Days to Make History

Apparently little of interest happened this day in my history. I went to On This Day to see if there was an interesting historical reference to think and write about from the first year of my life. I got nothing. Well, today is Robin Wright Penn's (does she still use Penn-I'd have dropped it when I got rid of him) birthday, and a famous sculptor died at age 79. I went broader and found many references to buildings being blessed by popes, or named by Kings, but nothing that jumped out at me as a good story.

Yet, we make history, at least memories every day don't we? Jump on Twitter or Facebook, and perhaps I'll see some people making and capturing so many memories, they won't know what to hold onto later. Apparently I didn't make any memories last year on April 8, at least not captured in blog or social media, but in that week I went to a flower show, bought really discounted post Easter jelly beans, and was wished a Happy Sibling's Day by my youngest sister. Those are pretty good things.

A quiet weekend is planned. DD#2 either has a friend coming home with her or she's going there after play practice. I think I want to cook something for supper-maybe something rustic with chicken, and have a nice bottle of wine to go along with it. I've scheduled some purging time tomorrow and Sunday morning, and am planning an authentic (don't ask me yet what that will be) Minnesota dinner for our guest as my older daughter is heading back our way for the remaining days of R's trip. I'm not sure who else will be over on Saturday night to join us. It has been ridiculously cold for April, even for here, this last week, through Sunday it might get out of the 40's, so not going to mind having the oven on, and spending a lot of time in the kitchen. 

Ordinary days. Ordinary memories. History none the less. With the cold weekend, I might also give into my habits and imbibe a little television or movies. I love nostalgic movies about regular people making the best out of whatever means or situations that is presented to them. Here's a clip from one of my favorites, a Hallmark movie from about 10 years ago, and seems to go along with this ordinary post, a blip in history.

Simpler Times-Perhaps: Part 4, Vacations

When my kids were young, vacationing was simple. Now we have to manage passports, and the right ID, ground transportation, and making sure we capture all the highlights we can to justify the cost of the trip. This is not a complaint, because I like my traveling, and feel the planning ahead of time is part of the fun. Back then, vacations were all road trips, and were short, a few days at most. We also had to have a loos schedule. It is hard packing things for babies,toddlers, and preschoolers and as a new mom, hard to feel like a vacation when you are on constant vigilance to make sure they are safe, which is why a few days at most worked for us. Of course , it was a money thing as well. There just wasn't any money to do more than a a couple nights. We would book at a discount hotel, finding the best deal we could.  We made sure it had a pool and scouted out parks in the area so we could make the most of the time away. It was simple.  

We packed a cooler and tote bag to keep expenses low and make sure we had ready food for hungry kids that would be off schedule from their normal routine.  More often than not, we made sure the hotel had a free continental breakfast. That breakfast paired with the cooler, was plenty to get us to an early supper where we dined with other families with young children and senior citizens at a budget chain restaurant, with a coupon if possible.  I would look in the Sunday coupons the month before our get away and clip the Applebees, Ruby Tuesday, Olive Garden, and any other coupons for restaurants  we might run across.  While discount, and chains, these were fine dining when you are financially strapped young parents.One more silly bit of nostalgia I miss, is the end of kids menus.  No more puzzles and games to play before the meal came,  No more special kids cups, and little toys that would be lost by the end of the trip, but treasured for the next day. 

Once we scored a deluxe three day, two night package, off season, in a real hotel in Duluth that included dinner and drinks in the carousel restaurant on the top floor.  The restaurant rotated very slowly, reviewing a look by the end of dinner of the whole city.  DD#1 got called "mam" when her chair was pulled out for her by the host, and both kids were served kiddie cocktails with umbrellas. Needless to say, her pretend play later in the week included pulling chairs out for her dolls and stuffed animals at her little table and calling them "mam".  DS thought a lot about the mechanics of the carousel, wondering if it went faster, would our food fall off the table, or would the force keep it in place? He later experimented with cups and plates on a Sit-n-Spin. What's the sign of a good vacation for kids? When they take the vacation home with them in their mind, not in stuff. 

