Without NE roots

When I crossed the border into Nebraska last month, it seemed I was "skimming" the earth, not tied to it. I had multiple choices for places to stay, but none were home. Wonderful friends and extended family take me in like family. If I bought a house there, I might not see them as much as I do when I'm just visiting.

I miss the cemetery. My dad's people were from Sweden. My mother's waved at Columbus, or so Grandpa Williamson said. I wish I knew them, but then I remember their lives are braided with ours. My namesake Mae, was my Grandmother Mae Simmons Williamson. Her devotion to family blooms in me. The Ann is for my grandmother Anna Alm Benson. She traveled from NE to Denver, CO to be treated for TB. Grandfather Roy Williamson had a zany sense of humor. A meal wasn't complete unless he snatched somebody's bread or squeezed the cake in their hand. Great-grandfather Peter Benson worked his way to the Midwest building barns with wooden pegs. Great-Grandmother Nellie Williamson was the local Mid-Wife. Yes, I see a bit of each of them in me. And my parents loved to travel, like my sister and I do. The apples didn't fall far from the tree.

On the Memphis news this week, a retired couple sold everything and have been world travelers for two years. That brightened my day. When I travel, I could keep on going. Maybe I, or we, will someday.

©2014 Red Convertible Travel Series

The Stauer Stick

The Stauer site states: This is how to walk the talk. The must-have men's accessory once carried by kings, presidents, barons and billionaires is back - and can be yours.

The stick is made of imported Sheesham (Indian Rosewood) with engraved silver-finished brass features, and a rubber tip on the end. All the better to steady his steps and yours Cinderella, when he is on dirt, asphalt, marble floors and Persian rugs.

My romantic self is having a field day. The stick makes me think of powerful gentlemen who don't need to raise their voice to get something done. Boulevard strolls after dinner. White Gloves and top hats to tip, Concierge's full attention. Fine dining. Vintage convertible rides with the top down. Picnics for two on linen in country shade. First class accommodations and more. Sigh.

stauer.com specializes in men and women's vintage accessories. "Arm yourself with Artistry."

Excuse me. My dreams are calling.

©2015 Red Convertible Travel Series

The Great Courses Catalog

My heart soars when TheGreatCourses.com catalog comes. Did you know they offer over 500 courses? I wish there were a at least a dozen of me so I could take many at once. I could time travel to Medieval Europe, Explore the Louvre without sore feet and learn about The Night Sky with stars sans mosquitoes.

On a clear August night, my sister would insist I go with her to the top of Bodley's Hill in Nebraska. We'd spread a blanket, stretch out and watch the meteor showers. They shot every direction. We'd whisper excitedly, "There's another one!" When I've been with her elsewhere and stars were visible, she'd look up with longing, similar to Claire in Diana Gabaldon's "Outlander" series. I wonder if my sister used to have an address somewhere out there? Hmm, a really distant relative.

I could elaborate on the courses, but I want you to have the joy of studying the catalog, too.

The Great Courses partners with TheCulinaryInstituteofAmerica.com  NationalGeographic.com, and SmithsonianMag.com. This group's work is quality at its best  Thank you one and all.

©2015 Red Convertible Travel Series

Polish Bigos, Hand-Stretched Apple Strudel and Krysia

My daughter, Krysia, loved Poland. 

When I was in High School

I read about a Polish Dr. 

in the Sunday World Herald

Omaha, Nebraska.

I saved his daughter's name

for my future daughter,

Five years later, I gave birth

Dr. French said, "It's a Krysia."

She started this blog for me May 2005.

In her memory

I share her beloved Poland.

Polish Hunter's Stew

When you can cook prunes, mushrooms,

bacon, cabbage and sauerkraut, 

any game, beef, pork, poultry 

and vegetables together 

and cook the stew outside,

you will draw a crowd 

of hungry people!

