 |
| Sunny October day in pastoral Bavaria |
It was a
strange dinner party; new friends over for a farewell meal together. They had embarked on a
new adventure to emigrate from Europe to Canada, but now, life events were sending
them “home.”
So, we ate, drank, laughed, and enjoyed the ongoing discovery of kindred
spirits before it came time to say, "Auf wiedersehn!", "See you again!"
It was a precious time.
A couple of weeks later, as my little family
gathered for Father`s Day, our German friends came
to mind. What struck me was the parallel between the altered connection with unsere fruende (our friends), and
the bonds I have with my Dad who died almost a decade ago: both
relationships continue - in absentia. |
| My Dad, John Kurchak, and me in 1955 |
In grief
work, we call this connection “continuing bonds.” It seems that we don`t ever
actually `let go` of the loved ones we've lost; the relationships
just change. How they look will differ for each of us: my sister talks to my Dad each
day; I rarely talk to him, but I talk
about him, all the time. Different
people, different ways of continuing the bonds.
This year, at our Father`s
Day dinner, we lit candles in memory of the dads that were no longer with us:, my dad, John; Hubert's dad, Xavier; and
Adrian's dad, Patrick.
It was also a precious time.
Then we set on eating the feast that Logan, Hubert’s daughter, and her buddy, Adrian, cooked to celebrate Father"s Day. The charcuterie plate on which we indulged before dinner was loaded with smoked meats, herrings, smoked oysters, goat cheese, fig and olive crackers, and pate.
Next came the Black's " family - secret BBQ chicken recipe" from Adrian’s dad, Patrick; just the fragrance of the drumsticks arriving at the table caused serious drooling on my plate
(classy). Our side dishes included crispy oven- roasted smashed potatoes with
garlic, and balsamic- drizzled BBQ grilled vegetables. Lemon meringue pie, at the end of the evening, finished us
off.
Although we
bribed, okay, we cajoled and threatened, Adrian for the BBQ sauce recipe, his dread of
sisterly retribution protected the 'family- secret'.
So, instead, I‘d like to share my recipe for “Greek- Style Lemon Potatoes”
that I made for the farewell dinner with our German friends. These potatoes soak up the ollive oil and the lemon juice, resulting in succulent, lemony potatoes just like at your favourite neighbourhood Greek restaurant - maybe even better!
Greek-style Lemon Potatoes( adapted from www.allrecipes.com/recipes/)
1/3 cup extra virgin olive oil
1 cup chicken or vegetable stock
1/2 cup water
1/4 cup fresh lemon juice
2 cloves garlic, finely chopped
1 tsp dried thyme
1 tbsp fresh rosemary ( or 1 tsp dried rosemary)
6 medium potatoes, peeled and quartered
Extra fresh rosemary, chopped, for garnish
Preheat oven to 350 degree F.
In a medium sized bowl, mix together all the ingredients, except the potatoes.
Put the potatoes into a 9 x 13 glass baking dish. Pour the lemon/oil mixture over the potatoes, and mix to coat.
Cover tightly with foil, and bake for about 1 - 1 1/2 hours, stirring occassionally.
Add extra stock, as needed, to prevent the potatoes from drying up. Start testing for doneness at the hour. Garnish with extra chopped rosemary, and serve.
Serves 6-8
You just can't beat these taters; fast prep, into the oven, and soooooooo tasty!
In the meantime, just as our relationships with each other change, so do the continuing bonds we have with our loved ones who have gone from us.
To have a look at more info, take a peek at http://www.griefsheart.com/ -> Video -> Love in Separation.
Also, Thomas Attig's book The Heart of Grief is second to none. Here's an excerpt from the website:
"When we grieve, we move from loving in presence to loving in separation. Nothing is more difficult in grieving. Nothing is more important if we are to thrive again in lives profoundly changed by loss "
BTW, Attig currently lives in Victoria, BC!
Whew, this is one long blog - making up for the past two weeks.
Hey, try the potatoes - you'll enjoy them!
Warmly,
Wendy
No comments:
Post a Comment