I take 'em when I can get 'em

February 9, 2010

Listened to the show Saturday and it was not bad. But I went to the show Thursday and it was something else. It's not often you have the opportunity to actually SEE the show, and some people never have, and I have but have never seen it on the big screen and that kind of appealed to me so I went. And yes, I did say "Thursday" and "big screen" because they did this very smart and fun thing where you could go to a movie theater and there it was — live. No long drive. Reasonable ticket prices. Popcorn. Was the highlight of my week, I'll tell ya.

I went alone for surveillance purposes, and because I wanted to go alone. I may be an extrovert, but with three kids and a motivational speaker of a husband, I value time alone and take it when I can get it. It's difficult at times to really take in an experience when you've got three smaller people asking for Goobers and pop on one side and one larger person on the other telling you to put a cork in it because people are trying to hear and you aren't helping things.

What I loved so much? The details. Heather Masse's dress, and those cowboy boots. Sue Scott's eyes and Tim Russell's tie. Fred Newman's hair. Robin and Linda, period. The overall Elvis Costello and his lonesome stranger train station song. Jearlyn and Jevetta and those voices in the rafters, way up high. And Mr. Keillor. Now. It's one thing to hear that man tell a story, but to watch his eyes and his hands as he tells it adds a whole nother dimension. I coulda sat there all night and listened to him. I could have, yes. Because there's not much more beautiful a gift you can get than a story, and they're few and far between unless you've got time on your hands which I don't, so I take 'em when I can get 'em, and you've still got time to get it tonight because they're playing the show all over again at movie theaters around the country, and if you can't make it for that, you can listen to it all on the website any time the rest of the week.

(Yes, I know "nother" isn't a word, but when you're telling a story, you can futz around like that and only people who really aren't paying much attention will notice. That I've learned along the way.)



Big Heart Cake
This recipe is more a craft project for Valentine's Day, something you can do with the kids or on your own if you've got a friend who likes pink cake, and frosting — someone whom you love.

1 box cherry chip or strawberry or white cake mix
1 container frosting, pink or white
Assorted decorations

Mix cake according to directions. Pour half of the batter into an 8x8 greased and floured square pan, and the other half into a greased and floured round. Bake according to instructions.

When done and cool, remove square cake and place on large, foil-covered piece of cardboard. Cut round exactly in half and place each half along adjacent sides of the square so it forms a Big Heart. Frost with frosting. Decorate as you wish. Write something fun or naughty on the cake, and deliver to the love of your life, the keeper of your destiny, your bridge partner, or the lady next door. Or keep it at home and surprise the kids.

Enjoy!

A Room Newly Void of Adolescent Angst

February 2, 2010

Listened to the show Saturday and it was not bad. I had a hard time concentrating on things, though, with the kids bickering in the background, so I banished them all to their rooms for the rest of the show. They hauled themselves off up the stairs, making as much noise as three young people can make, muttering under their breaths and closing their doors loud as they could without a Slam.

They must know I love them. How can they not? They're counting on it. The whole time they're figuring out who they are, they're trusting that Mr. Sundberg and I are going to love them through it, even when I want to lock them in the pantry. We're not their enemies even though it feels like it sometimes. But we're not their friends, either, and nothing in the world is as painfully refreshing as a room newly void of adolescent angst. Mr. Sundberg looked up from his book and gave me the thumbs-up sign. Let me tell you. I don't know what it is, but the last few weeks have been a trip through Hormone Hell. Multiply that by three and combine two genders, and you've got yourself a challenge. Fasten your seatbelts, lady and gentlemen. Re-surface your helmets and get some acetaminophen. Stock up on vitamins and carbos and mineral water and gear. You've yourself an adventure and there are storms in the forecast. A carabiner or two and some good solid rope might be smart. You just never know.

You're their Most Qualified Guides on The Most Dangerous Journey. Thing is, no one has been on this particular trip, and there are no maps and no instructions worth anything. There's really only common sense and gut instinct and faith, and a fair amount of wisdom you can tap into if necessary. You do the best you can, and the rest of it is a crapshoot. And if you're blessed, there will be laughter along the way, and the thought, now and then, "Look at them. Just look at them."

Mexican Lasagna

This recipe is popular with the kids and their friends on Friday nights when everyone
shows up for movies and general hanging out. Serve it with cornbread and Mexican rice
or a salad on the side.

1 1/2 lbs ground beef

2 1/2 cups chunky salsa

2 1/2 cups water

1 can refried beans

1 pkg lasagna noodles

1 pkg taco seasoning

1 8 oz carton sour cream

black olives as you wish

chopped onion as you wish

1 pkg shredded cheddar cheese (8 oz)

1 cup shredded mozzarella

Mix raw beef, beans and taco seasoning. Grease 9x13 cake pan or casserole and alternate 1/3 meat mixture with uncooked noodles, using 3 layers of noodles. Add water and salsa on top. Bake covered at 350 for 1 1/2 hours. Remove from oven. Spread sour cream over, and sprinkle with cheese, and olives and onions if you choose. Bake uncovered 10-15 minutes until it looks about right.

Enjoy!

So much for the glory of falling

January 26, 2010

Listened to the show Saturday and it was not bad. I spent the evening on the couch, giving my body a bit of a break from the elements. Not that I've spent much time outside lately; I haven't. There hasn't been enough snow lately to warrant shoveling. A broom will do the trick, really, and I've had enough to do inside to keep me busy. I did run out to the garage late Friday to get my purse which I'd forgotten in the car, and wouldn't you know I put one foot down on the back steps and that was that. Airborne.

They say the journey is the destination. If that's true, then Friday night my body had two: the fall itself, and the meeting of ice-covered rock and my hind end. Destination #1 was glorious, really, and if it hadn't been for #2, I may have kept going, all the way to the municipal park. Maybe even all the way to Canada. But no. There's gravity, and there's weight, and though I did manage to sail over all four ice-covered steps, I was unable to remain airborne.

There's something about falling that begs for a moment of silence. You hit the ground and, if you're in public, you take that moment, establish you're still breathing and everything's in working order, and you're up and back at it as if nothing happened. But if you have the luxury, as I did, of being alone, with no one around to see you, I recommend lying there awhile. It's a sobering time, where you reconnect with your body one joint at a time, and appreciate, for once, the padding you do have. And you stare up into the sky and feel how small you are and how vast is the universe, and you're reminded, once again, your days are numbered and you really ought to enjoy each and every blessed one of them.

It was a painful enough wipeout that I actually looked forward to the large and purple hematoma that would, inevitably, rise up and out of my left hip. Something I could show people here and there and elicit ooh's and aah's and a few "You really oughta take it easy's." A bruise large and colorful enough to get someone else to do the vacuuming for a week or two. No such luck. My bruises are small and two-toned, and the best I could manage was a grunt or two the day after when I got up from the couch. Which generally happens anyway. So much for the glory of falling.

Venison with Juniper Berries
If you're a lover of venison and spices and wine, here's something satisfying for
a cold night in February. Serve it up with potatoes and bread and something chocolate for dessert.

2 1/4 pounds venison, (thigh is ideal), boned and cubed
A carrot, diced
An onion, diced
A rib of celery, diced
A bay leaf
An 8-inch sprig of rosemary
A piece of stick cinnamon
Several peppercorns
2-3 cloves
8 juniper berries, crushed in a mortar (or the bottom of a water glass)
A bottle of dry red wine
2 T olive oil
1/4 cup unsalted butter
A shot of grappa or brandy
Salt to taste

Bone and cube the venison and put it in a large bowl with the diced vegetables, herbs, and spices; pour the wine over it all and marinate it for at least several hours or a day or two if you can, turning the pieces occasionally. When it's time to cook the meat, heat the oil and butter in a pot. Remove the meat from the marinade using a slotted spoon (reserve the marinade) and brown it over a brisk flame, salting it a bit. Add the grappa and continue to cook until it has evaporated. Next, stir in the marinade, reduce the flame, and simmer, covered, for at least 2 hours. When it's time to serve the meat, transfer the pieces from the sauce to a serving dish with a slotted spoon and the pan drippings and vegetables through a strainer (or blend them, but remember to remove the bay leaf and the rosemary), spoon the sauce over the meat, and serve.

You can substitute a good cut of beef for the venison and it'll turn out just fine.

Enjoy!

Thank goodness for tomorrow. And for butter.

January 19, 2010

Listened to the show Saturday and it was not bad. Whipped up some buckwheat pancakes and buttermilk waffles as the music played, and served it with kielbasa and bacon and some cherries and whipped cream for the waffles and it all went over pretty well. After everyone cleared out I cleaned up the kitchen and figured I might as well clean out the fridge while I'm at it. I've cleaned just about everything else in the house since the New Year began, and when your refrigerator is in order, you know you're almost there.

And so I did. Didn't take long, though, as I'm one of those "clean-as-you-go" people. I don't often sit down to dinner without washing up the dishes, and you're not going to find an expired date among my yogurts or a ring of mold on my sour cream. You're just not. We are big eaters, yes, but on top of that, I pay attention to my cheese. When you pay money for a nice block of cheddar, why on earth would you let it go to rot? So every other day or so, I look through the fridge to see what we've got, and what needs using up, and what is good for a while, and I plan meals accordingly.

I'm thinking now about what I can do with 9 pounds of butter and 7.5 pounds of cheese. Not to mention a sack of Braeburn apples (on sale last week), 3 heads of lettuce, thirty flour tortillas, and a boatload of chicken breasts. I'm thinkin' spicy chicken wraps, with some apple crisp for dessert. That doesn't use up much butter, but butter keeps, and there's always tomorrow. Thank goodness for tomorrow. And for butter.

Pumpkin Cornbread
If you like bread, and corn, and pumpkin, and if you're feeling a bit stuck for something to serve on the side, give this recipe a try. It's good on its own, or with stew, or ham, or just about anything you come up with.

2 cups cornmeal
2 cups flour
1 cup sugar
2 T baking powder
1/2 tsp baking soda
1 cup vegetable oil
4 eggs
2 1/4 cups pureed pumpkin
1 cup milk

Preheat oven to 350.

Combine all the dry ingredients in a large bowl.

Beat together the eggs, oil, pumpkin, and milk.

Fold the wet ingredients into the dry with a rubber spatula. The batter will be smooth and fluffy. Pour the batter into a 9 x 13 baking pan (or two loaf pans), and place in the middle rack of the oven. Bake for 25 minutes, or until toothpick stuck in the middle of the cornbread comes out dry. Let cool for ten minutes, and then cut into pieces and serve.

Enjoy!

Not All Whacked Out and Fuzzy

January 12, 2010

Listened to the show Saturday and it was not bad. The kids were occupied with their new video games and I was doing a bit of trimming on my latest haircut which was a bit longer on the right side as opposed to the left. I went back a while back after another haircut to see about this same issue, but my hairdresser, Michelle, reassured me that it WAS even &151; the hair on the right side of my head may be a bit thicker, she said, and do I sleep exclusively on my right side (which would somehow explain that phenomenon)? Well, I do, I told her. Well, there you have it, she said.

Yeah, I have it, alright. Thicker hair on the right side of my head. I've tried sleeping on my left side to even it out but that's about as silly as anything because once I fall asleep I turn myself back over to where my body thinks it belongs and better luck next time, Mrs. S. So I've gotten rather used to the seeming lopsidedness of my head, but then there are the cowlicks, of which Michelle counts 3 large. Not just "3", but "3 large." Which eliminates me, right off the bat, from candidacy for a number of hairstyles. Not that I'm complaining. I've had pretty much the same hairstyle since I was about twenty, and it suits me rather well with small variations every couple of years. A few of those variations have brought me dangerously close to the mulletesque, but as I said, I'm not complaining. There's no point. Everyone envies everyone else, so why not be content with what you've got?

When I think about it, mine is not such bad hair. It fits me. It's turning gray pretty evenly, and when I don't have time to dry it, it curls up rather nicely, not all whacked out and fuzzy. And it does a mighty fine job of covering up all those godawful scars on my head sustained when I was a kid. Stitches everywhere, a real work of art, I imagine, were I to suddenly lose all my hair. Which I may one day. You never know. I'm finding, as I grow older, I lose things. The blessing is realizing how much a person can live without. As long as you've got a few chores to do, some fresh bread, a good book, and someone to share it all with, you've got it going just fine.

Been a while since I shared a hotdish recipe, and with the number of funerals this time of year, I figured these two recipes might be appropriate. They're similar, but the second is a bit creamier and doesn't contain tomatoes.

Lutheran Funeral Hot Dish

1 lb dry macaroni

1 lb ground beef

1 can tomato soup

1 medium onion, chopped

1 14 oz can corn, drained

1 14 oz can tomatoes

ketchup, salt and pepper to taste

American cheese

Cook macaroni. Brown ground beef and onion. Combine all ingredients in a casserole dish. Top with cheese slices and bake at 325 for 30 minutes.

Funeral Hot Dish

1 bag medium egg noodles, boiled

Brown together: 1 lb ground beef

1 cup diced celery

1 cup diced onion

Add: 2 cans cream of mushroom soup

1 can cream of chicken soup

salt and pepper to taste

3 cups milk

1 can corn

Bake at 350 for 30 minutes.

Enjoy!

We grew up in weather colder than this

January 5, 2010

Listened to the show Saturday and it was not bad. Who could complain about anything, really, as long as you were inside along with the radio and some potato chips or oatmeal and a blanket or two? It was cold outside. And, as time passes, it's getting even colder. But I don't need to tell you this. You already know. It's beyond ass-burn cold, and even the best of us are having a bit of a time.

We grew up in weather colder than this. We're used to it. We can handle it. It's one reason we live here, for God's sake. We don't think twice about thermal clothing and layers and balm and gear. We don't balk at the thought of wool, and we know what it means to "wick away moisture." Our noses are red. Our toetips are blue. Our coffeecake is sweet. And a casual observer would be so not with the program if he or she thought for one minute that the weather might do us in.

This is, after all, prime time for doing all those inside things you wouldn't dream of wasting daylight hours on in the summer. Clean out and re-organize the kitchen cupboards, and give the pantry a once-over. Paint a room or two, and add a bit of stenciling for the heck of it. Some pineapples maybe. Wedges of Swiss cheese would be something new. Buy a cake decorating kit and try it out with the kids; master the roses. Clean the windows. Read War and Peace. Call your parents. Knit something, or learn to. Give yoga another shot. Make, at last, figgy pudding. Stay up obscenely late and watch, again, the best movie you've seen.

Of course, there are the outside things. Some of which need doing. Things involving wood and shovels and blowers and car engines and all of that. Which is why we have the woolens, and the thermals, and the boots. And all of which is why we have tomorrow. Blessed tomorrow, and happy cold day today, and here's some hot chocolate, and a kiss.

Cream Corn Casserole
A recipe from the files, this is a much-requested dish that goes with just about anything. It's the Queen of Comfort Foods, and delightful, and something you'd just as soon climb on into for a nap as eat.

1 pkg. Jiffy corn bread mix
1 stick melted butter
1 cup sour cream
1 egg

Mix above ingredients, and add 1 can cream corn and 1 can whole corn (drained). Bake at 350 for about an hour, or until it's light brown and doesn't jiggle. (You can add peppers and onions for the sake of variety.)

Enjoy!

Not that I'm counting

December 30, 2009

Listened to the show Saturday and it was not bad. I spent much of Saturday picking up and putting away after the holiday, and I was still going at it while I listened. I don't know about you, but I just couldn't seem to make any real progress. I'd get one pile of stuff cleared away, and then there was another pile right behind it. Christmas cards, piles of the kids' gifts, piles of clean clothes folded neatly on the table, piles of bills, piles of books and CDs and DVDs and on and on.

I don't know if I had one too many Fudgy Rum Balls or a bit too much of Mr. Sundberg's Humdinger Nog, but something came over me as the show ended and "Silent Night" played. I just sat down in the midst of all those piles and had myself a weeper. It wasn't a pity-party kind of cry, or a down-low misery-and-despair session, nor was it one of those emotional cries where I just can't control myself and it goes on for a day or more in a kind of hormonal whirlpool. Nope. This was a short little deal where it just hit me like it does now and then that life moves rather quickly and there's only so much dark and so much light and you really have only so many days to spend doing what you love with the people you love.

Not that I'm counting. But. I haven't been bowling in a while, and it's been years since I've been out dancing. Years. I love lobster, and I can't recall the last time I ate the stuff, nor can I remember ever having eaten an oyster or breadfruit or limburger cheese, for that matter. There's so much, and the clock is ticking. I can count on one hand the number of times I've worn sequins, and that has to change. I don't own a hat and I'd like one, and I've yet to figure out chopsticks. There's still the matter of that tattoo and where it might go, and yoga, and Mr. Sundberg has mentioned several times he'd like to take an Oriental cooking class with me. Imagine.


Peanut Buttery Chocolate Bars

These bars are easy and incredibly good. You may want to make two pans — one to take along, and one to leave at home.

2 sticks butter
1 c. peanut butter
1 lb. confectioners' sugar
1 12 ounce bag of chocolate chips melted
1/2 c. peanut butter

Melt butter and peanut butter in microwave. Add sugar and gently mix. Pat into 9 x 13 pan. Melt chocolate and 1/2 cup peanut butter. Spread over bottom layer. Refrigerate and cut into squares. Enjoy!

