HEIRLOOM LOVE

I bought myself a silver ring the other day. The silver cigar band-style piece was so sleek and appealing...simple, comfortable and unobtrusive, it fit my finger perfectly. I am a sucker for birds and this ring has a carving of two love birds, perched on a branch. The reason it was a must-have for me is that it depicted the exact same lovebirds as were engraved on the wedding gift, a gold pocket watch, that my grandfather gave to my grandmother back in 1900 on their wedding day. Alfred and Judith Miller would have celebrated their 115th anniversary on October 20. I have been even more dialed in to their lives these days because I have spent so much time this fall witnessing the harvest at the old homestead, now farmed by my cousin and his sons. I also have the full description of their wedding because my great aunt wrote her account of the festive fall day when they said their vows in the bay window of the rambling, gingerbread-bedecked farmhouse. The groom's mother, my great grandmother, baked a towering wedding cake with 100 eggs, fresh from the coop. Copper, russet and golden mums lined the steps to the back porch, where wedding guests entered to be seated in the living area and my grandparents cited their "I love you forever" vows on the sweeping staircase.

I am a sucker for sentiment, as well as for birds, and I treasure my heirloom gold watch and the deep meaning it holds. A priceless treasure symbolizing the brevity of life (my grandmother died of a massive heart attack when she was just slightly older than I), the importance of promises, the joy of forever love. This lovebird ring, along with the watch, will be just as precious to my heirs when I leave them behind because all of them now know that true love is a gift, a joy, a treasure. And life rushes by, oh so fast.

SILVER RING WHITE CAKE

2-1/4 cups flour

1-2/3 cup sugar

3-1/2 teaspoons baking powder

1 teaspoon salt

1-1/4 cups milk

2/3 cup shortening

1 teaspoon almond extract

5 egg whites

In a mixing bowl, beat all ingredients except egg whites on low speed for 30 seconds, scraping bowl constantly. Beat on high speed for 2 minutes. Slowly add in egg whites and beat for 3 minutes more. Pour batter into 2 greased and floured 9 inch round cake pans. Bake at 350 degrees for 30-35 minutes until toothpick inserted in center comes out clean. Cool on wire racks for 10 minutes, invert to remove cakes and cool completely. Frost with desired icing.

PROMISE KEEPER PEANUT BUTTER BARS

1/2 cup butter

1/2 cup sugar

1/2 cup brown sugar

1/2 cup peanut butter

2 eggs

1 teaspoon vanilla

1 cup flour

1 teaspoon baking soda

1/4 teaspoon salt

1/2 cup quick oats

1 cup semi-sweet chocolate chips

ICING

1/2 cup powdered sugar

2 tablespoons creamy peanut butter

2 tablespoons milk

In a mixing bowl, beat butter, sugar and brown sugar together. Add peanut butter and mix well. Beat in eggs and vanilla. Stir in flour, soda, salt and oats. Stir well. Spread in a greased 9 by 13 inch pan. Sprinkle chocolate chips over top. Bake at 350 degrees for 20-25 minutes. In a small bowl, combine powdered sugar and peanut butter. Stir in milk, one tablespoon at a time and beat until creamy. Drizzle over top of bars.

 LOVEBIRDS LEMON RICE

3 ounce box lemon gelatin

1-1/2 cups water

1 cup cream, whipped

1/2 cup rice, cooked until tender

1 cup crushed pineapple

1 cup miniature marshmallows

Dissolve gelatin in water. Chill until almost set. Whip cream. Combine cooked and cooled rice with gelatin,  whipped cream, pineapple and marshmallows. Pour into a serving bowl and chill 

EXERCISE, MY STYLE

As I sit at my desk here on the second floor of an apartment in Santa Monica, I overlook Palisades Park, a lovely 26-acre spread of grassy paths, palms and beautiful flowers which sits atop sandstone bluffs before dropping to the Pacific Ocean below. My view takes in the coastal range and sweeps all the way up the shore to Malibu on one side and the Santa Monica pier on the other. I’m not complaining.

Every day I observe yoga sessions, bikers, dog walkers with every breed imaginable, runners and fitness classes. Today, as I watched the group of outdoor enthusiasts, I thought about my fitness routine growing up. It could range from pulling weeds in the garden, stacking bales of hay, carrying lunch to the field, ironing a basket of clothes, lifting the canner to the stove…my Dad had a strong belief in “working out.” And not at the Y. Our work was an adequate workout.

