Blog Index - November 2017

November 1, 2017	Prize Patrol notification
November 9, 2017	“Eat your crusts!”
November 11, 2017	This year’s experiment – Belgian Endive
November 13, 2017	Christmas Catalogs arriving by the basketful.
November 14, 2017	The absent gardener
November 15, 2017	That pesky travel half-ounce rule
November 16, 2017	Humility & self esteem
November 17, 2017	Mistakes happen and this is one
November 18, 2017	The apple corer
November 19, 2017	Fall Mantel decorations & Maple syrup
November 20, 2017	Potatoes – now and back then
November 24, 2017	All things Thankful
November 25, 2017	Gold Gingko leaves
November 26, 2017	Ice Blue Eyes
November 27, 2017	Silk fall leaves and memories
November 28, 2017	Autumn leaves final salute
November 29, 2017	P.S. I Love You
November 30, 2017	The distant sound of bagpipes

November 30, 2017 – The distant sound of bagpipes

       The Macy’s Thanksgiving parade wouldn’t be complete without bagpipes – now would it?  And, earlier this year we had the Presidential Inaugural parade which included bagpipes.  I love the sound of bagpipes.  No, I am not Scottish, but in my everyday life, I rarely hear them unless I am watching a parade on TV or at some cultural event high in the mountains.

       On Thanksgiving Day as my husband was TV channel surfing, looking for the football game, I heard just a soundbite of bagpipes and it reminded of when we lived in the big house.

       We lived on West 6^th Street in Rutherfordton at the time and were renting this huge two-story clapboard house built in the 1940s. We were about six houses from the Rutherfordton Presbyterian Church on N. Washington Street.

       I had the windows wide open on a fine May Saturday morning as I am cleaning house.  I hear the skirl of bagpipes – for a moment and then it stops.   Well, that is interesting – I walk out onto the front step and see another neighbor walking up the street.

       “Did you hear that?” I asked casually. 

I only knew this neighbor lived at the end of the street but not her first name; I knew that her husband was a physical education instructor at the local college.

“At the church . . . there is a wedding . . .  there is a bagpiper.  Hurry.”  She called as she walking briskly up the street.

I left my house immediately without shutting the door or locking it and quickly caught up with her.

We were about 3 houses away when we heard the bagpipes start again.   By then, she started into a run and I followed her in a jog as I had the wrong footwear.   The sound was incredible even at that distance.

We reached the corner and the church came into view as the bagpipes continued. From what I understand from the other onlookers outside the church – which consisted mostly of curious neighbors – not the invitees to the wedding, the bagpiper was slowly walking down the center aisle of the church prior to the bride going down.   I heard it all, but I only saw the bagpiper still piping come out of the back of the church and walk off into the distance until I couldn’t see him and then the melody stopped.

It was a thrilling moment and I wasn’t even in the church.  It is not a big church and I imagined the sound must have been stunning for the wedding guests.

Now, I rarely pass that church without thinking back to that beautiful May day when the distant bagpipes made me dash down the street for a small-town-look-see.

November 29, 2017 – P.S. I Love You

        My Mom left little notes and poems all through the items that she was leaving to me.  For example, I asked for the historical books of the town I lived in as a child, Berlin, Massachusetts, and all the surrounding towns.  All these historical books were tucked into the living room bookcase and Mom tucked in amongst them additional treasurers as well, such as the book I describe below.

        It is a small book entitled, P.S. I Love You, compiled by H. Jackson Brown, Jr. in which several pages were tagged with little yellow sticky notes. I knew those pages were meant just for me.

        The author introduces the book with: “The sight of the envelope with her distinctive handwriting always warms my heart, and I must confess that I turn to the last page and read the P.S. first.”  Over the years, Brown’s mother had written letters and always put a P.S. message at the end of each one.  The book is a compilation of the best of those.

Just like the author of the book, I understand the power of handwritten letters, especially from your Mom.  I have 40+ years’ worth to re-read and enjoy during my next 30 or 40 years.