After checking into the motel and going for a swim, we would find the points of interest, talk to the kids about where we were, things they might relate to, and spend the day out and about new surroundings. Heading back to the motel for another swim, we would have an early night in bed, letting the kids first watch something on Disney channel or cartoon network, a bonus treat because in those days we did not spend money on cable or satellite. It was a banner motel stay if they had free HBO, and once the kids were asleep, DH and I might watch a grown up movie, and have a glass of wine or beer.  If nothing on, we would have an uninterrupted chat, knowing the exhausted kids would not wake up needing something.

These were simple, but fun and memories that I still have, though I am sure the kids remember little.  In pictures though, I have pictures of a two year old and a four year old, smiling ear to ear climbing on a boat in a Lake Superior park, happy to be let loose to play and climb. I have similar smiling pictures from later trips to Florida, Mexico, Jamaica, and the Bahamas.  At the time in life, I doubt they would have had any better time at those more exotic of locales, and I doubt I would have either.

While I love traveling, I don't want to get in the habit of thinking all get aways have to be in an airplane, in fancy digs, with a jam packed itinerary. Young children force by age, and by expense, to make things simpler, but not less enjoyable. Now though, with no little ones to think about, I still get to decide how special an event, a day, or a week is. I can decide with what and when to fill my cooler and where to head. Like then, I'll make sure it has a bottle of wine.  

Breakfast

There are not many commonplace experiences I enjoy more than breakfast.  I'm not talking about the bran flakes in the cereal bowl, mug of coffee and a bagel kind of breakfast, which is typical of most of my mornings.  When I think about enjoying breakfast, it is the full on eggs, potatoes bacon and sausage, and if possible, biscuits and gravy.  Add a bottomless pot of coffee, and once I leave the table, I probably need nothing more the rest of the day; that is how satisfying a big full breakfast is to me.  

This love of breakfast is rooted back to my childhood. When I was growing up, Sunday's were still a day of rest or at least not a day of employment. After we went to church, it was normally my dad that would make the big Sunday breakfast. Pancakes or waffles, big pans of scrambled eggs or  batch after batch of over easy ones, and a pan of bacon and sausage. The toaster kept popping up warm bread to smear with butter and jam. We would take our time eating because food came out in batches, all lingering around the table. The girls cleaned up after and then we all went on with our day, dad now able to relax with the Sunday paper, and a ball game on the television or radio.  As the years went on, and we kids were out of the house, we often would meet my parents after church for breakfast at a favorite diner in town. We rarely go out for breakfast anymore since my parents have passed away.  

Lately, a meal like this is more likely to  be on our supper menu, as none of the three of us are up and eating at the same time. Add to that the mess of the various pans and the time to sit and enjoy, we just don't choose to build the full breakfast into our morning routine. But this morning will be different.  DD#1 is home, and like her mother, she loves the full on breakfast as well. Of course, hers will be minus the bacon, sausage, and sausage gravy.  There might be a side of pancakes. While I wasn't planning on eating out, the unexpectant extra two days of her company, has made me decide to splurge on a mother daughter breakfast, and some downtown window shopping. DH is at work, and DD#2 is already out with friends, and the kitchen is remotely clean to the point I don't want to create another mess. How about you?  When is a meal more than a meal?   

Little Bundles of Yum-With an Update

Rather than linking, I'm posting the same post as I did on Thursday from my writing blog.  I am excited to share that I have found the recipe, or a version close enough, and with my memory of what wasn't in them and am adding to the bottom of the story.  I love when something from my childhood is able to resurface. Now, I need to plan an appropriate time to make these so I don't make and eat them all myself.  I don"t know if these will be a fan favorite with my household.  If DS were here, he would probably down a half dozen. Without further ado, as previously posted in Sam and Writing, Little Bundles of Yum.

