Potato Dumplings

Quote of the Day:  Dumplings are a memory food. Jane Aalgaard, my mom

We spent the whole Thanksgiving weekend at my parents' farm, preparing food, eating food, cleaning up the food, doing projects, and playing a few games. I made it a point to photograph the process and take some notes. My food focus today is Potato Dumplings, a favorite of folks of the Norwegian descent.

Picture me following my mom around with my camera and notebook, trying desperately to learn how to make the dumplings and record the stories that accompany them. The truth is, I don't know how to make them. Whenever I called Mom up to ask what to do, she would reply, "Oh, just come out here and have them. I was in the mood to make them, anyway." So, I did. The most I've ever done is grind the potatoes.

First, you peel the potatoes. For our Sunday dinner, "Dad stood in the utility room for three quarters of an hour, peeling," said Mom, which was approximately 10 pounds (probably more).

Then, you run them through the grinder.

Mom and Dad grinding the potatoes

 

Close up of the grinder. I have one just like it that I've never used.

I don't even know where it is!

 

Joy, dancing & grinding

 

Mom, preparing the dumpling mixture.

 

I tried to pay attention to Mom as she was mixing the dumplings. Here's her "recipe."

 

Start a big pot of water boiling with a hambone

Peel about 10 pounds of red potatoes

Grind the potatoes

Put in about 2 Tablespoons of salt (You need lots of salt.)

Mom puts in one cup of whole wheat flour and keeps adding white flour "until it's the right consistency."

 

"How much is that, Mom?" I asked.

"Enough flour to hold them together," answered Mom.

 

Also, if you have some leftover, cooled, mashed or boiled potatoes, it is good to add them to the freshly ground ones. They'll stick together better and be lighter. (As if a dumpling could ever be light.)

 

Be sure the broth is boiling hard the whole time that you're adding the dumplings. If the water stops boiling, the dumplings will fall apart and mush to the bottom.

 

Mom's hands forming the dumplings.

 

 

It looks pretty good to me.

 

I think Mom boiled them for about 45 minutes.

 

Serve them with ham, the juice from the boiled hambone, loads of butter, and maybe some vegetables. Some people put a piece of ham or fat in the center of the dumpling before boiling it, but Mom thinks that it makes them fall apart easier.

 

She said that the biggest crew she ever served potato dumplings was one New Year's Eve, back in the '70's when she invited Dad's siblings and cousins in the area and their families. Plus, all of her six kids were still at home. She couldn't remember the exact number. She served 15 of us on Sunday, more than were there on Thanksgiving. I said, "You probably couldn't even mention that you were making dumplings when you were at church today because everyone would want to come over." In fact, a couple people must have smelled the evidence because they were complaining that they hadn't had potato dumplings in a long time. We did invite Mable, our closest neighbor, but she's like family.

 

When they do a dumpling dinner for a church fundraiser, they peel about 300 pounds of potatoes. Mom's not sure how many they serve. It varies, I suppose, and they "give some away, throw some in the woods and scrape the rest off the bottom of the kettles." Sometimes, they stick so badly, they have to soak the kettle for a week. One year, someone had the bright idea that if they put a plate inside on the bottom of the kettle the dumplings wouldn't stick. "Sure, they didn't stick," said my Mom, "But, you couldn't get the plate out of there."  The pastor spent the whole afternoon trying to pry the thing off the bottom of the kettle.

 

Dumplings are the poor immigrant's food, like lefse and lutefisk. I'll have to take photos and notes at Christmas for the lutefisk post. The wonderful thing about food is that it is a memory trigger. It links us back to the old country, wherever that may be. It brings up cozy times of growing up and eating together. Many times, it is a special occasion that you're sharing with folks you love.

 

 

 

May your tastebuds bring joyful memories, while creating new ones.

Go. Create. Inspire!

 

Journaling Prompt:  Write about a food tradition.