       

        I’d given my Mom many books over the years and I didn’t recognize this one. When I gave my Mom books I always cut off the price tag on the inside sleeve or covered it with some sort of sticker.  I knew I hadn’t given this little treasurer to her as the price tag was half torn off and left messy which is not my style at all.  I do wonder where she got it – did she buy it herself – or was it a gift from a dear friend or family.  [Again, that mystery will be in the never know file.]

        Below are the pages Mom tagged just for me.  I hope they inspire you as well.

When it comes to enthusiasm,

be like a pilot light.

never go out,

If at the end of a day

you feel dog-tired,

maybe it’s because

you growled all day.

Aunt Bessie says one of the best things

about getting older is that all those things

you wanted and couldn’t afford when you were younger,

you no longer want.

The only thing that ever sat its way to success was a hen.

Promise only what you can deliver. 

Then deliver more than your promise.

A person who is always telling you how honest he is

probably has his own suspicions.

The greatest accomplishments

 in science and the arts

have been made by individuals acting alone. 

No park has a statue dedicated to a committee.

You don’t have to look far to see a miracle.

What could be more supernatural

than a caterpillar turning into a butterfly,

an egg yolk into a chicken,

an acorn into a mighty oak?

As they say in Texas:

If you’ve done it,

It ain’t braggin’.

Lyndon Johnson once said that

when anyone tells you he’s just a dumb old country boy,

put your hand on your wallet.

Your father says inflation hasn’t ruined everything. 

A dime can still be used as a screwdriver.

November 28, 2017  - Final salute of autumn leaves

As you might know if you’ve been following my blog, Mom sent me weekly letters and in the fall she would press a handful of colorful leaves between sheets of wax paper so that they would last and then shove them in the #10 envelope with her weekly letter.  Every year for 40+ years, I would open the “leaf letter” and smile as it always was a little bit of a surprise.  Sometimes they were the solid yellow Elm leaves; other times they were the peachy yellow Maples. 

I could even guess which tree in the yard she had taken them from, and when I called next I would confirm that with her.

And, as some of you know, my Mom passed away in October at the height of the fall foliage in New England. She would have been enthralled with the exceptional color on display the week that she died – except that you had to experience it between the heavy rains. Occasionally, it would clear and the sun would peek out and you wanted to reach for your sunglasses the color was so bright.

Ken and I were at the funeral home dealing with the final arrangements and the Director asked, “Will you be having a flower blanket?”

“No, not on my budget.” I said softly.

Ken looked at me and wondered what we were talking about.  I said, “Flowers to put on the coffin.”

“We ordered a bouquet that set us back a bit.”  He mentioned as he looked at me.  He is not a tightwad but discovered funeral flowers are expensive and looked at me for guidance.

“Mother wanted flowers when she was alive – not now.”  I said calmly because she had mentioned that in the past. My mind was saying:  Frugal Mom, hadn’t purchased a blanket for Dad’s casket a few years back, I was following her lead. Mom wanted us to live within our means and my means were gasping at the cost of this unexpected funeral air flight and rental car . . . ”

The Director at the funeral home took it in stride and I had a quick thought.

“I’ll do a Barbara!” I said cheerfully.

Ken looked at me quizzically.

“Every year Mom would send me fall leaves in my letters. I’ll bring some fall leaves and sprinkle them over the beautiful wood of the coffin – that will please her.”

Ken looked at me in a queer way. So, I explained.

“I’ve lived away from the area ever since I got married.  Ken, here, he is a 15-minute drive away.  I got weekly letters from Mom, Ken only got letters with itineraries in them when Mom and Dad were going on vacation telling him who, what, when, and where so he could check on the house and get in touch with them in case of an emergency. 

Ken nodded.  I was telling the truth.  But, part of me wondered if he was thinking – what did Mom write about every week?  Part of me also wondered if he might be jealous that I had gotten weekly letters.  I had always wondered if my other brother, Al, had gotten weekly letters and wondered if they mirrored mine.  I never asked because I didn’t want to be jealous of him, and now I’ll never know will I?

