writer wanted

It’s been two months to the day since I launched my little blog experiment.   When I started, even though I am sort of in the business (interactive marketing), I’d never created one before, and it was on my list.  Web site design, check – email campaigns, check – online content and copywriting, check – marketing strategies and industry insight, check – poetry and inspirational pieces, check.  But never a blog from scratch.  I found myself with time last summer, and a drive to keep writing.   Writing has been a lifelong passion.  But it was always either part of my job, or a hobby.   I’d write as needed.   I’d write mostly for my family.  I was afraid to share anything beyond that.  I finally realized that if I wanted to be a serious writer, I’d have to put myself out there.  Let people see my thoughts, ideas, ruminations, ponderings…my heart.   On a regular basis.

Last week I wrote about the ‘style and grace’ of a bygone era.  It was about my parent’s generation.   My parent’s story is one I am working on capturing, yet have found less and less time for as I’ve added even more to my list.  When I wrote that blog post last week, several things happened within days:  I was reminded how important their legacy was, not only for me, but for my children; my parents finally made the huge, difficult and stressful decision to take the first step in the next chapter of their life, and begin yet again in a beautiful senior community  (this has had a profound impact on everyone);  I had an internal heart-to-heart with myself about the value of my blog;  and I went to Chicago on business.  I had not been back to Chicago since we moved from Michigan 19 years ago.  Such a great town!  As I was taking the ‘L’ into the city, I got the most poignant sensation about my parents, who met and married there.  Thousands of miles, and many years away from the same homeland.  And they met there.  How extraordinary.  I instantly knew that I needed to refocus my writing on my parent’s remarkable journey.  While we have time.

I may not publish their story beyond family and friends, nevertheless if I want to achieve my goal to really be published, I must carve out time for that too.  Writing for my blog helped me in so many ways.  I set personal deadlines, and met them (for the most part!)   I became more attune to people and happenings around me.  I tried not only to see, but observe.  I took notes.  I always had blog post ideas swirling around in my head as I went about my day.  So I feel like I was embarking on becoming who I wanted to be.  A writer.

That said, I’ll be taking a hiatus from my blog.  For how long?  Not sure.  I’ll leave it visible for a bit longer, then close the link (make it private) until it’s time to either bring it back or reinvent it for another purpose.  Or I may need to move on, in order to continue on my own writing journey.  A commitment I’ve made to myself, and a promise to others who have faith in me.

I wish to warmly thank my friends and readers who encouraged me with lovely comments, emails and calls.  You calmed my fears, cheered me on, and made this experiment not only fun, but a tremendous learning experience!  And you voiced some of your insights too, which I hope you liked writing as much as we enjoyed reading.   I truly thank you from the bottom of my heart.  If you have any parting words of wisdom or constructive advice to share with me, please do.   I’ll treasure them.

style and grace

I’ve simultaneously caught up on all three seasons of Downton Abbey, and have almost finished my latest book, Coming Home by Rosamunde Pilcher, both taking me back to life in Britain during WWI and WWII respectively.   In each family saga, listening to or reading delightfully sophisticated, and often witty conversations, have contrasted glaringly with most American offerings.  And  in my humble opinion, it’s not a positive comparison.  The appeal, not just for me, but to millions of viewers and readers, is that we’re transported to an era where honor, style, grace, and class, live.  I love reading that something was “perfectly ghastly” instead of “sucks”.  I’d rather hear that that someone may “put people’s noses out of joint” instead of “piss them off.”   I know I am exaggerating a bit, since I mostly hear this language from the teenagers in my own house, but I wonder what’s happened to our ability to be articulate and well-spoken?  Not to mention how casual we have all become, with everything.  From what we wear, to how we communicate, how we entertain, and even our commitments to people, work, and our communities.    In our eagerness for progress, do you think we’ve lost something of ourselves?   I especially enjoy British and Scottish authors who write of the past, for with them, there is no ugly American slang, and the English language is preserved with clear, splendid descriptions that immediately bring vivid images to mind.   The historic events and sacrifices during both World Wars, show us people who were selfless, courageous, and came together for a greater good.  It was unthinkable for anyone to shirk their duty.  People seemed to hold themselves to a higher standard, with a sense of propriety, dignity and consideration for others.  That’s grace.  But today, as a society, we seem to want novels or reality TV that denigrate, shock, and humiliate.  Why?  And Hollywood often produces films that assault our senses with pointless violence and graphic details.  What happened to intrigue, romance and finesse?

