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EDIT: It had been my plan to just include the last paragraph of this blog, first printed December 8, 2008 on One Generation to Another. Since this morning, I've gotten 3 requests for the complete blog... so here is the post in its entirety... titled... Polish for the Day.

I have a strong Polish ancestry. With the possible exception of contamination from an amorous invader that I am unaware of, I am 100% Polish. (Poland's history is laced with invasion and occupation from...well, from just about all neighboring countries!) I think I'm fairly rare today...a fourth generation American with a pure blood heritage. It stopped with my children, however. Their father is...well, he's a mutt. Nothing wrong with that; mutts have many wonderful qualities including hardiness and longevity. But this does mean I can't share my pedigree with my children; they too are mutts! What I can share with them, however, is the few remaining vestiges of my Polish ancestry.

You would think with all this Polish blood pulsating through my veins that I would be well versed in the culture and traditions of Poland, but I'm not. Both my maternal and paternal great-grandparents were born in Poland and came here hoping to improve their lot in life. Like most immigrants, they settled with their own kind. They spoke Polish in their homes and amongst their friends. It was their children, my grandparents, that ventured out into the American melting pot and brought English into their homes. So, the progression was, my great-grandparents spoke predominantly Polish, my grandparents spoke Polish in their homes, but English everywhere else, my parents could read Polish and speak it well enough to converse with their grandparents but English had become their native language, and I, well the only Polish I know is this rather naughty song that some relative taught me, but it would prove useless if I needed to communicate with a Pole!

Polish traditions followed the trend of the Polish language, with each generation giving up a little more of their connection to their motherland, until now, I'm left with the cultural equivalent of a little naughty ditty! The only time my Polish ancestry surfaces is at Christmas dinner. I serve pierogi (stuffed dumplings), kielbasa (sausage), golabki (stuffed cabbage), makowki (poppy seed bread), kluski (thick buttered noodles), kapusta (sauerkraut), mizeria (cucumbers and sour cream) and sernik (cheese cake). If that sounds Greek to you, it does to me too! In our house we use the English words for most of these foods.

The lovely thing about Christmas dinner, besides some seriously delicious food, is my connection to my past. There was a time when these foods were a mainstay in my ancestors' daily life. Today, they are reserved for special occasions; actually A special occasion, Christmas dinner. I wish my grandparents were still around to share this feast with us. Since they can't be, at Christmas I bring not only the memory of Bushia and Grandma Pearl in the kitchen with me, I bring their pictures. On my kitchen counter are photographs of my grandmothers as young women, taken at a time in their lives when they would have been busy preparing Christmas dinners.They remain with me in the kitchen throughout the month of December. I rather think it would make them happy to know I still feel a strong ancestral tug. I also have pics of my mom and daughter there too, even though they spend the day helping me with Christmas dinner. But it pleases me to see the 5 of us together, knowing full well, that if not in body, certainly in spirit, we're sharing in the festivities of Christmas day, and that although my connection to my ancestry may be tenuous, it's still alive!

In another one of our Wordy Wednesdays, I'm sharing a story first published November 25, 2008 on One Generation to Another. No one said parenting would be easy, but it is often the most innocuous situations that prove to be the most challenging. In this story a lesson was learned by both my son and myself. I hope you enjoy! 

Let me set the stage... late afternoon, a Saturday in December, a snowstorm...no, a slush storm... and (insert ominous music here)... THE MALL.

The principle characters...
me: an extremely exhausted mom
boy: my 9 year old son that just finished up his Christmas shopping.

The plot... after an exhausting but productive shopping spree, mother and son battle the elements and make what must be a four mile trek out to their car. It seems for the holidays The Mall annexed property in the next county to accommodate the hordes of shoppers. Having procured the WORST possible parking spot in the whole lot, tired mom sits in her seat and starts the car. She kicks the heat up all the way hoping to restore the feeling in her frozen toes before making the drive home, when 9 year old son in backseat says, "Uh oh, Mom. There's a problem." Nothing good can come of this! She begins praying for something simple like frostbitten fingers or a frozen seat belt buckle. But alas, something far worse! When looking at a receipt The Boy notices that the Hallmark shop accidentally forgot to charge him for a $1.95 Troll he bought for his sister.