Later that afternoon, I walked my parents' property and gathered perfect, unblemished specimens of lovely gold Elm leaves and shoved them in the pocket of the blazer I would wear to the wake that evening.

As the family assembled that evening, I sprinkled them over the lovely wood of the casket and even a few onto the puffed satin that surrounded her.   A few floated to the floor, just like nature, and I left them there.  I doubt any mourners actually noticed, I sent her off with freshly fallen autumn leaves.

I’m sure Mom would have loved that.

November  27, 2017 – Silk Fall leaves and memories

        Last month, going through the motions of ‘breaking up household’ at my Mom and Dad’s home, I had to sift through all the things in their life – letters, cards, photos, dishes, pots, pans, candles, linen napkins, etc., and then the drawer or two of seasonal decorations – other than Christmas decorations.

        Most of what was in the drawer I had an exact duplicate in my seasonal stash.

        Years ago, when the various dollar stores starting popping up in this county I starting finding delightful trinkets for myself and my Mom.  Seasonal trays, dishes, and decorations.   My Mom didn’t get out to shop much in the last 20 years and knowing this, I’d send her a gift box of Shamrock stickers for her windows, or those honeycomb heart shaped decorations.  

You get the idea, as the seasons rolled around, I’d buy something for my house to decorate and I’d get the same for my Mom and pop it in the mail – yes that old fashioned thing called “snail mail”.  I always would send the package “unannounced.”

        “You shouldn’t have,” Mom would say when she telephoned with sheer delight in her voice which was directly opposite of what the words were. [Of course, I should – Mom - I always thought.]

        One year at one of those dollar stores – about 20 years ago, I found a clear plastic box that had silk fall leaves in yellows and oranges.  Of course, the price was right and I snapped up a container.  There were oodles of them, so I sent half of them home by mail to my Mom and she was delighted.

        Me, I sprinkle them out on kitchen table and mantel and on end tables for fall interest – it satisfies the little kid in me. 

        Well, as I was saying, I was cleaning out the seasonal drawer at Mom’s  home and came up on her bag of silk leaves.  I fingered it and noticed she had a dozen or so real acorns among them.  It made me smile as I had seen her display of two plastic squirrels with the acorns and leaves sprinkled about flanked by papier-mâché pumpkins in several sizes. Yes, that is where I got this decorating habit.

        Having company in this Thanksgiving I pulled out my silk leaves, I have heads of wheat instead of acorns mixed in, and I sprinkled them all around the buffet station where the spread of food would be.  Around the turkey platter, the potato and squash chafing dishes – the full length of the bar they contrasted so nice on the overlapped white napkins.  I really didn’t think too much about it – even when I am making Thanksgiving dinner for just my husband and myself – I do the same thing.

        But my guests this year were – delighted, amazed and extremely vocal about it.  In a word, they were “wowed”.

        This holiday was hard for me – pulling out the beautiful dishes and things given to me over the years by my Mom for entertaining. I had to pause and breathe deeply a few times to fight back the tears.  Someone mentioned the nice linen napkins and I answered,

        “They were Mom’s, soft aren’t they from years and years of use.”  Most at table knew my Mom had just died in October.

        As I said before Mom, you will always be with me, through the memories or items you’ve given me.  Who would want to escape such fond memories?  

November 26, 2017 – Ice blue eyes

        I wasn’t expecting it.  My husband moved my car Wednesday morning to make room for our Thanksgiving guests the next day.  My husband moved the pickup truck down to the garden, and re-parked my car where the truck normally is and then my husband stayed parked where he normally parks. It was good thinking on his part.

        I wasn’t expecting it.  I spoke with the florist who was verifying my location for delivery of flowers.  I told her to come to the front door.  Later, the doorbell rang and I went to the front door and no one was there so I walked out the front door and down the front walk and circled around to the back door chasing the florist down, “You-who,”  I called.  I caught up with the delivery gal about two steps from my back door.  I took the flowers and walked back around to the front door. [They say it is bad luck to go out one door and come in another . . . maybe I am superstitious.]

