Bonanza!

          Cookies!

          Cookies, cookies, cookies!

          How, oh how, does a short little fat woman ever hope to lose weight when she loves to bake?

          Yeah. Me. I'm talking about me!

          This week has been a bonanza of baking. I got a request from my beautiful sister Phyllis this week. "Rachel wants me to make Aunt Peggy's Pumpkin Roll when she comes home for Thanksgiving and I was wondering if you would make it instead?" Her daughter is away at college and it was originally Aunt B's Pumpkin Roll.

          There's nothing within my power that I would ever deny my sister or anyone that I love. "I'd love to!" I told her.

          And that, my dears, was the catalyst that set off a flurry turned avalanche of baking in this house! Too ripe bananas turned into banana bread. My Miss Rosie makes the best banana bread and despite using her recipe, mine is never as good. The recipe makes three mini loaves so I thought to put one in Phyllis' goodie box, give on to my friend Jody, and take the last one down to the guys at the bridge. Well, one mini loaf of banana bread won't go far amongst a crew of hungry hard-working men, will it. So I made Dream Bars to divvy up. When Mike and I went down to the bridge to deliver the goodies to the guys, they weren't working. I brought them home with me.

          Thanksgiving is coming fast so I set to work making pumpkin roll, which didn't take long and needs to cool for at least an hour before filling. In the meantime, I'm thinking about Phyllis' goodie box. I'm using a flat rate box from the post office to send them and it might just as well be full. With just the pumpkin roll, a mini loaf of banana bread, and a few Dream Bars it wouldn't be anywhere near full. So I decided to make Mexican Wedding Cakes.

          "My mom made a cookie very similar to this," Miss Rosie said when I gave her some. "But she called them Pecan Crescents."

          "They remind me of Russian Tea Cakes," Jody said.

          And when I was growing up, Phyllis made these cookies and called them Snowballs. It doesn't matter what you call them because all four of these recipes are almost exactly the same.

          The recipe doesn't make a lot but I managed to tuck a few in the container for the bridge guys. I wonder if they'll be working at the bridge tomorrow, rattled around in my head along with, How can I find out? If they weren't going to be working for a few days then I needed to do something else with their cookies.

          Shortly after meeting Duane, the crew boss, we met his kids. He'd brought them to the job site one day and little Addie invited us to come to her house.

          "Should I bring cookies?" I asked.

          She got a big smile on her face and nodded.

          ''And what kind would be your favorite?"

          "Peanut butter!"

          Mike and I, on a drive-about one day, made an impromptu stop and visited with Duane and his family. His dad Greg was there and we already knew him because he works with Duane. We'd already met two of his kids, Addie and Ethan, and on this visit, we met his wife Liz and their oldest daughter Nell. A really nice, a really beautiful family. I had to apologize to Addie for not bringing her cookies because I didn't know we were going to stop for a visit. She was kind enough to forgive me. Later I did make cookies for her. I made peanut butter and chocolate chip and sent them home with Duane.

          Since then I've spoken with Liz a few times on Facebook. I wonder if she'd ask Duane for me. I messaged her. "I was wondering if Duane will be having any guys working at the bridge tomorrow. I made cookies today and took them down but there wasn't anyone around. Would you mind asking him for me please?"

          "Duane is leaving tomorrow to go on a school field trip with Ethan. Could the girls and I stop after school tomorrow?" Liz answered.

          What just happened may be obvious to you but I puzzled over it for a full two minutes before I figured it out. Liz thought I'd made cookies for them and intended to send them home with Duane. My, oh my, oh my. I re-read my note and looking at it with new eyes, I understood how she could have read it that way. Well, if Liz wanted cookies then I'd make Liz cookies!

          "Yes, stop tomorrow," I told her. "I'm sorry you have to go the long way around. We'll all be glad when the bridge is done!"

          "The 'long way around' is defiantly worth your cookies!!!" Liz gave me three exclamation points! Maybe they really did like my cookies and maybe they'd been hoping for more?

