Country Kitchen Recipe

If you’re like me, when I offer to bring a dish to a party and the hostess says, “ooh, can you make your stuffed mushrooms?” I am so very flattered. Most of my family members and friends are foodies. It seems that everyone is connected with a special recipe or two that we look forward to sharing when we get together.

Although Finnish, my Auntie Evelyn was famous for her Italian red sauce with fennel sausage. My other Auntie Evelyn was famous for her blueberry torte.  My mom’s best recipe was lemon meringue pie, using fresh squeezed lemon juice from lemons from our enormous lemon tree in our backyard. When relatives visited from Michigan they insisted on getting a picture by the lemon tree. Old neighbor kids reminisced jokingly about my mom having them take an entire grocery bag of lemons to their mother after a play date.

Whether you share from your lemon tree, tomato garden, herb pot or even a hand written recipe on a pretty card, food invokes wonderful memories and emotions. In 1971 my parents sold our house and beloved lemon tree and built another house that was also near the San Francisco Bay. My mom was good about keeping in touch with our old neighbor friends for several years. Little by little, many of our old neighbors also moved, some close to us once again, some far way.

My mom’s friend, Ruth Haeckler had 3 sporty girls and one little boy. I had 2 older brothers, so the 7 of us, along with the other kids of Coventry Court spent all our sunny days playing outdoor games like Red Rover and TV Tag. Shortly after we moved, the Haeckler’s moved to Oregon. Our moms kept in touch, and one summer we made the 420 mile drive to visit. They had a sprawling ranch on an apple orchard.  We spent our visit running through the orchard and swinging on a tire. It was heaven on Earth!

Mrs. Haeckler gave my mom a cookbook as a gift for visiting. My mom’s name is also Ruth. I still have “The Melting Pot: Country Kitchen Recipes from the Pink Ladies Hospital Auxiliary” from Grants Pass, Oregon. Inside the cover is faded cursive in a pink felt tip pen. It says:                                                                                                                                                                     To Ruth,      Thank you for visiting-June 1975       Love, Ruth

My mom died when I was 14 and my dad remarried shortly after. Once when I was visiting as an adult his wife offered my mom’s cookbooks to me. As I thumbed through “The Melting Pot” I came across Mrs. Haeckler’s recipe for double butterscotch crescent rolls.  Immediately I remembered my mom and I making the crescent rolls- mostly the night before Thanksgiving so that we could have a sweet butterscotch crescent roll for breakfast while we stuffed the turkey and prepared Thanksgiving dinner.

The Melting Pot Cookbook is falling apart and the pages are stained- a sign of a well-loved cookbook.  Mrs. Haeckler’s  rolls take a good part of a day to make. First, cooked butterscotch pudding, then melted butter, yeast and flour…time to rise. Then 3 circles rolled out & cut into 12 wedges each. A filling of brown sugar, pecans and coconut is rolled up into crescents and set aside to rise once again. After they are baked, a glaze of brown sugar, butter, evaporated milk & powdered sugar is drizzled over the warm crescents.

A few years ago Ruth’s youngest daughter, Sue, reached out to me via facebook. We reconnected and reminisced about our childhood in Coventry Court, playing dress up, lawn games and my family’s visit to Oregon. I mentioned that I still had the cookbook that her mom gave to my mom when we visited and that I still love making her mom’s butterscotch rolls. She told me that before her mom passed she shared with her that I still had The Melting Pot Cookbook and made her recipe often. I hope when I am gone people will think of me when they make the recipes that I shared with them and tell my stories when they pass my recipe onto a friend.

My Old Love

Henry Ford would be proud. Right now my dining table looks like an assembly line for COVID-19 masks. I cut out all the pieces yesterday and started sewing the masks this morning. I just realized it has been some time since I had my machines out. I am sewing masks for my friends who need to go out for groceries, and unfortunately a few nurse friends who are forced to reuse personal protective equipment right now due to the shortage.

I made Della and Kelsey masks with a vintage lime, fuchsia and pink paisley that I had left over from a 70’s remnant I bought in Half Moon Bay years ago. I cherished that fabric and used it sparingly for gifts like small purses and eye masks for girlfriend’s getaways. Last weekend I whipped up protective masks as fast as I could when I heard they needed them. I don’t hoard fabric remnants like I used to, so thankfully, Grandma Joanie, my friend’s mother in law hooked me up. She is also sewing as fast as she can. Joanie gave me several fun prints to work with: red with white stars, lavender with white polka dots, a tiny blue and purple paisley, and thankfully an olive and black leaf pattern suitable for the guys.

My mom must have taught me to sew in grade school because I don’t even remember not sewing. By junior high home economics class while everyone was making an apron I was making brushed denim overalls with buckles, buttons and red top stitching on the pockets and yokes. God, how I wish I had a picture of me in those overalls! I wore them proudly. I might have looked like a complete dork.