A little side note:  speaking of sacrifice, I am in the process of chronicling my parents’ journey from Czech Republic to the United States after WWII.   I’ve always known their stories about escaping Communist rule for the freedom of America, but never captured the details, so I could record their legacy for my children.  I still can’t comprehend what it would be like leaving absolutely everything behind, and starting your life over with nothing, in a new country, not once but several times.  I know this is an important memoir to preserve.

So back to my topic.  The last page of Southern Living magazine (another favorite of mine) is called Southern Journal, and is currently written by Pulitzer prize-winning writer and author, Rick Bragg.  Recently his piece was titled, Born Too Late.  He begins, “Captivated by a time before my time, I increasingly find myself most at home in the presence of the past”.   He writes about how he used to love listening to music that didn’t make you want to smash the radio; how he used to love watching TV with only three channels because there was always something good on, but now he “flips through banality till his thumb is sore”.  He states that “sometimes it seems I do not like anything anymore. I do not like outsourcing, or multitasking, or fusion restaurants.”   My mother said this article could have been written about her, since she is a creature of grace and formality and culture.  Lately I think I also do not like how our society is “progressing” and wish we kept more of the values of our parents’ and grandparents’ generation.  I’m not particularly old-fashioned, but feel a terrible sadness for this period in time that often seems callous and crass.   Please don’t get me wrong…there are so many kind and generous people in my life and in the world, so I don’t mean to proclaim doom and gloom.  But I do believe it will require greater strength and determination from today’s parents to ensure their children become adults with character and integrity.

young talent

Last Sunday I was again reminded, for the millionth time, that I am not actually Wonder Woman nor Super Mom, and no, I can’t do it all.  I missed my weekly blog post deadline (self-imposed, but nevertheless) because a couple of months ago I had been asked to organize a parenting group at our church.  Don’t laugh out loud…I absolutely do not have this thing called parenting figured out, and doubt I ever will.  I know it’s a lifetime lesson.  I truly think it’s the most humbling experience one will ever know.    Mind you, I am not doing this alone, and co-lead with a delightful couple.  The concept is to get together once a month with like-minded parents of teens who want a safe, trusting place to share ideas, listen to lectures/experts, and generally discuss how to decipher a teenager.   So I definitely don’t need to have the answers, thank goodness!   This happens on the second Sunday evening of the month.  I’ve realized I simply can’t do both that Sunday…prepare content and host the parent gathering, and write for my blog.  Yes, I should be able to write earlier in the week, but working full-time and managing our household activities/duties/kids/husband, honestly just leaves me plumb tuckered out at night.  So I won’t be posting on the second Sunday of the month, because both Sunday undertakings are just as important to me.  And rather than do either one badly, I must miss my blog that day.   Yet another lesson learned on this venture.  My apologies for taking decades to figure out that I may never be the perfect woman, wife, mother, or friend, but I hope to be a good one.

On to the main subject of this post:  young talent.  I wanted to have a page dedicated to showcasing the young people we know who have a growing, visible talent in writing and art.  To give them a place to reveal their gifts, their voice, ideas and creativity.  For they will not only influence our future, they will define it.  I hadn’t placed anything on that page yet, but have accumulated some content now, as a beginning.  My oldest son, age 15, always has a sketch pad near him, and has been drawing since he was quite small.  Some of his creations are not like anything you’ve seen before, and I am frequently reminded of a biography we watched about George Lucas, who reportedly spent most college evenings drawing instead of going out with friends.  His fantastical drawings and characters came to life in a then risky and daring film project called Star Wars.    After the boys and I saw The Life of Pi — if you haven’t seen this magical movie yet, put it on your list! — my son came home and spent the next three days drawing the tiger.  It’s below, plus another, and I’ve shared a few more of his sketches on the young talent page.  You never know, they may reappear one day in a video game or illustration!

In the writing category, my niece has also been such a good little writer for most of her 13 years.  From the loving cards and letters she continues to compose for her parents and grandparents, to her school writing assignments that are quite beyond her years, they are all impressive.   It’s evident she has that unique ability to write from her heart.  In school last week, the students had to write a paragraph about something bad that happened over their winter break.  But the family had been on vacation in Costa Rica and it was wonderful, so she wrote about something kind of funny-crazy instead.  It’s so sweet and well-written for a short piece, and it’s on the young talent page as well.   Definitely much more to come from her!