When I say eating, I mean eating. Serious eating.

December 22, 2009

Listened to the how Saturday and it was not bad. We were on our way home from a family Christmas gathering over in Eau Claire, Wisconsin, and the sun had set, and everyone was dozing from the warmth of the car and from eating all day. When I say eating, I don't mean a sandwich and a little potato salad and a bar. I mean eating. Serious eating. This was Wisconsin, people, where you don't leave a Christmas party thinking about a pit stop at Arby's.

The party was held at the lovely new home of a cousin of mine. She and her husband were married a while back and we take turns hosting in my family and seems they were up for it this year. Festivities began at 1:00, and within the hour, there was a major pile of shoes at the front door, and a dining room table and kitchen counter packed end to end with food. Finger food. For every finger. There were deviled eggs and peanut butter balls, bowls of nuts and M&Ms, chicken wings and Rueben dip and artichoke dip and something called "cowboy caviar." There was finger Jell-O, pecan fingers, a vegetable tray and a bucket of chocolate chip cookies. Spritz, pretzels, chocolate-covered Oreos, meatballs and wieners, and cheeses with crackers. Pickles and herring and olives and shrimp. On and on and on. At some point someone hollered, "Comin' through!" and someone else cleared a space and there was meatloaf and cheesy potatoes and more meatballs and hot cheese dip. And there was wine, and beer. As much of anything as a person might want.

It went on like this throughout the day, and as the food was replenished, there were racetracks set up in the living room and a beanbag toss tournament in the basement and discussions here and there about college costs, the Vikings, aging rock stars and the best way to make fattijmand. There was a brief crisis when one of the kids locked everyone out the bathroom, and another when several stocking-footed people walked through spilled beer. There were people laughing in the living room and someone wept at a story in the kitchen. Children dashed here and there chattering and whining and searching for candy. There was a tree and a food exchange (everyone brought a $20 food gift) and a movie playing in a bedroom for the kids to watch if they wanted and the windows were steamed up and the place smelled of holiday and meatloaf and pine.

If you sat quietly, off to the side, now and then you could hear Christmas music playing softly on the radio in the corner. I heard it just as we were saying goodbye. The song was "It Came Upon the Midnight Clear." Made me pause a moment. It's a song about angels singing, and hope and reminds me of being a child. The winter night sky was so vast then. Still is.

Here's a recipe you can whip up for your sweetheart
or your next-door neighbor. Something light and sweet
and pretty to look at.

Winter Day Meltaways
1 cup softened butter
½ cup powdered sugar
½ tsp almond extract (I use more)
1 ¼ cups flour
½ cup cornstarch
Combine butter, sugar and almond extract. Add flour and cornstarch.
Refrigerate for half an hour or so until you can form one inch balls with the dough.
Bake on ungreased cookie sheets at 350 for 11-13 minutes or until edges are a bit
brown. Cool and frost with powdered sugar glaze.

You can substitute peppermint extract for the almond for variety's sake.

Enjoy!

There's more where that came from

December 15, 2009

Listened to the show Saturday and it was not bad. I spent the evening baking up a storm — carrying on old traditions and getting going new ones and what a humdinger of a good time it was. The kids helped, and we made reindeer balls and rum truffles, almond bark squares and sugar cookie cutouts dough for baking later. We made a batch of fudge and a pan of toffee and I contemplated anise candy and am still contemplating. The house smelled so good and everything looked and tasted just delicious.

After the kids went up to bed, I still had some energy in me and figured I'd give my Grandma's Lape cookies a whirl. She'd made them every year of her living days as I recall, and Lord, Almighty, were they popular — all molassesy and chewy. She's been gone a few years now and to bring her back to me I thought, with candlelight and Christmas music, I'd give her handwritten recipe a whirl.

Easier said than done. I got through most of the recipe just fine, but she wasn't around to ask exactly how do I grind up the raisins which had soaked in water and the nutmeats. It seems she'd used a meat grinder, so I figured a blender would do the trick. I poured the nuts and raisins in and hit "Blend." Well, that was interesting. I had to stop and start a good thirty times before things seemed blended, but then my blender started to smell funny and there was the issue of getting the goo OUT. I tried a spatula and then a scraper and ended up using my hands.

After getting the stretchy mess all mixed together in a bowl, I noticed the mix had to rest two days in the fridge, so in it went and that was a relief. Short-lived, of course, when on Sunday I found the dough had nearly doubled in size and taken over the bottom shelf of the refrigerator.
I'd no idea the recipe was so large. I spent most of Monday afternoon rolling out the stretchy dough and cutting out triangles and circles and stars and pressing a nut into the middle before baking just like Grandma did.

Sometime around 7 p.m. Monday I pulled the last sheet of Lape cookies out of the oven and set them out to cool. I untied my apron, threw it into the hamper, and, yes, I poured myself a shot of whiskey. I gotta give the woman credit. She made these godforsaken cookies year after year and made it look easy and never once uttered an obscenity. She simply handed us grandkids a plate of cookies and smiled and told us, "There's more where that came from."

I now have just under 500 Lape cookies to share with friends and family for the holidays. Most are chewy, some are crispy, and it's a recipe I think I'll store away for a few more years or until I run out of cookies — whichever comes first. In the meantime, I'm reminded once again of my dear grandma, of what she brought to our lives, of the timeless importance of comfort, and joy.

Here's an amazingly simple recipe you can make with the
kids in a very short time. Careful, though. They're like potato chips —
you eat one and you might as well tape the whole bag to your butt.

Almond Bark Squares

1 large box Wheat Thins crackers
1 jar creamy peanut butter
24 oz almond bark
Various holiday cookie decors

In large, shallow bowl, melt almond bark in microwave according to directions.
Spread peanut butter on a Wheat Thin; top with another Wheat Thin.
Using a fork, dip "sandwich" in almond bark and flip over, being sure all sides
are coated. Place on foiled sheet or wax paper. Sprinkle with nonpareils or
festive decors. Let dry until bark is set.

Mmm. Enjoy!

Hoping for a brightly colored taco or a pair of glass briefs.

December 7, 2009

Listened to the show Saturday and it was not bad. I turned it up so we could hear it in the living room where we were putting up the tree. Not that I had to be in there, mind you. Mr. Sundberg and the kids do just fine without me. I just get some kind of joy out of watching him hold it up while the kids strain on their bellies under the tree, cranking away at the screws on our cheap ol' plastic tree stand which has always worked just fine. Of course, the fun comes in when Mr. Sundberg steps back and asks, “Is it straight?” and one of the kids says, “No, it's way leaning toward the couch.” So back down they go and loosen the screws and he straightens it — too far back this time — and they screw the screws in again and stand up and step back and nope, it's still crooked and this goes on for a good half hour, during which I leave because too many bosses makes for you-know-what.

I've always been the one to put the lights on the tree, mainly because putting them on requires a good deal of patience and time, and who has that when you've just spent yourself putting the tree up? Plus, there's an artistry to putting on the lights. You have to space them out and not leave big gaping holes, and make sure the top half of the tree is lit in proportion to the bottom half. Care must be taken when unraveling the lights so as not to break them, and if you forget to test them before you put them on, well, you may find yourself undoing the whole thing and starting over. Yet another reason why the job is now mine.

The ornaments I wrap in tissue and pack away carefully each year sometime around New Year's Day, and so decorating the tree with them is a rather drawn-out endeavor. Takes an entire evening, usually, and there are stories with each ornament, and we get rid of the broken ones and each year add a new ornament for each of the kids and one to kind of summarize the theme of the year. This year's theme is a bit vague, though one of the kids suggested “calm” for the lack of storms we had this summer. I prefer more light-hearted themes myself, like “airborne” since we got a new trampoline this year. Or “spicy” as this was the year all the kids wanted was Mexican food. Or “lost underwear.” For reasons I won't go into.

The trick is to find the right ornament to represent the theme. And I've been looking. I did find a miniature catapult which might do justice to “airborne”, but I'll keep looking. Hoping for a brightly colored taco or a pair of glass briefs. You just never know.

This recipe is wonderful after a big meal when you've got some leftover mashed potatoes. Serve these patties with meatloaf or sausage to round off the meal on a snowy evening.

Potato Patties
1 ½- 2 cups mashed potatoes
1 egg
Milk to soften
Blend ingredients together until firm and smooth.
Melt a bit of butter in skillet.
Drop by large spoonful onto skillet. Flatten out a bit.
Fry until light golden brown; flip. Fry.
Add salt and pepper to your liking.

Enjoy!

One Slice. Two Forks.

December 1, 2009

Listened to the show Saturday and it was not bad. I was still recovering from the ol' turkey hangover along with everyone else. We'd been eating leftovers for two days so it was frozen pizzas Saturday night. I made it fun by folding them in half after they were baked. I sliced them up and we had rather strange folded pizza finger things for dinner, but no one seemed to care. It wasn't turkey, or pumpkin-flavored, after all.

Not that I'm complaining, mind you. But this time of year, things do tend to go into overdrive. I hadn't had pie in weeks, and then one day there was pie everywhere. Pie, pie, pie. I love pie, but one piece will do me just fine. And we all know about the One Piece of Pie myth. Because there's always The Rest of the Pie. Same with Turkey. With turkey on sale as cheap as it was, how many of you bought just one? How many of you have room in your freezers for corndogs or mixed vegetables or ice cream?

This is the time of year when people lose control. Why buy one cashmere sweater for Uncle Larry when you can buy two, get one free and cover all three uncles? Why not get a bucket of pistachios? And even though we don't NEED a new TV, they're so dang cheap we really can't NOT get a new one, can we? Think about it. Think. We CAN not get a new TV. No one really likes pistachios all that much, and will the uncles really go for cashmere? Especially if lime green is the only color left?

Breathe. Breathe again. It's December and you don't have to change a thing. Take a walk this morning, write a letter to your grandmother this afternoon, and have a slice of pie after dinner tonight. One slice. Two forks. Remember it's the simple things, the very simple things, that bring us together.

My good friend Shirl sent me this recipe last week. She lives down the road and fills her life with simple pleasures. Like time on her deck, good books, and fruit with cinnamon.

Shirl's Spiced Peaches

Drain two large cans of cling peach halves,
saving juice from one can in a sauce pan.
Use the juice from the other can any old way you wish.

Add ¾ cup brown sugar, ½ cup vinegar, and three cinnamon sticks
to the juice in the saucepan. Using a tea ball or gauze material,
add 1 T of whole cloves to the juice.

Simmer for about 20 minutes.

Cool juice mixture to room temp. Remove all of the spices and discard.
Add the peaches, covering with the juice. Cover and refrigerate up to 5 days.

You may wish to cut the peach halves before putting into serving dish.

Enjoy!

That's why they call it "comfort food," I guess

November 24, 2009

Listened to the show Saturday and it was not bad. I could hear gunshots in the distance while Mr. Keillor was talking about tundra swans, and I'll confess it got my mouth watering for a good meal of grouse or pheasant. I grew up in a family of bird hunters, and around this time of year there was always creamed pheasant to look forward to.

Which reminds me, I have to pull that turkey out of the freezer. There's a decent number of people planning to join us on Thursday, and everything is just about set to go except for one more trip to the grocery store. I'm planning on mashed potatoes, green bean hot dish, corn casserole, salad, sweet potatoes, dressing, cranberries, and pumpkin pie. And rolls. The usual. That's why they call it "comfort food," I guess. You can count on it. It's how it has been.

It would be nice, though, to shake it up a bit once in a while. The food, of course, is the obvious thing. We could roast something on a spit over a campfire for Thanksgiving. Or cook up a seven course meal, each course from a different country. Or just eat bread and water this time around to really drive home the concept of Grateful. But when I say "shake it up," I'm thinking on a bigger scale. Invite all the neighbors over this year. Double everything you're making and treat a family who might appreciate it to a surprise turkey dinner. Abandon the cooking and volunteer at a homeless shelter. Something. Anything to get us all out of our comfort zones.

It's tough to know what you've got to be grateful for if things never change, unless things never changing is what you're grateful for, and who wants that? We wouldn't enjoy the winter so much if it weren't for the spring. Thanks be for the seasons, and for surprises, and for sudden storms that snow you in. Thanks be for the good that comes out of most things, and for this day, and for whatever comes next.

Warm or cold, this cake makes a good afterschool snack. The frosting is extra-thick, and I always add a bit of allspice to ratchet up the flavor a bit.

Pumpkin Cake

4 eggs

2 cups sugar

2 cups pumpkin

1 ½ sticks melted butter

2 cups flour

2 tsp baking powder

1 tsp baking soda

1 tsp cinnamon

Blend first four ingredients. Add dry ingredients. Mix well. Pour into a greased and floured 9x13 cake pan. Bake at 400, 25 minutes or until set in middle.

Frost with cream cheese frosting: blend 1 stick softened butter, 8 ounces cream cheese, 1 16 oz package powdered sugar, 1 T vanilla. Add a few drops of milk to soften if necessary.

Enjoy!

No use waiting until the last minute

November 19, 2009

Listened to the show Saturday and it was not bad. I spent a good part of it in the pantry doing an inventory of what items I need for cooking and baking in the next few weeks, and what Christmas gifts I've managed to gather in the last few months. I've gotten about a third of my shopping done already without having given much thought to it. I'm not an impulse shopper, but on those rare occasions when I find the perfect gift, I buy it. No use waiting until the last minute, and when the holidays do finally roll around, I'd rather spend it wrapping gifts and baking than out in the crowds trying to find everything on my List.
Speaking of which. Now that we're rounding the corner and Christmas is just over a month away, it's time to get the ol' List going. The kids made theirs and turned it in last week, and now I've got something to work from, and though I hesitate to say it, times sure have changed. I remember wanting a bike and a record player and a jump rope when I was a kid. Movie tickets, maybe, and perhaps root beer or a box of those Oreo cookies dipped in white chocolate. I remember getting most of it, and pajamas, and socks.
Here are a few items you'll find on my kids' lists: aviator sunglasses; a spare karaoke mic; Abercrombie and I-tunes gift cards; Wii Fit; a gift certificate for a past life regression session; a peach or pear tree; a conga drum; Hellboy 1 & 2; a tent; "a recliner for my bedroom"; and a "foster pet." Other animals mentioned include hamsters, dogs, cats, and fish. "Everything to make an herb garden" is on one of them. All three have "Germ-X" on his or her list.
I'm tempted to say I long for the days when things were simple. Thing is, things ARE still simple, if you ask a kid. Adulthood somehow complicates it all. Which is why one ought, as an adult, to own a bicycle, a jump rope, or a conga drum. Keeps it all in perspective. Simple. Germ-X or not.

Here's a light and healthy vegetable dish you might want to consider for a holiday table.

Roasted Vegetables
Cut one cauliflower and one large red sweet pepper and one large green pepper into bite-sized pieces. Place on a foil-covered 11x13 jelly roll pan. Drizzle with olive oil. Stir around to coat all pieces. Roast in oven at 350-375, stirring occasionally, until vegetables are done to your liking. Season with salt and pepper. You may add other vegetables as you wish, but this combination is particularly tasty.
Enjoy!

Boom - We're Off and Running

November 10, 2009

Listened to the show Saturday and it was not bad. We're in the middle of that time of year when people get a little crazy out there and it's nice to have two hours of laughter and singing to count on every Saturday evening. Something to take your mind off the fact that they're playing "Silver Bells" already in the waiting room at the orthodontist and Christmas wrap is already on sale in Aisle Three of my favorite place to shop.

I don't know what it is. The leaves fall off the trees, things turn a bit gray, and — BOOM — we're off and running. Turkeys were on special this past week for 29 cents a pound, and was there ever a scramble. By the time I got to the grocery store Saturday afternoon, all that was left were tiny little ten-pounders and a bunch weighing in around 24 pounds. I was hoping for something around 16 pounds. Eighteen, maybe. Not to be particular. All of the canned sweet potatoes were gone (Rain Check!) and there were only milk chocolate chips, no more semi-sweet. Well, okay. I plan ahead. I can wait.

Of course I can wait. It's more than two weeks until Thanksgiving, people, and more than six weeks until Christmas. Why the red and green all the heck over? Can't we bask in the brown and orange awhile? Won't you let us steep in the scent of pumpkin spice candles before suggestive selling us the Endlessly Evergreen and Perfectly Peppermint? Don't get me wrong. I enjoy the holiday season like most everyone else. I'm all about anticipation. I'm no Scrooge. But please. Put Christmas back where it belongs. In December. Let us have our dressing and lakes of gravy and new recipe that doesn't go over very well and Pilgrim re-enactments and Macy's parade. Let us have our corn stalks and dishes of flavored candy corn and tryptophan hangovers and football hysteria. All of that in our bleak and windy and cold November. Give us something to look forward to again. The light in the darkness. The morning after. The sales. The gift wrapping. The caroling. The church service. The Meal. O Holy Night. One thing at a time. One season at a time, now and evermore.

