Lost in the Past
4 AugMany years ago, when I was still in high school, my girl friend and I were up in her attic reading National Geographic magazines and drinking iced tea. Lynn’s mum called to her and she went down to see what was up, telling me she’d be right back.
Sometime later I floated to the surface and realized it was getting dark, and Lynn hadn’t come back. I went downstairs to discover the house was empty. They had gone out and forgotten I was up in the attic, with my nose in a magazine.
I went on home, carefully locking the kitchen door behind me as I left.
A Good Summer Dessert
24 JulWhen my Mum died, most of my inheritance consisted of a massive collection of cookbooks that she had inherited from her mother. If you need a recipe from the 20s, 30s, or 40s, I’m your girl. A lot of them are teaching women how to get the most out of their new “electric ice box”. I’ve often joked that my grandmother could have fed Coxey’s army with a pound of ground beef and a handful of oatmeal – and I know where she found the recipe!
And so, without further ado, I give you . . Ribbon Ice Box Cake. I found this in a booklet featuring “Pet Condensed Milk; Irradiated for extra Vitamin D”. The recipe includes amount for fixing two, four, or six servings, but I always make six. No more trouble to make enough for several meals.
Mix together . . . 2 whole eggs, 1/2 cup powdered sugar, 1/2 cup crushed pineapple, well drained, and 1/8 teaspoon salt. Save the pineapple juice.
Cook over boiling water for about 4 minutes, or until thickened. Chill.
Meanwhile, dissolve 1 package orange gelatin in 1 cup boiling water. Add 1/2 cup pineapple juice, 1-1/2 teaspoons grated orange rind (optional), 1/4 cup powdered sugar, and 1/8 teaspoon salt.
Cool, then add 1/2 cup Pet Milk. Grease an 8×4 bread pan with Crisco or similar product. Pam doesn’t work.
Chill until mixture begins to thicken. Beat with a rotary egg beater or and electric mixer until light and fluffy.
Pour half of the gelatin into your prepared pan, and cover with a layer of graham crackers. Top the graham crackers with the pineapple mixture, cover the pineapple with a layer of crackers, and then pour in the rest of the gelatin. Chill until firm.
To serve, run a knife around the edge of the pan, cover with a plate and flip it over.
This is one of The Squire’s favorite desserts. Enjoy!
Any Port in a Storm
23 JulWe had a real log-lifter of a thunder storm last night, and both the dog and the cat were upset about the noise.
Right before The Squire took this picture, Blazer had his head resting on Eddie’s back. When you are in danger, nothing is as comforting as an old friend.
Crabs!
22 JulToday is my birthday, and The Squire offered to take me anyplace my little heart desired for lunch or dinner. Since we prefer to eat our main meal in the middle of the day, I originally suggested going to a locally owned Oriental restaurant, but late yesterday I decided what I REALLY wanted was to go out for hard crabs.
And so we did.
There is a nice place not too far from here that had mediums crabs for $45 a dozen, 
and when you consider that will feed two people it’s not a bad deal. Two ears of corn and two bottles of O’Doul’s probably didn’t come to any more than a nice meal at a really good restaurant, and we both enjoyed every minute of it. And we had three left over for later.
While we ate, we reminisced about other times we had eaten crabs. When The Squire first came to Baltimore, fresh from the mountains of North Carolina he’d hardly ever eaten seafood, never mind hard crabs or oysters. His coworkers invited him out for dinner one Friday, and he asked them to order for him while he went to wash his hands. When he got back to the table he discovered they’d gotten him a soft crab sandwich. All elbows sticking out from under the bread, and when he lifted the lid his lunch was staring back at him.
When we were going together we ran into some friends at the store; they bought two dozen crabs and met us back at my apartment. I showed The Squire how to eat a crab and told him I’d fix him a sandwich. We all got to talking and it suddenly dawned on me I’d never gotten him something to eat. I looked at the pile of shells in front of him and exclaimed, “How many of those things did you eat, anyway?”
“Six. And you’re no more surprised than I am.”
He’s never looked back.
