Thirty Days of Thanksgiving - Day 28

Day 28. 

A frost is in the air. Most of the turkey is gone. ALL of the pie is gone (thank goodness for that!). The house is quiet. All is calm. And I’m thankful for the relaxed Thanksgiving we've had with two of our sons and their families. We enjoyed eating (of course), watching football, playing cards in the kitchen, and doing a jigsaw puzzle in the dining room.

I’d forgotten how much I enjoyed sitting around a table, sorting puzzle pieces by color, elbowing each other looking for just the right piece. It’s a sort of being together that we don’t do much of anymore, and you know I’ve missed that. With our iPads and data phones and laptops, I wonder if we’ve forgotten how to just “be” with one another. No agenda. No volume controls. No clock to watch. And you can get up from the table and meander off to do something else for awhile or stretch your legs. And when you come back with a cuppa something warm, someone will have added a few new pieces and you settle in for another session, heads together, bent over looking for an elusive piece or giving a little hoo-rah when you find it. And always toward the end, the pieces start flying into place and you joke about who will get to put in the last piece. Being the grownups we were, we let one of the grandkids have the esteemed honor.

I’m thankful for the reminder of simpler times, of the pleasure of doing a jigsaw puzzle. And because I enjoyed it so much, I’ve added “get a new puzzle” to the Christmas list. Actually, I can’t wait.

How about you? Were there any reminders of the past from your Thanksgiving weekend? What family activities did your family enjoy?

Thirty Days of Thanksgiving - Day Six

Day 6. The letter F. 

The holidays always make me thankful for the family God chose to give me—one where faith and love went hand in hand with learning the value of an education, hard work, and cherishing each other. Max and I have tried to instill those same values in our own family. Here are a few of my favorite family photos.

My dad's grandsons and great-grands.

A family vacation to Breckenridge

Thanksgiving in Tulsa

Same dinner - This is the VIP table!

Our traditional Christmas Eve in Guymon

Max's mom enjoying a holiday visit

More holiday fun with Max's mom

The annual photo of "the girls" - Best sisters in the world!

Family. Wow! I've been blessed! My apologies if you're a part of our family and didn't get your picture in here. Going through thousands of pictures has worn me out.

Do you get together with family on holidays? How about reunions? Vacation together? What are your family plans this Thanksgiving?

Thirty Days of Thanksgiving - Day Four

Day 4. The Letter D. 

The annual picture of Daddy and "the girls"

“In the game of pitch, you can shoot the moon with only an ace and a deuce – providing it’s the first hand of a new game.” This is the kind of wisdom I learned from Daddy – the object of today’s thirty days of gratitude. Home-spun truths with one foot in the real world and one in the legendary world of tall tales—a realm in which my dad holds the degree of “master spinner.”

My sisters and I weren’t thinking of tall tales, though, last February when Daddy had to take an unexpected helicopter ride to Amarillo following a minor heart attack during a stress test. As a matter of fact, the angiogram in Amarillo revealed major blockage that required a minimum of four bypasses. And the unspoken prognosis: At his age, anything could happen.

My two sisters and I got there as fast as we could, relieved when we found him stabilized. The surgeon, though, wanted to give his body time to recover from the two days of tests before she performed the bypasses. So we had a whole day to wait. No tests. No agenda. Just bed rest and monitoring in ICU.

Daddy was in high spirits—“fine as frog hair,” as he was fond of saying. Donna, Marsha, and I didn’t let on about our fears, either—the tangible reality that this might be the last day this side of heaven we had to spend with our dad. A dad who was definitely one-of-a-kind. When we were kids, he was just as comfortable combing our hair into pony tails as he was making us mow the grass or pull nails out of boards. He often loaded us up in his pick-up and took us off on horse-trading expeditions or a day of cherry picking in Granny’s orchard. He waited into the wee hours of night waiting for us to get home from band trips and didn’t mind telling us to “keep your noses clean and to the grindstone.”

All of those things and more riddled our thoughts as Daddy rested in the hospital bed, the blood-thinning heparin drip keeping him safe until they sawed his chest open and put him on the heart-lung machine so they could “fix” what they could. Daddy didn’t raise a trio of whiny, mopey girls, though. So after the morning routine, Marsha pulled out a deck of cards. Time for a game of pitch.

Playing Pitch in the Hospital

We positioned the bedside table, cranked up the head of Daddy’s bed and spent the day doing what he liked best – playing cards and telling stories. It didn’t take a lot of encouragement on our part to get him started, and we talked and laughed until tears ran down our cheeks. If it was to be his last day on this earth, we’d made the best of it—a day we could look back on without regret.

