My Heritage

Click here for proper musical accompaniment

A few weeks ago I decided to honor the Polish blood in me.  Up until recently I thought I had 1/2 Polish blood, 1/4th Slovak and 1/4th Austrian.  The new German blood is a new revelation that Nana told me about just a few weeks ago.  She never told us family members because, "Back then it was not important and no one cared about their family heritage like they do now with this new interest in family trees".

Translated:  It was not cool in America to admit you got married right before WW2 to a man with German blood.  And you don't tell anyone about it until your husband has been dead for 17 years and even then you tell your grandaughter.  Not your daughter.

Ok, it does not not matter to me.  Just babbling.  I decided it would be really cool to make some homemade pierogis.  Just like I remembed helping Nana with when I was younger.

Well, let me tell you something.  Time most certainly has softened and blurred that memory.  Because my arthritis in my hand is throbbing, my back hurts and I don't ever want to see another pierogi again. 

Click here for continued proper musical accompaniment.  Sorry, I don't know how to add it properly and  I am too exhausted to figure it out right now.

I know I did something wrong with that damn dough.  It was like trying to roll a bowling ball flat instead of a carefully executed recipe of flour, eggs and water.  I did remember how to crimp the edges after the first dozen.  And by the fifth dozen, I had doned a bubushka, my boobs had stretched down to my navel and I had a full head of gray hair.

Damn if I did not feel like an old, wizen Polish woman.  A woman who knew how to make some kickass pierogis and to hell with the rest of the village.  I am the Pierogi Queen.

How the hell did my Polish ancestors live on these things?  Or shall I say, how did they survive after making them?  All I know is that I wanted to crawl into a hot bubble bath and sip some Chardonnay.  A luxury I am sure my ancesters never had.  I did manage to feed the twins who said they were really, really good.

But I am not sure if that was the truth or they were just buttering me up so I would give permission for them to go to the Indoor Skatepark of Death. (notour skatepark link, but you get the idea).