Wednesday, June 23, 2010

DF

Wendy Churukian: Portrait of a Life, by DF

Who is Wendy Churukian? As she approaches a momentous b-day, it’s a question we all may strive to answer, though no one response can suffice. Wendy has played many roles in all of our lives, and with consummate skill: wife, mother, grandmother, sister, conqueror of Sudokus, undisputed queen among SC fans, voracious consumer of Tea’s Tea, and maker of some of the finest foodstuffs either side of the Mississippi River. So to commemorate the sixtieth anniversary of Wendy’s birth, I offer the following scattered data points to give some sense of the legendary and beloved figure that is my sister.

Wendy Churukian, enthusiastic holiday decorator. Nowhere in the world is Christmas more Christmas-y (or Easter more Easter-y, or Halloween more … um … Halloweenie) than in the living room of the famed Pasadena Churukian homestead, thanks largely to Wendy’s decorating prowess. From early November to sometime well into the new year, Wendy will not suffer a single square centimeter of wall or floor space to remain unadorned by sundry Santas and other manifestations of nativity cheer. In a way, it is never not yuletide at the Churuks hacienda, as it is possible to find various mementoes wishing Merry Christmas lurking around the house even in mid-August.

Wendy Churukian, trivia champ. Beware of contending with Wendy in a battle of trivia skillz, for she has encyclopedic knowledge that will put all and sundry to shame. Just how good is Wendy at trivia? So good that she once bested a certain brother (who is himself no trivia slouch) in Final Jeopardy, with two immortal words that will be remembered for generations (at least by me): “Black Beauty.” And just for the record, Wendy, you won that one fair and square.

Wendy Churukian, chef de cuisine. Wendy has mastered the art of French cooking, and many other forms of culinary deliciousness, and DF’s ever-expanding stomach has been the fortunate beneficiary of her fine efforts. I’d go so far to wager that Wendy’s boeuf bourguignon would compete favorably against even Julia Child’s in a head-to-head competition. Related, and also impressive, is Wendy’s impression of Julia Child herself (or, perhaps more accurately, of Meryl Streep portraying Julia Child). If you have not heard Wendy do aforementioned impression, I strongly suggest requesting a performance. It is a falsetto riot.

Wendy Churukian, queen of quilters. Wendy has an innate homing device. Place her in any major or mid-sized metropolitan area, and she will instinctively navigate to the nearest sewing store, and in short order will charm her way into the hearts of the local needlepoint aficionados. Indeed, the fact pattern in the first law school exam I ever wrote was inspired by a quilting yarn that Wendy told me some years ago. Wendy has even blended her love for the needle arts with her affection for sports, becoming one of the first attendees at the L.A. Dodgers’ infamous “Stitch and Pitch” night. How, you may wonder, did Wendy continue to do high-level handwork even when night had fallen at Dodger Stadium? Two words: miner’s helmet. I swear it’s true; there are pictures to prove it.

Wendy Churukian, sister of a “big” celebrity. Okay, let’s set the record straight. There’s a persistent rumor afoot that Wendy’s brother is some famous Hollywood actor—perhaps an out-of-shape Vince Vaughn, or a late-career Marlon Brando, or that guy who was the body double for Jabba the Hutt. Ahem. Let me take this opportunity to note that these rumors are fraudulent, though perhaps understandable, given the apparent similarities that Wendy likes to emphasize between these celebs and one of her siblings (who shall remain nameless).

Wendy Churukian, legendary USC football fan. To simply say, “Wendy Churukian is a USC fan” misses the point. It’s sort of like saying, “Warren Buffett has some money,” or “Kim Kardashian has a butt.” All of these statements are undeniably valid, but they don’t fully reflect the magnitude of the truth. On game days, Wendy literally wears her devotion to SC on her sleeve—and her earrings, and her iPhone, and any other piece of clothing or accessory that comes in cardinal and gold. Indeed, Wendy’s enthusiasm for SC football is the benchmark to which any serious sports fan would do well to aspire. I myself have been known to invoke the Wendy standard in the course of conversazione, when struggling to express how much I really, really dislike something, e.g., “I feel about [something odious] the way my sister feels about UCLA.” Nuff said.

Wendy Churukian, consummate hostess. It was almost a year ago that a truly foolish accident left me with a spectacular dual fracture of the left leg. And so I found myself, thanks entirely to blessed familial generosity, prostrate on the fold-out couch in the Churukian living room for the better part of late 2009. Much of what made lying around for all those months in a cast bearable (and, surprisingly, even kinda fun sometimes), was being able to spend it with Wendy, who proved equally patient whether bringing me yogurt, accompanying me on crutch-walks around the block, or pretending that my Vicodin-induced ramblings actually did make sense.

