true love. I was nine. John could sing and, when we were 12, he sang “Blowing In The Wind” in class. Achingly beautiful. Our first slow dance was to “Cherish”. Marvin Gaye’s “What’s Going On” set my path into adulthood. “Hallelujah” is the anthem as I enter my golden years.
Pamela Cohen
• You are my sunshine… My only sunshine…
Try singing this to a cat and you’ll likely get a reaction. A good old poignant tune useful for shedding needed tears. Sung by my dad around campfires, along with more scandalous tunes like “The Long Johns” song…
“I have lost my underwear, I don’t care, I’ll go bare, bye-bye longjohns. They were very dear to me, tickled me, teeheehee, bye-bye longjohns. Oh how I miss that little trap door behind me, if you find them you’ll know where to find me. I have lost my underwear, I don’t care. LONGJOHNS BYE-BYE!”
The last song I ever sang to him.
My mother, on the other hand, had a penchant for singing “Mack The Knife” while placating fussy grandbabies. I think, in her head, she was channeling Louis Armstrong. Now that is a stretch, although a low deep voice is alleged to calm babies.
Joan Hunter
• Growing up in The Beatles era, their songs have formed my life behaviour. However, first I must tell the tale of my grandson who, when staying over, would never sleep unless I sang “Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star”. Naturally, after a while I was very bored with the song so I changed the words. He loved it and naturally wanted more, so bedtime dragged on and on. Back to the task at hand, my song is “Let It Be” by The Beatles, of course. I have even included it in my wishes for my funeral service. For me, it is a theme and perhaps a way of life, letting things go, always hard to do for some of us. My grandchildren now tell me there is a new craze about a book called “Let Them”, strange because to me it is the same philosophy of my favourite song, isn’t it?
Let it be, let it be, let it be, let it be. Whisper words of wisdom, let it be.
Janet Dysart
• My song is: Could I have this dance for the rest of my life? by Anne Murray. It reminds me of the night, 60 years ago, that I first danced with the man who would become my husband. I play it over and over again. The irony is that my husband groans every time he hears it, and he is the worst dancer in the world. I think this speaks to the importance of compromise in a marriage. We are just about to celebrate 58 wonderful years together.
Rose Dudley
• There are two “Dad” songs for my group: Don Ho’s ”Tiny Bubbles” from years of Hawaiian holidays, and if you ask his grandchildren, this would be the best grandpa song. For me, my brother and sister, his best was always saved for Christmas morning. Reverting to being a big kid again, he was up early, downstairs to the living room where we could hear him rustling crinkled paper to lay a base for the requisite Christmas fire. With kindling laid, then fire lit, our Boston Bull terrier, Paddy, by his side, he started singing in a booming voice. “Oh, What a Beautiful Morning” from Oklahoma, his favourite. That was our notice that Christmas could begin.
There was a “Mom’s song”, too. With the aroma of clothing freshly ironed exuding as the iron glided silently through the creases, Mom’s voice trilled “The Tennessee Waltz”.
Jo-Ann Zador
• Before I answer, I must comment about the Red River Valley. Last week, on the SkyTrain, an older Asian man started whistling that song. It reminded me of my British grandad, who used to whistle constantly. After getting off the train, I told the man how much I appreciated his whistling. Not a native English speaker, he looked at me, smiled, and nodded in acknowledgement. Music really is the universal language.
When my husband and I go on road trips, we always listen to reggae, which are political songs, but with a happy beat. However, my favourite song has to be, Tiny Dancer, by Elton John, which reminds me of my youth, and always makes me smile.
Adele Cameron
• The song that comes to mind is one my father sang all the time. I remember sitting on his knee while he sang to me, “You Are My Sunshine”. Such lovely memories. I’ve personally had so many over the years, but now it’s Ella Fitzgerald singing, “Miss Otis Regrets” and “Midnight Sun”. I will sit in my car in my underground garage and listen if either of those songs is playing. Keep up the good work on your column. It is so refreshing to ponder and think of pleasant memories in these times of turmoil.
