Have A Groovy Easter

Yep, that's me in the middle. Judging by the look of delight on my face, I'm guessing I'm the only one who still believed in the Easter Bunny.

Don't Be A Turkey

Another Thanksgiving soon to be neatly tucked away for reference. By that, I mean the giggles, guffaws and war stories that accompany a day with the relatives.

This year I am sans my girls. I'll be spending Thanksgiving with the in-laws, just as I have for the past five years since I returned to Virginia. I should be tickled that I have not had to cook since I moved back--other than a side dish and my West Texas Fair prize-winning crescent rolls--but I like to cook and I miss the family time. But that's a different memory.

I've read that you can't fully enjoy the present, if you dwell on the past. The present is staring me in the face, so I've put the butter on the counter to soften in preparation for making crescent rolls before going to my mother-in-law's for breakfast.

I've had to really push to be able to bring anything. I think she still views me as that 15 year old girl that dated her youngest son... How could I possibly know how to cook anything?? Never mind the fact, that I spent 20 some odd years out of her view, raised two children and such! Funny how our perceptions are clouded sometimes. We see what we want to see.

Being fully aware of this little human flaw, I vow to make this dinner a genuine pleasure by taking the time to drop all preconceived notions of everyone and look at them all with a fresh perspective. Happy Thanksgiving!

Traditional Threads

The days are running together at a much faster rate with the holidays staring me right in the face. Nonetheless, I'm proud to say, a large portion of my holiday shopping is done. All that is left is my Christmas sewing. (Okay... and a few packages to wrap. A few more to buy. And the baking.) But I'm focusing on the sewing this week.

I've been collecting fabric all year so that each person on my sewing list will have the most appropriately wild pajamas.

I started making pajamas for the girls several years ago. In fact, when they were little, I made most of what they wore. As time went by, they'd accompany me to the fabric store and pick out their own patterns and fabric. Once they hit high school, however, about the only thing I sewed for them was pajamas and the occasional bathrobe.

But I think they'll have to agree that their "homemade" items were always one of a kind. I'd also like to think these unique fashions helped build their individualism... and encouraged them to not be like everyone else.

These days, I'm noticing they are a lot more like me. I told my Jenifer just the other day, that I hear my words coming out of her mouth (and her sister's) more often as of late. She thought it funny when I admitted sometimes I am proud, other times horrified.

It makes me think of something my other half often says: "Throw enough shit out there and something's bound to stick."

Apple Butter Anxiety

Tomorrow is the big day. Four eager workers and 12 bushels of apples will make war stories and 27 gallons of apple butter at my house this weekend.

My other half had made apple butter with his father over 25 years ago. His fond memories are what sparked this two-day event... that, and the fact that he inherited the old copper kettle and a "still in the box" peeler.

Seems making apple butter was an annual event at the church he attended as a child as well. He phoned several of the older women from the church this week to compare the recipe, as well as to gather some additional tips and techniques. Needless to say, he was more than a bit disappointed when he learned that nowadays they used apple sauce rather than go to the trouble of peeling apples. Wonder how many years they peeled before that decision was made?

I understand canning and making jelly. I remember shelling endless bags of peas with my mother and Granny. We'd all set up on the screen porch at Granny's and snap or shell until our thumps were sore. Pretty soon, the adults would become so engrossed in their conversation, they'd forget the children were even there. That's when the conversation would get interesting and my sisters and I would become quieter and more attentive. Ah, the gossip... I heard a lot on that porch that I didn't fully understand until much later in my life.

When I was living in Texas, I planted two pear trees when the girls were toddlers so I could make my own pear honey.
Once the tress began to bear fruit, my two daughters were drafted for the canning experience, as well as any unsuspecting friends. The first few years, everyone eagerly anticipated the event... eventually, helping with the pear honey was used as a bargaining tool for teenage girls. Soon thereafter, even neigborhood friends became suspiciously nonexistent the weekends we peeled pears and made pear honey.

One of the couples involved in our apple butter project actually hosted the last event over 25 years ago at their home. It's good to have some seasoned veterans.