Liberty in Three Acts: My Fourth of July Tradition

There are fireworks, there are flags, and there's always something grilling on the Fourth of July—but for me, Independence Day wouldn't feel complete without a familiar duo of movie musicals, now made into a trio. Each year, like clockwork, I settle in for a binge that spans the centuries of American spirit and song: 1776, Yankee Doodle Dandy, and now, Hamilton.

It all starts with 1776, the spirited (and yes, dramatized) story of the Continental Congress and their march toward independence. I first saw the film in college, but its roots in my heart go back even further—to 1976, when I was in middle school and the country was awash in stars, stripes, and a very particular kind of patriotic fervor.

Living in Pennsylvania in 1976, I was surrounded by history—not just the kind in textbooks, but the kind etched into buildings, monuments, and local pride. That year, our social studies lessons were laser-focused on the Revolution. We didn’t just learn about 1776—we practically lived it. Our classroom projects involved hand-drawing the Declaration of Independence on parchment-style paper. We staged mock debates about taxation and liberty. Field trips took us to Independence Hall and Valley Forge, places that felt suddenly alive with meaning.

And it wasn't just school. The Bicentennial bled into pop culture and everyday life. Cereal boxes had red-white-and-blue logos. Gas stations handed out commemorative coins. ABC aired "Schoolhouse Rock" segments that made civics catchy, and I still remember the thrill of seeing the Liberty Bell featured in commercials and TV specials. Everywhere you turned, there was this sense that America was not just looking back, but trying to understand itself in real time.

That summer, parades were filled with fife and drum corps and colonial reenactors in full regalia. I remember feeling that I was witnessing something big—like history had its own gravity and I was standing in its pull. That Bicentennial year didn't just make me aware of America's founding; it made me curious. It made me care. And when I eventually discovered 1776 in college, it gave all those half-formed impressions a voice, a cast, and a score.

While no historian would recommend the film as a primary source, 1776 brought the story of independence to life. It showed me that history isn't made by marble statues, but by flawed, passionate people wrangling over ideals in hot rooms. Watching it each Fourth of July has become my own secular ritual—less barbecue, more parchment and powdered wigs. Even now, every time I hear the opening drumbeat and that call for "a resolution for independence," I'm that Bicentennial kid again, filled with curiosity, awe, and patriotic pride.

Then there's Yankee Doodle Dandy. Sure, it's a full-throated piece of WWII-era propaganda, but that's not all it is. In its own way, it's a tribute to a very American kind of optimism—the kind that sings and taps and waves a flag without irony. James Cagney's George M. Cohan is a showman's showman, full of brash energy and patriotic fervor. And somehow, despite the bombast, it always hits the right tone for the day. It's a celebration of performance and pride, and it reminds me that love of country doesn't have to be loud or naive—it can be knowing, complex, and deeply felt.

That’s part of what keeps me coming back to it year after year. But I think the deeper reason has more to do with how musical theater, in all its forms, became a language of connection in my life—first through my mom, and later, through my daughters.

My affection for musical theater didn't just materialize one Independence Day. It was passed down, the way the best traditions are. My mom was the one who first gave me an appreciation for musicals. She loved the genre—not just the catchy tunes and elaborate staging, but the way music could tell a story straight to your soul. While her talent for performance didn't quite make it to me (though it clearly resurfaced a generation later in Faith), I did my part in high school by working behind the scenes with the stage crew. Painting sets, running lights, helping with props—I may not have been center stage, but I was there in the wings, soaking up the energy, the teamwork, the transformation of a bare auditorium into a world of its own.

That experience, paired with a college course I took on the history of musical theater, helped me see the genre as more than just entertainment. Musicals, at their best, don't just reflect culture—they help define it. They distill big ideas into melody, character, and story. And in America, perhaps more than anywhere else, the musical has evolved as a uniquely democratic art form: built on collaboration, born from diverse influences, and often focused on who gets to tell the story of "us." That context helped me place Yankee Doodle Dandy, 1776, and Hamilton not just as three shows I love—but as touchstones of how Americans have chosen to remember, reimagine, and reclaim their history. 

Editor's Note: Here's a link to a post where I've written more about how these three films work together as a musical portrait of American identity.

Faith at the Hollywood Pantages
in December 2017 for Hamilton.

It was with this deeper appreciation for the form that I later found myself sharing these same passions with Faith. She's always been a theater kid through and through, with a deep appreciation for not just the story being told, but how it's told. So it was no surprise when she was captivated by Hamilton. Like so many in her generation, she was swept up by the phenomenon—listening to the cast album on repeat, quoting lyrics in everyday conversation, diving deep into the lives of the Founding Fathers. She knew every word, every harmony, every historical reference. Her passion was infectious, and soon I was listening too, hearing echoes of the same stories I'd grown up loving—but now pulsing with a fresh, urgent rhythm.

That Christmas in 2017, "Santa" delivered something extraordinary: two tickets to see the touring production of Hamilton in Los Angeles. She hadn't expected to actually get to see it live. The show was a cultural phenomenon and seats were hard to come by. So when she unwrapped that gift, the look on her face—part disbelief, part pure joy—was a highlight of the holiday season, and of fatherhood.

