The View From Mrs. Sundberg's Window

Smell the Flowers

2013-05-22T19:11:33Z

Listened to the show Saturday and it was not bad. Not bad at all, and I plugged in the radio and opened a window and set the volume to LOUD so I could hear it while I worked out in the yard. Which I did, for a good two hours, rain coming down now and then, but not enough to warrant stopping, or rubber boots, or one of those plastic head covers for women that you unfold and unroll and tie under your chin like a bonnet. My grandmother used to have a whole box of those things, and she slipped one in my pocket now and then on rainy days. I never did open one up. Figured they'd make good parachutes in an emergency.

All I could smell while working out there Saturday evening was lilacs. Every year about this time the air fills with the scent of lilacs, which takes me way back to my grandmother's backyard where I spent many a warm day of my childhood. I helped her gather grapes from the arbor for wine, and vegetables from her garden (corn, mostly), and I played in the grass with the black lab named "Penny." Inside her kitchen, we spent hours making lemon shortbread cookies and rhubarb pies and date-filled things. I helped her can vegetables now and then, and prepare fruit for jam. Sometimes I was in charge of the iron skillet full of chicken fat on the stove. And, round this time of year, there was the smell of lilacs, the velvety purple flowers framing one side of the window above the sink.

Carnations are like that for me, too. They bring back the memory of my boyfriend Jerry, back in high school, picking me up for the Prom, trying with some decorum to pin to my dress the monstrous corsage of pink carnations he'd brought for me. The scent was lovely at first, and later on in the evening, quite dizzying. I think of my mother when I smell lilies of the valley, as she surrounded my childhood home with them, and wildflowers remind me of long woodland walks with my dad. And daisies? Well, they bring back a powerful memory, a June day when, after he drowned in a river during a family picnic, we lay my young cousin to rest.

Get on outside, people, and smell the flowers. Breathe 'em in, all you can as you go. Somewhere along the way, years from now, even, you'll smell them again, and they'll bring to mind a memory of something you did today, and perhaps it will be amazing. You just never do know.

The best recipes are simple, and, this time of year, have the quality of being refreshing without making you feel you've a bowl of concrete in your gut when you're finished. This is an old one, best served chilled, and made with rhubarb grown in your own backyard.

Scandinavian Rhubarb Pudding

1½ pounds rhubarb
1½ cups water
½ cup sugar
½ tsp vanilla
3 T cornstarch
1 cup heavy cream
¼ cup sugar
1 tsp vanilla

Trim rhubarb and cut into ½ inch slices. Combine with water and sugar and simmer until soft. Stir in vanilla. Blend cornstarch with a bit of cold water to make a smooth, stiff paste, and stir into rhubarb. Cook for 5 minutes, stirring constantly, until thickened and clear. Pour rhubarb into glass serving dish and chill. When you're ready to serve the pudding, whip the cream until frothy; add sugar and vanilla and whip until stiff. Spread over pudding, and serve.

Enjoy!

Boredom and Terror, and Sweetness

2013-05-14T21:31:54Z

Listened to the show Saturday and it was not bad. It's warming up out there and I had the radio going while I did some yard work, mostly cleaning up sticks from the willow tree and putting landscaping rocks in their proper place (snowplows tend to move more than snow) and a bit of raking. I wanted to get all that done before I plant a few geraniums and peonies to brighten up the yard, and that is next on the list.

For now, though, I'm enjoying the lovely bouquet of red mini-carnations in the kitchen. A Mother's Day gift from my son, who took it upon himself to search through the flowers at the grocery store where he works to find the perfect flowers, for me. It was his idea, Mr. Sundberg told me. And he paid for the flowers himself. Add that to the beautiful letter my older daughter wrote to me, over a page, handwritten, sealed in a pink envelope, and the line in the card from everyone written by my younger daughter, "You are the best woman I know", and what more could I ask for? Mr. Sundberg did present me with an envelope with a gift card for a massage inside, one hour, and that was pretty much the icing and the nuts on the cake.

I spent Mother's Day on the road, mostly, with the windows open until I got chilled, good music on the radio, and a cup of gas station coffee to sip. Spent some time with the older daughter packing up her stuff, and I'll get load number three on Friday, and this time she'll ride home with me. We did a little shopping for panties (I call them "panties" because it makes her laugh), as someone pilfered the last bag of new underwear I bought her. Seriously. Then we had lunch (fish tacos for me, chicken sandwich for her, and a mother load of onion rings) and I got into the car and drove.

By the time I got home, it was late afternoon, and the kids were out at work and play practice, and I had some time to unload the car and sip some iced tea, and clean up the water leaking from the dishwasher. By mid-evening, we were together, eating ice cream and talking about nothing in particular, but talking, and it was just right. Especially that the ice cream had chunks of brownie in it. And then the kids went to do their schoolwork, and Mr. Sundberg went to his study to work on a speech, and I sat there at the table and just felt what it feels like to be "Mom." Boredom and terror, and sweetness now and then. Works for me.

When summer rolls around it's my intention to fill the fridge with fresh fruit and vegetables and yogurt and such, but now and then I get out the cooking gear and whip up something memorable -- a layered rainbow cake, or funnel cakes, or fruit pizza. This recipe works well on cool spring nights when everyone is hungry for a little something before bed.

Home-fried Apple Fritters

1 heaping cup flour
⅓ cup sugar
1 tsp baking powder
dash salt
2 tsp cinnamon
¼ tsp nutmeg
½ tsp vanilla
1 T butter, melted
1 egg
⅓ cup milk, plus more if needed
1-1½ cups chopped apple, your favorite for eating, peanut sized or smaller
oil
milk and powdered sugar glaze for dipping or just powdered sugar for dusting (about 1 cup pwd sugar + 1 T milk or more)

Mix all dry ingredients together. Slowly add the wet ingredients minus the apple. Carefully mix until well combined, and gently fold in apple pieces. Once the oil is ready (when a drop of water sizzles) then using a soup spoon, place a 4-5 balls of dough into the oil. Be careful not to overcrowd and watch carefully for the underside to turn golden brown. Gently flip over and continue frying until done. A good 30 seconds per side, but adjust cooking times based on size of fritters and temperature of your oil, ideally around 365°.