A wise man once said, “A sister is a woman with whom you share a mother and/or father.” This is true, and yet it is incomplete, so I will conclude simply by saying that my sister is a very cool lady with a heart of gold, and I consider myself most fortunate to have her in my life (yes, even when she compares me to various portly celebrities). So, happy sixtieth, Wendy, and I wish you many more b-days to enjoy life and familia and SC football and quilting and all else. Much love from your brother,

!DF!

Karen Berkus


Dear Wendy,

Birthdays come and birthdays go, and along the way, with each passing year, our lives are enriched by the people we meet and the experiences we share.

On this special birthday, let me thank you for enriching my life. I loved our visits to Arrowhead, making our patchwork quilted jackets together, stitching at Asilomar, joining your quilting group, attending both Tiffany and Heidi’s weddings, accompanying the “boys” to their Marshall High School reunion, participating in the City of Hope Breast Cancer walk/run, to name a few memorable times.

You are a true mensch! According to Leo Rosten, the Yiddish maven (expert) and author of The Joys of Yiddish, a mensch is “someone to admire and emulate, someone of noble character. The key to being ‘a real mensch’ is nothing less than character, rectitude, dignity, and a sense of what is right, responsible, decorous.” How could my life not be enriched when I have you as a friend!

Happy 60th Birthday, Wendy.

Love,

Karen


Courtney

HAPPY BIRTHDAY Mom!!! I hope you have a wonderful birthday and know just how much we all love you. Remember the college quilt you made for me when I went to USC? You made it perfectly and one reason why I love it so much is that it reminds me of you. You are detail-oriented (which was really good for us kids growing up and you planning our trips instead of Dad...) because the quilt was alternately red and yellow, the same colors of the university I was attending. You also made *each square* a different pattern, and with 150 squares that's a lot of creativity and hard work! Further, you even added some green every now and then because my sorority's colors were red and green. Your attention to detail is just one of the ways in which you show your love and it has always meant a lot to me. You even hand-stitched Tommy Trojan!! Now that takes some intense talent.

You have never been one to mass-produce anything or just take the easy way. You could have done the same pattern, or even 10 patterns just interspersed, but no, you took the time to make each of the 150 squares different. That is a quality you have that makes people feel special Mom, and you've always done that. You make each person feel like they have meaning and value and that is a trait sadly missing from our culture nowadays. That specific trait is one of the things I learned from you Mom, to love people and take the time to do something special for them, even if it is a lot of work and takes a lot of time, like the quilts you made us, because it is worth it.

And you never ask for anything in return either, you didn't spend countless hours making us quilts, clothes, stockings, etc. in return for extra time with you or another phone call a week if we were at college. You made us these things for our own benefit and nothing else. That is selfless love Mom, and again, something that many people today don't care to ever express because it's felt that love should always be a two-way street. Well, a lot of times it isn't, and that never stopped you from giving us your all, all the time. I have always felt extremely loved by you and never questioned your love for me. Thank you for that beautiful gift.

One last thing. In my college quilt, on the back it is an all-red background with yellow block letters that spell out "USC." Another wonderful quality you have Mom is the ability to surprise and delight people. I thought the front of the quilt was amazing enough, yet you went the extra mile and spelled "USC" on the back and I remember pure delight at seeing that extra stroke of detail! I have that quilt at my apartment now and whenever I show it to people I always show them both sides because they're both worthy of note! The way you make things and treat others expresses not only love but a desire to go the extra mile to show that you care for them.

It is for these reasons and many others that I love you infiniti x infiniti and I am so happy to spend this birthday with you!!