        On Wednesday, I cooked and set the table and got the house ready.  Thursday, I finalized the cooking, and sat and chatted with guests and then cleaned up the dishes, and pots and pans.  My car was parked for two days. On Friday, by early afternoon I finally put my shopping list in order and went out to my car.  It didn’t start - I wasn’t expecting that!

        “Oh My.”  I said and went in to get help from my husband.

My husband unsuccessfully tried to “jump it”.  He then took me shopping and when we came back home I called AAA and told them my problem – or do we call that my issue.   Actually, I’d coin it a “crisis”.    I hate being without my own wheels.  I also don’t like the strange routes my husband takes to the post office or the store.  I swear it is the longest way in the world to get there.  It has to be the woman vs. man thing.

        AAA was friendly and efficient.  They get my high points for “customer service” any day. Within 30 minutes, someone would come to see if they could start my car. I wasn’t expecting it so quick on Black Friday. 

Only a few minutes later, the AAA mechanic person phoned and said,

“I’m at ‘such and such church’ that is what I got when I punched in your address.”

“The development is across the street, I’m the third driveway on the left, white house, black shutters, green front door.” I answered.

“I’ll be right there.”

I hardly had time to get on my sweater and shoes by the time he pulled into the driveway.

“Who’s that?”  My husband asked.

“AAA mechanic,”

“That was quick.”

Out the door I went and met the mechanic.  He was carrying a jump box – at least that is what I would call it – but I am a novice when it comes to things of this nature.

He popped the hood and clamped his machine on the battery and it did it’s magic.  I climbed in and cranked the car – it started - I wasn’t expecting it.  I honestly expected it was going to be an alternator or something that would cost me a fortune because my battery was only a year or so old and shouldn’t be dead. I only bought it - not last summer, but the summer before as I recalled.

“You changed your battery July, 2016 . . . that is hardly a year and a half old.”  He said.

I thought, ‘How did he know that?’

“I got the Gold battery, I always get the best battery. Living out in the country . . . you know.” I answered.

“Where did you get it? Advanced Auto?” He guessed as he looked me straight in the eyes.  I wasn’t expecting it. 

He had typical mechanic dirty nails, but his eyes were the clearest ice blue I’d ever seen in my life. – I wasn’t expecting those.

“Yeah,” I said thinking – who is that actor with eyes like that.  I drew him into more conversation just so I could look into those eyes and maybe it would jog my memory.   I thought, A-team, who was that actor.  He was in Breakfast at Tiffany’s and yes, the close up of him in Blue Max.  But, the name didn’t come.

The AAA mechanic was packing up and said, “Turn the car off and we’ll see if it starts again.”

I did as was told.  It started up again like a charm.

Then the AAA mechanic slipped into over-drive customer service with a smile and those dancing ice blue eyes.

“You need to drive around a bit.  Actually, if you got it at Auto Zone, go back there and have them check your battery.  It might have a bad cell – you can exchange it – I believe you are still under warranty  . . .”

I wasn’t expecting that – excellent customer service and a suggestion to check on my battery warranty.  Me, I never would have thought of that.  All I was thinking about was,   ‘Thank heavens I’ve got wheels again, and my car doesn’t have to be towed to a garage and  . . . and who is that actor?  I can see him plain as day, but the name is just not coming.’

“You are all set.”

“Do I need to sign anything?”

“No.”

He got in his vehicle and left.  I left my car running while I ran in and got my purse.  I drove directly to Auto Zone, had them check my battery, and as it was still under warranty they installed a brand new one for free. - I wasn’t expecting that.

When I got home, I explained the new battery situation with my husband and asked,

“Who was the fella on the TV show ‘A-Team’. He was also in Breakfast at Tiffany’s and in The Blue Max.”

He instantly said, “George Peppard – Why?”

“The AAA mechanic – he had ice blue eyes – just like George Peppard.”

My husband gave me a squinty look for moment and then shrugged his shoulders and walked away.  I was expecting that.

