The End of the Tail

I drove to a Mennonite farmers' market with my stepmom this week. For lunch, we went to a small town called Heidelberg. In the past, I have gone there once or twice a year, usually with friends and family for one of my all time favourite meals (don't gag)....pigtails. It's not something I would eat all the time, or even frequently. Pigtails are special. I discovered this delicacy during my youth. My university choir went to the pub following practice one night. A fellow chorister convinced me to try a bite. I was hooked.

Fond recollections are associated with the consumption of pigtails. That's part of the appeal of food isn't it? Many of our most pleasant and memorable times with family and friends are connected with celebrations involving food and drink. Our choir has had reunions at Heidelberg. Tables have been shoved together and we have imbibed, reminisced, laughed and eaten.

I remember going to Heidelberg several times with my friend Karla and her family members, some of whom lived in that area. Her father, Richard, loved pigtails so much that he ordered two or three dinners and then a few more individual pigtails. We called him "the pigtail eating champion". On one occasion, he consumed nine tails at one sitting. My own dad who was along for one of these feasts was in awe. Another time, Richard ordered "a pigtail for dessert" after having already finished a few meals. It didn't arrive. The waitress thought he was joking and we all had a great laugh as we kept trying to convince her that he was serious.

My parents liked the Heidelberg pub. They would sometimes arrange to meet with grandma Rose and grandpa John at this location. This ensured that grandma Rose would not go to her usual exhaustive efforts of cooking and baking for days upon hearing that my parents would be in the vicinity. Mom and dad also went to Heidelberg with visiting family members, grandparents and cousins from Europe, an aunt and uncle from Winnipeg and so on. It was a novelty since "Heidelberg" was also the name of a city near their hometown in Germany. From time to time, we'd go during Oktoberfest to hear the small town pianist attempt to play "Ein Prosit" and "Roll Out the Barrel". It all sounds fine after a few of pints of their hausbrau beer.

I've made countless treks to Heidelberg over the years. I've even been there with hubby who passed up the tails in favour of pork hocks. This week, as I mentioned, I went with my stepmom. We celebrated our family and friends, some of whom have gone their separate ways and many of whom are now deceased. We ate with gusto. We ate pigtails.

Yesterday, I looked at the photo that I had taken of my dinner. I realized that another chapter of my life has passed and that I don't ever need to consume pigtails again. It's not because of the fat and calories,although it should be, but rather because I realized that the meal really wasn't that special.

I had the revelation that it's not about food. It's about the experiences and the company that go along with the meal. The memories of the fun times, the people and the enjoyment of past visits are images that can only be remembered. They can never be replicated.

Two tails, sauerkraut, mashed potatoes, hold the gravy.

Sing with me..."I'm Dreaming of Some Clean Storage..."

I am cleaning the storage room. This is good because it's only June.

Every year as Christmas approaches, I dig out my strings of lights, my beautiful fake tree, my skillfully collected ornaments, my bins of wrap and ribbon, my antique ceramic cherubs, my lovely scented candle tapers and my fine linens and I say, "I'm going to clean this stuff up and sort it out after Christmas."

Then, every year after Christmas, I rush to put away the strings of broken lights, the less than lovely fake tree, the junky collection of ornaments, my disorganized bins of wrapping and ribbon scraps, my faded, chipped ceramic angels, my half melted warped candles and my semi clean, somewhat worn, slightly stained linens. "I'll sort it all out before Christmas next year", I say.

And so the cycle continues.

An opportunity has arisen. It is a great chance to rid myself once and for all, of the regrets that I would normally unearth some time in November. The local hospital shop is having a "Christmas in June" sale. They are looking for seasonal "stuff". Boy do I have "stuff"!

Today has been a dull, dreary day. Zumba is finished. Lunch is done. Excuses have run out. I have just over one week to organize and clean the storage room, sorting out and delivering the Christmas materials to the store. So far, I have only cleaned the bins and outlying floor and shelf areas containing ribbon, tissue paper, gift bags, package toppers, tape, glue sticks and other assorted wrapping materials. I have one bag of ribbon to donate. It took me two hours.

I need a break.  I'm tired of this. Maybe I'll take a nap. I think I'll write a blog, then go for some zzzz's.