Cover with glaze or dust with powdered sugar. Serve warm, with milk.

Enjoy!

An Exercise in Forgiveness

2013-05-08T14:17:49Z

Listened to the show Saturday and it was not bad. Such a relief to have warmth in the air, and sun, and birds and frogs and one perfect blue dragonfly. Seems the flowers are all going to bloom at once and why not? Everything seems to have been on hold for so long that one can't help but expect a kind of bursting forth. I read recently a quote by Norman Cousins where he said that life is an exercise in forgiveness. That's what spring feels like today -- an exercise in forgiveness. For a very long, snowy cold stretch of months. For all that shoveling, and for how we've all been somewhat cooped up. For a winter that felt merciless.

Forgiveness isn't an easy thing. Especially when I was young, I had a rough time saying the words, "I forgive you." It's gotten easier over the years, mostly because, with experience, I've come to understand that not forgiving is much more taxing on one's spirit. I remember a time, long ago, when Mr. Sundberg and I had a rather awful disagreement, and he got stern and mean and said a few things in a heated moment. Told me I was just a small town girl who doesn't know which way is north, and that I talk too much and that if I'd stop moving around so much I might get more done. And I told him that he's a stubborn mule and he ought to loosen up and dance awhile and he might see the light and live a bit longer. Something along those lines. The words silenced us both, and the next words we exchanged, a few days later, were, "I'm sorry," and "I forgive you." Felt pretty good. Much better than the silence.

It's hard to love people, but harder not to have them to love. I know this. I don't mean to go into motivational speaker mode, but if you've got someone in your life who caused you some pain, consider forgiveness. Because if you haven't, the pain is still there. And that kind of pain can do major damage to your thoughts, and to the ease with which you breathe. Don't wait for the, "I'm sorry." Just forgive. The way spring does winter. It simply lets it go, moves forward, blooms.

This recipe is a result of my delight in some bars I had in a café in Ireland. I talked with the baker there, then went searching and tried a few recipes and made some changes, and this is as near to those bars as I can get. And they work just fine.

Caramel Shortbread Bars

Shortbread Layer
2 cups flour
½ cup brown sugar
½ tsp salt
¾ cup butter, chilled

Caramel Layer
½ cup butter
½ cup brown sugar
¼ tsp salt
2 15-oz cans sweetened condensed milk
1 tsp vanilla
Chocolate Layer
10-oz dark or semi-sweet chocolate, chopped
4 T butter, room temperature

Preheat oven to 350. Line a 9×13 inch baking pan with aluminum foil or parchment paper and lightly grease.

Combine flour, sugar, salt and butter with a pastry cutter, until it reaches a sandy consistency and the butter is mixed in. This can also be done by hand, rubbing the butter in with your fingertips.

Transfer mixture to prepared pan, spread evenly and press into a firm layer. Bake for 35 minutes, until light golden brown. Cool.

In a medium saucepan, combine butter, brown sugar, salt and sweetened condensed milk. Cook over medium heat, stirring constantly (making sure to scrape the bottom and sides of the pan), until caramel comes to a boil. Reduce heat to medium-low and cook for 4-5 minutes while stirring until caramel thickens. Remove from heat and add vanilla. Pour caramel onto cooled crust and spread into an even layer. Cool.

Melt together chocolate and butter in a double boiler, or in microwave at 50% power, stirring until mixture is very smooth. Pour onto caramel and spread into an even layer with a spatula.

Cool, slice, and serve. Makes 36 bars.

Enjoy!

It's Time to Get Out There

2013-05-01T20:04:42Z

Listened to the show Saturday and it was not bad. It was time, at last, to put away the apple cinnamon candles and get out the lemon scented candles and the bleach and the old flour sack towels and go to town. I mean really go to town. I did it. I spent two entire days cleaning, and finished up sometime on Monday night, spent. Everything but the outside windows, and good for that, since the rain is coming down doing it for me even now, and will continue much of the week.

I don't know if it's the death of winter, or the birth of spring, or the cooped-up feeling a person gets being inside for so many hours and bundling up whenever outside, but I felt a major force of something rising up in me on Saturday night and I unleashed it Sunday morning. It was a sunny day, and I started with the bedding. Washed it all, vacuumed under the beds, and shook out all the rugs. I swept the garage, unloaded and wiped out all the cupboards, and cleaned up the small empty room downstairs and began to fill it up with items for a garage sale later this month. I did the windows, dusted the ceiling fans, scrubbed the tubs and floors and counters. Dusted everything, more stuff into the room downstairs, another bag into the dumpster. Vacuumed, used up what I could in the fridge for a lunch here, a snack there, and buffed with a sponge the few scuffs on the white paint of the wall just inside the front door. I sorted through the kids' clothes, more stuff for the garage sale, and cleaned out the junk drawers and let go of some junk.

It was glorious. On Monday evening when I folded the last of the cleaning rags, my shoulder hurt and my legs were tired and I felt great. The house feels lighter, and there is more to do, but I got it going. I've always felt strongly that it's no small thing to have nice things, and it is one's responsibility to take care of them. From the kitchen appliances to the bureaus to dishes and clothes and books and framed photos and birds carved from wood, if it serves a purpose or if it means something to you, use it and maintain it; if it doesn't, give it away. Or fill your garage on a sunny day in May with things needing purpose or meaning, and sell them. Cheap. And use the money for something a little bit fun. Like a family visit to the pizza farm. Or a day trip to a chocolate factory. Or a new trampoline. Spring is here, and it's time to get out there and have at it.