 

 

 

Happy Thanksgiving 2012

Quote of the Day:  We have stopped for a moment to encounter each other, to meet, to love, to share. This is a precious moment, but it is transient. It is a little parenthesis in eternity. If we share with caring, lightheartedness, and love, we will create abundance and joy for each other. And then this moment will have been worthwhile. - Deepak Chopra

Some moments are so big and beautiful and filled with emotion that I find myself pausing and thinking, take a picture of this with your mind. Savor this moment and remember where you are, who is with you, what you're doing, and how you feel. These are the moments that fill the deep longing for love and being connected and give meaning to life. I have paused in the frenzy of raising four boys and just looked at them, listened to how they interact, and admired the bond they share. One Mother's Day, we walked to the park. They broke into a spontaneous game of baseball, minus the bat, ball, and gloves. They pantomimed the whole thing. I sat on the bench and admired their imagination, and energy.

Last week at the Guthrie, I sat in the middle of the seven of us who attend A Christmas Carol together. Three of my boys were on my left. The Biker Chef, my sister and cousin were on my right. Everyone seemed so happy to be there, and I reveled in the magic of it all and the feeling of being surrounded by people I love, and who love me, too.

We did some things that are part of our new tradition, like walk out onto the Endless Bridge and take pictures, ride the elevator to the 9th floor to look out over the city at night. We ate together and shared memories and made new ones.

I am thankful for all the blessings I've received this year. What a full and beautiful life I have, filled with new-found adventures.

May you find joy and love with family and friends around a table filled with all your favorite dishes.

Go. Create. Inspire!

Journaling Prompt:  Write about a moment that is like a picture, or video, in your mind.

Saying Goodbye to a House: What Homemade Really Means

So many changes have occurred here over the last year--some of them joyous, some kind of bittersweet, some blatantly sad. My first child graduated from high school and bravely headed off to college. My sweet old dad passed away in September, as did my extraordinary mother-in-law on Christmas day (a loss we are still trying to absorb). And, I packed up and sold the home that I grew up in and that my parents occupied for over 50 years. That last event hasn't quite been completed . . . the sale closes next week.

As the closing approaches, I find it more and more difficult to think objectively about the house. Not that one ever really feels dispassionate about the house in which they grew up, nor should they. Despite the fact that it's essentially empty now, the place seems more full to me than it did a couple of months ago when it was still stocked with the belongings of over five decades. It's as if the multitude of memories produced there are all suddenly hovering in the air. Everywhere I turn, a memory appears.

There's the rustic workbench in the basement that my father built when I was little, where he would often spend a leisurely weekend afternoon. He'd be down there, tinkering with this or that while listening to the Detroit Tigers on the radio, or maybe to a live broadcast of the Metropolitan Opera in New York. I can picture him leaning against the bench with a distant and relaxed smile, enjoying the music, a golden glass of beer in one hand and a Lucky Strike cigarette smoldering in an ashtray nearby. That workbench is staying with the house, where it belongs. I'm pleased the new owners want to keep it.

And the kitchen, oh the kitchen. It was always the place where I would check first if I was looking for my mom. An awful lot of baked goods originated from that room, along with a lot of silliness and laughter. We had a cumbersome wooden-topped dishwasher, purchased the year I was born, that you had to push/pull over to the sink and hook up to the faucet like a fire-hose to a hydrant. It weighed a ton. I recall moving it into place with my mom in the evening after dinner (no way could a kid do it alone), and then in the morning we'd unhook it, shove it back into its cubby hole, and put away the clean dishes. Occasionally the monstrous thing would get stuck halfway through its journey (a journey of maybe four feet) and we'd have to wrestle it into place, giggling together at the absurdity of the whole scenario. There was cause to rejoice once that dishwasher was replaced with a built-in model when I was about thirteen.

And there was the tiny shelf--a secret hiding place of sorts--built oddly into the sequestered corner of a clothes shoot (remember those?) where my sister and I would often hide a small doll or stuffed animal while playing. When I asked her a few days ago if she wanted me to say anything to the house for her (she lives far away), she specifically instructed me to say goodbye to that special hiding place. Tomorrow, I will do so.

Even the impractically small garage draws me in. As empty now as the house, it used to guard bicycles and badminton rackets, tether ball poles (remember those, too?), rotary lawn mowers, and metal watering cans. I can still see my brother's blue Schwinn bicycle, the one with high handlebars and a long "banana" seat. When I was six years old, I thought he was the coolest twelve-year old on the block speeding along on that thing.

Are the objects the memories?