Potato Casserole
This recipe is similar to one I've shared with you. It's covered with buttered cornflakes, which will make just about anything a delectable treat.

2 lb frozen hash browns
1 tsp salt
1/4 tsp pepper
1/2 cup chopped onion
2 cans cream coup (chicken, celery, mushroom)
Dash cayenne pepper
1 cup sour cream
2 cups grated cheddar cheese
2 cups corn flakes
1/4 cup butter, melted

Mix all ingredients except cornflakes and butter. Pour into 9x13 pan. Top with corn flakes mixed with melted butter. Bake at 350 for an hour. Serves 12.

Enjoy!

I've yet to answer the door as Wonder Woman

November 3, 2009

Listened to the show Saturday and it was not bad. I was sitting in the car with the engine running while the kids went up and down the streets trick-or-treating. The sun was setting and there were throngs of people out in costume — not only kids but adults, too, dressed up in their Halloween best. I saw the usual witches and ghosts and princesses and pirates, but then a six-foot-tall sumo wrestler walked by and that was something. There was a penguin and a rock star, Mother Nature and the Sun, and some odd greenish blob thing that got a bit close to my car.

I used to dress up every year for Halloween. I've been a gypsy and a mummy, a French maid and a Greek goddess, Betty Crocker and a witch. I haven't gotten into it in recent years mainly because by the time Halloween rolls around I haven't had time to pull together a decent costume, and on the day itself my time is spent getting the kids all made up and frosting cookies and driving from trick-or-treating to party to home and back. Hardly a good excuse. There's something rather exciting about dressing up, and a person really ought to take advantage of the holiday to explore his or her alter ego, dark side, or plain old curiosity. I've always wanted to dress as Cleopatra or Scarlett O'Hara; I've yet to answer the door as Wonder Woman.

Frankly, I don't dress up much in general. I prefer jeans and black boots with a heel and a nice pullover V-neck to a dress any day. I go for earth tones — grays, browns, burgundy — with a bit of white here and there. More for practical reasons than any. When you have children, anything to speed up the routine is helpful. The thought of silk or sequins is appealing, but it gives me a bit of stress. There's the issue of wrinkles, and can it go into the washing machine? Of course, I don't like the thought of being boring, and that's where underwear comes in. But that's a whole other story.

I think, perhaps, next year I will plan ahead. Maybe I'll seek out and find that Wonder Woman costume. Or I'll wear a gown of brocade, be Marie Antoinette, and serve cake at the door. Or I'll really go for it and buy myself a silver sequined dress, silver heels, and fashion a hat of tinsel and glitter and go as a Sparkle. A Glimmer. A Glisten. Something mysterious and unusual on a day made for just that.

Sugared French Toast
This recipe goes way back to my childhood when my mother served up platters of sugary French toast and bacon on cold autumn mornings.

1 loaf buttermilk or thick white sliced bread
8-10 eggs
Milk or buttermilk
Cinnamon
Sugar
Oil

Crack 8-10 eggs into a large bowl, depending on how many people are eating. (I figure 2 eggs per person.)

Add 1 dollop (about 1/8 cup) milk or buttermilk per egg.

Whisk until blended.

Pour 2-4 T oil in a nonstick skillet or frying pan. Heat on medium heat.

Dip bread into egg/milk mixture, both sides. Place on pan and fry on both sides until crispy and center appears cooked. Place on plate covered with a mixture of 1 cup sugar and 1-2 T cinnamon. Coat both sides of toast with cinnamon sugar.

Serve with or without butter and syrup.

Enjoy!

The really scary things are more ordinary

October 26, 2009

Listened to the show Saturday and it was not bad. I was home alone in a house I'd spent the afternoon cleaning with nothing to do but bake up a batch of cutout cookies and a loaf or two of bread, enjoy a glass of wine, and listen to the show. Mr. Sundberg was out with the kids at one of those Halloween attractions where people dress up and try their best to scare the bejesus out of you, and I'll confess I felt a bit guilty. The kids had asked me to come along, and I said no, I simply wasn't up for it. Not that I was in a bad mood, or sad or anything. I just wasn't in that Halloweenish zone where being grabbed by a ghoul would be a thrill.

Besides. I'm not really good at being scared. The scariest things to me aren't monsters or people with fangs jumping out at me. The really scary things are more ordinary. Like if a man were just standing there, in the yard, looking at the house. That would be scary. Or if I were home alone and went to take a shower and came back and all of my underwear was gone. Just like that. I'd be rather shaken up and tempted to make a call. Or if a voice, say God, for instance, just called my name out of the blue: "MRS. SUNDBERG." That would pretty much do me in. Of course, had I gone with Mr. Sundberg and the kids, I would have given a courtesy holler or two for good measure, in the spirit of the season and all, and I imagine it would have been a fun time. And it was.

I know people who are dying slow deaths from guilt, and others who are seemingly being kept alive by it. For a lot of my life, I let guilt dictate how I spent a good deal of my time. Until, worn down by it all, it dawned on me that — though in some instances guilt has its place — most of the time guilt is a waste of energy. One of my favorite thinkers, Jean-Paul Sartre, said that guilt is an anguish which accompanies the recognition of our total freedom. Now, that makes a lot of sense. And there certainly is some freedom in spending a Saturday evening alone in the kitchen. What to bake first? And all that frosting, and those unopened bags of Halloween candy... Why bring anguish into the picture? The kids are having a great time, the house smells like cinnamon and fresh bread, and all's right with the world.

This recipe was originally made with ground venison, which makes a perfect substitute for the beef, though you may wish to add a bit of beef for the fat, if you know what I mean. Serve this up with saltines or oyster crackers, and some shredded Colby or cheddar. Keep a bottle of Tabasco sauce handy for those who like a bit of zing.

Big Beef Chili

1 1/4 lb ground beef
Brown beef with 1-2 T chopped onion. Drain excess fat, if any. Return meat and onion to pot.

Add the following:

1 can dark red kidney beans, drained
1 can chili beans, not drained
1 can (46 oz.) tomato juice
1/4 tsp. cracked or ground black pepper. Salt to taste.
2/3 – 1 T chili powder
1/4 tsp. cumin
1-2 dashes Tabasco sauce

Good options: Add 1 can diced tomatoes along with tomato juice.
And/or 1-2 stalks of celery, diced, at end of browning meat.
And/or 2-4 oz. sliced mushrooms, or 1 small can of mushrooms, drained,just before adding beans.

Simmer a while and serve with homemade cornbread.

Enjoy!

It's one of those things I'm a bit embarrassed about

October 20, 2009

Listened to the show Saturday and it was not bad. I was on my way home from the grocery store when I tuned in for the opening song. I'd thought for sure I'd make it home in time, but there was a sale on butter — .99 a pound — and a limit of two pounds per visit, so I pretended I forgot something twice and ended up with six pounds of butter. I would have gone back after the show for more, but it seems there is a point where one ought to exercise restraint, and six pounds of butter ought to keep one going for a while. You'd think, anyway. Plus there were two more pounds in the fridge, which made eight.

It's something I don't talk about much, my love for butter. It's one of those things I'm a bit embarrassed about. Not sure why, really. Perhaps because it brings out the glutton in me. Other things do that, too, but like I said, I do know about restraint and it has gotten to the point where I simply don't eat potato chips. I love the things, and if I eat even one, the whole bag is a goner, so I just don't. Same with French fries. Love 'em, but don't eat 'em. Except on special occasions. Now, butter is different because it's like oxygen. You just can't eat pancakes without butter. That wouldn't be right. And baked potatoes wouldn't be the same without butter. Neither would some frostings or toast or homemade cookies. I don't eat it plain, mind you, like that woman on TV, but I do tend to use it frequently and in generous amounts.

So you can imagine my pure delight when Mr. Keillor told how there was deep fried butter served up at a wedding in Lake Wobegon last week. My gosh, I just about tipped. Butter frozen into little balls, dipped in batter and deep fried? Sounds like one step short of Paradise to me. So I dug out all my cookbooks and turned to the "batter" section of each and found a recipe for a batter of reasonable consistency. I dug out a pound of butter from the fridge and, with a melon baller, made as many little balls as I could and threw them into the freezer. It wasn't long after the show was over that Mr. Sundberg and the kids were feasting on wonderfully crunchy golden nuggets sprinkled with powdered sugar. And, fifteen minutes later, Mr. Sundberg was sound asleep in the recliner, and all three kids were dozing off on the couch.

I still have a bit of work to do to perfect the butter balls, but let me tell you, they taste pretty darn good. Restraint may have its place, but so does reward and you ought to take time now and then to indulge yourself. Just for a moment.

Fabulous French Silk Pie
If you're looking for something simple yet decadent, chocolately but not overly rich, here you go. This one will leave quite an impression, I promise.

1 cup butter
1 1/2 cups powdered sugar
2 tsp. vanilla
2 cups semi-sweet chocolate chips
6 large eggs
1 10-inch baked pie crust (graham will work, too, but flour/butter is best)

Melt chips in double-boiler or microwave. Cream together butter, sugar and vanilla. Add slightly cooled chocolate. Add eggs, two at a time, beating at least three minutes after adding each pair. Pour into pie shell. Filling will be soft and piled high, but will set up in three or four hours in refrigerator.

For an 8 or 9-inch pie crust, you may cut filling recipe in half. Pie will not be as amazing to look at, but half the recipe will fill a smaller pie crust. Serve with whipped cream and chocolate shavings or sprinkles if desired.

Enjoy!

When you find it, grab on to it, and smile.

October 12, 2009

Listened to the show Saturday and it was not bad. It's tough to listen to a show like that and not forget the world for a while. I imagine that's why a good number of us listen — to tune in the happy thoughts and tune out the bad. Not that there's a lot of particularly bad things going on lately. Depends how you look at it, of course, and I like to think that life is pretty good and there really isn't much to complain about as long as a person has work, and something to look forward to, and someone to love. And one's health, of course. Really, things are decent. There's even snow on the ground and how can you beat that?

But you think about it, and the answer to what makes a person happy is as colorful and storied as the number of people on the planet. Some people don't care much for work, and others are content in the moment and there are people with terminal illnesses who know more about happiness than most, I imagine. And I suppose there are people who don't think much about love, can take it or leave it like the cucumber water at the hair salon. Might be nice, but you won't die without it.

Not my friend Angela. She's not desperate by any means, but she's looking for love with gentle yet unwavering determination. She believes, in the marrow of her bones, that life — her life in particular — was not meant to be lived alone. So, after months of not really meeting anyone just doing the things she likes to do (my suggestion), she joined an online dating service. Thing is, Angela also believes her life was not meant to be spent with someone with whom she is the least bit uncomfortable, someone with whom she feels she must pretend to have qualities she doesn't have, or someone whose desire for her is disproportionate to her desire for that person. And vice versa.

Long story short, Angela has been on three dates in the last two weeks, and she has another planned for this coming Saturday. Her one observation I find it rather interesting: in the photos posted along with their profiles, the majority of men are posing and smiling and holding a fish. Whatever floats your boat, I say. Happiness is elusive. When you find it, grab on to it, and smile.


Hearty Beef Stew
It's cold out there, and time for something to keep you warm all day. Serve this up in a stew bowl with fresh dinner rolls or a good, dense bread. Because stew is an art form, no two batches should turn out exactly alike.

Ingredients:

• 1-1 1/2 lbs. lean beef (or venison) cut into 3/4-1" cubes
• 2 T flour
• Salt and pepper
• 2 T cooking oil
• 1 8 oz. can tomato sauce
• 2 beef bouillon cubes
• 1/4 tsp. garlic powder
• 2 T minced onion
• 1 bay leaf
• 1/2 tsp. dried basil
• 1/2 tsp. dried thyme leaves
• 1-2 small shots of Tabasco or 1/8 tsp. cayenne pepper (if desired)
• About 3 cups peeled potatoes, cut into cubes (If reds, you don't have to peel 'em)
• 3-4 med. carrots, peeled and chunked
• 3 large stalks of celery, chopped into small chunks

Shake meat in paper bag with flour and a little salt and pepper. Brown in oil over high heat, stirring frequently. Add onion near end of browning. Turn heat down to low, just barely cover meat with water, and add bouillon, garlic powder, thyme, basil, and bay leaf. Simmer in covered pot 1/2 hour or so (more if meat is tough). Add tomato sauce. Stir occasionally. When meat is just about tender enough, add carrots, celery, and potatoes, in that order, at about 1–2 minute intervals. Simmer further until vegetables are tender, adding more water, if needed, just to keep covered. Stir occasionally, checking for doneness of vegetables. Add Tabasco or cayenne, and more salt and pepper to taste, if needed.

Something you've always wondered, and now you know.

October 6, 2009

Listened to the show Saturday and it was not bad. I was a bit surprised I made it through the whole show, as I've been falling asleep halfway through everything lately. I watched that series on the national parks last week but saw only half of it because — yep, you guessed it — each night I fell asleep about an hour into it. I've fallen asleep folding clothes on the couch in the late morning, reading in the afternoon, and eating popcorn while snuggling with the kids after the dinner hour. I nearly dozed off while talking with my friend Angela late one night, though I did a decent job of pretending I was thinking about something deep and philosophical.

It's not that I'm not getting enough sleep, though I probably could stand a bit more. It's not my age or my diet or a head cold. It's simply that the year has turned a corner and the days are darker now. The sun sets earlier and rises a while later, and shadows fall long and slender on the walks and driveways about town. Leaves are falling, too, and things are turning brown and gray, and I'm craving foods like stew and dumplings and potpie and hash.

The fact that it's rained for six days in a row now hasn't helped much, either. Something about gray-shaded skies and a steady rain and the way the drops hit the puddles makes a person's eyelids heavy. It's cool outside, and damp, and the heat is on for a while in the evening, and I've been baking banana bread and cinnamon coffee cake and apple muffins and a pie here and there. You throw all of that together with an early sunset and a soft-lit lamp and you're bound to doze off on the couch well before bedtime, feet up on the ottoman, afghan draped over your legs, head tilted back and slightly to the side, mouth open a bit — enough that the kids notice and giggle and poke their fingers in it and wake you up and then do for you an imitation of you sleeping with your mouth open so you know what you look like when you're asleep. Something you've always wondered, and now you know. Another mystery of the universe solved on a rainy evening in October.

German Hotdish
When you come from one place and live in a town where everyone else comes from another place, you feel a bit compelled now and then to give a little shout for the homeland.

3 lb sauerkraut, drained
12 oz egg noodles, cooked and drained
1-2 lb pork sausage, cooked and drained

Mix above ingredients. Pour into a 9 x 13 cake pan or large casserole. You might want to throw some cheese on top if you have a hankering. Heat thoroughly and serve with rye bread and a mug of beer.

Enjoy!

It's like a built-in rinse cycle

September 28, 2009

Listened to the show Saturday and it was not bad. With the onset of autumn, and darkening skies and a bit of rain over the weekend, the ol' mood has been a bit low and all it took was "Blue Eyes Cryin' In the Rain" to get me going. Not an all-out cry, mind you. A few tears for a song that takes me to way back when, to when I was a girl and life was simple and things like first kisses and willow trees and big parts in musicals took up my time and attention, a time when I waited for the phone to ring and painted my nails pink and pretended to be asleep on the couch hoping my father still might have it in him to carry me on upstairs and tuck me into my bed.

No, the all-out cry came Friday afternoon. I suppose you could chalk it up to the weather, which was somewhere between drizzle and rain. No thunder and lightning, no drama — just a steady steamy stream of water pouring on down. The windows in my van kept fogging up in the midst of my errands, people were generally quiet and without a smile, and I felt somewhat lacking in something. Courage, maybe. Or strength. Or motivation. Or whatever it is that sustains those always-happy people. Not that I aspire to constant joy, but there are days when I feel its absence like we all do, and Friday was one of 'em. Of course, it could have been a hormonal thing, or the pizza with extra cheese I'd eaten the night before, or the fact that the kids have been a bit more needy than usual with the start of school and puberty and all. Or maybe I was just having a really crappy day. I'd lost my umbrella, and my hair was out of control, and I couldn't seem to catch up with myself.

I was fine as I visited the bank, the post office, the gas station, and the movie store. I even hummed a little bit as I wandered through Target picking up a few things we'd run out of. I suppose I didn't need the three large bags of M&Ms, nor did I have to buy a box of Little Debbie Nutty Bars or seven boxes of Kleenex. Nope. But I did. And I bought a notebook too, just to have. I took it all out to the car and loaded it up and that's when I came undone. The tears started, and they weren't stopping. I drove to the back of the lot by some trees near a pond and parked the car. I locked the doors, left the music on, took off my shoes, and climbed to the way back seat of the van where I wrapped myself tight in the plaid wool stadium blanket I keep just in case, and I cried. For a good hour, I lay there with the windows all steamed up and cried about nothing in particular and everything at once.

They say that crying releases protein-based hormones and painkillers and toxins that build up in your body. It cleans you out. It's like a built-in rinse cycle, and women cry 64 times a year and men, 17, for a reason. It's healthy. And it feels good. Felt good to me, anyway, all curled up in my van with the rain beating on the roof on a Friday afternoon somewhere between summer's end and the first leaves of autumn.