Hard to let go of the comfort soups bring during the winter, so lighten it up a bit and use spring vegetables for something perfect on a May afternoon. Serve this one with some homemade bread, and take some to a neighbor who has been outside working all day.

Kale Soup

1 package frozen or 1-2 lbs fresh kale
1 large sweet Vidalia
3 potatoes, peeled
2 links of your favorite sausage
8 cups chicken or pork broth
¼ cup olive oil
6 cloves garlic, peeled and crushed
1 can cannelloni beans
1 bay leaf
¼ teaspoon garlic powder
1 hot pepper, seeded
⅓ teaspoon paprika
Season with salt and pepper to taste

Slice sausage and sauté in ¼ cup of olive oil, onion, and chopped garlic. Add garlic last to avoid browning. Add liquid and simmer for 10 minutes.

Prepare the kale by rinsing thoroughly and tearing the leafy portions from the stems. Tear into bite-size pieces and discard the stems.

Add potatoes, kale, and simmer additional 30 minutes. Add beans.

You could substitute escarole or Napa cabbage for kale, and add one pound peeled baby carrots at the same time as you add the potatoes. Add fresh chopped leeks or scallions. Use fresh carrot juice as part of the broth. Add a few fresh parsley, sage, or oregano leaves if you have them.

Serves 4

A Wanted Woman

2013-04-24T16:30:31Z

Listened to the show Saturday and it was not bad. We finished one fine meal of homemade pizza which Mr. Sundberg and I made together, sharing a glass of white wine and dancin' around a bit to good music from the heart of Texas. I've been to Texas only once in my life, with my grandmother and two aunts when I was young and one of my aunts was moving down there, and I have good memories of the place: broiled flounder, warm winds, putt-putt golf, picking up shells in the Gulf of Mexico, and swimming in a hotel pool each night during what would be the only road trip I'd ever take with my father's mother.

Her name was Rosella, and she was a sign reader. We'd pass a sign; she'd read it out loud. And then she'd comment on it. "Harv's Implement. Wonder if Harv's in or he's got his sons working for him like Donny does down at the mercantile. Hmm. Dottie's Bakery. S'pose they got some Bismarck's? Fiona Harke always wanted to have a bakery, but Herman wouldn't have it. Said it was too much work and he needed Fiona at the farm. Worked that woman to her grave, I tell you. Look, Wichita, 93 miles. I thought we were closer than that. Railroad crossing. I don't understand that. It's a train crossing. I remember when the train started coming through town. I was a young girl and loved to go down to the mill and watch the train go by. And I did, often, til the train hit ol' Otis and killed him there on the spot and my mother said no more. She was that way about parades, too. Wanted me to stand near her and I'd just as soon join the parade. I must have tried a few times or at least wandered off for my mother to worry herself like that."

Could have been an annoying thing, I suppose, Grandma's sign reading, but I was somehow charmed by it all. Whenever my brothers and I stayed with her, and rode along on short trips to the butcher or the grocer or her friend Ginny's house or to the beach down at the river, Grandma read signs. It was, now that I think about it, one of the few circumstances which led to her talking about her life. Maybe reading those signs gave her a kind of permission to say a little more than she might have said otherwise.

Grandma got a speeding ticket on the way up north to home, while passing through Missouri. I can't imagine she didn't see the speed limit sign; she must have ignored it. Wisconsin is a long drive from Texas, and Grandma had things to do. She was one of the hardest working, most common-sense women I've known in my life. I guess you could say she died an outlaw. She never did settle that ticket ("Not gonna pay it," she said), and has been a wanted woman in Missouri since. She's been a wanted woman in these parts, too. Mostly 'cause we miss her, and the fattigmand she made each Christmas, and how she wore aprons, and waved her wooden spoon around when it was time to eat.

When spring comes around the bend, away with the heavy creams and gravies and cheese Casseroles. Bring on the fruit and the glaze and the fluff! Here's a light one that will stand on its own at the potluck.

Cherry Pineapple Fluff

1 20 oz can crushed pineapple, drained
1 can sweetened condensed milk
12 oz Cool Whip
1 can cherry pie filling
Miniature marshmallows (to taste)
Chopped nuts, optional

Mix together and refrigerate.

Anything Worthwhile is Going to Take Some Effort

2013-04-15T16:16:24Z

Listened to the show sometime in the middle of the night Sunday because my laptop battery died at the Dublin airport, and it was not bad. It had been a long eleven days of travel, and I learned more and grew more in Ireland than I ever imagined I would. Visiting a new place will do that to a person. Bit uncomfortable at times, but not at all bad. Besides, anything worthwhile is going to take some effort.

There was the long flight, the language issues, the whole euro exchange and figuring that out, the moving around and having to keep track of everything, the inability to talk with people back at home (my cell was pretty much useless), the activity-induced aches and pains, the thin hotel walls at places here and there, jet lag and its ensuing fatigue on both ends, the frustration with not being able to find our way on occasion, a tumble I took in a slippery shower, not enough time to see everything we wanted to see, or see more of what we did see, the pile of bills waiting at home, the empty fridge, blah blah blah.

No, travel is not easy. But what you learn and experience is so much more that it cancels out anything I might consider inconvenient. My gosh. I learned so much about Ireland and its people, and I have a much stronger sense of one of the places my family comes from. I ate some food that was beyond-description delicious. I spent more time with my mother in one stretch than I have in a long time, and I got to see her climb to the very top of the Cliffs of Moher while I hung back a bit. I met old Irishmen who told me stories, and young Irishwomen who explained things for me. I drank a Guinness, I smelled the morning air in Dublin and breathed in the evening air in Killarney. I listened to accordion and fiddle music while I sat near a fire and ate apple crumble. I kissed the Blarney stone, and I saw a fairy tree.

