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© Catherine Haslag
© Catherine Haslag
© Catherine Haslag
© Catherine Haslag
© Catherine HaslagA Simple Moment
My grandpa and I (age 2) eating lunch in the kitchen.
My grandfather died 2 months before my 13th birthday. Other family members died previously, but my grandpa’s death was the first big death I was old enough to remember in any kind of significant way. I had the wind knocked out of me in a way I hadn’t experienced before.
It started Labor Day weekend. My mom was in D.C. on a business trip, so I stayed at my grandparent’s house that week while she was away. Grandpa started to feel ill over the weekend. He didn’t want to go to the hospital. My uncles finally convinced him to see a doctor on Tuesday if he wasn’t feeling better. He was admitted to the hospital on Tuesday and died Thursday morning before I got on the bus to school. I found out about 10a when my Uncle Willie called the school. He picked me up 20 minutes later. I can still remember the silence of the truck ride back to what just that morning had been grandma AND grandpa’s house.
That night, my grandma stayed in bed. She had just lost her husband of 47 years. My uncles were gone, probably making funeral arrangements. My job for the evening: answer the door when people came to pay their condolences, receive any food they brought, and Tetris it into one of the refrigerators in the house. (I grew up in a very small town and EVERYONE feeds you when there is a death.)
My grandpa loved to pull us behind his mower – be it on a toboggan or in a wagon.
My grandparent’s neighbor, Barb, brought over a breakfast casserole. We went into the kitchen to add the casserole to the already bulging contents of the green fridge. After closing the fridge door, I looked at her. We probably stood there for only 10 or 15 seconds, but it felt like so much longer. Neither of us spoke yet we shared volumes. We stood there in our silence, looking at each other. I felt like she knew everything I was feeling. That she got me in that moment, understood the weight of my grief, and made a space for it. It was a gift. We shared a teary hug and then she went home.
I don’t remember anything else regarding what people brought or even who visited my grandparent’s house that night, but I remember every second of that brief exchange with Barb 27 years later. I doubt Barb remembers it or has given it a second thought, but this moment touched me deeply. I felt like someone really saw me in my grief in that moment and it was everything to me. We offer these moments to people without even realizing the gift we have given them.
The gift of a simple moment too deep for time.
© Catherine HaslagNativity
My grandma always displayed a nativity at Christmas time. She used a simple nativity with painted clay statues when I was growing up. I loved to play with this nativity, especially the tiny sheep and baby Jesus because they were the smallest pieces of the nativity and I thought they were the cutest ones too.
The nativity my Grandma put up every year at Christmas time.
I regularly arranged the pieces of my grandma’s nativity so they were inside the barn. Grandma always placed just Jesus, Mary and Joseph inside the barn, leaving the shepherds, wise men, and livestock to stand outside the barn. This was December! It was cold outside and I thought everyone should be inside the barn, where it was warm, so I would always re-arrange grandma’s nativity so everyone fit inside the barn. I wanted everyone to be warm.
This did not please my grandma. She didn’t like it when I rearranged her nativity and would tell me to stop it if she found me cramming everyone into the barn. One day, she expressed her frustration to my mother and asked her why I keep putting all of the figures inside the barn. My mom suggested grandma ask me, so she did. I explained that it’s cold outside, so they should all be inside the barn where it’s warm. I don’t remember my grandma correcting me when I rearranged her nativity after that. How can you argue with that kind of kid logic?
When my grandma passed away in 2014, I asked for her nativity. A few years later, I acquired the barn she set the figurines in as well. I set her nativity up every year at Christmastime. I don’t cram the figures into the barn-like I used to, but I do tend to arrange them close to the entrance of the barn. I also leave the wise men a distance from the barn since they don’t reach the Christ Child until Epiphany (January 6). I don’t believe in the divinity of Jesus, so my friends often ask why I display a nativity. I smile and tell them this story.
They all understand in the end.
© Catherine HaslagAunt Jo’s German Chocolate Cake
My Aunt Jo holding baby me circa 1980.
My Aunt Jo made a three-layer German Chocolate Cake from scratch. About 9 years ago, I obtained her recipe from my mom because I wanted a way to connect with Aunt Jo. I wanted to create something she once did. I didn’t like her cake when she was alive to make it because I was too young to appreciate coconut and chocolate cake. Thankfully, my dessert appreciation has matured since I was 7. I loved my Aunt Jo. She always had those yellow Brach butterscotch candies in a dish and she let me play on her organ and piano when I came over. All the stops on the organ fascinated me and I loved to flip them in different combinations and see what sounds I could make. I must have made all kinds of horrible noises during my musical experiments, but I don’t ever remember her telling me to stop.
Mostly, I remember how much I loved her. The kind of pure, endless love only a little kid shows. The kind of love that hasn’t been damaged by hurt, disappointment, and time. When I bake her cake, I am reminded of that love, of her, of her carpet on my feet, and the noises I made on her organ. It’s a way to connect with someone I love and barely know. A way to keep her alive. When I share that cake with others, I share her and the love I have for my Aunt Jo.
