Kerzenziehen

This morning was the big moment of truth.  Only slightly anxious, I made my way to Migros to (hopefully) pick up my Thanksgiving turkey.

It went off without a hitch...almost.  The butcher, once I'd gotten his attention, made me repeat my request several times, the phrase I practiced before I left home: "Ich bestellte einen Pute für heute."


"Was?"


"Ein Pute. Pu-te. Pute. Pute?"

The butcher stared at me, and I swear the corners of his mouth were threatening to turn up into a smile.  But he wouldn't admit he understood what I needed until I flapped my arms like a chicken. He rewarded me for my self-mortification by handing me my 12-pound turkey.  And then he told me, in English, "It is also 'Truthahn.'" Thanks, man.

Of course, as is has been my anthem this year, my little turkey is not exactly as I expected. It was, as I'd hoped, unfrozen, but, search as I might inside, I never did find the little packet of giblets that I wanted for my gravy, and they didn't give me the neck, either.  I probably also should have asked how much it would cost before placing my order.  I won't tell you how much my Pute cost, but, needless to say, our Puritan forefathers would have been horrified.  I've never priced such things, but I'm pretty sure the Puta I almost ordered would have been less expensive.

Manchester, Manchester England

This afternoon was pretty fantastic. Dennis came home from Manchester, for one thing, and we're all so glad to have him back.  Dennis's trip wasn't as fun as he'd hoped: he never did entirely kick the stomach bug that's been plaguing him.  Not that it kept him from enjoying anything: reportedly, the food in Manchester is even worse than the offerings in Zürich. He also felt pretty depressed after a visit to the city's Museum of War: he reflected, probably, that Europeans are much more accustomed to, and therefore less affected by, reminders of the World Wars.


But otherwise the trip was lovely, I'm sure.

Ella and Alex and I left Dennis to rest for a while, to do something completely wonderful.   I was happily surprised to learn that Kerzenziehen, or candle making, is a considered an important part of the holiday season.  At seemingly every community center they've put together candle-making stations, open for the next two weeks, so that parents and children can hand-dip their own Advent and Christmas candles.

The closest candle-making station is practically across the street, at our local ice skating rink. They converted an old locker room into a makeshift art room: open to the outdoors, it's chilly in there, but that's perfect for dipping wax.

We paid a franc for the privilege of dipping our candle, and then, when we left, we paid by the weight of the wax we used: the three enormous candles that the kids and I made over a period of about an hour and a half cost us $14. I believe it would have been more expensive if we'd used beeswax for our candles: that was one option.  But the colored candles looked more exciting, so that's what we did.

Alex, watching Barbara and nochElla make a beeswax candle

We were clever and brought nochElla and her mom, Barbara, along with us, to explain the finer points of candle making.  Barbara grew up very close to our home, just a few stops away on the S10 train, and she remembered dipping candles in the same place back when she was seven and eight years old.  But that was also the last time she'd made a candle, so we all sort of learned together.

We were told that we needed to start by soaking our wick for about twenty seconds in the wax, to get it covered completely.  And after that, and every time there after, we were to dip the candle quickly and smoothly, and then remove it into the cool air so that it could harden slightly: "Take a walk around the room and count to twenty," the supervisor told Alex, and he followed her instructions to the letter.  For the rest of the afternoon, I watched him carefully dip his candle and then march briskly in circles around the room, counting under his breath.  He took his job very seriously.

After about a half-hour

Ella, displaying candle-making
technique

About 60 minutes into the process

Alex wasn't the smallest one making a candle, either: there were many four- and five-year-olds, working blithely with hot wax. But there were remarkably few spatters, considering all the chaos of a dozen to two dozen children and mothers taking turns with eight different colors of wax.

You could certainly tell that some of the adults had been doing this for years: they made some gorgeous pieces of art.  I saw some twisting a few thin tapers together to make a gorgeous braided candle.  Another rolled her soft candle slightly flat and then twisted it, making a spiral taper.
Alex watched them all carefully and decided to incorporate one of the techniques the pros used: he pressed unmelted wax pips onto his candle and then dipped it to seal them in place: his candle ended up looking a little like a starry night sky.

Ella made a gorgeous taper, too, layering her colors to make a rainbow.  I suspect it would look really fun when it's burned, all rainbow drips, but, like her brother, Ella's decided that her candle is entering the ranks of "special things" that she's collected this year, and she'll be keeping it forever and ever.  And why not: this was an afternoon worth remembering.  And Ella's so obviously proud of her work: all the way home, she was turning her candle around in her hands, displaying its finer points. And, when the conversation drifted away, she oh-so-casually brought it back to her new favorite topic.

"So...what do you think...you know. Of my candle?"