Count me in!

easteuropeanfood.about.com/od/maincourse/r/bigos.htm

Hand-stretched Apple Strudel

We grew up in a community

of fabulous East European cooks.
At Fall Festivals and Celebrations

We waited in line for

duck and roast beef dinners
Kolaches, Strudels,
poppyseed filled sweet rolls
and accordion music
easteuropeanfood.about.com/od/strudels/

William Faulkner said, 

"The past isn't dead. It isn't even past."
My memories are alive and well

Happy New Year's Family, Friends

and Friends to be

©2015 Red Convertible Travel Series

Carol's Baked Fruit

Carol Jasa made this when I stayed with them.

Delish! 

I made it at home in an 8x8 and ate it all myself..

She used a 9x13

All fruit was canned and drained.

In a 9x13 she started at the outside

with a row of apricot halves on each end

the second row was peach halves

pitted plums were the next row

a row of pears were centered

(or make your own arrangement

with whatever fruit you have)

Lay pineapple rings on top

Heat 1/3 cup packed brown sugar

1 Tablespoon butter

1/2 teaspoon ground cinnamon

1/4 teaspoon ground cloves

and 1/2 cup pineapple juice

Cook, stirring until sugar dissolves

and butter melts

Pour over fruit

Bake uncovered 350 degrees 20 to 25 minutes

Enjoy!

Tastes great cold, too.

2014 Red Convertible Travel Series

The 2013 Cook Off

I moved 800 miles from NE to MS, but my heart belongs with my three adopted grandchildren.



I always visit school when I'm in town. Aja is ten and in 5th grade. Her class was social studies, and the teacher was talking about plantations. I'd been to Seven Chimneys Farm recently and gave them first-hand information.

Ryker, 11, and Alec, 12, were in writing class. I took Leaning into the Wind and read my story, "Tractor Travels". As aspiring writers, I wanted them see it is possible to get published. Principal Harris introduced himself and asked if he bought a book would I autograph it for the school? You bet!

Ryker, Aja and Alec decided to do a cook off the next day and I was to judge the best.

Aja made a smoothie with frozen raspberries, chocolate chip mint ice cream and whipped cream. Delicious!

Ryker cooked Ramen noodles with his roasted red pepper seasoning and topped each serving with a slice of fresh yellow pepper and fresh parsley leaves. Yummy!

Alec made cupcake cookies with Snickerdoodle cookie dough. While they were still warm, he added white frosting and sprinkles. His Mom said, "You can never have too many sprinkles." They were great!

Judging included originality, presentation, flavor and texture. Since all other contestants had been cut, a $1 prize was awarded to each for winning their category. Yah!!!

Hugs to all. No goodbyes. See you later

2014 Red Convertible Travel Series

Cellar doors and sewers

Nebraska snow on the cellar door was entertainment for the cat, and the cat was entertainment for us. Late one moonlit night, we caught him slip sliding down it. He was having so much fun, he did it again and again. It was a winter of lots of snow, and he did lots of cellar door skiing.

We lived there a year, and I didn't go to the basement unless I absolutely had to. No one entered the house through the cellar door, that I'm aware of, but every time we planned to go to Omaha, which wasn't often, the sewer backed up. Was it afraid to be home alone? Trips were cancelled waiting for plumbers and cleaning up. Tree roots were blamed. Were they planning to climb the stairs, find us in our beds and strangle us? I'd best continue this in the daylight.

2013 Red Convertible Travel Series

Fire: The Mother of All Fear

I was mesmorized by the flames in the cast iron barrel stove. "Study the fire," our friend Dago urged.

Perched on the cast iron picnic bench, I let myself go into its mind. Primitive. Raw energy. Cleansing. Tall flames licked sticks, then hunkered down, got serious, and had their way with logs. I shuddered to think what they could do to a house, a car, a person. Suffocation or water could stop it, but it would sizzle resistence to its end. Maybe the smoke off it made designs like clouds make shapes. I didn't see what Dago did.