The conflict... 9 year old son wishes to return to the Mall to rectify the situation. Near crazed mom wants to drive away fast and never look back! What to do?

At this point two axioms wrestle in the mother's thoughts. First, "Actions speak louder than words", and second, "Do as I say, not as I do". This is the type of moral quandary we face everyday as parents. We wish to teach our children to do the right thing...to be honest, to be fair, to take turns, to be compassionate, and to live by the "Golden Rule". Trouble is, as time goes by, rationalization has infiltrated our own personal values and our actions are often in direct conflict with the lessons we wish to instill in our own children. Mom's internal value system can easily identify the absurdity of tromping through the snow yet again for a measly $2.00. She can rationalize that someone, somewhere this week probably overcharged her by $2.00 so, in the long run, it all evens out. When faced with the Arctic conditions, distraught mom wonders if it isn't time the child learned the nuances of honesty.

But there he sits, receipt in hand, with his integrity still intact. So, going against every survival instinct the mother possess, she turns, looks at the imploring eyes of her 9 year old son and says as enthusiastically as she possibly can, "Glad you caught that. Okay, let's go!" And back they tromp...through what has now escalated into a full fledged blizzard, to right a wrong. The salesgirl at the counter is not impressed. Her manager is standing behind her frowning. She'll undoubtedly be reamed later for her carelessness. Plus, the salesgirl is clueless as to how to fix this situation. Increasingly annoyed manager asks her to step aside as she takes over the transaction. The line behind them is getting ugly. Mom can feel their stares boring through her skull. No one is applauding her actions. No one is congratulating the boy for his profound honesty.

But, as Mom bundles up yet again to make their way back out to the car, SHE is proud; proud of her son, and yes, proud of herself. Sure, someday the son will start making his own rationalizations, but not on her watch. As long as she has anything to do with it she will encourage his moral behavior. She will also humbly learn from it!

Our children need us to be the people we hope they become. Although daunting at times, and near impossible at others, it is the gauntlet that challenges us to be our best!

Many blogs participate in what has come to be known as Wordless Wednesdays. This gives bloggers a chance to share photos and to rest their weary fingers. Far be it from us to follow the beaten track. We're considering instituting Wordy Wednesdays. I originally shared this story with readers on December 1, 2008 on One Generation to Another. I hope it brings a smile to your face during your hectic pre-Holiday preparations :)

For any of you that have been with me since last Christmas, you know I've already conceded that I am obsessive, and where Christmas is concerned, certifiably insane! Over the years I've created so many traditions that I need to start preparing for the Holidays in June...truth be told, I should actually begin the day after Christmas when a virtual cornucopia of perfectly good items are being marked down, but I never seem to mustard the internal fortitude necessary to battle the post Christmas crowds! My first real delve into Christmas comes in June when the women in my family go on our annual "Girl's Trip". (The Girl's Trip will require several blog entries to share hair raising adventures like our night with the ice pick murderess, popping wheelies on sand dunes with a 7 person minivan...my sister-in-law never truly recovered from that one, or forgave me...and an explanation of why you should never leave 7 cowardly women alone in a wax museum!) But all this is fodder for summer writing, back to Christmas! I use the girl's trip, with our insatiable foraging through as many shops as possible in a three day period, to begin collecting stocking stuffers and Advent tokens, thus beginning my own celebration of the season! 

Anyway, one of the more evident traditions that evolved over the years was my gift wrapping practices. After a natural Darwinian evolution, my packages took on a homespun look, being wrapped in plain brown packing paper, with wide burgundy ribbons, and a heart attached to each gift, symbolizing, of course, the love that was being given along with the gift. When my children lived at home, I wrapped EVERYTHING separately; if they got a pair of socks...2 packages, a book trilogy...3 packages, and so on. I firmly believe that opening gifts is as much fun as owning what's inside! And, besides, if it took me 6 months to prepare for Christmas, I think it should take at least 6 hours to open gifts! Okay, a little hyperbole here! Maybe not 6 hours, but a goodly amount of time! And besides, when wrapped, the gifts were beautiful and became an integral part of my Christmas decorating.