It wasn’t his last day, though. The repairs were made and he came through just fine. I won’t say the aftermath was pleasant—certainly not as much fun as four-handed pitch, but two weeks later we took Daddy home, and he continued the road to recovery. He’s back to restoring buggies, being head usher at church, and spinning more stories. My own gratitude overflows. How blessed I’ve been to have a dad who taught me about Jesus, who’s been an anchor and influence in my life, and who taught me that you can shoot the moon in a game of pitch with an ace and a deuce – providing it’s the first hand of a new game.

Sometimes it’s the little things. Sometimes the huge ones. Sometimes it’s hard to tell the difference. Here’s the truth, though. Next time we gather around the oak table in Daddy’s kitchen and the cards are shuffled, I’ll say a prayer of Thanksgiving. I might even try to shoot the moon.

Duststorms Then and Now

This has been a horrible year for folks out in western Oklahoma and much of west Texas. Rainfall is measure in one-hundredths of an inch and every precious drop is welcomed. The drought and high winds have birthed many dust-filled days and wildfires. Thousands (maybe millions) of acres of land have burned along with many homes. More and more people are talking about how this must've been what the "dirty thirties" were like when dust storms came one upon another during the Great Depression.

I have family and friends in the "dustbowl" of Texas and Oklahoma and ventured out there last week to celebrate a birthday, visit, and give a couple of talks. The first full day there was glorious - bright blue skies, wide open spaces that made me want to lift my face to the sky and inhale the beauty of it. Two days later, while I was at my dad's, the wind woke me up at 4 am. Fierce. Howling. Daddy and I stood at the picture window and watched the yellow sky, the wind whipping at everything in its path, stirring up dust. We pointed out a tree line in the distance, its form dark, barely distinguishable. By noon, the trees were no longer visible, the sky just a continuous brown smudge.

Daddy lived through the dust bowl on a farm less than ten miles from where we stood watching the wind blow. It didn't take much encouragement from me for Daddy to tell me about those days. Here are his random memories.

Phyllis, Dall, LaRue, Mike (my dad), Evain

"My daddy went to bed and cried every night, wondering how he and Mother were going to feed and care for five kids. We had milk cows, but we couldn't afford to feed them and times were bad for all of us so the government shot all but one of the cows. They let us keep the one so us kids would have milk. The dirt was so bad, though, that it caked up all over her body and crusted over, clogging all her pores. She couldn't breathe, and got sick. We locked her in the milking stanchion and poured water on her, tried to scrub the built-up dirt off, but it didn't help. Our one milk cow died."

We refilled our coffee cups, grateful for storm windows and the secure house. There were no such luxuries in the thirties.

"We hung sheets and blankets over the doors when the dirt was blowing. Daddy caulked all around the windows so even on nice days we couldn't open the windows and get fresh air.  Even sealed up, the windows leaked dust, and us boys would take our little tractors and plow the dirt that settled on the window sills." He ran his finger along the sill, his chin quivering.

"We had a dog named Jack. Just a non-descript mutt about so high." He pointed to his knee. "We couldn't feed him, so my brothers and I caught rabbits. You could walk right up to them and pick them up. So much grit had blown in their eyes, they couldn't see. We slammed them against the oak wagon wheels and threw them over to Jack so he wouldn't starve."

In better times

"I think I remember Black Sunday. For some reason, a lot of the storms came on a Sunday, but if it's the one I'm thinking of, there was just a black line on the horizon to the north, extending to the west. It got wider and wider and as it got closer, birds started flapping overhead, flying higher and higher trying to get above the dirt cloud. The sky was black with the clouds and what seemed like millions of flapping birds trying to escape the storm. The birds were just about as spooky as the dust storm."

Around four o'clock Daddy and I traced our steps back to the picture window. The tree line in the distance had come back in view, the sky now just dull and tired looking. Daddy pulled on a jacket, covered his mouth with the silk kerchief he wore to keep out the elements. "Time to feed the colt." I watched as he walked to the barn, his body hunkered into the wind which was still pretty gusty. A short time later he returned and pulled two chicken eggs from his pocket - the daily offering from the two hens who'd gone about their business, wind and dirt or not.

And I think that's the way it is. Life does indeed go on for most of us. And on reflection, I'm thankful for a dad who still remembers the storms of life, that he and others have survived to share their stories. I'm thankful for a praying grandfather who saw his prayers answered and lived to see better times. And  I'm thankful to you, my readers, for sharing time with me.

Do you like to hear stories of your parents and grandparents? How do you think events of the past shape who we are today? While I didn't grow up during the Depression, I grew up hearing stories of it. It has shaped who I am and what I write. I hope you'll join me next time as I tell you how those stories have infused my writing. Until then, be safe.

