Blog Index - November 2016

November 1, 2016	The fall color has finally arrived!
November 2, 2016	Why few friends like to go clothes shopping with me.
November 3, 2016	Are you cold – your feet are blue?
November 4, 2016	The raccoon sniff.
November 5, 2016	“Forever” Stamps.
November 6, 2016	Christmas Cookies
November 7, 2016	Force of Gravity oooopps moment.
November 8, 2016	The Skunk Whisperer
November 9, 2016	“Fasten your seatbelts.  It’s going to be bumpy . . .”
November 10, 2016	Clever is as Clever does
November 11, 2016	My brother visits North Carolina before I “get gone.”
November 12, 2016	Lip brush luxury – you’ll LOVE IT
November 13, 2016	Wishing on a necklace clasp showing.
November 14, 2016	Hot Cocoa weather!
November 15, 2016	Hoarfrost: The Blond Assassin
November 16, 2016	This year start a new tradition . . .
November 17, 2016	Sunny day, cold air observations
November18, 2016	When they say your first car is your first love – it’s true even if you’re a girl.
November 19, 2016	Murphy’s Law
November 20, 2016	The Rosary Beads
November 21, 2016	Point of View in the garden
November 22, 2016	Time is running short already and we aren’t even into December!
November 23, 2016	Thanksgiving is food, family, and tradition.
November 24, 2016	Thanksgiving leftovers in four acts.
November 25, 2016	Black Friday
November 26, 2016	News clipping magic.
November 27, 2016	We do have local “culture” here in the county.
November 28, 2016	Glazed Shallots – recipe
November 29, 2016	Pack Rat – tossing out saved recipes
November 30, 2016	“Life ain’t fair!” I cried.

November 30, 2016 - “Life ain’t fair!” I cried.

          I was in Girl Scouts for only a short time for a reason.  The bittersweet tale follows.

I wanted to earn the wildflower badge. I suggested the idea and my Mom suggested that I and my best friend work on it together.

          So, I and my best friend did this project together.  As a team we scoured nearby forest, field, and meadows to obtain two of every wild flower specimen that we needed for the Girl Scout badge.  Under my Mom’s supervision, we pressed leaves and flowers between wax paper pages and created two identical books. 

         

Now, my best friend wasn’t the forest, field, and meadows type to begin with.  I was the rough and tumble tom boy.  [Heck, I used to climbed trees and got pine pitch [pine tar] gobs in my hair which my mother had to cut out with scissors.]

Additionally, I could easily identify most of the wildflowers, unlike my best friend.  And, then take into consideration that it was my Mom’s botanical reference books we used to confirm identification for the various flowers.

However, the Troop leader found mine faulty in some way.

If you were to set the books side by side, and flip the pages one by one at the same time – anyone could see that they were identical.

As a child I couldn’t convey that to the people in charge. I was alone – no parent in attendance. My book and HER book were exactly the same as we had done this together.  But, NO – I didn’t get a badge – she got a badge.

I was still in tears when my parents picked me up from the Girl Scout meeting at the Town Hall.

My Mom made supper as I tried to explain what had happened.

My Mom knew how hard I had worked on it. However, Mom being the diplomatic type, decided not to pursue the “injustice or inequality” of it.

I remember turning to Dad next and with my hands on my hips I tried to explain it to my Dad and all I could do was blurt out, “Life ain’t fair.”

I was looking for guidance. To this day I can remember his answer,

“Now that you know that, Daughter, LIFE will be much easier for you.”

November 29, 2016 – Pack Rat – tossing out saved recipes 

         Today I took one – only one binder and purged the items in it.  It was hard work – tossing out recipes that I have collected over the years. 

I asked myself – Am I actually going to try this recipe?   The first run through was easy.  I had cut out things that I will classify as “interesting and different”.

Then I had a second cup of coffee and ran through them again.  With the thought: I would have to live to be 104 years old and make something new each day to accomplish testing each one of those recipes! Get real – purge deeper and I started to read the recipes in depth and tossed many due to complexity or too much sugar. Got to cut that back – the Doc says!