Fire has a purpose. Animals eat ashes for salt and minerals. Ashes and lye make soap. It kept us warm, heated our teakettle on the cookstove, and baked Mom's bread. She knew exactly how many cobs it took to make a perfect angel food cake. My first encounter with fire was when I was a pre-schooler. It was my job to reach into the cob basket and pick out those with kernels of corn left on. Mom lifted the stove lid for me to add cobs one at a time to "feed the fire," she said. All was well until I rested my wrist on the stove. Ouch!!! An inch by 3/4 inch blister shot up. I ran outside to show Daddy, slid face down in the mud, and peeled off my top layer of skin. I have a permanent ID on my left wrist. I learned respect for fire, and I continue to be educated by its blessings and dangers.

Each spring Daddy bought a hundred three-day old chicks and brought them home to the brooder house. Mom caught one and held it to my ear. Its cottony coat tickled me, and the chick talked to me, "Peep." Everyday I wanted to play with them. It wasn't long until they sprouted feathers and we couldn't catch them. One cold morning, Daddy looked out and saw too much smoke rising from the brooder house. He ran out to save them. Mom and I watched him carry the circular stove out and drop it in the snow. He came in breathless. No chicks died, but, the front fell off of his new leather jacket.

District #70 had a program every month. When I was nine, I broke my leg the first week of school and couldn't be in the program. Miss Anderson put a paper napkin bow in my hair, a candle in my hand, and stood me beside the piano. All went well until I turned my head and the napkin caught fire. Mom jumped out of the audience, ran to me, pulled the fire off my head and stomped it out. I was stunned but not hurt. She said when she saw me with the candle, she never took her eyes off me. Thank God!

The most disturbing fire was the one in our upstairs bedroom. Registers were opened to allow for heat rising off the oil stove. When our parents decided it wasn't enough, Daddy lit the fuel oil stove in our bedroom. It might not have bothered me, if I hadn't been able to see the flame through the glass on the front. I couldn't sleep. I was paralyzed. Somewhere in the deep recesses of my soul, I knew I'd been burned alive. A nightmare? My imagination? Or was it another time? another place? Wherever it came from, it is my mother of all fears.

2013 Red Convertible Travel Series

Harry Truman's advice to parents

From At Knits End by Stephanie Pearl-McPhee

Harry Truman said, "I have found the best way to give advice to your children is to find out what they want and then advise them to do it.

"I have three daughters," he said, "and they all knit. The youngest knits with persistence; the middle one with a passion; and my eldest, now a teenager, wouldn't be caught dead with the needles in her hands. At first I thought it was because knitting wasn't 'hip enough' for her; then I thought she was worried about what her friends would think. Finally, I realized that she doesn't knit . . . because I do.

"I will remember that kids need to rebel to establish their own personalities, and that her rejection of knitting is nothing perosnal. I will also try not to rub it in she takes it back up in her twenties."

And that's my contribution to humor for today. Enjoy!

2013 Red Convertible Travel Series

Car Washers

Real car washers

my sweet friends

Ryker, Aja & Alec

2013 Red Convertible Travel Series

Laboring and Labor Day

America the beautiful!

Toe tickling cold!

Peaceful waters.

Wherever you are, a blessed Labor Day to you and yours.

Labor Day many years ago, my husband and I were painting the front of the house when my contractions started. With his help, I got off the scaffold and went to the hospital. Nothing happened! We waited. And waited. And waited some more. Eventually I was induced and waited some more. Baby came in time for breakfast. We named her Corrie after Corrie Ten Boom. She was worth the wait and still it.

The Midwest work ethic lives in my blood and bones. I love the feeling of accomplishment. I sleep better. Yesterday I declared war on dust and dirt and labored cleaning house. JB went dove hunting and came home with muddy boots. Oh, well, what's one more cleanup? Two cupboard's contents are organized! I'm working my way to the kitchen. We have closets, but no pantry or basement. Today I sorted a stack of handwritten notes. I could spends hours in a stationery store. Maybe you've received one of my handwritten notes. I like to send news, encouragement, thanks and congratulations. Crane cards and stationery are classy. So is wheat grass paper. I watch for artist's work transferred to cards and sometimes make my own.

