Some Of My Cooking Stories...

I am not stretching the truth when I say I am not a great cook. I don't even consider myself a good cook...most of the time.

But every once and again I surprise even myself!

Having mastered cookies, after forgetting to put oatmeal in my oatmeal raisin cookies and having to call my mom, in tears, to ask why mine didn't look like hers always did. She had me read through the recipe with her, I continued to bake while I went over it, when we got to the last item on the list of ingredient's, and the last batch in the oven to bake, it dawned on me that I had forgotten, the most important ingredient. She taught me to laugh and try again.

I have totally given up on any kind of jam making, except for freezer jam. Strawberry and raspberry to be exact.

Yes I have a story for that too.

After conquering cookies, I got the hair brained idea, a few years later, to try my hand at peach jam.

Not a good thing.

But it did turn out to be pretty good syrup. We used it on pancakes and ice cream. for a couple of years.

Then a whole lot of years later, I got the jam making itch again. This time I thought I would make apricot jam with a nut floating in it like my Grandma used to make. Just like my mom's story had told me, how good it was and how much fun they had seeing who would get the treat of getting the nut.

I got a bushel of apricots, jam bottles, and all the necessities for the project. Called my mom, before starting for a few pointer's, then went to work.

She called me the next day to see how it turned out.

Informing her that I would never again, in this life, undertake such a project, she inquired about it. I told her it took stinking long to stand there at the sink and peel all the skins off those little things! She laughed so hard I could almost hear the tear's dripping off her chin! Upon regaining some of her composure, she choked out that you don't peel them you just cut off the bad parts and leave the rest on and blend them along with the fruit.

The skinless apricot syrup was, again, used for pancakes and ice cream, until it too was used up.

Freezer jam, I can do and it works every time. I'm sticking with that.

So you can imagine my surprise when I cook something and it works out, looks good and tastes good too.

Another confession here is that I like the taste of bell pepper's but I don't like the texture of eating them. Also I don't much care to eat them stuffed. It seems it's always just a fancy way to slip a meatloaf past  unsuspecting folks.

But years and years ago.

Back to the cookie lesson day's.

I was at a group luncheon where a different kind of stuffed peppers were served, along with the recipes for them. I tried the one I liked best, at home, and they turned out good.

I put the recipe up and forgot about it until the other day.

I dug through my oldest recipe gathering folder searching for 'Ham and rice stuffed peppers'. I couldn't find it, so I googled it. And between all of them I sort of came up with my own.

I bought 8 of the biggest bell peppers I could find, in red and green, then to work I went.

I still think they are the perfect way to eat a Summer stuffed bell pepper.



I can't tell you amounts of ingrediants, but I can give you the list of them.
Precooked rice. Diced ham, greated colby jack cheese, sauted onion, celery, zuchinni (because I had a lot of them). I mixed all that up in a big bowl and stuffed 2 pepper's (Because I'm allergic to them), then I added fresh from the garden diced tomatoes to the rest. I cleaned out the seeds and white stuff from the peppers and rinsed them out and let them drain, before stuffing them. Then I put them in a cake pan (my 2 in a bread loaf pan), and filled the bottom with water, up to a little over half way up the peppers. Baked at 325 degrees for 30 minutes.

I'm not a great cook. But every once and again I surprise even myself :)

p.s. Honey ate my bell pepper's for me and let me eat just the middles ;)

She & Me

It's hard to picture her young.

Its hard to picture her old.

It's hard to picture her gone.

I still catch myself heading for the phone to talk to her.

To tell her a joke.

See something at the store ,"I should pick up" for her.

Today she would be 92 years old.

When she was my age, she would become a widow in 5 months. Remaining so for thirty three more years.

She was much more brave than I ever knew.

She was stronger and much smarter that I ever gave her credit for.

She gave up dreams for me.

She taught me to dream.

She was a very talented woman.

She was a broken woman.

I still learn from her every day.

I miss hugging her, and kissing her on the cheek.

Happy Birthday Momma...



Sept. 5, 1919 ~ Jan. 30, 2005

My Second Childhood

I am seldom without a camera and finding that with the age of digital camera's there are many, many folks like myself, who pack at least one camera with them all the time, for those 'just in case' moments.

That means that we are looking for the 'photograph', the 'picture', the 'capture of memories', where ever they may turn up.

And one of my favorite things to watch is the sky.

It is always changing and can not be truly duplicated.

Is not this most beautiful?

When I was growing up I would hear the grown ups talking about people they knew, who 'thought they were in their second childhood', like it might be considered to be a scandal.

I wondered what they meant.

