Christmas Eve with the Baxters is never, ever dull. At this very moment, the regular four of us are spending time up in the frozen, wind-beaten expanses of Wyoming with Grandma Baxter - Dad's mom. When we arrived, we were informed that while we were here, we would be "at her mercy" regarding dinners. She has planned out every meal with regard to what she has been craving. Luckily for all of us, she's been craving all of our favorite German foods - cabbage rolls, sauerbraten with spätzle and red cabbage, German potato salad - and it's all been to die for. And lucky me! I was permitted to be in the kitchen when it all happened so I could try to reproduce the recipes at home!
Let me back up a little. If there is a German woman in the kitchen making dinner for more than four people, you'd better stay the hell out of there, or else she'll scream at you until you leave. Most likely chasing you with her biggest, scariest wooden spoon. (This is what I will inevitably become. If I haven't already.) The only way you should ever dare enter a German woman's kitchen is by special request. And for most of us, the honor of such a special request goes something like this: "GET YOUR ASS IN HERE AND PEEL THE POTATOES!"
No wonder the German language always sounds frightening....
I guess I just don't ever feel like I'm at home until someone is shouting at me from the kitchen.
Merry Christmas and Frohe Weinachten to all you lovelies out there. Hope your holidays are significantly less frightening than mine. :-)
Don't forget the pickling spices,
Miranda
Showing posts with label grandparents. Show all posts
Showing posts with label grandparents. Show all posts
Monday, December 24, 2012
Sunday, December 23, 2012
Thoughts from a basement in Moorhead, MN
My grandfather is a treasure trove of witty comments, stories of foolish road trips, and delightful Norweigian jokes. Spending time with him and grandma, the straight man to his comic, is a joy.
Grandpa is getting old. Even grandma will be ninety this year. They are slowing down. They both have walkers, grandma has broken numerous bones in a variety of falls, grandpa's eyesight is going. They shouldn't drive or carry things or climb stairs any more. And for the most part, they don't. But that is a new development.
Just a couple of years ago (grandpa was already in his nineties), my parents got a call from this glorious pair: they had two twin beds they hoped to get out of the house. Could we help? Certainly!
Mom packed my three strapping brothers along to carry the furniture up the world's most frighteningly steep staircase out of grandpa & grandma's basement. ...only to find both beds (box springs, frames, mattresses, and several new sets of sheets) waiting to merely be loaded into a vehicle and moved. Grandpa had convince grandma to join in, and the two of them in their white haired, walkered glory had schlepped both bed sets up a precarious flight and through narrow hallways to the garage.
They used to pull all manner of stunts. I've heard the most heart-gladdenning stories from grandpa. And I wish I could remember half of his jokes!
Last February, my mom's father died. My dad's spunky father is the last grandfather in my life. And I am finally realizing, as he and grandma are as well, that he is getting old. He is becoming forgetful. Tonight, he asked me if I have one more year of school yet... And apologized when grandma reminded him that I graduated two years ago.
He is the reason my sense of humor is the way it is. I blame that side of the family for just how Norwiegian I look. My brother can do the most fabulous impressions of grandpa when he tells his stories. And I will miss him and grandma, my beloved comedy team and hug-givers, as soon as I leave to head home (to my parents' home) on Sunday night. They are smile-shapers and life givers, inspirations and cookie bakers, and they remind me of exactly how much love I hope always to leave in my wake.
Grandpa, I want to be just like you when I grow up! (That's why I play the fiddle, don'tcha know!)
Love you, dear hearts!
Marit
"See, what I do for a living is I sit down. I went to school for it, and now I can do it even with my eyes closed. But then, see, I fall over." -Grandpa
Grandpa is getting old. Even grandma will be ninety this year. They are slowing down. They both have walkers, grandma has broken numerous bones in a variety of falls, grandpa's eyesight is going. They shouldn't drive or carry things or climb stairs any more. And for the most part, they don't. But that is a new development.
Just a couple of years ago (grandpa was already in his nineties), my parents got a call from this glorious pair: they had two twin beds they hoped to get out of the house. Could we help? Certainly!
Mom packed my three strapping brothers along to carry the furniture up the world's most frighteningly steep staircase out of grandpa & grandma's basement. ...only to find both beds (box springs, frames, mattresses, and several new sets of sheets) waiting to merely be loaded into a vehicle and moved. Grandpa had convince grandma to join in, and the two of them in their white haired, walkered glory had schlepped both bed sets up a precarious flight and through narrow hallways to the garage.
They used to pull all manner of stunts. I've heard the most heart-gladdenning stories from grandpa. And I wish I could remember half of his jokes!
Last February, my mom's father died. My dad's spunky father is the last grandfather in my life. And I am finally realizing, as he and grandma are as well, that he is getting old. He is becoming forgetful. Tonight, he asked me if I have one more year of school yet... And apologized when grandma reminded him that I graduated two years ago.
He is the reason my sense of humor is the way it is. I blame that side of the family for just how Norwiegian I look. My brother can do the most fabulous impressions of grandpa when he tells his stories. And I will miss him and grandma, my beloved comedy team and hug-givers, as soon as I leave to head home (to my parents' home) on Sunday night. They are smile-shapers and life givers, inspirations and cookie bakers, and they remind me of exactly how much love I hope always to leave in my wake.
Grandpa, I want to be just like you when I grow up! (That's why I play the fiddle, don'tcha know!)
Love you, dear hearts!
Marit
"See, what I do for a living is I sit down. I went to school for it, and now I can do it even with my eyes closed. But then, see, I fall over." -Grandpa
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