JOAN'S MATERNAL GRANDPARENTS

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We called our Grandparents Omama and Opapa. When we first came to New York from Switzerland, we lived with them in their tiny Kew Gardens apartment. Later, sometime in the early fifties, they followed us from New York City to Parishville and lived throughout my childhood, in a little unpainted house on Catherine Street, just a few houses down from ours. The grass in front of it was high. I don't think it got mowed. Anyhow, it was a rental. They didn't expect to live long enough to bother buying. It was unpainted, because, again, why bother? But it had a marvelous garden in back. Our Opapa loved growing tomatoes. Not eating them, but growing them. And corn. I remember the corn... Inside, the house, in the living room, was a big cozy fireplace and oil paintings on the walls. One, I remember, was called the Blue Boy: A very handsome young man with pink cheeks, red lips, long black hair, all dressed in blue satin,. There was a staircase leading up to a couple of tiny rooms... bedroom, parlor... One door, I remember, had a brass knocker, a lion head with a ring in the nose. The lion head fascinated me.

DR. ARTHUR BRILL
Every Sunday we had Sunday lunch with the grandparents. That was the one day our grandfather cooked. Mostly I remember omeletsor kiesh or something like that. And, I remember sitting in front of the cozy fireplace enjoying the Sunday funnies while lunch was being prepared,our mother and grandmother setting the table. Summers our Uncle Bobby, his wife, Toni, and their two children, Peggy and David came up from New York and lived with them too. Every Sunday, after the family lunch, while the women cleaned up, our Opapa went up to his bed for a nap. After a while we were allowed to go up and bounce on his bed to wake him up. I loved those times climbing all over Opapa until he'd finally get up. I remember pretending we were horses in a pasture.

Another thing I remember about Opapa is that in town he was known as "Papa Brill" and he always carried lollipops in his pockets to give to the town kids. Also, in his later years, he was a terrible driver. His car, as I remember it, was an old Pontiac (Chevy?) Anyhow, it was green. Whenever we took trips together, we in our car, they in theirs, my mother would worry and panic, the old pontiac close in front of us, weaving all over the road.

Omama was very heavy, and she had to wear special shoes with holes in them to let in the air. She alsways had a cane, and wore dark dresses with white polka dots. And, I believe she was usually sad, sometimes bitter. Omama never learned to speak English very well, and I remember her speaking to me in German, and me answering in English. And, if I was sick, I remember her sitting by my bed telling me Viennese folk tales in German. I especially remember one about a goose who laid golden eggs. But they couldn't have been solid gold, because they were cracked open and stirred up into a wonderful bread-pudding sort of thing without the bread. It was called "Kaiser schmalz" and was the King's favorite dish. The way you make it is: Take 4 or so eggs, add a little milk, a few table-spoons of flour, a good deal of sugar, vanilla and raisins. Bake it in the oven for about 15 minutes. Then stir it up and let it cook another few minutes. Until it's solid. Something like that. The goose was rescued from slaughter again and again because the king needed his favorite dish.

(Article in the Watertown Daily Times, November 25, 1959

Austrian Masonic Leader of 1930's is Parishville Resident
by Louise E. Blake

Potsdam, Nov. 25— Arthur Brill, a man of unusual quiet and dignity and with a kindly twinkle in his eyes. reminisced yesterday of his former happy life as a lawyer in Vienna, Austria, and as a man especially active in free and accepted masonry, before the iron heel of Hitler destroyed everything worthwhile in that beautiful city of more than two million people, and he and his wife fled to America.

Now Dr. Brill and his wife have a cozy home in Parishville where they live on the same street with their only daughter and her family. It is a far cry from Vienna where terror reigned under the Nazi regime from which the couple luckily escaped with their lives. These memories the couple is trying to put behind them and forget. Their daughter is Mrs. Angela Thaler, wife of Dr. Max Thaler, who came from the old country to America where residents of Parishville were instrumental in establishing Dr. Thaler as resident doctor through an agency for displaced persons.

Dr. Brill may be considered famous in masonic circles, for he is the founder of several groups of young men from the ages of 16 through 22; young Masonic groups known as "dei kotto" meaning the chain. These young Masonic organizations were started by Dr. Brill in Vienna, Prague and other nearby cities and continued to be active until the reign of Hitler.

In relating the work of the founding of these organizations, Dr. Brill, former master of a masonic lodge in Vienna, said it was 1928, during a jubalee of the grand lodge held in that city that he... concerning the founding of an order of young men. He recalled that masons from all over the world attended the Jubilee, including many from the United States. The officers of the grand lodge attempted to establish a society for young masons, but were discouraged when they received little cooperation from the boys. Dr. Brill then received permission from the grand lodge officials to attempt to contact the youth groups and get them interested.

