MAIJA-MUMMO 80!!!
I told Rafael to pay close attention. He could write a great anthropological paper one day about the Finnish birthday tradition that I'm afraid won't last that much longer.
My mom, Maija Tuomainen, turned 80 on January 30, 2008. I traveled to Paltamo, my hometown – really a village - two days earlier to be able to help with baking and other preparations. My mom actually had three celebrations. The first one took place on St. Stephen's Day, the second Christmas Day, when the whole immediate family was present. The second one was in conjunction with the parish elderly group that meets on Tuesday. There were songs, poems, talks, a slide show of my mom's days as a preschool teacher, a song by the current preschoolers, and of course, flowers, coffee and goodies.
At night Rafael and aunt Pakke arrived by an evening train in the mystical, magical snowy Paltamo railway station.
The next day was the actual birthday – and we knew we better be prepared. In a small town, anyone can drop by on the special day. On the very day, there was an article of my greatly beloved and appreciated mom in the village newspaper, VÄYLÄ, so everyone knew – but most people knew anyway. There are no secrets in a small town, Finland – or probably anywhere. I had set the table the night before: a well-ironed white tablecloth, flowers, candles, small, delicate china cups for coffee and tea with tiny silver spoons, and see-through napkins. The goodies would be carried out the next morning.
We figured the first guests would show up before noon, so we filled the table with delicacies by 10 AM:
• Voileipäkakkus – 'sandwich cakes' – one with cold cuts, one with fish
• Juustoleipä – squeaky cheese
• Pikkuleipiä - two kinds of cookies
• Pullaa – Finnish coffee bread
• Kuivakakkua – coffee cake (specialty of aunt Pakke)
• Täytekakkua – a layer cake (we had four kinds: a traditional berry cake, a Sacher torte, my brother, Antti's famous chocolate Swiss roll, and a novelty I wanted to experiment with, a white chocolate-lingonberry torte)
Before the guests started arriving around 11 AM, there had been phone calls with songs from California, Italy, and different parts of Finland. The flowers friends had ordered kept being delivered all day, the first before the guests, most of who arrived carrying a well-wrapped bouquet as well. It's decadently wonderful when even my mom runs out of vases. There were bright red roses, pink roses, yellow roses, red tulips, pink tulips, yellow tulips, an orchid plant, and some more unusual combinations of gerberas, cinerarias, etc. At the end of the night, we did take the must photo of the birthday girl, surrounded by her flowers.
The guest sang, the guest gave speeches, the guests hugged . . . and the guests had coffee. Now we get to the part where Rafael's attention was required.
The traditional Finnish birthday – 50, 60, 70, 80, 90 . . . – follows a time-honored etiquette. The guest sit down and pretty soon are invited to come have coffee. There's always hesitation. Who should go first? It should be the most appreciated, oldest or somehow most distinguished member of the current group. In the past, the head minister, the principal, the railroad master, and the head of the police with their spouses were expected to go first – women always preceding the men. Now, without these village personalities present, the guests just have to keep telling each other, you first . . . until someone announces, well, someone has to begin, no? And I'm sure there're a few who wonder how come the announcer thought so highly of herself.
But this is not it! After establishing the order, you MUST know what to pick out of the table with the first, second and third cup of coffee. Remember, the cups are small, demitasses – not mugs. First cup in your hand, you'd better approach the savories. At my mom's birthday, this would mean voileipäkakku and juustoleipä. Or you could save the juustoleipä for your second cup when you can also fill your plate with pulla, cookies, and coffee cake. Finally, with the third cup comes the reward of the wait: täytekakku. One elderly lady had just had a gum operation, and she had to profusely apologize for only being able to eat the softest course, täytekakku – with the first cup of coffee. We all understood – and she was forgiven for what would have been a real faux pas without an explanation.
My brother, who had been on a business trip in Norway, took a night train and a bus to make a surprise appearance to my mom's great delight. A restaurant business professional, he quickly produced a bottle, and so the third cup of coffee was also accompanied by exquisite French cognac. Of course, you can even have a fourth cup of coffee, but that's quite unusual. Typically, the question goes, Otatko vielä neljännen kupin – täällä ei lasketa! – Would you like a fourth cup – we're not counting!
And so followed by Rafael's head-shaking and astonished looks, I kept making coffee and more coffee while he kept the teapot replenished for the minority tea drinkers.
Around 10 PM the guests were gone, but we had already received several phone calls of regrets – and promises of a visit the following day – or two – or three after that . . .
What a Happy Day! My mom could finally relax – until the next day – and read all the cards, so lovingly telling a story of gentle appreciation, esteem and love by the people of Paltamo and relatives from around Finland. ONNEA MAIJA-ÄITI!
PS. Even the nature celebrated! The mostly snowless winter became just a dark memory when Paltamo was blanketed in soft, fresh, pristine celebratory snow in honor of my mom.