And then there was the afternoon itself. Sitting next to her in the darkened theater, watching the story unfold not just in song but in movement, light, and staging—it was electric. Even though she knew the entire score by heart, seeing how each song was brought to life within the full framework of the book gave her a deeper understanding of the story and its historical context. The choreography, the way scenes transitioned, the layering of narrative—she was fully immersed. And so was I.

Truth be told, I wasn't expecting Hamilton to hit me the way it did. Lin-Manuel Miranda's reimagining of the Founders, filtered through hip-hop, R&B, and unapologetic modernity, struck a chord I didn't know needed striking. It captured the ambition, contradiction, and grit of early America in a way that felt new and yet deeply familiar. It spoke to both our nation's promise and its imperfections. And that night, sharing the experience with Faith, I felt the beautiful convergence of our shared passions—for history, for storytelling, for truth told in harmony and rhythm.

So when Disney+ released the original cast recording, it wasn't even a question. Hamilton joined the July 4th lineup without hesitation.

Now, every Fourth, I travel through time—from 1776's congressional chambers, to Cagney's Vaudeville stage, and finally to the turntables and duels of Hamilton. It's a deeply personal tradition, stitched together from family, history, and a little Broadway sparkle. What began as a childhood fascination with the Bicentennial has evolved into a kind of secular ritual of its own—less about fireworks and more about reflection. A quiet act of remembrance, through song and story, of who we were, who we are, and who we still might become.

Each film reminds me that the American story isn't finished—it's still being shaped, sung, and rewritten by each generation.

It's a small tradition, but it connects me to family, to history, and to the imperfect, ongoing story of America itself.

This Year I am Thankful for an Empty Nest...and Zombieland

For the first time in my fifty-odd years, I celebrated Thanksgiving without my kids, without the comfort of my parents, or my siblings and their extended families. Here, at last, the dreaded empty nest... 

I won't be alone per se, but I also won't have what I have come to see as a "normal" Rockwell-esque Thanksgiving. But I did have some time to prepare for this eventuality...

Rockwell's Freedom from Want ©1943

My original plan, let's call it Plan A, for dealing with no one being home this year called for taking an extended Thanksgiving break from work, flying to the East Coast, and spending the holiday with my parents, sisters, and their families, and my son and his girlfriend. I'd have still missed my two girls who were off doing other things (one with her fiancé and the other with her mother), but still, I had hoped it would be one of those old-fashioned family get-togethers filled with great food, fun games, and the occasional family angst (that always comes when everyone is brought together in such close proximity).

You know, all the elements that make for cherished memories...

As is often the case, real life got in the way of my best-laid plans. The first SNAFU was financial. With my youngest a sophomore at a wonderful(ly expensive) private liberal arts college and my oldest getting married in the Spring, rubbing enough nickels together to pay for a transcontinental Thanksgiving flight would mean adding to my credit card debt. If I am being completely honest, I would have done it, but it wasn't the right thing. However, the second Horseman of the Apocalypse, work, reared its ugly head. Unexpectedly, my boss went on a lengthy medical leave. This meant cutting what I had planned to be a ten-day trip down to just four (and traveling on two of the busiest and most expensive days of the year). Before the last two horsemen appeared, as much as I longed for that Rockwell-esque holiday, I decided to reassess Plan A - it just wasn't in the cards this year.

I started to think of ways to spend my time differently this year; let's call this Plan B... Four days off work, no real responsibilities, and a very strong desire to avoid Black Friday at all costs. Meaning I could spend four days hiking around Southern California, footloose and fancy-free. Maybe my long-delayed hike of the La Jolla Canyon Loop in Ventura County or the Backbone Trail near Malibu. However, a quick peek showed that Southern California's last couple of fires and the follow-on rainy seasons had resulted in many trail closures in the Santa Monica Mountains.  Thinking less grandiose, living in the foothills means plenty of hikes much closer to home. My decision was made; I planned to strike out and hike the 'Glendale trifecta' (the Verdugo Mountain Peaks, Cherry Canyon-Cerro Negro Loop, and Mt. Lukens Loop). About twenty-five to thirty miles of mostly quiet hiking in my backyard. Ace the Wonder Dog and I were set for our very own Thanksgiving #optoutside adventure...

Alas, Plan B was dashed by Mother Nature. A series of Pacific storms decided to race down the California Coast, making this year's holiday one of the coldest and wettest Thanksgiving weekends in Los Angeles in the past 15 years. While the cold would have been manageable, washed-out and muddy trails (and a twenty-pound Scottish Terrier/Schnauzer), don't mix...

On to Plan C... a scaled-down, traditional Thanksgiving dinner, maybe a movie, and some much-needed rest. A wonderful lazy, long weekend...As those of you who have ever prepared a "traditional" family Thanksgiving know, just the food prep and cooking is an all-day affair (I even started the night before), not to mention the dreaded dishes! So much for relaxing!

But slave away in the kitchen, I did (but I got to watch Zombieland while cooking). The menu was mostly my Mom's traditional recipes, with a couple of my own additions. Everything was delicious, if I do say so myself. But even with my efforts to cut all the recipes in half, there were still tons of leftovers - but I'll return to food later... I can hear you, gentle reader asking a question... "Zombieland, why on earth watch Zombieland as a Thanksgiving movie?!" My answer was, "Why not?"