Although curtains and toss pillows can be purchased much cheaper now, it’s more fun for me to wander through the fabric store and visualize each pattern’s potential. After decorating, redecorating and decorating again, my husband suggested redecorating someone else’s house. Friends and family started asking me to sew draperies, flower girl dresses, slipcovers- you name it. Friends have paid me to hem pants and sew on buttons. Who doesn’t own a needle and thread? Or a sewing machine? I guess these days, quite a few. I thought it was a household necessity, but not anymore with cheap labor and clothing made in China. When asked by a friend how much I charge for mending jobs I would reply, “A cheap bottle of wine, and we split it while I sew your pants.”

After this thing blows over maybe Americans, all humans for that matter, will be compelled to go back to basics. Instead of relying on a delivery or carry out meal, be satisfied with what is available at the homestead. Maybe people will realize it’s nice to stay in, to not be too busy just to say you are. Try enjoying an evening by the fire, no TV screens.  The only noise a crackly fire in the fireplace and a needlework project to pass the time and keep idle hands busy.  I have loved sewing my entire life. It took a pandemic for me to get my sewing machine up and running again. Hello, Lover. Oh, how I’ve missed you!

Pretty Pink Killer

COVID-19 sounds like some secret military operation. It’s secret, alright. Kind of like chicken pox, only deadly. By the time you know you have it, it is too late for the rest. If you look at the corona virus under a microscope, it’s actually quite beautiful. The white sphere looks like a floofy plush dog toy. The tiny, bright fuchsia mushroom clouds protrude like miniature atom bombs, already exploded. Their spacing is perfectly symmetric. Nature sure can be one cruel mother fucker with a sick sense of humor.

It’s almost impossible to fathom how minuscule it really is or how many trillions of them are floating around our globe right now, settling on our counter tops, under our fingernails, on our Amazon packages, or God forbid in MY nasal passage.

It’s coming closer to me, suffocating me. Not literally suffocating me or anyone I know…yet. Corona virus is suffocating my security and confidence. I am afraid. I’m afraid that everything I touch and choose to do may affect someone else. It might be a stranger. It might be one of my loved ones. How many moms or dads or brothers or sisters in the coming weeks may say, “I didn’t know.”

Is it you? Are you the one who is now regretting your complacency? Are you thinking that had you known you would have stayed home, washed your hands more, not buzzed to Target for an activity to calm your restless mind as well as your child’s restless hands, just because you could? Are you the one who felt fine and decided to go to a store deemed essential? Did you go to a restaurant that requires minimum wage employees to put themselves in harm’s way so that you can buy a cheap, factory farmed chicken sandwich from the dollar menu with no nutritional value? Did you buy a gallon of paint to update your bathroom now that you have the time?

Are you the one who unknowingly spread around the pretty pink and white killer like a chain letter, or made it grow like a pyramid marketing scheme? Are you the one who will be responsible for killing your own mother?

COVID-19 Advice from a Cat

Meow. My name is Grace. I was adopted by the Sinclair family 5 ½ years ago. I had pneumonia and my eyes were swollen shut. I was put in quarantine for what seemed like forever as to not infect the other four leggeds in the house. I had food, water and a litter box- everything I needed. My only option was to just settle in and ride it out. Statistically, an indoor cat lives three times longer than a cat who wanders outside anyway.

Tip #1: It’s safer indoors.

I hope when your two leggeds go back to normal it is a NEW normal. Keep the hugging and kissing to immediate family. Hand shaking is superfluous. When greeting someone do what I do: merely nod and slowly close your eyes. That is acknowledgement enough.

Tip #2: Keep social distance.

If someone gets in your personal space, take a swipe at them and dig your nails into their flesh. Wait, that might put you at risk. Keep your distance, hiss, and let your countenance say “back the f*** up.”

Tip #3: Stay active and eat only when you’re hungry.

Sometimes I just jump up and run into another room for no reason. Try to move around. Binge watching Netflix and posting snarky political comments on facebook is not healthy. My human bought a bag of cat food that will surely last a month. Do you see me digging in it just ‘cause I’m bored? If you stocked up on nonperishables like pasta, peanut M&Ms and canned pinto beans like my humans, you can bet you will have a spot on the new off shoot show by the producers of The Biggest Loser. I heard it’s called The Biggest Gainer: COVID-19 edition.

In summary, heed my little tips for getting through this pandemic. I’ve been looking out the window for over 5 years now. The view can be stellar. You can do this. Stay the f*** home. Granted, my human rations my food so it’s easier for me, but don’t be a glutton just because you can. When this thing blows over I hope you learned a thing or two. It’s ok to not be busy. Naps are splendid. Cuddle more with your family. Commit to spending more time with your four leggeds. You see how happy we are when you come home. You are our world. We need you in THIS world.