Growing up, food did not have the significance of a lifestyle as it does today.  People weren't described as foodies.  Food nourished the body, was offered to guests, and on holidays, was eaten in too large a quantities. In  stable financial times, breakfast was cold cereal, toast, or a big pot of oatmeal.  We mostly ate school lunches, or brought a simple sandwich and fruit.  Suppers were meat, potato, vegetable and white bread. Leaner times,we ate a lot more hot dishes and soups.  I should explain hot dish for those not in the Midwest.  Hot dish, not to be called casserole, was a noodle or rice base, a protein, often hamburger, leftover chicken or canned tuna, a  can or jar of something to bind it, and maybe cheese or bread crumbs on top. That was about as foodie as meals came.

However, there was one food, served very rarely, that I absolutely adored.  I don't believe I have eaten one in twenty plus years, probably since the last time my mom made them before they moved into town.  She called them Corned Beef Burgers.  These were not a burger at all, but rather a kind of meat salad, put on little hamburger buns, wrapped in tin foil, and heated in the oven. I think one of my sisters knows how to make them, but they are an acquired taste, and because I only remember these being made in large quantities, the recipe probably makes more than she could find current day eaters to consume.  Really these are nothing more than canned corned beef, flaky and gelatinous, mixed with salt, pepper, relish, and a jar of Cheez Whiz.  I really typed Cheeze Whiz as a recipe ingredient. 

Oh how I loved the steam coming out of the little bundle when I opened the foil on my burger. The scent of the beef blended with the cheese msde my mouth would water. Corned beef burgers were associated with informal family and friend gatherings. Once cold and winter set in, it was less frequent that people would get together, but when I saw these being made, I knew the house was going to be full. A large pot of soup was also made to serve with the sandwiches and later years when mom got a bit more creative, a toned down chili, more of a hamburger, bean, and tomato soup.  That is part of the appeal for me.  These were a Saturday night food, made if my parents were having people over for cards.  My sisters on the sides of me in age didn't like them, so when we were each offered one as a treat before we were banished out of the room, I got one of theirs as well.  They were happy with potato chips we also were allowed. 

My brother used to say he thought my mom was a good cook until he grew up and moved out and learned there was a thing called spice in the world. It is true that my mom was a no nonsense, basic, really quite bland cook. She would have had no time with the plethora of shows on the Food Network. In her later years, she got more adventurous with what she ate out of the house, and appreciated other peoples expanded menus, but personally stuck to her staples.  Those little sandwiches though are locked in my head and in my memories, and no one since has been able to replicate the full package of the Corned Beef Burger experience. 

Corned Beef Burgers
2 cans corned beef (square 6-7 oz. size)
16 oz jar Cheez Whiz
1/2 Cup mayonaise
1 cup sweet pickle relish
Salt, pepper
small hamburger buns, or dollar buns

Mix all ingredient together into a spread.
Put spread on buns, a couple tablespoons or so on each
Wrap individually in tin foil
Heat in a 350 degree oven 15-20 minutes, watching that they don't over brown

I really don't now how many this will make-I'm guess at least a dozen.  My mom had them just loaded in the oven, so she probably doubled or maybe tripled when she made them. If anyone tries, please let me know how they turned out and what your family's reaction was to them. I bet these could also be done with a grill, perhaps the top rack, or on a very low heat, but turning over frequently. I read the bundles will freeze well, so you could make up, and only bake what you need perhaps in a toaster oven.

Important Things in Life

Stuff is just not important.  Memories are. 

It was a fast turn from his feeling a little off, and doctors not able to regulate the medication that was helping his illness, to my father in law passing away yesterday.  I think the whole family thought there would be more time, despite the fact that he had beaten most odds from his original heart condition diagnosis 16 years ago.  Still, no one in DH's family, including my own kids were really ready for this.  