          Some I had actually tested out and they are fixed in my memory as I have made them many times.   An actual magazine version of the recipe I use seasonally happens to be taped to a page in the binder with a date and a note “good”.  The date made me smile.   1984 – that is a long time.

          Some of them are recipe cards written by friends and family and a few I don’t know who they came from, but if I begged a recipe off someone and they wrote it out for me and I saved it – it had to have tasted good when I begged for it.  Some of those I can actually think back and remember how good they tasted when I begged for the recipe.  One was Mini Chip Snowball Cookies my neighbor made.  She gave it to me in 1994. 

          The bulk of the recipes were cut out of different magazines over the years and often I wasn’t familiar with ingredients like “fennel” or “celeriac”.  However, I am now familiar with those “unknown” ingredients as well as many other ingredients that sounded so exotic and alluring to me when I cut the recipes out.    I find fennel tricky – my husband doesn’t care for it, so I have to use it subtly.  I adore celeriac and only wish I could afford to eat more of it.  It is a shame that it has a short season – It would be wonderful if I could get it year round.    That was the next cut; out went the exotic ingredients.

          But, the method in which I had collected them over the years was rather an interesting journey as well.  First I cut them out of the magazines and taped them to a 3 x 5 card or a 4 x 6 card.  Then, those got dog eared from being in a recipe file box and I taped those on 8 ½ x 11 sheets of paper and put them in a notebook binder.

          Since I disposed of about 2/3^rd of what I had, I had to cut many off the cards and affix them to fresh pages.  This time, I set them in those plastic sleeves, so that I can take them right to the kitchen and not ruin them when I test them out.

          I also made an index for them – not fancy, just a running name index.

          And, I didn’t shoot myself in the foot – I actually saved the real treasures that fall under KRAFTS:

          How to make Play clay – I made little Bear Christmas ornaments out of it one year with the neighbor’s kids – can’t toss that out!

          Cinnamon Ornaments – Potpourri balls – came out of Southern Living.  Made potpourri for friends as Christmas presents and also managed to make Christmas ornaments out of it as well.  Couldn’t part with that!

          And, lastly, the Papier mâché recipe I used to make large Easter Eggs for an Easter Basket to put outside once.

          Lastly, I kept the recipe for making Trio of spices and herbs to give as gifts to fellow cooks.  I haven’t tried this one yet – but it is a great Christmas Idea – especially for that hard to buy for friend. Also, the Pomander Ball I didn’t dare toss out. I hope someday I can find a windfall of cloves in order to try that ancient art.

          Some have glossy pictures attached to them cut from the magazines; some are from the backs of ingredients – like Baker’s Chocolate.

          So, at this point, I made my final cut asking, “What would I possibly cook in the future?  What would I definitely not cook in the future?”

          It is down to under 100 recipes now taking up one inch of shelf space.   I guess that is a pretty good day for a confirmed pack rat!

          Unless, I unearth another such binder and I will have to do it all over again?  Is that possible?  “Yeah.”

November 28, 2016 – Glazed Shallots - recipe     

          I tested out a new recipe for my husband’s birthday dinner yesterday and it got a rave review from the birthday boy.

Glazed Shallots – By Molly O’Neill

from http://cooking.nytimes.com/recies/509-glazed-shallots

Serves 6

1 ¼ pounds (about 36) small shallots peeled

½ cup white wine

1 cup homemade or low-sodium chicken stock

1 TB sugar

1 tsp Kosher salt

3 Tablespoons unsalted butter

A few grinds of black pepper

Step 1:

In a skillet large enough to hold the shallots in a single layer, combine the shallots, wine, stock, sugar, salt and 2 Tablespoons of butter.  Place over high heat, bring to a boil, lower to a simmer and cook, uncovered, until the liquid evaporates and the shallots are very tender, about 10 to 15 minutes.

Step 2:

Raise heat to medium high and cook, shaking the pan frequently, until the shallots begin to brown and are coated with a thick syrup.  Remove from heat and add the final Tablespoon of butter, shaking the pan until it is melted and incorporated.  Serve immediately.

