A Day Redeemed

Sometimes, when I’m walking . . . with my arms dangling down . . . I remember my dad. He had very long arms that looked even more pronounced when he walked.

I wonder if I walk like him.

He used to take pride in the fact that he could take all three grandkids in his arms at once. He had a big lap too.

Today, 4 years ago, Dad went home to heaven.  February 28th was the night that we stood at Dad’s bedside for the last time. It was getting closer to midnight and I thought how, if it had been leap year, Dad would have chosen that day to go, because numbers were always a cool game for him.

One year later, on Leap Year day, Makenna was born.

Makenna, Great- Opa would have told you what a special Birthday you have! He would have called you Queen Kenna . . . or Mykenna, or something like that. He would have loved to tease you . . . and I can just imagine the smiles you would have had for him.

Today . . . and tomorrow . . . since we do not really know which day to celebrate this year . . . we wish you a very special day! We love you all the way across the ocean and back . . . many times over!
Love, Papa and Grammy.

Favorite Toy

There it is!

Never enough of London Bridge . . .

or Row, Row, Row your Boat . . .

... sounds different from every angle.

Three kids later . . . now one of seven grandchildren ... no one has enjoyed this musical TV as much as this one! At her pleasure, this TV  turns into a drum or she sits and waves her arms . . . which makes for a blurry photo . . . like she's directing the band. Priceless.

An Extra-Ordinary Life!

You may already know that the oldest person in Canada passed away. Well, that does not totally sound right, because obviously now there is another oldest in line. However, Elizabeth Buhler, the oldest woman living up until last month just barely missed her 112th Birthday.

There is an interesting little connection here in that the girlfriend I walk with is employed by a grandson of the late Elizabeth Buhler, and she directed me to an article, written by J. O'Connor, in the National Post. A truly inspiring life story!

Elizabeth Buhler was born in 1899 in a Mennonite Colony in the Southern Ukraine, she lived through the Russian Revolution and, after immigrating to Canada, the great depression and both World Wars.

People are amazed about my mother-in-law, who is 93 and has more than 50 great-grandchildren . . . but, to put that into perspective, Mrs. Buhler has the same number of great-grandchildren plus 39 great-great grandchildren!

At 105 she was rejected at the nursing home because she was too fit.
And get this . . . when asked what her secret was, she credited it to exercise, homemade chicken noodle soup and cookies!

For some reason this makes me smile!
Go ahead . . . browse through the Mennonite Girls Can Cook blog with no guilt.

What is Hospitality?

As you may have figured out by now . . . I like to read Max Lucado. I've begun reading an inspiring little book called, Outlive Your Life. In one chapter he has some thoughts about hospitality, a topic I somehow would not have thought would fit with the title of the book. But it surely does.

Something that was brought to my attention is that the words hospitality and hospital both come from the same Latin word. I’d never thought of the relationship. When we show hospitality we are opening our home to care for someone. It may be a physical need for food, but for most of us, our emotional needs outweigh physical needs, as we look for encouragement and acceptance. When we give out an invitation, our guests get a message that they are worth the effort.

I see that the publisher has given permission for brief quotations . . . so I will take advantage of that, since I cannot put things as well as he does. I was struck by these words,

“Something holy happens around a dinner table that will never happen in a sanctuary. In a church auditorium you see the back of heads. Around the table you see the expressions on faces. In the auditorium one person speaks; around the table everyone has a voice.”

Now, I know that if this topic were to be addressed in a Martha Stewart magazine . . . the things that would be emphasized could be daunting, to say the least . . . the perfect table . . . china . . . embellishments . . . and numerous entrées. They have their place and I enjoy the inspiration, because of who I am, but I also want to emphasize a distinction between entertaining and hospitality.

Hospitality does not wait for everything to be perfect. Lucado writes, “You think your house is small, but to the lonely heart, it is a castle. You think the living room is a mess, but to the person whose life is a mess, your house is a sanctuary. You think the meal is simple, but to those who eat alone every night, pork and beans on paper plates tastes like filet mignon.”

We are living in an age where communication can be almost as quick as we think. But, are we really communicating? Are we using new conveniences so we don’t have to “waste” time in conversation? Maybe a call that includes an invitation for soup and a sandwich is just what the doctor ordered. There is no greater gift than saying, I have time for you . . . You matter to me . . . What can I do for you?

I have not finished reading the book, but I anticipate learning more about living moments that will be remembered long after the fact . . . and they don't have to be big.

Zwieback Personalities

A while back Lovella and I had a phone interview for our local paper
 in regard to the upcoming cookbook.
We were told that a photographer would be swinging by
to take a photo of us in one of our kitchens.
Lovella came over and and I had some props ready to go.

This is the photo that went into the paper.

What the paper did not print was our own little discovery
while I was pinching off the Zwieback.
As I was putting on the tops, I gave each just the slightest push
with my index finger . . . a small indentation that,
 for the most part, disappears during the rise.

 Lovella asked me, "Will the tops stay on like that?"
I gave her a detailed description of why the tops stay on
without leaving a visible indentation.

Meanwhile, what I did not know was that in her family,
they are not Zwieback without the little dimple on the top.
That is why she goes to great lengths
to press the top centers, right down to the bottom,
when she adds her tops.

It all came out later. . . when she suddenly realized that,
for goodness sakes,
I did not want dimples ... the little tell tale holes showing on top.

Here we were ... two Mennonite girls each thinking that our way
was the way it should be.
I prided myself with my rounded tops
and she prided herself with tops that had belly buttons.
 It's all good.

We've laughed and realized that we are just like our grandmas were.
I'm sure that back in the day,
when the buns were brought together at weddings and funerals,
the womenfolk would know by the shape
and general look of each basket of Zwieback,
 who had made them . . . and it would be included in the chatter.

And now you know that a Zwieback ... as plain as it is ... can still have personality.

If you remember your grandmother's Zwieback ... did they have dimples? Were they proud little soldiers or did their tops slouch like a cap worn sideways? Were the bottoms burned?

I'm curious now.

For those who have never seen these ... they're not very practical for sandwiches ...but, they are good just plain ... that little top comes off like a  little doughnut hole bite.. leaving an indentation in the bottom part that can then be filled with butter or jam.

Kitchen or no Kitchen

I’ve been reading and re-reading recipes for the cookbook as we’ve had one final round to go over everything. The next time we see it, it will be in print, and we will not be able to change anything anymore. Many of the recipes in the book take me back to my Mennonite roots. The Borscht, Zwieback, Ruehrei and Rollkuchen, to name a few.
When our kids were small, we went to South America to visit the places that our grandparents emigrated to from Russia in 1930. I’ve written about their pioneering years in the Chaco in earlier posts.

This photo depicts a brick oven that was built by one of our forefathers. We were visiting a relative and saw it in their yard … a reminder of the past. It was already an improvement from the first kind of oven they used, when they converted giant ant hills into ovens.

I just have to shake my head. How would we do that today? The recipes we are editing need to be so finely tuned. The time and temperature has to be just so. I asked my mom, who was born in the Chaco, about baking in a brick oven. She told me that often she, as a young girl had to run outside to check and see if the oven was ready. How would she know? When the bricks turned white, it was the right temperature.

When I think about us girls at MGCC, I think about how unique it is that all of our grandparents were born in Russia (the Ukraine). All of our grandmothers, some were possibly still children, others young women, had to grow up real fast and take on responsibilities way beyond their years, as they pioneered in a foreign country . . . cooking the foods their moms made in Russia. They did their best with what they had, even without a kitchen, and continued to serve foods that we now remember with fondness. Makes me thankful for my kitchen today.