Today’s guest post comes from Steve Grooms, and was first offered on Trail Baboon as a comment at the end of the December 25th entry. I thought it was worth re-posting for everyone to enjoy. Steve writes:
The topic of “family” brings up the fact that I’ve been anxious for my daughter. Molly and Liam visited me a year and a half ago, and the trip was stressful. Liam was terrified by the plane and then unable to relax in his new surroundings. Molly got tense about that, and the two of them fed off each other’s fears.That trip was saved by all the toys I borrowed from kind Baboon ladies, and it did end up being a good trip.
Molly and her husband John recently made a difficult decision to fly from Portland to upper Michigan for Christmas with John’s parents. Jack, John’s father, is in perilous health. He has advanced diabetes, and he has recently fallen seven times hard enough to break bones. His most recent fall was last week. Liam and his grandfather have never met. The feeling was it would have to happen this year, or it might never be possible. After the most recent fall, Jack has been confined to a nursing home. Jack would be allowed a brief trip home to meet Liam and open presents.
John’s parents live in an interesting place, in a 100 year old home that overlooks the St. Clair River. Canada is across the river. Huge freighters are always moving through.
Molly wrote to say that Liam was an angel on the flight. And then she described Christmas: What follows is Molly’s letter:
We had a truly magical day. Ice floating down the river, one flow carrying a great big snowy owl, my first ever to see in the wild and absolutely breathtaking. The Kelleys have never seen one either so I feel so lucky.
Freighters ran up and down the river and Liam slept til 11, waking just as Jack arrived home with Nancy and the boys. Jack confided to Jamie yesterday that he feared Liam would be afraid of him. He doesn’t look good these days. I coached Liam to give him a warm welcome and tell him about the freighters he’d seen. Liam immediately did so and it was so wonderful to see him eagerly and sweetly engage Jack all day. He also went out of his way to tell Nancy how nice his air mattress bed is and thank her for all sorts of cookies and kindnesses throughout the day.
Overall, Liam was an absolute delight – opening presents and relishing them, playing on his own quietly for an hour at a time, chasing or being chased by his favorite and much adored uncle around the house, delighting in the two inches of snow that fell throughout the day and shoveling with feverish industry. John, Liam and I walked up to the Port Huron lightship and back in time to watch the Coast Guard cutter, the Hollyhock, undock just feet North of the house and head up into the lake to bring in more buoys.
I went upstairs to rest for an hour, at which point the tree fell over, narrowly missing Liam and John who were putting together a train set. After that excitement things settled down again. Dinner was delicious – Swiss steak followed by cookies and a session of Lego building and listening to KSJN carols.
The whole day was unplanned, unstructured, nothing monumental and no single “Oooohhh Ahhhh” gift. And none needed. It was perfect and so special to experience it with my wonderful child. I am so impressed with his good nature, his delight in others and his flexibility. Taking a page from his book today, I went with the flow, like the ice down the river.
Describe your most memorable Christmas.
Trail Baboon 
It was Christmas 1985. The entire family was gathered around the full-wall fireplace in the enchanted cottage my parents had so lovingly renovated into a state-of-the-art mini lodge. We were all still a family in which every member was present, before deaths, divorces, and remarriages. The fire was roaring and “Chestnuts Roasting on an Open Fire” was softly playing in the background.
As we sat in a circle with the only light coming from the fire and the Christmas tree, someone turned to the person beside him and said, “Merry Christmas, Steve”; then he said, “Merry Christmas, Mary”; an so it went around the circle. I remember thinking that we all sounded like the Waltons.
Dozens of gifts were opened, and, as my mother insisted, only one person at a time could open a gift. Given that there were so many presents, this process took forever. My mother had a legal pad with every gift, what it was, and a number beside each one. She’d say, “Nancy – open number 10”; “David, open number 5” and so on and so on and so on.