DS was able to get home and have some quality conversation, though I think he wishes in the last eight years since he moved from  high school kid to young adult he would have spent more time enjoying activities with his grandpa.  DD#1, even though she saw him a few weeks ago, felt bad that she wasn't here in the end. She landed a few hours ago and is on a errand with a cousin to collect something for the memorial service to be held early next week.  DS won't be able to come back for it. Between the travel costs and the lost income, it was already a stretch to be back this week financially. We will have a celebration of life this summer to return his ashes to the earth, and he is hopeful he can come back then.  Summer time was FIL favorite time and the family lake cabin was his favorite place.  That is where the girls went for their errand.  I am sure they will laugh and cry the whole drive there and back, sharing memories.  

I've written about my clutter problem.  It is more than a problem, it is reaching crisis in some rooms.  I shared that DH comes form a long line of  clutter bugs as well, though with more space and storage into which said items can be stored or displayed.  As much as the clutter stresses me out, when I look around at it, I see a load of memories.  The unhung art work reminds me of the cruise with my whole family- all five of us, and the more recent one celebrating our 25th wedding anniversary. The crystal bowls and odd china pieces overloading my china hutch were handed down from both of our grandparents or wedding gifts from aunts and great aunts no longer with us. Stacks of photos that have yet to be organized into albums are evidence of a busy and growing family, fun times with extended family and friends, and our ties to loved ones. 

There will be a lot of tears and hopefully more laughter as we gather the next few days. I'm sure stories of the overfilled cabin garage, the 1/2 basement of additional storage, and wall to wall collectibles and why they were meaningful will be. told. It's not the stuff that is important, but the memories that came along in the package that makes some of the things treasures.

Broken Bowls-More Than Just Shattered Glass

Rather than dote on my sad disappointment yesterday I focused on getting some tasks done.  What happened before I started baking, I had pushed aside.  In pulling out a mixing bowl I absentmindedly pulled too quick, and out of my cupboard came a stack crashing to the floor.  Did I mention I have a clutter problem and desperately need better organization?  The victims to the shambles were not one, but two parts of my beloved three piece yellow stacking bowls.  There was nothing special about these bowls-just ordinary nesting mixing bowls. They were though precious to me because of what they meant in my family history.

These mixing bowls ended up being part of a master box of kitchen items that my mom had collected and assemble during the months that preceded my wedding.  Originally though, these bowls were not for me.  She would pick up measuring cups and spoons, rubber scrapers, wooden spoons, pie plates, and cookie sheets-all the odds and ends a simple kitchen cook should need, but likely a bride of 21 wouldn't think to know were more important than selecting wine glasses.  She had 8 daughters and two daughter in-laws, and I was the ninth wedding she attended showers for and picked out gifts. This collecting before the time came became an art. The bowls were actually bought for a Christmas present for my sister, but then my mom came across on sale, the Pyrex style, similar to her own, she knew my sister had really wanted. These bowls were picked up on a clearance table at the downtown Ben Franklin, no return after sale, so sat in a closet for nearly a year. 

I remember opening my "goodie box" at one of my wedding showers, and being so surprised to see the bowls in the box. I had forgotten about them. They were packaged loose, as I'm sure they were purchased, with the other kitchen utensils assembled around them, and some inside the bowls.  It just so happened that I had also received two sets of stackable Pyrex bowls at the same shower.  I remember driving home with my mom, and she being quite quiet.  I broke the silence by thanking her again for the gift, and that it must  have been a lot of work to find and put all those items together. She had a funny reaction, but I can't remember her words, something along the lines of  an apology for giving a second hand gift. I must have reassured her the bowls were terrific, and that I knew I would use them all the time. 

Well, it just so happens I did use those bowls-all the time.  The large one was my cake, and brownie bowl and also was great for baking huge hot dishes for family pot lucks.  It fit nicely inside a round basket I received at some point, and I got compliments on the set whenever I took  it places.  It made a great popcorn bowl for munching on  in front of the T.V. The medium bowl was the perfect size for  green bean casserole, a Midwestern favorite, and as the kids got older, perfect for them making their own packages of ramen noodles, because it was big enough to not have to break the noodles to cook them. The small one was perfect for reheating a can or even two of vegetables-being both oven and microwave safe, it did the job without having to move the racks.  When the kids got older, all three were used to  give each kid heir own bowl of popcorn and not having to share, even if from the same batch. At least one of those bowls was put to use on over 9,000 days. Ironically, I never even took either set of Pyrex out of their factory sealed box, and they have been sitting on a storage shelve for the 23 years we have been in this house. I didn't need them-I had my yellow bowls.  I will open one set now, as I will miss the functionality of the two smaller bowls in my kitchen.