However, below is how I actually prepared this recipe.  I basically use recipes as a jumping off point and it came out lovely with my pared down version.

I made it for only two people.  I counted out 8 medium shallots.   I cut off the stem ends first.  Then I sliced the shallots in half with the skins on.  I peeled the skins off both halves.  I trimmed the root end ever so slightly with the objective of keeping the root end intact while ridding it of any root debris in order to keep the cut in half shallots from falling apart when cooking. [ Also part of my objective – less cooking time with them flat side down – Note: I do this with Brussel sprouts also].

I used 1 Tablespoon olive oil and 2 Tablespoons of butter.  I melted that in a low wide stainless steel sauté pan until it bubbled slightly.  Then I placed all the shallots flat side [center cut side] down.  I added salt and pepper freely. 

I did not use sugar – I personally find shallots are sweet enough when cooked.  I didn’t have any chicken stock available so I omitted it.  But, I did use the white wine.  My theory was, if the pan was getting shy on liquid, I would add a touch of water to carry me through.  But, the shallots were very fresh and didn’t require additional liquid.  I kept close by during the cooking to monitor the liquid/shallot juices in the pan.

Over medium low heat – covered, I let them simmer.  In about 10 minutes they were done.  I did not stir them or toss them. I turned off the heat and left them covered while – I was waiting on my mashed potatoes to finish cooking before I whipped those.

A minute before serving, I brought the shallots back up to heat – medium high  removing the cover and excess liquid came steaming off.  A minute or two and they were lovely coated shallots with no excess liquid.

The cooking time was much less due to cutting the shallots in half, and possibly letting them rest [turned off] in order to get the final delivered-to-the-table timing right.  And, possibly cooking less shallots than the 6 servings in the recipe cut the cooking time down.

As a future dish:

I believe I will do this again, but next time, make a larger batch and serve it over hot egg noodles and possibly garnish with a dusting of grated hard cheese like Romano.  Serve it with a winter salad on the side and a nice glass of red wine.  I would call it a “simple country peasant meal” – since that is what I am – a simple country peasant!

November 27, 2016 - We do have local "culture" here in the County.

        There is a concert pianist performing today at the First United Methodist Church in Rutherfordton, North Carolina, at 4:00 p.m.

        There was a splendid article in the paper about Harriette Line Thompson, a world class concert pianist.

        I often call myself ‘musically illiterate’ because I can’t name the artist or the song title of what is playing on the radio.  I also am not really sure how to “read” music.  I try my best to follow the black or not so black notes in my church hymnal when I attempt to sing at church. [I believe God is humored by my off-key attempts.]

        I can usually recognize the 1812 Overture – as it is usually on the news clip of some 4^th of July celebration that a TV station is covering.

        And, as a young teenager in high school, I was one of the few students who actually appreciated the music in the “required” class entitled “Music Appreciation.”

        So, when the news article mentioned Debussy and Gershwin, I was excited.  The piano recital is this afternoon at 4:00 p.m. and I still haven’t been able to connect with any of my friends to accompany me.

        They are working, getting those rare, lucrative “overtime” hours they need to survive.

        They can’t easily walk any distance – it would be a hardship for them on a cold day.   And, once I have gotten up from a long sit – I like to stretch my legs.  So, I usually go out of my way to park further from the activity than closer so that I get the blood circulating in my legs before I go home.

        One or two no longer have very good hearing.  It is a waste on them.

        They don’t like that type of music.

        Their family is in from out of town this holiday weekend.

        Then there is the quandary person – Should I pick you up and drop you off or should we drive separately and meet?  Inevitably, our signals get crossed and I am standing inside the door out of the cold or rain, and the other party can’t find me because they don't see my car parked so they don’t come in.   

        Then there is the “What are YOU going to wear?” question that stops me in my tracks.  I hate that question; can’t a woman decide by herself what she is going to wear to a piano recital at a church on a Sunday, without my counsel. Just common sense would dictate what she should wear in public. I honestly hate the “matched outfits” date with a girlfriend.  I like my individuality, I don't like to acquiesce to similar outfits.

        Or the known person who is never on time and I am always prompt and early.  By the time they get there – all the good seats are gone.