I could go on for forty-five pages or more about what I learned. It's what I remembered during those eleven days that is as important: I remembered how large the world is, and how small, and how much of it I have not seen; how patient I can be; how you can feel love for people you've never met before; how good it is to have the mother I have; how much I miss my kids and how independent they're becoming; how much I count on Mr. S and how grateful I am for him; how it feels to say, "I am an American"; how good homemade pizza tastes; how precious it is to have one's own home. I remembered I'm no spring chicken, and I remembered what it feels like to just be. I remembered Minnesota in the springtime, and purple lilacs, and how the birds seem to come out of nowhere and fill up the trees. And I remembered that we each get one life, and it is short, and beautiful, and this is mine. And then I ordered an Irish coffee. Because I was there, because I could. And it tasted quite delightful.

Here's a recipe that comes close to the best scone I ate in Ireland. It's quite simple, and it works with honey and butter, or jam, or simply on its own.

Maple Oatmeal Scones

2 cups flour
1½ cups oatmeal
1½ tsp baking powder
½ tsp baking soda
½ tsp salt
1 stick butter
½ cup buttermilk*
½ cup maple syrup
3 T sugar
1 egg
½ tsp maple extract
½ tsp vanilla
½ tsp cinnamon
⅛ tsp ginger
⅓ cup raisins
⅓ cup chopped pecans, optional

Combine dry ingredients (except raisins) in bowl and mix thoroughly. Cut in butter until walnut-sized chunks remain. Add buttermilk, maple syrup and egg, and stir briefly until dough comes together. Add raisins (and pecans if desired) and mix a bit more. Turn dough out onto a lightly floured board and pat evenly into a circle about ¾ inch thick. Cut into pie-shaped pieces. Bake on greased cookie sheet at 375° until light golden brown, about 15-20 minutes. Remove from sheet, glaze with confectioner's icing (flavored with a bit of orange is nice) if desired or dot with butter and sprinkle with cinnamon sugar.

*If you have no buttermilk, you can substitute yogurt or sour cream one to one, or ½ cup milk and ½ teaspoon lemon juice or vinegar.

Enjoy!

Looking Back Toward Home

2013-04-09T18:27:20Z

Listened to the show Sunday, in Ireland, and it was not bad. Sunday night instead, time difference and all, and it made me a bit homesick, tell you the truth. Just a wee bit of heartache. Don't get me wrong -- Ireland is lovely, in most every way. The people, the food, the landscape. There's a conversational way all around, with a bit of brooding now and then, and I think it must be the Life. People here work hard, very hard, always have. And though the weather is never to the extremes with heat or cold, it's often rough weather, and it can change from season to season within the hour. The history here is something, too, arduous and sometimes terrible, which might account for the happy-go-luckiness of many a person. As Peter, our guide, says, "Life is short; have a good time while you're here."

And so we are. Today we drove around the Ring of Kerry. Breathtaking landscapes, really. Did a little shopping (which I prefer to a lot of shopping) and visited Skellig where there's a great story of the monks of Skellig Michael. Again, hardship. What people have done to get closer to God... Had some Irish stew with lamb, and more brown bread, and visited Kate Kearney's Cottage for dinner and entertainment.

A great blessing of a visit to another place -- the greatest, perhaps -- is looking back toward home and seeing what you really do have there. Missing things, people, places you didn't imagine missing, and feeling a kind of loyalty and groundedness when you think of where you come from when you tell people, "I live in Minnesota, in the Midwest of the United States." I love to say this to people I meet, and I smile when I say it, and I feel that small, very real ache.

Some people never get to have a far-away adventure with their mother, and I feel blessed, and I'm living in the moment, and gathering very fine memories. And, in the moments between, I think of the smell of the air at home; the sound of the woods at night; the neighbors' lights on in the evening, their shadows on the walls; Mr. Sundberg calling my name from out on the porch; the hum of the kids as they do their thing; the feel of a wooden spoon in my hand as I mix another batch of cookie bars, the taste of homemade pizza, hot chocolate, and lemon bars.

I love to travel; I've been to many places. Fact is, dear ones, the USA, Midwest, Minnesota -- that's where my heart is, wherever I may be.

I'm told by many bakers in Ireland that every person has his or her own recipe for brown bread. Here's one as close to the best brown bread I've had. Try it, and change it a bit to suit your liking. Some use no eggs; some add raisins. Most use buttermilk, and many vary the type(s) of flour. Honey isn't common, either, but I've a thing for sweetness.

Irish Brown Bread

2 cups whole wheat flour
2 cups white flour
1 tsp salt
1 tsp baking soda
2 T wheat germ
2 T honey
1 T butter
2¼ cups buttermilk (approx)

Mix together all dry ingredients. Rub in butter. Form a well in center and pour in honey and buttermilk; mix well. Turn out on floured board and knead lightly. Form into a round and cut across the top to prevent cracking. Put into greased and floured 8 or 9 inch cake pan and bake at 350 for 45 minutes to an hour, or until knife inserted in center comes out clean.

Enjoy!

The Journey Changes You

2013-04-02T21:22:19Z

Listened to the show Saturday and it was not bad. The one time of the day I felt relaxed. Made a turkey for dinner, and some green bean hotdish and mashed potatoes and cranberries and rolls and stuffing. For dessert, strawberry shortcake. Why turkey when the ham was on its way Sunday? Well, the turkey was small -- 13 lbs -- a back up meal from Christmas vacation that never got made. So I threw it in on Saturday, and was that ever wonderful. Kind of a last hurrah for winter, and comfort food, and gravy.