Sumac Tea
For company or comfort, hot or cold, this homebrewed tea will hit the spot.

The staghorn sumac is turning red, a darker red than the maple, and its red, fuzzy cluster of berries can be used to make tea once used for refreshment by Indians and pioneers. In a big pot, cover a quart of seed heads with a gallon of water and bring to a boil. Simmer for 15 minutes or so, then set aside for an hour. Drain off the tea using cheesecloth or a coffee filter. The tea will be pink and sour and tastes something like lemonade. You can sweeten it with honey or sugar and serve it hot or cold.

Enjoy!

Choosing whom you're taking with you, and going

September 21, 2009

Listened to the show Saturday and it was not bad. I was a bit drowsy much of the day as I'd been up late reading the night before, and I planned to do it again. A good book is a good book, and not much is going to get in the way, let me tell you. Though one must be considerate when one's reading gets in another's way. Which is why I, on occasion, read by candlelight. It feels adventurous and mysterious. Moreso this time around, as I'm reading a book that hasn't been released yet.

Now, don't get all bent out of shape. It's Mr. Keillor's book, Pilgrims: A Wobegon Romance, and it's going to be released on Tuesday. My dear friend Angela, the one who told me there's a word for reading by candlelight (lucubration) works part time in a bookstore and I just happened to drop in on Friday when she was putting up a poster advertising Mr. Keillor's book and she happened to let it slip that she had a copy at home. Well, you can bet I dropped by her house that evening with a fresh peach pie and what do you know, she let me borrow the book as long as I promised to keep quiet...

Anyway. It's a lovely book. A wonderful book. I can't give it away, of course, but I can tell you I have a hard time putting it down, and when I do, I have a lot to think about until I pick it up again. There's someone in that book very much like me, and I always enjoy that. What I like so much about this book is the whole notion of what it means to be a "pilgrim," but even more the idea that if you have a dream, it can be as simple as deciding where "there" is, choosing whom you're taking with you, and going.

For the record, I'm not finished with the book yet. Not quite. I'm a journey person, myself. Destinations can wait.


Barbecued Chicken Wraps
This recipe is one of the kids' favorites, especially on an evening when everyone has somewhere to go.

1 lb boneless chicken breasts
1 18 oz bottle barbecue sauce (Sweet Baby Ray's Hickory Brown Sugar)
6-8 flour tortillas or soft pitas
8 oz shredded cheddar cheese

Trim fat from chicken. Place in skillet with 1-2 T oil. Fry on both sides until there isn't much pink to be seen. While in skillet, cut breasts in half and shred with two forks. Continue to cook over medium heat until pink is gone. Season with salt and pepper. Pour one bottle of barbecue sauce over meat. Simmer 20 minutes. Scoop onto warm pita or tortilla. Sprinkle with desired amount of shredded cheese and roll up or fold. Serve with rice, salad or chips.

Mmm! Enjoy!

It will stop, I promise

September 14, 2009

Listened to the show Saturday and it was not bad. Now that the kids are in school I've been able to calm down a bit and take stock of things. It's not just school starting, though, that has me in that mode: my age went up a year this month and that tends to get one thinkin'. There's a quote I read recently, written by a man named Paul Zimmer. "Pay attention to what you take for granted," he wrote. It's common sense, really. But it must take a special kind of energy or awareness or something, because it seems we forget pretty regularly and end up taking things for granted. It's inevitable. I haven't got the energy to pay attention constantly. I mean, come on.

So then the other day Mr. Sundberg builds a campfire so the kids could burn their old homework from last year and one of the kids fuels it with an armful or two of sticks and leaves and what seem to be weeds but is actually poison ivy. And then stands there awhile as smoke billows up out of the fire, smoke laden with whatever bears the nasty poison of that particular ivy plant, and that poison makes its way across my child's skin, over her eyelids, down her cheeks and neck and arms and legs. The next day, she's red and swollen and itching and in pain. Oozing pain. As I dab on the calamine lotion, I think about her beautiful, soft skin, and her bright blue eyes. I remember her smile and the curve of her jaw as she throws her head back in laughter, and how her curly hair bounces on her shoulder. She is trying not to cry. "When will it stop?" Going to be a while, Honey, I tell her. You did a number on yourself. But it will stop, I promise.

Now, I didn't need that whole poison ivy encounter to take place in order for me to appreciate my daughter's smile. Surely not. Perhaps what I needed, though, was that short time with her and a bottle of lotion. Longer than a pause and shorter than a while. Enough time for attention to collect its due. Enough time to notice what was missing.

Scalloped Potatoes, the Good Ol' Way
Here's one from my childhood, a real comfort food. My mother sometimes threw a layer of leftover cooked ham in the middle, and often served ham on the side.

3 T butter
2 T flour
1 1/2 tsp salt
1/2 tsp pepper
3 cups milk
6 medium potatoes, pared and thinly sliced (about six cups)
2 T chopped onion

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Butter a 2 qt casserole. Make a basic white sauce using the butter, flour, salt, pepper & milk. Melt the butter and add the flour, salt and pepper. Add milk and stir over medium heat until thick. Set aside. Wash, peel, and thinly slice (width-wise) potatoes. Place half the potatoes in casserole. Cover with about half the onion and half the white sauce. Repeat layers. Cover and bake 60-70 minutes. Test with fork to make sure potatoes are almost tender. Uncover and bake another 30 minutes.

Feeds 4 hungry people, so you may want to double it.

Enjoy!

Come on in here and tell me

September 8, 2009

Listened to the show Saturday and it was not bad. I think I could listen to "Unchained Melody" all day and all night for a month of Saturdays. My gosh, what a lovely song. I feel like being quiet every time I hear it and I couldn't tell you why. Just do. Something about the whole notion of someone waiting for someone. They always do come back, but sometimes it takes a good long while and when they do they smell like a pool hall or they've dropped out of school and decided to grow apple trees instead or they have grass stains all the heck over their brand new jeans. There's always a story to hear.

The kids went off to school today, and I watched them go. I waved from the front porch like I always do, and they turned and waved back and blew a kiss or two. I watched them climb on up into the big yellow bus and watched the door close tight and then they were gone. I sat awhile on the porch and felt what it feels like to be alone. That took about fifteen minutes, and then I got going on all the things I pushed to the side over the summer. I wrote some thank you notes, cleaned under the stove and refrigerator, wiped down the pantry, sorted through the books in the library (which consists of a few shelves in the living room) and put about half of 'em in a bag for the community library. I swept the sidewalk, and hosed down the trampoline just for the heck of it.

When I thought to look at the clock a few hours later it was nearly noon, and the kids would return in only three hours. Imagine that. Not even half a day had passed and I'd found myself wondering when they'd be coming home. It's like that, you know, when you love someone. They go away and you busy yourself with dusting and such, and you might even get a notion to paint the hallway or start writing that book you've envisioned yourself publishing one day. But whatever you come up with, part of you is listening for footsteps, for the rush of the door opening, for a voice calling out your name. "You'll never guess what happened today," the voice calls out. No, I won't, my Dear One, you whisper, and then you call back, Why don't you come on in here and tell me.

Garlic Bubble Bread

This recipe is easy enough for the kids to throw together while you make the main dish. Serve it with pasta, chicken, or with a big ol' salad and some cherry pie for dessert. Be prepared to hand out copies of the recipe. It's a keeper.

1 loaf frozen bread dough
2 T melted butter
1 beaten egg
1/2 tsp garlic powder
1 T parsley flakes
1/4 tsp salt

Thaw and soften dough.

Blend together all other ingredients. Cut off pieces of dough the size of a walnut and dip into butter mixture. Place in a greased bread loaf pan until all dough is used. Cover and let rise until double in size.

Bake 30 minutes at 375. Brush with melted butter. Break off pieces when eating.

Enjoy!

A Postcard from Mrs. Sundberg

September 1, 2009

On a road trip a while back, I met a man from Seattle in a coffee shop in Wisconsin. He told me he's seen Spam, but he's never eaten it. Something so familiar, something I grew up smelling as my mother fried up thin slices with eggs on Saturday mornings before my father and brothers and I went out to chop and haul wood. Hard to believe there are people who could see Spam but not eat it. The same man told me about grilled asparagus, which I'd never made, much less eaten. So when I got home, I tried it. Can't hold the Spam thing against him if I'm unwilling to try asparagus. Life is like that. It's a big world, and if you stay where you are, you won't run into much that will challenge your routine. But get out there now and then, meet a few new people, visit a place you've never been, and you've got to re-think a thing or two. Maybe it's time you get yourself a pair of hiking boots. Maybe you ought to learn how to properly cook a sea bass. Perhaps, at long last, you ought to climb into a kayak and see what happens. There aren't many guarantees in life and winter is not long off. Have an adventure today, my friend. Even if it's a trip to the market to buy some asparagus. No one's going to make your life wonderful for you. Thank goodness you've got it in you to make it so yourself.

Grilled Asparagus

Take a bunch of fresh asparagus. Wash the stalks and trim the cut ends. Soak in olive oil for a few minutes. (Any olive oil will do - doesn't have to be from a specific region of Italy.)

Turn gas grill on to med/high or prep charcoal grill to where coals are red hot and ready to go. (Gas grill is preferable, I must say.)

Lay asparagus stalks down on grill and salt and pepper quite liberally. Cover. Let cook five minutes or so, then roll stalks and cook another five or so. It won't take long; you'll have to keep an eye on 'em, and you'll know when they're done. (Careful - don't wander off and forget. Asparagus don't take long to vaporize.)

Remove from grill. You may wish to squeeze a bit of fresh lemon over the stalks, especially if you're serving them with fish.

Or make a lot, and serve as its own meal with some homemade Hollandaise.

Enjoy!

Not Much of Summer Left to Go

August 25, 2009

Listened to the show Saturday and it was not bad. It's been a busy week after time away in the north woods. We managed to do just about everything on the list, and add a few things that weren't ON the list. That's the lovely thing about time away, what you don't plan out so thoroughly. It was the cooking that was the surprise this time around. Such fun in a cabin kitchen throwing together a salad worthy of a museum display, and chicken breasts marinaded in Italian dressing on the grill, and a surprise cake with peach-colored roses from a local bakery topped off an evening of culinary decadence.

Time away is often not what you hope it to be, and though it wasn't as relaxing as it could have been, a stay in the north woods is inevitably soothing to the soul and you come back refreshed and feeling somehow more than you were than when you left. Which is a good thing because you've got piles of laundry waiting, and an empty fridge, and a long list of school supplies to purchase before September 8, and the kids are a bit anxious and restless and there's not much of summer left to go.

So I've been doing laundry these past few days, something I'll confess I rather enjoy. It's good work, work I do because these are the shorts my daughter wore on a hike in the woods on Saturday, and this is the shirt my son wears every other day because it has a happy face on it and it's his favorite, and these are the new purple footie pajamas I bought my daughter which she wants to wear to school and I say I don't think so, Honey, and this is Mr. Sundberg's moss-colored sweater I bought when we drove down to Redwing to get away for a day and sit in the sun and eat strawberries and drink wine from those little bottles.

I love the smell of clean clothes and how they come back to me over the days, shrinking and fading and eventually they disappear, and new ones arrive — bigger and brighter with a new clothes smell, a reminder that time is passing faster that I care to admit. I think it was Einstein who said we have time so everything doesn't happen at once. And thank the good Lord for that.

Peanut Butter Brownies

A friend made these for me when I was feeling down and, let me tell you, it wasn't long before I was feeling good again. They're tasty anytime, and enough that you can keep half the pan and give half away. Which is how it should be with a pan of something this good.

Crust

1 box (1 lb 6.5 oz) Betty Crocker® Original Supreme brownie mix
Water, vegetable oil and eggs called for on brownie mix box

Filling

1/2 cup butter
1/2 cup creamy peanut butter
2 cups powdered sugar
2 teaspoons milk
Topping
1 cup semisweet chocolate chips
1/4 cup butter

1. Heat oven to 350 degrees. Grease bottom of 13x9 pan. (For easier cutting, line pan with foil, then grease foil on bottom only of pan.)

2. In medium bowl, stir brownie mix, pouch of chocolate syrup, water, oil and eggs until well blended. Spread in pan. Bake 28 minutes or until toothpick inserted 2 inches from side of pan comes out almost clean. Cool completely.

3. In medium bowl, beat filling ingredients with electric mixer on medium speed until smooth. Spread mixture evenly over base.

4. In small microwavable bowl, microwave topping ingredients uncovered on high 30 to 60 seconds; stir until smooth. Cool 10 minutes; spread over filling. Refrigerate about 30 minutes or until set. Cut into 36 squares. Store covered in refrigerator.

Enjoy!

Trust me on this one

August 17, 2009

Listened to the show Saturday and it was not bad. It's been hot and humid and rainy again, and anyone with air conditioning is feeling the strangeness of moving between wet heat and dry cool, or even cold. If you do it enough, you can make yourself ill, and then you have to pick one or the other and lay yourself down and sweat or shiver it out, and no one wants that, not in the middle of August.

Though some of us are looking forward to autumn, there are still a few summer things left undone — and this week, I plan to do them. While Mr. Sundberg's away at a convention and two of the kids are with their grandparents at their cabin, I'm heading out up to the north woods to another cabin with a friend of mine and the remaining kid and a good friend of hers. The plan is to relax a bit, and that we will do, but along with relaxing, I've got seven things in mind:

• A bottle of Gewurtztraminer on the dock, afternoon into sunset.


• A nap in the hammock, two hours minimum.


• A long walk along a wooded road, with whomever, for as long as it can be.


• A swim. Naked and at night, preferably. But a swim, nonetheless. In the deep, clear lake.


• One good evening movie, everyone invited, popcorn included, in the living room. Fire, optional.


• Barbecued chicken breasts on the grill, corn on the cob, salad, and cherry pie for dessert.


• An evening campfire with singing, marshmallows, stories, loons, and the "Pine Trees" song, which goes like this: "Pine trees, pine trees, pine trees. / Pine trees, pine trees, pine trees. / Pine trees, pine trees, pine trees, pine trees, / Pine trees, pine trees, pine trees." Well, guess the melody would help a bit. But once you hear it, it'll never leave your head. Kind of like the call of the loon. Or your mother's voice. Trust me on this one.

Strawberry Sensation

Whip this one together and call up all your sisters and have 'em over next Sunday after church. If you don't have any sisters, invite someone you run into at church. And if you don't make it to church, well, you've got neighbors, don't you? Give 'em a call. It won't be long before you'll have to climb over drifts to see each other and this dessert won't taste as good.

4 cups strawberries divided in half
1 can sweetened condensed milk
1/4 cup lemon juice (approx. 1 lemon)
12 oz Cool Whip
8 Oreo cookies
1 T butter

Mash 2 cups strawberries in a large bowl. Add sweetened condensed milk and lemon juice, and blend in 2 cups (8 oz) of Cool Whip. Line a bread loaf pan with aluminum foil and pour mixture into pan. Crush Oreo cookies into fine crumbs. Pour into bowl and mix with 1 T melted butter. Pat on top of mixture in pan. Cover and freeze for 6 hours. Uncover and invert loaf pan onto a plate. Peel off foil and frost with remaining Cool Whip. Slice remaining strawberries and cover top with slices. Serves 10-12.

Enjoy!

A face lit up by lightning

August 11, 2009

Listened to the show Saturday and it was not bad. It had been one of those crazy hot humid days when you can see the heat rise off the pavement, and things like the creak of the porch swing and the ring of the phone seem a bit louder than usual, and echo, even, and you can't see it but you feel the storm coming and you know it's going to be a humdinger, and part of you, secretly, hopes for that.

It's not that you want mass destruction or anything, or even downed trees and power lines. A power outage would be alright, and some leaves blown around the yard would be good. It's not so much what actually happens as it is the thought of it. You hear the wind pick up and you see those purple and black clouds all swirling and everything goes green for a while and the rain comes down in torrents. There's a kind of beauty in a face lit up by lightning, and a softness in skin wet by rain, and to be so bold as to go out on the porch to meet that storm in person is pretty much irresistible.

For me, anyway. The kids think I'm nuts, but I can't help it. When that storm rolled in Saturday night, there I was, out there in the driveway like the Welcome Wagon on moving day. "Get in here, Mom," the kids hollered from the doorway. Not just yet, I told them. I'm seeing what's going on. Didn't take long for them to join me, and there we stood, wide-eyed with wonder at the first real storm of summer. The thunder clapped loud and the kids oohed and aahhed, and when the lightning show began it was time to go in.

By morning the storm was gone, and the sun came out bright and the windows were all clean. There wasn't much to pick up, and everything smelled fresh and new. That's the thing about storms. They come through all dark and flashing, and when they're gone, you see the loveliness in what's left behind.

Mrs. Sundberg's Dad's Easy Beer Batter for Fish
We've been doing some fishing lately, and have plans to do some more. This recipe comes from my father, who has used it for years. It makes the best battered halibut I've ever had, and walleye, too. Give it a go, and see what you think.

1. Pour 1/3 - 1/2 can beer in mixing bowl (don't waste it, you can add more later). A dark beer is best - like a red or a dark ale. Stir beer with whisk, and let stand.