        Or I remember the person who refuses to sit up front and center.  I cross them off the “asking list.”  I like up front and center.  That is what the front row is for – to sit and sink into a state of total rapture at the performance. [What is the theory of sitting in the back?  Someone needs to explain that reasoning to me.]

        The more I ponder on who I might invite to go with me, the more I am coming to realistic a plan of action.  

It is easier sometimes to just go solo!

November 26, 2016 - News clipping magic.

          I guess everyone has unclassified skills that only your spouse or family know about.

          I like to read the local paper in print form.  I will probably never go 100% digital for my news.

          Friday I noticed an article about an accomplished woman who will be giving a piano recital on Sunday.  It interested me, and I have yet to call around to see if a friend might like to go with me to the piano recital.

          Without hesitation I snagged the article – meaning I tore it out of the paper - neatly.  I tore it down the right side and then across the top.  It has two rather uniformed edges that are rough. However, I didn’t need to crease the paper in any way to obtain a tear line.  I didn’t have to resort to scissors.

          This skill has been very useful over the years.  I just seem to give the paper a confident yank and like magic – I get a straight tear.

          I wasn’t shown this skill by anyone, but 95% of the time I get a nicely edged article for tucking away for future reference without resorting to scissors.

          I often hear my spouse say, “What are you saving?”

          Followed up by, “How do you do that?”   He is always impressed at my magic newspaper clipping skill when he sees the neat [yet torn] edges.

          I simply shrug my shoulders meaning “I don’t know”.  However, Friday morning when he said that, I paused and thought.  “I guess it is one of those God-given talents that is very useful but can’t be listed on a job application.”

          Do you possess any of those extraordinary skills that are not actually “marketable?”

November 25, 2016 - Black Friday

        When we talk about Black Friday and Thanksgiving only one not-so-fond memory comes to mind.

        Several years ago the Friday after Thanksgiving, commonly known as Black Friday, was spent by my husband knowing that you can take the oven door off its hinges in order to get to the nether regions of the gas oven.  He carried the bottom of the oven and the nether regions of the oven out to the patio for a major scrub after I went off Christmas shopping.

        But, let me start at the beginning.  I had company coming on Thanksgiving.  Father Gabriel, a retired priest of my church, and his friend, Dr. Bruce were my guests that year.

        An aside about Doctor Bruce, the first time I met him I casually asked him what type of doctor he was and he quipped,

        “Surgeon, is there any other type?”  Doctor Bruce was a retired heart surgeon.  He was always thrilled that I served steamed broccoli – “so heart healthy” he would say.

        We loved having Father Gabe and Dr. Bruce at our table.  Father is a learned man and great conversationalist and tall, thin Dr. Bruce always gives rave compliments about the food and eats lustily.  He always has seconds of everything.  As a hostess-cook, it is always a delight to have a robust chowhound at your table.

        To me, it just isn’t Thanksgiving without pumpkin pie on the menu.  I was running tight for time the Wednesday night before, so I opted to buy one of those frozen pumpkin pies that you bake instead of making one.

        Early Thanksgiving day I put the pumpkin pie in to bake according to the instructions.  Instructions were: Remove frozen pie and do not defrost – bake from the frozen state.”  I had the pie baking time scheduled so that when the pie came out the Ham would go in.

        When the gas oven came up to temperature, I popped the pie into the oven and went to the other end of the house to touch up the bathrooms and make certain the rest of the house was presentable.

        About a half hour into baking the pie my husband who had been watching TV on the kitchen end of the house called, “My eyes are burning. What are you burning in the oven?”

        My eyes were burning too, but when I checked the pie in the oven, it showed no signs of the pumpkin pie filling bubbling over and there was no smoke.

        About 10 minutes later my husband said,

        “What are you burning?”

        Now there was a little bit of smoke coming from the oven.  I went to the oven and again the pie was not bubbling over, but this time I noticed a cupcake sized mound of crusty black soot in the bottom of the oven and suddenly noticed a continuous drip, drip, drip from the underside of the pie.