I’d also like to feature any creative bits from your kids or relatives or friends.  So let me know, since I intend to post more from our young people, and provide an avenue to share their talent.  We don’t know where their own journey will take them, but we can help them spread their wings.  “There is nothing in a caterpillar that tells you it’s going to be a butterfly.”   ~R. Buckminster Fuller

a time for everything

As I took down our Christmas tree today, a task that always makes me a bit melancholy, I thought back on all the things I had eagerly anticipated we’d do during the boys’ two week winter break.   It seemed like such a nice long time to do so much, and I had scheduled vacation days around both holidays to maximize my time off.  Each day I’d usually ask what we should do today, and never got much of an answer.  Typical teenage boys.   As time went by, I worried that they wouldn’t think their break had been much fun;  that they didn’t do anything.   Then I came across this little phrase – there’s a time for everything – and I realized that this was a time for letting go.  I no longer needed to orchestrate and organize the boys’ days because they weren’t little boys, and hadn’t been for quite a while.  I’m a classic Type A, who feels best when I plan ahead, know what’s going to happen, and am in control of things for the most part.  But this winter break didn’t go that way.  It actually just flowed quietly along like a lazy, winding river.  And guess what?  Looking back, it went just the way everyone wanted it to.

I think ‘letting go’ started with trying, and finally abandoning, getting lights on our now 25 foot pine tree in the front yard.  Sure I had the long pole with a coat-hanger hook on the end just like last year, but it had grown even taller and we couldn’t seem to manage it this year.  I bought and returned other types of lights, from big snowflakes to colored globes, because they just didn’t look right.  So heaving a frustrated sigh, I reluctantly agreed with my husband that this year we’d simply do the house, shrubs and little potted arborvitae  (after all, we  had the chubby inflatable penguin too).   Driving up at night several days later, I decided that it was absolutely fine.  The house still looked just as festive.

As for what we did?  Not much by most people’s standards.  The boys saw a few of their best friends a couple of times, played video and computer games (undoubtedly too much), went to the movies (once with friends, once with mom, and once with dad…what a good mix that was), skied, and slept in.   We had brunch everyday instead of breakfast.   My husband was in the garage most days, happily toiling away at his hobby, restoring classic Porsches.  And me?  I read three books, hosted the family for dinners on Christmas Eve and New Year’s Day (minus my sis and family who went to celebrate New Year’s in the warmer climes of Costa Rica), including our favorite desserts:  Bûche de Noël, aka Yule Log  (complete  with marzipan mushrooms and forest animals that my son made!) and Crème Brûlée.   I decided on a new theme, or “tablescape” for this Christmas, and everyone admired it as much as I enjoyed creating it.   Both are pictured below.  I watched the entire first season of Downton Abbey, into the wee hours of some late nights.  I spent time with my family and a couple of friends;  skied and slept in just a little when the cats let me.  And I loved it all.

In the end, though we didn’t do everything I had imagined two weeks ago, everyone spent their time to great personal satisfaction.   Like that agreeably satisfied feeling you get when you turn the last page of a really good book, or lean comfortably back in your chair after a delicious meal, or wipe away that almost invisible tear at the end of a poignant film, or the look back at a bump run you just skied pretty darn well for your age, or giving the perfect gift, or bringing joy to someone in some small way.   We were left in that warm afterglow of time well spent, doing things that suited everyone, by their own definition.   Looking ahead, I know my role is to let my boys continue to make their own decisions, good or bad, and let go more and more  (though there will always be rules and consequences!)   There truly is a time for everything, not necessarily as I think, but what they do.  And I know that will continue to change our lives.  For this year at least, our time during the holidays suited us all brilliantly.

just one word

First let me say I’m sorry for missing my post last week, but since Sunday was the day before Christmas Eve, and dinner was at our house, I cooked and baked all day so that I wouldn’t be rushed the next day.  I planned to relax with my family… master of my culinary domain.  Somehow I always seem to be dashing about before and during most dinner parties, so I tried harder to emulate my mom’s approach to do as much as I could, as early as I could.  But alas, I still felt like I was racing the clock when the doorbell rang.  Sigh.  I should just get used to it.  Either way it was a wonderful evening, ending with a lovely candlelight church service that got me misty-eyed.   I hope yours was memorable too.