Nancy Golabiewski
• I am 80 years old and back in the day (1960s) I played a five-string banjo with a limited repertoire of folk songs. At the time, the top request from my three children was “Sama Kama Wacky Brown”. They always asked me how to say his name. Today, my grandchildren are asking me the same question. Love it. Life’s a journey. Great song, check it out.
David Seccombe
• My song is “Smile” sung by Nat King Cole. Why? Well, because it reminds me of my father, Frank, who used to sing the song with the same slow cadence, the same reassurance, the same calm promise that everything would be alright — just smile.
“Smile though your heart is aching
Smile even though it’s breaking
When there are clouds in the sky, you’ll get by
If you smile through your fear and sorrow
Smile and maybe tomorrow
You’ll see the sun come shining through for you.”
Dad used to smile a lot. I miss him, now that I’m retired, and a 73-year-old widower. But mom carries the torch, despite dementia, approaching 96 years of age.
Barry Holmes
• We cannot paddle canoes without singing C’est L’aviron. When our kids were young, we would start and end canoeing at our family cabin at Chilliwack Lake singing this Voyageurs’ song. Their mother had learned it during a three-month stint in Malartic, Quebec while volunteering for Katimavik. See C’est l’aviron qui nous mene… “It is the paddle that leads us…”
Whenever we’re about to arrive in the Okanagan — “Oh, the old Okanagan, old Okanagan, that’s where we really wanna be…” springs out continuing on, “They have big red apples there and peaches, oh, I say so, in the old Okanagan, old Okanagan that’s where we really wanna be…”
Lance Read
• Whenever going over our many Fraser River crossings the “Hi Lee, Hi Lo — Fraser River” song pops out. Hi-Lee-Hi-lo, It’s a whole lot longer than the O-hi-o. A whole lot wider than the mighty Mississip. Down the Fraser River is a heck of a trip.
Sharon Cooper
• This week’ s column about songs reminded me of a visit to my mother, back east, when she was in care and had Lewy body dementia. Sis and I had sat Mum out on the patio for sunshine where she sat, lost inside her mind. Across the courtyard, a man was sitting close to his own mother and he was singing her show tunes, so we got some entertainment as well. Sis and I decided we would attempt to stir our own mother with songs, yet none managed to rouse her. Finally, I struck up “Take Me Out To The Ball Game” and she started singing along. It took me a while to understand why this particular tune was the one to reach her, and then I realized that the song was old enough (later confirmed from 1908) that her own mother had no doubt sung it to her.
Lyn Guy
• I was raised in a farming community in Saskatchewan. We were transported by various and sundry vehicles to school as muddy and snowy roads were often the norm. We would sing on the hour-long ride and “The Red River Valley” was a favourite. “Home on the Range” was another. “Oh, give me a home where the buffalo roam and the deer and the antelope play. Where seldom is heard a discouraging word and the skies are not cloudy all day.” These songs pop into my head on unexpected occasions. My dad played fiddle and harmonica, my uncle played guitar and my aunt played the accordion. Jam sessions were quite normal. We little ones would dance and sing along to these songs and others. These songs and others were ingrained in my brain and have been there now for 78 years.
Sharon Lowe
• I always sang to my children and grandchildren. I have a resonant, bass baritone voice which is apparently quite soothing to children. I eased countless bits of fussiness and triggered many naps (maybe even mine, too) with my rendition of Summertime (and the livin’ is easy). When babysitting, I sang every morning to my granddaughter, often Elvis songs. When she was about age eight, I took her to a local live theatre presentation of “All Shook Up”, which was based on Elvis songs. She knew many of the tunes and sang along.
Ian MacLeod
• Early on, during a very lengthy courtship, my now wife mentioned there was a beautiful song from the TV series, Northern Exposure. She probably hadn’t heard it in 15 years and couldn’t remember the name of it.