But in school, where there was structure, schedule and an actual GYM CLASS, I learned about physical fitness. When I close my eyes, I can see the scramble in the locker room to shed our school finery for the absurdly unflattering and prison-esque gym uniforms we were commanded to wear. Royal blue, one piece, capped-sleeve, cuffed-short, one-piece nightmares. They looked good on no one, ever, no matter the body shape. Then, we were whistled to the gym for sit-ups, jumping jacks and toe-touching exercises. Next a little running and finally an organized game of volleyball, basketball or something else just as repulsive to me. I hated every minute. I could hike all day at Lake Superior, swim the docks at Green Lake, bike around a country block endlessly, but was a complete failure in competitive sports with aggressive girls that would fight tooth and nail for a win. I just wasn’t into it. After an hour of wishing I was dead, the worst was yet to come with SHOWERS!!! If one had any shred of modesty, out the window it went. Off with the uniform to stand sweat-soaked in line, naked as a jay, as if off to a torture chamber to suds it up with all of your classmates. It was a torture chamber. Hello insecurity. Who loves their body at that age? And there stood the coach, hair in perfect order, right at the shower exit, dry as a bone, decked in cool Bermuda shorts, a crisp white shirt and the ubiquitous whistle around her neck, eagerly checking our names off on a clipboard. If you looked barely rinsed, she sent you back round again for another go at the showerheads. Die? Yes, again I wished it were possible.

Anyway, that is years ago, I escaped the torment unharmed, unscathed except by embarrassment. I love to exercise in my own way now, decked in black spandex, ever forgiving, and be able to shower all by myself when I’m finished.

I never did achieve athlete status. And, I’m intrigued, watching the gyrations and flexibility of these California bodies below me. But there are just as many who enjoy a family picnic spread on the lush green, a leisurely stroll with their dog. Or pushing their babies in strollers, wandering arm in arm with a lover, ambling with their grandbabies, picking up leaves, pointing out birds and squirrels scurrying the grounds. That can be my workout today.

Complete with fresh air, warm sunshine and breezes blowing from the deep blue, a color I’m surprised I don’t abhor, remembering those uniforms. Sweat stains, be gone. I’m a granny in black, with nary a toe-touching in sight.

BIRD OF PARADISE

12 cups watermelon, cubed

1 bottle dry white or sparkling wine

1 cup St. Germain

1 cup fresh blueberries

1 cup raspberries

Mint leaves

Place watermelon in a blender and process until smooth. Strain juice through mesh strainer into a large pitcher. Pour wine over. Stir in St. Germain. Add berries, reserving some to use in garnishing each glass. Chill. Serve over ice and garnish each glass with a skewer of melon cubes, blueberries and mint leaves.

PACIFIC PALISADES PASTA

16 ounces fusilli pasta, cooked, drained and cooled

1 cup mayonnaise

1 cups sour cream

2 tablespoons milk

7 ounces package dry Italian salad dressing mix

1 cup frozen peas

2 ounces sliced black olives

1 cup Genoa salami, cubed

3/4 cup green onion, chopped

3/4 cup celery, chopped

½ cup fresh parsley, chopped

1 tomato, cut into wedges

In a small bowl, combine mayonnaise, sour cream, milk and dressing mix. Whisk until smooth. Set aside. In a large salad bowl, combine cooked pasta with peas, olives, salami, onions, celery and pasta. Mix in dressing, last, reserving 1/2 cup. Let chill in refrigerator. Before serving, stir in reserved salad dressing. Garnish with more fresh parsley and tomatoes wedges.

OUTDOOR GYM LUNCHBOX BARS

1 cup pitted dates, chopped

3/4 cup almond butter

1/2 cup coconut

3 tablespoons cocoa

1 pinch salt

Place dates, almond butter, coconut, cocoa and salt into a food processor. Cover and blend until smooth, about 4 minutes. Mixture will be very sticky. Press into a loaf pan lined with parchment or waxed paper. Refrigerate for 30 mintues. Remove the chilled pan from refrigerator and slice into 6 bars. Wrap each bar in foil and chill until serving.  