        I removed the pie, put it on an edged cookie sheet and scraped up the mound of crusty soot.  I continued baking the pie thinking no further dripping would end up on the bottom of the oven.

        By the time the pie was done, we had to open all the windows in the kitchen area and the sliding glass door and turn on the stove exhaust and ceiling fans to get the smell out of the house.

        Curiously, there was hardly anything showing on the bottom of the oven. We had company coming and I had everything timed precisely, I had to put the Ham in.

        When my guests arrived, I finally got to turn off the oven and thankfully it was a warm, clear day as we still had the windows open and there was a fresh breeze coming in to dissipate the acrid air.

        My guests were understanding about the pie burning over and didn’t mind the fresh breeze.

        At the end of dinner, after serving a few pieces of the pie it was obvious to all of us the aluminum pie pan was defective.  It didn’t have dimples in the bottom it had small holes that made it porous and as the pie thawed in the oven the filling oozed out of the holes dripping from center bottom of the pie.

        The gents at the table concluded the machine that created the dimples in the aluminum pie pan was calibrated incorrectly and it created small holes instead of dimples.  It was a defective pie pan.  NOT a defective cook.

        The next day I went off shopping for Christmas bargains on Black Friday.

        When I came in with my shopping bags, I find my darling husband on his knees on the back patio in rubber gloves.  I noticed the can of oven cleaner set to one side and lots of oven parts surrounding him.  As he switched from the paint scrapper to the wire brush he growled,

“Most of that pie filling was down under where the gas flame chamber is. I’ve been working on this all day.  Don’t ever by one of those #$%^&@  frozen pies again!”

        

November 24, 2016 – Thanksgiving leftovers in four acts. 

Act One

          The Thanksgiving meal completed, there would be a small interval of clearing dishes off the table to the kitchen counter and the table at the same time retrieving the pink lace medallion dessert plates and the famous mincemeat pie and the squash pie.

          Dad loved Grammy’s homemade mincemeat pie.  I remember having a bite every once in a while as a child, however, I never acquired a taste for it.  I thought it must be an “adult” thing.  Now that I am older, I need to fish out Grammy’s mincemeat pie recipe and test drive it.  Note to self:  Locate recipe.

          Thanksgiving, Christmas and Easter desserts were always served on those delicate looking pink plates.  Grammy Nixon had given them to Mom when the holiday dinners for family moved to our house when they got to be too much for Grammy.

          The plates have a wonderful history.  Back when my grandparents were dating they would often go to the movies and these plates were given out as premium gifts.  Grammy had collected them over time and used them always at the family dinners.

          When my Mom started working full time she also earned premium items at one bank that she regularly deposited savings into.  Mom collected some English scene desserts plates which I remember to be mostly brown with red tints. And, lucky me, when I moved into my first apartment, Mom gave me the 8 pink lace medallion dessert plates as she had new plates.  I cherished them at our first apartment using them only once during a wine and cheese tasting party.

          After my first corporate move, I unwrapped my cherished pink dessert plates only to find I had just 4 left out of 8.  Four of them had been busted into small shards.  It was at that moment with hot tears rolling down my face unchecked I vowed I would use those 4 beautiful pink plates on any and all occasions I served a fancy dessert.  If they were going to be broken, they would be broken by me, using them, not by some careless mover.

          Often, when I use them, guests say, “OH, you shouldn’t use these fancy plates.” I instantly cut them off with my canned speech I have recited over the years of the sad story of my loss of half of the plates to no fault of my own.

          I end it with, “I intend on enjoying them and will enjoy breaking every single one myself.”  [Over 38 years now and not one broken.]     

Act Two

          After dessert, I, my Mom and my Grammy would go to the kitchen and the three of us would wash the dishes.  I always volunteered to wash so that Grammy could dry and Mom could put them away. 

          First I had a full sink of hot soapy water and I would wash the good glasses and rinse them in scalding water and put them in the rack. When those were done, I would do the dishes.  Then I would drain the sink and fill it again with half a sink of hot soapy water and do all the silverware.  Rinse it in scaling hot water and put it on the rack.  During this process, Grammy would dry, and occasional hand me back something she didn’t think was clean enough.  She would turn and set the dried items on the cleaned off kitchen table and Mom would put things away. 