We went to a crab feast held by my sister’s church. I don’t remember the price, but everybody got six crabs for their money. Six crabs in a brown paper sack. That was it. Nothing else, and I mean nothing. We were reduced to cleaning the crabs with my sister’s embroidery scissors and The Squire’s pen knife. Somebody took pity on us and gave us a fistful of napkins, and an extra mallet.
For a while I was allergic to ingested iodine; we had company from out of town who wanted carbs, so I went along, intending to have French fries or something. They suggested I take some Benadryl before we leave to prevent breaking out in hives, so I could eat with them, which I did. The next morning I was so dizzy I sat at the dining room table with my head in my hands to keep it from floating away. I pressed my elbows on the table to keep it from doing the same!
Crabs are delicious, and eating them breaks every possible rule of good etiquette. Newspaper for a tablecloth, mallet and knife instead of a knife and a fork, you wash your hands in a bucket of water, and put your elbows on the table. It’s not rude to ask the host what he paid for the meal; it’s pretty much understood somebody will ask.
If you ever come to Baltimore we’ll try to take you out for crabs. Even if it isn’t my birthday.
If You Don’t Like Organized Religion. . .
21 Jul. . . I know just the place for you. We have often joked that Resurrection is just the right church! This morning a case in point.
Our rector is on vacation, and we have a lovely lady filling in for these three weeks. Whenever you have a supply priest, things are a bit “off” simply because everybody has their own way of doing things. Most clergy consume any wine left after everyone has had communion, but she leaves it for the Altar Guild to dispose of. When you don’t eat breakfast on Sunday, this can be a serious problem!
So – today not only was our rector was away, but our organist was also on vacation. Mother Sue was here, but the fellow who was supposed to play the piano was nowhere to be found. The Squire called him, and learned the man was ill. C’mon! You’re not too sick to use the phone, are you? So Mother Sue played the piano in the back of the church, and I processed up the aisle by myself. When the first hymn was over, she hustled up the side aisle, picked up her Prayer Book and started the service.
When it was time for the Gradual hymn – a bit of “traveling music” before and after the Gospel – she dashed to the back again and told me to bring the Gospel Book down the center aisle. I couldn’t find it. I looked on the altar where it belonged, glanced over where she had been sitting during the service and then sort of did a “Moses in the wilderness” thing until I spotted a member of the choir desperately pointing to the table where we place the bread and wine for the ushers to bring up. No idea why it was there and Sue didn’t remember putting it there, either.
At least some dear soul in the congregation started the Doxology for us, and we managed to sing the last hymn without any music.
Oh! One of the ushers turned around and started back to his seat without getting the communion rail in place. The other fellow grabbed him by the shirt and turned him around.
The Gospel lesson today was about Mary and Martha, and trying to multiple-task. Yes, Lord. We’ve got that part down pat. Amateur hour. Has anybody here ever done this before?
The Day Before the Baby Comes
1 JulOr something along those lines.
I woke up this morning at 5:30, feeling full of energy. The weather was clear and cool – 65°F – and we only had a half a loaf of white bread left from what I’d made while The Squire was in the hospital. I dragged out the machine and got a batch of onion-dill underway before the day got too hot.
Normally, fixing breakfast is The Squire’s job, but this morning I had grits and chicken-maple sausage ready to go; all I had to do was hit the toaster and fry the eggs. I don’t know which of us was the most surprised!
I’ve always made most of our bread, and when I was still working it was a good way to pound out frustration. I’d come home and beat people up – one for you, and one for your ugly brother – boom, boom, bang! Not too long before I “retired” I’d sent The Squire to work with a different kind of bread every day for a month – twenty days. The girls in my carpool refused to take any more loaves because their husbands wanted to know why they didn’t make bread, too. The folks in The Squire’s office didn’t complain.
Anyway, this is the recipe I used today. You can make it in your machine, or do it by hand.