lots of loveos,
courtney

Dad

We first met as the glaciers were receding from the last ice age. I caught her eye as we were both protesting global warming. I couldn't help noticing she looked pretty hot against all that whiteness. Of course she pretended to ignore me as I came from the clan of the extra woolly mammoth (we don't own sweaters).
Skipping ahead slightly, it was actually my motorcycle that finally brought us together. We both faithfully watched Star Trek but it ended at 6 pm and we had a night class that started at 6pm. So on those nights I ran out of my apartment and jumped on my motorcycle, picked her up on the way and (we could drive on campus at the time) parked at the door. Thanks to my superior driving skills punctuated by her high pitched shrieking in my right ear we were never more than 3 minutes 42 seconds late.
Since then we've shared a few laughs. So that's about it for us, the rest is history.
Oh, what's that you say, isn't there more? Well I suppose I could share an old memory or two. First let's be clear that the Vendi-kins didn't immediately recognize that she was crazy wild about me, in fact she hid it quite well. So we grudgingly became friends for several years and then started dating despite knowing each other well.
I convinced Wendy that camping would be a life changing experience. So one morning at 3AM I picked her up in the dorms and sped up the coast in my 67 Mustang to Big Sur. We found a campsite on the river and I got the tent out but couldn't find the stakes. Here's where I shone. I pulled out my cub-scout knife and carved stakes out of big twigs. I think Wendy swooned at this display of survival skills. I got the tent up and staked down before I noticed the real stakes in the trunk and promptly hid them. We ate well the first day and managed bread and water the next day before I ran out of money. She might have questioned my fiscal planning skills but I had taken my shirt off in front of her (pretty riske in the old days) and scrambled her brains for days. On the way back I ran out of gas and figured Coleman stove fluid would do just fine. My Mustang did not agree and sounded like a machine gun coming down the road until we found a gas station. How did I pay? The very first credit cards were for gasoline and my DAD in his infinite wisdom had given me one. Thanks again Bebo.
That reminds me. On our honeymoon I planned the first three nights very well. After that I figured we could just wander around for 10 days or so. Wendy suggested an actual destination might be in order and that's how we ended up in Vancover. Of course, you guessed it, we ran out of money on the way back. Wendy decided to plan our trips from about that time around.
Wait, there was one exception. We went to Europe after one year of marriage. I knew in my travel wisdom that you can always find someplace to lay your weary head without fussing with hotel reservations. So we landed in Paris with our backpacks at 9pm local time and no place to stay. After no more then a couple hundred places we tried were full I noticed Wendy seemed to be getting frustrated. The, Eureka, a hotel with room. The place for thr stars was strangely empty. The yawning clerk let us in and gave us a key, pointing up the stairs. I guess not every hotel has to have an elevator. The exercise after walking around Paris all night with our backpacks felt good. After quite a while on the stairs we hit the wall, literally, it was dark and the top floor came up unexpectedly. Our "room" was at the end of a long hall. There was a small bathroom on the samw floor but neither of us were that desperate.
Finally, we were ready to crash. Wendy pulled back the covers. The sheets only went partway down the bed. We slept in our clothes. We woke up at dawn, went all the way back down the stairs....the front door was latched and locked and bolted, etc. So we went back up the now familiar stairs and slept most of the day. Our first mission in Paris was finding a hotel with at least one star. We found one with a room and its very own bathroom and hugged each other as we jumped up and down while spinning. Yes we were excited and this hotel had a star!
Can we say that Wendy did not trust my vast store of male knowledge and judgement at this point? As she explained, guys and girls just travel differently. I realized she was right, sleeping indoors and having a clean bathroom wasn't so bad.
As you have surmised, the key to any successful relationship is compromise. Of course in a marriage always strive to have the last words, "yes dear."
Now, if I were to try and be serious I might search for the words that could convey my love for Wendy, but of course those words do not exist. Suffice it to say that we are inextricably bound together by our shared life and love, forever.