Here in the Deep South, hunting is work. Yesterday I learned we now have an "alligator season". Ohhh!!!! An 11'3" gator was taken along the MS River about 15 miles from here. The man who told us was wearing a belt from the one his son got. We are currently in dove season. Our frig has bitty dove breasts soaking in salt water. They'll be marinated in Thousand Island or Zesty Italian dressing, wrapped in bacon and grilled. A couple of bites worth. And then in Nov., hunting season starts. Our guys are good providers. They work at it. It was 105 degrees in the truck yesterday. Buckshot opted not to go. So did I.

However you spent your day, I hope you are happy, healthy and safe.

2013 Red Convertible Travel Series

Feet and Food on the Track

Our neighbor said I could have all the figs I wanted from their tree. I picked one and smelled it. It felt Middle Eastern, rich, exotic and reminiscent of ancient lands drier and hotter than MS. Sweet, seedy fruit melted in my mouth. Sigh! I could have eaten a dozen, but I knew what that'd do to my system. I gathered all I could reach, a mere twenty. Emeril Lagasse's recipe called for a cup of sugar. Mine were so sweet, I added half a cup to a rough pound and a half of fresh figs. Simmering shrank them. Their sweet fragrance had me sniffing the kettle often. The whole batch fit in a pint jar, well, almost, I tasted one  . . . or maybe it was three; the jar would have been too full. I think I'll save them for a special occasion. The jar rests at the back of the counter with my four and a half pints of pickled okra. Mom and Grandma would be proud I remember what they taught me about preserving.

I love soft, still, Southern mornings with dew on everything. Saturday morning I carried my "Our Corner Cottage" bag from Wahoo, NE to the Farmer's Market in Lyon, MS anticipating fresh veggies, canned jams and jellies and possibly a peach cobbler or some rare dessert I wouldn't make because I'd have to eat it myself. Just before the railroad crossing hump, I made a right turn beside the tracks. Shoppers were already coming away with bags and baskets; I hoped I wasn't too late.

Speckled butter beans were on my list. They are the size of a large Lima Bean with lighter flesh and spots. I think they have a more rounded flavor. Locals say they're so close to the ground they're hard to pick. I paid premium price for a pint. Purveyors had fresh jalapenos, green and red tomatoes, yellow squash, zucchini, sweet rolls, fig and peace jams, shelled purple hulled peas and more. I don't understand why some buyers prefer their peas in the shell rather than shelled out. They're the same price. ??? I bought two bags of speckled butter beans and left.

As an afterthought, I turned back to see if the bakery lady from TN had arrived. No. Then I noticed something odd. Have you ever seen a table backed right up to a railroad track? Bold, isn't it. The lady behind it had one foot on the rail. I don't remember ever hearing a train. I surveyed the second track and discovered a separated, bent out rail no train could use. Vendors are making good use of an abandoned location.

2013 Red Convertible Travel Series

The Fork's Life

Dedicated to Angela Levkoff whose Grandmother passed recently.

An heirloom
with its own stories
of foods forked

at Grandma's Sunday dinners

Crispy fried chicken

homegrown potatoes mashed and milk gravy
sweetcorn
picked and shucked Sunday morning

 lettuce
wilted with bacon, green onions

and a splash of vinegar

homemade buns

butter and honey

angelfood cake
real cream whipped

sliced, fresh garden strawberries

on top

and the things it heard . . .
the neighbor is in a family-way
markets are going down
so and so's kid stole the boss's tools
will he go to jail

it's job done
washed in hot soapy water
dried with a soft towel
tucked back in her silver chest

Grandma died
the silver chest laid untouched
until a granddaughter
lifted the lid
oohed and aahed
and took possession

the craftsman heated it

 intertwined the prongs
to make two hearts

and bent the handle

to go around her wrist

one more way
Granddaughter
holds Grandma close

2013 Red Convertible Travel Series

Tomato Aspic Revival

Long ago, and far away, we cooked our veggies, except for cucumbers. I "heard" older women speak of  Tomato Aspic, but I wanted no part of olives and uncooked veggies in jello.Yuk! UnAmerican! If the veggies weren't cooked, I wouldn't eat them.