THE GUN-TOTIN' STORYTELLER

My Mom was a born story-teller. And I was born hearing her stories. When my brothers and I were young, she would tuck us in bed each night with rock solid truth from Eggermeier’s Bible Storybook, then prayers. If there was time and we were still awake,she read us picture books. We were particularly fond of Beatrix Potter’s Peter Rabbit.When we were grade-school age, she began reading us chapter books like Winnie the Pooh, classics and Hardy Boys mysteries. But, we begged instead for the stories from her childhood. And so each night would end with one of her telling.

She was unsure why we would find her life so fascinating. After all, she lived in an ordinary family in an ordinary place. In her mind, nothing from her past could be credited with our insatiable hunger for her tales. But, for us, it was a favorite activity. And we were riveted to each memory she could conjure, despite her exhausting day of house and yard work. 

Night after night, following our bedtime snack, then the ritual of baths, pajamas and tooth brushing, she would allow all of us to curl up in one bed for story time, then she would plunk down in the chair by the bed and delight us with one story after another.

The amazing thing is that she never had a repeat. And they were all true. Being the daughter of a pioneer and the youngest of six, she gleaned plenty from previous decades. Born in the 20’s, living through the Depression, becoming a farm girl, living in Washington, D.C. during World War II and coming back to Minnesota to marry a hometown boy, provided her with much to relay to eager ears.

My favorite story was of the time, shortly after they were married in 1950, when Dad was in North Dakota overnight on a cattle-buying venture. It was dark and windy and, after a solitary supper, Mom was reading and strumming the guitar to pass the time during the long, lonely evening. Suddenly, she was aware of some motion outside the oldfarmhouse. Thumps and bumps and a rustling of bushes near where she was sitting, caused Trixie, the collie, to growl and her neck hair rose visibly. Mom, glad the curtains were drawn, flew to the stairway and, from the darkened hallway window, could make out a man with a ladder about to position it near her upstairs bedroom window. The only phone was by a kitchen window, right about where he stood right now. What could she do? She did the sensible thing and got the shotgun from the closet, threw open the window and fired a shot. The next thing she saw were taillights speeding away down the driveway. She flew to the phone and called her brother. My uncle came within minutes and made Mom go to his house for the night. She had no stomach for sleeping with a gun by her bed. She never knew who it was that dropped by for a visit that night. It may have been a simple case of window peeking, terrorizing in its own right. 

There wasn’t a murder on that Meeker County farm that night. But there could have been. It was a long time before she stayed home by herself. And though she carried a gun in the Alaska wilderness, to my knowledge, Mom never fired a gun again.

BEDTIME SNACK

Bananas

Peanut or almond butter

Miniature chocolate chips

Raisins

Peel and quarter bananas lengthwise. Dry flat side of bananas and spread with peanut or almond butter. Sprinkle with chocolate chips and raisins. Serve.

WINNIE THE POOH’S HONEY CAKE

1 box yellow cake mix

2/3 cup oil

4 eggs

8 ounces sour cream

1 cup brown sugar

1/3 cup pecans

2 teaspoons cinnamon

1 cup powdered sugar

1 tablespoon milk

1 teaspoon vanilla

In a mixing bowl, combine cake mix, oil, eggs and sour cream. Beat with an electric mixer on medium speed until well mixed. Spread half the batter into a greased 9 by 13 inch pan. In a smaller bowl, mix together brown sugar, pecans and cinnamon. Stir to combine. Sprinkle mixture over top of batter. Spread the remaining batter over the top of the pecan mixture. Bake at 350 degrees for about 45 minutes or until golden brown. In a small bowl, stir together powdered sugar, milk and vanilla to make a glaze. When the cake is removed from the oven, stick a toothpick into the top of the cake several times. Spread glaze over the cake. Cool.