Finally, every gift was opened except one. Steve and I got identical gifts that we sensed were the most important ones of this Christmas. My dad, George, had written in perfect block print, two books describing his remarkable experiences in WWII, complete with intricate sketches of major events. We’d encouraged him for years to record his memories, but these two books were masterpieces. I learned more about who this man was in his writings than I’d known my entire life. I couldn’t help but weep when I realized what he had just given the two of us. Although they could be published, we’ve kept the stories of his lifetime to ourselves and marvel at this man who was our father.
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Nicely described. Actually, any of the Christmases in a run of years starting with this one could be remembered as magical. I despair of conveying those celebrations to outsiders. If you weren’t there, you won’t “get” what they meant and how they would unfold. It sounds unkind to say so, but our mother was obsessed with Christmas. That obsession was on fiery display every Christmas up until the one where she nearly died. Obsession usually leads to lamentable excess, but our mother’s twin obsessions–passion for Christmas and love for her family–somehow rescued her excessive Christmas celebrations and made them what she intended: stunning celebrations of family love, strange and beautiful moments of perfection in lives that were otherwise far from perfect.
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Moving.
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Good morning. There was one year when I believe we had Christmas at our house with my parents, my mother-in-law and my Uncle Horace as well as our two daughters, a son-in-law, and a grandchild. I think I have that right. It was a lot of work and my memory is foggy regarding the details. I know all of those people have been to our house for holiday celebrations and I think there was a Christmas when they were all there at the same time.
My Uncle Horace was the oldest person there and was asked to give a blessing. My mother-in-law, who was sometimes a little inappropriate in her behavior, said loudly following the blessing, “do we have to bless every bit of the food we eat”. Fortunately, everyone ignored what she said. However, I don’t think we will ever forget that little incident which we laugh about whenever it comes to mind.
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My mother mumbled similar things every now and then when the prayer was 20 words long.
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Molly’s Christmas note brought tears to my eyes. I think there is a subtext here that others would miss if I don’t point it out. My daughter is a loving person who will go to any length to make special moments feel special. The hazard of that is that she tends to want holidays to be perfect. That can raise her stress levels until they threaten the effect she hopes to achieve. I have been counseling her for almost two years to seek calm and just let things happen as they will. Her last sentence is her way of telling me she was able to relax on this unusual day when so much could have gone wrong. She achieved the peace of ice flows pouring down the river. Happy holidays, everyone.
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nice story steve. i hope molly can use this as a starting point and use it going forward to try and let it flow…. good job grandpa.
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My wife and I got married, as you may recall, in rather a rush in 1965. Seven and a half weeks from first date to wedding. My parents, in a move that shocked me, announced that they were coming to our house for Christmas, in THE CITY. In reflection now, I think it may have been in part because they moved six weeks after our wedding and would have been alone in a house that was not yet a home because my sister was in Alaska that year and they were not on speaking terms with my brother. Except, my parents had no feelings for Christmas, religious or familial, of which I had ever been aware. We were going to go up to Duluth for Christmas but never got the chance to offer before they announced their plans in mid October. The big surprise was that my mother was going to put herself in someone else’s court, which always made her shy. When she got shy, she looked stern, angry, or upset, which Sandy would not yet know with how to cope.. And this would be the court of a new daughter-in-law, a CITY GIRL, five years older than her son, whom she had only met three times in most harried encounters, one being our wedding. My sister and I exchanged letters about our fears, for, also, my father was well-known for choosing to be difficult when he was on alien grounds.
Now another wrinkle. We simply had to go to Sandy’s childhood house with it’s many complications. We could not desert Sandy’s invalid mother at home if we were there in Minneapolis. So my socially-awkward parents would be in an even more difficult court. Sandy’s childhood home was a bit complicated: a charming, wonderful 80-something grandmother (also lurker Diane’s Grandmother), who could be a bit (well, a lot) dingy, Sandy’s mother’s misshappen body in her wheel chair, and Sandy’s father. who was usually drunk on Christmas. We told my parents we were going over to the house on Christmas Eve only after they arrived. We did not tell them we were going to church that evening until we were on the way to the house. Sandy had implored her father to please be sober. Sometimes that worked; sometimes not.