So on to a New Year.  Excited?  Anxious?  Hopeful?   Do you always start the year with a list of everything you are for sure going to do this year that you didn’t get to last year?  I used to, and admit to some of that still since I am a copious list maker.  But a couple of years ago, I happened to read an article about ‘My One Word’.  You may have heard about it…it started as an experiment by a young pastor, Mike Ashcraft, and a personal life coach, Rachel Olsen, in North Carolina in 2010.   Two weeks ago they published their book, My One Word.  The idea is to suggest that we lose the long list of New Year’s resolutions and instead pick one word.  Did you know that most people will give up on their resolutions by January 10?  So by taking all of the big plans for your life and narrowing them down to a single thing, a single word, you focus instead on your character and create a vision for your future.  When you choose a single word, you have a single focus.  A simple clarity.  But the most important part:  “With My One Word, you’re right where God wants you:  in His hands.  And it’s not an extreme makeover we’re talking about.  This year, the goal is to see His work in one area of your life.  Pick just one word that represents what you hope God will do in you.”  Just one word to inspire you all year.

So, in January 2011, a few close friends and I set about choosing our One Word.  At the end of the year, we shared how we thought that word helped, directed or affected us.  We did it again this year.  I speak not only for myself, but will tell you honestly, that everyone believed that their One Word definitively affected their lives.   And for some, profoundly changed their path.   I know why.  At least for me, that One Word was always in the back of my mind.  Think how easy it is to forget a whole list of things!  But one word…we remember that.   My word seemed to surface whenever I thought about what I wanted to accomplish.  It was that whispered, sometime nagging, reminder asking me if this action would get me closer to my goal.  Whenever I did or said something, I’d ask myself if that was really the direction I wanted to go with it.  Well, not always.   It was especially hard for me knowing when to keep quiet!  I still got side-tracked plenty of times.  I also had lots and lots of ideas, and often didn’t act on them.

So what was My One Word for 2012?  It was ‘inspire’.  I wanted to be inspired, by what I read, or who I spoke to, or work I did, and also be the source of inspiration in small ways, to my family, friends, colleagues, and others whose paths I crossed.  I’m pretty sure I did not achieve that with every word or deed, but it was always my intent, one I thought about consistently.  I think, at least I hope, I paused and reflected and appreciated more.  And took action.  I accomplished something I had wanted to do for a long time (though it took me almost the whole year!)  That was to begin to write for myself and others in a personal way, not for work, by launching this blog.  (Plus a couple of activities that I thought I’d never do…but I’ll save that for another post.)  The year was quite a journey for me, with lessons in grace and perseverance after I was laid-off for part of it.  But without that, I know I would not have had the time to create this.  And this blog is both my inspiration and training for what I have in mind for next year.

My point is that I’d like to endorse this experiment wholeheartedly, and have you try it for the New Year too.  I think it will change your life… maybe in small ways, maybe significant… like it did for my friends and I.   Here’s the website, which includes tips on helping you find your One Word:  http://myoneword.org .

Mine for 2013?  Commitment.  Actually doing what I think about doing.  I’ll let you know how it goes.

If you had One Word this year, and want to share its impact on your life, please Comment.   If you will choose one for 2013, please tell us what it is with a Comment as well.  Both will inspire others.

Wishing you all a joyful New Year!

our Christmas story

Our Christmas tradition has always made the way we celebrate Christmas somewhat unique, and that much more special.   In Central Europe, the celebration is on Christmas Eve, when gifts are given.  In Czech Republic, gifts are brought by baby Jesus, “Ježíšek”, who leaves them under the Christmas tree after dinner, ringing a little bell to let the children know the tree and presents are ready (most children do not see the tree until that night).  St. Nicholas, who is like our Santa Claus, actually arrives earlier in the month, on December 6^th., leaving fruit, nuts, chocolate and small presents in children’s shoes left out the previous evening.   (My parents also never forget this day, bringing the boys their “Svätý Mikuláš” treats every year.)