But really, I generally avoid horror movies, almost like I would a zombie-inducing plague. That said, a few days before, I stumbled upon a really well-written (and positive) review of the Zombieland sequel Zombieland: Double Tap. The author raved about how funny the sequel was (and how much they enjoyed the parody-esque original). The review was so gushing I decided to see the new movie over my newly freed-up long weekend. But before going to see Double Tap, I naturally decided I needed to watch the original movie first...hence my cooking companion for the day.

Review

Zombieland directed by Ruben Fleischer
My rating: 3½ of 5 stars

Let me say what a treat this 2009 movie was to watch. Clearly, my disdain for horror movies has been misplaced, at least for comedy/horror/romance movies. Like most really good movies, everything starts with the script. Rhett Reese and Paul Wernick's story is wry, witty, and has snappy dialog (the kind I narrate in my head during "real" conversations!). The story here is coupled with quick pacing, and interesting visual overlays, including the '31 Rules' and Zombie Kill of the Week cuts by director Ruben Fleischer (in his feature directorial debut). His direction seamlessly ties excellent performances by the cast (Jesse Eisenberg, Emma Stone, Woody Harrelson, and Abigail Breslin) into one funny (not-so-scary) little (81-minute) horror/comedy film that one professional reviewer called a "balls out the entertaining movie." The blood and gore are there, but not so overwhelming, and certainly not just for blood and gore's sake (which is probably why I like this movie - did I mention it was entertaining?).

The comedic timing of the actors and human relationship story elements make up for some questionable decisions the characters make (seriously, in a world infested with fast-moving, light and noise-sensitive, flesh-eating zombies, why would you turn on all the lights and music at an amusement park?!). But this is a horror/comedy, after all... I thoroughly enjoyed the production, the "surprise" cameo in the middle of the movie, and the slow-mo gory scenes, which ended up being really fun.

Completely not what I had expected..with a name like Zombieland!! It changed my mind completely about this sub-genre of honor films, and I'd rank it up there with some of my other favorite screwball comedies like Kelly's Heroes, Big Trouble in Little China, The Great Race, and Dr. Strangelove. So, bring on Shaun of the Dead and Warm Bodies!

I know, I know, this probably sounds like a terrible Thanksgiving to the more extroverted personality types in my family, the ones who thrive on social activity (you know who you are!), but an excellent dinner, a funny movie, and time to myself, really worked for me..but next year I will finish those hikes, or at least head back East for a Plan A vacation!

To that end, this year, I am grateful not only for my family and the blessings of years of special holiday memories but also for some serious time to decompress and hang out alone (with some canine companionship). No real expectations, no responsibilities, and no worries (well, at least not many). I'm also thankful for Zombieland and the broadening of my movie genre palate.

Epilogue - 'Twas the Night After Thanksgiving...

I mentioned the food earlier; despite dropping from a 23/24 pound turkey to a 15-pound bird this year, there were still plenty of leftovers. But most importantly, the turkey carcass. With extra time on my hands (with few family obligations), I decided to try my hand at one of my Mom's old favorites, Turkey Carcass Soup. All of (or perhaps any of) my culinary skills are largely due to my Mom (thank you, I love you), so in an effort to get as many family recipes documented as possible, here is my take on her original recipe:

Turkey Carcass and Vegetable Soup

Ingredients

1 turkey carcass
4 quarts water
2lbs little (baby) potatoes (halved or quartered)
16oz baby carrots, diced
4-6 stalks of celery, chopped
2 14.5oz cans of diced tomatoes (I prefer the ones seasoned with basil, garlic, & oregano)
1 10oz bag of frozen peas
1 10oz bag of frozen corn
48oz turkey bone broth (chicken stock can be substituted in a pinch) - optional
1 tablespoon of garlic salt
1½ tablespoons of onion powder (you can substitute 1 large diced onion)

Simmering the carcass

1 tablespoon of Worcestershire sauce
1½ teaspoons of kosher salt
1 teaspoon of dried parsley flakes
1 teaspoon of dried basil
1 bay leaf
½ teaspoon of granulated garlic
¼ teaspoon of cracked black pepper
¼ teaspoon of paprika
¼ teaspoon of poultry seasoning
1 pinch of dried thyme

Directions

1. Place the turkey carcass (I also included the turkey wings) in a large stock pot and add the water; bring to a boil, reduce heat to simmer, cover the pot, and cook the turkey frame until the remaining meat falls off the bones (at least 1 hour, but even better if it can simmer overnight).
2. Use a wire strainer to remove the turkey carcass bones and separate the meat. 
3. Chop the meat (and look for small bones, especially ribs).
4. Strain the broth through a mesh strainer into a clean soup pot and add the chopped turkey (sans bones) back into the broth. Depending on the length of time you simmered the carcass (and your personal preference for the liquidity of your soup, you may want to add the turkey bone broth at this time. Bring the mix to a boil, then reduce the heat to a simmer.
5. Stir in the potatoes, carrots, celery, tomatoes, Worcestershire sauce, and dry seasonings and simmer for an additional 30 minutes.
6. Add in the frozen corn and peas and simmer for a final 30 minutes (until all the vegetables are tender),
7. Remove the bay leaf, and the soup is ready to serve.