But today's blog isn't about wrapping gifts; it's about what we have fondly come to call "The Great Gift Debacle"! Every year my children could ask for and get 1 gift from Santa. He's a busy guy, right? So many children, so little time! Well, every year I would buy special Santa wrapping paper and only those 3 gifts, the ones from Santa, would be wrapped that way. They would then be tucked away until Christmas morning. The rest of the gifts, from my husband and me, were wrapped in brown paper and were also hidden until Christmas morning. As the children got a little older, I began to put a few of the gifts under the tree as they were bought and wrapped. And, as my lust for gift wrapping increased, and my propensity to wrap socks and underwear separately grew, gifts began to overflow the tree and were stacked in nooks and crannies. Eventually, all of their gifts, except for Santa's would be under the tree days, sometimes weeks, before Christmas. For my children, having their gifts strewn about in this manner was both torture and tantalizing! For days before Christmas, the children sat around the tree, looking at gifts, shaking them, measuring them, and smelling them, trying to figure out the concealed contents.

This had become a tradition. And far be it from me to break ANY tradition. But one year, when my children were in middle school and high school, I had an idea...a scathingly brilliant idea. In order to thwart their sleuthing, I coded all their packages. I numbered each gift, and I kept the master list hidden. That year, when they picked up a gift to inspect, their only clue was a number! This put a new twist to their game. Not only did they try to figure out what was inside the package, but who it belonged to! When Christmas morning finally came around, I went to get my master list. Hmmm...I could have sworn I put it in the brown hutch. No, wait, I remember now...the last time I wrote something on it, I was at my desk. Hmmm...not there! Where did I put it? After 15 very long minutes, I gave up. I had to come back in the room and tell them I had no clue as to which packages belonged to anyone!

So, that morning, we played Christmas roulette. I'd pick up a package then look at it, shake it, measure it, and smell it and give my best guess as to who it belonged to! There was a lot of bending back the corner of boxes, as everyone tried to decide if the gift was intended for them. Snickering and out right laughter ensued as partially opened boxes sailed through the air seeking its rightful owner. It took a very long time to open gifts that morning. I'm still not sure that every box found its rightful owner, but close enough that everyone was satisfied! And, no, this did not become a new tradition. From then on, I went back to writing everyone's names on their packages. But that Christmas morning, amidst mayhem and confusion, one of our most beloved memories was born!

BTW...around April, when I was getting something out of the china cabinet I found THE LIST! As it turned out, losing it proved to be a wonderful happenstance! Do you have a favorite holiday mishap that turned out wonderfully? Please share!

This past weekend Tim and I headed out to visit my youngest son and his wife in Wisconsin. The children always "Come Home" for the holidays, and we never get a chance to share their holiday decorations. So, this year, we took a long weekend, drove the 7 hours, and had a lovely weekend! It was wonderful seeing their "decked halls", playing with their friends, and watching them observe their own newly growing traditions. One of the things that tickled me the most was watching them make cookies. They worked side by side in the kitchen, one tackling the gingerbread dough; the other Russian Teacakes. (I'll be sharing both recipes soon.) As I watched them I couldn't help but note differences and similarities to our family traditions.

There, on their counter, was their laptop. The screen was split; gingerbread recipe on one side, Russian Teacakes on the other. And, I thought of past generations. My grandmothers seldom worked from recipes, but rather baked from memory and "feel". My mom always had a recipe book propped open in some corner of the kitchen. I print off recipes from our family website. And my children bake directly from their computer. (BTW... since my baking habits could never be construed as "neat" and are usually "full bodied" this would NEVER work for me. My poor laptop would be gunked up first time around!)

