Hand Signals - the Kannmacher way

Last weekend at a volleyball tournament in Fairfield, I looked up at the score table and noticed the score keeper was a girl that attends our church camps and youth things through our denomination.  I wondered if Madolyn had noticed, so from across the gym I got her attention and signaled to her (clearly) to look at the score table.

My darling 14-year-old daughter was unable to interpret my hand signals, but not before making comments to her friends, I'm sure, that I was a complete idiot.

Later on, she asked me what I was trying to tell her and I told her.  She rolled her eyes and said there was no way that the signals I was giving would have indicated the same to her.  She then relayed the story to her dad, who laughed and said, "Madolyn, if you had known your grandpa great, you would understand."

Oh my goodness, that made me laugh.  My grandpa only had half of his larynx due to his first bout with cancer back in the early 70s.  His loudest voice was a whisper no matter what, and he even carried a whistle with him just in case he needed help and couldn't yell.

To make up for his inability to scream or shout out orders, he used all kinds of hand signals (at least that's my guess) and they were often very confusing.  Today, they might even be considered some form of interpretive dance.

Every now and then, my brother will start throwing his hands this way and that way and laugh...he's mimicking our grandpa...and quite possibly the Quackdaddy who learned from the best.

It's funny how little things like a hand signal bring back memories of a man my kids will never know. It is kind of comforting that some traits and quirks live on in others and that we are able to pass on these stories from one generation to the next.  Important ones, such as, how to do hand signals - the Kannmacher way.

Thankfully, no one in this clan has been called to work on an air traffic control ground crew...

Grandpa's butter

As a child, I remember vividly there being two sticks of butter on the table at Grandma's house; one for Grandpa and one for the rest of us.  Grandpa preferred REAL butter.  So that white stick was Grandpa's butter - yuck.  We were careful not to grab his butter by mistake, it tasted so awful.  Our butter was yellow.

Vintage Tupperware?

Grandma had the plastic Tupperware brand butter dishes, one with a clear (sort of) lid and one with a solid (tan/dirty yellow) lid (as above).  We knew which was which, although at this moment I cannot tell you how it went, and we knew when setting the table that both butter dishes went out.

When I was learning to cook with my mom or grandma, I remember coming to the realization that margarine was butter, or at least what we called butter...or that other weird word, oleo.  I thought margarine was good for us...until a couple years ago when I stumbled across an article that basically said margarine was one molecule away from being considered plastic.  Oh, boy, doesn't that sound super yummy?

For a few years I have been back and forth between using real butter, margarine, low-fat, 'healthy' margarine, spreadable butter made with canola oil, blah, blah, blah.  I have finally decided to stick with the real butter and all its glory.

The big complaint at my house with the real butter was its spreading capabilities.  Alas, the role of the butter dish.

I went to Walmart to buy a butter dish, hoping for the plastic one, to leave out on my counter. I searched the isles for what seemed like forever and had to go with a glass one.  It has claimed an empty space on the counter next to the toaster.  (And a few days later, I was cleaning out the camper for the winter...and found one of my grandma's plastic butter trays!)

I know that real butter is not necessarily healthy, but man, is it good.  I love spreading that soft, real butter across toast or a roll, or anything for that matter...By the way, I'm starting to get hungry, could you pass Grandpa's butter, please?