Magic Reindeer Feed: Our Christmas Tradition

"But how will Santa know where we are?" Faith's voice carried that particular mix of worry and wonder that only a child facing their first Christmas crisis can muster. We'd recently moved to Southern California—no snow, no chimney, no clue how Santa was supposed to make it work.

Hanging Santa's Magic Key, Christmas Eve 2004

"And how will he get in without a fireplace?" she added, her brow furrowed with the kind of serious concern that makes you realize your five-year-old has been thinking this through.

At the time, Teddy was still a true believer, full of wonder and ready to defend Santa's honor to anyone who dared question him. Kailey, on the other hand, had already been quietly inducted into the fraternity of elves—that knowing, magical role older siblings step into when they learn the truth but choose to protect the magic for the little ones. That Christmas became a turning point. The questions were real, but so was our response.

So, like any good parent backed into a magical corner, I improvised.

The Solution

Kailey, Faith, Madison, and Teddy making
Magic Reindeer Feed, Christmas Eve 2008

2004 marked the beginning of our tradition of Magic Reindeer Feed and Santa's Magic Key. Standing in our California kitchen, we gathered around the counter. The kids stirred the oats and sparkles, the gentle sound of ingredients hitting the mixing bowl creating its own kind of Christmas music. Faith added a healthy scoop of Christmas hope with each stir.

The mixture was festive and fun, but more than that, it was purposeful. I told the kids the reindeer would be able to see it glimmering from the sky, guiding Santa straight to our home. It was a homemade beacon—one part snack, two parts signal, and all heart.

And the key? Oh, the key. Growing up, my mom had her own ways of making Christmas magic work, no matter where we lived or what challenges we faced. She taught me that the best traditions aren't the ones you inherit perfectly—they're the ones you adapt with love. Our first Magic Key was humble and homemade—an old house key we weren't using anymore, decorated with a red yarn lanyard and absolutely smothered in as much glitter as we could glue on. It looked more like a kindergarten art project than a piece of North Pole tech, but it worked.

A few years later, one of Santa's "elves" (with an Amazon account) upgraded us to a more elegant skeleton key—something shiny and antique-looking, worthy of the North Pole. But I still keep that original glittery mess tucked away with our decorations. It was the key that started it all.

Magic Reindeer Feed Recipe

Ingredients:

• 1 cup rolled oats
• 1/4 cup red and green sugar sprinkles
• 1/4 cup edible glitter or colored sanding sugar
• A pinch of belief (the secret ingredient)

Instructions: Mix all dry ingredients in a large bowl until evenly distributed. The mixture can be stored in an airtight container for up to two weeks before Christmas Eve.

The kids spreading the feed, Christmas Eve 2006

On Christmas Eve, give each child a small handful to scatter on the lawn, porch, or even a balcony. If rain is in the forecast, place small piles under covered areas or on windowsills—reindeer have excellent eyesight.

Notes: Back then, we used regular craft glitter, thinking more about sparkle than sustainability. But over time, as the kids got older and more aware of the world around them, we made the switch to edible glitter—a small but meaningful change to make sure the reindeer (and the North Pole) stayed microplastic-free. Magic shouldn't come at the planet's expense.

The Ritual

The kids scattered the feed on our lawn with the gravity of an ancient ritual, whispering instructions to Dasher and Dancer and all the rest. Their voices carried across the California evening air, mixing with the sound of distant neighbors and the unfamiliar hum of our new neighborhood. I remember thinking how different this felt from the snowy Christmases of my childhood, yet somehow just right.

The next morning, we'd find the sparkles mostly gone (thanks to birds, wind, and morning dew), evidence enough that the reindeer had found us after all.

The Evolution

Now, years later, the kids are older. The questions have changed. Kailey is getting ready for medical school, Teddy is in college, Faith has taken her place as an elf, and all the kids know the secret. But the magic? It lingers.

However, I've learned something important about traditions—they're not museum pieces to be preserved exactly as created. They're living things that grow and adapt. Some years, we've added different colored sugars depending on what I had on hand. One year, we made extra bags so the kids’ friends could join in “our” ritual. The tradition became less about the exact recipe and more about the moment of connection—that Christmas Eve pause where we acknowledge wonder together.

Every Christmas Eve, I still see that first night through Faith's eyes—the worry, the wonder, and the moment I realized that magic isn't something that happens to you. It's something you create, one handful of sparkly oats at a time.

If Yes, Virginia was about believing in the unseen, this tradition was about doing something to make that belief real. And maybe that's the greatest kind of magic there is—the kind that starts with a parent's quick thinking and becomes a memory none of us will ever forget.

Merry Christmas, and may you always find just enough sparkle in your yard and your heart.

Peeps, Patience, and the Problem with Preferences

Every Easter, like clockwork, I buy Peeps.

These neon-colored marshmallow bunnies and chicks go into the baskets—cheerfully nestled between chocolate bunnies, Cadbury eggs, and Brach's "All Reds" Easter jellybeans—not because my kids like them (they don’t), but because I do. I’ve long since accepted that, come this afternoon, I’ll be the only one finishing off the sugar-dusted leftovers while everyone else picks around them like they’re radioactive.