On the drive from our apartment in Prospect Park to Camden, I was very on-edge. And, of course, our car had a problem we had to stop and fix.
When we finally got there, my father, as he chose to be at that moment, could be very charming with women, even courtly, in the old world sense of the word. He kissed both women graciously on the cheek, helped Sandy’s mother to sit back down in her wheel chair, and shook the clearly sober and very nervous hand of Sandy’s father while shaking the other shoulder warmly.
After I picked up my jaw from being stuck in my belt buckle, we went onto a warm and wonderful evening. Grandma fell in love with my father, who attended her carefully, when he was not talking railroad with my father-in-law (they were both railroaders), the two
mothers with so little in common talked warmly all evening, when my mother was not talking cooking and needlework with Grandma. My mother had brought home-made gifts for all, which were exactly right.
We still marvel at home an evening that could have been so awkward was so glowing warm.
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That’s a very special memory, Clyde. Thanks for sharing.
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you are the best vignette guy in town clyde. thanks.
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Thank you, Dale for repeating this. I had missed it entirely as I did much on the trail for the last week. All six days in Evan I was waiting for my grieving wife to go over the edge with her lupus. She did on the last day. She is still recovering. Have yet to talk to her today, but she looks fine in her sleep, which will last all day.
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Eleven years ago at a midnight Christmas Eve service in a very rural church we realized that our daughter was starting labor in the middle of conducting the service. The next day we drove the 110 miles to Renee’s town to meet Lily.
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I was staring absentmindedly out the window of my daughter’s parsonage living room at the church across the street. I said to my self, wait a minute. See what I saw at
http://birchwoodhill.wordpress.com/
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exceptionally wonderful
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It is a little miracle that you saw this before it melted away! And your drawings are simply lovely, Clyde.
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Most of it fell off about 15 minutes later.
Tnank you for the compliment.
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That is pretty cool.
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Steve, Molly’s letter really touched me deeply. As difficult as it has been for you to live at a distance from Molly, you and she have a treasure in your letters back and forth. As much as we think they won’t, memories do often fade over time and details are lost in the recalling/retelling. And Liam is young enough that he will surely appreciate hearing and reading about his childhood in years to come.
I grew up in Japan from 1949 to 1966 when I came to college in Minnesota — I have three 3-inch binders full of onion skin letters written back and forth between my mother and grandmother over those years. Several thousand pages! All the trivia and milestones of two families on opposite sides of the world. I confess I haven’t read them all. Yet. Just dipped in here and there to read about our births etc. But it’s my intention to dive in and read more this year.
I think you and I have something precious in our letters. When I read Molly’s letter, it reminded me a little of “A Child’s Christmas in Wales” which my Dad used to read to us every year when we were young. I believe it was written in the early 50’s. Anyway, Molly’s letter is so vivid, I can just see the day unfold through her eyes — the relatives you only see once a year, the river and ice floes, the huge ocean going freighters, the snowy owl, the Christmas tree debacle, the train set, the particular foods they ate…. It would be lovely if you and she could illustrate it. Maybe have Liam draw a picture or two while the experience is still fresh. Our grandchildren are about Liam’s age and we’ve begun writing down their stories and saving them in a scrapbook with their drawings. They also wrote some stories for us this Christmas with a program on iPad called “Book Creator” — the girls drew pictures with their fingers and told us the stories (there’s an audio feature). I can’t keep up with the current technology, can you?
Thanks so much for sharing this letter — it brought back so many memories of my own. And what is Christmas if not to cherish our families and our stories?
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We used to write to my brother in Japan in 1958 with onionskin. Can you buy it now? Maybe you should bind those letters, use all that family talent to make a cover, title page, etc.
I have seen a few letters from the Jane Austen era when they would “lined” their letters to save weight, that is, write one direction and then write 180 degrees the other direction.
