ERNIE

His name is Ernie and he was born in Czechoslovakia in 1930.  We met him when my family moved to Reno, Nevada in the late 1960’s.  Mom and Dad bought a brand new house in the Virginia Foothills area and he and his wife, Rosemarie, were our neighbors. German was their native language, and although their English was fluent, they never lost their charming accents.   My parents became very good friends with them and threw lots of cocktail and dinner parties together, either at their home or ours.  I knew Ernie had lived in Europe during World War II, but he never wanted to talk about it, didn't want to relive unspeakable memories.  
 They both had wonderful senses of humor, were irreverent, and highly entertaining. I can still see Rosemarie sitting by the fireplace in our living room, gesturing with her cocktail glass as she told some off color joke.  I hear her boisterous, throaty laughter as she delivered the punch line.

Aunt Doris with Rosemarie, 1999

 I babysat their son and daughter along with my own little sister for a while, and when I was 15, Ernie got me my first job in a restaurant downtown he was managing.  He was a highly sought after employee and held prestigious positions as a Maitre‘d in some of the largest casinos in Reno and Tahoe through the years.  He met all the famous headliners, including Frank Sinatra and Sammy Davis Jr., and I loved hearing his stories about celebrities.  Sometimes my parents would take us out to dinner where he was working and I was impressed with his elegant attire, his confidence and poise.  He had no problem telling his employers if he was displeased and would not tolerate being talked down to. I think he changed jobs a lot.

After I spent a year in Germany, I was able to talk to Ernie and Rosemarie in their native language.  I eventually moved to San Diego, but always enjoyed visiting them when I came back to see my parents.

After Dad died in 1999, they both tried to reach out to Mom, but she was having her own issues and their friendship fell apart.  

When the Witchcreek Fire came barreling through our neighborhood in 2007, Rosemarie called my cell phone to make sure we were OK.  When I told her we’d lost our home, and I couldn’t stop thinking about all the things we’d lost, Rosemarie recited an old German proverb:  “If you’re always looking in the rearview mirror, you won’t get very far.”  

Ernie said, "Yes, it's bad that you lost everything, but imagine losing your home and seeing other people walking down the street wearing your own clothes."

When Mom died in 2008, they came to her funeral, and Rosemarie slipped in the snow and fell, injuring her leg.  This led to some serious infections, major illnesses and her eventual death last year.  Ernie was by her side until the very end and I know this must be a lonely time for him now.  He told my sister he wasn’t interested in dating any of the single women he’s met.  “If I want to look at wrinkles, I can just look in the mirror!”

Over Christmas vacation, my son and I drove to Reno where my sister is now living in our parents’ old house. 

Laura is glad to be back "home"

 I invited Ernie up for dinner one night and he seemed very happy to spend a few hours with us. 

My parents' house brought back many memories for him and he said how said it was that my mom and dad and his Rosemarie were no longer with us.  It was a very memorable evening, as Ernie entertained us with the fascinating story of his life and how he came to live in the US.  
 

Czechoslovakia, 1945, Internet photo

He was 15 when the war ended in 1945 and, he said, that’s when things got really ugly in his hometown.  The Czech gorilla army arrested his father and beat him so severely, he was never the same again. 
 

Internet photo

Ernie and his mom were forced to leave their home and all their possessions behind.  They were homeless for a while and scrappy Ernie found work wherever he could. They were starving. He remembered knocking on a neighbor's door - the building looked fine from the outside, but when the woman opened her front door, Ernie saw that there was no roof and no walls, just the facade. 
 

Theresienstadt, Czechoslovakia,during World War II.  Internet photo

He wandered to a neighboring town one day and saw a childhood friend standing in a window.  He called out to him and said he was so hungry and did he have any food.  Ludwig welcomed him inside, said he worked for a restaurant and could get him food.  His friend fed him, got him a job, and so began Ernie’s career in the food industry. 

Things eventually got better and Ernie moved, first to Canada, then to California in the 1950's where he fell in love and married the lovely Rosemarie.  They eventually moved to Reno and settled into the house where he still lives.   His parents were able to come visit him there too once or twice.

As I listened to him recall the atrocities of war and his efforts to survive, it became clear to me why he is so strong, resilient, and why he would never put up with someone talking down to him.  Why would he?  When you have seen and survived horror, why tolerate anything or anyone you don't like?

Ernie has a slender build and has always been fit and agile. He is in his 80’s now and retired, but still keeps very active, hiking through the Nevada hills with his German Shorthaired dog, and hunting.   
 

