SHATTERED GLASS

"The Queen of Desserts" may have been an apt title to describe my Mother, although I was fortunate to marry a wife and have a daughter who are both known for their delightful culinary skills in that department as well. Mom put a lot of creativity and work into the fine art of the dessert and its presentation.

My parents entertained frequently and throughout the year Mom would labor in the kitchen turning out Hungarian Crumb Cake, Baked Alaska, Chocolate Crunch, Angel Food Cake with ice cream and strawberries, cobblers of various kinds, Apple, Banana and Rhubarb Custard pies, shortbread, doughnuts and steamed pudding. At Easter she would make her special sunflower coffee cake, resplendent in yellow icing, with brown chocolate sprinkles at the center.

At Christmas the work would start weeks before, making Russian Teacakes, Almond Roca, chocolates, peanut brittle, fudge, divinity, mints, rosettes, nuts and bolts and fruitcake. We kids would help pull taffy, decorate cookies and wrap the candy. Many of these treats were shared with neighbors, friends and relatives, but there was always plenty for our own consumption. Mom took a great deal of pleasure  in finding new recipes and trying them out on our family. I never remember anyone complaining! She would have loved Martha Stewart and  all the cooking shows that are available these days. Back then she was her own "Martha Stewart".

It was the spring of 1974 and I had just turned 13. That time in one's life where you're an expert on just about everything and have no problem letting others know about it. Mom had been carefully crafting a new recipe and it was the day of its debut for our family before she rolled it out for company. After the main course, she brought out a tray of fine looking, elegant goblets. These tall vessels contained a beautiful parfait. Bright colors of layered jello, pudding and custard topped with whipped cream and a cherry rounded out the presentation. We couldn't wait to get started! Mom set the tray down and handed one of the parfaits to each of us. She then asked us if we had noticed the new goblets. I can't say that we had as we were more interested in the contents. Mom was always buying dishes in large quantities as it was not unusual for us to entertain 12 or more people at one time. She had found a sale on a dozen of these tall elegant goblets and was rightly proud of her find.

Paying some attention now to the goblets, I announced that they sure looked like plastic to me. The sides appeared far too thin to be glass. I took my spoon and lightly tapped the side of the goblet. "Steve", Mom said, "You be careful, that's glass". "That can't be glass," I said, as I tapped a little harder. "It sounds like plastic to me". "Please be careful or you'll break it", Mom continued. I insisted that it was plastic. Eager  to prove my point, I tapped with a little more vigor . . . Clink . . . to my surprise, there lay a small chunk of glass on top of what was left of my dessert. Oops! . . . I guess I was wrong. I felt bad, but the damage was done and super glue was not going to fix the problem. Mom was  very disappointed, Dad was upset and I was embarrassed.

Did Dad take me out to the wood shed to teach me a lesson? Did Mom make me buy a new goblet? Did I have to do penance for the next year? None of the above. Mom came up with a very clever punishment and one that may have been more meaningful in the long term than some of the others. She washed out the goblet, complete with the shattered piece and placed it on the dresser in my bedroom. Everyday, when I went to get a pair of socks or underwear, there was a clear reminder that just maybe I didn't know it all and there's a reason that we are given people in our lives for guidance and advice.

How many times in life or in business have we thought we knew it all? Maybe a partner, business colleague or friend has clearly warned us, even numerous times, that the results of our actions could have devastating consequences. We plow forward, tinkling the glass until it's too late. The damage is done.

I still like my desserts but I try to be a little more careful about how much I think I know.


Special Gift just for you from the Rendall Vault:

MOM'S SHORTBREAD

1 cup margarine
1/2 cup cornstarch
1/2 cup icing sugar
1/2 tsp of salt
2 cups sifted all purpose flour
Beat margarine until smooth
Sift dry ingredients 4 times
Add to margarine, work with hands until mixture cracks
Roll out to about 1/2 inch and cut in shapes or squares
Bake at 325 for 20 minutes

ENJOY!

www.prairieboy.com
© 2012 Stephen J. Rendall - All rights reserved.

