Buffalo Gal

Middle age is apparently when you can't always remember what you had for lunch that day but certain foods and flavors can conjure detailed childhood memories.
My tastebuds set course on memory lane when I walked into the grocery store this evening and spotted a huge display of Chrusciki - the delicate Polish angel wing pastry that was part of every Christmas and Easter growing up. It was not available during my decades in Texas and Georgia.
I remembered my inability to eat just one during my Christmas Chrusciki reunion and forced my cart past in pursuit of low-fat yogurt.
The combination of hunger and nostalgia pangs is a strong one. I circled the display twice before I was able to break out of its orbit.
I stopped cold at a case full of butter lambs with red ribbons on their necks and peppercorn eyes -- just the way they sat on my parents' Easter table. We usually bought them at the Broadway Market, but I recall my mother leaving me in absolute awe by carving our own outof a pound block of butter one year. I tried to do it several times in the ensuing years with the end result always melted down for popcorn to cover the tracks of my dairy disfiguration.
The lambs on my childhood tables looked so prim and perfect, until we started hacking at the back end to smear butter on fresh rye bread. I used to think that was why they called it butt-er.
The next aisle snapped my reverie with a large display of Easter Eggs filled with Chapstick. Warm holiday associations were abruptly pushed aside by bizarre commercialism.
I tried to imagine the delighted(?) look of the child who finds Chapstick in his/her Easter egg.
When sat down to write this I did a quick internet search to try to find the spelling of the Polish name for the lamb. Google delivered a variety of online sources for butter lamb molds.
In case we don't stay in Buffalo I'm going to order one for me and one for Jen. My daughter could probably carve her own lamb, but I'll make it easy for both of us. Some traditions are worth keeping.
She'll have to buy her own Chapstick eggs.

Copyright 2005 Judi Griggs

Buffalo Gal Judi Griggs I'm a communications professional, writer, cynic, mother, wife and royal pain. The order depends on the day. I returned to my hometown in November 2004 after a couple of decades of heat and hurricanes. I can polish pristine copy, but not here. This is my morning exercise -- 20-minute takes without a net or spellcheck. It's easier than sit ups for me. No guarantee what it will be for you. Clicking on the subscribe link will send you an email notice when each new entry is posted.
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Previous Entry :: Next Entry Read/Post Comments (2) Share on Facebook		2005-02-23 10:21 PM Butter lambs and Chapstick eggs Middle age is apparently when you can't always remember what you had for lunch that day but certain foods and flavors can conjure detailed childhood memories. My tastebuds set course on memory lane when I walked into the grocery store this evening and spotted a huge display of Chrusciki - the delicate Polish angel wing pastry that was part of every Christmas and Easter growing up. It was not available during my decades in Texas and Georgia. I remembered my inability to eat just one during my Christmas Chrusciki reunion and forced my cart past in pursuit of low-fat yogurt. The combination of hunger and nostalgia pangs is a strong one. I circled the display twice before I was able to break out of its orbit. I stopped cold at a case full of butter lambs with red ribbons on their necks and peppercorn eyes -- just the way they sat on my parents' Easter table. We usually bought them at the Broadway Market, but I recall my mother leaving me in absolute awe by carving our own outof a pound block of butter one year. I tried to do it several times in the ensuing years with the end result always melted down for popcorn to cover the tracks of my dairy disfiguration. The lambs on my childhood tables looked so prim and perfect, until we started hacking at the back end to smear butter on fresh rye bread. I used to think that was why they called it butt-er. The next aisle snapped my reverie with a large display of Easter Eggs filled with Chapstick. Warm holiday associations were abruptly pushed aside by bizarre commercialism. I tried to imagine the delighted(?) look of the child who finds Chapstick in his/her Easter egg. When sat down to write this I did a quick internet search to try to find the spelling of the Polish name for the lamb. Google delivered a variety of online sources for butter lamb molds. In case we don't stay in Buffalo I'm going to order one for me and one for Jen. My daughter could probably carve her own lamb, but I'll make it easy for both of us. Some traditions are worth keeping. She'll have to buy her own Chapstick eggs. Copyright 2005 Judi Griggs Read/Post Comments (2) Previous Entry :: Next Entry Back to Top