Dr. Brill was more successful when the young men found that they could have their own masonic order without having it under the jusisdiction of the grand lodge. As a result, about a 100 young men between 16 and 22 organized their own lodge, wrote their own bylaws and rituals with the assistance of Dr. Brill and held their meetins once weekly. "I only remained in the background to help when they needed me," Dr. Brill explained yesterday. A young man of 18 was the lodge's first president.

After the lodge was established, the grand lodge gave them a room in the grand lodge building for their meetings and assisted financially in many ways. These weekly meetings were for lectures and discussions. Then on each Sunday the lodge entertained the young girls as their guests with activities such as trips to the mountains and other out-of-door events.

Dr. Brill explained that in Austria a man must the age of 24 before he can become a member of the masonic order. The young lodge had a camp in Kristendorf where the girls were entertained on Sundays as their guests.

The newly organized lodges for young men visited each others' lodges once a year and also entertained their fathers, most of whom were master masons.

It was in March 1938 that Hitler came and destroyed all masonic lodges by taking all books and furniture from the buildings and burning them in the streets. "I was arrested for one day by the Gestapo," Dr. Brill recalled. After continuous questioning for ten hours he was allowed to go free.

Dr. Brill was a director of the immigration department and although he wished to leave with his wife, he was not allowed to go, as they claimed "he was indespensible." In May 1939 he was finally allowed to depart with his wife and the couple sailed from Italy to New York.

During the years in Vienna, after he founded the young men's lodges, he was called "Uncle Brill" by all the young men of the lodges as their term of affection for the man who had helped them so greatly.

Dr. Brill recounted one incident that might have meant death to him during the Gestapo. He said the Nazi officials had rounded up a large crowd of Jewish people in the main streets whom they were going to take to some unknown destination. An officer came after him and asked him if he was Jewish. Admitting that he was, the officer took him to the large group, when suddenly the Nazi officer said, "Are you Dr. Brill?" When the lawyer said that he was, the officer said to him, "You did some legal work for me a few weeks ago and would not take any pay for it. Now I am going to repay you. Come with me." The officer ordered the lawyer to walk directly back of him and led him out of the crowd to an isolated street. Here the officer set him free and left him.

After reaching America,Dr. and Mrs. Brill lived in New York where Dr. Brill worked at any job he could find for a few years. Then, after his son-in-law and daughter were sent to Parishville to live, they soon followed. There Dr. Brill worked as secretary (accountent) for his son-in-law.

Dr. Brill has a nephew, Mark Altman, who is Master of the Humanities F & A M of New York. a masonic lodge for members of former lodges in Austria. Mr. Altman and his family will spend Thanksgiving in Parishville with Dr. and Mrs. Brill and Dr. and Mrs. Thaler. It will be a truly Thanksgiving for a life of peace in our United States.

Dr. Arthur Brill May 14, 1881- April 3, 1964

Parishville man was Retired Lawyer — Rites Sunday

Watertown Times (?) or Potsdam Courier Freeman(?) Obituary April 4, 1964

Arthur Brill, 82, a retired lawyer of Parishville and a native of Vienna, Austria, died yesterday at his home. He had been in poor health recently.

The body will be at the Garner funeral home, Lawrence avenue, where friends may call.

A Masonic service will be held tonight at 8:40 p.m. at the funeral home with officers and members of Amber lodge F & A.M., Parishville officiating.

The funeral will be Sunday afternoon at 2pm at the funeral home with Rabbi David Kozak, Ogdensburg, officiating. Burial will be in Anshe Zopen cemetery, Ogdensburg.

Mr. Brill is survived by his wife, Mrs. Martha Brill, Parishville, one daughter, Mrs. Max (Angela Thaler, wife of Dr. Max Thaler, Parishville, a son Henry L. Brill, Long Island, a sister, Mrs. Thelophi Jawtt, Kew Gardens, New York City, and six grandchildren.

Mr. Brill was born May 14, 1881. He was graduated from the University of Vienna with a doctor of law degree. For years he conducted his own law firm in Vienna until 1939 when he and his family came to New York City. He was associated with a law firm in New York until he moved to Parishville several years ago. Since then he had been an active accountant until last year.

He had been especially active in the youth movement of the Masonic order, both in Vienna and in Parishville. He was a life member of the order and a member of Amber Lodge.

In World War I he served his country as Captain in the Austrian army. He was decorated several times. On June 30th 1912 he married Martha Bloch.

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MARTHA (BLOCH) BRILL OBITUARY NORTH WOMAN DIES AT 87

Martha Bloch Brill, 87, of Parishville, widow of Dr. Arthur Brill, lawyer and accountant, died Thursday in Flushing Hospital where she was a patient one day.