Of course, I'm trying to clean up the house, too, for spring, that kind of rush where you want to use up what you have, clean out the shelves and cupboards and drawers, and start packing away the winter things. Plus, I'm taking off Thursday morning for Ireland, ten days of travel, and I've been busy baking up a storm for Mr. S and the kids. Not that they can't take care of themselves. But, for some odd reason, it will feel much better getting on that plane knowing the fridge is full of good things, and the garage has been swept, the laundry caught up, the Easter bunnies and baskets put away. And so on. Type A, maybe. But it works for me.

My favorite thing about traveling to another place is the journey of it all. Not the "there" but the getting there and being there and leaving there to visit the next place. And, while you are there, taking in the landscape -- the scents, the people, the sounds, the food, how it all feels. So, Ireland, yes -- and getting there, and finding our way from Dublin to the Cliffs of Moher, and what to order from the menu, and where to wander, and the feeling of leaving, and then remembering. And feeling, somehow, changed. Hard to place a finger on it, but I think it's like that. You visit a place far away, or a place you have never been and, somehow, the journey changes you. Just a bit. I like that. It's like a scenic overlook on the road of your life. You pull over and pause to really see and feel a place, and that's a trip in itself. Sure is.

I've made this recipe twice in the last week, using cinnamon bread and a dash of nutmeg, and it was eaten both hot and cold, plain and with syrup. Good rainy weather food, I say, from my dear friend Laurel, who is in her 80s and knows how to bake like all getout.

Sweet Laurel's Quick Bread Pudding

2 cups bread cubes
2 eggs, slightly beaten
⅓ cup sugar
1 tsp. vanilla
⅛ tsp. salt
2 cups milk, scalded
Cinnamon

Place bread cubes in lightly greased 1 qt casserole. Combine eggs, sugar, vanilla and salt. Gradually add scalded milk. Pour over bread cubes in casserole, sprinkle with cinnamon. Place in pan of hot water in oven. Bake at 325 for approx 1 hour, or until silver knife comes out clean. Add raisins if desired.

Good pudding.

So Much to Look Forward To

2013-03-26T18:08:20Z

Listened to the show Saturday, and it was not bad. I've been doing an admirable job, I think, of keeping up my spirits despite the slow drag of winter's end, but there have been moments when it all gets to me and I feel a bit down. Not sad, but there's a kind of grasping feeling that takes over and it feels as if I'm reaching for hope. Which seems a little silly because I know inside that spring really is just around the corner. And it's not spring itself that I love so much, but what comes with it -- grass and flowers and warm breezes and new scents; fruit spilling out of the bowl on the counter, the kids giggling, the doorbell sounding more often, the broom's sweep replacing the shovel's grate, and walks. Long walks with Mr. Sundberg along the edge of the forest, walks down dirt roads, walks around lakes.

What I like about walking is that it feels like what we are supposed to do. I've never been a good runner. Tried, but I feel from head to toe a kind of agony I see on the faces of other people running. I admire the endeavor, for sure, but it's not for me. This body doesn't need any more jarring than it gets on the domestic level. I'll take a good walk over almost any outdoor activity. Except maybe swimming, but that's a whole other adventure.

Walks with Mr. Sundberg are my favorite. Few and far between with our busy days and his long absences, but when we do get out, especially rounding the curves of the lake, the whole world feels right. And we talk. About the kids, about summer, about his latest idea for a motivational talk. We talk about our dreams -- what our dream house will look like, skylights and huge porch and pizza oven on the patio included -- and we talk about places we'd like to go together, places neither of us have been, and what we would do there. His place is England and Scotland, I think, where we would wander the countryside, mostly, and see some plays, and just be together. My place has changed over the years, and lately I'm thinking New Zealand is where I'd like to go, for the distance and the majestic scenery and we would have a picnic there, out in all of that beauty. We hold hands sometimes, on our walks, and now and then we pause, and hug each other, and kiss. Just for a moment. Feels like a centering kind of thing, a reminder that we're each here, and together, and he gets that twinkly smile going, and I feel like blushing but I'm not sure whether I am, and we walk on.

They happen all year round, those pauses. But something about spring makes us linger a bit. The birds are singing, and there are flowers, and there's so much to look forward to. There really is.

One of the best things about Easter is The Ham. The question is, what sauce? This year it's something new and a bit off the beaten path: rhubarb sauce. When you think about it, it makes total sense. I'd go with fresh rhubarb if you can, and try a pinch of clove if you're so inclined.

Ham with Rhubarb Sauce

4 lb ham, boneless and fully cooked
3 cups rhubarb, fresh (or 16-oz frozen cut rhubarb)
1¼ cup sugar
⅓ cup orange juice
2 tsp grated orange peel
¾ tsp dry mustard
1 cinnamon stick

Do not preheat oven. Place ham, straight from the refrigerator, on a rack in a shallow roasting pan and add 1/2 cup water. Insert an ovenproof meat thermometer into the thickest part of the ham. Cover the pan tightly with foil, leaving the thermometer dial exposed. Roast at 325 until ham registers 135 degrees, about 19-23 minutes per pound.
While the ham is cooking, combine rhubarb, sugar, orange juice, orange peel, dry mustard and cinnamon stick in a large saucepan. Bring to a boil, then reduce heat to medium and cook, uncovered, about 15 minutes, stirring occasionally. Remove cinnamon stick.

Remove aluminum foil from ham and spoon a bit of sauce over the ham 15 minutes before end of cooking time. When thermometer hits 135 degrees, pull it out of the over, and allow ham to stand, covered, about 10 minutes, or until the thermometer registers 140. Serve remaining sauce with ham. Makes 2¼ cups sauce.

Enjoy!

Anything Worthwhile Deserves Patience

2013-03-19T17:08:46Z

Listened to the show Saturday and it was not bad. After the truly harrowing drive to pick up my daughter on Friday, I will admit once and only once that I must be aging because my body was a mess on Saturday. Muscle tension will do that to you. To tense up every muscle in one's body for a series of hours without a break results, at my age, in a kind of post-muscle-tension-fatigue that will bring on a series of naps and cravings for salt and water and odd fruit I've never eaten. Starfruit, plaintains, durian, poi. Never had 'em. Craved 'em all on Saturday. Go figure.

