Thanksgiving DAY may be over, but not the thankfulness

 

  It’s hard, the days after Thanksgiving, to say, feel or think, ‘OK, it’s over; time to move into Christmas mode.’

Nothing doing! Not yet. Not when your older son and family have driven/ flown up from Florida. And have invited you to share a condo at The Wharf in Hot Springs for the rest of the rainy week.

Four branches of the family remained in place until the weekend. Several condos were available, so that our sister—the one with the annual Thanksgiving week—scored other units for those of us who could stay and prolong the togetherness.

For the last few days of November––I’ve made a rule never to begin Christmas (except in my mind—oh, and unless I spot a perfect gift) until December 1––the pumpkins, gourds and leaves, fall tablecloths and runners stayed where they are. November was autumn’s time.

Besides, I want to keep the memories fresh of a more-blessed-than-usual holiday weekend-- one that lasted from Wednesday through Saturday.

Missing at Thanksgiving: A sibling from Virginia, one from California, one from Benton, one from Little Rock, a niece and grandniece from Portland, four nephews and their families—(in-laws?).

Unusual: The warm, sunny weather—all day—decrying a long-predicted, three-day rain event that was to begin Thursday afternoon. Then, rain was to begin early-morning hours Friday. Still no precip until mid-morning Friday––sporadic for a spell––then constant.

Unusual: Two folks in the family circle were newlyweds. Also, an eight-month-old joined his two-year-old brother.

Unusual: For the first time I took cranberry sauce and Mom’s Jell-O fruit salad.
 
Usual: A brother brought two large pans of “Mom’s-and-Aunt-Erma’s-yeast rolls.” They were to fight over. Though no one did.

Unusual: Duck dressing, compliments of a daughter.

 

Usual: Not enough deviled eggs to go around, since some took two the first go-round. NOTE TO SELF: Prepare two dozen eggs next year.

 

Usual: Kid Billy drove up from Arkadelphia, his home away from home, after work at Cracker Barrel. He went back that night, worked Friday, then returned to Hot Springs for another family eat-out at Jose’s.

Unusual: Yours truly—a non-TV-er—watched the Razorbacks beat the Mizzou Tigers, plus other football games. I still detest the repetitious, boring commercials. For the Florida son, a Mizzou graduate, it was . . . he didn’t say much.

Unusual: Driving home on Saturday in incessant rain, only to be slowed near Haskell while two lanes merged into one. Thank goodness, I was in the right lane from the start. Reason: a wreck; the tow truck had one loaded ready for . . . somewhere. After only 15 minutes, we were all back to freeway speed. Some drivers, including moi, drove slower, due to the weather. But some folks--presumably in a greater hurry than I--didn’t.

That isn’t all that was worth crowing about during the Thanksgiving weekend. But when this is posted, Gordon and family will be back in Florida--with my gifts added to their belongings. Billy will still be in Arkadelphia with enough money for December’s rent (thanks to generous tippers), and everyone else will be back in their homes.

 And tomorrow, I begin the countdown to Christmas.

 

 

November and Thanksgiving: always the same; always different

 

 

     My sons, Gordon (r.) and Eric (l.)

November 2015 began at 7:30 on the first day of Central Standard Time with a call time at Bryant UMC. The dozen hand bell ringers were to gather for warm-up before playing “Deep River” as a prelude.

The very next Sunday, the nine Salem UMC women’s bell group––hand chimes instead of hand bells––gathered at 8:15 to warm up for the very impressive Veteran’s Day services––early and late.

As of Saturday afternoon, November 14, the long-awaited and long-planned-for SUMC church bazaar is history. Thanks to co-chairwomen Denise and StefNi, consultant Lydia and go-fer Glenn, the fellowship hall was transformed into a magical Country Christmas. A vintage tablecloth of Mom’s, and a glass milk bottle full of marbles holding live holly and fake poinsettias decorated my table of books.

There was so much to see and buy. So many lookers and buyers. So many folks I hadn’t seen and visited with in ages: Mike, Jim, Sharon, Libby, Ruth, Jan, John and Sarah.

With sales of fourteen books, I turned around and bought a carnival-glass pitcher from Roxie, a gift basket of Jan’s that included her last-available book, and a two-shelf, wooden rolling cart from the yard sale under the arbor.

As if Sundays weren’t full enough, Mondays include trips to the Garland County Library in Hot Springs for a weekly writers group.

