Ask and You May Not Receive
I don’t plan to turn this piece (from the valley) into Miss Lura’s Advice Column but it has occurred to me that some folks need a refresher on what questions may or may not be appropriate to ask. Bear in mind that children under the age of 4 or 5 are pretty much exempt from my guidelines. But please don’t use them to ask questions you shouldn’t.
We all know, or should know, that you don’t go around asking women or men, for that matter, how old they are. You can always come in the back door and ask what year they graduated from high school. Usually this will give you a clue and you can do some simple math and figure it out.
Along those same lines in most cases it’s ok to ask someone how tall they are, but don’t be stupid enough to ask how much they weigh. Not very many folks are happy with their weight. Medical workers are not exempt. If you happen to be put into a position where you have to answer this rude question I suggest you do what I do. Give them the number on your driver’s license. Bungee jumping would be the one exception to the rule.
You maybe shouldn’t go around asking people what size shoe they wear. "Hey, Phoebe, where in the heck do you buy your shoes? What size are those gunboats? Thirteens?" Don’t do that. The same is true with their dress, bra, belt, pants, and sometimes even ring sizes.
Speaking of rings....it is not cool to ask how many carats the diamond is. Worse yet, "Is that rock real? They are making such nice looking cubic zirconias now days."
Hair color is another gray (ha ha) area. If their hair is blue, fuchsia, or purple you pretty much know it’s a dye job. I’m going out on a limb here in guessing that probably 30 to 50 % of the women color their hair in some way. To say nothing of the men folk. But who cares? You don’t need to know, and/or ask, no matter how bad you want to.
Some folks are offended if you ask them if they made their cake from scratch or "was this made with a mix?" Don’t worry about offending me with that one. I haven’t made a cake from scratch since I was in Home Ec class in the last century. And the stove I baked it in was electric, not wood. It has been me and Betty Crocker all these years. Nowadays you can buy cookie mixes, too. A little FYI... you can add 2 eggs and ½ cup of oil to any cake mix and turn it into cookie dough. Works for me.
We have mid-term elections coming up, folks, and a lot of people are reluctant to be blabbing about who they are likely to vote for? Maybe you don’t need to ask them.
"What did you do with the money your mother gave your for _______________?" Fill in the blank. Singing lessons? A haircut? A new shirt?
Last but not least...."When is the baby due?" This is not good in so many ways. What if she had the baby a month ago? What if she was not nor never has been pregnant? Back in the olden days (the sixties) you could tell if a women was "in the family way" by the type of clothing she wore. Lovely creations called smocks. As soon as the baby was born the smocks were retired and sometimes burned in a ceremonious fashion.
I graduated somewhere between 1961 and 1971.
Wednesday, July 30, 2014
Sunday, June 29, 2014
Wheels
Wheels
My fascination with wheels or objects bearing wheels must have started when I got my first tricycle. I was somewhere around 5. I might have been pushed in some contraption like a buggy before then but that escapes my memory. Bicycle - age 10. Somewhere between tricycle and bicycle I was introduced to roller skates–those nifty ones that you clamped onto your shoes. I mean shoes, too; sandals didn’t do the job. I still have a skate key, if you are old enough to remember them. But no skates. A side note....if you have a skate key you became pretty popular. Skate keys were the first things lost and the last things found. A neighbor had the skates to envy. Shoe skates. Hers were white boots just like the roller rink had. She had little pom pom deals attached to hers. Oh, my.
Mr. Lucky understood this thing I have for wheels. He went to a yard sale once and came back with a tricycle (rusty and quite wonderful), a Radio Flyer wagon, and a wheel barrow. (I had to look this up...wheel barrel or wheel barrow. It’s barrow). What a guy. On Mother’s Day on year I got a new wheel barrow. Another time I got a lawn mower with 4 wheels. Oh boy.
Moving along.... I didn’t marry Mr. Lucky because he had a 1960 Studebaker Lark, but it didn’t hurt his image either. Most importantly he introduced me to motorcycles. Have you ever heard of a Tohatsu? That’s what he put me on first. It had wheels. Later I moved up to a thing of beauty. A 1970 Yamaha Enduro 175. It’s still in the garage. One of the last times I rode it, it threw me on the ground between a rock and a really hard place. As I recall there was a kelly hump and a mammoth tree stump involved, too.