But on the other hand... they were still carrying on family traditions... baking together and following recipes that have been in the family for generations. And, I might add, turning out some truly scrumptious cookies. My grandmas would be proud. It was hard leaving them, but it made it easier knowing they would be home soon for the Holidays!

One of the "unintended consequences" of 14 hours in the car and 3 nights of Christmas movies... I was able to design and make a new scarf and a pair of mittens... for ME! I just got a new black pea coat and I wanted to soften the color with a pretty pink. Because the scarf and mittens are a solid color, I added interest in a simple, but lovely checkerboard pattern. I'll be sharing the instructions for these as soon as I wade through my notes and write them up in some coherent manner!   

Thanksgiving is behind us and ahead "looms" Christmas. Sounds rather ominous, doesn't it? If you are responsible for preparing a holiday meal, especially if it is your first attempt, the thought of "messing it up" can be daunting. Below is a story I shared November 13, 2007 on my recently retired blog One Generation to Another. I thought now was an appropriate time to share it in case you just came through a Thanksgiving dinner fraught with mishaps or if you're nervous about the prospect of entertaining over the next few weeks. Hope you enjoy!  

Without pondering it, quickly think of 3 memorable days in your life. Chances are you’ll list the day you graduated from high school or college, got married, had your first child, got your first substantial promotion or some other equally pleasant, but innately ordinary event. Life is full of satisfying experiences, thank goodness, but they are seldom the type of stories that enthrall an audience and have them leaning forward in their seats, anxiously awaiting the outcome. When hearing these stories we politely listen, give well timed agreeable nods, and secretly prepare grocery lists or review tomorrow’s agenda. Thank God we are programmed with the ability to multitask! (Hmmm, okay, not all of us are proficient multitaskers, but at least most of us can go to our happy place and resurface at the finale of a mind-numbing story!) Let’s face it…it’s the goofs, the blunders, the mishaps, the screw-ups, the mix-ups, the gaffes, the errors, and the mistakes that make for the best stories and most repeatable tales.

Case in point…Like most women, before getting married I went out on my fair share of dates. Most of them were nice, some of them were boring, BUT, it’s the awful dates that I’ve recounted over the years. Take my date with the Congressional Page, aka, persistent frat boy determined to woo me. We were having a run-of-the-mill date at a lovely restaurant, followed by drinks at a bar frequented by state politicians. He was in the middle of laying out his 15 year plan to become a state senator. I was thinking about the guy in my Anthro class that started growing a beard. Slightly catatonic I took a drink of my Bloody Mary. (FYI…if you decide not to utilize the straws inserted in your libation, remove then before guzzling your drink, if not, you’re apt to wind up with a straw up your nose.) Yep, when I set my drink down, one of the straws remained in my nose. True story! Now, here’s an etiquette question that Emily Post was probably never asked…what do you do with a straw that you’ve removed from your nose? Do you put it back in your drink? Perhaps drop it on the floor? Call the waitress over and ask her to clear the table? As it was, I nonchalantly laid it on the table between us, and neither one of us mentioned the incident. Periodically, I’d notice him looking down at the straw. I think he was assessing my ability to function as a state senator’s wife. Well, I didn’t marry the boy, but he didn’t become a state senator either! Humiliated myself, maybe, but came away with a great story! (BTW…he did ask me out again…go figure!) (And BTW…I didn’t go out with him again…guess the incident was just too mortifying…or more to the point, he was monumentally boring!)

Then there was the time I was putting on a lovely Christmas dinner for a group of friends. The atmosphere was enchanting! The lights were off and the table was totally illuminated by a myriad of candles. Soft instrumental Christmas music played in the background. The conversation was peppered with laughter and good cheer. And, in all due modesty…(right!)…the food was superb! Halfway through dinner I reached across the table to pass a condiment. As I went to sit down a unified gasp arouse from my dining companions. “Oh my God, Kim. Your sleeve’s on fire!” Sure enough, when reaching across the table, I also reached across a candle that decided to test my sweater’s flammability tolerance. It failed! (Note to self: Next time I’m around open flames wear kids’ pajamas!) Well, without much effort I was able to extinguish the flames. Actually, all it really did was quite efficiently remove those nasty sweater boogers that collect on the surface of knits, although I can’t suggest this method as the preferred technique for defuzzing a sweater! But to the point…I can almost guarantee you that no one remembers what I made for dinner that night, but EVERYONE at dinner remembers the Sweater Flambe, and I often get good naturally teased about it.

