perogie dough, condoms, and the male ego

I was fortunate enough to spend the day with my Baba and Gido on their 66th wedding anniversary! Can you imagine being married for 66 years? Baba's response, "What else were we supposed to do? We had not choice but to stay married for 66 years." So romantic, Baba. As the rain pounded on the windowpanes, Baba reminisced, "Our wedding day was just like this 66 years ago. Cold, dreary, and raining. "
"But when we came out of the church, the sun was shining!" Gido recalled.

Surprisingly, Baba and Gido's 66th wedding anniversary was just like any other day the farm. Baba was taking out the garbage and Gido was coffee-ing (yes, it's a verb in Meath Park) with the farmers at the cafe. I walked in the little farm house and asked, "So Baba, are you going to make me into a domestic goddess?" She looked up at me (she's barely 5') and very seriously replied, "I don't know. You've already been married for 7 years. It might be too late. But we will try." At least she's honest.

We began our session with perogie making 101. Baba put the recipe for perogie dough in front of me. She very carefully explained how many cups of flour and water to add and then left me to my own devices. What she didn't explain was how to add the water all at once to the flour. I slowly added the water, stirring the entire time. This was a fatal error, my friends. A fatal error that resulted in tough, stringy perogie dough - one of the most common rookie errors, frowned upon by Ukrainian women throughout the world.

Dough is NOT meeting Baba's standards. Fail. 

I then spent the next hour watching Baba try to "fix" my tough perogie dough, kneading, adding water, kneading, adding water. It was exhausting. Thankfully, during that time, Baba shared her extensive knowledge about "being a good wife" with me. I learned a lot.

tough perogies for a tough man.

Baba sat down to reveal her number one piece of advice. As she wiped the crumbs off the table, she looked me in the eye and very seriously instructed, "You must stroke your husband's.....(Oh Gawd Oh Gawd)....ego." If that sentence ended with anything other than "ego," I was out of there.

She went on to explain that in the early years of your marriage (her definition of "early years" could constitute as anything less than 40 years of marriage), you must build your husband's ego by agreeing with him, supporting him, and standing by every decision he makes. Even if you disagree. Yikes! She then went on to explain that once your husband is confident and his ego has been built up, you, as a wife, have free reign to bring his inflated ego back down to Earth. "That's why Gido thinks I'm getting "mouthy," she explained, "I just stopped agreeing with everything he says." Interesting.

We then talked about what marriage and family was like 66 years ago. Baba told me that there was no such thing as sex education or "sex talks" with parents in her day. You found out the hard way, on your wedding night (Oh dear). Gido explained how his sex education was limited to observing animal breeding on the farm. I began to silently thank my Grade 6 sex ed teacher, Miss Booker, for the "question box." Baba then broke into a hilarious anecdote about "safes" (condoms), which I managed to get on video. I love Baba's stories. I could spend hours listening to Baba talk.

Once we ate our slightly chewy perogies, "tough perogies for a tough man," said baba as she scooped them onto Gido's plate, Baba guided me to the closet where Baba E's cross stitching is kept. Baba E. was my Baba's mother who lived to be 99 years old. She died just short of her 100th birthday. She was an amazing woman, coming over from the Ukraine to marry a man that she had only corresponded with via letters. I recall visiting Baba E. at the care home she resided in during her last years of life. She would always say to me, "I've lived a long, happy life. I'm ready to die. I think I might die tonight so we better say goodbye." I would nod and give Baba E a hug. A week later I would go back to visit, "Baba, you didn't die," I would say. "No. but I think tonight is the night." She always made me smile.

Baba E. spent years of her life creating elaborate cross-stitched works of art. These pictures are now in Baba's care and she's passed on several to us grandchildren as we graduate, get married, have babies, etc. Baba showed me the closet where several of these pictures are kept. "What am I going to do with these?" she asked. "Each and every stitch was made by my mother. Every single stitch. This is where we all came from. What if these pictures end up in a yard sale some day?" she said sadly. It occurred to me just how much family and "our roots" mean to my Baba. My Baba defines herself by where she's come from and the family that she's created....and she's incredibly proud.

Driving home after a wonderful day with my Grandparents and a tupperware filled with tough perogies, I made a plan. As Ev walked in the door from a day at the firehall I said, "Let's go to Red Deer and see your parent's next weekend." He agreed immediately and then recalling Baba's advice, I placed my hand on Ev's bicep and commented, "You're so strong, Ev."
He flung my hand off his arm and asked, "What's wrong with you?"
That didn't go well. Maybe it is too late.

Watch and Learn. Best. Video. Ever.