SOLITARY SUPPER

1-1/2 cups pearl barley

3 teaspoons oil

1 pound boneless, skinless chicken breasts, cut into chunks

2 carrots, peeled and chopped

2 stalks celery, chopped

1 small onion, chopped

8 ounces mushrooms

14 ounces chicken broth

2 cups water

1/2 teaspoon thyme

1/4 teaspoon nutmeg

Salt and pepper

Heat a deep 12 skillet over medium high heat until hot. Add barley and toast for 4 to 6 minutes, stirring often. Place in a large bowl. In the same skillet, heat 2 teaspoons oil and cook chicken about 5 minutes, stirring occasionally. Transfer chicken to bowl with barley. Place the remaining teaspoon of oil to skillet and cook carrots, celery and onion for 7 to 8 minutes until crisp-tender. Stir in mushrooms and cook about 10 minutes longer until liquid evaporates and vegetables are tender and lightly browned. Return chicken and barley to skillet. Stir in broth, water, thyme, nutmeg, salt and pepper. Heat to boiling over medium high heat. Reduce heat to low. Cover and simmer for 30 minutes until barley is tender and chicken is well done. Serve with fresh parsley sprigs.

YOUNG LOVE RUN AMUCK

Back in 1916, my grandmother took in boarders. She had a big, rambling Victorian- style house in Grove City with a small family at that time. She also had a hired girl by the name of Prudence. One of the boarders was a high school girl who went to her distant farm home on weekends but lived in town during the school week. Millicent was a lovely, vivacious girl with a very strict background. Her mother expected my grandmother to “keep an eye on her.” Once Millicent arrived at her sanctuary in the village, she became a glamour girl. She basted her dresses with loose stitches, easily  removed by the weekend, but meant to be slim fitting and figure enhancing for weekday wear. She pouffed her hair and donned pearls and sexy shoes. She announced to Prudence that her classmates even went so far as to call her “Mitzi!” What liberation from her straight-laced homelife! But Grandma was worried. Keeping an eye on flirtatious, flamboyant “Mitzi” wasn’t going to be easy.

Sure enough, before long Prudence approached Grandma with the news that she was sure Millicent had been sneaking out of the house at night and suspected that she had a boyfriend. Prudence went on to say that when Millicent claimed she was at church or school functions, there were no lights on in either building, which were clearly visible from Prudence’s third floor window. What to do?  Prudence had a plan and asked for permission to do some sleuthing.

That night, after a stern warning from Grandma, Millie announced she was not planning to go anywhere and ascended the stairs to retire. Then Prudence got to work. She headed to the flour bin with a kettle and dipped a generous portion into it. Grabbing a scoop, Prudence crept out the back door and sprinkled a path of white to the garage, then into the backseat of Grandfather’s car. More flour was left under the hall window where there was a trellis. Prudence suspected Millie used this window to exit each night. Mission accomplished, Pru headed up to the privacy of her room to wait. When the hall clock chimed twelve times, she heard the floorboards creak as Millie left her bedroom, crept down the hallway and silently made her way down two flights of stairs to the hallway windowseat. She pushed the window open and stepped out onto the sturdy trellis. Prudence watched in the moonlight as Millie and a male figure blended into one and together entered the garage.

The next morning Prudence shared with Grandma the results of her detective work. Flour footprints were everywhere. The two followed the prints to the garage and into the car’s backseat. When Millie readied herself for school, she was met in the kitchen by Grandma and Prudence.  As she donned her coat for school, the telltale flour was visible on the back of her black wool coat. Millie was mortified and tearfully confessed the truth. Needless to say, Millie’s lovelife in the “city” ended with this young flower (flour) nipped in the bud.

MILLICENT’S FLOURLESS CHOCOLATE CAKE

4 ounces semisweet chocolate, chopped

1/2 cup butter

3/4 cup sugar

1/2 cup cocoa

3 eggs, beaten

1 teaspoon vanilla

Preheat oven to 300 degrees. Grease an 8 inch round cake pan. Dust with cocoa. In the top of a double boiler, over lightly simmering water, melt chocolate and butter. Remove from heat, stir in sugar, cocoa, eggs and vanilla. Pour into prepared pan. Bake in preheated oven for 30 minutes. Let cool in pan for 10 minutes, then turn cake out onto a wire rack and cool completely. Dust with powdered sugar before serving.

DEEP DARK SECRET

1 cup dates, cut up

1 cup walnuts, chopped

4 eggs, separated

1 cup sugar

1/2 cup flour

1 teaspoon baking powder

1/4 teaspoon salt

2 teaspoons vanilla

Pour into a greased cookie sheet. Bake at 350 degrees for 20 minutes. Cool. Break into bite-sized pieces and line the bottom of a cake pan with the pieces.