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I’ve made copies of some of the letters for family when I put together an abbreviated family history a few years back. The volume of paper is staggering, but you’re so right, they need to be preserved in some fashion and that’s one of my next great tasks 🙂 I also have procrastinated too long to write down some of my own memories of growing up in post WWII Japan. It was a different world then. What was your brother doing there at that time, Clyde?
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Military, of course, Navy, code work.
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Thanks for the lovely words, Robin. It will not surprise you to hear that Molly worships “A Child’s Christmas in Wales.” No Christmas season is complete until she has heard it again.
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I love A Child’s Christmas in Wales, too.
Or I would go out, my bright new boots squeaking, into the white world, on to the seaward hill, to call on Jim and Dan and Jack and to pad through the still streets, leaving huge deep footprints on the hidden pavements.
“I bet people will think there’ve been hippos.”
“What would you do if you saw a hippo coming down our street?”
“I’d go like this, bang! I’d throw him over the railings and roll him down the hill and then I’d tickle him under the ear and he’d wag his tail.”
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It’s enchanting, isn’t it? 🙂 To me it’s a Tom Sawyer everyman’s tale with a Welsh accent. And in the 50’s we all had uncles and aunties like that, didn’t we? Proud bosomed women in aprons and stout shoes who sailed between the kitchen and dining room carrying huge platters of food. Ancient uncles smoking and playing checkers or snoring by the fire. My parents’ relatives were all that and more. But no one tells it better than Dylan Thomas. 🙂
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Robin, Molly and I share a passion for two Christmas memories in literature. The other one is Truman Capote’s perfect little memory of Christmas in Alabama when he was a child.
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I’ve seen that but never read it. Will do so now, for sure.
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Steve, Tomie de Paola has a wonderful story called The Clown of God which I bet Liam would find charming, if he hasn’t already had it read to him.
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(This comment is supposed to go under Steve’s memory of Truman Capote’s memory of Christmas in Alabama.)
Yes, that’s a wonderful story, too.
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Reply to Robin and Renee. Liam probably owns that book. He has several hundred books! I kid you not. I’ll mention it to Molly.
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Robin, Capote’s “A Christmas Memory” is absolutely wonderful. MPR used to broadcast it, read by Capote himself; don’t know if they still do, but that recording is a treasure if you can lay hands on it. I love that story. For the last three years I have read it to a bunch of seniors in nursing homes in my vicinity, it kicks off the Christmas season for me.
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i found capotes christmas in the mpr archives. excellent
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we used to set up a trap for santa with string and cameras every year for my son and it was so much fun to watch him hide the string under the presents and set the camera up just so. every year we would wake up and check the trap and ther would be a picture of santas sleeve with the white fur trim or the back of his head as he ran off ho ho hoing. we traveled a lot at christmas at that time and spent time with my folks up at leach lake and with my wifes colks in chicago and down in florida at disney world. those days of the sugar plums dancing in the little ones heads is what i remember best. we have a 7th grader who we were not sure was ready to make the believer to understander move yet. she has been well insulated and has been given all the responses needed to fend off non believing evil doers out there and will come to her own understanding in her own time. i am nearing the end of this families santa issues and am ready to be a grandpa when and if that comes along.
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when i was little i remember waiting and hoping for my cowboy hat and boots. one year when i was about 3 i scored big time. i got that hat and the boots. that was the best day ever. all i wanted int he world was the outfit and when i got it i put it on in my pjs and didnt take it off until i was forced to. life doesnt get any better than realizing your dreams. the hat had the string looped around the brim and the boots had a longhorn stitched into the leather uppers. it couldnt have been better if i had complete control over the days destiny. how often does that happen?
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What seems totally magical when we’re little is so often our parents’ doing. It’s wonderful when our children’s wildest dreams are still within our power to deliver 🙂
The first thing our two granddaughters did when they got to our house on Christmas day was to strip off their clothes and climb into our bathtub with my collection of rubber ducks. I guess grandma’s bath is still a thrilling experience. Of course, for us, the grandchildren are the thrilling experience. They have the power to deliver the magic 🙂
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Our apartment has these luxury tubs, which until only now were a special place to take baths by our two. Now it is showers.