Life blessed me with all the things I didn't like or was afraid of. Ever curious, I asked a dear Southern friend what a Tomato Aspic was. She smiled wide. Her eyes dilated. Annabell sighed. "I haven't had it in years. I put baby shrimp and olives in mine." It wasn't on my bucket list, but for Annabel, I would try. 

I got busy being Methodist and made Tomato Aspic with Plan B to buy a cake from Kroger.  I added chopped green and yellow bell peppers, green and black olives, Bumblebee baby shrimp, blanched asparagus tips and a finely chopped vidalia onion. The inverted dish fit perfectly on the found-in-the-closet platter. I felt confident the presentation would please the eye first, and hoped the taste would come close to what they remembered. Drum roll! It was a hit! Ladies not only enjoyed it at dinner, they took servings home. I came home with nothing more than a lick left. 

Tomato Aspic

2 envelopes Knox Gelatin                               

½ cup V-8 Juice                                                               

2 ½ cups V-8 Juice

1 tsp. salt

¼ tsp. pepper

1/8 tsp sugar

2 tsp. onion juice

2 tsp. vinegar

1/8 tsp. tobasco

Dissolve gelatin in 1/2 cup V-8. 

Heat 2 ½ cups V-8.

Ingredient options: artichoke hearts; asparagus; green or black olives; green and other peppers; celery; shrimp; or whatever you like.                                                                            

Mix all ingredients together and refrigerate in a ring mold, muffin tins, 8 x 8 dish, or your choice. If you plan to invert it, grease the container first.

Cottage Cheese Topping

12 oz. cottage cheese

3 spring (green) onions chopped

¼ cup mayonnaise

1/8 tsp. pepper

¼ tsp. salt

Mix together

If you used a ring mold, place the topping in the center. If not, put it on the side or in a separate bowl. 

2013 Red Convertible Travel Series

Grandma's Day and Mine

Yesterday was a homemade chicken and rice soup with scratch gingerbread day, just like Grandma's. I hoped to whip the cream with a whisk. No go. We poured it over. Grandma's blackstrap molasses, ginger and cinnamon wafted through the house blessing us a second time, remembering her a third.

You may notice I uploaded my photo. At this age my two best friends are my hairdresser, Judy, at Judy's Broadway, and my photographer, Diane McLain. Now you know what a good hair day looks like.

Our work badge photos aren't at all flattering, faces look flat or wide. No one to blame but me. A co-worker came here for their photo. The only white wall is in the shower. We had to stop laughing long enough to take the head and shoulder shot. When we saw our completed badges we all grimmaced. Every one of us said the same thing, "It doesn't even look like me."

I added, "If I saw those people on the street, I wouldn't talk to them either."

2009 Red Convertible Travel Series

January on the Farm

msn photo

Wrapped in my rose, flannel-covered duvet, I remember childhood winters on the farm. Night captured the sun and its sundog shadow signaling Nature to slide open the deep freeze door. Bitter cold waltzed out to test animals and people.

Evening's fist of coal warmed the resting cook stove. Overnight both cooled down causing freezing of the teakettle on the stove and the faucet across the room. Outside, wheat straw bales lined the north side of the house providing minimal insulation. Inside walls felt icy. Pale blue and white striped wallpaper over layers of newspaper, over lathe, didn't stop a blizzard, it strained it. The house begged for warmth. Dad's laundered long johns leaned against the dining room wall frozen stiff, ghost-like.