          Addie's favorite is peanut butter so I made a batch of peanut butter cookies for her. I'm not even a bit sad about having to make more cookies. I like to bake, did I tell you that? And it would give me another treat to add to Phyllis' goodie box. 

          Something else that's been on my mind to make for a while now is Peanut Chewies, a recipe I came across more than twenty years ago. It's a no-bake cookie with peanuts, coconut, and Wheaties. I had all the stuff in the pantry to make it so I made it.

          I had a nice assortment ready when Liz and the girls arrived the next day. Peanut butter cookies, chocolate chip, Peanut Chewies, and Wedding Cakes. I also included a pumpkin roll for their Thanksgiving dinner. We had a really nice visit. Liz is such a sweet lady.

          "Now don't eat all of those on the way home," I told Addie. "Save some for after supper."

          A little later I get a message from Liz. "We couldn't help it. We tried them all except the pumpkin roll, which I'm going to put in the freezer until next week, or the girls and I will eat it all. Thank you so much for thinking of us. They were delicious!"

          My cup runneth over. It was such a blessing to have Liz and Addie visit. I realized that God somehow had His hand in this and I invited Liz to come to Moxie Church and hear Pastor Rick speak. She said she goes to a church already but would come to Sunday service sometime.

          The Peanut Chewy recipe makes quite a lot! I shared with the Kipps, put some in Phyllis' goodie box, sent some home with Liz, and still had enough to put a dozen aside for my friend Jody.

          The next time I spoke with Jody, I said, "I have a bag of cookies here with your name on them."

          "Some more of those white ones?" she asked hopefully.

          I felt bad about letting her down. "No. This is a different kind."

          Later the answer came to me. The way I could feel better. There wasn't a thing stopping me from making another batch of the Mexican Wedding Cakes. And it was with joy that I mixed a third — or maybe fourth batch by this time, of these scrumptious little cookies. Jody was surprised and pleased when I gave them to her. 

          I was 'complaining', in my morning love note, about eating cookies for supper and not feeling so well. "But I can't give them away without tasting them first!"

          My friend Trish agreed with me. "You're right about testing the cookies but maybe one is enough," she said.

          The next morning's love note said we were going shopping and I was going to stop at the second-hand store. "I'm going to look for more old-lady-elastic-waist-band pants if I can find any. They're easy on and off, comfy, and with the right fabric, warm too."

          "I love comfy pants," Trish says and then adds the reason why we love stretchy pants. "Remember one cookie is a sample. LOL"

          I'm thinking, One? Who eats just one cookie? "One cookie does not cut it," I told her. "You have to taste the dough (only true with chocolate chip), then you have to have a cookie when they're warm out of the oven, and finally you have to taste one once they've cooled. It's like a three cookie minimum per batch!"

          "Since you explain it that way, I guess it is three!"

          Well, the truth comes out when it's time for a shower. "Look at that!" I complained to Mike. "My ass is getting fatter and fatter! Just look at that, would ya!"

          Mike had no sympathy for me.  

          "And it's all your fault!" I ranted.

          "My fault! How is it my fault?" he wanted to know.

          So I told him. "It's your fault because I'm happy! People who are happy weigh more! And I'm really really happy!"

          You know something? I know you know lots of something's but did you know that I've collected a ton of cookbooks over the years. I should've let my beautiful daughter-in-law go through them when she was here and take what she wanted.

          Shoulda, woulda, coulda, didn't.

          One old cookbook, in particular, has been calling my name lately. I'm not really sure why. It's just some old notebook someone's put together with both handwritten recipes and those cut from newspapers, glued to lined notebook pages. 

          Three times, four times it has come to my mind to pull it down and look at it. Finally I did. I opened the cover and the first thing I see is a bunch of those old Workbasket magazines from the seventies. Then I start flipping through the recipes. This is the first time I've ever seen my Dream Bar recipe anyplace else.

          I stop and read through this Rhubarb Crunch recipe and I'm thoroughly confused. 