Below is the recipe my Aunt Jo used. It was straight off the box of Baker’s German chocolate (which I didn’t know until I wrote this post). It is best made as a 3-layer cake but can be made in a 9×13 pan, which is much easier to transport. May you bake this treat and share it with those you love.
GERMAN’S SWEET CHOCOLATE CAKE
Used by Aunt Josephine Samson
Aunt Jo’s three-layer German Chocolate cake.
Ingredients:
1 pkg. (4 oz.) BAKER’S GERMAN Sweet Chocolate
½ cup water
4 eggs, separated
2 cups flour
1 tsp. baking soda
¼ tsp. salt
1 cup butter, softened
2 cups sugar
1 tsp. vanilla
1 cup buttermilk
Procedure:
HEAT oven to 350°F.
COVER bottoms of 3 (9-inch) round pans with waxed paper; spray sides with cooking spray. Microwave chocolate and water in a large microwaveable bowl on HIGH 1 ½ to 2 min. or until chocolate is almost melted, stirring after 1 min. Stir until chocolate is completely melted.
BEAT egg whites in a small bowl with mixer on high speed until stiff peaks form; set aside. Mix flour, baking soda, and salt. Beat butter and sugar in a large bowl with a mixer until light and fluffy. Add egg yolks, 1 at a time, beating well after each. Blend in melted chocolate and vanilla. Add flour mixture alternately with buttermilk, beating until well blended after each addition.
ADD egg whites; stir gently until well blended. Pour into prepared pans.
BAKE 30 min. or until a toothpick inserted in centers comes out clean. Immediately run small spatula around cakes in pans. Cool cakes in pans 15 min.; remove from pans to wire racks. Cool completely. Spread Coconut-Pecan Filling and Frosting between cake layers and onto the top of the cake.
COCONUT-PECAN FILLING AND FROSTING
Time prep: 20 min
Total Servings: About 4-1/2 cups or 36 servings, 2 Tbsp. each
Ingredients:
4 egg yolks
1 can (12 oz.) evaporated milk
1 ½ tsp. vanilla
1 ½ cups sugar
¾ cup butter or margarine
1 pkg. (7 oz.) Baker’s Flake Coconut (2 2/3 cups)
1 ½ cups chopped Fischer’s Pecans
Procedure:
BEAT egg yolks, milk, and vanilla in a large saucepan with whisk until well blended. Add sugar and butter; cook on medium heat for 12 min. or until thickened and golden brown, stirring constantly. Remove from heat.
ADD coconut and nuts; mix well. Cool to desired spreading consistency. This is mix is also used between the layers of the cake.
© Catherine HaslagWarmth and Laughter
A beautiful Christmas tree in St. Paul, MN 2020
Christmas 2020 was different for most everyone.
I typically travel home to Missouri to visit my family. We used to gather at my uncle’s for dinner before or after Christmas Eve mass. He loved to make New England Clam Chowder and play Christmas music on his stereo during the holiday celebrations. We would enjoy a meal and laughs together. When both my grandparents were still alive, sometimes my cousin and I could talk them into letting us open one gift on Christmas Eve. One year we both chose to open the heaviest package. It turned out to be a pound of nails from my grandpa. That year, we were consumed with building forts outside. There wasn’t a board on the property we hadn’t punched full of nails to build our forts. We even confiscated the dog bed for one of our structures before we were told to put it back. I don’t know if grandpa was trying to encourage our interest or simply keeping us from consuming more of his nails. So much Christmas tradition has changed over the years; however, the warmth and laughter of those times with family and friends have always been a part of Christmas for me. It is the one tradition that hadn’t failed me.
This Christmas has been very different for me and not just because of social distancing. My uncle died in 2019 and the family home we celebrated so many Christmas days in sold last month. This year was going to be different for my family even before COVID-19 jumped the pond. I chose not to travel home to see my family because of coronavirus. My significant other and I had a quiet Christmas at my house instead. We made Indian Butter Chicken (I chose a non-traditional Christmas dinner on purpose) and celebrated Zoom style with various family and friends. We spent the day in our jammies, exchanged gifts, watched Soul on Disney+ (totally worth the watch), drove around and looked at Christmas lights (it was a banner year for Christmas lights), and ate enough sweets to make us diabetic. It was cold outside in Minnesota and there was snow on the ground, but there were warmth and laughter inside.
Of all the things that have changed about Christmas for me, warmth and laughter is one tradition that remains constant. May it remain constant for you as well.
The Life of a House
This is the family home sometime in the 1910s.