So how did we blend this all in with our family?   When the kids were young, my boys and their cousin would go for a walk after dinner  to look for the star of baby Jesus, and as well, try to catch a glimpse of Santa’s sleigh  (yes, we just combined the two!)  Upon returning home, they’d rush in as a bell was ringing somewhere in the house, with gasps of delight at the splendid gifts under the tree.  One year my youngest was sure he saw Santa’s boot as my dad tried to scramble up the stairs and hide, while ringing the bell.   As they got older and more analytical, the brilliant “NORAD Tracks Santa” program kept them believing a little longer, because after all, if our Aerospace Defense Command tracked him, Santa had to be real  (remarkable that it began in 1955).  But one year the inevitable happened. 

My youngest son finally figured out that they always went for a walk with only the men in our family (dads and grandfather), but the moms and grandmother stayed home.  He decided that we were the ones leaving the presents under the tree.  I just wasn’t ready to let go of this yet, and since my niece was a little younger and still believed, I wanted one more year  (doesn’t every parent when this happens?)   I explained our custom to a good friend and neighbor, and asked if she’d ‘play Santa’.  She loves stuff like this (she literally transforms herself every Halloween, and visiting her house guarantees a startling surprise).    I told my son that I would prove it wasn’t us, and we’d all go out together.  So that year, since it was really cold out, we all piled into the car after dinner to go look for the star and admire Christmas lights around the neighborhood.  As I was getting in, I had to run back to “get my gloves”, code for “make a quick call” to my friend to let her know the coast was clear.   When we got back to the house, the kids burst through the front door to look under the tree in the living room and…not a single present was there!  My son turned to me and pronounced, “I knew it!  It was you all the time!”  I was a little dismayed as well…had we come back too soon?  But as I walked into the family room, there were all of the gifts in front of the fireplace.  Aha!  I had forgotten to tell her to put them under the tree, so she thought Santa would leave them close to the chimney he had just come down.   It was a stroke of genius, better than I could have planned.  I shouted to the kids that, oh my goodness, Santa must have been in a huge hurry this Christmas Eve because he left them by the fireplace instead!  As they ran in, incredulous and speechless (imagine that?), my son looked at me, then the presents, then me, trying to put it all together.  And he couldn’t explain it.  He was so sure he had been right!  As they say, it was priceless.  

This this was my most favorite Christmas.  It was magical.  Not only for the obvious reason of pure joy and fascination that particular Christmas Eve brought, but also the sweetness of treasuring that memory forever, since I knew it would likely be the last time they would all really believe.

Since then, we still keep up our tradition, and the kids go for a walk or drive after dinner with the fathers, and we mothers stay behind to bring all of the gifts out of hiding to place under the tree.   It’s still a charming sight when they return, rosy-cheeked with knowing smiles. Each year I do get a little nostalgic, but am ever thankful for the heritage my parents continue to share with my children.   I love celebrating on Christmas Eve, honoring the birth of Jesus Christ that Holy Night, sharing the gift of family, tradition, unconditional love and these ties that bind us together, always.

Do you have Christmas traditions that you hold dear, or a favorite memory? 

p.s.  I’ve posted two more Czech Christmas cookie recipes on the traditions page.  I’m figuring out how to create a sub-menu, so bear with me!

bookworm

I love to read.  I always have a book on my nightstand.  Or one downloaded on my Kindle.  It’s the reason I have one since I often can’t wait to make a trip to the bookstore or library, and I become part of the ‘gotta have it now‘ generation.  Awful isn’t it?   But I think this is one reason it’s justified.  For the greater good of engaging my mind…or erasing it.  It’s like therapy.  And when a book is really good, so good I can’t stop reading even though it’s suddenly 1:00 am. and I have to be up at 6:00, my entire being is transported to another world so time is relative.  I forget my everyday worries, stresses, schedules, responsibilities…and get completely absorbed in someone else’s great story.  I’m pretty sure I inherited my love of reading and night owl inclinations from my mom, and my oldest son inherited both from me.  There is nothing better, not even chocolate (well, maybe not a big spoonful of Nutella), than losing yourself in an author’s creative genius.

After my recent post about young adult books, friends who know I’m always reading something asked if I’d list other books worthy of mentioning.  Here are a few, some recent, some not, and some unforgettable favorites, in no particular order (besides the series I mentioned in the YA aka T post).  I’ll comment on the more recent ones.  A rather eclectic collection:

The Timekeeper  by Mitch Albom.   The simple theme is one we all know to be true in our hearts…how precious time is, that we need to live in and be thankful for each moment, because our time is finite on this earth.   But I got rather depressed by the fable until almost the end, with its bits of anticipated wisdom.