Things break in houses all the time, and it is really a marvel with all the banging those bowls took that they survived this long.  I kept the other two sets for just such a time when one or all would break.  My mom passed away four years ago this November.  She worked hard to give all ten of us good lives, and it was not without struggle.  I'm sure the cost of providing a wedding to a household of girls, no matter how happy she was for us, caused financial angst.  I never looked at those bowls as second rate.  My mom knew what I meant when I referred to "my big yellow bowl."  See, she had her own big yellow bowl, the Pyrex one my sister wanted a copy of.  When my dad passed away two years later, and we were getting all their things sorted, having the  grandkids to take things that were meaningful to them, my sisters son only wanted Grandmas' yellow bowl.  I hope I can make mine last, and will be honored to tell my grandchildren how I came to receive it. 

The Joy of Church Cookbooks

I am a fan of the links and postings shared on the internet via blogs, Facebook, and Pinterest.  Nothing though warms my heart and makes my tummy rumble more though than seeing an old church cookbook.  I found my motivation today, and it was looking at me from the corner of my kitchen counter where my cookbooks are stored.  This particular one was a wedding shower gift I received in 1987, and reading the recipes is remembering the women, some long past away, and others that were probably about my age, just becoming empty nesters, and now are the elders in the church.  These were the women that were called upon to bring salads and bars for funeral lunches, or after women's circle's service projects, or bible study lunches.  They were the women that generously donated their baked goods for youth group fund raisers so all kids could go on retreats and ski weekends, and share and deepen their faith.  I received one from a friend from her church the same year.  It is lovely, but it doesn't quite hold the same appeal-no familiar names.  Two years ago, our church published a new version.  It is good, and has the names are my friends and parents of my children's friends, and yes, the women who are now the elders. The recipes call for a lot less butter, and ingredients that were not in the 1987 version like quinoa, chick peas, greek yogurt, and avacado's.

On my  motivational list was baking.  I was less than prepared, as I was down to my last two eggs.  DD#2 learned a recipe in FACS class (family and consumer science) called Egg in a Frame where you cut a hole in the middle of bread, grill it like a grilled cheese, and fry a scrambled egg in the middle.  She has mastered it, so has been making them all week for us for breakfast. I knew I had pumpkin in the pantry and was pretty sure I could get a single batch of a bread recipe with just two eggs.  Here is the recipe I used. Notice how messy it is-I've used this dog eared and tattered page a lot, as evidenced by spills.

I use these little loaf pans, a gift from my sister in law for my birthday about 10 yeas ago.  They are perfect for quick breads as the four hold one recipe, they bake faster, freeze easy, and make a cute little mini slice perfect for packing in lunches, or putting out on a plate when hosting people for brunch or just an afternoon. I was a little messy with my spooning, and pup came running when he heard the batter hit the floor, he just gave it a curious look, which surprised me he didn't just lick it up.  I'll add pumpkin batter to coffee as the two things he won't eat indiscriminately.


I hope to be  able to get one of these wrapped up for my father-in-law who had a birthday earlier in the week. Normally I would have doubled the recipe, and baked two smaller, but regular size loafs for our own eating, along with the mini loaves. I keep looking for these mini pans at a fair price but they are quite expensive, so am making due with just the four. My last picture is the finished loaves.  I made the girls not cut into either until I could get a picture, but I am sure when I hit "publish" one loaf will be gone. 