2. Stir in 1 egg - beat with whisk or fork.

3. Add 1/3 cup flour and 1/3 cup Bisquick, 1/2 tsp. salt, some pepper, and a few shakes of paprika. Mix well. Add more beer as necessary to make a thin batter. (Some also like to add a few shakes of garlic powder to batter.)

4. Add fish, and thoroughly coat with batter, shaking off the excess. Fry in oil at 375 degrees F. Cook 'til golden brown. Fish will float when done. Consume remainder of beer with the fish, which ought to be served with fried potatoes and green beans. Best when served to good friends or family whom you love.

Enjoy!

Hurtling Off Into the Clouds

August 4, 2009

Listened to the show Saturday and it was not bad. We were all packed in the car after a long day at my parents' cabin, a lovely day, one which included a ride in my father's pontoon boat — without which summer simply isn't summer — regardless of the weather.

There were seven grandchildren present, and at least five dogs, and Lord knows how many adults when someone hollered "Pontoon!" and we made the short pilgrimage to the boat clutching our drinks. Not everyone went of course. The thing only holds so many, and those who stayed behind sat around the table in the cabin playing cards and laughing loud enough that we could hear it out on the water. "Bring a jacket!" one of the mothers yelled from the cabin. "It's cold out there on the water!" So there was a rush back up the steps to get jackets and towels and someone grabbed a blanket.

Thank goodness for all that, because cold it was. We never did hit 90 degrees during the month of July, and, though we figured it was the 1st of August on Saturday and things were going to heat up, it didn't happen. The wind out on that lake was an icy wind, and the lips of the seven grandchildren were blue. To no avail. They all jumped in at the swimming hole anyway, along with the two crazy uncles, and we adults sat there wrapped in our jackets and towels and the one wool blanket and sipped our gin and tonics and beers and oohed and aahed at the insanity of the children.

And they, in their near-naked innocence, screamed and squealed and climbed the ladder again and again and leaped out into the air over the dark blue water as the clouds once again blotted out the sun. There were cannonballs and perfect dives and enough splashing to get us wet enough to spark a conversation on the purpose of the human nipple, and things kind of spiraled from there. The wind picked up and the waves grew choppy and the children were shivering from head to toe, yet they kept going, splashing and laughing and dashing into the waves.

Whatever it is we lose when we grow up, my brothers have managed to hold on to a thread. I imagine we each have that thread lying around somewhere, and it's up to us whether or not we choose to pick it up and give it a tug. Not to say I wish I would have taken that swim. Nah. But there are days when I find myself longing for the feeling you can get only on a swing set. You know the one, where you're as high as you can go and you pause for a moment on the edge of the earth, and your feet are nearly in the apple tree, and you think you might go hurtling off into the clouds. That one.

Sweet Vidalia Cheese Dip
Some recipes are so simple you think there's no way this is going to be anything, and then you pull it out of the oven, and it's gone in no time. My brother-in-law showed up with this lovely dip on Saturday, only three ingredients, and was it ever a hit.

2 cups mayonnaise
2 cups shredded parmesan cheese
2 cups shredded Sweet Vidalia onions

Mix. Pour into casserole. Bake at 350 for 45 min or until lightly browned along the edges. Serve with crackers, foccacia bread, anything that dips well.

Enjoy!

One Whole Day

July 28, 2009

Listened to the show Saturday and it was not bad. I'd finally had a day — what I'd wished for — just One Whole Day — and what a day it was. The kids were all off at various camps: Horse Camp, Fishing Camp, and Praise Camp, and Mr. Sundberg was on a marathon tour of speaking engagements on the topic of "The Value of Difficulty: Finding the Good In a Bad Time."

Whatever it is you long for, it sits there on the horizon, edged in silver, hovering, and as you near it you tremble, thinking, "At last, at long last," and it hardly seems real. So when I woke up Saturday with no one around, no alarm, no kids hollering for breakfast, no television blaring — only silence — I looked at the clock and saw it was 6:03 a.m. One Whole Day all my own, however I wanted to spend it. And oh, did I have plans.

Emphasis on the "did." I lay there awhile, all warm and cozy, and when I decided at last to get up, it was after 8. No big deal. I took a long, hot shower, dressed, made a few calls and mailed a few letters, and by then it was almost noon and I was hungry so I grilled a few chicken breasts and French bread and made some fancy sandwiches and ate them on the porch with a glass of wine. Good wine which I'd purchased a while back for a special day, which this was. So I had another glass, and a peanut butter truffle, which I'd bought at the fudge shop in a little town on the way back from dropping one of the kids off at camp. It was so delicious I had to have another, this one caramel, and half a glass more of wine to wash it all down. Which made me a bit drowsy, so I lay down on the couch with a magazine article about a couple who met at Woodstock and who have been together since and I somehow dozed off. I was awakened some time later by the phone ringing. It was Mr. Sundberg calling to see how things were going and I said, Fine, and he said he'd be home the next day in the late afternoon and hoped I was enjoying my day. Just after I hung up the doorbell rang. It was the UPS man with a package, and while I was talking with him, the phone rang again. It was a counselor from Horse Camp and would I give permission for ibuprofen to be administered as there was a minor incident, nothing to worry about, a bruised knee, of course they'll keep me updated.

It was mid-afternoon and there was really nothing for dinner except leftover chicken, so I shredded it and seasoned it and made a frittata with eggs and corn. I finished the laundry and watered the plants and took a walk in the woods while my dinner was baking. When I got back, it was almost time for the show, so I served up my frittata on a plate and poured another glass of wine and cranked the stereo's volume to "7" and sat myself down on the couch. I turned the phone's ringer to "Off" and let out one big long sigh as Mr. Keillor launched into song. After the show, I did up the dishes, took a long, hot bath, and watched the evening news, and an old movie on the only channel that comes in clearly. Even slept on the couch because it's so dang comfortable.

A few days have passed since my one whole day. I won't say I have regrets about how I spent it; I will say things aren't always what you expect. That silver edging sometime turns out to be aluminum foil. Thing is, I got to be alone with my thoughts awhile. And I took a nap. Both fine and rare occasions, and so I am grateful.

Homemade Macaroni and Cheese
The weather cooled off this past week and I found myself craving homemade macaroni and cheese. Here's a recipe that's fairly simple, and the result is a creamy, rich dish everyone will love.

3 T butter
1/4 cup flour
1 tsp. salt
1/2 tsp. dry mustard
1/4 tsp. pepper
2 ½ cups milk
2 c. Cheddar cheese, grated
1/2 lb. Velveeta cheese
1 cup Mozzarella cheese
1 (16 oz.) box elbow macaroni

In large saucepan, melt butter. Stir in flour, salt, mustard and pepper until smooth; remove from heat. Stir in milk until smooth and continue for 10 minutes until thick; remove from heat. Add 1 1/2 cups Cheddar cheese, Velveeta cheese and Mozzarella cheese until melted. Place cooked macaroni in a greased casserole dish, pour cheese mixture over and mix well. Sprinkle paprika and leftover Cheddar on top. Bake at 375 degrees for 20 minutes.

Recipe can be halved if you'd rather go that route.

Enjoy!

The Very People We Need Along the Way

July 21, 2009

Listened to the show Saturday and it was not bad. Mr. Sundberg was in Chicago doing a talk on Ways to Make Yourself Happy in Three Minutes or Less and the kids were busy sorting through their things deciding what they did/didn't want to take to camp. No stuffed animals, I'd told them, and you really ought to bring a book. You never know.

I was in the kitchen, sharing a bottle of wine and some beans and rice with my friends Mike and Jane who live over on Leland Avenue and have for some years now. Mike and Jane met at a square dance, at Ohio State University, in the late 1960s. He was wearing an FFA jacket, and she was dressed tastefully in a black A-line dress with belt detail across the front. They saw each other, and liked each other, and that was that. Now he's a coffee nerd who wears green socks with Velcro-strapped sandals and she's still tasteful and still wears black and smiles sweetly at him when he sings, or does his Tai Chi out in the back yard in the rain.

It's funny that we met because they prefer to relax on Saturdays after their stressful work week, where I like to get things done. But we did meet, at an afternoon birthday party for the son of a mutual friend. They were interesting and friendly like most good people are, but what made us friends was his flamboyance and her patience: if he were a bird, he'd be a peacock, and the "Happy Birthday Song" would be his feathered tail. When he sings it, he sings it with gusto, and holds on to the person's name for so long that everyone else stops singing. This particular party was for a young man named "Warren." Mike held on to the "-EN" for nearly two minutes in his booming baritone, his arms outstretched, fingers trembling. When he stopped, he gestured and everyone joined in, "Happy Birthday, to you!" We were all a bit bewildered, all but Jane, who smiled at Mike and took his arm in hers as if nothing even remotely unusual had taken place.

Strange how life brings us — out of the blue, at square dances and birthday parties — the very people we need along the way. Let us not question, but rather smile sweetly, take the blessed hand in ours and walk on toward the next thing. It's all far too fleeting. Remember this.

Tuna Layered Salad
I've never been a real fan of raw tomatoes ever since my mother ate them like apples out on the porch when I was a child, but I'm working on it. You can take 'em or leave 'em in this fine salad perfect for a birthday party or a light lunch on a summer afternoon.

4 cups shredded lettuce
1 1/2 cups (4 oz.) medium shell macaroni, cooked and drained
2 cups chopped cucumber
2 cups chopped tomatoes (optional if you're not a tomato person)
2 can (6 1/2 oz. each) tuna, drained and flaked
1 pkg. (10 oz.) Birds Eye green peas, thawed and drained
1 cup (4 oz.) Kraft natural shredded mild cheddar cheese
1 1/2 cup Miracle Whip salad dressing

Layer lettuce, shells, cucumber, tomatoes, tuna, peas and cheese in three-quart serving bowl. Spread Miracle Whip salad dressing over salad, sealing to edge of bowl. Cover and refrigerate a few hours or overnight. Toss to serve. Makes about 8 servings.

Enjoy!

Back on the earth again

July 14, 2009

Listened to the show Saturday and it was not bad. The kids were busy playing with friends and I was out driving around, enjoying the heat of midsummer with the windows down and the radio turned up. I'd spent a good part of the afternoon shopping for the kids' upcoming camp outings and it seems every mother and every other father in the county had the same idea and I needed to unwind a bit and what better way than a winding country road set to some good time music?

I have a theory I would apply to the events of that particular drive. I call it my "Skeet Shooting Theory." I must have talked about it at some point. It has to do with the whole feeling of freedom, of flying high, of at last rising up into the joy of where you want to be. You're unencumbered, you've nowhere in particular to be, you're light as air, and BOOM — out of nowhere something blasts you out of your blissful arc and you're back on the earth again, dirt on your parts, likely in pieces, unsure about whether or not you'll ever be airborne again.

For the skeet, it's a bullet. For me, it was a 230 lb. state trooper named Jerry. I happened to give him a smile as I waved and flew on by, realizing a bit too late I'd neglected to fasten my seat belt. Jerry noticed, too. Within minutes he'd pulled me over, and that was that. He asked where I was headed, and I showed him all the things I'd gotten the kids for camp, but he didn't seem all that impressed. I told him that since the seatbelt law is so new, I forget on occasion. He smiled and said, "Sure, Lady. Maybe this will help jog your memory next time you go for a drive." And he handed me a citation and told me to call the number in ten days and they would tell me what my fine is. "It'll be around a hundred bucks," he said. Thank you, Sir, I said, and fastened my seat belt, and drove off thinking of all the things a hundred dollars can buy.

The thing about falling from the sky is there's always the rising. Which I plan to do. I'll be belted in, of course, but I'll be flying again in no time. I might hit the dust now and then, but I don't stay there long. Never have, never will. You can tuck that in your belt and buckle it.

Hobo Dinners on the Grill
Here's a recipe for a gathering. Make sure each person makes his or her own hobo dinner, and have an array of vegetables and condiments available. I sometimes set out a bowl of pineapple for a touch of the tropics. Serve with salad and Jell-O and a pan of bars.

Ingredients:
Hamburger
Potatoes
Carrots
Onions
Mushrooms
Butter

Mold hamburger into patties, place each on a large square of heavy-duty aluminum foil. Place sliced potatoes, carrots, onions, mushrooms, and/or whatever vegetables you desire on top of each hamburger patty. Add 2-3 T butter, and salt and pepper. You might add a bit of barbecue sauce if that's your kind of thing. Seal foil well, and place each hobo dinner on the grill. Cover grill if possible.

Enjoy!

Just make up your own words and no one knows the difference

July 7, 2009

Listened to the show Saturday and it was not bad. Listen was about all I could do. I was resting on the couch, hoping for a second wind. It had been one of those amazing days where I got up and had no clue that before the day was over I'd not only witness a Fourth of July parade with 33,999 other people, but I'd end up marching in it because while I was following my son's marching band with my friend Angela from St. Paul, we found ourselves in the street with no way out because the crowd was so thick and I'd wanted to follow my son's band along the parade route. Our only real options were to climb over the people in their lawn chairs or join up with the next float which happened to be the Boy Scouts of America pulling wagons and throwing candy.

So we walked along for a few blocks, smiling and waving and I don't think anyone thought twice about it. I did look for something in my purse to throw, but there wasn't much there but pens and some gum and migraine pills, which, from the looks of it, a few mothers along the route might have appreciated. The waving seemed to do the trick, though, and by the time we found a hole in the crowd, the band was playing "Louie, Louie" for the fourth time and we were near the end of the parade.

After all of that excitement, I went to get the car which was four blocks away and had to literally talk my way through two police barricades in order to get to the band, and to my son, who was cordoned off behind a school building. I was allowed to park in a nearby lot, and Angela waited and took a mini-nap while I walked another two blocks, to where he was waiting patiently with shorts and a T-shirt on - his band uniform wadded up in his duffel bag. It was hot. Ice cream? I asked. He nodded.

I used to tell people I know the words to "Louie, Louie." I told enough people that I believed it myself. Truth is, I don't know the words, but marching along behind that band on Saturday, it came to me that "Louie, Louie" is the kind of song where you just make up your own words and no one knows the difference. You can even just do sounds. "Nah nah, nah nah, ooh la la la..." It works. I know. Because I tried it.

Meatless Meatballs
Now, I'm not one for vegetarian food every day of the year, but I have a few recipes that taste mighty fine. Try this one, and don't let 'em know these meatballs are meatless. My guess is no one will notice.

4 oz. lowfat cream cheese
5 eggs
1/2 cup chopped nuts
1 1/2 cups ground crackers
1/2 cup oatmeal
1/4 cup Italian seasoning
2 T soy sauce
Dashes of onion salt and garlic powder.
Mix well. Form into walnut-sized balls.
Brown in an oiled skillet.
Bake in a covered dish at 350 for 30 min, uncovered for 5. Serve with noodles or potatoes and whatever sauce you like, or in a sandwich with some pizza sauce and cheese.

Enjoy!

It Took a Moment

June 30, 2009

Listened to the show Saturday and it was not bad. It had been one of those hot windy days where you see little ripples of heat on the road and everything feels dry and crackly and the word "lemon" makes you salivate. The kids had ridden their bikes over to the church parking lot where a fire hydrant had burst and water was shooting everywhere. Apparently the fire department was taking its sweet time on purpose since nearly every kid in town had shown up and was playing in the water and the small pond that had been formed.

It wasn't unbearably hot, but by the time I'd finished washing all the windows, I was thinking a shower would feel nice. So I undressed in the mudroom, where I threw my clothes into the laundry basket, and was halfway up the stairs when I remembered the bottle of cucumber shower gel I'd picked up at the store on Friday. It was still in the car. I went back down the stairs, and instead of getting dressed, I just grabbed Mr. Sundberg's trench coat from the mudroom closet, put it on, and went out to the garage, shutting the door behind me.

The shower gel was in the car along with some Fourth of July cookie decors and a package of thank you cards and some Orange Crush and Tootsie Rolls. I'd forgotten I'd picked up these things, and it was a lovely surprise. The fact that I'd locked myself out of the house was not. Long story short, I spent most of the afternoon in the car, waiting for Mr. Sundberg to come home from his fishing outing, paging through the car manual trying to figure out how to turn off that dang little green light on the dash, eating two-thirds of the sack of Tootsie Rolls, drinking one can of Orange Crush and opening another, and writing five thank you cards to various neighbors for produce so generously shared this spring and summer.

I don't know how long I'd been there before I fell asleep, or how long I'd been asleep before I woke up, but when I did wake up, it took a moment. Mr. Sundberg's car wasn't in the garage next to mine, but the door had been opened and there was a Post-It note on the window next to me. It read, "Went to get some wine. Back in a few." And he was.

Teriyaki Shish Kabob
Both kids and adults will love these kabobs. They're light and tangy and lovely on a bed of rice. Serve with tropical drinks with those little umbrellas in them, and a slice of key lime or lemon pie on a hot, windy day.

