A Foot in Two Worlds

May 15, the American Historical Society of Germans from Russia, Redwood City, California Chapter, will meet.  The topic for discussion will be:  “A Foot in Two Worlds: A Russian-German Identity in the United States”.  The meeting will focus on three books:  The Horizontal World by Debra Marquart, Mennonite in a Little Black Dress by Rhoda Janzen, and my book A Stranger to Myself.  

I am pleased that I have been asked to talk about my own book.  The following questions will be discussed.  What does it mean to be a German-Russian today?  How does your heritage influence who you are?  How do your roots affect who you are today?  Can you go home?  What does it mean to go home?  Is home a place or a state of mind?  Can you forgive, come to peace with the past, and move forward?  Is it possible to discover who you really are? 

   

In my novel, I explore the subject of going home to heal.  My character finds peace with the past through forgiveness and she moves forward to discover “who” she really is.

 

Hopefully, these questions will engender a thoughtful discussion amongst members as they share their lives as German Russians. What cultural traits and traditions do they identity with as American German Russians?  I think the meeting will be an informative and rewarding experience for all.

I cannot physically “go home again” because my parents are gone and the house I grew up in is no longer there.  It was torn down and a new one built in its place.  But I “go home again” many times in my memory.  I remember many details about my German-Russian parents (my father was born in Omsk, Siberia, Russia) who raised me to appreciate and practice our traditions and to live by our cultural standards.  I still hear the words, “Do your work first and then you can play.”

I remember every detail of the house we lived in and the town and its inhabitants. My story takes place in 1957.  I was only 13 years old at that time, but the memories are etched deep in my soul.

After the meeting, I will post a summary.  In the meantime, think about these thought provoking questions.   

Bicycle Day - May Day

 Bicycle Day – May Day

Today, hundreds of thousands of people worldwide attended rallies, marches, demonstrations, all in the name of “labor”.  Some call out for higher pay, better jobs, stronger labor laws.  I read articles on the internet and found out many interesting facts about this day.  And I learned something new!  May 1 in Spain is celebrated as “Flower Day”; in Latvia, “Mother’s Day”, and in the United States, May 1 is “Bicycle Day”.  On this day, families and communities organize rides.  So, where is this all going?

My son, Chris, is an avid bicycle rider.  He rides 35-50 miles a day to keep in shape so he can participate in the annual ride in June of each year.  The ride is from San Francisco to Los Angeles and it raises money for the Aids Foundation.

       

May Day to me conjures up memories of my mother and I making little baskets and filling them with candy.  My mother looked at May Day as an occasion to celebrate spring.  This tradition was faithfully observed throughout my childhood.  In our calm, quiet little farm town we were impervious to things unionist or political.  We just delivered little baskets to our neighbors.  We knocked on the door, and then ran away.  It was a fun game. 

When my children were young I tried to pass on this tradition, making baskets for them to deliver to their friends’ houses.

Today, I find out that it is "Bicycle Day" in the United States.  So, what am I to do?  Give up on this childhood memory and start riding my bicycle on this day? 

My German Russian roots will fight me all the way.   

Happy Easter

When is Easter?  It is the first Sunday after the first full moon of spring? 

 

Easter to me is when I sit with the memories of my German Russian mother who made certain requests of me during holy week.  It was a solemn time for her and she expected our home to take on the quietness of a monastery.  I remember how we ate simple meals during the week.  During my teenage years, she demanded I not run around with my friends.  On Good Friday there was no way I would attend the dance at the park pavilion.  The deep respect I had for her kept me home.

Growing up, I always knew Easter meant more to my mother than Christmas.  I never knew why.  Perhaps it was her deep religious beliefs.   Maybe it was something from her childhood.  Could it be that her mother always had a basket of candy for her when she was a child, like she always had for my brother and me?  She would hide the baskets behind our console radio in the living room, or behind an overstuffed chair, or under a table.  Her eyes sparkled as she said “Let’s go see if the Easter Rabbit brought you something.”

We found our baskets piled high with yellow marshmallow chicks and colorful candy eggs, the ones with the white sugary centers.  And there would be a few of the hard boiled eggs we colored the day before.    

Yes, Easter season was important to my mother.  We had to attend church Palm Sunday (Palmsonntog),  and Good Friday (Karfreitog) was to be a solemn day as well as the Saturday before Easter (Ostern).  After church, Mom prepared a delicious meal, usually a big juicy ham, and then we got to eat the candy in our baskets.  

Easter blessings to all of you and may you have sweet memories from your childhood.

Judy

Butterglace

March 28 we returned home from our six-week trip.   

After a little over a week, I feel back in the swing of things.  In addition to the normal unpacking, I had to get my garden plot ready for planting.  Because of all the rain this winter (our neighbor said he counted 40 inches in his rain gauge) the weeds were out of control.  Hope I can grow vegetables as well as I can grow weeds. 

I will tell you a little about our travels.  We spent a week in northern Arizona with my sister and her family.  Wish we lived closer because we would have fun cooking and baking German Russian foods.  One day, we made Butterglace (butterballs).  For those of you who do not know what they are, I will include the recipe in this post.    

Butterglace were a treat to us who grew up on chicken noodle soup.  You see, they took a certain amount of time to make especially when you consider the noodles were homemade.  Most everything we ate was homemade or as they say nowadays--gourmet.  We didn’t realize how lucky we were to have fresh (organic) produce, range fed chickens and beef. 

After my visit with Gladys, (I have to mention the photos she shared with me; many old ones that I plan to pass along) we traveled to the Phoenix area for more visiting with family and friends.  I want to keep my posts short, therefore I will wait to tell more about all the wonderful people we encountered along the way.

Let’s get back to Butterglace.  The recipe below is an adaptation of recipes from KUCHE KOCHEN , published by The American Historical Society of Germans from Russia, first printing 1973.  

BUTTERGLACE (Butterballs) for noodle soup

1 loaf old dry bread (or you may toast it in the oven).  4-5 cups

1 cup melted butter

1 tsp. allspice

1 tsp. salt

1 cup half and half

5 beaten eggs

To make bread crumbs put in food processor or do it the old fashioned way.  Place slices between two dishtowels and crush with a rolling pin.  This is how my mother did it.

Add salt and allspice.  Scald half and half and butter, then pour on crumbs.  Mix well.  Let cool and add beaten eggs.  Roll one into a ball.  Try it in boiling water to make sure it doesn’t fall apart.  If you want it firmer, add another egg and more butter. 

Put in hot chicken broth. When they rise to the top, add noodles.

NOTE:  Butterballs may be made ahead.  Store them in the refrigerator until you want to use them.  You can even freeze.