By Susan DeFelice
The year that four died in Ohio, Grandma’s kolachi quelled the family debate about Vietnam. Voices steadily rose into a passion until she presented the nut roll, silencing the table. It was impeccable when you cut it, with six evenly spaced swirls across its diameter.
The last year Grandma made kolachi, the even swirls had merged into a fat question mark shape, and it was placed on the table alongside lustrous store bought pies. She sat in front of her creation with her black coffee, rubbing her gnarled hands, studying its shape, while her aging family discussed their upcoming kitchen remodel.
Skillfully done–with two slices of the kolachi you give us two slices of time and change in the lives of this family (and the world at large). Bravo.
Such a lovely slice *pardon the pun* of life. The kolachi is not always perfect but it is still a work of art. As is your story, Susan.