November 25, 2017 – Gold Gingko leaves

        One day I was out shopping and my husband was out in the yard sitting in the fall sun, enjoying the quite.  I found a couple cold beers and joined him. 

He points at the tree on the back lawn. He calls that tree half a dozen incorrect names and each time I tell him what it is, but he doesn’t remember.  So, now he identifies it as: “Your tree – what is it called?” 

“Crepe Myrtle.”

“Yeah, all the leaves came down and made a perfect circle right round it.”  He said admiring it from our vantage point. 

He was right. We’d had a killing frost and the leaves had turned and dropped off in a neat circle.  The small leaves had turned a dark olive green and curled a bit as they dried and were pretty in their own way.

Later that week my Gingko tree turned a gorgeous gold and every time I passed my kitchen window, I paused and watch leaves drop straight down.  Again, there was no wind, which is unusual for us.  Two days later, not a leaf was on the ginkgo tree. I went out to rake up just the circular patch of golden leaves that had dropped and layered like a gold leathery carpet.  It truly was beautiful to look at, but I didn’t want it smothering and killing the lawn.

This summer when I did the brick paver patio near the back of my house abutting one of my raised vegetable gardens, I had 900 pounds of sand dropped off with the bricks.  The sand was in a large white tuff-type fabric with handles on it and was dropped by a forklift at the far end of my driveway.  That square “giant” shopping type bag held 9 cubic feet of sand.  When I emptied it, I kept it to cart leaves from the lawn to my leaf pile or my compost pile instead of a tarp.

I noticed the Ginkgo leaves were fresh still, not having lost their moisture and they felt just as leathery and waxy as if I had plucked them from the tree.  So, they were heavy to rake and scoop up. I started raking from the tree in a circle outwards six feet or so feet making a circular mound.  Then I came in from the lawn side of the perfect fallen leaf circle and raked inward so that I had a leaf ridge in a circle around the tree.  Then I scooped them up and plopped them in that re-purposed sand bag and drug it across the lawn to the leaf pile to empty.  I made a second trip and was done.   I love that bag – they should market the bag for leaf raking.

Then, the next day, more sunshine and still no wind, I went down to the front corner and the leaves were completely off the sugar maple tree.  It being near the road, the leaves had drifted not in a complete circle, but inward a bit from the road traffic in sort of an oval. The maple leaves had fallen over time and they were bone dry, curled and extremely light.  I took 5 bags of maple leaves to the leaf pile.  When the 9 cubic feet bag was full of dried maple leaves, it was so light weight – felt more like air.  I over stuffed it, tamped it down and had the added advantage of a Velcro flap cover on the re-purposed sand-bag to close it. 

So, my drag to the leaf pile was fast and I didn’t lose any leaves.  I’ll be saving that bag and using it again and again. 

I suggest if you can find a friendly bricklayer, see if you can’t mooch one of those empty sand bags from their next completed job and use it for fall leaf raking.  You will simply love it.   

Happy leaf raking.

November 24, 2017 – All Things Thankful – Thanksgiving

        I had a group in for Thanksgiving.  I did have a momentary pause at the invitation stage because I haven’t cooked for more than the two of us at Thanksgiving dinner for several years. I felt I might be out of practice and not up to my standards.  But, entertaining is just like riding a bicycle – comes back to you when you jump in and extend the invitation.

The last few years on Thanksgiving, I worked in the restaurant industry.  As anyone who works for an entity that serves Thanksgiving dinner to the public, you know it is an “all-hands-on-deck” day with long, grueling hours.  I remember at the end of last Thanksgiving after being on my feet and rushing here and there all day I wasn’t actually interested in food.  But, invited by management at the end of business to eat, all I wanted was a piece of pie. I chose my piece of pie and got off my feet for five minutes.

So, this year I dusted off my repertoire of recipes and me, the self-challenging type that I am, I decided to try two new recipes that have been on my “let’s try” list for years, i.e.,  Brioche a Téte and Tiramisù.