She had been spending the winter with her son, Henry L. Brill. The funeral will be at Nichols Funeral Home at 2:30pm Sunday with Rabbi David Kozak officiating. Burial will be in Anshe Zopen cemetery, Ogdensburg. Surviving, besides her son, a daughter, Mrs. Max (Angela) Thaler and six grandchildren.

She was born February 22, 1892 in Vienna, Austria, daughter of Ludwig and Sophie Reiss Bloch, and was the last survivor of their three children. A brother and sister died in England years ago.

She was married to Dr. Arthur Brill May 2, 1919 in Vienna. They came to the U.S. in 1939. They came to Parishville in 1950. Dr. Brill died in 1964. Mrs. Brill was a membr of the Beth El Congregation, Potsdam.

Joan's Family Poems

My Mother Is Alive
(Written for my mother, Angela Brill Thaler, in 1984, soon after
a near fatal car crash)

Angela Thaler 1950's


MY MOTHER IS ALIVE

Some poets write
how their mothers are dead
who never really lived
anyway
except behind the ironing board
and in unfulfilled dreams --

Not me.
My mother is alive.

Floating on her back in blue water
she is monumental as mountains
on sky.

Other mothers drift
in white aprons
boneless as angels
in pitiful retrospect.

Not mine. Mine is rock hard.
Head on, two cars prove --
she is full of bones.
And a good deal of brain.
Swollen.
But -- thank God -- undamaged.

My mother sews like a factory.
Plays piano like an army.
Is a nurse, like a doctor.
A secretary, like the boss.

A lover of mushrooms
wild geese and waterfalls.
A connoisseur of North Country snow.

She can be a carpenter.
A seamstress. A politician.

My mother can knit an intricate sweater
& read a book at the same time.
Write a book. Design an afghan.

Organize a peace march.

At 72 she does JANE FONDA exercises
to keep herself strong.
And nobody beats her
in scrabble.

My mother speaks 5 languages
-- fluently --
And Latin.
And Greek.

In fall she climbs trees
to pick crabapples
And bakes them into stroodles
And boils them into fruit soup.

Or she's working in the Dr's office
and the patients want her advice
as well as his.
Or she's teaching German in the high school.
Or she's traveling to South America.

Summers she swims her favorite river
to the island & back. Every day.
The breast stroke. The crawl.
She is slick as an otter on her back.

Dreaming under summer's blue dome.

Dreaming in the night under stars.

Dreaming this hard morning
on a different river. Today my mother is hurt.
She is drifting in a drugged stupor
on a river of pain.

Her high forehead is bloated
like a rank summer melon & life
tastes bitter in her mouth.
She cannot eat.

Under hospital sheets
my mother's body lies limp;
pitiful as an angel.
Her bones are all broken,
eyes swollen shut.

In her ears a roaring
like a waterfall.
Distant music of pain strums
electric against her overstressed nerves.

In her teens in Vienna she played
the accordion.
Wrote verses to sing at weddings
& parties. And all the boys
liked her with her flashing
green eyes.

She smoked cigarettes
with the best of them.
And danced into the night.

My mother was no angel.
But she knew how to live.

And then Hitler came & all Vienna
turned sour in her throat.
All dreams became nightmare
& the nightmare was no dream.

But my mother lived.
Crossed borders by batting her eyes
at the guard.
Crawled under barbed wire.
Death followed and roared
& howled in her eardrums.
But she clung to her spirit
in the white dizzy Alps.
And though everything hurt
she lived.

It's a family joke
how when she was born
all swollen and dark
in her little white bed

an uncle, condescending,
said, "Don't worry that she's ugly.
Maybe she'll be smart."

They named her "Angelika,"
"Angel."
And she was wild as
Cochise in the movies --

painted her face
& called herself
"Quimbo the Indian."

And only her guardian spirit
kept her alive
through a bone-breaking
childhood.

But she was smart, Herr Death.
And she kept faith
in her guardian spirit --
who kept faith in her.

And as for you, Herr Death,
this time in your "car accident" uniform,
you hit her but missed her
again.

And this nightmare
which is no dream
also will end
in her favor.

Already the x-rays
are changing their minds.
Her broken bones are healing themselves
in your face.

My mother will swim again.
Walk again.
Command the piano.

She will argue philosophy
in 5 languages.
Slaughter us all at scrabble.
And hold her grandson
on her lap --

whispering together
as they do.

And as soon as her eyes
are open again
my mother will read this poem
that I wrote for her.

She will know in this world
how much I respect her.
And love her.

And thank God.
And thank her.
And thank her true guardian spirit.

That my mother --
my strong unrepeatable mother --
is no angel.
My mother is alive.



*MY MOTHER IS ALIVE appeared in WOMEN'S STRUGGLES, WOMEN'S VISIONS, EDITED BY CATHRYN HEISMAN, AUGUST 1992. I retain all rights.

