It is that time a year when the days at the northern hemisphere are filled with more dark hours than light ones. Times when a lot of us turn to the inside world and remember what has gone, sharing with those who still are. As a part of that I remembered a talk with my grandfather, from my mother her side, a long long time ago. He was already well in his seventies when he told me about ageing.
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Around the Yuletide we have these family traditions, maybe you are familiair with some of them. Mostly about getting together in the spirit of the days that have past and the ones that still are to come. The turning of the year wheel, another round. Or like in the symbol of Yin-Yang {Taijitu}, where the darkest period also has in it a spot of light. Here in Nederland we call the days we go from one year to the other "Oud & Nieuw", easy to translate: Old & New. At Oldyearsday {NL: Oudejaarsdag} we have several traditions. One of them being baking the Nederish version {* NO NOT DEUTSCH} of 'Doughnuts'. It is like breaddough only with more water added, 1 Kilogram flour and 500 milliliter water, and like balls baked in oil. (You can add raisins, and some do pieces of apple too.)
My Grandfather was the one to make a secret recepy of his version of 'Nederish Doughnuts'. It was the one day that Grandma allowed him in the kitchen. He was a craftsman, woodworker, and my Grandma ruled the householding, as a craftswoman. Sometimes it has been forgotten that this is a more then full-time job too. They made a fine team that way. Granps always teasing Grams a bit, and she always fell for it. For us it was more than just entertainment during those family get togethers at the end of yet another year. It was a nice way to grow up like that.
First thing on 'Oldyearseve' was on arrival in Muntendam, Oldambt, were they lived in their warm welcome little house. Always around the back. Normaly not ringing the bell at the front door, only strangers, or merchants, did that. Through the shed door, right into the kitchen. The smell of sunflower backing oil already greeted us from the outside. It was just a small kitchen, a tiny stove, and a kitchen sink still made out of stone. On the washing machine there would be buckets, full of Granps his home made 'Nederish Doughnuts'. A bucket full of those filled with raisins and a bucket without. Most of the time he would be finishing up when our part of the family arrived.
No way we could get through the kitchen without first tasting one of his fresh backed 'Netherish Doughnuts'. He'd be in a good mood, because he was quite self confident. And I cannot remember any year that he failed to make indeed the best ones ever. My favorit one was the version with raisins, covered in powder sugar. And he smiled when he saw his grandkids eat one after another, while our Mum would say at one point to slow down: "Stop eating or you'll get nauseous! Dad, stop encouraging them." You know, when things almost start to become like a play, every year, but you still want to see the rerun, that kind of warm feeling...
Nothing ever lasts for ever
At the last year of his life he was not able to bake his famous 'Nederish Doughnuts' anymore. During the holidays he was in hospital. And I remember visiting him. He talked, I listened, it was about life, pulling through even when life gives you the hardest and toughest challenges. Like war, hunger and having to let some of your children go. Never had seen that giant proud strong man cry, but for that moment we shared two tears together and blamed it on the draft. And I could understand why he told me he sometimes disliked it very much to be the one to say: "Come on, stop mourning, it is done, we need to go on...!" The times, they were different, we would not want to go back to that today, I guess.
Now that I have arrived at a point in my life where I'm close to seeing 'oal Abe, I seem to understand him even better. Specially the part of where he told me about the human spirit that seemed to outlast the human body. "You know, in your mind you will always be young.", he told me. "Every day, in my last years, I would wake up and just jump out off bed." And then he paused, he was a good story teller, and continued: "But in reality, I had to tell my body to first get up. To sit up straight. Then move one leg after another besides the bed. And use the strenght still in my arms to pull myself up." That proces of getting up and getting downstairs would take him about twinty minutes on a bad day, he told me.
"In my mind I was already downstairs, having breakfast.", and we were silent together for a while. "You see, one day you will understand that your spirit is not bound to age at all, but the vessle it comes in is. And that in itself is a challenge you have to learn how to deal with." And it is true, sometimes I see my reflection in a store window and wonder who that grumpy old man is, shortly after grasping that it is just the ageing vessel of my eternal spirit. Especially at this time of year it becomes more real then on other days.
Coming saturday, 31st of december, I think I'm going to give it another try, baking 'Nederish Doughnuts'. So far I did not get it right in the way he made them. Never got the recipy, he told some of it, bragging in his own charming way, pulling another story about how he herited his excellent cooking talent from his grandfather who had been a cook in the Nederish army, somewhere in the 19th century. And every time he told some story like that, we'd look at Grandma, she was the one to check. When she smiled and shook her head slightly we knew he had pulled us one again.
He went out off time at the day when he normally would have baked his famous 'Nederish Doughnuts', it was december 31. His young spirit free for eternity.
Have a good yearchange, and I whish you and those dear to you all te best for the new year.
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