But I still include them. Every year. Why?

Because Easter, like parenting, is not always about efficiency. It’s about intention. It’s about tradition. And sometimes, it’s about small, ridiculous acts of hope—like believing that maybe this year one of the kids will discover the joy of stale Peeps the way I did back in the 1970s.

The Peeps Paradox

The whole Peep situation got me thinking about preferences—how strongly kids develop them, how wildly they differ, and how we as parents sometimes wrestle with honoring those preferences while still keeping a little space for our own.

Take dinner, for example. One kid wants tacos, another votes spaghetti, and the third insists cereal counts as a balanced meal. Meanwhile, I’m just trying to cook one thing that everyone will eat without negotiating like I’m at a G7 summit.

It’s the same with movies, music, road trip snacks—even the car temperature. Parenting often means navigating a minefield of opinions, all while keeping the van moving forward and your own sanity intact.

Putting the Peeps in Anyway

Sometimes, putting the Peeps in the basket is my quiet rebellion against the tyranny of consensus. A reminder to myself that my preferences don’t have to disappear completely just because I’m the parent.

It’s also a reminder to my kids: you won’t always love everything that shows up in life—or in your Easter basket. And that’s okay. You don’t have to eat the Peeps. But you can appreciate the thought behind them. The effort. The love. Even if it comes in the form of fluorescent marshmallow poultry.

The Bigger Picture

Faith and Kailey decorating eggs, circa 2005

Parenting isn’t always about creating a curated experience that hits everyone’s sweet spot. It’s about showing up. Consistently. Lovingly. Sometimes goofily. With jellybeans, chocolate eggs, and yes—even with Peeps.

This year's Easter baskets will be full. Maybe not perfectly tailored. Maybe a little sticky. But filled with good intentions, and just enough sugar to remind us all that life—and family—is messy, colorful, and best approached with a sense of humor.

And if no one eats the Peeps again this year? That’s fine. More for me.

Christmas Cookies

Early yesterday, as I was finishing up the hustle and bustle of wrapping presents and getting things ready for Christmas morning, I decided to write a blog post about some of the feelings I was having, feelings that I thought were tied to this particular Christmas.

As I was writing that post, I had the epiphany that many of my fondest memories (of Christmases past) were wrapped around the cooking, and baking, that my Mom (and Great-Grandmother) did to make the holidays a special treat. Over the years, I have asked my Mom to send me recipes for many of those special family treats, and I have the tattered remains of several printed out e-mails containing our family's "secret recipes". But I always have a hard time locating them when I really need them, so now that the kids have left to go to their mother's house, I thought I would take the opportunity to share some of the recipes in this blog (providing both an archive of the the recipe, and a chance to pass the recipes along to family and friends...).

So first up are three of Santa's (and, coincidentally, my) all-time favorite cookie recipes from Mom's kitchen:

Almond Crescents

This is a very basic tea cookie recipe, but I always associate them with my Mom's Christmas cookies. They're very buttery with a pronounced almond flavor, and they are a rich treat with a cup of eggnog, or your favorite tea...

1 lb butter
3/4 cup of confectioners sugar
2 tablespoons Kirsch or white rum
2 teaspoons vanilla
4 cups of flower
4 cups ground almonds

Preheat oven to 350°F

Cream butter until light and fluffy,
Add sugar, then vanilla and liqueur. Beat in flower and then almonds - the dough will be very stiff.

Pinch off 1 tablespoon of dough and form into crescent.
Roll in confectioners sugar, and place on cookie sheet.
Bake at 350°F for 20 minutes until golden brown.
Remove from cookie sheet while still hot and roll in confectioners sugar again.
Place on wax paper to cool, and use wax paper to separate layers while storing.

Toffee Squares

These are the perfect cookie for office cookie exchanges, they make great gifts for neighbors and staff, but in my experience, Santa really loves these!

1/2 lb butter (2 sticks)
1 cup brown sugar (firmly packed)
1 egg yolk
1 tsp vanilla
2 cups flour
2 large Hershey bars (1 lb size)
1 cup finely chopped pecans

Preheat oven to 350°F

Cream butter until fluffy. Add sugar a little at a time, creaming until sugar dissolves. Add egg yolk and vanilla to butter mixture, beating well. Then add flour a little at a time until well mixed.
Spread 1/2 the dough in the bottom of a lightly greased jelly roll pan.
Bake at 350°F for 15-20 minutes till golden -- do not over bake.

While crust bakes, melt 1/2 the chocolate in microwave.
Pour the melted chocolate onto hot crust as as it comes out of the oven.
Spread the chocolate evenly over crust, sprinkle with half the nuts.
Cut into bars immediately.
Repeat for second batch.

These cookies are very rich, so make the bars small.

Kolachky

This little pastry/cookie's name is pronounced koh-LAH-chkey by my family (but how ever you pronounce it, they are delicious). The recipe came over from the Old World (Slovakia/Bohemia) with my Great-Grandmother at the turn of the 20th Century. Our family couples the cookie with a fruit preserve filling--apricot and strawberry are St. Nick's favorites! Other Eastern European cultures use poppy seed, plum, and cream cheese fillings (but any sweet pie filling will work).

