Mom's Perishky - the real recipe

Today's post is a confession about a family recipe on the blog and the cookbook.

If you own the first Mennonite Girls Can Cook cookbook

you will find this recipe on page 174 -

photos in the book are ones I was happy to take while I watched my mom bake.

In fact, the note with the recipe tells you that I have pretended

not to be able to make these, as they have always been Mom's special gift to us,

all the while knowing that one day I'd probably have to take on the challenge myself.

The day I decided it was time . . .

came a few years after the book was published.

I followed the recipe and they were just fine -

but not as wonderfully fine as hers!

So I called her and asked her why?

I read the recipe to her and she corrected me and

said she uses lard and margarine - not shortening and butter.

Oh . . . and then I remembered . . . me thinking it would not make a difference 

and it would sound better to use shortening and butter . . . 

so I changed the recipe . . .

Only to find out I should have taken her at her word.
(Butter is still okay, but the lard makes a noticeable difference in texture)

When I made them for the kids and told them my dilemma of 

having sent the recipe incorrectly to the printers,

there were some smiles.

They were happy to learn that the secret of Oma's Perishky is still with us

and now with you too . . . ssh ....

there have to be some benefits of reading my musings.

Two other things I would correct in the book, if I could . . .
One is that you really need more fruit (6 cups) and less sugar (1 1/2 cups) for the filling.
I tried to be exact and sometimes had to guess when she does not measure
Maybe cooks will figure this out as they go along.
The second thing is that it seems more practical (if doing long Perishky)
 to roll out a rectangle  (12 x 18 inches)  (as opposed to 16x16)
That way, when you cut it into four strips, they are a bit shorter but wider
and it's easier (for a beginner) to fold the pastry over the fruit to pinch.

And that's my updated version.
Crazy thing is they still don't taste as good as hers.

Love me when I'm Old

As an introduction to the poem, I have to say that we have come to experience not all parents age in the same way, ever charting a new path for us to navigate. With my mom, interaction has become an adventure in finding ways to appreciate the good moments and helping her face the knowing fear of forgetfulness and confusion. Time is a lurking pest playing games with her mind. It can frustrate you one day and it can make you smile another. We are in a season that makes me think about my own destiny and what it may be like. Alzheimer's is a disease that is truly shared by loved ones of the one suffering from it.  It is with that thought, that I write the following. 

Love Me When I'm Old

The day has come . . . I wish it not, 

but when age gives way to repeated stories, remember how our story-time began.

When I forget the details, remind me, fill in the blanks, stay with me.

When I forget the time you said you'd pick me up, call ahead, because you can.

And when I forget what day it is, help me get my bearings.

When my fridge is stocked with margarine containers of this and that

and anything but, remind me that you also have to clean your fridge.

And when expiry dates throw me for a loop - who knew they're everywhere?

Help me organize today and then next week again. I may forget.

When I have found a dress at MCC that the ladies said was made for me -

help me know if the fit is wrong. I really get confused whom I should listen to.

When my tablecloth is stained and my mirrors need a shine,

Do a quick sweep. You know I've always liked things clean.

When I forget your age or the spelling of the name I chose for you,

know that it was I who dreamed your dreams before you could,

praying for guidance and for the best in all of life for you -

your joys and successes ever mine to cherish.

And should today's stories and confusion overshadow days gone by,

making things that made you proud of me become a distant memory,

tell me who I am to you - remind me of those things again -

so I may know - the me I was - will ever be the one remembered in your heart.

Backyard Grape Harvest

No Longer a Slumdog

The name of the book caught my attention, and it was offered for free, so I ordered it. I expected heart warming stories of children whose lives have been transformed through the work of caring people, but what I did not expect was the astonishing revelation into the caste system and how it affects 700 million people in India. Despite being outlawed, it is difficult for the people to separate themselves from what their religion teaches about human value and their destiny regarding their position of hierarchy.