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DRIVING CROSS COUNTRY WITH ANDY AND DAY IN THE YEAR OF THE DROUGHT
by Joan Dobbie

Even now after so many years & many such trips &
so much loss I need to expound about that one
particular magnificent journey East. How I at age 42
swam my way over the breadth of America
in absolute harmony
with two 13 year old boys. My parents were still
both alive in those days & we were driving
to see them, but there was in those days
no hurry
so we hit every body of water between Oregon & New York State, and let me tell you
drought or no drought
there were plenty.

We swam in the Willamette before we left home
& we swam in the green Snake River the instant we hit
Idaho
& we drove up 5 miles of precarious cliffs
to swim in Angel Lake, Utah
& we swam in the Great Salt Lake
until Andy was crawling with shrimp
& we swam in the Horsetooth Reservoir
& we swam in the Boulder Reservoir
& we almost went tubing down Boulder Creek
& we hit at least 5 of the 10 thousand lakes
of Minnesota
& we spent half a day submerged in the huge dead
& therefore perfectly pure water of
Lake Superior & in Ontario Canada we swam
in the cooling
system of a nuclear reactor (by accident)
where the water was luxuriously warm
& in upstate New York I tell you
there are rivers & reservoirs
everywhere. We boated! We rafted! We walked
on the water-pipes. We enjoyed that water!

And the people--
that summer my mom & my dad still lived
in their house by the river, staring I think
at too many sunsets, but facing that sun
with such a magnificent vengeance! It was
the year of their 50th Wedding Anniversary &
they'd invited every relative between here & anywhere
on earth & God help the relative that didn't
show up. We celebrated night & day. We had a huge
50th Wedding Anniversary Wedding complete
with a rabbi flown in from Indiana,
150 Wedding guests, a many-tiered wedding cake,
a man with a video camera
& all the challa you could eat.

We said, Hitler, you ruined this couple's first
wedding
but this wedding no tyrant can touch! And no tyrant
did.
Not out loud. Not that year.
All the girls wore silk dresses.
And myself, I went off & got laid, exquisitely.
And Magda & Jonathan, they got pregnant again.
And the boys? Who cares what they did.
The air was ripe with bubbles.

Then driving back West we encountered
a rainbow
swimming in the mist of Niagara Falls,
a bear standing on his hind legs
by the roadside,
he looked like a boy in a bearsuit
& coming up over the mountains
we passed muledeer & eagles & marmots
& hovering over the buttes there were condors

& we chased girls in their fathers' red Fiats
at 100 miles an hour
& we slept in our favorite park of the dinosaurs,
where
we made sundials to the white of the moon.
We met a real skunk but who cares? He didn't stink.
& nowhere we went did it rain.

And we drove past huge herds of thin antelope
& we did not hit any rabbits
& we heard the coyotes howling
& we drove through a vast burning desert
immersed in the incense of sagebrush on fire--
& I said, Man, this is the best trip of my entire
life!
& Day said, I sure hope it's not the best trip
of my life, I'd hate it --
my best trip almost over -- & me just thirteen.

* This poem appeared in Fireweed, 1992. I retain all rights Copyright 1992 Joan Dobbie

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LITTLE FISHIES SCOOPED OUT
OF THE OCEAN OF TIME

They’re the cutest little squirmy things
all slippery as fresh caught trout
& you so proud
(the way you carry them around.)

They smile & pout
& wet & poo -- it’s true!
They hold the future
in their bodies

& you

so careful not to drop. While
on the horizon, we granpies
& grannies, great
uncles & aunties,

slowly descend
in a pale orange glow
(fumbling the triggers
of our digital cameras.)

No reason to fuss.
It’s the way of the world.

But it’s you, busy mummies
& daddies (who never get to sleep)
Thank you for working so hard
to keep it all running.

I’m so glad
you learned how to cook.

Joan Dobbie
12/06/06

Our Lucie

DEAR FAMILY & FRIENDS

( Please correct me where I have my facts wrong, and make suggestions for additions, changes, etc.)
Photo by Ellie Beeler

When Lucie was young, she read the poem, The Song of the Shirt by Thomas Hood (in German translation) and was forever influenced.

When Communism was still rich with idealism, " she joined the Communist party, dreaming of universal equality. When Hitler came into power, she struggled against his Austrian takeover. Later, as a refugee, despite the bomb that wiped out their home, she embraced her new life in London.
Lucie was active in the struggle for Jewish reparations. She joined the anti-nuclear fight and was active in Amnesty International. She gave to many charities. She was on the governing board of the local elementary school. She was on the board of the housing complex in which she lived from the time of her beloved husband, Erwin's, death until her own.