I wonder whether many people will take this opportunity to sort through their Christmas paraphernalia. I suppose, there might be those trendy folks who will be changing their theme colour for next year. They might welcome this disposal opportunity. How many people will take advantage of the sale to shop for Christmas items thus ending up with more things in their house? Is this a great money making idea or will the hospital shop get stuck with their own shelves upon shelves of unwanted Christmas items? So many questions.

Should I go back to work on the storage room now or not? Perhaps after I walk the dog. I need to go to the mailbox. I want a cup of tea. I haven't checked the tv all day. There might be some important new health information from Dr. Oz.

Maybe I'll just wait until November and sort out the rest of my Christmas items when I'm ready to use them. In the meantime, I'd better mark the 24th on the calendar...never know what seasonal essentials might be available for sale.

Passion For Purple Posies

I notice that I have gradually gone in a more purpley direction with my gardening. Nice colour. So many shades and nuances that some might call these hues pink or blue. I prefer to think of them as purple, amethyst, violet, plum, lilac or even puce. Here are a few samples of my plantings.

                              

                        

                           

                                                          

Things My Mom Taught Me

I remember the last words of wisdom my mother ever shared with me. "If you don't have your health, you have nothing."

Today would have been my mom's 80th birthday. She died at a young age. Sadly, the times I think of her are becoming fewer. I do remember her voice, her mannerisms and gestures and I have memories which are becoming increasingly difficult to retrieve in any sort of detail. As with everything else, there are "triggers" that cause me to recall comments and events. Sometimes, they make me chuckle, other times, I realize how they have shaped my life.

One obvious example happens each year as Good Friday approaches. I can usually hear mom's voice in her 'Woinemer' dialect. "Karfreitag is de heiligschte Dag im Johr". Good Friday is the holiest day of the year.

Even before my parents became devoted church goers, they refused to do anything which seemed like "work" on Good Friday. They had been taught, and now, so have I. Good Friday was always elevated several notches above Sunday's "day of rest " status. If you had no clean clothes to wear, too bad. No laundry was to be done on this day...tough lesson especially during my teenage years.

I got to thinking about and appreciating some other things that mom taught me: thoughtfulness, kindness, consideration and common sense. To this day, I do not slam a door, but I turn the knob and close it gently behind me. I know that it is rude to shout, point or use an excessively loud voice particularly in public places. Persons older than myself are to be respectfully addressed by their title and surname. When cooking, turn the pot handles toward the back of the burners for safety. Do not eat raw dough because it will give you worms, and of course, always wear clean underwear when going out even if it has the wrong day of the week written on it.

My mom taught me about the environment, before it was in vogue. Be sure to thoroughly boil the lake water before drinking. When being followed by a bear, keep walking and don't bother trying to climb a tree. Always put trash in your pocket until you find a proper place for disposal. The chewed gum that became lodged in my jacket one day turned into a whole other learning opportunity.

When I was a child, mom read to me. I gained knowledge of German stories, poems and songs and I am pleased that I still remember most of those. She cured me of many ills using a simple remedy... camomille and peppermint tea.

I know that mom had countless friends. She cared about people and went out of her way to get to know them. There wasn't a person she had ever met that she didn't like or remember. I think it worked both ways.

Mom died when her only two grandkids were very young. My fondest memory of all is when she used to bounce them lovingly on her lap, start chanting a rhyme, then tip them backwards causing them to giggle with glee.                                    

"Hoppe, hoppe Reiter
wenn er fällt, dann schreit er
fällt er in den Sumpf
macht der Reiter plumps."

Today, I learned something new about my mom thanks to 'Google'. I learned that she used to recite Goethe.

Graduation Part Deux

...

Why Do Some Things Just Seem Wrong?

My friend gave us this flowering plant in December. It's lovely and it's still blooming. Lest there be any doubt, it's June now. The plant looked passable in the midst of my red and white Valentine's motif. It appeared out of place with my pink, turquoise, purple and yellow Easter decorations. It seemed downright strange when the tulips and daffodils bloomed outside the window and now that it's almost summer, well, it's just wrong.

