Thursday, February 23, 2012


Today is my Oma's (grandmother for you non German folk) 82 birthday. Last week she flew from Ontario, where she lives, to Alberta, where I live, for a 1 week visit.
As I hadn't seen her in almost 2 years, it was wonderful to spend some time with her. I picked her up from the airport and got her settled in at my house. We then spent about 3 hours just talking. It was during that conversation that it hit me.....I am Oma.
Growing up I didn't identify with anyone in my family. I just didn't see ANY resemblance to ANYONE. My mom, brother, all the aunts and uncles and 1st cousins are all tall. I mean really tall. A get together with them feels like I am walking with giants. I however, stand at 5'3 (5'3 & 3/4 on a GOOD day) and have always felt out of place. I harboured secret thoughts of a hot mailman, back in the day, who seduced my mom and that is how I came to be. No such luck. I just didn't inherit anything from them, or so I thought.
While talking with Oma, I discovered we are similar in almost every single way. Things that had escaped my notice as an adolescent became glaringly obvious as an adult. I keep a very neat and tidy house, everything in it's place so to speak, so does Oma. I married a tradesman who then opened his own business, so did Oma. My garden has become a favourite hobby, so is Oma's. I like to wear the latest fashion's and am always one step ahead either in thought or actual clothing, so was Oma. We even share the same initials "A K" How weird is that? It didn't just end there. Physically we are almost identical. Short? check. Big boobs? Check. Tiny hands? Check. The same shoe size? Check. It amazed me, while sitting on the couch, to realize the person I was talking with could very well be ME in 47 years.
We discussed my new found love of baking and Oma eagerly started talking "baker speak" with me. It blew my mind when I figured out I understood EXACTLY what she was talking about. We then decided she was going to show me how to bake apple strudel. She sent me to the market armed with a list of ingredients. A few hours later and we were baking up a storm! I wrote down every single ingredient and how to put everything together.
Mom came for dinner and between the strudel and the food, it was perfect. It became apparent to mom and I that we needed to go to Ontario and spend a week or so with Oma, picking her brain and writing down all the memories of our family.
Three years ago I would never have guessed that I would be sitting comfortably with Oma, discussing everything from fashion to baking, all the while not once thinking about a washroom. I could have never sat patiently in the kitchen, Kitchen Aid stand mixer whirring in the background, listening to and absorbing recipes from generations past. It is all thanks to Oscar. Because of him I am able to be curious and attentive, not having "washroom" in the back of my mind at all times.
Thank you Oscar, you have allowed me to spend some quality time with Oma in complete content. And Happy Birthday Oma! Feb. 23, 1930 was a wonderful day because it gave us you.

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