After witnessing me hitting the ground Mr. Lucky thought (wisely) that it was time to switch to four-wheelers. Better still. More WHEELS. So far it appears that I am lots less likely to get thrown to the ground while riding my 4-wheeler.
The yard sale wagon was the start of my collection of wagons. Most of them are rusty, but well loved. However a few years back my son sent me one for my birthday. It’s a beauty, complete with pneumatic tires, removable wood side boards, and much too nice for kids to play with. Every grown woman should have one. The wheel barrow thing just sort of happened. I have used both the wagons and wheel barrows for planters as well as for hauling stuff about in the yard.
As you can imagine I have assorted wheel barrows and wagons scattered about in flower beds and former flower beds. Oh, yeah...and one rusty tricycle. I call it Yard Art.
I’m on the hunt for a kiddie car just in case you have one to give away. I wouldn’t turn away any Tonka trucks, either.
Shortly after I wrote the first final draft of this piece (from the valley) I went out for my "health walk" during which I fell to the ground in fine style. That would be with an audience and I certainly wasn’t disappointed. With little fanfare Mr. Lucky took me to the ER for x-rays. I was sure I had broken my patella or tibia or some other hard to pronounce part of my anatomy. No. Just a torn ACL. The L part stands for ligament. Long story short. Now I get to use a walker (with wheels) until I get better.
Man, I love wheels.
My fascination with wheels or objects bearing wheels must have started when I got my first tricycle. I was somewhere around 5. I might have been pushed in some contraption like a buggy before then but that escapes my memory. Bicycle - age 10. Somewhere between tricycle and bicycle I was introduced to roller skates–those nifty ones that you clamped onto your shoes. I mean shoes, too; sandals didn’t do the job. I still have a skate key, if you are old enough to remember them. But no skates. A side note....if you have a skate key you became pretty popular. Skate keys were the first things lost and the last things found. A neighbor had the skates to envy. Shoe skates. Hers were white boots just like the roller rink had. She had little pom pom deals attached to hers. Oh, my.
Mr. Lucky understood this thing I have for wheels. He went to a yard sale once and came back with a tricycle (rusty and quite wonderful), a Radio Flyer wagon, and a wheel barrow. (I had to look this up...wheel barrel or wheel barrow. It’s barrow). What a guy. On Mother’s Day on year I got a new wheel barrow. Another time I got a lawn mower with 4 wheels. Oh boy. Moving along.... I didn’t marry Mr. Lucky because he had a 1960 Studebaker Lark, but it didn’t hurt his image either. Most importantly he introduced me to motorcycles. Have you ever heard of a Tohatsu? That’s what he put me on first. It had wheels. Later I moved up to a thing of beauty. A 1970 Yamaha Enduro 175. It’s still in the garage. One of the last times I rode it, it threw me on the ground between a rock and a really hard place. As I recall there was a kelly hump and a mammoth tree stump involved, too.
After witnessing me hitting the ground Mr. Lucky thought (wisely) that it was time to switch to four-wheelers. Better still. More WHEELS. So far it appears that I am lots less likely to get thrown to the ground while riding my 4-wheeler. The yard sale wagon was the start of my collection of wagons. Most of them are rusty, but well loved. However a few years back my son sent me one for my birthday. It’s a beauty, complete with pneumatic tires, removable wood side boards, and much too nice for kids to play with. Every grown woman should have one. The wheel barrow thing just sort of happened. I have used both the wagons and wheel barrows for planters as well as for hauling stuff about in the yard.
As you can imagine I have assorted wheel barrows and wagons scattered about in flower beds and former flower beds. Oh, yeah...and one rusty tricycle. I call it Yard Art.
I’m on the hunt for a kiddie car just in case you have one to give away. I wouldn’t turn away any Tonka trucks, either.
Shortly after I wrote the first final draft of this piece (from the valley) I went out for my "health walk" during which I fell to the ground in fine style. That would be with an audience and I certainly wasn’t disappointed. With little fanfare Mr. Lucky took me to the ER for x-rays. I was sure I had broken my patella or tibia or some other hard to pronounce part of my anatomy. No. Just a torn ACL. The L part stands for ligament. Long story short. Now I get to use a walker (with wheels) until I get better. Man, I love wheels.