The Flight of Gemma Hardy  by Margot Livesey.   A modern twist on Jane Eyre, worthy of reading even if that classic was one you consider incomparable.   The journey that is Gemma’s life, of a determined orphan making her way through Scotland, the Orkney Islands, and Iceland , is a lovely, satisfying tale of love and redemption.

The Innocent  by David Baldacci.  One of my favorite espionage, conspiracy and thriller writers, and this one doesn’t disappoint.  Adds an unusual character to the life of an assassin with a conscience, a runaway teenage girl.

Help. Thanks. Wow:  The Three Essential Prayers   by Anne Lamott.   Always a little irreverent, but funny, perceptive, and self-critical, Anne Lamott distills praying down to three simple words.  Though it wasn’t my favorite of hers, the message of “letting go” and her witty prose had me nodding, shaking my head, and smiling throughout.   The lessons are meant to be read again and again.

The Forgotten Garden   by Kate Morton.   Layers of different times and places involving three generations of women, all who have intertwined secrets, a little reminiscent of The Secret Garden.  But engrossing with memorable themes, one that you can’t get out of your mind long after finishing.

Dog On It  by Spencer Quinn.  The first in a detective series where the partners are a man and his dog, all told from the dog’s point of view.   Since I’m a ‘cat person’, I haven’t read the popular dog books, but for some reason, picked this one up and was surprised that I enjoyed it as much as I did.  It’s  simple , funny and entertaining.

Below are a few all-time favorites, which I always seem to recommend to friends or give as gifts, beginning with a couple of good reads for Christmas time:

The Christmas Train by David Baldacci.

The Spy Who Came for Christmas  by David Morrell.

Wish You Well  by David Baldacci.

Have a Little Faith by Mitch Albom.

Saving CeeCee Honeycutt  by Beth Hoffman.

When God Winks at You  by Squire Rushnell.  There are no coincidences in life. Illuminating and inspirational.

Garden  Spells  by Sarah Addison Allen.

The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society  by Mary Ann Shaffer, Annie Barrows.

Shadow of the Wind  by Carlos Ruiz Zafon.

The Help  by Kathryn Stockett.

Prayers for Sale  by Sandra Dallas.

The Guardian  by Nicholas Sparks.

The Winner  by David Baldacci.

Dewey  (The Small-Town Library Cat who Touched the World)  by Vicki Myron.  Don’t let this title fool you.  Yes it’s about a remarkable cat, but the town, its people, and their story of resilience and survival will move you.

The Name of the Wind  by Patrick Rothfuss.

The Alchemist  by Paul Coelho.

Dragon Rider  by Cornelia Funke  (YA)

The Shell Seekers and September  by Rosamunde Pilcher.

Bird by Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and Life  by Anne Lamott.

We’d love to hear about a few of your unforgettable favorites!   Please share with a Comment.

traditions

This past weekend my mom, who’s 82, came over to teach me a thing or two about keeping our family heritage going, with her native country’s cuisine from Czech Republic.   My mother is quite an accomplished chef and the consummate hostess.  To her the art of entertaining is exactly that, an art.  Which she believes is becoming a lost art…though maybe not in the genteel South, where my parents spent a decade of their retirement before moving here to Colorado.  However she loves to tell the story of the early days of their marriage, because she claims she couldn’t cook at all.  She says she would spend all day trying to make one dinner palatable for her new husband when he came home from work.   A far cry from what she became.  My mom starts dinner party preparations at least four days before, so that she has every item, every detail, completely finished and perfect as her guests arrive, when she’s the impeccable, relaxed hostess with nary a wisp of hair out of place nor bead of perspiration on her brow.  Totally unlike me.  I am the queen of procrastination and a last-minute-Louie.  I never intend to be.  I have it all planned out in my head, shopped, and usually have my dining table all set the day before.  I love to create themes and table décor, or as a friend suggested I call them, tablescapes, so I may spend just a wee bit too much time there…but anyway that’s where it all ends, and somehow I’m always wildly rushed to pull it all together a few moments before the doorbell rings.  Sigh.  Still so much to learn from my mother. 