A week ago, a group of friends who—for the lack of a better name—call ourselves T5OU (“the five of us”) met at one member’s home for a soup-themed lunch. I took a venison chili, Linda brought taco soup, Annamarie, cheese and crackers, Carolyn, broccoli-cheese and Fran had vegetable soup. Dessert was a plate of apple-butter bars (recipe below) and an apple crisp.

Besides those recipes I printed last week, I had clipped one from The Standard some time ago. I had all the ingredients, so I decided to bake “Apple Butter Bars.” Now, who keeps apple butter on hand, I ask you? I do! I do! Thanks to my uncle John and Aunt Frances, I had a gift jar from them. Here is the recipe. It had no attribution and I failed to date it. But I can attest to its great taste. Perhaps you can whip these up for Christmas.

APPLE BUTTER BARS: 1-1/2 c. all-purpose flour; 1 tsp. baking soda; 1 tsp. salt; 2-1/2 c. uncooked quick oats; 1-1/2 c. sugar; 1 c. butter/margarine, melted, 1-1/2 c. apple butter (or other jam/jelly/preserves/etc.). DIRECTIONS: Preheat oven to 350 degrees. In large mixing bowl, combine the flour, soda & salt. [I sifted them.] Add the oats & sugar. Stir in the melted butter and mix well. Press half of the mixture into a greased 13x9x2 inch pan. Top with apple butter. [I had just one c. of apple butter, so I mixed plum jam of Aunt Frances’s in with the butter] Sprinkle the rest of the crumb mixture on top; press gently with a spoon. [I sprinkled it with my hands since it wasn’t very gooey]. Bake at 350 degrees 55 minutes or till lightly brown. Cool and cut into bars.

Hope you are having a blessed Thanksgiving. Remember the starving children. Clean your plate.

 

 

 

                          

 

 

 

 

Easy recipes for the run-up to Thanksgiving

One son's favorite pie: mincemeat

 It’s probably a tad late for a lot of you, but for those late starters, here are some easy Thanksgiving-week recipes you can whip up quickly. They are from the pear-motifed pottery container that I drop any clipped or torn-out recipes into during the previous year. If I use it, I drop it back in.

 If your church or club is planning a pre-Christmas bazaar or bake sale, here are some good-sounding ideas. Or if your out-of-state family is staying the rest of the Thanksgiving weekend, these might be good to bake/ make up in advance. You’ll want to spend all the time possible visiting with them.

 FRENCH BREAKFAST PUFFS: ½ c. butter (softened); ½ c. sugar; 1 egg; 1-1/2 cups flour; 1-1/2 t. baking powder; ¼ t. nutmeg; ½ c. milk. DIRECTIONS: Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Combine all the ingredients & mix together. Pour into paper-lined muffin pans and bake for 20 to 25 minutes until golden brown. SUGAR MIXTURE: ½ c. sugar; 1 t. cinnamon; 6 Tbsp. butter (melted) DIRECTIONS: Combine all ingredients. Roll the still-warm top of each muffin in the melted butter and then into the sugar mixture. [From the Saline Courier, 1/8/’14]

PEANUT CRUNCHY: 1 c. white corn syrup; 1 c. sugar; 2 c. crunchy peanut butter; 1 20-oz. [a different recipe called for a 9 - 10 oz. one] bag of Fritos. DIRECTIONS: In a large saucepan, over medium heat, cook and stir corn syrup and sugar until dissolved—7 to 8 minutes. Do not boil. Remove from heat, add peanut butter and mix well. Fold in Fritos, drop by spoonfuls on wax paper. Let stand for 1 to 2 hours. Store in air-tight container.[Saline Courier, no date]

PEANUT BUTTER KISSES: 2 c. dry milk; 1 c. peanut butter; ½ c. honey; ¼ c. shredded coconut. DIRECTIONS: In a 2-qt. bowl, mix dry milk, peanut butter & honey. Roll dough into balls. Roll the balls into coconut. Makes about 24 kisses. [Arkansas Democrat-Gazette, 10/22/ ‘14]

CINNAMON STICKS: 1 c. butter (2 sticks); 1 c. sugar; 1 egg yolk (save the white); 1 Tbsp. cinnamon; 2 c. flour (sifted); 1 c. pecans (chopped). DIRECTIONS: Preheat oven to 250 degrees. Cream butter & sugar together. Add egg yolk & then add flour sifted with the cinnamon. Pat very thinly on two cookie sheets. Spread the top with the unbeaten egg white. Sprinkle nuts on both trays. Bake 30 to 40 minutes in a very slow oven (300-325 degrees). Cut while hot. This is a very crisp stick. [Sally Yarberry, Saline Courier, 3/ 17/ ‘10]