1/2 cup dark corn syrup
1/3 cup soy sauce
1/4 cup dry sherry
1 tsp. fresh ginger, minced
2 cloves garlic, minced
1/4 tsp. pepper
1 1/2 to 2 lbs. boneless sirloin or chuck steak

Small mushrooms, zucchini wedges, water chestnuts, cherry tomatoes, pineapple chunks, onion chunks, carrots, or other vegetables of choice. Cut steak into 1 or 2 inch cubes or thin strips, as desired. In large bowl, combine corn syrup, soy, sherry, ginger, garlic and pepper. Mix thoroughly. Add steak strips and toss to coat well. Cover and refrigerate, stirring occasionally, several hours or overnight. Remove steak from marinade, reserving marinade. Thread steak onto shish kabob skewers alternating with vegetables. (You may parboil the mushrooms, onion and zucchini for 5 minutes before grilling, if desired.) Grill about six inches from hot coals, turning and basting with reserved marinade about seven minutes, or until done to your liking.
Enjoy!

A dark, cool corner somewhere

June 23, 2009

Listened to the show Saturday and it was not bad. It wasn't hot, either. Warm, maybe. Really warm. But nowhere near as hot as it has gotten since, Lord help us. I'll confess. For the first time in my life, I cranked the air conditioning to "High" sometime on Monday, and that still didn't do it. Heat everywhere, even behind the towels in the hall closet. Hot, wet heat that makes you want to fold up into a ball and fly off into orbit where there must be a lack of moisture and a dark, cool corner somewhere.

We tried just about everything. Went out and bought mini oscillating fans and plugged them in and lay on the living room floor, all four of us, with air blowing full blast up and down our faces and bodies. Mr. Sundberg walked in at lunchtime and there we were, all sprawled out and red-faced and damp. We must have looked liked victims of some kind of serial-fan-killer or something, because Mr. Sundberg let out a tiny little scream. "Aahh!" he squeaked. None of us moved at all except for our heads which we turned to look at him and say, "IT'S HOT." He shook his head at us and went into the kitchen where I'd made a three-layer turkey and Swiss sandwich on rye and wrapped it and put it in the fridge because we'd eaten our lunch early. Popsicles. Cherry.

Today is different. Today the heat index is way the heck up there beyond sanity, and fans seem a bit silly when your internal organs are at risk. Today we head to the beach where Nature Herself has provided relief in its most practical form: cool water. Today the kids and I will immerse ourselves in one of our state's bazillion lakes and stay there until our skin turns white and our internal organs are sufficiently cool, and while there we'll probably talk about what we'll do over the Fourth or maybe what we need to get for camp, or perhaps we'll just reminisce about how much fun it was to go sledding last winter and how much fun it will be this coming winter and how it's really not that far away, it being almost July and all, and September not long off, and once September is here, well, it's pretty much almost winter time, don'tcha think?

Pepperoni Pasta Salad

This recipe is light and tangy and just right for a hot summer evening on the deck when you don't feel like having dinner but you need a little something. Serve with bread and white wine and perhaps a sliver of cheesecake.

1 large package sea shells macaroni
1 can small black olives, drained
1 jar green olives, drained
1 package sliced pepperoni
1 small red onion, sliced and halved
8 ounces (or so to taste) cubed Mozzarella cheese
Fresh grated Parmesan Cheese
1/4 cup oil
1/2 cup red wine vinegar
Oregano, basil, garlic, parsley, rosemary, salt, and pepper to taste.

Cook pasta; drain and cool. Combine all ingredients except Parmesan cheese. Toss in oil and vinegar. Add herbs and salt and pepper to taste. Sprinkle Parmesan on top.

Enjoy!

Spa time, only cheaper

June 16, 2009

Listened to the show Saturday and it was not bad. Not bad at all. After a long and lovely spring day, it was good to sit back and listen awhile. The kids were gone for the weekend, visiting their grandparents, without whom I might simply curl up and blow away, and Mr. Sundberg was out of town on a speaking engagement, this time on the merits of Awareness, and Clarity, its cousin.

When the kids got home Sunday, it was a good several hours before they were settled in again. There's always laundry up the wazoo, and trinkets to put away, and the many stories to listen to and nod to and wonder about. This time around there were tales of an eighteen-inch walleye one of the kids caught, and how they cleaned it up and fried it and ate it Friday night. And there had been a trip on a pontoon boat and a lot of swimming and a meal of waffles and Grandpa's loudest belch ever. For real.

What just about undid the kids was when I informed them of our Monday morning road trip to the dental office. Departure time: 7:45 a.m. Be there. Of course a long silence ensued, followed by various degrees of whining, bargaining and vowing: "I, personally, will never make my kids go to the dentist because it is pure torture."

I, on the other hand, find dental visits not unlike visits to the local spa. (Where I have had the privilege to spend time only twice in my life, mind you.) You're greeted at the door by a happy person, you read magazines while you wait, and are ushered to a soft recliner under warm lights where you may very well doze off to the sound of music. You're offered water at some point, and a choice of flavors — grape or mint or berry — and you're asked how you're doing more than once.

When you leave, you feel a bit out of it, perhaps, but refreshed, and glad to be alive, and very often you're given a parting gift and an offer to schedule a future appointment.

Nothing like a dental visit on a Monday morning to make the second week of summer vacation come alive. Just ask the kids. They'll tell you. Spa time, only cheaper.

Chocolate Brownies
Some things are essential on a hot summer afternoon, and a good gooey brownie is right up there with root beer and a snorkel. Give this one a go, and see if it's not a keeper.

2 eggs
1 cup sugar
1/2 tsp vanilla
1/2 cup butter, melted
1/2 cup flour
1/3 cup cocoa powder
1/4 tsp baking powder
1/4 tsp salt

Preheat oven to 350 and grease an 8" square baking pan. Beat eggs in medium bowl. Gradually add sugar and vanilla. Beat well. Blend in melted butter. Gradually add flour, cocoa, baking powder, and salt, blending well. Pour into pan and bake for 30-35 minutes or so.

Enjoy!

Radiate and Flicker and Glow

June 9, 2009

Listened to the show Saturday and it was not bad. It had been cloudy and gray all day, and raining on and off, so instead of sun, I had a lot of lights on. I know it might seem wasteful, but I like a lot of light. I like to see what I'm doing, if nothing else, but if there's any warmth to be had, I like that, too. I like words like "glow" and "bask" and "illuminate" and if I can get a vitamin from being in the light, well, light up the ultraviolet bulb.

Don't get me wrong. A good candle or two certainly can do the trick, especially on a dreary day. And there are certain days which call for candlelight. I light one up on days when the house smells musty after a long winter. I light a candle on days when someone I love is far away or struggling or having surgery. I light a candle on days when I'm remembering something significant to me alone, and I might not even explain it to anyone. (I light a candle every year on the date of my conception, and that's all I'll say about that except that it's in December and I was born nine months to the day later.) Some days I light a candle simply because I'm feeling crappy and a flickering flame is enough to distract me into feeling better.

They say each of us has an aura about us, a kind of field of energy that reacts and expands in light and color. I don't know for sure about this, but I swear I've met people who are lit up and shine, who radiate and flicker and glow, and I also know people who are burnt out and dull and, well, kind of dead. You know? 'Minds me of a song I love. "This Little Light of Mine, / I'm Gonna Let It Shine..." Let it shine? Heck. Light up the whole prairie, Honey. For as long as ever you can.

German Potato Salad with Garlic
Twice a year I crave German food: October and June. Here's light and tangy potato salad for a picnic hike. Enjoy with a bottle of locally brewed beer and some
Kielbasa from the butcher shop.

10 boiled potatoes, sliced (Yukon Gold or Idaho Red)
5 T oil
5 T cider vinegar
5 T water
1 tsp. salt
1/4 tsp. pepper
1/2 c. chopped onions
5 cloves of garlic, smashed
1 tsp. sugar

Layer the potatoes and dressing in a bowl. Avoid stirring. This salad goes great with smoked sausage or Kielbasa.

Enjoy!

There isn't much that lasts forever

June 2, 2009

Listened to the show Saturday and it was not bad. I've been enjoying kitchen time with the windows open lately. Nothing like a gentle breeze, the scent of lilacs, and the glow of a citrus candle to set the scene for an evening of baking. Throw in the "Missouri Waltz" and the News from Lake Wobegon and what more could you ask for? A wooden spoon, maybe, and a few good flour sack towels fresh out of the dryer.

My best wooden spoon is lost to me now. I broke it in half while whipping up a batch of snickerdoodle dough last week, and I felt like crying for a good hour after. I know it sounds silly to cry over a wooden spoon, but you get attached to something and you lose it, you're bound to feel an ache. It was the same way with an old crockery bowl from my grandmother. It was medium-sized, just perfect for making pie crust and cookie bars, gray and cracked and lovely as can be. It just split in half one day out of the blue while I was mixing lemon curd, and I just stood there looking at it for a very long while before I set it gently in the garbage and went out to the porch swing where I sat for a while and watched a storm roll in and thought about my grandmother's forearms and hands and how stubborn she was and how she never gave up.

Of course you can't hold on to everything, and even if you could, why would you want to? I think the trick is to dwell not on what you lost but on what you gained by having had it. There isn't much that lasts forever. Not childhood, not wooden spoons, not lilacs. Not memory, even. Things and people come and go, and you hold on to what you can, and let go of what you must. As long as you manage to laugh once in a while, and take a road trip now and then, everything ought to turn out just fine. A bit of sauerkraut on occasion wouldn't hurt, either.

Pecan Bars
These bars are just right for picnics on windy days, or boat rides, or visits to the beach. Wrapped in individual squares, they're very much like pecan pie to go.

White or yellow cake mix (set aside 2/3 cup)
1 stick butter, melted
1 egg

Mix together above ingredients. Pat into a 9 x 13 greased pan and build up a bit on the sides.

Bake at 350 for 15 minutes or so.

Mix together the reserved 2/3 cup cake mix,
1 1/2 cup dark Karo syrup,
1/2 cup packed brown sugar
3 eggs
1 tsp vanilla

Pour over crust. Top with 1 cup chopped pecans. Bake at 350 for 35-40 minutes.

Let cool and cut.

Enjoy!

You never do know

May 27, 2009

Listened to the show Saturday and it was not bad. Mr. Keillor's words inspired me, as they often do — this time to take a walk. Mr. Sundberg was in Chicago until Monday, giving a motivational talk on authenticity, so I invited the kids to come along with me, and on Sunday afternoon we set out for a walk in the woods. "An adventure," they called it, and they brought water bottles and walking sticks and chocolate chip cookies and a compass. We're only going to be gone a while, I told them. "Well, you never know," they said.

As we walked, we talked about school and summer plans, and how they'd like to drive for a day and pitch a tent somewhere and eat beans out of a can. We talked about growing up and growing old and the worst day of our lives so far and what we're looking forward to, and how fun it was the time we went tubing down the river, and how good the wild honeysuckle smells. "Only nine days of school left, and look out, walleye, I'm comin' to getcha'," one of them said. "Then we get to be home every day," said another, "and we can help you bake and wash windows and stuff. We can plant a garden with just herbs and maybe even cook fish over the fire. Wouldn't that be cool?" "I don't want school to end," said the third, "I'll miss my friends and what's there to do at home? I can't wait to graduate and go to college. Then I'll have a part-time job and you can come visit me every weekend and bring me cookies and make curtains for me. I think I want green ones."

The tear in my eye wasn't about anxiety or sadness or poison ivy issues. While the kids were talking, I was appreciating the moment in the moment and I was moved by how wonderfully different we all are. Thing is, you aren't going to love everybody. Nope. And not everybody's gonna love you. That's what I tell the kids, anyway. The important thing is that you have a good heart, and things like bullying and gossip aren't going to get you anywhere. What will take you everywhere is hard work, truth, and a good compass. Chocolate chip cookies aren't a bad idea, either. The kids are right. You never do know.

Spinachy Bacon and Cheese Dip
This dip is great with chips or fresh vegetables. Set it out for the kids after school or as a meal in itself with bread and salad.

1 lb Velveeta cheese
1 10 oz package frozen chopped spinach, thawed and drained
4 oz cream cheese
1 can Rotel diced tomatoes and green chilies, undrained
8 slices cooked, crisped, crumbled bacon

Microwave in bowl on high 5 minutes or so, stirring every few minutes.
Or put all ingredients into a pan on the stove and simmer for a while until
bubbly. Makes about four cups. Serve hot.

Enjoy!

Float above it

May 18, 2009

Listened to the show Saturday and it was not bad. I was at a retreat for spiritual growth and rejuvenation at a place run by some lovely nuns and wouldn't you know there were no clocks anywhere and the rule was to stay with the group which made the show a bit of a challenge. When you live a life filled with cream soup, poison ivy and power outages, you learn to be resourceful and that I am. I figured no one would notice if I slipped out and hauled my dinner tray to my room where my radio was hooked up and ready to go. I reclined on the nest of blankets and pillows I'd made on my bed and fed myself grapes and brownies while listening to an old show from Hot Springs, Arkansas.

I have never experienced a genuine hot spring. Unless, of course, you count the time Mr. Sundberg sneezed and blew coffee all over me at the front and center window table over at the café. He couldn't help it, poor man, something just climbed right up in his nose while he was telling me about his latest motivational speaking idea (I could see his nose twitch a few times) and then he took a big swig of coffee and then AAAHHPPPLOOOOOIEE!! All over me. Everywhere. And you can't really get angry at something like that. You have to just float above it.

So, because I've never experienced a genuine hot spring, and because it's possible that I never will, I take a lot of hot baths and go to an occasional retreat. This past weekend was not about taking a hot bath, mind you. Depending on what you're looking for, a retreat can get you to where you need to be. The place I visited was without a hot spring, but it had a labyrinth, and it was quiet, and I spent most of my time with a lovely group of people talking about life - self-awareness and grief and forgiveness and hope. You name it, we hashed it over. The beautiful thing about talking with people is that they teach you things about yourself you didn't know you already knew. And you don't need a hot spring for that.

Seven Layer Salad
This salad is a perfect side dish for chicken or burgers, or a fine meal of its own. I like to throw in a few shredded carrots with the radishes because like them in my salad, but I don't change the name to "Eight Layer Salad." "Seven Layer Salad" sounds better, and if people have enough time on their hands to actually count the layers and have a problem with it, well, then, I guess it's time to seek out another hobby or two.

1 bag (10 ounces) ready-to-eat mixed salad greens
8 medium radishes, thinly sliced
5 medium green onions, thinly sliced
12 slices bacon, crisply cooked and crumbled
1 package (10 ounces) frozen green peas, thawed
1 1/2 cups mayonnaise or salad dressing
3/4 cup shredded Cheddar cheese or grated Parmesan cheese

Place salad greens in large salad bowl. Layer radishes, onions, bacon and peas on salad greens. Spread mayonnaise over peas, covering top completely and sealing to edge of bowl. Sprinkle with cheese. Cover and refrigerate 2 hours or so to blend flavors but no longer than 12 hours. Just before serving, toss if desired. Store covered in refrigerator.
Enjoy!

Go with What You Get

May 12, 2009

Listened to the show Saturday and it was not bad. There was a full moon that evening so everything was a bit off, if you know what I mean. The kids were a bit more rambunctious than usual at the dinner table, Mr. Sundberg — while out for an after-dinner walk — thought he heard a bird call his name, and I felt compelled to make French silk pie. Not just one, mind you, but enough pie to empty the flour bin, the egg box, and the sack of chocolate on the pantry shelf. Enough pie to visit, on Sunday morning, a few mothers I find rather special and wish them a Happy Mother's Day, and hand them a French Silk Pie, with whipped topping. And chocolate shavings.

"When's the next full moon?" Mr. Sundberg asked. The Full Strawberry Moon is coming up next, I told him, on June 7. "Oooh. Can I place an order for Strawberry Pie? With glaze and fresh whipped cream?" I can't make any promises, I told him. But I'll make a note of it.

That's the thing about what happens during a full moon. It's like a storm or a mood or the postal service or birthday or a test result from a doctor's visit. You know something's happening, but there's that element of surprise. A tornado might appear, or you may lose your temper. There may be a letter from a long-lost friend, your friends might throw a surprise party, the tests could very well come back positive for Lyme's disease. Or not. You just never know. You can't control things, so you go with what you get. One month you're making pies, the next you're thinkin' pickles. And who says it has to be about food? One full September moon I built a catapult right out the backyard, out of two-by-fours and nails I found in the garage. We spent that October catapulting pumpkins into the trees, and was that ever a humdinger of a time. And then there was the full February moon when I had a notion to stencil little chickens all along the top of the kitchen walls. That was way back in my chicken phase, of course. Thank the Lord that one passed quickly. Most things do. They come and they go, and each full moon is another month of life lived, and lived well, if you're blessed and tend to see the bright side of things.

Cashew Chicken Casserole
Here's a recipe you can make ahead of time, something warm for a stormy spring evening. Serve it with biscuits, and strawberry pie for dessert.

2 cups uncooked elbow macaroni
3 cups cubed cooked chicken
1/2 cup cubed American cheese
1 small onion, chopped
1/2 cup chopped celery
1/2 cup chopped green bell pepper
1 (8 ounce) can sliced water chestnuts, drained
1 can condensed cream of mushroom soup
1 can condensed cream of chicken soup
1 1/3 cup milk
1 (14 1/2 ounce) can chicken broth
1/4 cup butter or margarine, melted
2/3 cup crushed saltines (about 20 crackers)
3/4 cup cashew halves

In a greased 13 x 9-inch baking pan, layer the first seven ingredients in the order listed.