The recipes are probably copyrighted, so I am not going to set them out here.  The Tiramisù is discussed in great detail in the Cook’s Illustrated magazine, Fall Entertaining 2008 magazine.  Entitled, Perfecting Tiramisù, pages 60 and 61.

I had trepidations about the Tiramisù as I have only opted to have it in a restaurant a few times over the years.   Usually it is offered at upscale restaurants and I am always too full from my scrumptious main dish to attempt a rich dessert.

There is a wonderful scene in Sleepless in Seattle where Rob Reiner tells Tom Hanks he’d find out about Tiramisù which I find amusing.  Next time you watch that movie – look for it or just go to the following for the script of that scene:

http://screenprism.com/insights/article/whats-the-meaning-of-the-tiramisu-joke-in-sleepless-in-seattle

Now that you have had your laugh or been inspired – back to the recipe. I followed the directions exactly.  I opted for the “without raw eggs” step.  I guess I’ve always been on the cautious side when it comes to eggs and mayonnaise.

I felt the amount of liquid required to dip the ladyfingers was excessive. [As an afterthought, I could have strained it and drank it over ice as serious pick-me-up.]  As the recipe indicates, after 40 batches of tiramisu, the Cook’s staff’s favorite was “dark rum” and I used Meyers dark rum.  In the future, I will “brush” the liquid on them – top and bottom - as I think it will be easier. I also used a square dish because I find the look of an oblong dish “tacky” for entertaining.  I merely ended up with a taller version. I made it Wednesday afternoon, with the Dutch processed cocoa powder dusted on the top. The next morning I grated dark chocolate over the top.  I still got the 10-12 servings and I served it right from the refrigerator.  [Another idea would be small, individual serving bowls would be a lovely take.]                                                                                                                                

What was wrong with it? -  Absolutely nothing!  I was stunned by the taste and creaminess.  My only issue – how do you neatly get it out of the dish?   I heard “groans” of delight up and down my table which made my heart sing.  I waited until everyone else had tasted it before I did  - smart move on my part as I enjoyed the moment. Trust me, it is time consuming and the ingredients a bit pricey; but, you will definitely please your guests.

The other recipe I tried was from Fine Cooking – True brioche:

http://www.finecooking.com/recipe/authentic-brioche

The instructions are extensive and I suggest you read them carefully.  Lucky me, I had purchased individual ovenproof paper molds years ago and they have been moved from cabinet to cabinet over time and I did locate them finally.  You can order them at the following site:  I think I ordered mine from King Arthur years ago.

https://www.bakedeco.com/detail.asp?id=25456&trng=fgle&gclid=EAIaIQobChMI5-nm5bfX1wIVCLXACh04dAr7EAQYBCABEgKR8PD_BwE

Mine are the small size – very efficient – just the right size for a dinner roll.

I did order a standup mixer for this recipe, and I must admit I went too low pricewise and my new mixer is really not up to the thickness or weight of this bread dough.  I did get it accomplished and I need to warn you – this is a long process.  You have two rises of the dough and then the proofing of the rolls in the molds.   Shaping the dough to get them into the molds was “challenging” for me and I consulted the wonderful diagram in the 75^th Anniversary edition of Joy of Cooking, Cookbook by Rombaurer, Becker and Becker. 

[Next time I will do it the following way – refrigerate the dough, and then roll them. I think the “tete” or heads will look better.

See also: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xeCEHU9toqU

and: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AUWjsqJ6tC8

What is the point of a brioche without the “head” or bump on the top? Trust me – mine were authentically “rustic”.  Possibly,  being non-uniform added to the charm or possibly proved I had made them and not bought them.  However, as rustic as they were, I thought they tasted fabulous – buttery.  Just the “sniff” alone is worth making them.

I opted to bake them the day before and then warm them up in an oven the next day.  I shouldn’t have done that.  I should have refrigerated them and baked them fresh on Thanksgiving Day.   Warming them up – dried them out.  I have learned from my error. Also, the refrigerated dough I am certain will be easier to handle.