1 pint whipping cream

2 tablespoons sugar

Whip cream with sugar. Spread half over cake pieces. To the other half add:

2 cans mandarin oranges, drained

3 bananas, sliced

Spread this mixture over cream topped cake pieces.

1/2 cup coconut

Sprinkle over top. Keep chilled.

DECADENT CHOCOLATE KISS BARS

1 cup butter

3/4 cup cocoa

2 cups sugar

4 eggs

1-1/2 cups plus 1/3 cup flour, divided

1/3 cup almonds, chopped

1 can sweetened condensed milk

1/2 teaspoon almond extract

1 cup Hershey kisses

1 cup maraschino cherries, chopped

Melt butter in a large saucepan over low heat. Stir in cocoa until smooth. Remove from heat. Add sugar, 3 eggs, 1-1/2 cups flour and almonds. Mix well. Pour into a greased 9 by 13 inch pan. Bake 20 minutes. Meanwhile, whisk together remaining  egg, 1/3 cup flour, milk and almond extract. Pour over baked layer. Sprinkle chocolate kisses and cherries over top. Return to oven. Bake 20 to 25 minutes. Cool pan on wire rack. Refrigerate for 6 hours or overnight. Cut into bars.

THE SCENT OF A WINTER (IN THE MIDWEST)

There is nothing to compare with the smell of winter. Nothing. I know this for a fact now, since this is my second consecutive year without one. When you live with seasons as distinct as ours in Minnesota, you see the almost daily changes that take place in a year of constant movement towards the next season.

I have been longing, lately, for the olfactory treat that one gets upon stepping out of doors from a warm house, early in the morning, as snow softly falls. It is almost the absence of smell, a cleanse of anything that lingered as you inhale the heaven-sent freshness.

A winter day in northern climes is unmatched in its delivery of sense stimulants. The lonely whistle of a distant train, the crunch of snow underfoot, a predawn rooster crowing his wakeup call. A splash of red on pure whiteness as a cardinal dips furtively at the birdfeeder, stars twinkling in a black velvet midnight sky, icicles dripping rhythmically on the porch during a January thaw. Warm wooly mittens keeping the cold at bay, fur against your chin getting damp with your breath as you soar down the path on cross country skis, a blast of wind taking your breath away. Strapping on snowshoes for a peek at the woodpile on the east edge of the pasture, pulling a sled with a laughing child over mountainous drifts.

The tastes I long for are hot chocolate by the fire, hearty oatmeal bubbling in a pot on the stove, cinnamon buns baking in the oven, a pot of stew simmering all morning, steaming up the kitchen windows.

As I age, I love being warm, not worrying about slipping on icy sidewalks, not driving in blinding snowstorms, avoiding ditches. I don’t long for dreary days, freezing rain or staggering heating bills. There is an upside to being absent for the rigors of the season.

But winter ends. And melts into spring. And with that comes a whole new array of tantalizing aspects. The Midwest delivers a veritable smorgasbord in more ways than one, every day of the year.

CHILLY MORNING OATMEAL BAKE

3 cups quick oats

1 cup brown sugar

2 teaspoons baking powder

1 teaspoon salt

1 teaspoon cinnamon

2 eggs

1 cup milk

1/2 cup butter, melted

In a large bowl, combine oatmeal, brown sugar, baking powder, salt and cinnamon. In another bowl, whisk eggs, milk and butter. Stir into oat mixture. Spoon into a greased 9 inch square baking pan. Bake at 350 degrees for 40-45 minutes. Serve warm with milk.

COZY NIGHT WINTER STEW

4 boneless skinless chicken breasts

1 tablespoon olive oil

1 onion, chopped

1-1/4 cup chicken broth

4 ounces diced green chilies

1 teaspoon garlic powder

1 teaspoon cumin

1/2 teaspoon cilantro

15 ounces great northern beans, drained

2 green onions, chopped

2 ounces shredded cheese

In a large saucepan, heat oil and cook chicken breasts with onion. Stir in broth, chilies, garlic powder, cumin and cilantro. Reduce heat and simmer for 15 minutes. Stir in beans and cook for 40 minutes more. Garnish each bowl with green onion and cheese.