Sunday, June 1, 2014
Man or Woman's Best Friend
During our happy, blissful married life Mr. Lucky and I have had over a dozen dogs. At some point I’ll blat about many of them but first....
Let me tell you all about Fred. He was some sort of a Heeler. If you read up on Heelers, as I did, you’ll find that they are smart, trainable, good with kids, and require very little grooming. He even responded to his new name-Fred. All of that worked for me.
Fred appeared in the neighborhood one spring day; a full grown dog with a collar, but no identification or rabies tag. A notice on the radio and a call to the police about a lost dog didn’t turn up an owner. He soon took up residency under our deck. The neighbors had a bunch of kids that the dog seemed to find necessary to watch. Watch them he did. There is a small stream of water in our backyard that I like to call a creek (in Idaho that’s crick) and that’s a stretch. It’s really a glorified ditch. Anyway, if the kids were anywhere near the creek (crick) Fred was on duty. Watching. Some days it was a full time job. They were busy kids.
Lucky for us he was well trained. Around our house we are what you might call dog training challenged. We did manage to housebreak our kids and they both learned to use silverware. So if guests popped in we would invite them to have a chair. You know...something like this. "Come on in. Sit down." Fred would immediately sit. He was a gentle dog who tolerated female dogs and tried to run off any male dog that happened to come along. The big male lab-cross who lived in the neighborhood was not discouraged by Fred. He pretty much ignored him. Fred just had to suck it up.
We discovered on our first attempt at a road trip with him that Fred was not too keen on riding in the cab of a pickup. We were less than a mile from home when he had a bit of a panic attack. Nothing to do but take him home. Home was a test, too, at first. He refused to come inside, choosing instead to take up residency under our deck. That became his domain. And his alone. Our current dog, to this day, doesn’t go under the deck. Evidently Fred told her to stay out.
Fred loved chips....Doritos, potato, Sun Chips. He was introduced to them by the neighbor kids. The sound of opening a bag of chips would get him running for a city block.
He was not a bit particular about his diet. Fruit, vegetables, and as I mentioned, chips, and dog food. Even cat food. One time we caught him red-handed eating the neighbor’s cat food right on their back porch. One of his favorites was blackberries. He would pick his own. The same with cherry tomatoes, but they were not so dangerous as blackberries.
Fred’s life with us overlapped with a couple of other female dogs. One of them, Sadie, had to have medication a couple of times a day. When her pills came out, so did the cheese as a way to disguise the pill. Sometimes Fred got his cheese first. Not being as well-trained as Fred, Sadie was not likely to come when she was called. When we did get her into the house she was rewarded with a "come-in cookie". Fred figured that out early on. He always got one, too. I’m pretty sure he explained this procedure to our present resident canine, Bonnie. She goes directly to the cupboard when she comes in. He passed on several other good behavior traits to Bonnie. Considering that we are challenged in the area of dog-training we were grateful for Fred’s help.
Fred developed a tumor. It was on his upper jaw and was pretty much inoperable.. You can figure out how this ends. He gave us many years of enjoyment as dogs do. I like to think that we made a good life for him during those years. Unfortunately I don’t have any pictures of him to share on this post. Well, any pictures that I can locate. You’ll just have to trust me when I say he was a good-looking heeler.
During our happy, blissful married life Mr. Lucky and I have had over a dozen dogs. At some point I’ll blat about many of them but first....
Let me tell you all about Fred. He was some sort of a Heeler. If you read up on Heelers, as I did, you’ll find that they are smart, trainable, good with kids, and require very little grooming. He even responded to his new name-Fred. All of that worked for me.
Fred appeared in the neighborhood one spring day; a full grown dog with a collar, but no identification or rabies tag. A notice on the radio and a call to the police about a lost dog didn’t turn up an owner. He soon took up residency under our deck. The neighbors had a bunch of kids that the dog seemed to find necessary to watch. Watch them he did. There is a small stream of water in our backyard that I like to call a creek (in Idaho that’s crick) and that’s a stretch. It’s really a glorified ditch. Anyway, if the kids were anywhere near the creek (crick) Fred was on duty. Watching. Some days it was a full time job. They were busy kids.