The recipe netted way more than 16 rolls. I ended up with 24 and they were spilling out of the molds.  Doing more research – after the fact – I find that punched down, shaped rolls should fill the pans no more than 1/3 full in order that they look nice.

This will be a do again – with some alteration - refrigerating the dough overnight, then fashioning and baking them just before the guests arrive.  

Luckily my self-imposed challenges thankfully came to fruition instead of failure. It’s nice to know I can still cook for a crowd even when I am out of practice!

I am most thankful that I had the most appreciative guests who enjoyed themselves.

November 20, 2017  - Potatoes – now and back then

For several years now, I have noticed during the Thanksgiving and Christmas holidays one can buy a 10-pound bag of potatoes cheaper than a 5-pound bag.  Yes, I know it is a merchandising ploy to get people to shop at their store for all their holiday cooking needs. They offer a staple item at such a reduced price and make you feel guilty not taking advantage of it.

       My choice this year was $1.98 for 10 pounds or $3.58 for 5 pounds.   I heaved the 10-pound bag into the cart knowing that I would be tossing half the spuds on the compost pile, as they turn bad.  With only two in our household, it is foolish to buy in such large quantities. 

        I will be having a few people in for Thanksgiving dinner and serving garlic-mashed potatoes, but knowing there would be upcoming waste still bothers me.

        Then, my mind shifted to where am I going to find a place to store them this year.  Even short-term, I don’t have storage for a 10-pound bag.  I pondered a moment and thought of Mom’s potato bin.

Last month, cleaning out Mom’s house - I actually should say – Mom and Dad’s house which is more accurate – I emptied the lower kitchen cabinets out into the middle of the floor and sorted through the items.

        One item was custom built by my Dad.  He was a clever man with his hands.  During the years 1952 to 1953, my Dad built the house himself from the cinderblock foundation to the roof and everything in between.  He was a “do it all” type man with jack-of-all-trade skills that he had or he quickly learned during the process of building the house, which was our childhood home where Mom and Dad resided until they died.

        I had disbursed the rest of the lower cabinet items, but I left the handmade, custom built wooden potato/onion bin out so that my brother, Ken, and I could admire it a bit and see if anyone in the family needed it.

  

        Dad had designed it out of hardwood – later painted pink to match the kitchen walls.  It fit perfectly under the kitchen sink.  The bottom width was one third of the top width. The sides slanted out from the bottom. Even with much weight, it would slide in and out easily compared to a wide bottom bin. There was a vertical  partition one-third distance from the front end to keep the onions away from the potatoes, and you could easily store 10 to 20 pounds of potatoes and maybe 5 to 10 pounds of onions in that bin.     

        I lovingly wiped it down inside and out with a damp cloth and took the time to admire Dad’s artisanship.  As a child, it had always been there under the kitchen sink and had to be 50 or 60+ years old.  Two round holes were carved through the upper part of both the front and back panels. You would stick your fingers through the holes in order to grab the bin and pull it forward to reach in when the supply got low.

        The holes were slightly uneven.  I poked my fingers through the holes and instantly realized the holes were sized for Dad’s large fingers, not Mom’s slender fingers.  My slender fingers swam in the holes and lingered there realizing the history of this one-of-a-kind item. 

        Later when we took a break from cleaning the cellar, I drug it out onto the back steps. I pointed out the slightly uneven finger holes to Ken, but he didn’t say a word as his eyes darted from top to bottom and side to side assessing how well it had been crafted. Ken, like, Dad is the same type of “do it all” type man with jack-of-all trade skills.

But, alas, no one in the family wanted it. 

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                   

        

November 19, 2017 – Fall mantel decorations & maple syrup

        I decorate my fireplace mantel seasonally and not just for Easter and Christmas.  In January when I take down the Christmas decorations I put up Valentine ’s Day decorations, then St. Patrick’s Day, comes next.  Then in between I might come up with something – my collection of teapots or something clever, then Easter.  Then I let my creativity dictate something for a couple of months and then in what I call ‘high summer’, I trot out my wooden shorebird decoys and sea shells.  Then in September or October I switch over to an autumn theme to cover Fall, Halloween, and Thanksgiving.  Then we are back to Christmas.  Full circle – all this switching out makes for a dustless mantel and is sort of fun for me.  I guess the little kid is still in me.