On a personal level, she spent many hours helping the ill and the elderly. And a lifetime being daughter, wife and then  mother to her own two daughters and grandmother to her four grandsons. Not to mention, being a loving cousin to us, her cousin Angela's four children and later our children's children as well.

She picked damsons from a neighborhood damson tree. She donated to the neighborhood "Charity Stores." She adored her various Siamese cats. She knew all the answers to Britain's intellectual quiz shows. She was really good at scrabble too!

What I am trying to say is that she was throughout her long life politically active, an active community member, a traveler too, and such a very good person. She was intelligent, witty, a lover of music, a lover of art, a lover of family, and a lover of humanity.

In turn, we loved her. Lucie was our mother's cousin and close friend from childhood onward. From the time I was 18 until I was well into my 60s, every few years I would come to London to stay with her for a bit. Sometimes for a week, two weeks, once , along with my two then young children, for two months. Toward the end of her life, Lucie asked me to stop coming. Company had become too much of a strain.

So now, there are memories...


With her best friend, Dada
Photo by Ellie Beeler

Bianca

My Grandmother's Grandmother by Dawn Dobbie

My grandmother's name is Angela Brill Thaler. She was born November 30, 1913 in Vienna, Austria, where she lived until 1938. Because of Hitler, she and my grandfather, Max Thaler, escaped to Switzerland. They lived in Switzerland for ten years and had two children there, Ellen born in 1943 and Joan in 1946. Since they could not get permanent residency, they moved to the United States, and lived in New York City while Max got his internship in general medicine. In 1950 they moved to a small town in upstate New York, Parishville. Max opened a family practice and was the only doctor in three towns. They had two more children, David who was born in 1953 and Susanna, 1955. They lived happily in Parishville for thirty-nine years. Max Thaler died September 9, 1989.
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After the funeral the family gathered around the kitchen table. People were reminiscing about the past. My grandmother, Angela, told a story from her childhood, about her grandmother, Sophia.

"The year was 1918, I was five years old, right at the end of the first world war. An epidemic of influenza had spread all over Vienna. My baby brother, Bobby, caught it, so my parents decided it would be best if I stayed with my Grandmother Sophia so I would not catch influenza.

I had never spent much time with my grandmother, let alone spent the whole night. She was a very distant woman; I had always admired my Grandmother Sophia. She was incredibly beautiful, and although she was a widow who always wore black, she dressed to the height of fashion. She had exquisite snow white curls piled high on her head, and she had the smallest wasp waist I had ever seen. There was a sophisticated air about her. She definitely was a lady.

I had a wonderful afternoon with her. She took me to the most expensive restaurant in the whole city. I had an extremely lavish meal, the best a five year old girl could dream of. The dessert was amazing, a chocolate mousse, with whipped cream piled high, in sweeping swirls just like my grandmother's beautiful hair.

After dinner we went to the opera, which was another new experience. I had never seen so many extravagant women! They were wearing beautiful furs and jewels. The

opera house was fragrant with exotic perfumes. I had never seen this world and it enchanted me. Of all the beautiful women there, my Grandmother Sophia was still the most beautiful. I was so proud to be there with her. She was the queen and I adored her.

We got home late, and we were both exhausted. I washed my face, brushed my teeth and put on my nightgown. Then I climbed into my grandmother's deluxe king size feather bed with its silken sheets. Grandmother Sophia came in and sat at her vanity table where she began to remove hairpins from her hair. She then removed her hair! She lifted off her beautiful white swirling locks and put them on the bureau. I was so shocked, I just sat there with my mouth open. I could not believe my grandmother's beautiful hair was not her hair. How could this be? All she had left were a few short gray hairs.

That was not the worst of it. Next she undressed; after her dress came off she unlaced her corset. I had never seen a corset before and as she unlaced it I saw her grow fatter by the second. When she was finished she put the bony contraption on the bureau next to her hair. She then washed her face and off came her eyebrows and rosy cheeks. At that point she barely resembled my grandmother, and I was getting quite frightened. She then removed her teeth and placed them in a glass jar on the bureau next to her hair and the corset.

Finally, a bald, fat, ugly, old woman, who I didn't even know, climbed in bed with me, and grinned a toothless grin. That was when I started screaming."

That's how Angela finished her story. It made me laugh hysterically, but it also made me feel very sorry for poor old Sophia.

As we sat around the table, I remembered that the five year old girl was my beloved grandmother. I also realized that I could be that five year old girl, but my grandmother's beauty was natural and I could never be afraid of her. I could only love her.