Onion and Dill Bread
1 package yeast, or 2-1/2 teaspoons if you buy it in bulk
3-1/3 cups flour (I use 1 cup whole wheat, and 2-1/3 all-purpose, but it’s up to you)
1/4 teaspoon baking soda
1-1/2 teaspoons salt
3 tablespoons sugar
1 egg
Mix together and warm:
3/4 cup cottage cheese
3/4 cup sour cream or full-fat plain yogurt
3 tablespoons minced dried onion
2 tablespoons dried dill weed
1-1/2 tablespoons butter
I also add 1 heaping tablespoon vital gluten. Bob’s Red Mill is a good choice.
This makes 2-1/2 pounds; I make 2 8×4 loaves. Bake at 350 for about 20 minutes. I insert a meat thermometer when I think the bread is almost done and removed the loaves from the oven 190°F.
This makes marvelous sandwiches!
So She Said. . .
28 Jun. . .”There’s no point in both of us being down.”
Famous last words.
Wednesday night I was headed up the stairs when I got hit with whatever this thing is. Without going into all the gory details, it was pretty grim. I tried to sleep downstairs (not that “sleeping” was the operative word) but that didn’t work, so I made umpteen trips up and down the steps.
The Squire called yesterday morning, sounding much, much better, to say he was being sent home. I was in no condition to drive so I called Mrs. Mac and she, bless her, not only went after my husband but stopped to get us some ginger ale. A small thing, maybe, but it had a huge impact. It’s so nice to have people who are willing to help, especially when you have no other family in the area.
While I was hogging the bathroom – next house will have two, thank you very much! – The Squire gathered all of the clothes I had gone through and went to the laundromat. This is probably the only time in our marriage that I really wished we had a washer in the house. He hung out the sheets but the heat and the ‘skeeters drove him back inside, so we just tossed the rest of the stuff in the dryer.
Today – Friday – I feel great and he is back in the recliner, fighting some sort of backlash. Whatever this is, it doesn’t give up easily! Youngest Daughter called to check up on her Papa and said her youngest also has this rot – and that young lady lives in Colorado!
Beware!
Once More, With Feeling
26 JunWhen I came downstairs Tuesday morning (was it only yesterday?) I found the bathroom totally ripped apart and The Squire asleep in the recliner. He’d had a bout of projectile vomiting and explosive diarrhea and had taken the time and effort to remove the worst of the evidence before he’d collapsed.
What with one thing and another I ended up taking him to the ER around 10, as he had all of the symptoms of the “thick blood” problem he’d had back in 2015. I stayed with him until 1:00, came home, fed the dog and myself and did a bit around the house – not that you can tell. He called around dinner time to tell me they were keeping him for the night (no surprise there!) and he was going up to a room. I showered and dressed and went back to the hospital, but he was still in the ER, as they were waiting for a bed. Kissed him goodnight, came home and collapsed into bed myself.
When his blood thickens up – and they don’t know why – he can’t get enough oxygen. He gets short of breath, confused, and very, very weak. He’s still on IVs and he thinks they put some blood thinner in the mix. They told him it was to prevent clots.
He called this morning at 7:30 to let me know he was still alive – barely. He hadn’t gotten upstairs until 1AM and it was pushing 3 before people stopped asking him questions and let him rest. He sounded dreadful, but I think that is pure exhaustion. I keep saying hospitals are no place for sick people!
I made bread, went up to do the wash, and stopped at KFC for lunch. Just keeping up tradition, and it was easier than trying to fix something for myself. Hung up half the clothes, tossed the rest into the dryer, and went back down to visit my poor husband. He did get a bit of sleep last night and was dozing when I arrived. He’d had a good dinner – chicken and mashed potatoes with gravy, fresh string beans, and ice cream for dessert. He requested a salad for supper. I’m not the only one keeping tradition! I took two along small loaves of the bread I’d made this morning – no harm in bribing the staff!
He complained yesterday that the nurses didn’t put in a port, but stick him anew every times they draw blood. Early this morning one nurse stuck him four times and never did find a vein. A second nurse came in and got four vials right off the bat. The first woman had left the room, and the second one muttered “That’s the difference between twenty years experience and twenty weeks.” Everybody has to be new once, but, oh! my goodness!
I’ve completely lost track of days and times. I have one errand to run right now and then I am going to come back home and try to get some rest myself. No point in both of us being down.
thisendoftheswamp 