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For what seemed like many years, I longed for a particular baby doll on the shelf of Ames’s
only department store. I’d even named her “Holly” and visited her often, just longing to hold her in my arms. Each Christmas, I was flooded with the hope of opening up a box and finally having her. On just one of these Christmases of high expectations, my grandmother had shipped several pieces of her outdated bedroom furniture to our house. Dad moved them into my bedroom while Mom warned me to take very good care of them because my grandma was going to take them back. This occurred at least a month before Christmas.
The of getting Holly finally arrived, but instead of getting this dearly wanted baby doll, my mother said, “Your big gift this year is my mother’s bedroom furniture!!!” Needless to say, I was devastated.
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The most hurtful memory of my childhood, which I will not tell, relates to how my parents one year bestowed what gifts to whom. There was a favored child in our family, and it was not I.
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I am so sorry, Clyde. Clearly, you should’ve been the favorite child.
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it is amazing how many stupid things our parents did out of pure oblivious non thinking. thats the way they had always done it why do it any other way. another example of learning how not to do it.
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15 or so years ago i was coming home form china arriving on christmas day and the plane was a couple hours late. on going out to my car in the park and ride lot i discovered the tire had gone flat. it was 25 below out and the nearby service stations were either closed on christmas or had their air hoses frozen due to the cold. i was lost. then into the lot at the gas station came these two women who told me how to get the spare tire off (i was stumped and my hands were freezing trying to work with the -25 degree wrench that came with the jack). they helped get it done told me to sit in the car and wished me merry christmas as they sent me on my way. i got home in time to spend the day with the family and enjoy the christmas that could have been screwed up big time.
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Wow, Tim! The only thing more amazing than getting a flat tire in -25 degrees on Xmas Day is that two women could actually remove the hydraulically secured tire bolts. I’ve worried for years about what I’d do if I ever got a flat tire. My only idea was to call 911, so I finally did the logical thing: I joined Triple A. I feel all secure now.
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Sounds like it was a lovely day. Gotta watch out for those kamikaze Christmas trees, though.
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We had a tree do that once. Son was home with his sister (then a preschooler) and he phoned us to say the tree had fallen over., The tree stand had cracked. What a mess! Lost a lot of old glass German ornaments, too.
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1963 was the first year that my parents announced that we should try to make as many presents as possible (after they noticed how much money was going out the door on under-appreciated presents).
My father made a ping-pong table, my mother knit me a sweater (the first and last time I was aware that she even knew how), my sister decorated t-shirts, I made a wall hanging (and more that I don’t remember).
We continued this wonderful tradition for many years and store-bought presents (and lists of wants) have never been satisfying to me.
My brother and I were very fond of “trick wrapping” (putting something in a misleading box). When I was a freshman in college, I made him a present and wrapped it to look like a record album. I put a list of the possible contents on the outside, something like 1. Latest Beatle Album 2. square place mat and 3. Backwards Needlepoint Road sign. The last seemed bizarre and preposterous but turned out to be the correct answer. My brother and father (and I, to some degree) were fond of reading things backwards, particularly road signs. One favorite was On Gnipmud. So I had done a very colorful needlepoint of On Gnipmud for him.
I had a very nice Christmas this year with my sister, sons and daughter-in-law but it’s hard to top those old creative, in-joke Christmasses of my youth.
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So wonderful, Lisa 🙂 1970, our first Christmas as a married couple, I macrame’d mountains of gifts. Must have been hundreds and hundreds of yards of string. Lampshades, wall hangings, plant holders, bracelets. . . I wonder what landfill they’re buried in now? I know that the lampshade was burned up in a house fire. Yes, our family was big on homemade gifts. My nieces and nephews were home schooled and there was the year they learned how to knit and we all received knitted squares and rectangles and scarves. And my sister’s pickles are legendary; I could eat a jarful in one sitting. We also had a round robin gift — the “Moog” record from the late 60’s, a horrible electronic recording, that made the rounds every year cleverly disguised as something it wasn’t. I remember the year we heated it and rolled it in a tube.