On Sunday I craved corned beef, and I ate it. A good half pound, if I am right. And a mess of sauerkraut, and when I was finished felt more like I'd visited a German buffet than eaten a plate of Irish food. The day kind of slid into night, and the snow returned, and I got to thinking how I love the inbetween times, but this one is dragging out a bit. You know, the shift from winter to spring. Hard to choose between a heavy jacket and a parka, and you never know what shoes are going to work right. Patience is called for, and luckily we mark our days so we have something on which to hang our hopes, and Wednesday, this week, the 20th of March, is the First Day of Spring. Bring on the cravings.

They're different from winter's, these cravings of spring. Lemons and berries, fluffy things, light. Bare feet, lawn chairs, open windows and tea. Less cheese, more yogurt. Bananas, apples, rhubarb, peas; orchids, tulips and lilies. Jellybeans, and egg dishes, and the feeling you having singing the good old hymns at the sunrise service on Easter morn. Craving the scent of grass, scent of earth, scent of anything on the wind but snow, whose scent is fresh enough but tired now, and give me a breeze and a book and the sound of water dripping. Bring on the melt. The river opening, the great yawn of the lake as the ice draws away and fish ripple the surface waves. Bring on the tinkling of chimes, the lawn ornaments, the mowers and the sun. I can be patient. Anything worthwhile deserves patience. For raspberries, I can wait. And I will.

Couldn't decide, so here are two recipes worth your time. The first, light enough to follow a ham dinner, with your choice of flavors; and the second, something I've always wanted to try, rice pie, and did, and you'll enjoy serving it up with, perhaps, some fresh pineapple, or what berries you might find.

Layered Pudding Dessert

Crust: 1½ cups flour, ½ cup crushed nuts (or oatmeal), 1½ sticks softened butter. Cut with fork until evenly mixed/crumbly. Press into 9 X 13 cake pan. Bake 10 minutes at 350.

Layer 1: mix 8 oz. plus 3 oz. cream cheese with 1 c. white sugar. Add 1 cup Cool Whip. Mix. Spread over cooled crust.

Layer 2: mix 2 small packages instant lemon pudding (pistachio works great for a St. Patrick's Day dessert, or chocolate is great, too). Use about ½ the milk required on package (for greater thickness). Spread over cream cheese layer.

Spread Cool Whip over pudding, as much as you'd like. You'll probably use a 16 oz container for the entire dessert. Sprinkle with nuts if you like.

Easter Rice Pie

8 eggs
1½ cups rice, cooked and cooled
3 lbs ricotta cheese
1¾ cups sugar
1 tsp vanilla
2 (9-inch) unbaked pie shells
Cinnamon

Preheat oven to 350. Beat eggs in a large bowl, and add the rice, ricotta, sugar, and vanilla and stir it up well. Pour into pie shells and sprinkle with cinnamon (I like to add a dash of nutmeg). Bake for an hour.

Enjoy!

Go With Whatcha Got

2013-03-11T14:34:03Z

Listened to the show Saturday and it was not bad. The weather was, though. Sleeting, bone chilling, drizzling gray day. Not my first choice, but we don't have much of a say in things weatherly, and it can always be worse. So I made the best of it, and paid bills and made some chocolate cupcakes with cream cheese filling and relaxed awhile with the kids, and visited the grocery store for a few things for the week ahead.

St. Patrick's Day is not long off, and I picked up some corned beef for reubens, and had a hard time finding Irish bacon for colcannon so I settled for Canadian which will work just fine. I'm not Irish enough to be particular, but Irish enough to love my Irishness, and making a traditional Irish meal is something I do now and then. People make jokes that all you do is add some whiskey, and -- poof -- it's Irish! There may be a bit of truth to that, but some of the best Irish food has nothing to do with whiskey, and more to do with simple and just plain good food.

I'll confess, when it comes to food of a country or culture or ethnic bent, I wouldn't put Irish cuisine at the top of my list. I'm German, and Danish, and French-Canadian too, and, frankly, I know more about Danish coffeecake and pasta carbonara and sweet and sour pork than I do about brown bread or cabbage or leeks or champ.

Thing is, everyone comes from somewhere and every somewhere has its spice, and, like the weather, you don't have a choice so you go with whatcha got. Poland, Armenia, South Africa, Alaska, Nepal, Siberia, Egypt, Guam, Appalachia, Sumatra, India, France, Ireland. Feels good to be a part of a tradition, to know where you come from, and what that place is about. Celebrate it, I say, and pass the soda bread.

Here's this St. Patrick's Day menu: there will be reubens of course, with extra kraut for the Germans in the room, and colcannon and soda bread and cake for dessert. May the horns of your cattle always touch heather. May the hinges of our friendship never grow rusty.

Beannachtam na Feile Padraig!

Colcannon

3 cups cooked and mashed potatoes
2 cups chopped, boiled cabbage
4-6 slices Irish or Canadian bacon
2 cloves garlic, crushed and minced
1 large onion, chopped
1 leek, chopped
4 T butter
1 cup bread crumbs, scant

Combine potatoes and cabbage together in large bowl. Season to taste with salt and pepper. Sauté bacon in large skillet until crisp. Remove bacon to drain on clean paper towels; sauté onion, garlic and leek in same skillet. Add half of the butter to the skillet and stir in potato and cabbage mixture. Crumble/chop bacon and add half of it to the mixture. Mix and heat through. Transfer to a buttered casserole. Sprinkle with bread crumbs and dot with remaining butter. Place in 425°F oven and bake until lightly browned, about 15 minutes. Sprinkle top with remaining bacon.
Serves 4.