Written in 1989, Published in "Angela's Artwork" 2002
Copyright 1989 Dawn Fourie (nee Dobbie)


September 1989

This is a true story. This is what happened. But what she didn’t mention, but I remember, is this: There on the table was my grandmother, somehow magically disassembled, but my grandmother. And what came into bed with me was not my grandmother. A stranger came to bed with me. That’s why I started screaming— Angela 2001

Mom's Poetry

My mother, Angela Brill Thaler was something of a closet poet. I think she considered poetry writing somehow indecent, too personal to be proper. As a young woman in Vienna, and later in Switzerland, she belonged to a musical group. She played the accordion, wrote rhyming verses for weddings and so forth. But until late in her life, most of her serious poetry was written in private, and destroyed.

Thankfully, one poem she did not destroy. It was a poem written for me soon after my birth. I was her second daughter, born in January of 1946, when, finally, the war was truly over, and she could almost dare to hope. Almost, but not quite. She wrote the poem in German, and 24 years later, when my own daughter was born, she translated it into English as a gift for me. Click on the link to your right, Looking at my Baby, to read, or listen to my reading of, this beautiful poem.

And, I share with you here, several poems she wrote and was willing to share in the last couple of years of her life, when she was living in her own little 11th floor apartment overlooking the foothills of the rockies at Golden West Senior Residence, Boulder, Colorado:

To My Children
Who Give Me Continuity!--

by Angela Thaler

This is the course of all eternity:
to heavy plowing
not to happy harvest
is our time enough.
And if no other takes the road I took
The seedling withers
In forgotten field.
And like a wispy cloud
Up in the sky
So disappears an unimportant “I.”

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••


The Smorgasbord Of Life

by Angela Thaler

Offers hot and cold, sweet and sour.
I ate my portion with relish—
And some indigestion.

We remember the past
With joy and sorrow—
We are alive today.
Never mind the tomorrow!
************************************
Untitled


by Angela Thaler

On the highway stream to Denver
Cars and cars, a steady flow.
Silently the mountains wonder:
Where did all the people go?

February 1999
****************************************************

Vorsicht Ist Die Mutter Der Weisheit
by Angela Thaler

“Caution is the mother of Wisdom”
A German proverb goes.
But who is the father of Wisdom?
Nobody knows!
It therefore is an obvious fact
That Mother Caution did neglect
Once or twice
Her own advice!

************************************************

At Golden West
by Angela Thaler

In my penthouse nest
At Golden West
The past and the present
Merge in happy harmony.
Birds fly by
Framed by sky and mountains.
I look down at the matchbox-cars
And the miniature people.
I am giant Gulliver watching
The Lilliputes!
The elevator brings me down
To their level
And I am one of them.

1999
****************************************************

Cogito Ergo Sum(I Think
Therefore I Am)
by Angela Thaler

My heart still beats.
My brain still thinks.
But my skin is wrinkled
And my hair is white.
If I don’t look in the mirror
I’m all right!

1999
****************************************************
A Little Fairy Tale
by Martha Brill and given to daughter Angelika on her thirteenth Birthday (Translated by Angela Brill Thaler)


A mother went to the woods by herself
And under a thorn bush found an elf.
“Don’t be frightened, little man!
You are free now—run if you can!”

“Dear Lady, three wishes I gratefully convey:
Speak up before I run away!”

The mother did not hesitate:
“That my child’s life be happy & great—
that her spirit remain pure & kind…

“Stop! You wasted two wishes.
Let the third be for yourself!” said the elf.

The mother pondered hard & long
And finally she did respond:

“For me, only one thing you can grant:
Please let my child become my friend!”

And This, my favorite of all her poems, was written for me, Joan, when I was newly born in January 1946



My lovely child, we watch you sleep,
I seek his hand, who gave your seed ...
You manifest of feverish lust in May,
we made a choice -- you have to pay.
Now here you are, beginning of a fate.
I ponder of its purpose,
I'm afraid.
So many bloods are in your stream,
so many flames to build the fuzzy dream
that glimmers dimly in your sense:
new element of countless elements.
What we admitted or suppressed,
the dark, the ugly, and the best
it all is you
or could be you.
The world we built in love and trust
is now in ruins, death and dust.
What if some day in desperation
you ask us justify creation?
The foolish, burning optimist
left you a world
which does not exist.
A judge you are to us, my pet.
You smile in dream ... don't know it yet.
A healer too of squabbling fuss,
because where we are two
you are the both of us.
And some day
I will smile within your face
and cry within your eyes.
And on your feet I'll walk upon my grave
and in your warmth I'll press
my body to your closest friend
to take the glorious gift of joy and dread:
a living child like you ... now sleep my pet ...

Poetry for the Palette!

When I was 20 years old, and a supervisor in a girl’s boarding school, all I knew about cooking was that somebody does it and we eat it. When I was 24, Max and I married and moved to Switzerland. There I found out that I had to be that somebody!—Angela Thaler

Rum Balls



Somebody in Switzerland told me how to make them.. You have to have some fun too, you can't always be miserable just because you are a refugee in a camp. I always used to say, "The Lord doesn't give us a bonus for the years we've spent in here. If we survive it, we're not going to get more years just because we were in camp. We might as well live while we can." And, we would kid each other.