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Oh, I almost forgot! My Dad used to write a long silly poem to Mom each year. We called if “the Ode” and it was always read out loud. And we all wrote short poems to go with each gift. Silly stuff like that. What fun that was!
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It was Christmas Eve, 1975, and I was 7 months pregnant, sitting with my husband and family in church. I suddenly had an “ah-ha” moment. Would I have been so ready to say “Your will be done” to an angel telling me I was going to have a baby, give him over to God’s work, and remain a virgin somehow? The fact that I was soon to have my own first born son made Mary’s predicament so much more real. It’s a vivid memory and my baby will soon be 38 years old.
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Hello, Kay.
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Kay – nice to hear your “voice” again!!
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We (my sis is here from CA) just came across photos of 1972 Christmas, when my folks (from Iowa) and sister (from Houston, TX for her year “between colleges”) visited me in San Francisco. I finally had a decent, 4-bedroom apartment that I shared with 3 others, all of whom left for Christmas, so everyone stayed with me. It was like we had our own motel near the Golden Gate Bridge. My tiny Christmas tree was in water in an electric fry pan, I don’t know much about our food or gifts, but I remember shopping on Union Street, driving around the hills looking at the lights, and numerous trips to the airport…
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My childhood Christmases were too fraught with tension and turmoil, and missing dad who inevitably was at sea, that I have only vague memories of them. My favorite Christmas memories stem from the years subsequent to my divorce. That first Christmas after we separated, was miserable, so miserable, in fact, that I vowed never again to spend Christmas alone (if I didn’t want to be) or at the mercy of whomever might feel sorry for me.
For my second Christmas as a single person, I invited a couple of friends and a rag-tag bunch of foreign students at the U of M to come for a Christmas Eve celebration at my house. I had recently moved into a magnificent old mansion on St. Paul’s West Side, just a gorgeous place, and had put up a 12′ tall Christmas tree. I had borrowed chairs, dishes and whatnot from neighbors and friends. I asked people to bring a dish without which it would not be a Christmas meal for them. As you can imagine, it was an eclectic feast that reflected several different ethnic traditions. Those first few years were magical. It was such a joy spending Christmas Eve with people who were there because they wanted to be and not because they felt some sense of obligation. We ate, we sang, we danced around the Christmas tree, and talked until late; we created memories that are precious to many of us still.
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Lovely! Do you and Hans put up a tree?
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For the first twenty-five years of our marriage, Robin, we continued “my” Christmas traditions. By then kids had grown up, gone off to college, had married, or their parents moved to warmer climates during the cold months, and ever so slowly these large celebrations morphed into smaller, quieter celebrations, and eventually stopped. They had become an obligation. For the past three years I haven’t put up a tree, just seems like too much trouble. I get by with a poinsettia or two, an advent wreath and lots of candles, and, of course, all the traditional Danish Christmas foods.
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PJ, Candles and food and friends are the best ingredients for any celebration 🙂
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Right, Robin, friends, the most important ingredient of all. Had a couple of dear ones join us for Christmas Eve dinner without any hoopla whatsoever. Our New Year’s celebration will be equally casual this year. Brunch with a bunch of neighbor friends at the Lake Elmo Inn on Dec. 31, and an open house at another friend’s house on New Year’s Day, leaving lots of time to relax and reflect.
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What a wonderful memory!
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Every Christmas is memorable in some way because it is such a major holiday. Because it is such major holiday there is a lot of pressure to please one and all. There is no way that my family would be willing to cut back on all the effort put into Christmas. I wish we could. Modest gifts, less emphasis on massive amounts christmas cookies and other bake goods, simple decorations, and a Christmas dinner that doesn’t require a major effort would be my preference.