Sometime later, probably about a month, I asked if she would like to go out for dinner. Lucky for me, she accepted. Part way through our appetizers, I looked at her and said, “Hey, do you hear that song playing?” Time stopped as I watched so many emotions dance in those eyes. She looked at me with such intensity, as she realized that I had orchestrated the moment. Then the tears began to flow. The restaurant staff were also wiping their eyes, too.
The song has reappeared, almost like a rain dance on many occasions, including our wedding. The song is “Common Threads” by Bobby McFerrin.
Patrick Ramsay
• My late father had a beautiful voice. He could sing and play the harmonica as well as yodel, which fit, him being a huge Western fan — both of Zane Grey novels and Western movies.
He loved to demonstrate all three talents and could have been a successful Eddy Arnold tribute artist if such a thing existed then. I can’t speak to lifting one out of the doldrums but when thinking of him now, all my sister or I have to do is play Eddy Arnold songs like, The Last Thing in Lonesome, Make the World Go Away, What’s He Doing in My World, and I’ll Hold You in My Heart, and the tears flow.
Myrna McRae
• Dad never sang, but enjoyed the radio. Sunday drives in the station wagon, meant dad at the wheel and radio in his control. My mom and us kids knew that if the rocker “Radar Love” came on by the band, Golden Earring, he would immediately turn it up. That wagon would sway, slowly, apparently dad was getting in the groove. Another favourite of his was the country song, “Someday Soon”. The lyrics: “Just as wild in his younger days” always makes me envision him as that young man. Yes, “Those Were the Days”, my friend.
Valerie Fortin
• My father had a plethora of songs. One song sung to me and to my children, now by me to my children and grandchild is:
“How do you do everybody how do you do,
How do you do everybody how are you,
When the skies are kind of grey and you’re feeling the same way, ain’t it great to hear folks say how do you do,
How do you do, how do you do, how do you doodle doodle doodle doodle do,
You’re the apple of my eye you’re as sweet as cherry pie,
How do you doodle, doodle, doodle, doodle do.”
Garth Errico
• Growing up, country music was in my home. When the second love of my life asked about my hope of finding her, my response was a country song, Flesh and Blood, by Johnny Cash. It is a lilting ballad about Mother Nature. She had questions in her eyes until the end of the song. “And Love was all that would remain, And grow from all these seeds; Mother Nature’s quite a lady, But you’re the one I need; Flesh and blood need flesh and blood, And you’re the one I need.” She got her answer.
John Bird
• Remember the children’s book, I Will Love You Forever? I put the words from that, into a simple song and sang it to my children at bedtime.
“I will love you forever, I’ll like you for always, as long as I’m living my baby you’ll be. I will love you forever, I’ll like you for always, wherever life leads you, my baby you’ll be. “
I would get choked up too.
Roslynn Tarves
• A favourite memory is of my mother working in the kitchen, listening to her turquoise radio in the early ’60s. When the new Perry Como song came on, ‘C is For The Christ Child’, she ran for her notebook and pen and jotted down the words so that she could memorize and sing them.
Now, whenever I hear that song, or sing it myself, I can see her leaning on the counter and singing.
Claire Robertson
• I have sung Don’t Fence Me In to my kids and my grandkids, and still sing it to myself when no one is listening. I’m quite sure I first heard it on the radio, probably while waiting for The Lone Ranger to come on in the 1950’s. I also have a special place in my heart for my Mom singing Oh Come Josephine in Your Flying Machine as she whooshed my baby sister up in the air.
Carol Nilson
• Well, unfortunately, I’m not allowed to sing in the car during long trips with my wife. I have hundreds of songs in my head as I perform regularly for seniors at care homes and at the local farmer’s markets, so I’ve memorized a lot of classics, one of them, Red River Valley. Anyway, my song is the one I finish every show with, Elvis’s, I Can’t Help Falling In Love. The folks always sing along and I choke up a bit when I give them my final “Thank you, thank you very much”.
Harry Jennings