Lucky for us he was well trained. Around our house we are what you might call dog training challenged. We did manage to housebreak our kids and they both learned to use silverware. So if guests popped in we would invite them to have a chair. You know...something like this. "Come on in. Sit down." Fred would immediately sit. He was a gentle dog who tolerated female dogs and tried to run off any male dog that happened to come along. The big male lab-cross who lived in the neighborhood was not discouraged by Fred. He pretty much ignored him. Fred just had to suck it up.
We discovered on our first attempt at a road trip with him that Fred was not too keen on riding in the cab of a pickup. We were less than a mile from home when he had a bit of a panic attack. Nothing to do but take him home. Home was a test, too, at first. He refused to come inside, choosing instead to take up residency under our deck. That became his domain. And his alone. Our current dog, to this day, doesn’t go under the deck. Evidently Fred told her to stay out.
Fred loved chips....Doritos, potato, Sun Chips. He was introduced to them by the neighbor kids. The sound of opening a bag of chips would get him running for a city block.
He was not a bit particular about his diet. Fruit, vegetables, and as I mentioned, chips, and dog food. Even cat food. One time we caught him red-handed eating the neighbor’s cat food right on their back porch. One of his favorites was blackberries. He would pick his own. The same with cherry tomatoes, but they were not so dangerous as blackberries.
Fred’s life with us overlapped with a couple of other female dogs. One of them, Sadie, had to have medication a couple of times a day. When her pills came out, so did the cheese as a way to disguise the pill. Sometimes Fred got his cheese first. Not being as well-trained as Fred, Sadie was not likely to come when she was called. When we did get her into the house she was rewarded with a "come-in cookie". Fred figured that out early on. He always got one, too. I’m pretty sure he explained this procedure to our present resident canine, Bonnie. She goes directly to the cupboard when she comes in. He passed on several other good behavior traits to Bonnie. Considering that we are challenged in the area of dog-training we were grateful for Fred’s help.
Fred developed a tumor. It was on his upper jaw and was pretty much inoperable.. You can figure out how this ends. He gave us many years of enjoyment as dogs do. I like to think that we made a good life for him during those years. Unfortunately I don’t have any pictures of him to share on this post. Well, any pictures that I can locate. You’ll just have to trust me when I say he was a good-looking heeler.
Monday, March 10, 2014
Comfort Food
Comfort Food
While standing in the check-out at a grocery store I discovered not one but two different publications (overpriced, I might add) featuring a big spread on Comfort Food. I was tempted to buy one of these magazine, but thought better of it. After all I am no stranger to food, comfort or otherwise. Oh, yeah. They were $9.95. That was the deal breaker right there.
Moving along.... two nights ago I created one of my, shall we say, wonderful meatloaf dinners complete with oven-baked potatoes. This particular recipe, dubbed "Italian Meat Loaf", calls for pasta sauce and Parmesan cheese. Evidently if you add these 2 ingredients you can call it Italian. Just to be sure I sprinkled in some garlic powder. Mr. Lucky made the proper comments about how tasty it was and added the phrase "comfort food". Ok.
The next night after a rainy and somewhat ugly day weather-wise I made soup. I started with a packaged thing called Gumbo and added some meat and leftover rice, and of course, garlic. Again, Mr. Lucky remarked about how much he enjoyed the soup and added "comfort food". Ok. I have a hunch if I laid out a mouth-watering spread of chicken fried steak, mashed potatoes swimming in country gravy he would respond the same way.
I can choke down a cheeseburger at almost any given moment. Or pizza. A Reuben sandwich always hits the spot. But these are not necessarily my comfort foods. For me bring on the Macaroni and Cheese. I’m not talking about the Mac & Cheese out of the box that 5 year olds can make in the microwave. I’m talking about the real calorie-laden, cholesterol-piking deal, which I make with Rotini noodles...for more noodle to the bite.
So, I am wondering what is your comfort food? Something like Mom used to make? Something soft? Something smothered in gravy? Something wrapped in bacon? Something simple like Oreo cookies and milk? Something decadent like Cinnabons?