Looks like Ernie's dog. Internet photo

 Still, we were concerned about him walking home in the dark that cold night.  We offered to drive him or walk with him but he was adamant that he was perfectly capable of walking alone.  When we kept insisting, he pulled a small gun out of his pocket to show us he was prepared for any trouble!

Internet photo

 Ernie, you are my hero.

WAS IT ANY GOOD AT ALL?

My sister and I enjoyed making fun of certain annoying phrases Mom always said.  These were standard Mom-isms she would repeat over and over throughout our lives.  Just as normal as

 “IF THE KIDS IN YOUR CLASS ALL JUMPED OFF A CLIFF, WOULD YOU DO IT TOO??"

  came these gems:

 “And there‘s NOTHING you can do.”

 “I just about FLAT give up”, and 

“Well was it ANY GOOD AT ALL?” 

This last one was her way of fishing for compliments after a meal she had worked hard on.  Laura and I would roll our eyes across the table from each other and mutter,” Yes Mom, it was great.”  I mean, obviously it was good because we had just scarfed all of it.  We were highly annoyed at her obvious need for attention.  She was a great cook and always put a lot of effort into  making everything perfect.  Since she wasn’t good at delegating, all the work fell to her.  Sometimes in frustration she would demand help only to criticize when it wasn’t done exactly to her specifications.  So we sort of steered clear while she was in her frenzy mode of cooking and assembling. 

Earlier this week, I had a light bulb moment.    Today for the first time, I get it.  

It was suddenly Christmas, the culmination of a month long effort to clean and decorate the house, put my annual party together, buy the perfect gifts, wrap them in pretty paper and bows, ship some, and place the others lovingly under the tree.   Cookies were baked, cards were written, and of course everything had to be completed by the 12/24 deadline.  Just like Mom, I'm no good at delegating either, so I'm kind of an exhausted mess by the time Christmas is over.  Still, I love this time of year and spend all my time, energy and money into trying to make it all perfect, even though it never is.

This is another reason why Christmas Vacation is my favorite movie.  

No matter how screwed up our holiday is, at least our tree didn't blow up and the SWAT team didn't come smashing through our windows.  The dog didn't chase a squirrel through our house or yak on a bone under the table, and our pets weren't  electrocuted.  Yes, I'd say we had a pretty good Christmas in comparison.  Whew.

Cookie baking time!

Family traditions are important.  They are supposed to create comforting memories to last you a lifetime.  Our traditions include baking sugar cookies together (for Santa of course), going to a church service on Christmas Eve, and everyone coming to my house for oyster stew.  

This is a tradition passed down from Mom; something I always loved and my sister did not.  She texted me from Reno, "Are you making your barfy oyster stew?"  Offended, I texted her back, "You've never had mine and it's not barfy!" Her reply: "All oyster stew is barfy!" 

So, yes, I served my barfy oyster stew and everyone loved it.  Take that, Sister!

My kids' father still thinks it's important to read "The Night Before Christmas" after dinner, even though our kids are young adults now!  

 

Chester, Kyle and Chelsea listen intently

I think he just enjoys performing but it's still fun to watch and is somehow comforting, as if we could be transported back in time to when they were little and still believed in Santa.

 

Shh! I think I hear Santa!

My son and I enjoyed our Christmas morning together.  I served the traditional Christmas morning hot toddy as we opened presents, another of Mom's traditions. (Kind of an alcoholic one, but still cherished.)  I love the smell of bourbon on Christmas morning.

Kyle especially enjoyed unwrapping this present from his cousin, lovingly wrapped in duct tape. Boys.

 Kyle and I had a good laugh when we discovered we had bought the same present for each other from Barnes and Nobles.  Great minds think alike?  

Doesn't everybody want a book on strange German words??

The rest of the day was spent cleaning up and putting a fabulous dinner together for my ex, his brother, my daughter and two of her friends.  I prepared the prime rib according to The Pioneer Woman’s recipe, crushing peppercorns and kosher salt, and staring nervously through the oven window, ready to yank it out when it reached medium rare.

Apparently, none of my meat thermometers work. This one indicated the meat was well done so I quickly pulled it out of the oven about an hour before my guests arrived.  There’s nothing worse than  dried out, overdone meat, and I was scared I had overcooked it. "Please don't be too well done!" I prayed silently over it.

However, when it was time to eat and we cut into it, my beautiful roast was clearly underdone and I was forced to crank up the oven and shove it back in for another 40 minutes. 

I tried to make casual, entertaining conversation with people who were obviously starving while the back of my mind was screaming in terror, “Cook, damnit!”

I'm starving!

Pepper, contemplating a Tangerine snack

 

Is it ready yet??