In a bowl, combine the soups, milk and broth. Pour over water chestnuts. Cover and refrigerate overnight.

Toss butter and cracker crumbs; sprinkle over casserole. Top with cashews. Bake, uncovered, at 350 for 35 to 40 minutes or until macaroni is tender. Serves about 6.

Enjoy!

Kind of like falling in love

May 5, 2009

Listened to the show Saturday and it was not bad. I get to laughing like that and I forget where I start and everything else begins. I like that feeling. Kind of like falling in love, where you lose yourself in the other and it's a while before you regain composure and find yourself again. I suppose you could compare it to being a parent, too. It's all this powdery goo goo glory and "How cute is that?" and "My, he's got your eyes" and you're all proud of them and they do what you say for the most part and you've got this parent/child rapport going and...wait. No. I take it back. Being a parent and a good belly laugh don't have much in common. Love and laughter, maybe. But those sweet babies grow up and turn to you one day and say something like, "I'm going to ignore you until you start making sense" or "I'll do it when I feel like doing it" or "I can't wait until I graduate so I don't have to live here anymore." Which is why, each year, as Mother's Day rolls around, one might feel less and less guilty about that ever-growing sense of "It's Payback Time."

Well, it's a nice thought, anyway. To really sock it to 'em and present them with The List: Mow the lawn, do all the laundry, Murphy's Oil Soap all the floors, wash every window inside and out, scrub the showers and tub, and vacuum under the bed. Clean out all the dead Asian lady beetles from inside the ceiling lights and clear the random cobwebs drifting here and there throughout the house. Pick all the dead leaves out of the landscaping rock, scrape the earthworm carcasses from the driveway and dispose of them properly. Wash my car, vacuum my car, give me a foot massage, bake me a seven-layer cream cheese fudge truffle something-or-other nasty dessert, and let me watch Sixty Minutes for sixty solid silent minutes, and let the bath shortly after be in peace. And leave on the counter, before you go to bed, a short essay on why your life is beautiful.

Tempting.

I have this "A Frog-a-Day" calendar, and I like it. But sometimes the Frog of the Day looks at me in a way I don't like. This is good because it reminds me I am not Manager of the Universe. A good reminder when you're a mother. Because there's just not all that much you can control, and what you can control sometimes does the old shifterooni on you and you lose control of that, too. So what you do is figure out what you can count on and what you know for sure, and the rest of it's a crapshoot.

As for Mother's Day, what I want is for my children to be happy (or at least civil to one another) while I spend some time at a bookstore or taking a walk by a lake or just sitting on a bench watching other mothers and people who aren't mothers enjoy the day. By the time I get home Mr. Sundberg will have finished the paper and the kids will be hungry, and perhaps we'll go out to a place we've never been, a Mongolian barbecue buffet, and eat until we're a bit too full, and drive home as the sun sets, where there will be cards and some chocolate and a new spatula or two, and few dandelions in a juice glass. The kids won't have written essays on why their lives are beautiful, but that's fine. Some things don't need words, now, do they.

Cinnamon Peach Cobbler
I've been craving peach cobbler since the snow turned to rain. Here's a recipe that's been in the family awhile, and is best right out of the oven. I prefer the fresh peaches. This one's good for a Mother's Day visit. Bake it up in a lovely dish to leave with your mom.

5 cups sliced peaches, canned or fresh
1 1/2 T lemon juice
1 cup flour
1 cup sugar
1/2 tsp. salt
1 egg, beaten
6 T butter, melted
1 1/2 cups heavy cream, whipped with 2 ½ T sugar
Ground cinnamon

Sprinkle peaches with lemon juice, stir to coat and spread in 8x8, lightly-buttered baking pan. Mix flour, sugar, and salt. Add egg and toss with fork until crumbly. Sprinkle evenly over peaches. Drizzle with butter. Bake at 375 for 45 minutes. Serve warm with cream. Sprinkle lots of cinnamon evenly over cobbler.

Enjoy!

Springtime will do that to a person

April 27, 2009

Listened to the show Saturday and it was not bad. It's been a rainy stretch of days, and I don't know about you, but I'm loving the tiny bits of green shooting up here and there, and the longer days, and the smell of earthworms. I'm loving the white flowers whose name I don't know, and the thunderstorms rumbling over throughout the day. Bring on the mayflies. Bring on the rain. It all makes me want to bare my legs and wander through a meadow gathering hazelnuts in my skirt and sunlight on my skin.

Springtime will do that to a person. It'll take you back to the time when you were most innocent and free. You close your eyes and breathe in, and you remember playing among sheets billowing on the clothes line and your father rubbing your mother's legs on the couch while watching the evening news, and homemade Jell-O popsicles and grass-stains on your jeans, the knees of which your mother patched with iron-on denim patches. You wore T-shirts with rainbows on them and rode your banana seat bike along the railroad tracks and gathered taconite pebbles in Mason jars and stored them on your bookcase next to E. B. White and Laura Ingalls Wilder and Judy Blume. You fished from the dam and wrote elegies for dead pets and promised your friends you'd always be friends no matter what. And every night, as you stood at the kitchen sink washing dishes, you watched the sun set on the horizon, just past the Knudtson's farm.

It was the time before taxes and tornadoes and therapy and breast lumps. The time before standardized test score results mattered all that much, before foreclosures and septic issues and friends with terminal cancer or HIV or an attraction to your spouse. Before keeping track of what you eat, and how much, or why. Before worrying about how you smell, before the word "sag" had any meaning, before "wild" meant natural, not promiscuous or crazy.

It's not that I want to be young again. Nah. Innocence is bound to go. Wouldn't give up my lines and lessons for anything. Lovely, though, that springtime brings it all 'round again. One daughter has been making mud pies with leaves and rocks and moss. She calls them "poultices" and has a station all set up for that very purpose. My son takes long walks with a big stick in his hand. He is gone for a long while and is full of stories about wild turkeys and something crashing through the woods and something dead by the road. They all love fishing; they want a tire swing, and a tree house, and a dog.

"I don't ever want to grow up," one of them says. Neither do I, I reply.

Rhubarb Pudding

Here's another one for spring. You can serve this sweet pudding up with a dollop of Cool Whip or a scoop of ice cream. It's just right for an evening barbecue or coffee with friends.

1 cup all-purpose flour

1/2 cup white sugar

1 teaspoon baking powder

1 pinch salt

1 egg

1 tablespoon melted butter

1/2 cup milk

4 cups sliced rhubarb

2 cups white sugar

1 1/2 cups boiling water

Preheat oven to 375. Mix flour, 1/2 cup of sugar, baking powder, and salt in a mixing bowl; set aside. Grease a 9x13 inch baking dish. Beat the egg, butter, and milk in a bowl until smooth. Stir in the flour mixture until moistened, then spread into the prepared baking dish. Stir together the rhubarb, 2 cups of sugar, and the water; pour into the baking dish. Cover a baking sheet with aluminum foil, and place the pudding dish on top. Bake until the dough has set and the rhubarb is bubbly, about 40 minutes.

Enjoy!

It all evens out

April 21, 2009

Listened to the show Saturday and it was not bad. I was sitting at the kitchen counter paying bills and just about fell off the stool when Heather Masse, Mr. Keillor and the Shoe Band started up with one of my very favorite songs ever: "Sweet is the Melody." It's a waltz, and the words are Iris Dement's, and they're about as poignant as you can get:

Oh, sweet is the melody, so hard to come by.
It's so hard to make every note bend just right.
You lay down the hours and leave not one trace,
But a tune for the dancing is there in its place.

Now, if you asked someone about the kind of person I am, they'd probably mention cooking and baking and the fact that I'm a mother. They'd say I've been a decent wife and that I have a rather quirky sense of humor, and I stand by my claim that no two words mean the same thing ("nude is not the same as "naked"). However, you would most likely not hear mention of billiards and hats and lutefisk. Never played pool, don't own a hat, and I've managed to get by without actually eating Mr. Sundberg's favorite meal. Oh, and singing would not be on the list, either. Can't do it. Not the way I wish I could, anyway.

Oh, I was in church choir most of my life, right on up through high school and after, until I got married. I sang in choir in school, and was in show choir, too, where we sang and danced on stage and had about as much fun as a person can have. Mine an alto voice, low alto, which pretty much tips over when I shoot for the high notes. The low notes I can sing, right along with the tenors, and I do, and I feel solid and reliable like an oak stump. Every voice is important, I know, and it is.

Just once, though I wish I could sing with the kind of voice that would get the wind swirling and the surf crashing, and there'd be wild horses and rose petals falling all 'round and everyone in the room would gasp and then cheer. The kind of voice that sounds like the sun breaking through clouds, and feels like a thousand white birds... Oh, for God's sake. Here I go again. Thing is, I believe in balance. If you lack something here, just look over there. If you're weak on looks, I'll bet you've got a fine brain. And if you aren't much at gardening, I'll bet you can cook up a storm. It's like that. It all evens out. Polka, anyone?


Rhubarb Hotdish
It's about that time of year again. Those of us who enjoy rhubarb have had a hankering for awhile now, and it shouldn't be long. Here's a different kind of recipe, a comfort food for spring.

3 eggs
1 1/2 cups milk
1 cup heavy cream
1 cup white sugar
1/4 cup all-purpose flour
3 cups chopped rhubarb
ground cinnamon
sugar

Preheat oven to 375. Beat the eggs in a large bowl. Stir in the milk and cream; set aside. Combine the sugar and flour in a separate bowl. Pour the sugar mixture into the egg mixture, then stir until well combined. Fold in the rhubarb. Pour into a buttered casserole dish, and sprinkle with cinnamon and sugar as desired. Bake until a knife inserted into the center comes out clean, about 40-45 minutes.
Enjoy!

A lovely break as always

April 14, 2009

Listened to the show Saturday and it was not bad. It's been one of those crazy weeks and listening to the show was a lovely break as always. As was the "Lamentation of the Peeps" dream I had Saturday night, where, all the Peeps on the shelves at my grocery store came to life after the store closed. They all put on these little monk-like shroud robes and paraded through the store humming in the near-dark until the sun rose Easter morning. Then they all threw off their shrouds and began dancing in the aisles — partly out of Easter joy and partly because my grocery store only closes twice a year and that's a long time to go without dancing. And then I woke up.

I know what you're thinking. That I had a glass of wine too many while I stayed up late Saturday night making coffeecake for Sunday's breakfast. Or that I accidentally mixed my allergy medicine with my headache pills. Or that Mr. Sundberg didn't cook the salmon steaks long enough. Perhaps you're unfazed by it all and not even thinking a dream about Peeps dancing at midnight in a grocery store is all that unusual.

Well, it is. Because just about every night of my born and blessed life, I have dreamt about flying. Still do. Not flying in a plane or a spaceship or anything mechanical or fumey like that. A hot air balloon on occasion, but mostly it's just me up there in the sky, soaring over fields and cities and forests and lakes. It's not so much what I see while I fly (though I have flown over Tibetan villages and volcanoes and nude beaches); it's more how I feel. Trying to describe the feeling is just plain silly. Let's say it's right up there in the top five, closer to one than five. Then again, so is dancing. Ask any Peep.


Pepperoni Pizza Hotdish

5 cups cooked penne rigate pasta (1 box)
1 26 oz jar of your favorite spaghetti sauce (I use Prego ricotta parmesan)
1 14 oz jar of your favorite pizza sauce
1/2 cup parmesan cheese
12-16 oz shredded mozzarella cheese
Sliced pepperoni


Mix first four items in lightly olive-oiled 9x13 pan.
Sprinkle with about a cup of mozzarella and about a dozen pepperoni slices cut in half.
Mix again. Pat down evenly. Cover with remaining mozzarella, 8-12 pepperoni, and sprinkle with garlic salt,
oregano, and basil as you wish.

Bake at 375 uncovered for about 20 minutes.

Firm enough that they could count on her

April 6, 2009

Listened to the show Saturday and it was not bad. I must say I was charmed by Mr. Keillor's singing, right off the bat, the little song with Heather Masse, "April Comes She Will." I can still hear it in my head. And I was taken away, too, by the spicy jazz of Wynton Marsalis and his Quintet playing "Free to Be." Nothing like music to make a person come alive. Finds its way into you and moves you around and you have no say in the matter.

It was that way at Great Grandma Delphinia's funeral. Most somber occasion in our little church in years. An only child of a well-to-do local family, she'd been first a missionary, then a schoolteacher, and finally a pie-maker at the first and best bakery in town right on up until she died nearly thirty years ago. After she'd finished with mission work and while she was teaching, she had it in her to marry a widow, my great grandfather Lawrence, whose wife had passed on after a long illness and left him with two young children. The deal was that Delphinia would leave her work to help him raise his children and run his bakery, and he would provide for her a home and companionship and teach her how to bake pies. The best pies.

What wasn't a part of the deal was their mutual love of music and dancing, and their deep love for each other. You never saw two people cherish each other the way Lawrence and Delphinia did. Nights she was up late baking pies, there was Lawrence across from her, sleeves rolled up, flour on their faces, laughter and lamplight spilling from the window onto the paved walk. She always wore her hair up, the way he liked it, and he never missed an opportunity to call her name from wherever he was.

It's all true. The children loved her too, because she made their father laugh and because she was firm enough that they could count on her. And at her funeral, after the organist played "Just a Closer Walk With Thee," it was the children, now grown, who asked the organist to play it one more time, a little bit louder this time because the people in the back couldn't hear it. And, lo and behold, the organist did. And you've never before or since heard a church full of people sing "Just a Closer Walk With Thee" the way they sang it the second time that day, Lawrence and his son and his daughter leading the way, eyes toward heaven, bodies moving to the music, all for Delphinia - baker of the best cherry pies this side of the Mississippi and the one true, unexpected love of one man's life.


Carmelized Carrots

If you haven't finished your Easter Sunday menu planning, throw this one on the list. It's easy and colorful and light, and the flavor will knock your socks off. Or put a run in your panty hose.

1 small sack of carrots - regular size, not mini
2-3 T butter
Salt
Pepper

Wash carrots well. Trim ends. Slice carrots into coins as thin as two nickels.

Melt butter in a skillet, heat to very hot.

Add carrots.

Cook on high, covered, stirring frequently, about ten minutes until carrots begin to blacken along edges.

Remove from heat.

Add salt and pepper to taste.

Serve immediately.

Enjoy!

Where there's a give, there's a take

March 30, 2009

Listened to the show Saturday and it was not bad. Spent much of the day talking on the phone so I was happy to sit and listen awhile. Not that I didn't do my share of listenin' on the phone, mind you. There were a few stretches there where it was at least five minutes before I got a word in. Amazing what people can come up with to keep you on the phone. I called seven people in my search for volunteers for the Easter breakfast at church, and what do you know? All seven of them had both some news to share and a question or two about some news that had been shared with them.

Now, I'm not a secretive person, but I like to employ a bit of discretion now and then. I don't just go and holler out my personal issues into the phone, especially those creating discomfort or urgency in matters of infections. While on the phone Saturday? I heard about a strange foot fungus, back pain, underwear that is suddenly much too snug, someone's cousin in Sarasota who is having second thoughts during Phase Two of a sex change operation, unwanted body hair, and the adverse effects of burritos on someone's gastric system.

Egg bake, people. Please. I'm calling about egg bake. I need thirty of them on Sunday the 12th, hot and ready to go by 6 a.m., and thirty coffee cakes, and ten gallons of milk, and ten of orange juice, and a load of jelly beans. This is not the time for hygienic wisdom to come rolling down the chute. Not the time, people. I have calls to make, and I'm only half way there.

Oh, my. It is what it is, I guess. The phone rings and here's someone to talk with. Tough to say no to a friend or even an acquaintance, especially when you're calling to ask for something. That's the blessed thing about being human. Where there's a give, there's a take, and, frankly, I have these headaches now and then...

Perfect Bread Pudding
This recipe just may get you through the next week. It takes five minutes to put together, and the brandy adds a little special something. Take my word for it. Serve it up when a friend comes over for a good long talk. (You may wish to leave the brandy out. Just in case.)

1 loaf cinnamon raisin bread (doesn't have to be all that fresh)

4 T butter, softened

1 can sweetened condensed milk

2 shots brandy

Cut up 1/2 of the loaf into chunks and grill with butter in a skillet until brown and crispy.

In small saucepan, heat sweetened condensed milk over low heat for 4 minutes.

Remove from heat and stir in brandy. Put bread into bowls and top with sauce and whipped cream. The real stuff. Mmm. Enjoy!

And then the phone rang once more

March 24, 2009

Listened to the show Saturday and it was not bad. Now that spring is here and we've already done the Daylight Saving Time switcheroo and there's no more leftover corned beef, it's time to get down to business. Taxes are next on the docket, and that was my plan for Saturday. Emphasis on the "was."