          Mix the above ingredients with fork but mix very lightly for remaining dry ingredients in bowl should be dusted over the casserole when ready for the oven, it says.

          Place uncooked cut rhubarb in bottom of baking dish, add a fourth cup of sugar. Cover with the crunch mixture...

          Cover with the crunch mixture? Wait a minute. What did I miss? I read the recipe several times. Mix the above ingredients... Sugar, baking powder, salt, flour, and egg. It seems to me that once you add an egg you're no longer gonna have a crunch mixture. It seems to me that it'll be too wet once you add an egg. Am I wrong?

          Look at this one. Chipmunk Bars anyone? Rich and chewy, this dessert will delight the entire family. I think I'd like to make this one at least once. The recipe calls for one cup shortening (1/2 butter). I smiled at that. They couldn't say one-half cup shortening, one-half cup butter?

          Now this recipe! This recipe brings back a memory for me for a completely different reason than the one you might guess.

          I don't know how it came about, when it started or why, but for some reason, some people in this era had a unique way of crossing their t's — but only t's that end a word. Like coconut, peanut, and light. Do you see it?

          When I was a young teenager, I noticed my mother wrote her t's this way. I just thought it was the cat's meow — the coolest way ever to cross a t!

          As luck would have it, we had a spelling test the next day. I wrote every single t on my spelling test this way. Then the teacher had us exchange and grade each other's paper. I guess the kid grading my paper never saw a t crossed this way and marked almost every single one of my words wrong. I was so embarrassed that I took the failing mark rather than speak up for myself. 

          As long as we're talking about food, let me add one more noteworthy event from this week.

          Years and years ago, our Missouri friend, Margaret, gave me one of her favorite recipes. It was for Hamburger Stroganoff. I never made it. When I was digging through my recipe box looking for the Peanut Chewy recipe I stumbled on it.

          I should make this, I thought and bought all the stuff I needed. Actually, the only thing in it that I don't normally buy was a can of cream of chicken soup and a bag of noodles. Well, the noodles were my thing. The recipe calls for you to put the stroganoff over rice.

          While making it I had a couple of questions so I called Margaret.

          "Margaret, it doesn't say to drain the grease off the hamburger."

          "Well, you need some but if you have a lot you might want to drain some off."

          "And it calls for one cup of the soup. Is that prepared or straight out of the can?" I asked.

          "Just out of the can," she confirmed.

          "Can I use the whole can?"

          "How big is it?" she wanted to know.

          I checked the label. "Ten and a half ounces."

          'Well, there's eight ounces in a cup..."

          "I know, right! What am I going to do with two and a half ounces of leftover soup?"

          "I guess it wouldn't hurt. You'll have to let me know how it turns out."

          It was good. It was really good and I called Margaret back to tell her so. "I'm just sorry I didn't make it years ago," I told her. "I could've been making it all these years!"

          "Oh, we loved it. I used to make it quite often."

          "How did you get the recipe?" I wanted to know.

          "Oh my. I've had this for many years."

          "Like what? Forty? Fifty?"

          "Oh, yes. At least that long."

          "Where did you get it?"

          "I don't remember anymore. Maybe it was one of my mothers." Considering that Margaret's in her 90s, she's probably had the recipe much longer than fifty years.

          "Well, I have to tell you, I used noodles instead of rice."

          "Oh. That's all right. Now that you say it, I'm certain it was one of my mother's recipes. She never used noodles."

          "That's funny. My mother never had spaghetti until she was a grown woman." And I don't think she ever made spaghetti for us kids when we were growing up either. Goulash with elbow macaroni yes but no spaghetti. "Margaret, can I share your recipe with anyone who asks for it?" I wanted to know.

          "Why, sure!"

          And while I'm speaking of parents, this handsome guy right here is my dad.

           I've told you before that he and my friend Trish had a very special, very close relationship. When we buried Momma, we put Pop in there too. But first, those of us who wanted some of his ashes got some of his ashes. Trish wanted some and I sent her a mini urn.