Today 50 million Dalit children, being born into the lowest rung on the ladder, still have a good chance of being sold into bonded labor or prostitution, working for pennies to pay off family debt that never gets paid off. This process repeats a life with no hope of ever changing, as parents grasp to the help their children can give them, simply to stay alive, with no chance of an education or basic human rights. The sad thing is that Dalits believe it is their birthright to suffer prejudice, abuse and mistreatment to pay off their sins from a past life.

The facts laid out, along with the stories of desperate parents selling their children, would pretty well make this the saddest book you could read, were it not for what the title of the book says about offering hope, one child, one family, at a time. In 2001 Gospel for Asia was founded, opening Bridge of Hope Centers where children get rescued from the streets and receive an education, a good meal, medical attention and hope in Jesus, with whom there is no distinction between Brahmin and Dalit. Children who are enrolled in a center, become a life link to their families, who are also changed when they see them practice what they are learning, things such as honesty, kindness and respect.

My H and I have both read the book now and have been impressed with the work started by J P Yohannan, a man who, despite the overwhelming numbers, has lived out the challenge he now passes on, namely to "not let what we can't do, stop us from doing what we can do." The stories of changed lives speak for themselves and I cannot help but share this.

Celebrating 57 - the Year that Was

Yesterday we celebrated a special day and I'm calling it a celebration of the year that was,

since technically I was still fifty seven and I've enjoyed this number, 

the age that lines up with my birth year, 1957. 

I know . . . I'm kind of strange that way.

It was the kids that suggested Stanley Park and I could not have thought of a better place to go

on a Sunday afternoon.

For some it was the first time looking for shells . . .

or digging toes into the sand

or feeling the cool ocean water.

One of the joys of getting older is to see everything old

from a new perspective.

It's fun to see the look-a-likes,

new smiles on the block,

Papa kissing chubby arms

and taking turns holding the youngest ones.

I'm blessed by family 

and by memories in old, familiar places,

that we enjoyed before we ever had dreams of a family,

blending into another and even the next generation of memories to keep.

I'm looking forward to what this next year has in store,
especially the anticipation of seeing our Indonesia family.

Begonia Beauties

Thank you for coming by today!

There's been no update on the parcels after being re-assured that they are on their way,

but remembering that they live in a place where people tell you what you want to hear

or, at best, something breaks down along the way,

I'm just happy that they are not forever lost.

So, while you are here . . .  let me show you around a bit. 

If you could come for a visit you'd notice 

the hanging basket of begonias welcoming you at the front door.

These blooms are really liking the shade they get here

and I've been in awe of the variety that come from the same plant.

Designs I could never dream up . . . but someone did!

Right under the hanging plant with the white blooms

is this yellow variety.

Again . . . 

compare the flowers in the previous photo to these, on the same plant.

They look like roses

while some look more like impatiens.

Moving on, between our garage doors is this one with a peachy tint added.

Some blooms look like carnations,

others like a wild rose.

And these, I'm not sure what to compare them to. . . so unique! 

I love the pop of lime in the center.

A final begonia that has enjoyed compliments 

at my back (side) door is this one.

All the blooms are the same shape

but it's so full of them that you can

hardly see any leaves.

After all my complaints about getting too much

shade for growing beautiful flowers

begonias have shown me that they have their own place to bloom.

Things Missionary Grandparents are not Told

I lay on my pillow, my throat constricting in pain 

as I tried in vain to stop the tears trickling into my pillow.

I was not sure why this particular disappointment was so hard and

 I don't think anyone could really know, because sometimes it's just the way feelings go.

The thing is, 

I knew they would not be at the family table on Thanksgiving Day. 

I knew the beautiful Christmas chaos of unwrapping gifts would be less so 

and that we would not be attending Easter service together. 

I knew I'd miss their birthdays . . .
or days in between with unknown challenges and dangers . . .

and I can say I've hardly lost tears, at these.

I've learnt that skype calls will be blurry, delayed and disrupted,

 not helpful in conversations where it's hard to be on the same page,

when we are not even on the same day, 

 with no familiar context to feel and share . . .

such as looking out of the window to see their friends playing outside, 

or wondering if the mosquito that just flew in carries malaria.