Irish Whiskey Cake

1 (18½ oz) pkg spice cake mix
1 large pkg instant vanilla pudding
¾ cup milk
½ cup oil
¾ cup Irish whiskey
4 large eggs
⅓ cup chopped walnuts

Glaze:
1 stick butter
1 cup sugar
1 tsp water
2 tsp whiskey

Blend cake mix and pudding mix in large bowl. In a separate bowl, blend milk, oil and whiskey, then add to dry ingredients. Mix for two minutes by hand, and make sure to scrape sides of bowl. Pour into a lightly greased tube pan. Sprinkle with walnuts. Bake approximately 1½ hours at 300 until lightly browned on top. Remove from oven and let cool in pan.

Melt butter in a saucepan, and add sugar, water and whiskey; stir. Boil gently for 10 minutes, then remove from heat and cool for 3 minutes. Pour over cake while it is still in the pan. Let cool for 1 hour, then remove cake from tube pan right side up, and place on cake plate. Leave it overnight and it's even better.

Enjoy!

This Land of Seasons I Love

2013-03-05T17:08:24Z

Listened to the show Saturday and it was not bad. I spent a good part of the evening as I listened cooking up some white chicken chili and sloppy Joes and some gooey chocolate caramel bars for Mr. Sundberg and the kids to take along to the family cabin on Sunday. The kids are on spring break and had hoped for an adventure and Mr. Sundberg had the energy for it this time around. I have a need to catch up on paperwork and bills and such, so off they went for three days in the northland.

And what do you know? The snow I've been secretly wishing for started coming down on Monday, and kept coming down for a good 18 hours. I say "secretly" because just about everyone around is commenting on how "spring is just around the corner" and updating neighbors on the progress of the lilies and the daffodils and irises -- all bulbed and sprouting and reaching toward sunny, butterflied days we can't see. Still around the corner.

When it comes to seasons, spring is the quiet sister. You've got summer with its hazy stretch of laze and sun and hammocks and books, dozing on the dock, mowing lawns and diving into rivers. I love the burning colors, the wood smoke scents, the gathering tables and orchards of autumn, and the reason I live here when you add the fury and wildness of winter, snow piled high and blowing, the sharpened definition of "cozy", the sense of impending survival mode. And spring, to me, is a restorative walk in the park, the planting, baskets of eggs, and the great prep time for the rest of it. Spring is a cool shower, the scent of rain, mud holes and the ascent of spiders on the windowpanes. Spring is WormFest, hazy green fields, berries and fluffy salads with pineapple and coconut and lime.

So much freshness and clarity and green. Which is why I keep secret, most years, my late-winter wish for just one more storm. Bring it on, dark skies, and cover the house with snow. Blanket the drive so I can't get out, and release Time awhile so I might bake, and pay a few bills, and dust the shelves that have gathered a layer, and putter and putz. Let me run across a documentary by chance, something on the suffragettes or black mambas or the giant squid no one ever sees. Or a love story I watched when I was younger and less wise, or the biography of Dolly Madison, or Roosevelt, or Rosa Parks or Rasputin. Give me a small stretch of time for a nap late in the day, and please let there be syrup in the fridge. French toast would be good as the day sifts into night. Yes, some French toast, and lit candles, and a text or two, or a call even, from the children, out romping in the twilit snow on a frozen lake somewhere out there, to the north, in this land of seasons I love.

Important things often come full circle, to a familiar place, and it's that way with baking. I try all kinds of new things here and there, but return, inevitably, to a good pan of bars. It's a sure, simple thing. Much like rain, and summer vacation, and being touched on the cheek by someone you love. These bars are easy, and won't last long, but that's fine. You can always make more.

Oatmeal Bars

4 cups quick oats
1 cup butter, softened
1 cup brown sugar
½ cup white sugar
1 cup chocolate chips
1 cup peanut butter

Mix quick oats, butter and sugars together and press flat in 9 x 13 cake pan, lightly greased. Bake at 350-375 degrees for 12 minutes, give or take a minute. Heat chocolate chips and peanut butter together. Spread evenly over crust, and refrigerate bars until the chocolate is solid and you can't wait any longer.

Enjoy!

A Simple Question

2013-02-28T15:18:32Z

Listened to the show Saturday and it was not bad. Learned a thing or two about great horned owls, and I like that. Learning new things. There's not enough time in my life to just take in information the way I'd like and that's a bit of a frustration. I had the real pleasure of paging through a Smithsonian Magazine at the orthodontist's office yesterday, and read about Darwin and venomous animals (I'm happy to never in my life encounter a black mamba) and Komodo dragons. Some people devote good chunks of their lives to the study of one thing, and I admire that. My brother was an expert on martens for a while, and my father on sewage treatment plants and my mother on geriatric care, and my other brother on biochemistry. Mr. Sundberg knows a good amount about motivating people, and all of that knowledge around me is something to behold.

"What is it you DO, Mom?" my son asked the other day and I was pretty much speechless. I'm not an expert on anything in particular, and I don't have the kind of job where I leave at a certain time and return at another time each day. I'm a writer, I said. "But what do you DO?" Well, I pay attention to the world, and I write about what I see. I guess. I felt a bit odd, as if I had to explain myself, maybe defend myself, but that's more about me than him. He was asking a simple question.

What do I do, son? Well. Today I will finish doing taxes, and clean the house (the quick version) and visit the post office and the bank. I will fill the tires on the car with more air, and fill out your ACT test registration which I am told will take an hour or more but I will finish it faster than that, and I will clip some coupons for a weekend grocery trip. I will fold four loads of laundry, pick up some milk and buns for tonight's sloppy joe dinner, and I will schedule one hair appoint, two eye exams, and a visit to a college. I will help you with your homework if you'd like, too. At some point your dad and I will talk as he's away for the week, and I will do some writing along the way, and read something interesting just before I fall asleep, sometime around midnight. As for tomorrow, well, that's another day. I'm sure there will be something. And I'm happy to do it. All of it. Every day, for as long as I'm around.