I told Rafael to pay close attention. He could write a great anthropological paper one day about the Finnish birthday tradition that I'm afraid won't last that much longer.
My mom, Maija Tuomainen, turned 80 on January 30, 2008. I traveled to Paltamo, my hometown – really a village - two days earlier to be able to help with baking and other preparations. My mom actually had three celebrations. The first one took place on St. Stephen's Day, the second Christmas Day, when the whole immediate family was present. The second one was in conjunction with the parish elderly group that meets on Tuesday. There were songs, poems, talks, a slide show of my mom's days as a preschool teacher, a song by the current preschoolers, and of course, flowers, coffee and goodies.
At night Rafael and aunt Pakke arrived by an evening train in the mystical, magical snowy Paltamo railway station.
The next day was the actual birthday – and we knew we better be prepared. In a small town, anyone can drop by on the special day. On the very day, there was an article of my greatly beloved and appreciated mom in the village newspaper, VÄYLÄ, so everyone knew – but most people knew anyway. There are no secrets in a small town, Finland – or probably anywhere. I had set the table the night before: a well-ironed white tablecloth, flowers, candles, small, delicate china cups for coffee and tea with tiny silver spoons, and see-through napkins. The goodies would be carried out the next morning.
We figured the first guests would show up before noon, so we filled the table with delicacies by 10 AM:
• Voileipäkakkus – 'sandwich cakes' – one with cold cuts, one with fish
• Juustoleipä – squeaky cheese
• Pikkuleipiä - two kinds of cookies
• Pullaa – Finnish coffee bread
• Kuivakakkua – coffee cake (specialty of aunt Pakke)
• Täytekakkua – a layer cake (we had four kinds: a traditional berry cake, a Sacher torte, my brother, Antti's famous chocolate Swiss roll, and a novelty I wanted to experiment with, a white chocolate-lingonberry torte)
Before the guests started arriving around 11 AM, there had been phone calls with songs from California, Italy, and different parts of Finland. The flowers friends had ordered kept being delivered all day, the first before the guests, most of who arrived carrying a well-wrapped bouquet as well. It's decadently wonderful when even my mom runs out of vases. There were bright red roses, pink roses, yellow roses, red tulips, pink tulips, yellow tulips, an orchid plant, and some more unusual combinations of gerberas, cinerarias, etc. At the end of the night, we did take the must photo of the birthday girl, surrounded by her flowers.
The guest sang, the guest gave speeches, the guests hugged . . . and the guests had coffee. Now we get to the part where Rafael's attention was required.
The traditional Finnish birthday – 50, 60, 70, 80, 90 . . . – follows a time-honored etiquette. The guest sit down and pretty soon are invited to come have coffee. There's always hesitation. Who should go first? It should be the most appreciated, oldest or somehow most distinguished member of the current group. In the past, the head minister, the principal, the railroad master, and the head of the police with their spouses were expected to go first – women always preceding the men. Now, without these village personalities present, the guests just have to keep telling each other, you first . . . until someone announces, well, someone has to begin, no? And I'm sure there're a few who wonder how come the announcer thought so highly of herself.
But this is not it! After establishing the order, you MUST know what to pick out of the table with the first, second and third cup of coffee. Remember, the cups are small, demitasses – not mugs. First cup in your hand, you'd better approach the savories. At my mom's birthday, this would mean voileipäkakku and juustoleipä. Or you could save the juustoleipä for your second cup when you can also fill your plate with pulla, cookies, and coffee cake. Finally, with the third cup comes the reward of the wait: täytekakku. One elderly lady had just had a gum operation, and she had to profusely apologize for only being able to eat the softest course, täytekakku – with the first cup of coffee. We all understood – and she was forgiven for what would have been a real faux pas without an explanation.
My brother, who had been on a business trip in Norway, took a night train and a bus to make a surprise appearance to my mom's great delight. A restaurant business professional, he quickly produced a bottle, and so the third cup of coffee was also accompanied by exquisite French cognac. Of course, you can even have a fourth cup of coffee, but that's quite unusual. Typically, the question goes, Otatko vielä neljännen kupin – täällä ei lasketa! – Would you like a fourth cup – we're not counting!
And so followed by Rafael's head-shaking and astonished looks, I kept making coffee and more coffee while he kept the teapot replenished for the minority tea drinkers.
Around 10 PM the guests were gone, but we had already received several phone calls of regrets – and promises of a visit the following day – or two – or three after that . . .
What a Happy Day! My mom could finally relax – until the next day – and read all the cards, so lovingly telling a story of gentle appreciation, esteem and love by the people of Paltamo and relatives from around Finland. ONNEA MAIJA-ÄITI!
PS. Even the nature celebrated! The mostly snowless winter became just a dark memory when Paltamo was blanketed in soft, fresh, pristine celebratory snow in honor of my mom.
Kommentit