I can't see the scrape on the knee to ask about it.

The funny thing is . . . most of this was expected . . . 

but the thing that has broken me is the unexpected . . . 

the parcels we can't track.  

Gifts I sought out months in advance, carefully considering each item, 

folding them several times and laying them out 

before finally wrapping them  and sending them off, 

waiting for them to be touched and felt  and enjoyed!

This is the joy stolen, 

by a mail service that cuts open parcels and lets them sit as long as they like . . . 

and I am left angry, hurt and disappointed . . .

 robbed of such a simple joy.

No one, not even I, can understand why this one is so hard.

Empty handed, I wish them a Happy Birthday on the phone
and  find comfort in being told it's okay.
Waiting for a gift they know is coming is still fun.
I hope the wait pays off.

Gift from a Grandgirl

Papa . . . 

when I saw this artwork on his desk, I couldn't help but smile.

You can draw the line wherever you like . . .

his name spells a love that holds a special place in her heart.

She says,

If I could give my Papa any present, I would give him

$9 so we could go to Tim Horton's

AND

my Papa makes me feel happy!

Three Years Later!

In spring of 2012 - Teddy was just a wee one yet

and Lacy had just turned two, 

when their family belongings were packed into  a U haul

and we followed them across many miles of prairie land.

A bitter sweet trip to be able to be there for them and 

yet to know the way back would be hard.

Looking at the time now, it's hard to believe

a big steel box got packed up again and will be here soon,

while father and son are on their way back, driving two vehicles.

This time I did not go along . . . but the little family that is here

waited with excitement at the airport today.

And they came home!

Kari's mom accompanied her and the girls.

I'm sorry that I did not get Jade (in Elma's arms) on the photo.

I keep saying it . . . and it's true . . .

the best thing is to see cousins together again!

It's been a lonely time at family dinners for the ones here,

having watched all of their cousins move away.

I'm thankful for their time in Saskatchewan as 

I've come to appreciate the bond we could have in spite of distance,

the family values they have practiced there

and the wonderful friends they have made!

The move is according to their plan when they left -

to be back for the kids schooling -

and yet, maybe the parting from there was harder than they thought it would be. 

I  know they are richer for the time they have had there

and we will be richer for having them home again.

Part of a Great Weekend

I love the moments before guests arrive at the lake . . .

he has set up the chairs

while I'm hoping that everything is in order in the kitchen . . .

and the view through the window makes everything okay.

This summer we have had the blessing of doing this several times

but this time I just have to share because I know these guests won't mind at all.

In fact, you'll most likely see similar photos on their blogs.

The girls from the West Coast (with our hubbies) 

began our Sunday afternoon with a short drive and a quick walk to the falls nearby.

The 30 meter Cascade Falls tumble into a pool 

that flows over to more pools along a small canyon

under the new suspension bridge some of us saw for the first time on this day. 

In the past, our family has hiked up to the top with our kids and enjoyed the boulder jumping

in the river. 

But on this day we just enjoyed the coolness of the platform looking toward the falls,

before heading back to the lakehouse for dinner.

Lovella brought this beautiful bouquet from her garden and prepared the main dishes.
Everyone else was happy to just add something to the menu:

ham cheese ball with GF crackers for appetizer

smoked pulled pork 

sesame seed buns

coleslaw

baked beans

potato salad

fresh corn on the cob

watermelon, cucumber and feta cheese salad

cheesecake and peach pie for dessert

We filled our plates and sat in random circles - actually Mennonite style - men and women apart, and time flew as we chatted about everything from funny sweet nothings to things close to our hearts. It is an amazing thing . . . this friendship that had such unexpected beginnings and now really does not have a lot to do with the recipes any more. We all know that if we never do another cookbook, the best thing that we share is this friendship, where we are better for it . . . encouraging and inspiring each other in our marriages, family values and way of life. I am so very blessed. 

PS We missed Marg on the hike, but she was there for dinner. We also missed our dear Manitoba girls.