The Irish girl in me is hungry for soup and sausage and a Reuben piled high. For now, here's a recipe simple enough to make between now and dinner, hearty and creamy and just the recipe for chilly gray days.

Irish Potato Soup

3 cups diced, raw potatoes
2 ribs celery, chopped fine
1 small sweet onion, chopped fine
1 cup water
1 chicken bouillon cube
3 T flour
2 cups milk
3 T butter

Place potatoes, celery, onions, water and bouillon in saucepan, and cook until vegetables are tender. Combine flour and milk until smooth, and add to vegetable mixture. Stir in butter. Bring it all to a gentle boil, and season to taste with salt and pepper. Serve hot with some good dense bread.

Enjoy!

The change you wish to make

2013-02-20T16:59:27Z

Listened to the show Saturday and it was not bad. We'd just gotten in from a day out and about, and it was nice to sit awhile with some hot chocolate and a plate of cheese and crackers. I'm not a big fan of shopping but it is enjoyable every now and then, depending on what you're seeking and with whom. This time around it was my son and me, and we were on a mission: items for the school drive to help out Haiti. Shoes, soap, baby wipes, Ziploc bags, latex gloves. Not a problem.

What I was surprised by, really, was his earnestness about the shopping trip itself. He set aside his schoolwork, video games, cell phone, movies -- all of it -- for a stretch of time with me looking for things for children far away. It was his thoughtfulness that put a lump in my throat. We were at a consignment shop, and he looked over all the shoes, holding up each pair and turning it over, checking for tears or stains, before he carefully chose six pair and put them into the basket. "I feel bad," he said. "Why?" I asked. "Because we could be taking these away from someone here who could use them." I explained that there will always be people who need and always people who can give. "Yeah," he said. "But still."

He wants to save the world. I did once. I still do. It's a challenge to walk the rope bridge over the canyon between the change you wish to make and the change you can. Imagine if every person on the planet sent six pair of shoes. Imagine if we each sent one. Imagine if I could harness the warmth I felt as I watched my son examine every kind of soap in the soap aisle, and at last choose one, and ask, "Can we get 20 bars? Please?" My gosh. Of course. Not enough for the world, but for a tiny piece of it, to be sure.

More snow is on its way. Get out the board games, and consider this for the evening meal. Comfort is as comfort does, and cross your fingers for a snow day.

Four Cheese Macaroni Bake

1 lb. elbow macaroni, cooked
½ cup macaroni water, reserved
2 oz. Mozzarella cheese
2 oz. sharp cheddar cheese
2 oz. Swiss cheese
4 T grated Romano or Parmesan cheese
4 oz. melted butter

Put cooked macaroni into buttered square baking dish. Cut cheddar and Swiss cheeses into small slivers; mix together. Add to macaroni; toss lightly. Mix butter and hot water together; pour over macaroni. Sprinkle with grated cheese. Bake at 400 degrees about 15 minutes. Makes 4-6 servings.

Enjoy!

Where words just don't cut it

2013-02-13T15:19:36Z

Listened to the show Saturday and it was not bad. There was a lovely woman who sang "500 Crows" on the show and she has this soulful voice, and the most charming laugh I've heard in a while, the kind of laugh that kind of lifts a person skyward, and all of it together made me want to get up and dance. "I am part heartache / I am part joyful child" she sang, and I'm right with her. "To tell you the truth / I'm still searchin', to find that bigger light..." It gave me goosebumps. "I'm looking for a melody that will break my heart open..."

This time of year, mid-February, when love becomes topic of conversation, when we go searching for the right words, the perfect gift, the amazing evening out, it's in music that I feel it all most. There's a song for every feeling, it seems, and thank goodness. I can stop trying to explain myself, and say, "Listen to that. THAT's how I feel." I remember the scene in Children of a Lesser God when a deaf Marlee Matlin asks speech teacher William Hurt to SHOW her the music, and he tries, with his arms, his eyes closed and face turned up. And Tom Hanks in Philadelphia, toward the end, when the music takes over his body, and he -- a man near death -- stands and, watching him, you know what he is feeling. Such moments.

And that's why we dance, I think. To express something where words just don't cut it. I dance pretty often in the kitchen, often when I am alone, because I can't help it and because it feels good. Now, Mr. Sundberg is not a dancing man by nature, but he has become more so in our time together. He'll polka with me at weddings, and waltz me around the kitchen at the end of a good day, but what I'm hoping for this Valentine's Day -- you can't plan these things -- is that we'll find ourselves in the kitchen, and the perfect song will play on the radio, and we'll have a slow dance, just the two of us, for the loving.

I had the privilege of attending my grandmother's funeral a while back, and those blessed Methodist women at her church served an amazing meal for all of us as part of the celebration. Casserole never tasted so good, and one of the women slipped me the recipe upon request, and here it is. Take my word for it -- this is one fine casserole. Add some rolls, maybe some roasted asparagus on the side. Divine.

Chicken Almond Casserole

5 cups diced, cooked chicken
2 cups diced celery
3 cups cooked rice
1 8 ounce can sliced water chestnuts
2 10¾ ounce cans cream of chicken soup
½ cup sour cream
½ cup mayonnaise
2 T chopped onion
2 T lemon juice
1 tsp salt
½ tsp garlic powder
¾ tsp pepper
1 cup sliced almonds

Mix together and pour into a 9x13 baking dish.

Topping
½ cup sliced almonds
3 cups crushed corn flakes
⅔ cup butter, melted
Mix together and sprinkle over casserole.

Bake 35 to 45 minutes at 350.

Enjoy!