I do this all for my personal delight; but, it is always a bonus when a close friend visits and notices my mantel decoration whimsy.

This fall I took down the sea shells and shorebird decoys and pulled out the papier-mâché pumpkins, the horse chestnuts and lined them up on the mantel along the front of the beautiful Mass cards I received for my Mom who died in mid-October.  Then I pulled out all the maple leaf shaped bottles I have kept over the years and grouped them to keep the Mass cards from toppling off.  These I have saved over the years.  Mom used to send them in my Christmas gifts – “a taste of home” – jotted on the gift card.  She knew I would keep the bottle and fill it with water and add food coloring to get yellow or orange or red.

I now have 6 of these Maple leaf shaped bottles in various sizes and they are a yearly delight to drag out of their off season hiding place.  One is permanently displayed on the kitchen window shelf and it has cobalt blue water in it to decorate my white and cobalt blue kitchen and is not on my mantel.  But, I was recently gifted a bottle by a dear friend in a goody bag for my road trip home.  When I got home, I immediately tapped it and used a tablespoon in my first morning home coffee instead of sugar.  OHHHHH that maple syrup taste – nothing like it in a fresh cup of coffee. So comforting, took the homesickness out of me immediately.  I even put that bottle, sans a bit of syrup on the shelf.

“Oh, the maple syrup bottles!” my dear friend exclaimed.  She didn’t have to say anything more – the smile on her face was enough.   She gets my “whimsy”.  Not everyone does – but she always does.

I imagine some of you that are not from New England don’t get the “maple syrup” connection.  Some may even ask is she Canadian correlating the red maple leaf on Canada’s flag?

No, it is something different entirely. When I moved away from Massachusetts to Kansas back some 40+ years ago, we found it difficult to find real maple syrup in the grocery stores.  You might think that is crazy – but shopping now is different than the late 1970s.  Some things stayed regional for decades and one of those was Maple Syrup from New England.

I remember when we moved to New Jersey – less than 6 years later that we still encumbered the lack of REAL maple syrup being easily found. Being snobs, we always look at the label to verify it is 100% maple syrup.  In New England, where it is produced, you have a choice of Grade A Medium Amber or Grade B Dark Amber. It can also be broken down further into additional grades.  On a visit to Massachusetts once, we went to the trouble of driving into Vermont to buy a gallon can of Maple Syrup and we chose the dark amber one for the flavor.  It was a better price and we delighted in it – in every last drop.  Alas, it did take us a couple years to consume.

Over the last 40 years, the price of Maple Syrup has sky-rocketed and we now use it judiciously.  But, there are 5 uses I have for maple syrup that come to mind instantly and I don’t hesitate on using it for following:

     Sweeten your coffee – substitute a spoon full of maple syrup for sugar as a personal treat when you are having a bad day.

     Pour a teaspoon or two over vanilla ice cream and dust with freshly ground nutmeg – YUM.

     Add a tablespoon or more to your next batch of coleslaw and everyone will ask – “Can I have your recipe?”

     When making frosting for a spice cake, use maple syrup as the wetting agent for the powdered sugar.

     Use maple syrup frosting on a humble sugar cookie and you’ll hear – “Can I have another?” request.

     Make a classic vinaigrette dressing for a fall vegetable salad, but include a tablespoon or more [to your taste] and then garnish with pecans.  Wicked-Yum.

There are dozens, if not multitude recipes out there.

Need I say anymore?  There is more than just collecting pretty maple leaf shaped bottles for the mantel.  We enjoy the contents.

I’ve an idea, when someone asks me what I want for Christmas this year – I have a ready answer – real maple syrup in one of those maple leaf bottles always works for me.