Stay the F*** Home

Amid this COVID-19 pandemic for some reason I have been thinking about pregnancy lately. I have never been good at delaying gratification, and it didn’t dawn on me until after my two kids were born that we women were all lied to. Do the math. 40 weeks pregnant is TEN months, not nine. Had I known that, I might now be childless. The last month was complete torture.

It’s been 2 days, 12 hours and 17 minutes since Gretchen filed an executive order in the state of Michigan to shelter-in-place. For a period of three weeks nonessential businesses were ordered to close. Parks, gyms and community centers are closed. Residents were told to stay home. I can’t help but wonder if we are being lied to. I hope to God it is only three weeks. I wish our Governor had said two. At the end of two had she said, “Hey, sorry, we are gonna need to do this for one more week.” I would have been more enthusiastic when I told my family, “We can do this!”

I am confident in our state’s ability to follow the rules and slow this thing down. I’m certainly following the rules. I am taking the rules literally while also using my own common sense AND moral compass. When my husband suggested ordering carry out meals to support the mom and pop restaurants I immediately visualized the cook sneezing on my food. He has to go to work if he wants a paycheck. His place of work is considered an essential service.

In my boredom I considered resorting to retail therapy online. Trucking is certainly an essential service. Fed Ex, UPS and Amazon Prime have been up and down my street like bats out of hell. My conscience asked me that although this is available to me now, would I be contributing to compromising the worker at the Chewey.com warehouse as well as the truck driver because I want to cheer up my cats with yet another 6 foot cat tower?

I understand the orders allow essential businesses to remain open like drive through banking, pharmacies, grocery stores and hardware stores. Thankfully liquor stores made the cut. We have a little leeway to cheat if we choose. Good news! Traffic is light. Parking is a snap. The big box stores also carry nonessentials. I saw a post on one nosy neighbor group I belong to asking, “Has anyone been to Costco this morning? I’m not out of anything, but I’m certainly not gonna go if it is a zoo” WTF? Here’s a thought: if you are going to go out for a nonessential because you don’t think this COVID-19 is a big deal or that you are going stir crazy in your house, don’t post it on social media! Another post noted that the line to get into Costco before the store opened was wrapped around the building and there was no social distance between the customers who were all waiting to get in for the special senior citizen only hour! Posted by a senior who actually stayed in line and shopped when the store opened.

I guess if your only toilet blew up you would need to take a trip to Home Depot, however, you know damn well there are people out there who just wanted to take their dog on an outing and maybe pick up some supplies to do a home improvement since we are ordered to stay home anyway.

My friend said she is looking into an online law school to become a divorce attorney. Mark my words, the demand will be high in the near future. We are hangin’ in there at my house.  I’m cleaning and organizing. I’m a little peeved that I can’t get my donations out of my house right f***ing now. This is truly a mind game for all of us. Normally we complain about how busy our life is. We don’t have time to keep the house cleaned and maintained. Welp, a lack of time apparently wasn’t the reason.

As for me, I think one of the main reasons I haven’t lost my shit yet is that for some time now I’ve kept a gratitude journal. I’m sure religious people will think this is obvious and I’m a simpleton, but religious or not, now is a good time to focus on gratitude. Many mornings my gratitude list is elementary. I truly am grateful for the little things like running water, a warm house, a pretty pottery mug full of hot coffee or a kitty on my lap. If you are struggling with our order to shelter-in-place, I urge you to start a gratitude journal. This week I am grateful for some really big things. I am grateful that I currently do not know anyone who has been tested positive. In the coming weeks that may not be so. I am grateful that my family is able to work from home and keep their jobs. I am grateful that I had extra money to help stock an empty shelf at a local food bank. 

I am hopeful that when this is all said and done, each and every one of us will reevaluate how we live our life, spend our money and treat our fellow two leggeds. Remember to be mindful of our four leggeds also. They are having adjustment issues as well. Next blog, I will be writing through the eyes of one of my four leggeds. Stay well everyone, and stay the f*** home!

I Will Always Love Betty

I think it’s Monday. When I first woke up, for a moment I forgot that we drove to our cottage last night. I love that feeling! Over-50-year-old-me also appreciates the chilly nights, even in June. Mike made a fire in the wood burner while I enjoyed some chardonnay. My brother had been here last weekend and he left a thank you gift on the kitchen counter. The Balvenie, Two James and Valentine White Blossom should certainly last us for the few weeks we plan to unwind here.

There’s a saying in Michigan that if you don’t like the weather “stick around for a half an hour or so- it’ll change.” It’s been a crazy year for weather. Ice fishing shanties were still out on the lake in April. Typically mushroom season, snow banks were still trying to melt in May. We harvested one puny morel. Now June, it’s as hot as the 4^th of July. This morning I sat down with my coffee and made a to-do list. Repairing the kitchen window screen, cleaning the toilets and raking the path did not sound fun for me. Instead, I decided to take Betty out for a spin.