3 cups flour
3 tablespoons confectioners sugar
3 teaspoons baking powder
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 1/8 cups butter
2, 8 ounce packages of cream cheese
3 medium egg yolks, well beaten
3/4 cup of fruit preserves

Preheat oven to 375°F

Mix flour, sugar, baking powder and salt, then set aside.
Cream butter and cream cheese until light and fluffy...the longer the better.  Add egg yolks and beat again until light and fluffy. Add flour mix slowly and beat until completely absorbed--chill the dough until firm.
Roll out one-quarter of the dough at a time into 1/4 inch thick round...use a small cookie cutters to cut dough into 1 3/4 inch shapes (round, stars, hearts, etc...).
Make a dent in the dough shape with finger and put a 1/4 teaspoon dollop of preserves into dent.
Place one inch apart and bake at 375° for 15 minutes or until golden... remove to racks for cooling.

If you have some extra time, you can use this "made from scratch" apricot filling to pair with the cookies:

Apricot Filling

1 cup dried apricots
1/3 cup sugar
1 tablespoon butter
dash of lemon zest
1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract

Put dried apricots into a saucepan with enough cold water to cover them.
Bring to a boil and simmer until the fruit is very soft (at least 15 minutes).
Drain off all the liquid in the pan.
Transfer plumped fruit to work bowl of food processor.
Add sugar, butter, and grated lemon zest. Process until quite smooth.
Stir in 1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract. Transfer fruit filling to a bowl and
let the mixture cool before you use it to fill the kolachky.

Yes Virginia, there is a Santa Claus...

Well, Midnight Mass has been over for hours, the presents are (finally) all wrapped, the kids are asleep, and I have a few minutes alone with my thoughts as I fall into my Christmas slumber (short as it will be, before the inevitable 6am wake-up call...). In this quiet time, I realize that I've been dreading this Christmas for the last several years. I did not know it would be this particular Christmas, but I have known that it was coming...a Christmas that will be filled with "lasts" as my oldest prepares to go to off to college, and my youngest makes the transition from true believer to Elf. The morning light will bring a Christmas filled with joy but also with some sorrow. I know Christmas can be like that, but this year seems different.

One of my family's Christmas traditions is to read a letter from Santa Claus--before we open presents. Every Christmas that I can remember has included a message from Mr. C. At first, his letter was written to my brother, sisters and me, but more recently Mr. Claus' letter has been addressed to my children (and sometimes me). Year-in and year-out, the content of these letters has largely been the same... Santa always thanks us for his eggnog and cookies (and whatever goodies we left for Rudolph and company). He always mentions the decorations, and how good the house/tree look. He tells us we have been pretty good "kids" (but still admonishes us to try and be better), and then he thanks us for believing, and challenges us to continue to do so.

I couldn't help but wonder, as I finished wrapping our presents tonight, if this year's Santa message would be any different. After all, the youngest of my children (who is almost 11 as I write this) has gone from being an absolute believer in Santa Claus to being a Christmas Elf. To be honest, I think she has known, since well before last Christmas, but was pretending not to know "the secret" for my sake -- For a number of years, she was convinced that the little boy in the Polar Express story was me (which, to be fair, I will admit to believing as well). But I was worried that she would be more than a little disappointed once I explained to her the historic Saint Nicholas, and what he has meant to generations of people.

At the same time, my oldest daughter is a high school senior this year, and she is already getting ready to leave the roost for college. I know she will be home for the holidays, but I admit to feeling a little melancholy knowing that this is a "last Christmas" for us in that regard as well. I am sad to think that my chief elf will be 3,000 miles away during much of the holiday season next year, but I do know that no matter how far she roams, there's still no place like home...

That sentiment is especially true at Christmas-time. This season has always been a magical and special time for me, and I hope for my children too. But I can't help but think that this Christmas (and those in the future) will be different now that my youngest is an Elf. I am worried that our traditions will fall by the way-side, and that "things will be different". But why? Many, maybe even most, of my best holiday memories come from the kitchen and my Mom's wonderful cookie recipes. Those aren't dependent upon the magic of Santa. When I look back, I can see how my Mom did a terrific job of making the holidays special in so many ways. I hope that I have done half as good a job for my kids as she has did for my brother, sisters and me.

Looking back at all of the holiday memories my Mom gave me, the most important was teach me to really believe in the magic of Christmas. So, let me state for the record, that I do truly believe in Santa Claus. I believe that he embodies the magic of Christmas, and I am proud to come from a long line of true believers. To this day, I continue to believe with all of my heart and soul, and to paraphrase Chris Van Allsburg, I can still hear his sleigh bell after all these years...

Part of the reason for my belief is that "becoming an Elf" in my family is a big deal. I still remember how upset my Mom was the day that I came home crying, because a neighbor kid told me that Santa Claus wasn't real. I was just a five or six year-old in Kindergarten/First Grade, and part of the reason she was upset was because her first son was still "too young" to know the secret...But, my Mom took this as an opportunity to induct me to our family's fraternity of Elves. From then on, it was my duty to keep the magic alive for my younger brother and sisters. To continue Saint Nicholas' good works.