One of my favourite Robert Fulghum short stories comes to mind. I remember learning about his poinsetta (he insisted on spelling it that way) adventures from the book "Maybe (Maybe Not)". I was sitting in a waiting room at the time of reading and getting some strange looks as his words made me laugh out loud. He described his many efforts and lack of success in attempting to dispose of his annual poinsettia. The only difference was that his was gone one way or the other by March. Ours is here. It's June. Did I already mention that?

I have "googled" poinsettia to find out what to expect. There's site after site giving details on how to care for this plant and how to prolong its life. Not what I had in mind. I could have written those myself. There are mutitudinous photos of poinsettias. I know what they look like thanks. I have one in my living room...in June! Finally, I found it. Exactly what I was looking for. Thank you wikipedia. Once I got past the biology, the history and the folklore, it was all spelled out for me, right there. "Daytime temperatures in excess of 21 C tend to shorten the life of the plant." We have now had two consecutive days in the upper 20's. May the heat continue.

Finally, I can stop obsessing about the out of season poinsettia and get on with thinking about some serious June activities....hockey playoffs. First game tonight!

Fashion Fools

I enjoy dressing up and looking nice. I like to watch shows about styles and I like to have knowledge of the latest in fashion. I am not a trendsetter nor am I interested in being one. I thank my parents for that. Although I grew up in the era of Ben Casey shirts and Dr. Kildare blouses, colourful cardigans worn backwards and kilts with giant safety pins, I owned none of these items. Mom would say, "Why would you want to look like everyone else?" and dad added, "Waste of money, they won't be wearing those stupid shirts next year."  Both were correct. Besides that, they pointed out that Germans don't need kilts.

Perhaps it was my 35 cent an hour babysitting income that convinced me not to argue. I prefer to think that I was being mature and sensible. Oh, who am I trying to kid? The population of young girls began demonstrating their preference for one or the other of these hot young t.v. doctors by wearing the appropriate shirt. I became increasingly envious. This was my generation's version of the current vampire movie, Jacob or Edward fan alliances. As for the skirts, I can't say I really cared. I was just very attracted to the giant kilt pins and I still am.

As a teen, I memorized the women's clothing section in the Eaton's catalogue which arrived at our door each season. I was like the small child who pores over the "Christmas Wish Book" except that instead of toys, I would select clothing and accessories, saying to myself, "I'm going to get this and I'm going to get that." What I got were homemade sweaters that either my mom or I knit, and an occasional new skirt or party dress. As I became older, a family friend came to the rescue. She enjoyed sewing and created some more fashionable blouses, jumpers, dresses and a most magnificent, skating skirt lined with shiny green sateen. I felt like a superstar as I skated up and down the creek behind our house spinning and swirling.

Just as trends didn't make sense then, some don't make sense now. For example, I think that if the words "spectacular", "stupendous" or  "magnificent" fit across your butt, you probably shouldn't be wearing the pants with those words on them. It reminds me of a tractor trailer I saw recently with the words "wide load" on the back.

The sporting of pajamas in public also has me mystified. Are these the same pjs that have been worn for sleep? Do people go out in public and then wear that germ infested nightwear back to bed?  Do they have a collection of pajama pants which they put on just for going to the shopping mall or other really special occasions?

Of particular concern and relevance to me has been an ongoing trend, women's shirts with stripes. Why are the lines always horizontal? They not only make a person look twice their size, but depending on the kind and location of said stripes, they stretch and get distorted across portions of the female anatomy.

Recently, I saw the latest in summer fashion. It consisted of a long sleeved blazer type jacket, a long sleeved shirt, a scarf, shorts and a pair of high heeled shoes. Basically, a suit with shorts. Cute, but how does this make any sense? If it's hot in the summer, who wants to wear a jacket, long sleeves and high heels? If it's cold enough for a blazer, who's going to want to wear shorts with bare legs?  Is the added scarf meant to keep the legs warm? I suppose that some women will be sporting this style just to be part of the newest craze. Perhaps it'll even be the same ones who are currently walking around with "astounding" written on their back sides.

Mice, Lice and Other Fun Infestations

What is it that causes adults to remember some childhood good times, a few embarassing moments, but all, and I mean all, scary, bug, or vermin related experiences? Here are my stories.