Here is what wikipedia has to say about it: Comfort food is traditionally eaten food (which often provides a nostalgic or sentimental feeling to the person eating it), [1] or simply provides the consumer an easy-to-digest meal, soft in consistency, and rich in calories, nutrients, or both. [2] The nostalgic element most comfort food has may be specific to either the individual or a specific culture. [3] Many comfort foods are flavorful; some may also be easily prepared.
It’s comforting to know that my Macaroni and Cheese qualifies on at least 2 levels.
While standing in the check-out at a grocery store I discovered not one but two different publications (overpriced, I might add) featuring a big spread on Comfort Food. I was tempted to buy one of these magazine, but thought better of it. After all I am no stranger to food, comfort or otherwise. Oh, yeah. They were $9.95. That was the deal breaker right there.
Moving along.... two nights ago I created one of my, shall we say, wonderful meatloaf dinners complete with oven-baked potatoes. This particular recipe, dubbed "Italian Meat Loaf", calls for pasta sauce and Parmesan cheese. Evidently if you add these 2 ingredients you can call it Italian. Just to be sure I sprinkled in some garlic powder. Mr. Lucky made the proper comments about how tasty it was and added the phrase "comfort food". Ok.
The next night after a rainy and somewhat ugly day weather-wise I made soup. I started with a packaged thing called Gumbo and added some meat and leftover rice, and of course, garlic. Again, Mr. Lucky remarked about how much he enjoyed the soup and added "comfort food". Ok. I have a hunch if I laid out a mouth-watering spread of chicken fried steak, mashed potatoes swimming in country gravy he would respond the same way.
I can choke down a cheeseburger at almost any given moment. Or pizza. A Reuben sandwich always hits the spot. But these are not necessarily my comfort foods. For me bring on the Macaroni and Cheese. I’m not talking about the Mac & Cheese out of the box that 5 year olds can make in the microwave. I’m talking about the real calorie-laden, cholesterol-piking deal, which I make with Rotini noodles...for more noodle to the bite. So, I am wondering what is your comfort food? Something like Mom used to make? Something soft? Something smothered in gravy? Something wrapped in bacon? Something simple like Oreo cookies and milk? Something decadent like Cinnabons? Here is what wikipedia has to say about it: Comfort food is traditionally eaten food (which often provides a nostalgic or sentimental feeling to the person eating it), [1] or simply provides the consumer an easy-to-digest meal, soft in consistency, and rich in calories, nutrients, or both. [2] The nostalgic element most comfort food has may be specific to either the individual or a specific culture. [3] Many comfort foods are flavorful; some may also be easily prepared.
It’s comforting to know that my Macaroni and Cheese qualifies on at least 2 levels.
Monday, December 9, 2013
Keeping Safety First
Ok. So in order to keep up with the Joneses, well, actually the Moores, we bought an outdoor firebowl. Really. That’s the name of this firebreathing gadget. It’s a propane outdoor campfire. It came with it’s own supply of rocks. And instructions. Keep reading.
On page 1 of the ‘Safety Manual’ under the heading of DANGER the first item is–if you smell gas: 1. Shut off gas to the appliance. (That seems reasonable) 2. Extinguish any open flame. (Ok. No problem with that line of thinking.) 3. If odour continues, keep away from the appliance and immediately call your gas supplier or fire department. My translation here – run like hell. There appears to be more technical stuff like hooking up hoses and valves and other assorted gagetry. Good thing for me that Mr. Lucky has a knack for putting things together.
Moving along, I skipped ahead to page 4 of the aforementioned ‘Safety Manual’ to Section 1 - Assembly. The word Assembly is in red, so you know right away that it is mighty important. Step 1 tells me that there are four bags of rocks and one factory installed 10' propane-rated hose with attached regulator. Step 2. "Remove plastic bags containing the rocks". Step 3. Open the bag containing the smaller rocks, labelled conveniently for you "Put Me In First" and arrange in burner area. Step 4. Next, open the bag of medium sized rocks, labelled conveniently for you "Put Me In Second" and place over the small rocks. Step 5. Finally, open the bag of larger rocks, labelled conveniently for you "Put Me in Last" and arrange over top of the medium rocks. Wait there’s more. Step 6 - The fourth bags of rocks are included as spares and are labelled "Spare Rocks". They even provided a picture in black and white showing how the rocks should look when all arranged in the burner thingy. You are then reminded not to touch the hot rocks. And don’t be arranging the rocks while the unit is ignited. Ok. I’ll be mindful of that.
