It Happened In December...

When my kids were young, Christmas Eve was sometimes spent with the South grandparents on Commonwealth Avenue. Grandma South fixed knedliky and zeli. This Czech dish consisted of three parts--the dumpling, the zeli (cabbage), and roast pork. She made a light dough into which was folded small, toasted bread cubes. Her instructions were to fold, by hand, rather than beating or kneading the dough. As her hands became more crippled with arthritis, she'd hand the wooden spoon to my kids to assist her. When the dough was ready, it was formed into large loaf-like dumplings and slipped into salted, boiling water to steam until cooked through. It was often sliced with a piece of heavy kitchen string so as not to crush the dough.The zeli was made from finely shredded cabbage and sauerkraut. She was partial to the lighter, softer, sweeter inner cabbage leaves. Grandma had a favorite brand of kraut, one that she found less sour than others that she rinsed to remove even more of the briny bite, then mixed it with the fresh cabbage, finely chopped onions, caraway seeds, and drippings from the pork roast. The zeli was better if it simmered slowly for an extended time. She often cooked a second piece of meat in order to have enough au jus for serving.

When I had my first December taste of this traditional meal, Grandpa South took great delight in instructing me how to arrange the components of the dish on my plate. First, in the center, a slice of warm knedliky. Next, a nice slice of pork. Next, the zeli was to be artfully piled on top of the meat. The meat juice--au jus--was drizzled over the stack. Grandpa would demonstrate from his own plate at the table, slicing deftly through all the layers so as to provide one's mouth with the very best of all the components, a real taste sensation! While my kids were young, they knew they could count on this meal at least once a year, at their grandparents or at our own table. On our own, without coaching, we may have lost some of the authenticity of the dish by using a food processor for cabbage chopping or electric beaters for dough mixing and serving the dish with homemade applesauce. But more than the dish itself, we loved the memories associated with this meal--Grandma's instructions, Grandpa's giggled laugh (like Frank's) as he taught us the finer points of enjoying this family tradition.

Grandma and Grandpa South drove from Salt Lake City to visit us during our first December in our new home in Sparks, Nevada (1976). The Truckee Meadows was enveloped in a record drought and warming trend. Frank, the kids, and I treated them to a picnic on the shores of Lake Tahoe. We needed nothing more than a light sweater against the light breeze coming off the water. They shared their plans for the summer--a trip to Prague and Vienna. Grandpa would retire within a short time. They planned to spend an extended time abroad, gathering genealogy information and documents, pictures, and seeing old friends. They were filled with anticipation and excitement. No one knew it then, but this was a trip that William T. would not live to make.

It was 1979, and just a couple of days before Christmas. My kids were struggling to adjust to our family drama when "I do" became "I don't". There were fits of anger and insecurity. Fears and physical ills surfaced. We were grieving the death of the family we never really were but very much wanted to be. Browsing the BIG Nickel want ads, ever on the search for more part time work or something more permanent, an ad caught my eye: "FREE puppies"! So on a dark and stormy night, I drove...and drove...to somewhere north of Reno city limits. When I ran out of road, I saw it. One lonely, little trailer out in the middle of nowhere, with a porch light still on. I sloshed my way through water and mud and road ruts to get to the make-shift couple of steps and the only door. I knocked. In the movies, this is where the music leads the viewer to lean forward a bit or hold back a breath or two, or clutch someones arm, or hide their eyes. The door swung open. A tall dude with lots of facial hair and long locks--romance novel type but scary lookin' and rough around the edges--filled the open space as bright light from a bare light bulb spilled out into the star and moon-less outer darkness. I stepped inside, ... and was greeted by a compact ball of new puppy fluff. "He's the last one I got. I breed and sell papered Golden's but my neighbor's @#$% dog got to his mama and I had to give the whole litter away!" That ride home, just before Christmas, was filled with puppy love. He had a name before we made it to our driveway. "Digit"! A bit of heart mending had begun.

One Christmas Eve, I was fixing food--turkey rolls--for the next day's meal. I had two big trays ready to be baked when I noticed that Morgan's breathing had become labored. She'd had a couple of asthma-like episodes; This seemed like another. That meant a trip to the ER for a breathing treatment. My kitchen was hot, too hot to leave food sitting out. Well, it was December. And it was cold...outside! I had to move quickly so after wrapping and sealing the trays in foil and plastic, I set them on my front porch, covered each with a big box and laid a heavy cinder block from the patio on top, before heading to the hospital. Returning hours later, with a blanket-wrapped recovering and sleepy child, the front entry was a sight to behold! There definitely would be NO turkey rolls for that Christmas dinner!