EASY CREAMY FUDGE: 1 tub chocolate cake frosting; 2 c. crunchy peanut butter. DIRECTIONS: Put into microwave-safe dish for 30 seconds. Mix well & pour into 9” pan. Cut into slices when cooled. [Karen Kirkpatrick, Arkadelphia, from Arkansas Living, Feb. ‘09]

THREE PACKETS & A ROAST: 1 beef roast; 1 brown-gravy mix packet; 1 Italian dressing mix packet; 1 Ranch dressing mix packet; 1 c. water. DIRECTIONS: Place beef in Crock-pot. Pour the three packets over the meat that has not been browned. Pour water over top of package mixtures. Cover and cook on low 8 to 10 hours, or on high 5-6 hours. [Connie Nichols, Saline Courier, 9/ 18/ ‘13]

I hope you enjoy the run-up to Thanksgiving.

                                                                Another son's favorite treat:    parched peanuts

November 15 years ago: my, how time flies!

 

 Several days late, I know, but here are three senryu in honor of Veteran’s Day:

 

the little girl

and her doll

among the veterans

crisp autumn winds ~
praise all veterans who fought
for our freedom

visit to vets’ home
the child asking
Where are the snacks?

 

How time flies. Especially in retrospect.  Please share in a reminiscence of one morning when we lived in Arkadelphia. Billy (grandson) was ten years old.

 

“Monday Morning, November 13, 2000”---At 5:35, the alarm sounded. I punched the snooze button and continued my dream.

At 5:45, I did the same—unusual, because I generally rise and shut off the alarm. At the third buzz, I sat up, killed the alarm, donned the green socks I threw off last night, and the old purple fleece robe I’d worn forever.

 

Yesterday’s schedule left no time to read the Sunday paper except for a quick scan of the obits. Warming up stale coffee, lacing it with diet Pepsi from last night’s return trip from Benton in the driving rain, I began my journal entry.

 

 Forty minutes later--at 6:40—the timer beeped. With it still sounding, I carried it to Billy’s sleeping place on the floor between my bed and the closet. I nudged his leg with my foot. “Time to wake up. Five more minutes,” I said.

 

At the second ring, I pulled all the covers off him. He smiled behind closed eyes. “I’m sleepy. Give me five more minutes.” No wonder: he’d spent all Sunday afternoon at Austin King’s rescheduled birthday party, and after the second trip to Benton for choir practice, it was ten p.m. before he’d gotten to bed.

 

He came to breakfast wrapped in a light quilt. Though he has plenty of pajamas, he chose to sleep without a shirt. He saved his soggy cereal “for tomorrow. I like soggy.” He did eat half a banana.

 

He dressed, but the sandals came off when he discovered how cold it was outside. Neighbor Jesse’s outgrown, low-cut rubber boots fit the bill.

 

Ritalin, teeth-brushing, rubber bands on braces—this was Billy’s toilette. “Can I turn on TV?”

 

“No, get your bedding out of my room; I need to get into the closet today.”

Done. “Can I go outside?”

“No, pick up your dirty clothes, bring them in here, and close the drawers— what if someone came to look at renting the house when we move?”

Done, but not without grumbling. “Can I go outside?”

 

“Yes.” Two minutes remained until 7:25, the time I set to leave home—getting ahead of the school traffic, but not too early for school personnel, who are on site by 7:30.

 

He took his backpack outside, dropped it in the recycling box and picked up a short-handled racket and a tennis ball. 

 

Gathering my walking gear, keys and purse, I exited and locked the house.

 

At my car door, I saw a bed sheet on the floor of the carport. “Billy! Come here and pick this up!” It was part of the covers he took in the car for the early morning drive to Benton yesterday. (I was music director at SUMC. Church in the morning; choir rehearsal in the evening.)

“How did this get here?” he asked--a rhetorical question.

“Drop it on the steps.” He did and entered the car.

We backed out, and saw Byron, our neighbor, tractoring two mattresses to the curb for today’s “big items” pickup. He gave us a thumbs-up. When we’d driven to the Y at Henderson, Billy piped up.