 My dinner was delayed almost two hours and then I sat on the edge of my chair, watching as my guests chewed on expensive beef that was just a little too tough.

I had to really restrain myself from asking that dreaded question I had always scorned and thought I would never ever ask: 

“Well is it any good at all?”

No, no!  I wasn't going to say that!   I tried other tactics, casually apologizing for it not being as good as I thought it should be, fishing around nonchalantly for information from the masses.  They all acted like they didn’t notice it wasn’t perfect but I knew better and was so disappointed. 

After everyone left, I tried delicately quizzing my son on his thoughts on the meal, but he got impatient, and just said, "It was fine, Mom" in a tone that said THIS IS BORING. PLEASE DON'T ASK ME ANY MORE QUESTIONS.

Please stop asking me things

And then it hit me.  I’m just like Mom!  I need that feedback.  I NEED TO KNOW (oh my God that’s something else she always said!) that all my hard work and efforts were admired and appreciated. 

My prime rib, which I’ve never had a problem cooking before, was a disaster in my eyes.  My family is broken and dysfunctional and I could go on and on about everything wrong in my life, but I’m on a quest to focus on the positive.  (insert maniacal laughter here.)  

Still, it’s hard not to fret about whether my efforts were in vain.  Did they really like the dinner?  Does my life have any positive impact on those around me?  

I guess I’ll never know.  I don’t have an angel like George Bailey in It’s a Wonderful Life to show me all the wonderful ways I’ve saved people just by being alive.  I suppose, like me, my kids won’t appreciate their mom’s eccentricities until I’ve been dead and gone a long time.  Was I a good Mom? Did I give them pleasant memories?  Did I live a meaningful life? 

 I will never know ...

 Was it any good at all? 

Thanksgiving

Ah, Thanksgiving, a  lovely American tradition inspiring families to come together to celebrate love and good food.  It sounds great, but, sadly, not everyone has a family they love spending time with, so this holiday can be a major downer.

My ex, Mike, and I have always tried to put down our weapons and act like a functional family for the holidays.  Our kids, who are ages 19 and 20 now, appreciate not having to choose between Mom or Dad’s house, and somehow, we always seem to make it work.

This year I offered to make the Thanksgiving dinner, and picked up my “free” turkey from my favorite grocery store, Major Market.  It’s free because when you spend a certain dollar amount during a specified time period, you get a certificate for a turkey.  I grabbed the first one I saw, vaguely aware that it seemed a tad larger than I was used to.  When I got home, I discovered it was ginormous, weighing in at 26.7 pounds!  I congratulated myself on getting the most for my money.

I picked it up a week ahead of the big day and left it thawing in my fridge while my son and I made our traditional week-before-Thanksgiving trip to Big Bear. 

I heart Big Bear

 I bought all the ingredients we would need for a gourmet T-Day dinner before our trip so I wouldn’t have to battle hordes of frantic people shopping at the last minute, and congratulated myself on being so well prepared.  However, on Wednesday evening, I suddenly realized I didn’t have anything to cook the turkey in.  My roasting pan was pathetically inadequate for my giant bird and I raced to the store to buy disposable aluminum pans.  I drove in a panic, thinking they may have sold out since Thanksgiving was just a few hours away.  Luckily, they still had plenty and I calmed down. 

Anyone who has ever seen the movie Christmas Vacation knows the scene where Chevy Chase carves into the golden brown turkey and it disintegrates in a puff of smoke, while his wife’s cousin sobs, “I knew we put it in too early!”   

There's the heart!

This is every cook’s nightmare – a dry, inedible turkey, and this scene replays in my mind every year.  

"It's just a little dry..."

My turkey has always turned out just fine, but there always seems to be a moment of panic when I crank up the heat during the last hour or two because the thermometer is telling me, “NO WAY!  THIS TURKEY IS NOWHERE NEAR BEING DONE!  DINNER WON’T BE READY UNTIL MIDNIGHT, YOU IDIOT!!!  HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!

So, because this turkey was in the extra large category and because I always stuff mine, I made sure it was in the oven early enough to allow for 8 hours cooking time.  I got up early, prepped the turkey , made the stuffing, and shoved Big Bird into the extra large aluminum pan.  It barely fit. 

My daughter had offered to come over and help, which was nice, and I stood in the kitchen most of the day preparing side dishes while she texted people on her cell phone.  While I was extremely grateful for her company, it was really up to me to put this whole shebang together.  To be fair, she did peel the potatoes for me and put napkins on the table.  In between food preparation, we played with our dogs, watched an SNL marathon and laughed a lot together.