There was an old farm-house that once sat on Fort Avenue in Springfield, Missouri. It didn’t fit the structural style of the nearby ranch homes constructed around it in the 1970s and 80s, so it was likely the home of the family who previously farmed the land before the area was developed. It was a two-story wood-framed home with a small front porch. It was clear no one lived there nor had for awhile. The house sat dark and cold.
Every time I drove past this house, I thought of the life that once filled it. How it kept a family dry during the spring rains. How a mother snuggled her young child in an upstairs bedroom on an autumn evening before turning out the lights. The many warm holiday celebrations held in the home for beloved family and friends. Celebrants gathered, singing Christmas songs with a beverage in hand, the united voices uncontained by the plaster and siding. This house once held space for its occupants when they grieved the loss of a loved one or birthed a new life into the world. The grassy green yard hosted games of baseball, tag, and hide-and-seek. The warmth, laugher, and love that once filled the corners of every room seemed to ooze out of the broken windows, evaporating away. There is a reason why empty houses fall into decay so quickly: there is no love to keep them standing.
This house was demolished sometime between 2007 and 2009. The placeholder for the lives that once occupied that home wiped away. Google Street View of the property shows it hasn’t been redeveloped. All that is left is an empty parcel.
Do we really give houses the gratitude they deserve? They are our basecamp, the place we always know we can return to from our adventures out in the world. They provide warmth, shelter, and safety for those we hold dear. Homes hold our memories and stories and tell them in a mark on the wall or the squeak of a floorboard. A house can hold a family’s history and be a stable nucleus for the generations that grow up in its walls. A place where everyone comes back and again to congregate, share, and love.
That last Thanksgiving my family celebrated in the family home, November 2019. Thank you to Peggy Dunsworth for providing this photo.
Recently, the house my great-grandparents built-in 1908 was sold. This 4-bedroom, 2.5 bath home was the place 5 generations of my family lived, laughed, and loved together. We celebrated nearly 70 Thanksgivings with our cousins in the dining room, opened gifts for over 100 Christmases in the living room, and prepared nearly 41,000 meals in the kitchen (yes, I did the math). My grandmother and all of her siblings were born in that house and at least one person (my great grandmother) was laid out there so people could pay their last respects.
The last Thanksgiving we celebrated there was in 2019. More than 30 family members remembering, laughing, crying, and commemorating what we all knew would be our last Thanksgiving in that sacred place. At one point, I felt like all the Thanksgivings that had ever been celebrated there were intersecting. As if all the generations of my family that knew that home were there in some way to join in one last big party across time.
Thankfully, the house has a new family to fill it with love. It will not meet the empty fate of the house on Fort Avenue, at least not now. While that house is no longer the nucleus for my family, I am thankful for all the years it held us within its boundaries and grateful that a new family will love it into the future.
© Catherine HaslagMore Than a Band-Aid Box
The band-aid was invented by Earle Dickson in 1920 to provide ready-made bandages for his wife, Josephine, to use when she injured herself in the kitchen. He told his boss at Johnson & Johnson about what he created and the company soon began producing their BAND-AID® Brand Adhesive Bandages. Because BAND-AID® Brand was the first band-aid available, eventually all-ready-made bandages were referred to as band-aids, though not all bandages are BAND-AID® Brand bandages.
One of my grandma’s band-aid boxes, found in her sewing supplies after she died.
According to the Johnson & Johnson website, they began packaging BAND-AID® Brand bandages in decorative tins in 1926. The website indicates that people reused the empty tins to store many things, including “small nails, holding extra buttons and safety pins, even storing marbles and baseball cards.” My grandmother was no exception to this.
My grandmother kept cash around her house in band-aid boxes. White metal BAND-AID® Brand tins and green and white plastic Curad® boxes. They were under where she sat in the living room, in the cabinet in the kitchen, and in the top drawer in the utility room. They were sprinkled around the house. One time, the family was sitting around the living room, talking about who wanted what when grandma died. Grandma was in the room, participating in this conversation. In a moment of silence during this macabre conversation, my Uncle Jerry said he wanted the band-aid boxes. Everyone laughed, including grandma.
My grandparents came of age during the depression. My grandpa was born in 1916 and my grandma in 1918. They both knew how to make do with very little. Grandma didn’t just repurpose band-aid boxes. She could reuse just about any container. When she died, my Uncle Willie cleared stacks and stacks of Cool Whip, Country Crock, and other plastic tubs of similar size/shapes from her kitchen and basement. To this day, I don’t assume that there is actually Country Crock in a Country Crock container any more than I assume there are band-aids in a band-aid box.
In reality, she used band-aid boxes for more than storing money. The one pictured here was in her sewing cabinet holding notions. I found it after she died and kept it. A remembrance of my grandma and the story I shared above.
Last November, my aunt, and uncle sent me $40 for my 40th birthday. Each $20 bill was carefully folded into a heart. I couldn’t bring myself to unfold them, so I placed them in my grandma’s band-aid box. It seemed like a fitting home for them. The perfect place for an emergency stash of money and love.