You can’t make this stuff up.
Just by happenstance I picked up a can of that snack cheese in the can with the handy nozzle deal. It says right on the can "For best results remove cap." I’m thinking for any kind of results one should remove the cap. By the way, did you know that that stuff has 80 calories a serving?
A side note .... I really do know how to spell the word labeled. I copied it word-for-word and it was quite a challenge to misspell it so many times. I am expecting the spelling police to show up. They will probably team up with the rock police.
Ok. So in order to keep up with the Joneses, well, actually the Moores, we bought an outdoor firebowl. Really. That’s the name of this firebreathing gadget. It’s a propane outdoor campfire. It came with it’s own supply of rocks. And instructions. Keep reading.
On page 1 of the ‘Safety Manual’ under the heading of DANGER the first item is–if you smell gas: 1. Shut off gas to the appliance. (That seems reasonable) 2. Extinguish any open flame. (Ok. No problem with that line of thinking.) 3. If odour continues, keep away from the appliance and immediately call your gas supplier or fire department. My translation here – run like hell. There appears to be more technical stuff like hooking up hoses and valves and other assorted gagetry. Good thing for me that Mr. Lucky has a knack for putting things together.
Moving along, I skipped ahead to page 4 of the aforementioned ‘Safety Manual’ to Section 1 - Assembly. The word Assembly is in red, so you know right away that it is mighty important. Step 1 tells me that there are four bags of rocks and one factory installed 10' propane-rated hose with attached regulator. Step 2. "Remove plastic bags containing the rocks". Step 3. Open the bag containing the smaller rocks, labelled conveniently for you "Put Me In First" and arrange in burner area. Step 4. Next, open the bag of medium sized rocks, labelled conveniently for you "Put Me In Second" and place over the small rocks. Step 5. Finally, open the bag of larger rocks, labelled conveniently for you "Put Me in Last" and arrange over top of the medium rocks. Wait there’s more. Step 6 - The fourth bags of rocks are included as spares and are labelled "Spare Rocks". They even provided a picture in black and white showing how the rocks should look when all arranged in the burner thingy. You are then reminded not to touch the hot rocks. And don’t be arranging the rocks while the unit is ignited. Ok. I’ll be mindful of that.
You can’t make this stuff up.
Just by happenstance I picked up a can of that snack cheese in the can with the handy nozzle deal. It says right on the can "For best results remove cap." I’m thinking for any kind of results one should remove the cap. By the way, did you know that that stuff has 80 calories a serving?
A side note .... I really do know how to spell the word labeled. I copied it word-for-word and it was quite a challenge to misspell it so many times. I am expecting the spelling police to show up. They will probably team up with the rock police.
Wednesday, November 6, 2013
Mix it up for Dinner.
I like the KISS policy. I’m not talking about the suck face kind either. I’m referring to the Keep It Simple Stupid one. The first item on this mythical list is when you can buy it prepared, go for it. In this case I am referring to the makings of a Hot Pork Sandwich. I prepared some pork chops in the crock pot a few days ago and when it came time to rally around some fixin’s it occurred me that I could simply shred the pork chops and put them on a nice slice of whole wheat bread with a dollop of gravy. A healthy scoop of mashed potatoes would complete this delightful entree. Lucky thing for me I had the packages of Idahoan Potatoes and Pork Gravy mixes at the ready. That saved me all that pesky potato peeling and gravy making. I added a salad – again with one of those handy mixes from the grocery produce department – and called it dinner.
A while back I discovered packaged gravy mixes. Not only are they easy, but they are good. I have made really good gravy and have made some, well, not so good. One time I created what was supposed to be turkey gravy. It turned out to be some sort of cement like stuff. You could have patched potholes in the driveway with it. Another time the
concoction I turned out was so peppery that even Mr. Lucky couldn’t choke it down.