Chester, Pepper, Chelsea waiting for crumbs

I put on the Thanksgiving episode of the Pioneer Woman’s cooking show because I LOVE her and thought it would be a good bonding opportunity for Krista and me.  

The Pioneer Woman

 The Pioneer Woman (Rhee Drumond) is this amazingly cheerful person who home schools her  4 perfect  children on their abundant Oklahoma ranch.  Their life seems ideal.  All the kids pitch in and help with cattle ranching and household chores with nary a complaint.  They all look lovingly and adoringly at their mom and dad, spend lots of time playing (and getting along with each other) in the yard, while Rhee is cooking scrumptious meals in her beautiful, spacious kitchen, with complete ease.  I want to be her.  I want my family to be like hers.  As I watched her prepare her turkey, I thought, uhoh, I didn’t do that, and dang!  Why didn’t I watch this show before Thanksgiving??  She had some great tips I’d never heard of. 

I love cooking too, but my mind is a chaotic, frantic mess, worrying about things turning out right and on time.  I blame Mom.  Whenever we had company for dinner, she was always in a frenzy, scowling, barking orders, swearing to herself, until the moment the doorbell rang.  Then she amazingly transformed herself into a calm, smiling, sane person who had seemingly put this feast together effortlessly.  While I strive to be more like Superwoman Rhee, it seems I’m doomed to turning into Mom, especially during the last few crucial minutes. 

It’s always been our tradition to make a Thanksgiving Gratitude Wreath every year to display on the table.  Each person has to write at least 5 things they are grateful for on strips of colored construction paper, then the kids weave them together in a wreath.  I love this tradition and the kids always seemed to view it as a fun craft project, especially when their cousins were with us.  This year it was just our little dysfunctional family and I was having a hard time getting them interested.  I got out pens, paper, scotch tape and scissors with an air of excitement, and made my part of the wreath.  I kept glancing over from the kitchen, noting that nothing was happening craft project-wise.  I changed strategies from happy lets-make-a-craft mode to gentle nagging mode.  After all, they are young adults now, and won’t respond any more to threats.  I tried not to think how this would never happen to Rhee.

OK! Not really my table! Or house! Sure is pretty, though, right?

Dinner was supposed to be at 6 and to my dismay, when I opened the oven door at 4 to check on the turkey, the thermometer was in the Nowhere Near, Are You Crazy? zone.  Now I was panicking.  I started cranking up the heat, first to 400, then to 450.  The oven started making weird noises and smoke was coming out the top of the door and filling the house with a lovely haze.  OK, now I was terrified.  Was it going to blow up?  The sane part of my brain was noting with amusement how my hands were shaking as I attempted to remove some of the juices from the overcrowded pan that were spilling onto the bottom of the oven.  Yup, I was definitely sceeaaared.  The thermometer still had not budged and that’s when I decided it was no longer working.  So I pulled Megabird out of the oven with trembling hands and prayed that it was done.  It was.  In fact, it was a tad overdone.  Not the Christmas Vacation version, but if I’d left it in any longer, I’m sure that’s what it would have looked like.  Yes, my laser sharp instinct had saved the day.  We opened all the doors to air out the house, I poured myself a giant glass of champagne and tried to look nonchalant. 

Our Gratitude Wreath was finally completed and displayed on the table shortly before our guests (my ex and his brother) arrived.   

Krista lit the candles on the table, and with a smile on my face and appearing ever so cool and calm, I served our dinner which everyone seemed to enjoy.  

OK, not really my turkey. Mine was much larger! (Internet photo)

 I started to relax a little.  During dessert, I suggested now would be a good time for everyone to read the Gratitude Wreath.  The kids said, Noooooo, so Mike picked it up, put on his reading glasses, leaned forward, and started to read, “I am thankful for...”

Suddenly, Krista yelled, “DAD!” and I watched in horror as flames shot up from the wreath which had been held too close to the candle flames.  I covered my eyes as Kyle blew out the flames.  For some reason, this incident caused me to break into hysterical laughter.  I laughed so hard I had to run from the table into the bathroom, where I continued to laugh until tears were pouring down my face, and I was still laughing when I returned to the dining room, trying in vain to compose myself. 

What is it about my family and fire?  What does this all mean?

Maybe it just means that Mike leaned too close to the candle on the table, that I almost blew up the turkey and have a dysfunctional family because I’m not Rhee Drummond and never will be.

But that’s OK.  We made the best out of our holiday in spite of the circumstances.  Our Gratitude Wreath was completed.  It now has a missing link, but is otherwise intact. 

The Missing Link

 I got to spend time with my son and daughter and put a nice dinner on the table in spite of the close call.

And my house didn’t burn down.