          Then, lastly I would do the pans.  At this point, Grammy would bow out to rest and just I and Mom would be left.   Dishes and pans all washed and put away, my Mom would remove her apron and the kitchen was "officially closed." Mom would retrieve one of Grammy’s crocheted Afghans and carefully and soundlessly drape it over Grandpa as he was sound asleep from his Thanksgiving meal.

          Now as an adult, I practice this same cleanup process and then slip off for my decadent holiday afternoon nap.

Act Three

          It was a tradition that we ate turkey leftovers until it was gone.  As latch key teens, my brother and I were responsible for getting dinner on the table every work night at 5:30.

          I don’t remember what made me and Ken tardy at getting the final traditional left over of Turkey and Rice soup started, but it was one of those rare occasions when my best friend from down the street was at my house.

          All three of us were rushing around the kitchen as it was late – much too late for the traditional process.  Ken had taken the balance of the meat off the turkey carcass and had diced it up.  He diced celery and onions and was sautéing it in a fry pan.

          Meanwhile, I was cooking white rice in one pan at the same time I was bringing the turkey carcass to a rolling boil in a half pot water to get its essence.

          When the celery and onions were done, Ken tossed them into a large deep pot, I added the cooked rice, and then we strained the liquid from the scalded carcass into the pot adding more water.  We turned the burner on high to get the pan to a fast rolling boil.

          Then we got creative and each of us picked various herbs from the spice rack and added what we thought would kick it over.

          Turkey and Rice soup which should be slowly simmered was frothing at a rapid boil in an effort to push it to be ready for a 5:30 supper when our parents got home.

          Surprisingly, it turned out perfect even though we had 3 cooks in the kitchen.  Every Thanksgiving, my best girlfriend mentions that rushed turkey soup cooking saying, “The best Turkey and Rice soup I have ever tasted.”

Act Four

          Usually after I washed dishes with Grammy and Mom, I would walk down to my best girlfriend’s house just the fourth house down the road, just out of sight of my parents’ home.

          I always knew it was safely “after” dinner as her Mom had a quaint old fashioned habit of putting the lids on the saucepans of the leftover vegetables and lining them up on the back porch out in the New England cold while she was attending to washing up the glasses, silverware, and dishes.

          Even now, when I visit after a huge Holiday meal, there will be pans out in the cold on the back porch waiting in queue to be attended to.

          I always smile wistfully at that quaint New England habit because it is always way to hot here in the South to do that down here.

November 23, 2016 – Thanksgiving is food, family, and tradition.

          I didn’t realize it back then as I was just a kid.  But, my Mom ran a frugal household out of necessity.  It wasn’t until I was a teenager and attending the Regional High School that I realized our family was, let us put this delicately, not that well off.

          Several weeks before each holiday, my Mom would buy one item and hold it back for the holidays so that the grocery bill for the holiday week didn’t double. [As a young bride, I had forgotten this, and just about passed out my first Thanksgiving shopping trip.]  Examples of this were a can of jellied cranberry sauce, a large can of premium black olives, a jar of those incredibly sweet gherkin pickles, and a fresh box of Bell’s seasoning for the turkey and stuffing.

          Thanksgiving was always a big production when we were kids.  The night before, I always remember being in the kitchen peering into the fry pan as the diced onions and celery were sautéed for the stuffing. Then the cubed stale bread collected and dried over several weeks was crumbled into a large bowl. [Sometimes I helped with that.] Then the sautéed onions and celery and melted butter drizzled in.  The scalding hot water or giblet liquid added in ample amounts and the top dusted well with salt and pepper and Bell’s seasoning.

          Then my Mom’s hands tentatively dipped into the steaming bowl of stuffing to stir it up by hand.  Dad would hold the huge washed and dried turkey on its rump.  Mom would stuff it.  Dad would truss it up neatly with skewers and string.  I was mostly in the way, but I found it all so fascinating and loved the smell of the stuffing. [However, I never ate it as a kid.]