I have had this same conversation with each of my children over the years. While the conversation has never ever gotten any easier, each of my children have taken up the banner and grown into pretty good elves -- I certainly have reason to be proud. So, why did I think it would be different this year? I'm still not sure, but I decided to try and prepare for the conversation with my youngest anyway. To that end, I thought I would look for some blogger inspiration -- after all, somewhere, someplace other parents have had the same conversations with their sons and daughters, so there is bound to be some good advice out there...

I have to say that I was immediately dismayed by the (somewhat overwhelming) number of blog posts and comments from parents who feel that the Santa Claus tradition isn't much more than a lie. It could have been my feeble search skills, but the conventional wisdom on this matter seems to be that these adult bloggers either don't want their children to accuse them of lying (seeing it as hypocritical), or they are worried that when revealing "the secret" about Santa Claus, their kids will question veracity of their belief about God and Jesus.

Personally, I find these lines of reasoning to be a bunch of hooey. Parents who have good relationships with their children, shouldn't be worried about being called liars. Part of any good parent-child relationship is how they communicate with each other about important subjects (and yes, I think this is one of those). Often times good communication is about good listening. Actively listening to your children's responses will reduce the chance of misunderstanding, dissatisfaction and discontent that your child may have upon learning this secret.

At the same time, I strongly believe that how you answer the inevitable follow-up questions, the kind that always arise like "what about the Tooth Fairy?" or "what about Jesus?" will have a lot more to do with a child's future religious beliefs. Belief has never been about what you can see, nor what you you are told. Which is why I titled this blog entry after Francis Pharcellus Church's editorial message to Virginia O'Hanlon. Back in 1897, Church got it right when he wrote to Virginia about believing:

Only faith, fancy, poetry, love, romance, can push aside that curtain and view and picture the supernal beauty and glory beyond. Is it all real? Ah, VIRGINIA, in all this world there is nothing else real and abiding.

While I realize that I am simply a focus group of one, I can't remember being upset with my Mom because she had "lied" to me about Santa Claus. In fact, after getting over the shock of the revelation, I really enjoyed being part of my family's Christmas Elf tradition. And to be completely honest, my belief in Santa Claus has grown stronger since I was enlisted into the fraternity, as has my faith.

In a very round-about-way, I have already answered my question about how to discuss the secret with my daughter. The conversation took place several weeks ago, but followed the same script that my mom used with me, and the same one I used with my two older children. I am sure my daughter was a little upset when I introduced her to our family's Elf tradition, but even though she doesn't have a younger sibling (to keep the secret for) she ended up being a great Elf all during this Christmas season. I am so proud, and glad, that she has become one of my family's long line of believers.

However, if you really find yourself at a loss when it comes to explaining Santa Claus, I highly recommend Mary Anne Kamol's book The Secret of Saint Nicholas, which does a great job of blending the Bishop of Myra history along with Christmas gift-giving, to keep the magic of Christmas honest. She has done, in book form what my Mom did for me (and I hope I have done for my children) initiating the readers into the privileged fraternity of elves and as keepers of one of Santa's true secrets -- the secret only older children may know.

Although I started off lamenting that this was a Christmas of "lasts" for our family, I can now see that it is as much a Christmas of firsts. At once a new beginning and a continuation of tradition for both my youngest and oldest. It is also an opportunity for my son, the middle child, to step up and take his place as chief elf in our family tradition. I believe, with all my heart, that this will be the first of many new and bright Christmases to come...

To that end, I think I will sign off with a quote from the letter Santa Claus left for my children this year... 

I thank each of you for keeping me in your heart all throughout the year. Until I see you again -- have a very Merry Christmas, and remember, always believe! 

Love always!

Mr. C.

Two lumps of coal?!

Dutch St. Nick by artist Ila LaFever

Probably my favorite holiday tradition, one that is a little unique to my family (which, looking back, is probably the reason I love it so much), is our annual celebration of St. Nicholas Day on December 6th. Every year, St. Nicholas visits our house on the night of December 5th.  During his visit, he fills our stockings with candies, fruits, and nuts. There is usually a book, a game and a Christmas Tree ornament included in the stash St. Nick brings for us. He also tends to add a stuffed animal along with some school supplies, toiletries, and other "essentials" (underwear and socks in particular). Most of these St. Nicholas gifts are meant to be shared, not hoarded for oneself (so most of the candies, nuts and fruit get co-mingled right away, and used throughout Advent).

St. Nicholas also takes the time to write us a letter each year. The letter is filled with praise for each family member, praise for all of the good things they have done that year, and how they are growing (or have grown) into wonderful young adults. But the letter always ends with a "however." In that paragraph, St. Nick reminds us that we can always be a little bit better, that there are things to improve upon for the next year, and that doing so is our gift back to him.

I know that the kids enjoy this special holiday tradition (as I did when I was their age) in part because very few other people we know celebrate St. Nicholas Day, and that makes it more special (even if they have to explain it to their friends every year). But also, because St. Nick's letter serves to make each of the children each feel special and unique -- which is the part I really like.

So, for those of you who are St. Nick noobs (and if you are, be sure to check out the St. Nicholas Center) here is a crash course...the historic Nicholas was born on the southern coast of what is now modern-day Turkey. He was born into a wealthy Greek family, and was raised to be a devout Christian. When his parents died in an epidemic, the young Nicholas followed Jesus' word to "sell what you own and give the money to the poor," and spent his inheritance to assist the needy, sick and suffering. He became the Bishop of Myra early in the 4th Century, and had a reputation for secret gift-giving.