Your Missak

Uncle Ron

Well it’s here kiddo, the big SIX-oh my goodness!! Sixty. Six-zed. Sessanta. Soixante.
Sesenta. Vatzoun. 60. 70 minus 10. LX. No matter how you slice it—10+50, 20+40,
30+30, 59+1, 61-1 (for those in denial)—it’s still X
.
X
.
X
.
X
.
X
.
X. Look at the bright side;
that’s a lot of X’s, and X’s stand for kisses. Don’t look now, but AARP already has you
in their sights, Social Security is diminishing in value, and Medicare is knocking at your
door. But, on the bright side, just think of the benefits. As a “senior” you can now go the
movies for a buck less. That’s found money which will come in handy when you
purchase adult diapers, Fix-O-Dent, Ex-Lax, prunes, reading glasses, or chicken soup.
But, rather than getting lost in the wonders of Pharmacyland, or even engaged in a
discussion of your promising alternative career as a greeter at Wal-Mart, let’s take a
moment to recall a few impressions of you, the youngest harse, now the Grand Mama
Wendy.
What can one say of a truly accomplished woman: super-wife, super-mom, super-quilter,
super-Trojan, super-football fanatic, super-game girl? Really nothing. It’s all been said,
all noted, and all no exaggeration. The old man is well managed, content, always smiling,
and appreciative. The kids are out of college without police records, modestly well
behaved and mildly amusing. What more can one want? Your quilts are inventive,
extraordinary, and made with love and care. They have become an art form to be envied.
Trojan blood runs through your veins, little USC chickadee. A more able defender of the
Cardinal and Gold and energetic cheer leader of everything Trojan we may not find
again. Never mind what people say behind your back. They’re probably envious Bruins,
and no one in Pasadena listens to them anyway.
Yet, you have such unexpected (unappreciated) talents. Early on, we (the extended
family) were all relaxing and enjoying a tranquil evening (actually the silent night before
Christmas) at your warm home when the solemnity of the moment was pierced by an
extra-terrestrial shrill. Perplexed, we thought someone had accidentally stepped on one of
your squirrel-dogs, or some other small animal had errantly wandered unnoticed into
your Cuisinart. No, indeed, it was emanating from you, as you were calling your brood
like a farmer summons his pigs to slop. And the amazing thing was that they all came a’
running. That now trademark cuckle caught us all off guard at first. Actually, it catches us
off guard every time, and every next time. Year after year, seemingly out of nowhere this
high-pitched sound shatters not only every conversation of the moment, but also most
likely your most delicate crystal, which is probably why Mike bought you the heftier,
shatter-proof Baccarat. Lucky you. Presents from heaven.
But, there have always been more memorable moments in the warmth of the Christmas
season at your house. On Christmas Eve, then Christmas Eve-Eve when the former was
hijacked, there was always some new piece recently quilted, needle pointed, or crafted to
our amazement. You have a gift. These heirloom treasures would become a most admired
backdrop to accompany the highly anticipated and never disappointing prime rib and
Yorkshire pudding, collegiality, scripture reading, and carol singing. Collectively, this
special moment produced a great sense of family, and the gift of this annual, much
anticipated gathering has been woven into the very fabric of our larger family tapestry.
We have you to thank for this starting this hallowed tradition.
It seems I spend most of my Easter Sundays photographing the ever-growing family
clusters, trying with some effort to pose groupings in an artful way so that generations
later their gentle maturity will be measured year against year. With some concerted effort
I try to position each person to achieve a Renaissance composition so as to create a
dignified portrait. Truthfully, I don’t know if it is Mike or you, Wendy, who always
seems to initiate cutting up during your annual Easter family picture shoot. (Don’t blame
it on the kids.) There you all are, with mischief in your eyes just waiting for me to get set,
and then someone would whisper something and you would all loose it completely. And
you get such pleasure out of it. It is infectious. In my thirty something years as court
photographer, I cannot remember a time when your family didn’t give the impression that
just as the camera snapped one of you farted—loud, long and melodiously. Come to think
of it, I now kinda look forward to that moment, as your eruptions are seemingly beyond
your collective control. You know how to live life to the fullest and to laugh.
I recall coming over to your house for some occasion where Mike was outside at the
barbeque and you were in the kitchen cooking up a storm. You were always preparing
something special using your wonderful repertoire of cutlery, gadgets, and pans.
Someone mentioned that Mrs. Potts was in the kitchen, and I thought they were referring
to you. Only then did I come to understand that Mrs. Potts was your overgrown mop dog.
Yet, ever since that moment I’ve come to think of you as Mrs. Potts n’ Pans.
Wendy, you have enjoyed many blessings in life—the love of a good and faithful man,
four adoring children, a grandchild to write home about, a wonderful craftsman home, an
idyllic mountain family retreat, exciting travel, many friendships, support of those around
you, the ability to laugh, and the hand of God when needed most. But you have shared
your blessings with the rest of us as well. For those blessings we are most appreciative.
We pray God’s continued grace to fall upon you, and wish you the happiest of birthdays
on this special day. May you enjoy many more such days in the company of those who
bring special meaning to your life. Fight on! Just don’t forget where you left your teeth.
Love,
Ron

Eric Ley

The Wendy Waltz

(apologies to Roethke)

Cookies baked by a young wife,

Would make the twins dizzy,

Four children dance with life,

The Wendy Waltz is easy!

You dance around the pans,

Clean on the kitchen shelf,

Daddyo’s countenance,

A smile to himself!

The hand to hold the ring,

Newly weighted on one knuckle,

‘The date?’ did you sing,

Where others might have buckled!

You keep time in our head,

With a palm caked of flour

60 years, waltzed and led,

Congrats on this fine hour!

Friday, June 18, 2010

Mom's Holiday


Do you remember these?? The first ornaments you made for Christmas. Notice the Hawaiian theme. They now adorn the Ley Xmas tree and make me think of you.


More of the same


A beautiful quilted ornament


And at last, the final ornament you made for me. The bride and groom ornament in 2006 for the year Eric and I got married. I love this one.

Mom, you showed us what the holidays truly mean. Family. Love. Delicious food!

Love you

Heidi