          The huge metal turkey roasting pan magically appeared from possibly the off season location of the attic.  The refrigerator was completely re-arranged to accommodate the thawed, stuffed turkey overnight.

          The next morning, Dad and my brothers would bring up the table.  It was in the cellar.  Dad had made it with a smooth wooden door and had affixed metal legs.  [I smile when I watch the movie Under the Tuscany Sun as they have a similar table they make out of a door and saw horses.]  Out the cellar door it came and around to the front door and into the living room.  It was always a production because it didn’t bend around corners easily.  It took patience and guidance by Dad so that the beloved pictures were not knocked off the walls.  I can remember the familiar sound of the “twang” of the metal legs when it got caught on the front step railing or the door jam.

  

          My job was to always set the table with the special silverware and dishes Mom used for only the Holidays.  This always included the crystal salt cellars for dipping the celery sticks.  Next I got to put the pickles and olives in the special divided pickle and olive dish.  When I got older I would open the canned jellied cranberry sauce which slid out of the can like magic when you opened both ends.  I would slice it the way Mom liked it.  And, often I would slice the real butter stick into patties.  Later, closer to eating, I would get the center pieces of the celery that had been saved special with those lovely leaves still attached and prop them up in a few goblets of water here and there down the table.

          When Grampy and Grammy Nixon arrived they would always be in their best clothes.  Grampy would be in his suit and Grammy in her newest, nicest outfit.  I would run to the car to meet them.  I relished those private hugs from both of them.  Grammy always brought the homemade mincemeat pie that Dad loved.  She always carried it into the house.  She never trusted anyone else to do it.  Dad always meet Grandma at the door and took the prized pie and set it aside with the squash pie Mom always made.

          Then, Grampy would take his felt fedora dress hat off and pop it on my head.  What a thrill.  I fancied I looked stylish in it. [Maybe that is why I love hats so much.]  One arm was for his very heavy top coat and the other for Grammy’s top coat.  I would take them down the hall to my parent’s bedroom and lay them on the bed neatly.  I always enjoyed a moment or two of my reflection in the mirror wearing Grampy’s hat and would reluctantly take it off and place it on the pillows for safety.

          All my jobs now done, I only had to wait until the turkey was done.  I stayed mostly out of the way, but I watched as Mom would baste the Turkey.  It was magic in the kitchen – the aromas and her precise timing.  Potatoes were cooked and mashed, broccoli steamed, squash cooked, everything always came out of the kitchen on time and hot.

          Dad would lift the big roasting pan holding the turkey out of the hot oven for Mom.  He lifted the turkey easily onto the huge platter.  Then Mom made the gravy in the bottom of the roasting pan that took up two burners.  I always watched the gravy process closely.

          When the gravy was done, all the covered vegetable dishes were placed on the table along with the warm rolls.  Dad carried the turkey to the head of the table and started his traditional sharpening of the carving knife with the sharpening stone.  This was the signal that you better sit down and now.

          All eyes were on Dad and on the golden brown turkey.  The carving knife sunk expertly into one breast and he carved slices of hot juicy turkey.

          It was always a Norman Rockwell moment.

November 22, 2016 –     Time is running short already and we aren’t even into December!

          When a club is looking for a person to chair some committee, there is invariably that cheerful person who says, “We need to ask the busiest person you know.  They somehow seem to get everything accomplished.”

          Having just thrown the towel in on my own business as an entrepreneur, I know the value of time.  I cut my volunteer work to the minimum, but the lion’s share still goes to the Immaculate Conception Catholic Church here in Forest City.

          I currently have a part-time job that has demanding hours and unusual hours.  I have two days here, one day there.  My work hours are not fixed.  Sometimes I have to be at work at 9:00 a.m., other days at 3 p.m. and the days are changed weekly.   It drives me crazy as I have been a Monday through Friday 8-to-5er for decades.  I can’t get a handle on the housework because I can’t fix a schedule.  My Mom used to have a chart, something like: Laundry on Monday, Ironing on Tuesday, etc.