          Ben, one of Trish's grown sons, is a fabulous sculptor. I may not care for his subject matter but I can certainly appreciate the talent it took to create it.

           Ben would like to make a holder for the mini urn. "Is there anything that Burton especially liked?" she asked me.

          "What do you mean? Like bears or cows? He milked cows for years and Jerseys were his favorite."

          I can't remember if there was anything special that either of our parents was especially fond of. The only thing my parents collected was kids. All joking aside, I was wondering if any of you knew if Pop had a special love for something Ben can sculpt.

          Again this week we didn't spend much time at the bridge. Early in the week they loaded the Bidwell on a truck and hauled it out.

          Now they're building the forms for the parapets (a low wall). 

          "Do you see the nails they're using?" Mike asked.

          "Yeah?"

          "They're made special for this kind of work. They have a double head on them so you can pull them back out," he explained.

          "That is so interesting," Miss Rosie said. "I had no idea."

          And that got me to thinking. Maybe you don't know that such a thing exists either. I asked for one of the nails and they gave me one.

          I'm enjoying seeing the birds come to the feeders. A little Chickadee hanging upside down.

          The red patch on the back of his head says this one is a male woodpecker. But since I learned there is a Hairy as well as a Downy Woodpecker, I can't really tell them apart unless they're side-by-side. They look very similar with the Hairy being larger.

          A female Downy Woodpecker.

 

          A Tufted Titmouse.

          A trip to town for milk nets me a couple of pictures. Some kind of engine maybe?

          A helicopter came low and went over our head. "Why is he going so slow?" I asked like Mike would know. The helicopter made a turn and came lower as he headed for the field at the school. Then I knew why. "It's a life-flight. They didn't have anywhere else to land it so they're landing there."

          We drove in the school parking lot and parked out of the way, watching. The crew got out of the helicopter and made their way to a waiting ambulance. After a while, they came from the ambulance, transferred gurneys, loaded their patient into the helicopter, and then took off.

          It never fails to bring me sadness when I see a life-flight helicopter, for our daughter was life-flighted from the scene of the accident that took her life. 

          More pictures! More pictures! A trip to Athens Walmart brings a few more. A train bridge.

          We passed the spot where the eagles nest in the spring and there were two eagles in the nest! On the way home I had Mike stop and I walked back to where the eagle nest used to be. Yes, I said used to be. The tree was gone. I was puzzled. I double-checked that I was in the right spot. Yep, there's the sign about eagle etiquette. But the tree and the nest were gone.

            I looked around and was relieved when I spotted an eagle and a nest a little farther down the river. There was only one there and he definitely knew I was there. I took a few shots and went back to the Jeep. 

          As Mike and I were driving past I showed him where the new nest was and there were two eagles in it again.

          Mike had to go out of our way in order for me to get this picture of train graffiti. That's pretty fancy-schmancy. 

          We pulled off the road and watched the big dozers work for a little while. 

          I spotted this old silo foundation where Mike had pulled off the road. The fuzzy reddish-brown thing in the lower left corner is a Ginger ear.

          Old School BBQ had a sale on brisket so Mike and I made the trip down to Homets Ferry to pick up a couple of pounds. I took some pictures but first let me tell you about Homet. The locals pronounce it different than others do and I found a genealogy page for the first Homet that came here.

          Charles Homet (pronounced o-me) was among the French refugees who came to America during the French revolution of 1793. Charles helped to construct the Queen's House in preparation for the arrival of Marie Antoinette. She didn't live long enough to come to America. Most of the French refugees returned to France but Charles didn't. He purchased a large amount of property from the French families who decided to return to France and became a very successful farmer. Eventfully there was a ferry and a mill there and it became known as Homets Ferry.

         Okay. Now that we know how to pronounce it, how about some pictures.

          Sunday morning we woke to a little snow. I took a few pictures on my way to church.

   

          I'm going to stop at this house someday and ask if I can walk around and take pictures of his treasures.

 

 

          Hmmm. I think I see a drawback to backup cameras. Wet, muddy roads. 

           Let's call this one done!