Although the celebration of St. Nicholas Day is largely unknown in the the United States, there are some enclaves where the tradition carries on. In particular a large swath of the Midwest, between Chicago (where my family is from) and Milwaukee, celebrate St. Nicholas Day each year, in addition to any communities with large populations of Dutch descendants, and it is that tradition that my family largely follows...

In much of Europe (both Christian and Orthodox), parties are held on the eve of St. Nicholas' feast, December 5th, and shoes or stockings left for St. Nicholas to fill during the night. Good children will find treats of small gifts, fruit or nuts, and special Nicholas candies and cookies. This is especially true in The Netherlands, where my grandfather's family is from. In the Dutch tradition, St. Nicholas arrives on a boat from Spain, with his white horse, and servant "Zwarte Pieten". The trio (how can you possibly separate St. Nick from his horse?!) travel the countryside filling the wooden shoes (or at my house their Christmas stockings) of good children, with treats and small toys, but leaving lumps of coal for children who haven't been so well behaved!

Illustration from envelope, Bar-le-Duc, France

Candy, toys, and treats, what could be better than a visit from St. Nick? Yet each and every year, St. Nicholas (unwittingly) fosters some level of angst prior to visiting our house. This has much to do with those lumps of coal. You see, in my family, there is plenty of grey. No one is (or really can be) all good, or all bad, hence the "however" clause in St. Nicholas' letter. In addition to his words, St. Nicholas often leaves things that (he hopes) will remind the kids (and adults) to try and be better people every day of the year. These "naughty" tokens include potatoes, onions and yes, lumps of coal (and my kids would argue the underwear and toiletries as well)...

The problem, that seems to crop up each year, is that while there are four of us in the house -- St. Nick always seems to have five lumps of coal to distribute when he arrives... As a result, my kids have come to see getting the second lump of coal as a "sign" from St. Nick that they have been particularly naughty (at least in comparison to their siblings). Which of course leads to arguments and additional naughty behavior that clearly is not desirable.

Over the last few years, I know that St. Nick has struggled to try and figure out what to do... The first, most obvious solution, was to get rid of one of the lumps of coal. Easy enough, but the one year he tried that, the kids figured him out, and decided to line up their lumps and see who had the biggest lump of coal (because the two smallest lumps are roughly equal to the largest lump in size/mass). Clearly that person was the naughtiest one this year... oi vey!

This year, I am sure St. Nick planned to use a more empirical methodology. Certainly he knows, as do I, which of the kids was most troublesome this year - doesn't he? Perhaps one of the kids is really more deserving of an extra lump this year...Well, my oldest daughter can be quite bossy, and just this week tried to bully her little sister into "behaving" in a certain way (so as not to be embarrassed by her). That would qualify as naughty, but does it deserve a lump of coal? I'm not sure, that seems more like a "two onion" infraction. My son, on the other hand, just this week didn't do the dishes when I asked him to, and decided to fight with me about doing them when I re-asked him to do them. Hmmm, that one seems more like an extra potato offense. Well, what about my youngest daughter? She tried to get her brother into trouble just today, by tattling on him... is that worthy of an extra lump of coal? Maybe not... but I think and extra pair of underwear would be in order!

Wow, I started to realize just how tough it is for St. Nick to do his job! Before bed last night, I thought a lot about what he might do, but it was late, and I was tired, so I left my thoughts until morning. I knew that reading St. Nick's letter to the kids in the morning would reveal how he decided to assign coal lump number 5...

Morning came too early today, and my youngest was up bouncing on the bed and begging me to go downstairs so she could open her stocking. All of the kids know that before we open St. Nick's presents we have to read his letter together. So they sat on the couch and I began to read. The letter went over well, the kids nodded and smiled, surely St. Nick got things right this year! Even the "however" paragraphs got nods of approval, until the last one, which was directed to me, and read:

You have done such a good job taking care of the kids and making sure that they are growing up well, and I am very proud of you for that.

However, sometimes you have the tendency to want all of the children to be a little more grown up than they really are (which is why you get the extra lump of coal this year...). Remember, they are all good kids, and while they sometimes make mistakes, so do we all. This year, I would like to see you use your big heart to relax and enjoy the kids, in the moment. To not worry so much about everything having to be just, equal, and fair, just enjoy them for who, what, and where they are.

Until next year, I love you all,

St. Nick

St. Nick's words to me are very true. This holiday season, and for the rest of the year, I promise to do my best to live up to his "however."

St. Nicholas Day is one of those traditions that was passed down from my Mom to me. It connects me to my extended family, our cultural heritage (a little bit at least), and makes me remember many of the good times I had growing up (thank you Mom and St. Nick). Our celebration has also has created some wonderful memories for my children, and me. Despite (or maybe because of) St. Nick's "however" this year, I really hope that I am passing on, to my three children, what my Mom created for me. I hope that they will look back and continue the St. Nicholas tradition for their (future) families and have years and years of fond memories as well.

Hey, and maybe next year, I'll only get one lump of coal :)