Old Friends and New: Book Signings Part Two

I went through all twelve grades with Angie

Last weekend, I returned to another of the "home fires" - the town where my parents grew up and where my sister and dad still live. Although the times I've actually lived there have been short, it's where I come home to - where many of my relatives lived and died. But it's more than being related to people - there's a kinship with the folks in the Panhandle that transcends blood ties. It's knowing someone who is related to an old classmate or someone who knew your mom when she worked at the bank or someone who's heard about my book down at the Baptist church. It's small town friendliness where you're not really strangers, but friends who just haven't met yet.

When I learned I would be attending my grandson's concert a couple counties over on Dec. 5, I called Virginia, a friend who had been asking me to come to Guymon for a book signing. And what a day she and a half dozen others put together! On Saturday morning, The Word Weavers, a small, but dedicated writing group, hosted a reception at Main Street Guymon (the tourism/public relations office).

The Word Weavers prepared the brunch and organized everything. Thank You!

Signing Books at the doctor's desk

A little side note here: The Main Street Office is housed in a restored building that was for many years the office of Dr. Hays. The ladies had me set at the doctor's roll-top desk to set up my display and sign books. It made me feel rather scholarly . . . and quite honored, to be sure.

We had a wonderful turnout! The Word Weaver's served brunch, asked me to do a reading (a first for me), and before I knew it, it was time to scoot over to the Guymon Public Library for the next event - a punch and cookies reception and signing hosted by the Friends of the Library.

Friends of the Library had punch & cookies at Guymon Library

Mary Gail on left, my sister Marsha on right

My dad, my sister Marsha, many of Marsha's friends, a high school classmate, a couple of sisters of high school classmates, and a host of lovely people stopped by at both locations. It was a wonderful day. And like the title of this posts - old friends and new - I'm blessed to have both. And I learned that, yes, you can go home again.
Many thanks to Virginia and Pam and the Word Weavers for your hard work, for the amazing job you did on the publicity. A special thanks to Melyn Johnson for wanting to have the reception at Main Street Guymon and to Sherry Lindley and the Friends of the Library for making me feel welcome. The only sad note of the day was that Virginia, who had worked so hard, came down with a stomach bug a couple of days before the events and was unable to come. I was so sorry she had to miss and am grateful that she is now feeling much better.

I will post more pictures in an album on FaceBook in a day or so and will update you with the link when I do so. In the meantime, I have many warm memories for this chilly December. Perfect weather for curling up with a cup of hot chocolate and a good book. Which I plan to do as soon as I finish my Christmas shopping.

Until next time . . . .

Chasing a Dream

 I'm guest blogging on the FaithWords blog today about my writing dreams. Here's a snippet.

As a young girl in Texas, I didn’t think of my life as being anything but ordinary. My dad worked in a petroleum plant. My mom sold Avon so she could save up for a piano and pay for lessons for my two younger sisters and me. And more often than not, she spent any extra money on new dresses for us girls while she wore last year’s style. . . . read more here.

Who knew that someday my dream of writing a book would be realized? This weekend I'll be returning to my home stomping grounds for a brunch reception and then a book signing at the Guymon Public Library. I'm proud of the area where I grew up amid the most nurturing, encouraging people on earth, and I hope I've made them proud as well. I'll let you know how it goes. 

What is special about the place you grew up?  

Much to be thankful for

Before this month of traditional thankfulness slips away, here are a few things for which I'm grateful.

My dear hubby, Max, who somehow, year after year, plods along with me, taking all my quirks in stride. And this fall, he scarcely batted an eye when I announced that I wanted our new entry doors to be painted red. Five coats of paint and many moons later, he and my son, James, installed them. Don't they say, "Come on in! You are welcome here."

WELCOME!

And the house was full for Thanksgiving, three of our kids and their kids, Max's dear sister and her family. So happy to have them all gather for our Thanksgiving dinner.

The kids had their own fun at this end of the dining room.

Our Thanksgiving table

And we didn't do traditional turkey this year, but the Cajun creation of Turducken. Strange and wonderful aromas wafted through the house as we set the table and then feasted on way too many good foods.

Close up of the Turducken

You know you've had a good time when you forget to get out the camera and line everyone up for family pics. I didn't take many this year, but couldn't resist taking a few of this little monkey (who usually is more cooperative and will look at the camera).

Isn't that an angelic smile?

A blessed year. God has given me a wonderful family. What more could I possibly ask for?