So, we were having a few dear friends over, and I wanted to give them something they might not have had before, and introduce them to one of our favorite family dishes.  So what did we prepare?   “Ptáčky” (pronounced ‘tach-key’), which means little birds in Czech  (why little birds?  Because of their shape when rolled into small bundles).  But as Czech cuisine influenced, and was influenced by, its surrounding countries and history during the Austro-Hungarian Empire, it’s more commonly known as German Beef Rouladen, with many variations.   Not only did my mom show me the ingredients, technique and tips for making this dinner a success, but the beauty of it was that the ptáčky had to be made at least a day ahead, because the more the beef marinates in the sauce, the better it is.  So I was way ahead with the entrée this time!  I want to write it all down as well, because as a chef, of course my mother doesn’t use recipes.  They’re all in her head.   I’ve decided to document others too, not for me, but mainly for my sons to keep their heritage alive for them as they get older.

Then I had an epiphany.  Well, a memory flash actually. (This happens a lot to me because I usually can’t remember much past a few months ago.  I think my brain is just over-crowded.)   I found the old folder I have with our family Czech Christmas cookies, still typed in Czech on my grandmother’s 1956 Royal typewriter.  Years ago my mom and I spent some time measuring out the ingredients on her scale (yes, back then, European recipes were weighed out in metric grams), and converting to U.S. measures.   At that time I had an idea to write a short family cookbook that included not only our Czech cuisine, but also some family favorites that we had collected over time.  I started that project a few months before my first son was born.  You can imagine what happened after a baby entered my life!  Certainly nothing creative for a long time, especially after my second came along 16 months later.  So it was put away and forgotten for 15 years.  But in that old folder, I found the beginning draft of my family cookbook idea.   So I’ve decided to start anew, and add a page to my blog, aptly titled traditions, where I’ll post these recipes instead.  Since I’ve already told you about ptáčky, I’ll include that one, but so as not to scare anyone off since they are somewhat time-consuming, I’ll also begin with one of our traditional Czech Christmas cookies  (since it is holiday baking season after all).  So click on the traditions tab in the top navigation for a preview of what’s to come.

Do you have family cooking or baking traditions?  How are you passing these on to your kids?  Would love to hear!

snippets and glimpses

A few months ago I started walking with a friend, trying hard to carve out some time to get back in shape.  It’s not a daily habit yet, but I’m working on it!  I realized last weekend that I depended on my friend to walk…probably related to the fact that I love talking with her when we do… and decided that I was perfectly capable to go alone too.  I drove over to a popular walking path around a little lake (a large duck pond really), and took off at a brisk clip.  With no one to talk to, I let my mind wander as I breathed in the late afternoon autumn air that was almost summer-like in its balminess.   I suddenly found myself hearing ‘snippets’ of conversation as people walked past.  Sometimes it was just a few words, or a sentence (depending how loud someone was speaking), but the words got me thinking about the stories behind them.  And the lives tied to those stories.  It was fascinating.

As one man and woman approached me, I heard the younger man say to her, “So your goal in six months is to be walking straighter.”   As I glanced at them, I thought that he might be her rehab coach, and noticed that she was walking a bit tilted, limping slightly.   As I continued by, I couldn’t help but be struck by the fact that I could walk, and walk perfectly, everyday if I wanted to, but often had excuses not to.  But this woman wanted to walk every day, had to walk every day, so that one day, six months from now, she’d be able to walk perfectly straight.   Such a simple thing, walking, that I took for granted.

Looking ahead, I had to smile as an elderly lady drew closer.  Several people were zipping by her since she was pretty slow, but what made me almost chuckle was that she figured she was moving pretty fast with her cross-country ski poles.  I’m sure they helped her with balance, and as we passed each other, her lively, cheerful “hello!”  simply broadened  my grin.  Her enthusiasm and energy were contagious.

I picked up my pace, and passed by an older lady and man.   They seemed like longtime, dear friends, though the man’s shoulders slumped as he walked slowly along.  But the lady seemed so bright and optimistic as I heard her say to him, “Well, I believe that there are some things you should just put in the Lord’s hands.”  And he replied in a gentle drawl, “I was thinking that too.”   I wondered what burdens he needed the Lord to carry for him, and got a little misty-eyed and thankful that he had a friend to remind him to just let go.  So many of my worries seemed miniscule, as I glanced at the man who looked like he was bearing the weight of the world on those weary shoulders.