SNOW MOUNTAIN CINNAMON BUNS

1 packet yeast

1/2 cup warm water

1 teaspoon sugar

1 cup milk

1/2 cup butter

1/4 teaspoon salt

3 cups flour

2 teaspoons cinnamon

1/4 cup sugar

In a glass measuring cup, combine yeast, warm water and 1 teaspoon sugar. Let yeast proof until bubbly. In a large saucepan, heat milk and butter until warm.

In a large mixing bowl, combine yeast and milk and butter mixture. Add flour gradually, stirring with each 1/2 cup added. Dough will be sticky. Transfer dough to a flour covered board and knead for several minutes until dough is smooth and elastic. Place back in bowl. Cover and let rise for about 1 hour or until doubled in size. On a lightly floured surface, roll dough out into a thin rectangle. Brush with butter and top with mixture of cinnamon and sugar. Starting at one end, tightly roll dough and place seam side down. Cut into 2 inch slices and place in a well-buttered 8 by 8 square or round pan. Brush with melted butter and cover. Set in a warm place to rise again. Bake at 350 degrees for 25 to 30 minutes. Glaze with a mixture of powdered sugar and milk or leave plain.

DREAMS

At first I blamed the late night dinners. Then the tropical climate. Next I targeted the hotel pillows. Or could it be the street lights? Sirens? Finally, I toyed with the thought that maybe becoming a grandmother again had me in a state of mental flux...

I'm still not sure how to pinpoint the cause of my crazy dreams for the past 2 months but, night after night, I spun one after the other and awoke feeling overwhelmed, amazed, confused, disturbed, enchanted.

My dreams usually involved much family, both dead and alive, and there was never a moment when it was carefree or relaxing. No, instead each escapade was fraught with turmoil, exhausting labor, conundrum after conundrum to solve and never solid solutions to any of them.My parents starred in almost every one, my long deceased brother Dan paid a call at least once or twice, my husband, my children and even my pets. Oddly, my two grandchildren, upon which I was consumed the entire time I was visiting Miami, never entered my dreams at all.

The most memorable dream for me began at the farm where I grew up. It was approaching dusk and it appeared a storm was on the horizon. I was standing in a plowed field east of the house and near the old red granary which had been torn down decades ago. My Dad was driving a tractor towards the yard. My Mom appeared in the kitchen window and I was suddenly transported to the lawn as the ground began heaving and cracking. Suddenly, the walls of the house were laid flat, I saw my brothers, even long gone Dan, surround my Mom. Dad and I were attempting to make it it the house. We were separated by islands of land suspended in sky. Somehow we made it, Dad and I and the rest of my family clutched at each other around the old dining room table. When I looked at the floor, I was struck by the carpet. It was the very first wall to wall carpeting my parents had installed in the late 1960's when braided rugs over hardwood maple floors seemed way behind the times.


I'm not sure if I woke up then and rolled over for more adventure or if this was a seamless segue, but my next episode found me at my farm at Cricket Meadow. I was walking through the house with my cousin Cindy and her husband Greg. They were caretakers for me at the farm while I was away and were were trying to solve the dilemma of a foot of water standing in each room. Cindy was wearing a long black wool coat, adorned with a rhinestone pin and had her makeup all in place, including glossy pink lips. Greg was decked in a navy suit and tie. I have no idea what I was wearing, but I was deeply concerned about their feet getting wet. As we pondered the water issue, we bumped into my Mom in the kitchen. She was trying hard to make a stack of antique plates stand propped against the wall of my counter, but they kept crashing and clattering out of place. At that moment, my eye was drawn to a life-sized ceramic figurine of a Victorian lady being moved across the room, by whom and to where, I'm not sure. Finally, we made our way upstairs to the master bedroom and bath but it looked nothing like what I remembered. While I was trying to get my bearings, all of a sudden, my foot was bleeding and two of Cindy and Greg's grown sons, Graham and Colin, rushed to my aid. But blood was leaving my body so fast, we soaked towel after towel in an attempt to staunch the flow. And then I woke up.

Night after night, I was on one Alice in Wonderland adventure after another. It left me scratching my head each morning and trying to make some sense of the collection of images floating through my mind as I remembered them.

I have been home for almost a week now and haven't had or remembered a dream since.