And while we’re on the subject did you all know that you can buy pie crust already made. Right out of the box from the refrigerated section in the grocery store? I used to have the mistaken idea that you had to (a) make your own pie crust. (b) create your own filling. I was so naive. Naive might be a code word for dumb. You can even bypass the boxed pie crust and move right to the already made pies. Either fresh or frozen. Who knew? For years I didn’t.
While I’m going on about mixes and the like. I have had a serious, long term relationship with cake mixes. I was quite pleased when I discovered a small, but wonderful, recipe book for using cake mixes for cookies and lots of other wonderful things. They are not just for cakes anymore.
Now I find you can buy cookie mixes. They are handily located right near the cake mixes. And the brownie mixes. Now that I have your attention about mixes let me tell you about a little something I call Crownies. What you wind up with is a brownie with a cookie baked on top of it. Mix up a brownie mix. Mix up your cookie dough. Place a scoop of brownie batter in a muffin pan. Top it with a scoop of cookie dough. I usually entirely fill the muffin pan. Bake at 350 but you might want to check halfway through the baking time to avoid overcooking/burning.
What with Thanksgiving right around the corner you’ll soon find that you can buy an entire Thanksgiving dinner already cooked and ready to serve 6 or 8 guests. How about that? You might even want to go one step further. Dine out. It will save all that messy cleanup and entertaining your crazy Aunt Phoebe or dealing with your obnoxious brother-in-law. Either way - enjoy!
I like the KISS policy. I’m not talking about the suck face kind either. I’m referring to the Keep It Simple Stupid one. The first item on this mythical list is when you can buy it prepared, go for it. In this case I am referring to the makings of a Hot Pork Sandwich. I prepared some pork chops in the crock pot a few days ago and when it came time to rally around some fixin’s it occurred me that I could simply shred the pork chops and put them on a nice slice of whole wheat bread with a dollop of gravy. A healthy scoop of mashed potatoes would complete this delightful entree. Lucky thing for me I had the packages of Idahoan Potatoes and Pork Gravy mixes at the ready. That saved me all that pesky potato peeling and gravy making. I added a salad – again with one of those handy mixes from the grocery produce department – and called it dinner. A while back I discovered packaged gravy mixes. Not only are they easy, but they are good. I have made really good gravy and have made some, well, not so good. One time I created what was supposed to be turkey gravy. It turned out to be some sort of cement like stuff. You could have patched potholes in the driveway with it. Another time the
concoction I turned out was so peppery that even Mr. Lucky couldn’t choke it down.
And while we’re on the subject did you all know that you can buy pie crust already made. Right out of the box from the refrigerated section in the grocery store? I used to have the mistaken idea that you had to (a) make your own pie crust. (b) create your own filling. I was so naive. Naive might be a code word for dumb. You can even bypass the boxed pie crust and move right to the already made pies. Either fresh or frozen. Who knew? For years I didn’t.
While I’m going on about mixes and the like. I have had a serious, long term relationship with cake mixes. I was quite pleased when I discovered a small, but wonderful, recipe book for using cake mixes for cookies and lots of other wonderful things. They are not just for cakes anymore.
Now I find you can buy cookie mixes. They are handily located right near the cake mixes. And the brownie mixes. Now that I have your attention about mixes let me tell you about a little something I call Crownies. What you wind up with is a brownie with a cookie baked on top of it. Mix up a brownie mix. Mix up your cookie dough. Place a scoop of brownie batter in a muffin pan. Top it with a scoop of cookie dough. I usually entirely fill the muffin pan. Bake at 350 but you might want to check halfway through the baking time to avoid overcooking/burning. What with Thanksgiving right around the corner you’ll soon find that you can buy an entire Thanksgiving dinner already cooked and ready to serve 6 or 8 guests. How about that? You might even want to go one step further. Dine out. It will save all that messy cleanup and entertaining your crazy Aunt Phoebe or dealing with your obnoxious brother-in-law. Either way - enjoy!
Tuesday, September 10, 2013
Fall is in the air. I am able to recognize this without even looking at a calendar. The piles of firewood in backyards around town, in the back of pickups, and in the case of over-achievers it can be found split and nicely stacked in the wood shed.