Standing close to the stove, Jani and I shucked out of school clothes into warmed, red flannel pj's. Socks stayed on. Clinging to the warmth, we scurried up the steps. The sheets warmed just to the shape of our spooning bodies.

The wind argued furiously with the plastic on the windows. The house shuddered. Subzero nights moved Dad to light the oil stove in our room. It took the sting off our second floor. Yuk! Stinky, oily-smelling. flames leaped behind the glass showing off their "hot stuff." If they got out, everything could be destroyed, including Myrtle, our pet lamb in the cellar. Terrified, I couldn't sleep; I had to keep watch.

Morning was announced by squeaks and clatters. Mom was in the kitchen lifting the lid on the cook stove; wood thunked in feeding its hungry appetite. We rushed to use the icy-rimmed chamber pot. Quick as cats we dashed down the steps sideways. Huddling near the cook stove's 'safe' fire we changed into school clothes. The phone rang, "No school today." Yeah!

Dad said he would take care of the livestock. No chores and no homework equaled a free day. Icicles hung from cattle's coats and steamy breaths. The axe made a hollow sound with each chop toward moving water. Chips flew. Cattle flinched. Dad's hands grew numb and stiff. His nose dripped. He cussed the weather.

Mother fixed cream of wheat with raisins and slathered scratchy slices of oven-toasted homemade bread with fresh butter and last summer's peach jam. The view from our kitchen table was eye-popping. Even the wind paused. Between our house and windbreak Nature had delivered feet of snow. Winter's diamonds sparkled in the sunlight.

Jani and I bundled in our Christmas boots, navy-blue coats, hats and gloves to make "first tracks" pioneer-like. Stomping and squealing we played fox and geese and threw snowballs at each other and the wash house. Dad went rabbit hunting while we built a lopsided snowman Mom could see from the kitchen window. Our gloves soggy and our faces rosy ,we fell backwards making snow angels.

Mom called out, "Come get this bowl and fill it with snow." We did. Warming by the fire we watched her stir in sweet cream from the cellar, a small amount of sugar and vanilla. Smiling, she spooned it into bowls and handed us each one. We hesitated. "Try it," she insisted taking a spoonful, "It's snowcream." Rich and creamy mini-crystals tickled my tongue. Delicious. She put a dish aside for dad. We three giggled and ate the rest. Snowcream, a yesterday pleasure.

2009 Red Convertible Travel Series

Hog Hanging Weather

Our weather is brutal -below zero with snow on the ground. The sun is bright, but the snow isn't going anywhere. It's "stay inside and make soup" weather. When we were kids on the farm the bitter cold cured the meat hanging from the rafters of the granary where nothing could reach it, and no flies were stirring.

Our hogs were in the 200 to 250 pound range. I can't image how many buckets of lard were on the long-bodied, short-legged, 1,000 pound hog we saw at the Iowa state fair. The wild hogs we see behind the Mississippi Levee have longer legs, tusks and a lot less lard.

Grandpa and Grandma came out to help and share in the bounty. He made sure the handsaws were sharp to work through the bones. We'd come home from school to the smell of lard rendering on the cook stove, the sound of white butcher paper crackling to wrap around fresh meat for the freezer, the squeaky crayon labeling and dating the packages, and the anticipation of wonderful meals Mom would be fixing. We felt prosperous with meat "put up" and our pantry full of canned and frozen vegetables.

Besides the usual cuts of meat, Mom cooked the head down, chopped all fine and molded it in a bread pan: head cheese. Thinly sliced with a dribble of vinegar it was a delicacy. I prefer the chops, hams and ribs, and pork shanks cooked with beans. At an early age our nephew liked liver and onions and rhubarb pie. I thought they were tastes that took fifty years to acquire.

Another neighbor family canned meat so they'd have a jar for each day of the year. Mom and Dad canned until a jar blew up in the canner. Bits of meat and glass were found on the outside of the kitchen window, behind the cook stove, on the ceiling, and everywhere in between. Fortunately no one was hurt.