I rounded the curve and watched an old man and his old dog approach.  The old gentleman was dressed for a promenade, with his small fedora and checked jacket, looking dapper.   He and his dog were both gray around the muzzle, his with a trim moustache.   As they drew near, his weathered face lit up with a smile I can only describe as beatific, then he actually tipped his hat as he said “hello”.    They seemed like such comfortable companions, this old man and old dog.  I hoped he’d have his dog for a while yet, to keep the loneliness at bay, and to bring him outside to enjoy many more lovely afternoons.

There were a few more snippets that I scribbled down when I got back to my car, but I’ll save those for another reflection.   I was glad that I had this time to myself, to hear and wonder about other lives, and stop focusing on my own for a while.   And to be ever thankful for the abundant blessings in my life…big ones like my healthy family, and small ones like this day.  It brought to mind a recent favorite Sherlock Holmes quote, “You see, but you do not observe.”   I thought that this was one of the first times I had observed, and was richly rewarded by a day of surprising insight.

Do you observe and listen, and wonder about others’ stories?

YG aka T

Hmmm, you’re wondering if I’m texting in some teen code…close.  I’m actually referring to Young Adult also known as Teen, literature.  A fiction genre that I’ve finally realized is not just for young adults, but “older” adults like me too.  Last year at book club, a friend and I were discussing the books our boys liked, and simultaneously said their favorite series was The Ranger’s Apprentice by John Flanagan. She said they had just pre-ordered the next book and they all couldn’t wait.  “All of you?” I asked.  “You’ve read them too?”  She said that she had and loved them.  She asked if I ever read the books my son liked?  When I admitted no, I hadn’t thought to, she exclaimed that I didn’t know what I was missing.  That these books were particularly well written and original, with great plots and memorable characters.  So that week I checked out several in the series.  After the first, I was hooked and read the next nine in a couple of weeks.  Seriously, I couldn’t put them down.  When my son and I finished the final book (10), we both confessed that when we turned the last page, we were rather depressed that it was over.   But to our delight, the author began another spinoff series, The Brotherband Chronicles.  My son just received book three for his birthday, and my mom and I (did I mention I got my mom into them as well?) are both waiting impatiently for him to finish so we can have our turn. 

Even though I’d read other YA fiction to my boys when they were younger  (we started the Harry Potter series when they were about eight), in the past year my eyes were suddenly opened to a new category of literature that I should continue to read, and often.   Years ago, I loved reading some of the classic YA novels to them aloud, like The Hobbit and The Chronicles of Narnia, as much as they loved listening.   It’s probably because these books blur the lines between YA and Adult fiction, and they have distinctive characteristics that appeal to both groups.  The Hunger Games was avidly read in my book club and my son’s middle school.   In September 2012, Publisher’s Weekly shared rather surprising statistics in a new study:  55% of YA books are bought and read by adults over the age of 18, with the largest segment aged 30-44. 

Such a relief to know that I’m not in an eccentric minority!   Good thing, because this week I went beyond reading my son’s favorites, and selected one on my own:  The Paladin Prophecy by Mark Frost.  I’ll join the ranks of book reviews giving it 4-stars.   It epitomized the reason YA authors have to be at the top of their game, to capture, and keep, the attention of teenagers…no small feat!   While adults may stick with a book that has some slow parts, teens absolutely will not.  If they don’t like it, they’ll put it down and never go back.   The Paladin Prophecy fulfilled the requirements of a successful YA novel:  fast-paced action, a lonely but likeable and talented teen protagonist with a secretive past, snarky humor, and good vs. evil in a suspenseful other-worldly tale.  Also the first in a trilogy.  Of course.   The life lessons that the main character’s father gives him to memorize and live by are really quite good, and some I’d like to remember as well.  It was definitely the kind of book I didn’t want to put down.  

Where I think YA books excel are in the messages they can deliver about values and character, through classic literary situations, journeys and adventures. 

I highly recommend an adventure into YA literature.  Be part of the 55%.  Not only will you find the good ones thought-provoking and inspiring, with interesting, complex characters and plots that grab your attention, but some will give you a glimpse into what teens like, and their feelings.   If you’re a parent of a teenager, that could be priceless. 

Do you like reading YA books?   What are your favorites?