As a youngster fall meant several things to me. New school clothes and shoes were coming my way. Let’s not forget the new school supplies. My mom was willing to pop for the big box of Crayons–the 64 pack, and a new loose leaf notebook complete with pen/pencil gizmo that fit inside it. Then there were the pens and pencils. Oh, boy. I remember one of my sons didn’t want a new notebook. He could use "last year’s". I had never heard of such a thing. This was the same boy who didn’t want new shoes for school. His reasoning was that he didn’t want people to think he wanted school to start. Who could argue with that kind of logic? I wonder if kids nowadays get all twittery about a backpack. Probably not. Pens probably aren’t high on the excitement scale, either, what with not having the opportunity to learn cursive.
The start of a new school year in Orofino was quickly followed by one of the year’s biggest events–Clearwater County Fair and Lumberjack Days. It is still a big deal in some respects but now going to the fair has nothing to do with riding the ‘Octopus’ or ‘Tilt-A-Whirl’ or eating Cotton Candy. It’s more about meeting old friends and of course buying a Lumberjack Days t-shirt. Gotta keep those t-shirt numbers up. And of course, THE parade. One of the highlights is the appearance of a group of bagpipers from Trail, B.C.
After the thrill of the start of school and the fair excitement wear off, it was time to look ahead to that really big occasion. Halloween. We had several rules for trick or treating enforced by my mom. We couldn’t start until it was dark. Now days kids go out in broad daylight. What’s scary about that? Another pesky rule of my mom’s – no pillow cases for treat bags. We doubled up brown grocery bags. You guessed it. I allowed my boys to use pillow cases. We were supposed to stay in our own neighborhood. Mom was not thrilled when people broke this unwritten rule and hauled out-of-town kids in to trick-or-treat in "highly" populated areas of town. The nerve of those parents.
I hope this year I can buy Halloween candy and decorations without having to push aside Christmas findings. It doesn’t matter that I don’t need either candy or decorations. We usually have one or two little tricksters. Two 3 pound bags of candy and 4 strings of twinkling orange lights should take care of things. So if you happen along Halloween night, expect a treat!
As a youngster fall meant several things to me. New school clothes and shoes were coming my way. Let’s not forget the new school supplies. My mom was willing to pop for the big box of Crayons–the 64 pack, and a new loose leaf notebook complete with pen/pencil gizmo that fit inside it. Then there were the pens and pencils. Oh, boy. I remember one of my sons didn’t want a new notebook. He could use "last year’s". I had never heard of such a thing. This was the same boy who didn’t want new shoes for school. His reasoning was that he didn’t want people to think he wanted school to start. Who could argue with that kind of logic? I wonder if kids nowadays get all twittery about a backpack. Probably not. Pens probably aren’t high on the excitement scale, either, what with not having the opportunity to learn cursive.
The start of a new school year in Orofino was quickly followed by one of the year’s biggest events–Clearwater County Fair and Lumberjack Days. It is still a big deal in some respects but now going to the fair has nothing to do with riding the ‘Octopus’ or ‘Tilt-A-Whirl’ or eating Cotton Candy. It’s more about meeting old friends and of course buying a Lumberjack Days t-shirt. Gotta keep those t-shirt numbers up. And of course, THE parade. One of the highlights is the appearance of a group of bagpipers from Trail, B.C. After the thrill of the start of school and the fair excitement wear off, it was time to look ahead to that really big occasion. Halloween. We had several rules for trick or treating enforced by my mom. We couldn’t start until it was dark. Now days kids go out in broad daylight. What’s scary about that? Another pesky rule of my mom’s – no pillow cases for treat bags. We doubled up brown grocery bags. You guessed it. I allowed my boys to use pillow cases. We were supposed to stay in our own neighborhood. Mom was not thrilled when people broke this unwritten rule and hauled out-of-town kids in to trick-or-treat in "highly" populated areas of town. The nerve of those parents.
I hope this year I can buy Halloween candy and decorations without having to push aside Christmas findings. It doesn’t matter that I don’t need either candy or decorations. We usually have one or two little tricksters. Two 3 pound bags of candy and 4 strings of twinkling orange lights should take care of things. So if you happen along Halloween night, expect a treat!
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