Betty is a vintage Central Park model Ross bicycle. She is the color of a meyer lemon with black trim and a diamond pleated seat. When my neighbor died, her adult kids offered the bike to me. Although I have told them, I don’t think they realize how much I cherish Betty’s bike. I ordered a personalized bicycle plate. My “Betty” plate is gold and black, just like the California license plates in the 60’s where I grew up.   Betty now lives at our cottage.

I love technology. Not only can you order just about anything like my Betty Bicycle Plate, you can pay bills and bank remotely. Although not clear on what day it was, I got a notification on my phone that my American Express bill was due. Being away from home, thankfully I was able to pay the bill while sipping coffee at the cottage. Whew! In the nick of time I avoided a late fee and an increased interest rate.  I figured I earned that bike ride. I took a basket and pair of scissors hoping to snip a wildflower bouquet.

Apparently, this June is an excellent year for mosquitoes and a miserable year for wild flowers. I started to convince myself that the gold dandelions would be an adequate compliment in the basket hanging on Betty’s handlebars. I didn’t bother to stop to pick any, but decided to just enjoy my ride around the lake’s gravel road. As I passed Buck’s house his springer spaniel barked “hello.” A blonde grade schooler passed by in a golf cart. Her grin said, “Look at me. I’m driving all by myself.” A young couple walked past with their German shepherd. The woman could only nod hello because she was talking on her cell phone. I hate technology.  Somehow it takes us out of the moment when we are doing something we like. We are always doing “something else.”

I did pass on one tiny orange hawk weed. Without any other flowers to make up a significant bouquet, I decided to let her grow a little more. Slighted by the flora, the fauna Gods thanked me by sending a monarch. He flapped his wings right in front of my path.  I was also greeted by two white tail deer happily crunching sticks on the side of the road, completely unafraid of Betty and me passing by. Just when I thought I’d been pretty much skunked on my wildflower hunt, I happened upon a small patch of daisies. Being my favorite, I selfishly snipped all nine. Betty and I took them home and filled their Mason jar with water.

With a beautiful breeze blowing and the sun shining, I decided to crack open one of my brother’s thank you gifts. I am relatively sure it is in fact Monday. I have no idea what time. Thankfully, at our lake house the clock is always conveniently stuck on cocktail:30. Cheers.

Folk Art at the Lake

     It’s that time of year, once again. We are up north buttoning up our cottage at summer’s end. Many other lake neighbors have already tarped their boats, rolled in their docks and returned to the Detroit suburbs in preparation for the new school year.

I am a bit melancholy, as my son is here, but tomorrow he will continue alone on a six hour journey to his university dorm for year two of college.

     Sometimes I wish I had thicker blood and enjoyed winter sports such as snowmobiling and Nordic skiing. Being a California Native, if I can’t ski in a t-shirt and tan at the same time, I’m out. Maybe this winter as an empty nester I could come up here and write by our wood burning fireplace. I wouldn’t HAVE to go outside.

     When I’ve had a spell of writer’s block in the past, I’ve come to the realization that when I am up north my head is clear and writing is effortless. Ideas come looking for me. They often poke me in the face when I am not paying attention.

     I took a stroll around the lake to clip a wild flower bouquet. I am forever amazed at how Mother Nature knows how to schedule perfect complimentary colors. Late summer flowers are mostly purple, yellow and white. My bouquet consisted of thistle, chicory, golden rod and Queen Anne’s Lace. I grabbed a big green fern and shoved it in behind the blooms as a backdrop. 

     With bouquet in hand, I walked around the gravel road and decided to peek in on our neighbors and see if they were still up. Like most cottages, theirs looked put to bed for the season. As I turned away from the cottage to walk back to mine, I couldn’t help but notice a tree to the right of their drive. Staring me straight in the face was a gigantic scar on a white pine tree.

     My somber mood did an immediate 180. I laughed out loud. Luckily I had my iphone to snap a quick picture. The tree scar was painted pink. Nailed above it was a pouf of black mesh netting. Our lake neighbors must have a family member or friend who’s a folk artist, because their “welcome to our cottage” tree clearly sported a 3 foot vagina.

     She was begging to let visitors in, but needed a voice. A sign reading “come on in” or “our piece of heaven” could work. “No trespassing” or “private property” would be amusing, but that wouldn’t reflect the sentiments of our lake community.

     Should lightning strike alongside the gravel drive to our cottage, I will be prepared to adorn the tree’s scar. I have always loved red heads, and my sign will read, “come hither. relax,” because at our lake, that’s pretty much how we go down.