SALUTE TO OUR VETERANS AND TROOPS

My dad (2nd from right) during the 1930s

My dad grew up in Oklahoma during the Great Depression, the second of six children. Raised on a farm, he has talked about doing without and once marveled at how his mother could feed a family of eight with only one can of salmon. He was too young to enter WWII, but after he graduated from high school, he did a three year hitch in the US Army and was stationed in Fairbanks, Alaska a good part of that time. One of his favorite memories was shaking hands with Gen. Eisenhower. He married my mom when he got out of the Army, but when I was six months old, was recalled to serve in Korea. I've tried to find the picture of him there (I know my sister copied it and gave it to me, but I can't find it - sigh).

My dad today working in his shop

Over the years my dad's been a hero to me in many ways, but fighting in a war and not knowing whether he would ever see my mom or me again must have haunted many of his nights as he built bridges and tramped through the rice patties of Korea. I really can't imagine. A simple thank you seems frail and inadequate. I only know that I'm grateful that he survived not only the Depression, but also the rigors of war.

Brett on CG Cutter off the coast of Alaska

I have a present day hero as well.
Our son, Brett, has been in the US Coast Guard for fifteen years. His cutter assisted in the Indonesian tsunami relief; he's served a year in Bahrain, pursued pirate ships off the coasts of Africa and Belize, and stepped foot on nearly every continent. He leads a life of adventure, but I know, too, that he is doing a worthy work, something for which I, as a regular citizen, have a poor concept of. I don't tell him thank you often enough.

For veterans and troops across our land and those overseas, I salute you. May God bestow on you the crown of glory for your sacrifice and loyalty to our great country.

CAFE SPECIAL OF THE WEEK - Cream Cheese Pumpkin Pie

Nothing says autumn to me like the smell of pumpkin! I love pumpkin-scented candles, trips to Starbucks for the pumpkin spice lattes, pumpkin pie, of course, and in the past I've tried to make pumpkin cheesecake. Without much success. The recipes were either too rich, too complicated, too lopsided, toooooooo . . . you know? So, I have this fabulous Lang Calendar with garden recipes, and this one looks like a winner! I've not made it yet, but since we're hosting Thanksgiving this year, I'm going to try this one. Maybe you'd like to go first and tell me if it's any good.

CREAM CHEESE PUMPKIN PIE

Make a graham cracker crust: 

Mix 1 1/2 cups graham cracker crumbs with 1/4 cup sugar, 1/4 tsp. cinnamon, & 1/4 cup melted butter. Pat into a 9 - inch pie plate. 

In a separate bowl, mix three eggs & 1/2 cup sugar. Beat until fluffy. 

Add 8 oz. softened cream cheese & 1 tsp. vanilla extract. Beat again. 

Stir in 1 1/2 cup cooked pumpkin puree, 1 tsp. cinnamon, 1/4 tsp. ground cloves, & 1/4 tsp. nutmeg. 

Pour into prepared crust and bake at 350 degrees for 45 minutes. 

Cool and enjoy! 

This one doesn't sound like it will be too sweet. A little rich, perhaps, but we all splurge some during the holidays. What's your favorite pumpkin recipe? Do you have one that's "healthy" and still tasty? 

Maybe you're not a pumpkin lover. What do you love about autumn? 

My First Book Signing

I thought I would lump my two signing/launch events together, but then I decided that my first book signing should have its own post. What a fun evening. My publisher set up the signing with the Mardel Christian Book store in Tulsa and provided beautiful posters and flyers announcing the event. And the host store was so accommodating, I kept looking behind me to see if Francine Rivers or Ted Dekker had just walked in and they had me confused with a bona fide author. Okay, I'm bona fide. I've got my name on the cover to prove it, but it's all a bit surreal to me. The evening was a huge success, and I'll just let the pictures tell the story.

Chet and Leslie

Tulsa Night Writer Friends

Max, James, and Allison

My cousin, Val

Store display (check out the great poster at the top)

Myra and Cindy, my writing pals

Pam Sherrer - She knew I needed a hug!

Leanor, my friend for life

Great evening with just the right balance of friends, family, and a few customers. A special thanks to the two Gayla's (you know who you are) who sent the beautiful bouquet for my first book signing.

I'll share some of the highlights of the book launch in Texas next time. Happy reading!

HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY

To moms everywhere: No matter where your kiddos are - I wish you a lovely Mother's Day. Being a mom is one of the greatest privileges I've had. Love to my boys, their precious wives, and all my grandkids. You know who you are.

PS: Once every few years, Mother's Day falls on the birthday of my grandmother on my mom's side. This is one of those years. Although she's been gone many years, it's sort of nice to remember her sweet smile, those crystal blue eyes, and the love I had for both of my grandmothers. If you still have a grandma, give her an extra hug for me today.