During my family's early years living in the city, we rented a series of two room flats, usually on the second level of someone's house. At one particular location, I slept on a cot in the kitchen. I recall hearing scratching sounds and rustling noises during the night. After one restless sleep, I mentioned this to my parents who informed me that it was mice. It's tough for an eight year old to sleep well after receiving such information. There were no visions of sugarplums dancing in my head. Instead, I had nightmares about mice, waltzing across my young, sleeping body.

I also have memories of school headlice checks. Those shishkebab skewers through the hair became a regular event back in the days when there were actually school nurses onsite. As soon as my mom heard of a case of lice anywhere in the western hemisphere, she began looking through my hair as if she hoped  to find gold. She found neither lice nor gold but felt appeased as she located and disposed of the occasional speck of dirt.
 
In order to escape the city, my parents took advantage of invitations to peoples' cottages. We enjoyed the swimming, the saunas, the social life. I was a kid. I liked going out and collecting frogs. It was fun to see how many I could line up on a large rock that jutted out of the lake before they would take their leave and jump into the water. One day, I found an extra large one, a bullfrog. I set him down and admired my lineup. Suddenly, he turned and gulped the small frog beside him. I watched in horror as little legs dangled from the bullfrog's mouth. I quickly grabbed the rest of my froggy friends and tossed them back into the bushes. Tears streamed down my face after I witnessed this act of cannibalism.
 
Another incident happened when I was ten years old. We had relocated to a better neighbourhood and now rented two rooms and a kitchen. My parents' bedroom was large enough to double as a seating/entertainment area and they even managed to squeeze in a  full-sized tree at Christmas. At last I had my own tiny room and a convertible sofa bed. One morning, I noticed some rather large spots on my pillow case. Odd. I didn't think my hair was that dirty. My parents first discovered them...bedbugs. They traced the source to one of my recent sleepovers at a family friend's. After emptying a rather large can of RAID and opening the windows, while fanning the smell, they discussed their fear of potential eviction. That night, I slept on the floor. The next night, I was the "bait" to see whether the invaders were gone. They weren't. This time, it was all out war. All crevices, creases and the wooden frame were treated. Traumatic!

Perhaps these sorts of incidents toughened me up. I once earned money picking dew worms at a local golf course. It was hard work but didn't seem icky. When I went to an art camp with a group of adults, the cabin was full of mice. Some women freaked out. Others moved into tents. I went to sleep. At work we had visiting scientists bringing roaches, reptiles and assorted wildlife. Interesting. 

Recently I made a hotel reservation for my friend Mona and me. She was concerned and asked whether I had checked the web for bedbugs at that location.

I'm still laughing.

Papa's Progressive Parties

                                                                                   

Most people have encountered progressive dinners at some point during their lives. How about a progressive birthday party? We recently had occasion to celebrate hubby's landmark birthday. We celebrated, we celebrated, and we celebrated. In fact, our celebrations covered thousands of kilometers. Here are some of the photos of our many gatherings.

HOME with family

                                                                                                                
CHURCH with church family

                                           

SHARING a birthday with Dan and family

                                   

OKLAHOMA

         Happy Birthday from the "Red Lobster Chorus"               

MORE family                          

                         

AND FINALLY, A TIME TO PONDER.....

HAPPY BIRTHDAY ADAM !  May you have many, many more...just not this year.

Planes, Automobiles and a Graduation

Last week we went to another land. It was called Oklahoma. We went there for a very special occasion, a graduation. Here is the lovely family we visited. The dad, Matt was graduating from law school.

People attended from many distant places like Vancouver, Toronto, New York and Oklahoma. The planes were all late. The cars were also late. Far away lands like Oklahoma sometimes have scary weather and this causes delays. At last, all the siblings and the papa were gathered together.

The aunt, uncle and cousin from New York also arrived. Everyone was excited and proud.

When Matt first tried on his graduation robe, he looked very handsome and distinguished. Everyone said "ooh and ahhh." Papa said, "He looks just like Martin Luther."

There were many graduation functions and parties. There was an awards ceremony, a party for friends and family and then, the official ceremony. For the ceremony, there was a traditional southwestern band of bagpipers in kilts.                 

                                                                            

            At the end of the graduation, we took lots of pictures.

               

                Papa was proud and so was Matt's stepmom.