Papa liked cracklings, lard with a little meat cooked down tiny bits of crisp meat. Give him a piece of fresh rye bread and some cracklings, and he was happy. During the Great Depression our neighbor friend, Hazel, took lard sandwiches to school. It didn't kill her. She and Hank just celebrated their 60th anniversary.

Mom taught us to make pie crust with lard, fry our fresh roosters in it, pork chops, donuts, and mix it in breads, rolls, and whatever didn't call for butter. Lard still makes the best pie crust, kolaches and seasoning for peas and greens anytime of year.

copyright 2007 Red Convertible Travel Series

It was a Happy New Year's!

We ended 2006 with salmon and marinated artichoke hearts over spinach and plain fettuccini noodles drizzled with olive oil; grated parmesan atop.

Rumaging through Mom's old recipes, I found hers for Grasshopper Pie. The 3x5 card is stained from buttery hands. The handwriting is childish, and there's a yellow cookoo clock on the right side with a bluebird on the perch wearing a chef's hat. She let us girls cook as soon as we could pull a chair up to the table. My first baking experience was gingerbread. I mixed it up and poured it in the pan along with the spoon, which she didn't discover until she couldn't cut it.

The Grasshopper Pie recipe calls for 14 finely crushed oreos. I put out extras - for me. Mix the crushed oreos with 2 tablespoons of melted butter. Set aside a small amount for topping. Pat the rest into a 9" pie plate to establish the crust. In the top of a double boiler melt 24 large marshmallows with 1/2 cup milk. Cool. The recipe calls for 1 ounce of white creme de cocoa and 2 ounces green creme de menthe. I half each. When the marshallow/milk mixture is partially set, add 1 cup whipped cream. I whip 1/2 cup of cream and fold in gently. Pour over the crust. Sprinkle top with reserved crumbs. Refrigerate until ready to serve. Thanks Mom for the love of cooking.

I bought the Galway crystal champagne glasses with engraved cladagh when Minnie and I visited Ireland in March of 2000. We really did hear Willie Nelson songs on St. Pat's Day. Kris and I toasted "Good Cheer, Health, Wealth andHappiness", and brought in the New Year sipping Martini and Rossi. Watching the ball drop in Time's Square, and celebrations around the world was a mini-vacation, and we got to sleep in our own beds.

Happy New Year to you, and may it be a year to celebrate.

copyright 2007 Red Convertible Travel Series

No Reading & Rocking On The Porch Tonight

Here in the Midwest Mother Nature blessed us with rain yesterday and snow today just right to make snow angels and snowballs. Hmmm. I'd better not throw them at Dan. He does a good job cleaning off our drive and walks. Maybe I could give the cat a snow bath. Won't faze her, she's part maine coon with snowshoe feet. Ice cream like Mom used to make? Snow isn't as clean as it used to be. Hot tub to snow bath would invigorate. Think I'll just stay inside and drink hot chocolate.

copyright 2006 Red Convertible Travel Series

Bring it on - Christmas!

Mexican, hand carved, ironwood reindeer stand guard over my accomplishment. It might look like a turkey with warts, but it is Houska, braided sweet bread with almond slivers, golden raisins and candied fruit. I wouldn't have attempted it, but Jim asked me to. My kitchen has not seen this recipe in nine years, and there's no buildup of yeast in the air. I wouldn't tell Jim unless it turned out right.

I read the recipe five times and measured twice. The first loaf was double this size and perfect. Then disaster hit. My oven was too hot. The loaf was too dark and dry. I was sick. It wasn't edible. The next morning I started the five-hour process at 6 o'clock. Everything went just right. I left Jim's loaf in his truck and waited for the phone to ring. It did. "MJ, this is delicious. I need one a week." Nothings better than a gift someone likes.

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year.

copyright 2006 Red Convertible Travel Series