LOOKS CAN BE DECEIVING

One of the things I have learned in my time on this earth is that you can't judge a book by it's cover. In terms of finances I have often found that people who try and impress you that they have money just might not. Some that you think are poverty stricken actually have real wealth.

There was a fellow by the name of Bertram Shelton or Bert as we called him, who came to PBI in the 40's. If you were really brave you called him Bertie!  Bert was an incredibly gifted man, fully educated, having attended the prestigious Canadian University, Wilfred Laurier. One of his classmates was Lester B. Pearson who later went on to become the Prime Minister of Canada. Bert felt "led", or was "called", to travel almost 3000 miles from his home in Ontario to teach at the Prairie Bible Institute in Three Hills, Alberta.

He was an extremely short, slight man with a high, squeaky voice. Quiet and unassuming, you would probably never notice him unless he was pointed out to you. For reasons seemingly forgotten at this point, Bert never resonated with the students as an effective teacher. Sizing up his skills and hoping to find him another role on staff, he was given the job of head librarian. In later years he moved on to the vital job of proofreading each and every document that the school prepared to go to print and then on to a wider world.

Bert was as tight as a frog's bum - and that's watertight! This man could pinch pennies like you've never seen. When my wife's grandma turned 100, Bert sent a sympathy card in the mail. He had crossed out the words, "With Sympathy" and had handwritten, "Happy Birthday".

On occasion Bert would accompany my grandfather Hugh Norbo and Fritz Honecker to the Coffee Break, a local restaurant. Grandpa was well into his 90's at the time and the other 2 were in their 80's. Fritz would pick them up in his old four door Ford Fairlane station wagon and drive ever so slowly out to the Coffee Break where they would find a table.

When the waitress approached and inquired as to what they would be having, my grandfather and Fritz ordered pie and coffee. The waitress then turned to Bert who indicated in his high squeaky voice, "Water will be fine." She asked if he was sure and he said that he was. Fritz said, "Go on Bert, have some pie", to which Bert replied, "No, no, water will be fine." This dialog went back and forth a number of times until finally Fritz said, "Go on Bert, I am buying." Well . . . Bert quickly had his order at hand which not only included the pie and coffee, but ice cream as well!

When Cathy and I were first dating we would often see Bert out shuffling along fairly late at night as I would drive up to her parent's house to drop her off. On his hands he wore what appeared to be wool socks and he would motor along the sidewalk on sixth avenue getting in his nightly constitution. One day, having observed the sight of the wool socks many times, I said to Cathy, "Poor Bert, the man can't even afford gloves! We need to see that he gets a nice pair." Arrangements were made to send Bert a pair of warm winter gloves in an anonymous fashion through the campus mail. Then the strangest thing happened - night after night we would see Burt shuffling along, still wearing the wool socks on his hands.

As a single staff man, Bert lived as spartan of an existence as you could imagine. His two room "suite" in one of the staff dorms was furnished with a simple table, some bookshelves, a couple of chairs, bed, night stand and little else. His meager wardrobe hung in the closet. Bert was known to stuff his pockets at the Dining Hall where he would go for coffee breaks and his noon meal. This ensured that he stayed in groceries for the evening meal, a late night snack and breakfast the next morning.

When Bert passed on, his will read and executed, we got the surprise of our lives. In his simple, modest room was a trunk, one of those old steamer trunks that had leather buckles and a tray inside. When the trunk was opened there lay not one, but a dozen pairs of beautiful, brand new winter gloves, neat as a pin and never worn. Obviously we had not been the only ones to think Bert needed new gloves! The real kicker came when it was discovered that Bert owned several quarters of land and had a substantial amount of money safely on deposit with a local bank. He had generously left his savings to several good causes. I'm not sure what happened to all the gloves.

www.prairieboy.com

© 2010 Stephen J. Rendall - All rights reserved.