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Jim, I’ve gone back and forth on the “excess” thing over the years depending on how stressed I’ve felt at the time. But like Molly’s letter describes, it’s always the unexpected that delights the most, don’t you think? I miss my father and brother-in-law who were the family jokesters–writing silly poems or drawing caricatures, posing for silly family pictures, just spontaneous goofy things. One year we all wore Groucho Marx glasses/mustache/noses for the family photo, one year red rubber reindeer noses. One year we handed out all the presents with fireplace tongs. One year we started folding paper hats out of the newspaper and ended up with everything from a Samurai helmet to a witch’s hat. Silly stuff like that. But it was SO much fun at the time. 🙂
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I’m in favor of everyone doing Christmas whatever way works for them. A creative approach with silly pictures and poems sounds great. For some I am sure excessive celebrations are good. For me there is a little too much stress associated with the excessive preparations for big celebrations which I am expected to support. That’s just the way I am.
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I completely sympathize, Jim, with your point of view. Is your family OK with you taking a back seat and enjoying the ruckus from your chair? Just being the genial grandpa? It’s hard when you feel out of sync with the rest whether you want to dial it back a few notches or the other direction. I have friends who have never had “Christmas” the way we’re describing it here — no presents or decorations — they spend time together, eat a good dinner, play cards, go to a movie, sit by the fire… It was a bit of a surprise to their new son in law even though he had been warned, but he warmed to the idea of spending relaxing time together without getting blindsided by all the whoop de doo.
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All the talk of stress and getting things “just right” brings to mind this Christmas story: my mother was a church musician (organist and choir director) so Christmas Eve and Day were work days for her. By necessity there couldn’t be much fuss – she was busy with extra work things during Advent (heck, there were years we were probably lucky to get a tree up). Since she minimally had 2 services each Christmas Eve, often 3 or 4, Christmas Eve dinner had to be something she could make quickly, that my brother and I would eat without fuss. She hit on a slightly altered version of rommegrot that we called “milk mush” (rommegrot is a milk and sour cream porridge served with sugar and cinnamon – my mom made it for us kids without the sour cream), which she cooked up every year well into when we were adults. We would eat quickly and then have time to open presents before she had to dash off to the late services. (I figured out later that opening presents Christmas Eve probably saved her dealing with pestering children early in the morning on Christmas Day when she still had one more service to get ready for.)
Husband and I had been dating for a few months and I knew his family didn’t do “big” Christmas stuff, so I invited him to my mom’s for Christmas Eve. I knew he didn’t drink milk, but didn’t really put that together with our family tradition of a big serving of, essentially, cooked milk…We all sat down to dinner at our table of Very White Norwegian Foods (also on the table: julekage – also with milk in it, krumake made with lots of butter, lefse which had been pre-buttered and sugared…). Out comes the steaming plate of “milk mush” with a pat of melting butter in the middle. Husband-Then-Boyfriend shifted uncomfortably in his seat and asked what he was being served. So I explained. And then the light dawned. I had invited my lactose intolerant boyfriend over for a meal that was about 80% milk or milk-included products. Oops. He braved his way through a few bites, but contented himself mostly with the stuff with the least amount of actual milk (and I’m sure had a big sandwich when he got back to his own place). That was the last year of “milk mush.” Now if we want a meal of Very White Norwegian Foods we have torsk instead.
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Sounds like the beginning of new traditions 🙂
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Very White Foods could also include mashed potatoes, almond bark, forgotten meringues, and angel food cake.
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My favorite White food is “boller i selleri.” Small pork meatballs in a sauce made from celery root, served over mashed potatoes. For a little color, sprinkle some fresh parsley over, and serve with Danish pumpernickel bread and a glass of beet. Doesn’t get much better than that.
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Lest anyone think I drink beets, that’s supposed to say beer.
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PJ, would you please send me the recipe via email? I’m wondering how you season the meatballs to taste “Danish”. I just was looking at celery root at the Co-op yesterday and wondering if it had a distinct flavour or if it was interchangeable with regular celery. Just like I wonder how much difference there really is between shallots and green onions. Must do a taste test
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Robin, it has been wonderful to hear from you these last couple of days. I’ve missed you.
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