Those people who are professional organizers say that, in trying to sort and discard the material flotsam and jetsam of life, you should repeatedly remind yourself that the objects themselves are not the memories. "The objects are not the memories!" I keep saying that to myself these days and I know it's definitely true, but it takes a while to convince yourself of that. Thank heaven we get to carry the memories away with us for safe keeping and don't have to leave them behind or pack them into storage.

It's the memories more than anything else that are, after all, quintessentially "homemade."

(If you'd like to comment on this post, or read any existing comments, please click on the purple COMMENTS below.)

A Long Winter's Nap

Favorite Photo Friday (might be my favorite photo - ever.)

Quote of the Day:
The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads.
And mamma in her ‘kerchief, and I in my cap,
Had just settled our brains for a long winter’s nap.from Twas the Night Before Christmas by Clement Moore

Leo, the napping cat

All the gifts have been handed out, opened, admired, and the wrappings and trimming have been put away. As we're saying good-bye to the holidays and hello to the New Year, let us all take a few moments to rest, reflect, and enjoy.

Go. Create. Inspire!

Journaling Prompt:  What are your reflections on the holidays, the New Year, napping?

Article on Alzheimer's

Quote of the Day:  A friend knows the song in my heart and sings it to me when my memory fails. - Donna Roberts

Photos from the Walk to End Alzheimer's

I write for our local women's magazine, Her Voice. Click over there to read my most recent article on Alzheimer's disease and a mother-daughter relationship, starts on p. 20. Another article by Deb Cranny, Being the Daughter, describes how she is moving through the aging process with her own mother.

This is an excellent edition of Her Voice with so many stories that feature local residents, but have global appeal.

As the holidays approach, be aware that you might see changes in your loved one or their home which may raise concern. Always approach the subject with respect and express your love for that person.

Click over to the LAMAA blog for more info on the Lakes Area Memory Advocates.

Enjoy your Thanksgiving and be sure to share your memories.

Go. Create. Inspire!

Journaling Prompt:  What songs remind you of your parents, grandparents, or other family members?

Soundtrack of Your Life

Quote of the Day:  For better or for worse, music is the language of memory.  It is also the language of love. - Jodi Picoult, in her novel Sing You Home

Sonja Hinderlie playing her cello in the Mount Carmel Trio

I am not original in posing the question, What is on the soundtrack of your life? But, I found it was a great journaling prompt for my friends and family at Mount Carmel.  I had a longing to connect with other creative spirits, so I announced that I'd like to get together with others who are interested in journaling.  I used my own prompt from my recent post, What songs hold a strong memory in your life?

A couple other moms and I met on Tuesday.  We talked about songs that we sang as kids, and ones that we sing to our kids.  One mom said that her kids love it when she sings Rock-a-by baby in the treetops, when the wind blows the cradle will rock. When the bow breaks, the cradle will fall, and down will come baby, cradle and all.  And, it's a lovely little tune and you sing about a baby and rocking, but then you're singing about the cradle falling and breaking, and when you think about it, it's not such a nice song afterall.  So, this mom, tried other words, which didn't really go over, so she wrote out a different image of the cradle falling into the loving arms of Jesus, and a prayer that the baby would be protected from the storms and falls of life.  A much nicer vision as you send your children off to dreamland.

On Wednesday, I tried meeting with a few more people right after lunch.  My mom was the first one there, and we were quickly joined by two of my cousins, a cousin-in-law, and another woman (the only non-Aalgaard).  We started by writing out songs and memories associated with songs.  My mom wrote a list of songs she likes to sing or hum to herself, morning praise songs, hymns, then started to write about songs that reminded her of her grandma and her parents.  We got a little family history out of it - for instance, our grandparents (on my dad's side) came into their faith by attending tent rival-type meetings back in the 30's.

My mom wondered what songs I'd think of when I thought of her.  Hymns, of course, especially Swedish hymns, but that's more her dad.  I told her that I think of her when I hear the soundtrack to Fiddler on the Roof.  She likes the good, old musicals.  The Sound of Music is also a favorite, but what I'll always remember is that my mom prefers the first half of these shows.  "They end too sad," she says.

My dad sings cowboy songs and gospel songs and anything that sticks in his head.  He loves to sing.  And, I realized that it's a family trait to walk around all day with a tune running through your head.  I hear my boys doing it, too. Ah, Tradition! like in Fiddler on the Roof, or the way we all confessed to stopping for ice cream on our way to camp.