Well, my first rum balls were a rum sausage! We were in the refugee camp, and, we had a friend, Emil Pearlmutter ( He was a very good guitar player. We always played music together.) who didn't have a chamber pot. (In those days, when you had an outhouse, a chamber pot was an essential. Especially if it was 20 or 30 below outside.)

So, a group of us put our money together and bought him a chamber pot, a beautiful chamber pot, and the ingredients for the rum balls. I made the dough (without the machine in those days) and, we made a sausage, a very natural looking sausage, and put it in the chamber pot. He was shocked for a moment! He didn't know what it is, whether it is real, or whether it is real! But anyhow, that was Emil's Chanukah present, a chamber pot with a brown sausage in it. And that was my first time making rum balls--.

Makes about 50

2-1/2 Cups crushed Vanilla Wafers (or other cake or cookie crumbs)
1 Cup crushed Pecans (or available nuts)
2 Tablespoons Cocoa
1 teaspoon maple syrup (if available)
1/2 Cup Rum
1 Cup Sugar for Dough
2 Cups Sugar for Rolling (Some may be left over for next batch!)


In food processor crush vanilla wafers (app.1 box) or other cake or cookie crumbs and measure 2-1/2 cups. Crush shelled pecans (or walnuts or...?). Measure 1 cup. Add 2 tablespoons Cocoa powder, 1 teaspoon maple syrup (if available) and 1 cup granulated sugar. Add 1/2 cup rum. Be generous with ingredients!!! Mix into dough with processor. Scoop out teaspoons of dough and roll into balls. Drop in bowl with 2 (or more) cups granulated or powdered sugar. Shake until sugar coats the balls. Refrigerate until time to enjoy.
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Spiegel Ei
(Mirror Egg)


My father used to say,” One pound of sirloin & one teaspoon spinach!" Something like that. He wasn't much of a vegetarian....

Serves 4

2-Bunches spinach
(app.) 4 Tablespoons white flour
4 Tablespoons butter (or margarine)
Salt, pepper & garlic powder or fresh garlic to taste
4 Eggs

Wash spinach & cut off roots (stems are okay). Steam or boil in small amount of water until limp & dark green. Make Roux: In saucepan melt butter over low heat. Add flower until pasty. Put roux & spinach into food processor & cream. Spoon creamed spinach onto plates. Place one sunny-side-up egg in the middle of each serving of spinach.

Enjoy!!!
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Das Bubchen auf dem Eise
(Little Boy on the Ice)

Serves 2

Cream of Wheat
Milk
Butter (or margarine)
Sugar
Chocolate bar

Prepare Cream of Wheat with milk according to directions. ( 2-1/2 cups milk to 1/3 cup cream of wheat.) Heat the milk almost to boiling, then slowly stir in the cream of wheat.) When it has thickened, pour onto a flat dinner plates, stir in sugar and butter to taste, and place a nice chunk of chocolate in the center.

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Palatschinken
(Crepes or Blintzes)

Milk
Eggs
White flour
Butter (or margarine)
A flat frying Pan

In a blender mix one egg for each cup of milk and add flour to a creamy (not too thick) texture. Pour onto center of large flat, hot buttered frying pan. Lift pan off heat as you swirl the dough into a thin film that covers the pan. Lower heat and fry one side till golden brown then flip over. Roll up with jam, fruit, plain sugar, or even savory filling like cheese or vegetables, or, fill with the following for Topfen Palatschinken:

1 lb Cottage Cheese (for 4 Palatschinken)
1 egg yolk (you can add the white to the batter)
Raisins
Sugar

Mix to taste and roll up.

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Apfel Im Schlafrock
(Apples in Dressing Gowns)

I remember I was so disappointed when one of you, I don’t remember which one, said to me, “You don’t cook American.”

Milk
Eggs
White flour
White sugar
Butter (or margarine)
2 large apples
A frying Pan
Paper Towels

As in Palatschinken, in a blender mix one egg for each cup of milk and add flour. But now you need more flour, for a thicker texture. Peel and core apples, then slice into thick, even slices. Pour a cup of sugar onto a flat plate. Dip the slices in the batter. Melt a good chunk of butter into a hot frying pan, then turn down and fry battered apples over low to medium heat. Remove when golden brown, pat off grease on paper towel and coat with sugar .
Gnocci (Nockerl)
(Small dumplings)

Milk
Eggs
White flour
Butter (or margarine)

Make dough as for Palatschinken, but add more flour to thicken until it is very gooey. Drop by spoonfuls into boiling water. Boil until they float. Scoop them out and immerse in melted butter!