Did we get two? What about being a teen ager, was that different? And just how old did you have to be to get this second one?

All very important questions to be sure.

As I have gotten taller, I have learned many lessons on life and would like to share some of my vast stores of knowledge with you.

No. Not all of us have two childhoods. 

Unfortunately some don't even have one.

Teen is a different age and thing altogether, revolving in a world usually all its own.

A second childhood can come at really any age.

Mine never really left me totally, though I'm sure that people who knew me during my three teen age years might beg to differ.

But you know I've found that when you really start to dream that anything is possible again. That you can reach the long forgotten or even the never knew you had dreams and goals...that...that right there is when you hear the grown ups talking about you being in your second childhood.

And that, my friends, is where I have been able to live for a long while now. But even that world is finding new height's and breadth's...

As many of you  know I have been fancying myself a photographer, author and recent R'teest...My first semi serious attempt at painting was ok.

Then one day while Tiny Dancer and I were playing in the water colors I started painting myself...and much to my surprise I found...

                                        ~ME~

However you don't really just wake up one day and decide to become.

I'm finding that it is a process.

That involves a certain amount of letting go, and that very often we have dream blocks that we have in our thoughts that need to be removed, reassigned, or just plain old gotten rid of.

And...

It helps to have a goal in mind, with a certain kind of plan to reach the place you want to be.

I have been lucky enough to be finding the help and encouragement I have been looking for. The gentle pushes and pulling to lock me securely in dream mode...The cheering section.

One of the best Cheer leaders I have is, Fashion Designer grand daughter, Who graciously helped me get a plan in place to become...

It is true that I have many irons in the fires of 'second childhood', searching many old and new dreams and directions.

With my latest dream in the baby steps beginning stages...

To help coach others to find and follow their dreams to a happier life.

Because the sky may not be the limits after all ;)



Helping Hands

Well she did it again.

This morning as I undertook the task of changing the sheet's, Tiny Dancer bolted to my side, a bounce in her little step, a plea in her eye's and voice, "I help me you?" 

It would have been much faster to do it myself I thought as I said, "I would love your help!". And I meant it.

Then she proceeded to run circles around not only me, but the bed and the room...so much energy in such a little girl!

I plodded methodically along, after all it may be the only thing I get done today... 

As we worked my mind slipped back to the times, in my Mom's later years, that I would help her make her bed.

She would tell me it was, "to big a job for me to do alone", then express how she felt "useless" to be that help. We would get her settled in the big fan~backed wicker chair in her room, get her adjusted so she could hold the sheet's, handing them to me as needed.

I would split the pillow case job with her, she would start one and I would start the other. Holding hers so she could complete the cumbersome task she had under taken, once mine was done.

She commented how I ran circles around not only her, but the bed and the room..."So much energy little girl. Enjoy it while you can!", she'd chuckle. 

(I was in my late 40's by then, it would have been faster to do it myself, but I loved her help).

She was the one who taught me to make a bed when I was Tiny Dancer's age. It probably would have been faster for her to do it herself...but she always said she 'loved my help'. 

She let me help with lots of things.

I saw Mom quietly take care of lots of people when they needed it. 

So it was only natural that when mom passed away, her dear friend, and 'Oldest living neighbor of 54 years', and I adopted each other.

We often laughed about her being the oldest and me being the youngest of 'the old neighborhood'.

We started making her bed together...it wasn't long before she sat in her Grandmother's old chair in her room and held the sheets to give me as needed...

So my sheet's were changed today, with a little  ball of energy flitting around like a tiny butterfly, among other wonderful memories 

wafting through my mind.

I often wonder, who's helping hands are helping whom.? 

Lesson's From Mom

I have been thinking about my Mom's shoes.

I know-weird right?!

I don't ever remember my mom going barefoot.

We used to try to get her to take off her shoes, because she could wade in the irrigation water or squish through the mud...all sorts of fun stuff like that.

But, Momma always wore shoes.

Her Mom uniform consisted of a dress, apron of some sort and shoes.

I love going barefoot.

I love wading in irrigation water.

But I don't really care for the mud part anymore...

I don't often wear a dress for everyday, but I'm not opposed to them,

and I only use apron's that I collect like a child collects bugs, 

if I remember.

Then I started noticing a few weeks ago that I have started wearing my shoes all day...

You know what?! My Mom had something there.

She was ready to be indoors or out at a moments notice.

She could go from house work to kid chasing in the blink of an eye.

Yep.

My Mom wore her shoes.

Just one more thing I understand about her and realize yet again-

the older I get the smarter she was!

Smile and remember;

We're all fool's whether we dance or not. So we might as well dance.