The kids thought it would be funny to plant a walkie talkie in the kitchen drawer next to where I was working. After a good half hour of quiet and focus, I heard a rustling from within the drawer. I opened it. Empty. Closed it. Rustling louder this time, almost like static. I opened it again. "WILD CHERRY SODA IS THE ULTIMATE BELCH POP." The words blared out from the drawer. Then giggles. Lots of giggles. I lifted up the silverware tray and there it was, way in the back. The walkie talkie. I picked it up and pressed the "Talk" button and worked up my best Satan voice. DO YOUR HOMEWORK, I said into the mouthpiece. AND DON'T SHOW YOUR FACE UNTIL IT'S DONE.

Well, once the kids were out of my way, it was Regina down the road, who is one of the last great cup-of-sugar-borrowers. Sure. She's borrowed over ten pounds of sugar since she moved to town a few years back, and I haven't seen a baked good to save my life. She's lonely, I think. Loneliness will take you as far as you need to go to find a loving ear. Then there was my mother, who called with news of cousin Lurv and his winning lottery ticket. Ten thousand dollars is not the biggest whoop, I told her. Sure, it's something. It would be a nice down payment on a car. A trip out west. It would pay someone to do my taxes for the next twenty years. Or so. Depending.

And then the phone rang once more. "Do you speak Chinese?" the voice hollered in a Southern accent. It was my friend Louis from New York. He's going to some remote part of China to teach English for a year. "I need a change in my life. Something bold, something grand," he explained, and went on explaining. For an hour. So much for my taxes. Good for you, I told him. And good for me. Maybe there are no phones where he's going. And if there are, it'll be pricey. So when he calls next year to say he's coming home, he'll have only five minutes. Then maybe I'll get my taxes done. Or at least get 'em started.

Fresh Spinach Salad with Bacon Dressing

That time of year again. Let's lighten up. Away with the bubbling, greasy, cheesy bakes! Bring on the greens and the citrus and the fruit. (But keep the bacon fat in this one. I'm serious.)

7 slices bacon, fried and crumbled

3 T bacon fat

3 T sugar

3 T vinegar

Fry bacon until crispy-crunchy. Remove from pan.

Pour grease into a small bowl. Wipe out pan with paper towel.

Measure 3 T bacon grease back into pan. Add sugar and vinegar.

Bring to a boil. Pour over spinach leaves and toss with dried

cranberries, candied walnuts, and a bit of feta cheese. Top with

crumbled bacon.

Enjoy!

Extraordinary in itself

March 16, 2009

Listened to the show Saturday and it was not bad. Spent much of the morning outside playing in what's left of the snow with the kids and managed to take a walk in the afternoon with a friend I haven't seen in a while. There was something of a storm early last week and it left a beautiful blanket of white over everything and brought the temperature down to the single digits for a few days. But I'm afraid it may have been the last snow storm of the season.

I'll confess I'm one of those few people who have a bit of a rough time letting go of winter. It's not that I have issues letting go in general. Quite the contrary. I let go of those lovely lawn chairs Mr. Sundberg ordered for me from Seat Yourself. I can let go of my childhood and my frustration with the neighbor boys for throwing our mailbox into the pond. I'm not a grudge-holder and I've pretty much let go of any deluded thinking I might have had that my life is going to be anything but ordinary, which is fine with me because I like ordinary. Ordinary is reliable and real and allows one to use paper napkins with little vines printed on them. Silk stockings and motorcycle licenses are optional. And an ordinary life, if you play your cards right, is extraordinary in itself.

Anyway, I have a bit of trouble about this time each year. I struggle. I want to hold on to winter. I'm simply not a spring person; I'd rather skip it and go straight to summer. I find myself secretly hoping for one more snowstorm, just one, long after warm weather has set in. Perhaps I like the dark of winter. Perhaps I like cozy and where else can you get cozy but winter? Perhaps I like to be reminded of my mortality, I like to know where my edges are, sense where I end and the air begins, feel a fine layer of frost coat my throat and lungs. Perhaps I am a bit crazy. But I was born here, and I will die here, and where ever I go in the mean time, about this time of year I will long for snow, a storm of snow, and the thunder that comes with it. I'll hope for it even as the ice breaks up on the river and the grass grows green and the rabbits come 'round.

So bring on the sunshine, and the rainstorms and the leaves. Send in the tulips, and the jellybeans. Rev up the rototiller. You'll find me repairing the hammock, where, on a windy afternoon later in March, you'll find me dozing away, dreaming of winter, which, when you think about it, is not long off.

Creamy Lime Pie
If you're looking for something light and sweet for St. Patrick's Day, this pie will do the trick. It's also green, and takes only ten minutes or so to make.

1 graham cracker crust

Mix 1 envelope (.13 oz) unsweetened lime drink

1 can (14 oz) sweetened condensed milk

Fold in 8 oz Cool whip, thawed

Pour into crust. Refrigerate. Enjoy!

They Were Only Having Fun

March 10, 2009

Listened to the show Saturday and it was not bad. The kids have the week off for Spring Break so to say they were wired Saturday night is an understatement. They went from the phone to the mini-trampoline to email to making popcorn to a documentary about ghosts and when they got bored they turned to each other and to Mr. Sundberg for a game of pile-on which ended in a mild back injury for Mr. Sundberg and a less-than-mild chewing out for the three kids. I informed them that if they aren't able to find constructive ways to occupy themselves over the next week, I would do so myself, and mentioned that the basement is in need of a good cleaning and that there's a fair amount of forest that could be cleared of brush if one only had a solid stretch of hours and a good pair of gloves.

Not that they were being naughty. No, they were only having fun and I imagine the mile high lemon meringue pie I fed them didn't help much in the restraint department. But it's always good at the beginning of a long week to lay down a few words as a reference point. That way, if things get out of hand, I can always say, Now, where did I put that crate of work gloves?

They say Big Snow is on its way around Tuesday so I picked up a new board game and some vanilla ice cream and root beer for floats. I plan to work on my taxes and imagine the day will start out that way, with noble intentions, and some kind of fibrous cereal and coffee, and laundry done early, but who knows? Mr. Sundberg has to head out before nine, and I'm thinking the kids will be wanting pie for breakfast. At some point, I'll holler, PIE! and break the silence, and then what will sound like a small herd will come thundering down the stairs. For homemade pie. And there are exactly four pieces left, and spring is on its way.

Cheesy Garlic Biscuits
You can whip up these biscuits in no time at all. They're best with chicken, salad, or pasta, and taste best when still warm. A good friend calls them "Tape-'em-to-your-buttscuits" but we won't go there.

2 c. Bisquick or similar baking mix

2/3 c. milk

1/2 c. grated sharp cheddar cheese

1/2 c. melted butter

1/4 tsp. garlic salt

Mix Bisquick, milk and cheddar until a soft ball forms. Beat vigorously for 30 seconds. Drop by balls onto an ungreased baking sheet. Bake at 450 for 8-10 minutes or so. Mix butter and garlic and brush on rolls while still hot on the pan.

Enjoy!

It's all about perspective

March 4, 2009

Listened to the show Saturday and it was not bad. It's been a bit of a rough time lately with the economy and all. Oh, they're still making pies over at the café, but no one has bought a whole pie lately, and they've stopped putting fresh parsley on the dinner plates. The manager over at the grocery store isn't as quick to smile. Business hasn't been so good and he's had to cut employee hours. At parent-teacher conferences Monday night, they were talking about a four-day school week next year. And I noticed, late last night, Girl Scout cookie boxes are smaller than ever. No parsley? Fewer days of school? Enough to get a person down, sure enough.

I've told my kids, time and again, it's not the weight of the load, but how you carry it. It's all about perspective. You can get all hot and bothered, or you can adjust. Thing is, life always has been, always will be about ups and downs, and I've never encountered much of anything that doesn't have some good in it.

I remember the big July 15 storm when I was a child. Came through like nothing I'd ever seen before. We were in the basement for hours, huddled around a flashlight listening to the radio, while high winds and driving rain took down trees and power lines for miles around. For days after, the townspeople worked together gathering debris from each other's yards, cutting up trees that had fallen over lot lines, helping rebuild garages and replace broken windows and find lost dogs. There were potlucks in parking lots and barbecues in backyards and, late at night, neighbors who'd never really talked before sat out on their porches and drank grandma's homemade double-grape wine and surveyed their progress.

Nothing like a good storm to put it all in perspective. And Spring, bless her heart, is just around the corner. Think I'll plant some parsley this time around.

Beef Noodle Hotdish
One more hotdish as we round the corner into spring. Take this one along when you visit someone who doesn't do much cooking, or as a gift to someone who could use a gift.

1 pound ground beef lean

1 medium onion chopped

8 ounce can whole kernel corn

8 ounce can tomato sauce

1/4 cup black olives, pitted, halved (optional)

2 cups uncooked noodles

2 cups water

1 teaspoon oregano leaves

1/2 teaspoon salt

1/4 teaspoon black pepper

1 cup cheddar cheese shredded

Cook and stir the meat and onion in a large skillet until the meat is brown. Drain off the excess fat. Stir in corn (undrained) and the rest of the ingredients.

To prepare in a skillet: heat the mixture to boiling. Reduce the heat and simmer, uncovered, stirring occasionally, until the noodles are tender, about 20 minutes.

To prepare in the oven: pour the mixture into an ungreased 2-quart casserole. Cover and bake in a 375 degree F. oven for 30 minutes, stirring occasionally. Uncover and bake until the mixture thickens, about 15 minutes.

Serve hot with biscuits or cornbread or bread. Enjoy!

Things I Hope To Do

February 24, 2009

Listened to the show Saturday and it was not bad. I've got something of a break these next few weeks and I've been contemplating how I might make the best use of the time. Not to say I don't have work to do and all. It's just that the load has lighted a bit and Lent is here and the kids have a week off and what not. And not to say that one must plan out everything in advance, but you do want to think ahead when you know free time is coming. Seizing the moment is seizing the moment, but there's a big difference between meeting life head on and grabbing it by the tail.

There are things to be done, and there are Things I Hope to Do. You plan on one, you think about the other. I'm planning on some light spring cleaning, including the kitchen cupboards, the windows, and the car. I plan to zip through all the clothes, books, cds, games, plants, toys, canned food and junk drawers and lighten the house by a good hundred pounds. I plan to haul the old dead riding lawnmower to the junkyard, along with the old mailbox and Mr. Sundberg's National Geographic magazine collection. (I have permission.) I plan to sign up the kids for summer camp, and drive them on over to Wabasha for the Soar with the Eagles Festival before March is over. Plan.

Now, I'm thinking about a road trip to Grand Marais in March, just to be different. I'm thinking about signing up the whole family for hot yoga. As a kind of experiment. I'm thinking about planning a family reunion for June, inviting everybody, even Willie Nelson. Imagine if Willie Nelson came to my family reunion. Thinking about taking a hot air balloon ride, about hiking the bluffs along the river during the spring thaw. I've even given some thought to rafting the Colorado River. Just because it's there. And I'm here. Think about it.

Fruit Dip with a Zip
Lately I've been trying to eat less fried cheese and more fruit. This light and lovely dip with a bit of Amaretto is the perfect snack for a gray late-winter day.

8 ounces Cool Whip

3 ounces instant vanilla pudding mix, dry

1/2 cup skim milk

1/2 cup Amaretto

Mix and serve with fruit chunks — strawberries, apples, oranges, bananas, etc.

Fodder for future conversations

February 17, 2009

Listened to the show Saturday and it was not bad. We were all gathered 'round having our Valentine's Day dinner of homemade pizza and ice cream sundaes. The real Valentine's Dinner, however, happened on Friday night. Mainly because we couldn't get reservations on Saturday night, but we didn't want to miss the show so it wasn't that big of a deal. We went to a place we've never been before, a restaurant called the Lake Elmo Inn about 45 minutes from home. Something fancy, and we took the kids. That's what happens to romance with kids in the picture. They invade and you have a choice: you can leave them at home to eat macaroni and cheese and watch a movie while you go have dinner, or you can cave in and invite them, too, and double the joy and the bill, and the laughter, and make a family event of it. Which we did.

I printed the menu earlier in the week, so the kids knew what they were ordering, and they didn't even look at the menu — sunfish, crab cakes, and chicken fingers, with linguine, not potatoes, and just water, please. They enjoyed the spicy corn dip I ordered, and they ate more than a basket of bread, once they figured out where to find the butter. They were surprised by the palate-cleansing lemon-sorbet, during which an explanation of what, exactly, is a palate, ensued. Mr. Sundberg ordered steak, and I had chicken rondele, which was lovely with wild rice and breading. No one could eat all their food, and I ended up eating 'most everyone's sautéed vegetables, and after the mysterious luxury of the cinnamon-oiled hot towels, we indulged in New York style cheesecake with strawberries, a pecan-crust tart with cream filling and chocolate topping, and French silk pie. Then came strawberries dipped in chocolate, more water, and the check. The tip alone was about what we usually spend on dinner, and the kids grew quiet when they saw the bill. That was SO good, they said. Thank you so much, Mom and Dad.

There are people in the world who would hear this story and shake their heads. "You should have left the kids at home," they might say. "A meal like that is wasted on children." Well, I'm of the mind that children ought to experience decadence now and then, and dinner out is one of the rare opportunities for such a thing. I don't mean often, mind you. But I think to have a memory or two of a fine time in one's childhood can't hurt a person, and if it happens to fall on Valentine's Day, then Valentine's Day it is. It's fodder for future conversations among siblings, and it's a way of helping them gauge where they're at in the world. But more importantly, they had an experience. For a moment, somewhere amid the candlelight and hot rolls and conversation, between the sorbet and the chocolate ganache, something took their breath away. Worth every penny of $137.74. Not including the tip.

Good Morning Frittata
This one's easy to prep ahead of time and throw together any morning of the week. You can substitute ingredients, or add some cheese for extra zip.

3 T olive oil
1 medium Vidalia onion, chopped
1 red bell pepper, chopped
1 c. sliced fresh mushrooms
12 eggs
3 oz. pepperoni, sliced thin and chopped
1/2 c. milk
1/2 tsp. black pepper

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. In 10 inch cast-iron skillet, heat oil over medium-high heat. Add onion, red pepper and mushrooms; cook, stirring occasionally, 7 to 8 minutes until vegetables are tender. In large bowl, whisk together eggs, pepperoni, milk and black pepper.

Pour egg mixture over vegetables in skillet. Place skillet in oven. Bake 15 to 20 minutes until egg mixture is set. Use a spatula to slide the frittata onto large serving platter. Cut into wedges, serve warm. Serves 8.

Enjoy!

Be alive while you can

February 10, 2009

Listened to the show Saturday and it was not bad. It was a welcome lift for me, I'll tell you, especially with those Buddy Holly songs, and "Do You Know You Are My Sunshine?" I was singing along with that one, and the kids were wondering how the heck I knew the words. Seems to me that one goes way back to my childhood when my dad listened to the country music station while he worked making jigs down in the basement. Funny how the words just stay with you all your life when you learn a song as a kid.

Anyway, it was good to hear some happy tunes. It was a bit of a downer of a week. The weather has been somewhat crappy with rain and sleet coming down and gray skies pretty much every day. Doesn't bother me all that much, but it seems to get to people in general. It's that time of year when spirits are low for some reason. You throw the tax deadline on top of the weather, and Valentine's Day, too, and muddy driveways and salt all the heck over everything, and lack of vitamin D or whatever it is the sun gives you, and you've got yourself a good potential for bad days.

Now, I feel compelled to say something here. Last week, in my small town, a woman whom I knew only by name got so down and out that she thought the only way to make it all better was to take a gun and turn it on herself and pull the trigger and put an end to what was a lovely and productive life. And that's just what she did. Now I don't mean any disrespect to her or her life, but what could be so awful that it would be worth ending your life? What pain could be so great that the goodness of things couldn't in some way balance it out? I just don't know. I'm at a loss here. I do know that I can come up with a list of a thousand things better than dying a person might do on the worst day of his or her life. A good cry, for starters. A walk in the woods. An afternoon of bowling. A spending spree at the grocery store. A long-distance phone call to mom. A long letter to dad. A drive along the river. A homemade pizza. A long nap. Another good cry.

I could go on all day, but you get my drift. Instead of dying on your worst day, rent a Winnebago and head west to the Rockies. Paint your house blue. Buy a tractor and drive it around town. Do something. Be alive while you can. You might have the blues, but they won't last forever. Trust me on this one.

Shrimp Scampi
If you're looking for something good to cook up for your sweetheart, give this recipe a try. Serve it by candlelight. An elegant dish, for sure.

Marinade 2 lb shrimp in 1 cup olive oil, 1/2 cup white wine (your choice), 1 T oregano, and 2 cloves crushed garlic.

Place in a bowl and cover. Marinade in refrigerator for 4-6 hours. Using a slotted spoon, remove shrimp and transfer to a fry pan, and sauté in 1 T butter, turning shrimp until they just turn pink. Do not overdo or shrimp will be tough.

Serve over buttered green (spinach) fettuccini. Serve with a nice white wine of your choice, maybe a Pinot Grigio, and a dense Italian or sourdough bread, with a side dish of herbed olive oil for dipping. Serves 6.

Enjoy!