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Eier-nokerl und Salad

In a frying pan scramble nockerl with an egg or two. Eat with a green salad!

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Topfen Kipferl
(Cottage Cheese Pockets)


3 cups Flour
1 lb. Butter (or margarine)
1 lb. Cottage cheese

Apricot (or other) Marmalade

Knead the first three ingredients into a dough, roll out thin a with rolling pin, and use a glass to cut out circles. Put a dab of marmalade in the center of each circle, fold in half and pinch closed. Bake until golden brown at 350 degrees.

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Viennese Karfiol (Cauliflower)

The interesting thing about Viennese cooking is that everything you do adds calories, not like in America, where everyone is trying to lose weight!

1 whole Cauliflower
Butter (or margarine)
Breadcrumbs
Sugar

Wash whole cauliflower, put in a pot of water, cover and boil until soft to a fork (about 20 minutes). Remove from water, but save the water for soup. (It adds flavor.) In a separate pan melt a large chunk of butter. Add enough breadcrumbs to cover the cauliflower and fry until the breadcrumbs are saturated with butter and slightly toasted. Spoon the toasted breadcrumbs over the cauliflower. Sprinkle with sugar to taste. (This can be done separately for each serving.)

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Viennese Fisolen (Greenbeans)

Greenbeans
Butter (or margarine)
Breadcrumbs
Sugar

Wash beans and snap off ends. Either boil or steam until tender. Prepare breadcrumbs and sugar as for cauliflower (above). Sprinkle with sugar to taste.

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Kartofel (Erdapfel) Knodel
(Potato Dumplings)

Mashed potatoes (4 cups)
White flour
Egg
Butter or oil

Mix mashed potatoes with flour, egg and a dash of oil until a light, workable dough is formed. Roll into a long tube, and then cut into appx. 1 inch chunks & roll into balls. Drop into boiling water; boil until dumplings float. Melt about a 1/4 inch of butter into a glass baking dish. Roll dumplings in butter & keep in a warm oven until served.

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Zwetchgen Knodel
(Plum Dumplings)

Any guests would have to pronounce them in order to eat them!

Potato dough (See above)
12 Small dark plums
Sugar cubes
Butter (or margarine)
Breadcrumbs
Granulated white sugar

Prepare potato dough as for dumplings. Remove pits from plums & set aside. Stuff each plum with a sugar cube & wrap with potato dough. For the “Old Maid” wrap pits in dough too! Drop into boiling water & cook until floating. Remove from water, rub with butter & roll in breadcrumbs.

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Gleichgewicht-Kuchen
(Same Weight Cake)

3 eggs, weighed
Same weight butter (or margarine)
Same weight sugar
Same weight flour & 1 tsp. baking powder

Beat butter & sugar well, add alternately: eggs & flour. Put in shallow square baking pan, cover closely with apple or other fruit slices. Bake in medium oven.

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Nudels (Noodles)

6 Cups Flour
1 Egg
Water

In a large bowl pile the flour into a cone or mountain shape. Punch a crater in the top of the mountain and crack the egg into it. Add enough water to make a workable dough. Roll very thin and slice to shape. Noodles can be dried and saved for later or cooked immediately. For ravioli or piroghi, punch circles out of dough with a cup or glass, stuff, and pinch closed into pockets.

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Apfel Strudel
(Apple Strudel)



6 tart Apples
1 lb. Raisins
1 cup Sugar
Butter (or margarine)
Filo dough
Cinnamon
Bread crumbs

A sheet or table cloth to work on
A Cookie sheet

In the old days we had to make the dough by hand. It was a terrible ordeal, spreading dough paper thin over the entire kitchen table. And it had to be done quickly, before it hardened. Thank heaven for Filo dough!!!

Thaw filo dough overnight. Set aside. Slice apples thin and mix with raisins, cinnamon, sugar etc.*

Lay out two to three layers of filo dough onto sheet or table cloth, brush with melted butter and sprinkle with bread crumbs. Spoon one layer of apple mixture onto dough, then add about three more layers of filo dough, again brush with butter, and again spoon on apple mixture. Continue until apple mixture is gone, then roll filo dough/ apple mixture into a sausage and roll the whole business onto a greased cookie sheet. Bake at 350 degrees until golden brown and bubbling juice.

*The best recipe, as my mother always used to say, is simply this: “Put good things in, and good things will come out.” You can add nuts, figs, some lemon juice... whatever... to the mixture.

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Compote
(Fruit Soup)

Apples or peaches or...?
Raisins
Sugar
Water

To peel fruit, drop into boiling water, then scoop out and peel under cold running water. The skin slips right off. Slice fruit into cooking pot, add raisins and sugar to taste. Bring to a boil and simmer until the fruit is soft but not mushy.
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