In honor of my German (Hessian) great-grandparents, and in the tradition handed down to the Schweinsberg granddaughters through Grandma Karolina, I have been busy this morning making sure that my little household will be as lucky as possible in the coming year. (And Heaven knows, we may need all the help we can get!)

My southern friends won't understand this. They'll want to talk about back-eyed peas and greens, but -- trust me -- on a blustery New Year's Eve, whether in Germany or Pennsylvania-- finding a pot of pork and sauerkraut is about as lucky as it gets!

Tradition says that it always brings good luck to eat pork, although for those who don't like the meat, a marzipan pig makes a good substitute. The pork itself can take many forms -- a schnitzel,  a roast, a tender chop, or --  ideally -- slow-cooked with sauerkraut. Why sauerkraut? Because it comes with a wish that you may have as much money as there are shreds of cabbage in a vat of sauerkraut.

My own favorite version of the old recipe combines the following ingredients in a slow cooker and lets them meld on low for six hours. Yes, I suppose it might taste better in a cast iron pot simmering on the back of a wood-burning stove, but, hey! Serve with mashed potatoes. And why mashed potatoes? Because it tastes good!

My grandfather, Joseph Lyle McCaskey, was all Scotch-Irish, but my grandmother, Karolina Schweinsberg, was German. Her parents (who would be my great-grandparents) were Johan F. Schweinsberg, (1831 - 1899) born in Hesse, and Philippine Jung, (1831 - 1906) born in Rheinland-Pfalz. She and Johan married on 17 July 1853. I do not have an immigration date for either of of them, but their first child, Wilhelm, was born 30 March 1854 in western Pennsylvania, when they were both 23 years old.

I can trace Johan's family back one further generation, and the Jung family for three generations, taking me to some great-great-great-great-grandparents living in Rheinland-Pfalz at the beginning of the eighteenth century. There are no details, however, beyond birthdates. Having found neither any horse-thieves or any relatives that seem closely connected to a great philosopher, I am content to let buried ancestors stay buried.

I was curious, however , about my grandmother's siblings -- wondering why I did not hear more about her brothers and sisters.  A little probing turned up some sad details. 

 

·      John Fredrick Schweinsberg, born in 1847, lived with Johan and Philippina in 1860, but he was actually the son of Henry (“Georg Heinrich”) Schweinsberg, the brother of Johann Friedrich Schweinsberg.

·       Wilhelm J. was born in 1854 and died in 1887.  That makes two young men who died in their thirties.

·      Johannes S. was born in 13 November 1855  and died on 17 January 1944, He married Mary Louise Workley and had two sons and two daughters.

·      Grandma Karolina was born in 1858 and died in 1933.

·      Karl Henrick was born in 1860 and died at age ten.

·      Maria was born in 1862 and died at age eight.

·      Henrick August. was born in 1864 and died in 1955 at the age of 90. (Talk about a changling!) I guess if  you survived childhood, you could survive most anything. 

·      Jacob was born in 1867 and died at age 1 year, 4 months..

·      Fredrich was born in 1869 and died at age 1 year, 6 months..

·      Emma Margaret was born in 1871 and died in 1942.

 

Family tally:

·      9 births and one nephew taken into family.

·      4 died in childhood

·      2 died in their middle to late thirties

·      only 4 lived to their Biblical three-score and ten or beyond

 

 

With that in mind, take a look at this picture. That's Karolina Schweinsberg McCaskey seated on the left, and on the right, her mother, Philippina Jung Schweinsberg or possibly her sister Emma. That's Minnie (Wilhelmina) McCaskey Swick standing and holding baby Gladys Swick. 

I grew up with an enlargement of that picture on my mother's dressing table, and I always wondered why they were all wearing black on what seemed to be a happy occasion. Now I understand. Poor Great-Grandmother Phillippina must have spend most of her adult life in mourning garments.

Apparently this is my day to shine a little. Two e-mail messages awaited me after lunch today. And I hope my pun-loving friends will forgive me for calling this 'the long and the short of it."

First came this message from the Military Writers Society of America:

"Your book, Damned Yankee, received a GOLD Medal in the 2016 Military Writers Society of America awards historical fiction category." 

Damned Yankee is the first of three volumes of The Grenville Trilogy. Published in 2014, this 400-page historical novel chronicles the fortunes of one South Carolina family as they weathered the chaos of the Civil War and its far-reaching after-effects. 

The reviewer wrote: "Damned Yankee is a fine tale of the war from the perspective of the overlooked bystanders who bear no arms but suffer equally from the ravages of the conflict. It is recommended to anyone who enjoys Civil War fiction."

 

Then came the announcement of the results from a Facebook-publicized poetry contest.

 Anyone who knows me will tell you that brevity is not among my finest qualities. So asking me to submit a 17-syllable poem challenged my self-control to its utmost limits. But, inspired one hot, dry, summer day while mourning my withering flowerbed, I found a touch of inspiration:

For the record, this particular lizard had a vivid blue tail, and my first thought was that I was seeing  scrap of plastic from a newspaper wrapper. When I reached for it, he jumped and scared the bejezzus out of me! What was worse, the end of the tail broke off, just as it is designed to do in case of a predator's attack. 

And that is truly the long and short of it!

Time to vent, just a little, as we move deeper into December and the holiday hoopla.  A time to stop, take stock, and remember what’s important in this life, and what is not. 

A case in point:

I have some old friends, some folks with whom I connected many years ago when we were all  working as mere “go-furs” behind the scenes of a large philanthropic organization. It’s been the kind of friendship that goes for months or years without contact but renews easily and joyfully when events bring us back together  for a day or two. They are the kind of friends with whom you go for a drink, or a quick sandwich, exchange views of family pictures, mention future plans, and then spin off on your separate trajectories.

In the last few years, one of these friends has hit the fast track to international prominence, by now serving in a jaw-dropping executive position that has him and his wife jet-setting around the world, hob-knobbing with others whose names I have only encountered in the newspapers. I miss our quick reunions but have rejoiced in his successes.

And now . . . 

Would I be pleased to find a Christmas card from him and his wife among the others that have started to arrive? Of course I would. One of the blessings of the holiday season is that we take time to remember the people who have played an important part in our lives..

Would I understand if his multiple responsibilities made it physically impossible for them to send out personal greeting cards this year? Of course I would. It really never occurred to me to expect a greeting from them. 

But there it was in my mailbox . . . 

. . . Christmas-stamped, sealed, and hand-signed . . 

. . . and addressed only to my husband . . 

. . . who, as most of you know, died almost two years ago.

So what are you doing this holiday season? Whatever it is, I hope it will be personal, heartfelt, and meaningful.  It’s time to move beyond doing what’s expected, going through the motions, knee-jerking your way through the tasks at hand. Better to send one sincere message to someone who changed your life than to send out 500 identical — and meaningless — cards.