When she was a toddler, mother contracted polio in her left arm and right leg. It brought tears to our eyes to hear her tell about the medieval contraptions strapped on her leg and arm which doctors used to “heal” or at least attempt to heal children afflicted with polio. She said she always cried when it was time to put on the braces because it was painful. Eventually, her leg was fine, but her left arm was another matter. Although her arm remained paralyzed her hand functioned perfectly. We loved her little hand because she could not spank us with it.
Somewhere along the way the tradition altered and I became the baker of the Dios kalács. I still recall how proud I felt the day she deemed my Dios kalács perfect.
In keeping with the tradition, I assembled the necessary items. Then I climbed on a stool and rolled out the dough. Why do I need a stool? Well, it is important to be above the counter to apply enough pressure to roll out the dough to the desired translucency. As it happens, I’m lucky my chin is a few inches above the counter.
There is no denying that I am short. My grandchildren eagerly compare their height to mine. One is already taller and the other will probably be taller by Christmas. Tall people reach out to pat me on the head until they catch my eye and think better of it.
Do not feel sorry for me because I’m used to this lack of height thing. Just remember: good things come in small, sassy packages.
Elizabeth is a freelance writer and author. Her novels The Dionysus Connection & The Marathon Man are available on amazon.com. Visit her website: www.elizabethcowan.com.
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