Do you have a go to cookbook that you use as much for sentimental reasons as for the recipes? Are there recipes that you know could be healthier or made cheaper, but you never mess with?  I'm off to the next thing on my list. Later I'm meeting DH, and a few sisters and their husband for happy hour at the local bar and grill.  Nice cheap beers, and tasty $5.00 appetizers, so not worrying about dinner tonight as there are leftovers for the girls. I'll be home early, in my jammies to watch Doctor Who, quite possibly nibbling on a piece of bread. Enjoy your Saturday.



The Beauty of Ordinary Days

"Well, that's what life is - this collection of extraordinarily ordinary moments. We just need to pay attention to them all. Wake up and pay attention to how beautiful it all is." -Alexander Payne

About half way through the movie Nebraska, I started realizing just about every character resembled someone either I knew or remembered from my childhood.  I was a little bored up until that point, but was a captive audience as it was a limited selection on a transatlantic flight, and I was wide awake.  The basic premise is a man thinks he has won a grand prize, and is intent to go claim it, despite his age and deteriorating health.  His son agrees to take him, and they end up bonding in an ordinary, yet unexpected way for both of them. I felt my mind drifting, remembering some of the events that were part of my life.  Well actually, none would be considered an event, but rather moments, ingrained in my memory.  Since losing my parents, mom four years ago, and dad two years ago, the memories while bittersweet, in looking back, become simply beautiful moments.

I'm old enough to remember the days before pump your own filling stations, and my dad pulling up to the pump Sunday mornings after church, filling the car for my mom for the week ahead.  There was one station with the "hot"  pump attendant, and getting a look at him while he used the soapy water and squeegee to clean the windows. While he was  beautiful to look at, the real beauty was in the weekly ritual, which meant my mom didn't have to start Monday morning, or any other morning with a stop at the gas station, an ordinary action that in its meaning was anything but ordinary.

I remember the memorial day services, and meeting up with other family friends for hot dogs and pop, at the VFW club later in the day.  These men, friends, more like brothers,  of my dad's, were of the Greatest Generation, WWII vets. I remember walking down to the same VFW club after middle school sports, where my mom sometimes, not often, stopped for a little beverage instead of going home after work, saving a trip back into town. If we weren't in a hurry, she would sit and visit with friends sipping her sloe gin and orange juice, while my sister and I munched on Old Dutch potato chips and a coke from the mixer gun, freezing cold over ice.  I remember wedding receptions of my sisters, and anniversary parties for my parents in the back social hall.  There is still a VFW post in our small town, but the cost of upkeep, and diminishing interest in a "club" meant the post sold the bar and accompanying hall, no longer deemed fancy enough for the weddings of today. The vets now meet in a space in a strip mall.

Being 10 of us kids, one of us was often the acolyte on Christmas morning, as my dad ushered. I remember my dad being beside me one Christmas morning, when I woke up in the little overflow room next to the church sanctuary, after fainting in the front of the church.  I was the acolyte, lighting the Christmas morning candles.  I foolishly wore a  new hot sweater, underneath the acolyte robe, which added to a crowded church, meant a recipe for disaster.

 My mom, each summer, used one of her precious vacation weeks, to  support our 4-H activities around the county fair.  As we girls were the ultimate procrastinators, it was not uncommon to be sewing a hem, or wrapping a loaf of bread the morning of judging.  She would get us to and from the fairgrounds, and take a full day shift working the 4-H lunch counter with us as well.  My parents were not particularly demonstrative, but they created beautiful moments in ordinary days. 

My dad found the styles his grand kids wore in his later years a bit perplexing.  He always got a chuckle at seeing the girls in their name brand blue jeans with fashionable wear and tear on new models. My daughter was running late yesterday morning to church, and threw on an old pair of comfortable jeans.  The jeans were clean, but even by our own casual contemporary worship standards, a bit "holier" than I would have liked. She sat and played with a hole in her knee during the sermon.  The words of my dad came in my head and I wrote my daughter a little note on the pew note pad. "Grandpa would be wondering if you paid for those holes."  She smiled, and wrote back.  "No he would have said, 'I could have made those holes and saved you a bunch of money."  I smiled, but felt a tear in the corner of my eye.

That's my dad and me in one of the "big moments".