Sometimes I come home to find something foreign in my home. Usually that means my father is in town. The grandfather clock he dragged from my neighbor’s garage sale on a dolly is–less a found object than–a “how’d-you-get-that-around-the-neighborhood-and-into my-house object?” … Continue reading
I have a holiday secret. A how-could-you-forget kind of bad mommy secret. This might be the first year my German friends didn’t accidentally alert me that I missed St. Nikolaus Day. “Oh, you wouldn’t believe I found the freshest marzipan or … Continue reading
Grandmother’s Kitchen Sometimes I’m paralyzed by the idea that I can recall so few specifics about my grandmother. She was a cook undaunted by crowds lining up outside our church—serving three hundred or more in a night with her massive … Continue reading
“…[a]lluding to the snows of that season, the Germans say that “St Martin comes riding on a white horse.”[1] Mid-November marks one of my favorite adopted holidays. Why adopted? My husband is German. And while we Americans share many holidays … Continue reading
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