About now you may well be asking yourself, “Uh, is there a point to this story?” And the answer is indubitably YES! Life is about taking chances and not all of them will turn out the way you planned. Your path will be littered with mishaps, but in the long run, it doesn’t matter as long as you get a good story out of it! Heck, most of the history books are filled with “Oops!” So, don’t be afraid to try new things, and when faced with embarrassing or seemingly unbearable situations (like the day I started a new job working in the stock room of a dress shop, slipped, fell backwards into an open box, and wound up with my skirt around my waist as my fellow employees tried to pull me out or the time I roomed with a woman who actually believed she was the reincarnation of Mary Magdalene, prior to meeting Jesus) remember that it is the goofs and blunders, trials and tribulation, that with time, and an occasional sprinkling of embellishments, become great stories to remember and share!

FYI…just in case you’re wondering…for dinner that night I served my mother’s recipe for Beef Bourguignonne. It is a little labor intense but well worth the effort when you want to make a lasting impression on dinner guests…maybe not as lasting as igniting yourself, but it will certainly delight and impress your company!

BEEF BOURGUIGNONNE

My mom stumbled upon this recipe many years ago and used it for “special occasions”. I’ve yet to see her make it without someone asking her for the recipe!

Ingredients
4 tablespoons butter
4 pounds round or chuck, cut in 2-inch cubes
1/4 cup Cognac
1 cup chopped onion (1 large)
2 cloves of garlic, mashed
1 teaspoon salt
1 bottle Burgundy
2 teaspoons tomato paste
1 can (10-1/2 oz) condensed beef broth
2 bay leaves
1 teaspoon leaf thyme
2 sprigs parsley
1/4 teaspoon pepper
1 pound mushrooms, sliced
24 small white pearl onions, peeled
4 tablespoons flour
4 tablespoons soft butter or margarine
1 teaspoon grated lemon rind
2 tablespoons chopped parsley

Directions

Brown beef well on all sides in 4 tablespoons butter. Add only enough beef to kettle to cover bottom or beef might stew and not brown.

Remove browned pieces before adding more beef. When beef is browned, pour off any fat. Return beef to kettle. Heat Cognac in small saucepan; ignite carefully; pour over beef. When flames have died, add onion, garlic, salt, pepper, bay leaves, parsley, thyme, wine, tomato paste and 1/2 cup of beef broth.

Bring to boiling; lower heat; cover and simmer 2 to 2-1/2 hours or until beef is tender.

Heat 3 tablespoons butter or margarine in skillet; saute mushrooms quickly until just tender; remove; reserve. Add small white pearl onions to fat remaining in skillet; brown well. Add remaining beef broth; bring to boil, cover, lower heat; simmer about 10 minutes or until onions are tender. Blend flour and 4 tablespoons butter or margarine to form smooth paste. (This is the thickening for the bourguignonne, called beurre manie.)

Add beurre manie bit by bit to hot liquid until it has reached desired thickness. Stir in lemon rind. Return beef to kettle; add onions and mushrooms. Heat until bubbly; sprinkle with parsley. Serve with small boiled potatoes, buttered noodles or rice.

(May be oven cooked in large, covered casserole. Cook at 350 degrees for 2 to 2-1/2 hours or until tender. Remove from oven; thicken liquid over direct heat.)

So, if you're responsible for a major Holiday celebration, relax and enjoy it! What's the worse that can happen? Even if EVERYTHING goes wrong, people will still walk away with an entertaining story to share for years to come. In the long run, that probably has more value than a perfect meal!