Go. Create. Inspire! And, keep a tune in your heart.

Journaling Prompt:  What is on the soundtrack of your life?

G is for George and Globe

Letter of the Day:  G

G is for George Aalgaard, my dad!

My dad has a wonderful tenor voice.  He started singing with his dad at church when he was a young boy.  His dad, Arne, came over to America on a boat from Norway with a guitar in his hand and a song in his heart.  When my parents celebrated their 50th wedding anniversary, we put on a program for them with readings, music, and a special memory book.  Here's a bit of what I wrote to them:

Thank you, Mom and Dad, for the gift of music.  I'm glad that I inherited the gift of making music from you and that you nurtured the love of music in me.  Thank you for all the piano lessons you brought me to and paid for, music camp, and listening to all that practicing.  Thank you also for encouraging me to use the gift I had been given.  It has been a personal sanctuary for me as well as a way to connect with other people.  My best memories of being close to Dad are when he would come into the piano room while I was practicing and just sing with me.  Did you know that sometimes I intentionally played a song you liked so you'd come?

My dad is a farmer, and I think that he enjoys the solitude of being outside or in his tractor, watching things grow, and singing along to his favorite country or gospel songs.  I know there's always a song running through his mind.  Once, when it was quiet in the car, he sang softly, then said, "If I can't be listening to a song, I'll sing my own."

G is also for Globe Theatre, where the inimitableShakespeare plays were performed.  This is a lead-in for tomorrow's post on H, and my favorite Shakespeare play.

Journaling Prompt:  What gifts or talents do you inherit from your parents?  Do you have memories of doing things together?

Muffins, Brothers, and the First Day of School

Quote of the Day:  And let me tell you, you boys of America, that there is no higher inspiration to any man to be a good man, a good citizen, and a good son, brother, or father, than the knowledge that you come from honest blood. - John Sergeant Wise

 
This is actually our second "First Day" of School.  The oldest, Bobby, didn't go on the first "First Day" because he's a junior and the juniors and seniors get the first day off so that the sophomores have a day in the high school for orientation.
 
So, on our second "First Day" of School, I made the traditional blueberry muffins.  As I explained to my guys, "Eating blueberry muffins on the first day of school is a tradition that goes back for generations in the Aalgaard family."  Then, I told them about walking the long driveway to the mailbox on my parents' farm to wait for the bus.  When it was really cold out, my dad would stand by the window and watch for the bus lights, then holler, "The bus is coming!"  When it flooded, we walked to the bridge over our big ditch in big rubber boots, or if it was really deep, Dad would drive us up the road on his tractor.
 

 
 

My boys have their own wheels.

The big one drives.

The three younger ones bike to the middle school, nearby.  No more stops at the elementary school for me.  My babies are growing up...sigh.

Today, I will claim my creative space.  I'm wearing my Scriptfrenzy t-shirt and I'm off to The Coco Moon to write Act 3 of my drama, Coffee Shop Confessions.

We all have learning and work to do.

Go, Create, Inspire!

Journaling Prompt:  Write about a school memory.  Where did you go?  Were you ever the new kid?  What mode of transportation got you there?  Did you have a unique experience like tutoring, home-schooling on the road, or study abroad?

Joy in Creating

Quote of the Day:  We are adventuring in the chartless seas of imagination. - Anne Morrow Lindbergh

Children teach us so much about experiencing Joy in creating.  As you enter Lake Carlos from the shores of Mount Carmel, you must walk over layers of rock.  You can think of it as a bad thing as they dig into your feet.  Or, you can see it as a good thing, as it gives you endless tools for building a tower of rocks as you sit in the cool water.

You might discover that your new friend who is really your second cousin likes to build, too, and you make a pier together.

Maybe you and your daughters create a sand turtle to live on the beach. 

What you have really discovered is that making something doesn't cost anything.  It takes as long as it needs to, and it lasts forever in your mind, or as a picture, or only until the next wave comes up and washes it away.

I was talking to my oldest son about the magic of computers and how information that seems lost can be recovered.  He said, "That just shows you that once something is created, it's never completely gone."

Summer is slipping into the past, lingering in our memories, and yet, we cherish what we've made.

Journaling Prompt:  Where did you go this summer?  What memories did you make?  Which ones will linger the longest in the snapshot of your mind?