          I used to have a routine that worked, but somehow it is now broken and I seem to just be doing the “catch-up thing”.  It’s not working out that great for me.  Heck, I bought lovely Thanksgivings day cards for people and they didn’t get sent. OOPS, things are starting to fall through the cracks.

          I want to get back to a point where I can schedule my life on a desk calendar and block out time for certain projects or activities. [I am not the only one expressing this time crunch situation.  I’ve two girlfriends who are woefully telling me they are in the same time crunch. One has crazy 7 days shifts, and the other is on duty 24/7.] Up until last week I thought I was just being LAZY and if I pulled myself up by the boot straps I’d be okay.

          But, my time crunch really came to the surface last week when I had volunteered to make cookies for the Church’s Cookie Walk.  When you volunteer you sign up for a specific type of cookie and you have to make and deliver 3 batches of that one type.  You can’t welch out.  They are depending on 3 dozen of that type of cookie.

          I’ve never made 3 batches of one cookie in a row. [And silly little me signed up for two types of cookies and my surprise "checkerboard cookie". I was amazed at how long it actually takes.  I don’t have an industrial kitchen.   I had to block out time for the shortbread cookie.  One of the hardest parts was getting the butter to room temperature.  OH, yeah, some people manage to put it in the microwave – but it just isn’t the same – it seems to ruin the texture of the cookies when I try that.  It takes hours to get butter soft at room temperature.  Then when I planned on two batches one afternoon, I had an emergency.  I had to shelve the second batch until the next day.

          And, trying to make the shortbread cookies back to back is almost impossible.  I had to allow the cookies in the shortbread pan to cool for 10 minutes before I turned them out to cool.  Then I had to wash the pan, re-grease the pan and then refrigerate the pan to get it cold again for the next batch.  It would have been easier if I had more than one shortbread cookie pan.  But, alas, I have but one pan.

          I didn’t have the time to bake that far ahead and freeze and part of me hates the thought of cookies made so far ahead and frozen and then thawed out.  I consider that a “sin”.  Aren’t I critical!  Then the people buying them 11/19 for Christmas – they are going to freeze them – aren’t they?  I find that a quandary.

          Also, my pride got in the way when I signed up for the cookies.  I picked the best tasting ones, not the easiest ones to make.  It was a serious error in judgment on my part.  Once I had signed up, then I had to really figure out how I was going to squeeze this into my crazy schedule.

          It got accomplished, but the cookie baking for the church turned this household on end for an entire week.  My husband didn’t appreciate me taking over “his” kitchen and was constantly asking – “Are these ALL going to the church?” 

The last afternoon of baking I had to make another batch of cookies just so we had some cookies here at the house to eat.  [What does he say this morning?  “I’ve put on 5 pounds eating all those cookies!”  How could he – they all went to the church except the one batch I made at the end.]  Could the aroma have put all that weight on?

          Next is Thanksgiving and I have to work all day Wednesday and Thursday and we’ll just move our Thanksgiving to Sunday, the day of my husband’s birthday. That will work out fine.  It is not a problem; it is just the two of us.   So far I have one item on the menu, “Glazed Shallots” a new recipe I am going to try out.  I will blog the recipe if it turns out nice.  I will figure out the rest of it out sometime Saturday afternoon.

          Then, I bought some fabric for a Christmas jacket.  AH, but I didn’t realize that the Church Christmas party was the 3^rd of December.  Boy, am I cutting this close.  I had wanted it done for the party.  Well, it is grey felt and the project was for snow flake designs embroidered on the front and down the arms and the back.  I managed to locate the snowflake designs I want to use to embroider; I’ve gathered all the materials.  But now, scheduling a block of time?  It will take a lot of time.  First I have to make the jacket; then I have to embroider it.    Maybe it will end up a New Year’s Eve jacket instead.  I may possibly “re-think” this one and not make myself crazy two months in a row.

          I am trying to “not sweat the small stuff” and be flexible.  The so called “doing less is more” credo comes to mind.  But, I just don’t buy into that theory, YET.  I still want to do it all, and I still want to sweat the small stuff. 

How do I give myself permission to move out of the fast lane and pull over for a moment or two to catch my breath?