“I forgot my backpack!”

 

Oh, did I explode. “Drat it, Billy.” I spun the car around and gunned back up 15^th Street. I hadn’t reminded him. No, he didn’t say that, I did—to myself. Just how much micromanaging must I do?

 

I tore up gravel on our driveway. “You know how much I hate traffic,” I used as my excuse for such a show of anger.

 

I needn’t have rushed. Nor gotten angry. But when a grandmother raises a child, sometimes it happens.

 

Thanks for sharing the trip down memory lane. Billy now lives in Arkadelphia, works at Cracker Barrel and Game Stop, pays a car payment and rent each month. Has completed six years-plus of college hours. We’ve come a long way together.

Another week in the Ozarks: writing/ critiquing/ basking in autumn’s ambiance

 

 

                OCTOBER 24, Saturday, 9 a.m. – Couchwood.  Leaving—again--for a week at Eureka Springs by way of Beebe to pick up b-f-f Dot. To hit Hwy 65, we cut across Hwy 64 to Conway, stopping in Clinton to “sell” a book, then to Marshall for gas. After a must-stop at Ferguson’s for coffee and a huge cinnamon roll, we rolled into Eureka Springs around 3 p.m. One more leg down the twists-and-turns of Scenic Highway 62 to Spring Street--our home for the next week.

                We settled into our suites, Dot in Spring Garden at the Main House of Dairy Hollow; moi in Muse 1 of 505, the Usonion house in the Frank Lloyd Wright style.

Dot went out with her daughter and granddaughter. They had driven over from Edmond, Oklahoma, to see their mom and grandmother since they hadn’t been able to visit Dot on her recent birthday.

                OCTOBER 25 Sunday. The trio invited me to join them for brunch at Myrtie Mae’s restaurant, after which Linda and Amy headed back west. Dot and I worked separately on our writing goals—her’s was to write a new chapter every day. Mine was to finish last week’s Halloween column, finish “Dazey’s Dilemma,” a short story-in-progress, and to begin on a possible memoir inspired by May Sarton’s “Coming Into Eighty.” I would tentatively call mine “Edging Past Eighty.”

OCTOBER 26, Monday. We met the other residents, Cynthia from Springfield, Judi from Cincinnati, and a new writer from D. C. a young, Jewish man who worked at the Library of Congress.

At 7 p.m., a Haymaker poetry critique session was scheduled across town. At 9:30, the 8 poets who had--as one guy said, “tortured” (critiqued) each other’s work--“limped away” to rest for the “onslaught” of a second session the next morning. All our poems were equally discussed, dissected or divided. Fun, fun, fun!

OCTOBER 27, Tuesday, 8:30 a.m. The poets met at the Forest Hill Restaurant, and then to the Express Inn for another session. The glassed-in breakfast room jutting out from the building had served as a meeting place for several years and most of the group lodged at the Inn. I began the meeting with a “lesson,” or “sharing,” called “Genesis of a Poem.” Then we sparred through another poem from each.

At noon, we traveled to Sparky’s, fortifying ourselves for the final afternoon session. After it ended at 4 p.m., we hugged and kissed those friends we won’t see again until spring.

OCTOBER 28, Wednesday. I revised the Haymaker-critiqued poems as per suggestions, then returned to Dazey. Rain fell gently, confining us to our rooms. Looking out my window, I noticed . . . “a squirrel/ up and down the wet pine . . . sometimes/ lost in the grayness”.

OCTOBER 29, Thursday. We struggled to get enough internet access to check our email. We later discovered that the entire town went down that night. But at 1 p.m., we left for our flea-marketing excursion. First, to the Purple House, the hospital’s thrift shop. Then to The “doggie” store—the Humane Society’s thrift store, then to the Barn Shoppes.

At dinner, we discovered the cook’s faux pas: She served pork. Ahron had to go without meat.

OCTOBER 30, Friday. The last full day. Judi left early, we were leaving tomorrow, Cynthia, on Monday, but Ahron had two more weeks of residency. Dot and I spent two hours at the last flea market, the Echo, whose merchandise is all donated, and whose monies go to the free medical clinic.

OCTOBER 31. We left at 10, stopped in Marshall for lunch and ice cream, then pulled into Beebe at 3, into Benton at 4. It was a thoroughly wonderful week. The two cats even “spoke” to me after leaving them with only an every-other-day check-in.

May November be full of inspiring nuggets for you.