Klooka

Monday morning. Lorii was in the shower. Gerry was sound asleep. Lorii dressed, kissed Gerry softly and whispered, "See you later, Gerry." He didn't hear her.

Gerry slept until almost noon. When he awoke, he realized it was Monday, the one day of the week when he didn't work. "So I slept in," he thought. "Big deal! I'm entitled. I worked until one o’clock this morning."

Lorii didn't come back to his place after she taught her yoga class. Gerry phoned her. "Hi, Lorii," he said. "What are you doing today?"

"I was going to stop by in a little while to make lunch for you, Gerry. I have a surprise." she said. "I thought we would spend the day together."

"Sounds fine," Gerry said.

Gerry had no idea of what her surprise might be, but he looked forward to finding out. He took a shower, shaved, and dressed. On her way out earlier that morning, Lorii picked up the paper for him and placed it on his breakfast table. No sooner had he sat down to read it when she arrived.

Lorii hugged and kissed him, then held onto him for a couple of minutes. Finally, she handed him the bag.

"Here's your surprise, Gerry," she said.

Gerry knew from the aroma that Lorii had bought a bunch of kolatchkies, a pastry his mother and grandmothers loved to bake when he was a boy. Kolatchkies are small sweet rolls, usually about two-inches wide, sometimes round, sometimes square and folded over, with a lemon, prune, apricot, or cheese filling, and sprinkled with powdered sugar. Gerry only knew one place to buy them in Southern California, Pluska's, a Polish bakery in Chatsworth, about 20 miles from Venice, out in the San Fernando Valley. Lorri drove out there after Ted's ten o'clock yoga class.

"Terrific!" Gerry said. He placed some on a plate and offered one to Lorii. Then Gerry had one. "These are delicious," he added. "They really hit the spot! Thank you so much, Lorii!"

Gerry poured coffee for both of them while Lorii placed some kolatchkies on a plate. They took their mugs and the plate onto his balcony overlooking his backyard.

"I'll make you something in a few minutes," Lorii said. "I knew you would like the kolatchkies." After a minute, she asked, "Do you remember your grandparents, Gerry?"

"I have very fond, warm memories of my father's parents," Gerry said, "but my mother's parents died when I was little, so I don't remember them very well." Gerry told her that he remembered his father's parents listening to the BBC on their old Grundig-Majestic shortwave radio every night during World War Two for news about Prague, where they had been born and raised, and about other cities in Czechoslovakia. They worried about and prayed for their cousins and other family members still living in Czechoslovakia. They died in the 1960s.

"There weren't too many Czechs living in L.A. Most had settled in Chicago after the First and Second World Wars, and some had settled in Iowa. Both pairs of Gerry's grandparents were born in Prague in the 1880s and immigrated to the United States in the early 1900s, settling in Los Angeles. They met at Sokol-Tabor, a Bohemian social club.

"My parents, born during the First World War, became musicians and found plenty of work here during the late 1930s and 1940s. My mother was a cellist with the Los Angeles Symphony and my father worked for the recording and movie studios, just as I would do one day. They met in 1937 at a mutual friend’s wedding.

"By the time I entered the picture in 1940, my parents barely had any accent at all. They sometimes spoke Czech to one another, but they only spoke English around me. I learned a few Czech words while I was growing up, such as "kolatchkies," but my parents really wanted me to think of myself as an American who happened to be of Czech background, just as they thought of themselves.

"I remember my grandparents telling me that Prague was a beautiful city. I've read about it over the years, and I've seen some travelogues about it on TV. I'd love to visit it someday. I still have relatives there, and I'd like to meet them."

"Will you take me with you, Gerry? I'd love to meet your relatives there and see Prague with you," Lorii asked.

"Maybe we can do that sometime, Lorii. I'd like to take you there."

Lorii smiled. "Are you still hungry, Gerry? I'm famished. How about if I made us breakfast?"

Gerry smiled, "Maybe in a little while. Come here for a minute...."

Going Home
from Anton Dvorak's New World Symphony
performed by Captain Glenn Miller and his Army Air Force Orchestra

Next Chapter:  Amapola