CAFE SPECIAL OF THE WEEK - Bierox

My first introduction to this tasty meat-filled pastry was from my mother-in-law (who I’ve mentioned before was an amazing cook). It is said to be a German dish, and the area Mennonite women did make bierox, but actually, it was more like the “community” specialty. My mother-in-law took them hot (wrapped in foil) to the field during wheat harvest. Students made them by the tens of dozens as fund raisers. Even the school concession stand gained regional fame for having bierox on their menu. Most nights they sold out.

It takes the better part of an afternoon to whip up a batch of bierox, and there aren’t any shortcuts. Believe me, I’ve tried commercially prepared bread dough, and the end result just doesn’t cut it. It’s been a while since I’ve made them, but today I picked up the ingredients. We have a special occasion coming up – our son from California will be here. His Coast Guard career doesn’t allow him many trips back home, and I want to give him a nice welcome. Some things are simply worth the effort, you know.

BIEROX

Dough:
5 ¾ to 6 ¾ cups flour
1/3 cup instant milk (powdered)
¼ cup sugar
1 Tbsp. salt
2 pkg. active dry yeast
1/3 c. soft margarine
2 cups very warm water

Mix 2 cups flour, dry milk, sugar, salt, and dry yeast. Add margarine. Gradually add water to dry ingredients. Beat 10 minutes (large stand-alone mixer w/ dough hook works best) on medium speed. Add 3 cups flour and beat an additional two minutes. Stir in enough flour for a stiff dough. Turn out on lightly floured board. Knead until smooth and elastic, 8 – 10 minutes. Place in greased bowl (covered with plastic wrap or a tea towel) until double—about 45 minutes to one hour.

Meanwhile, prepare filling.

Filling:
2 -3 pounds hamburger
1 small head cabbage, chopped in blender or food processor
1 or 2 onions, chopped fine
Seasoned salt and lemon pepper to taste

Brown hamburger in large Dutch oven. Drain grease. Combine meat, cabbage, and onion in Dutch oven. Season. Cook until cabbage and onion are tender. Check for seasoning. Drain off any excess liquid.

Assemble:
Punch down the raised dough. Roll out ¼ of the dough at a time into a large square (about 1/8 inch thick). Cut into four six-inch squares. Place ¼ cup of the meat filling in the center of a square. Bring the four corners to the center, pinching all edges securely. Place seam side down on a greased cookie sheet. Bake at 350 degrees for 20 to 25 minutes or until nicely browned. Brush tops with melted butter when done.

Yields: 12 to 16 bierox. These freeze well. Reheat in foil.

I’ll be busy in the kitchen, up to my elbows in flour most likely. How about you? Do you ever make bread dough from scratch? Have you ever tasted bierox? There’s nothing quite like the warm from the oven yeasty goodness.

WHEN THE UNEXPECTED STRIKES

Like most people across America, we had great expectations of a Christmas season spent with family—watching the delight in the kids’ eyes when they opened the gifts they’d wished fervently for, overeating at numerous family gatherings, reflecting anew on the holiness of Jesus’ birth. And according to our plan, we dropped our little dachshund, Zelda, off to be boarded two days before Christmas, loaded the SUV, and headed out. We did have a great time: first at the nursing home party where my mother-in-law now lives (She looked radiant in the brightest red lipstick I’ve ever seen), then on to my dad’s where we enjoyed our traditional Christmas Eve. Christmas dinner at my sister’s house was yummy. Turkey and dressing always taste better when someone else cooks it, don’t you think? Thanks, Marsha! Another round at my sister-in-laws on Saturday. Four days of laughing, eating, playing games. Thanks, Chet, Leslie, and Avery! Christmas met all our expectations and more.

Home on Sunday. We enjoyed nice dry roads until we were about fifty miles from Tulsa when we encountered the first of many stretches of ice and snow and arrived home to the remnants of Tulsa’s unexpected white Christmas (a horrific blizzard according to those who live here).

The house was quiet and didn’t seem quite right without Zelda curled under her blanket on my lap, but I looked forward to picking her up the next day and spending the next few days getting ready for company (Act II of the holiday gatherings) on New Year’s weekend.

Monday morning, the vet called while I was still contemplating getting out on the ice-rutted streets to pick up Zelda. “Uh, Mrs. Stewart, I’m afraid there’s been an accident.” A million things rushed through my head in the next few seconds as he went on to explain that on Sunday, while he was taking Zelda out to potty, she switched directions between him and the snow drift in the play yard, and he fell on her. “She’s just bruised, but wanted you to know before you picked her up what to expect.”

I had expected to be met with the usual dash into my arms and puppy slobbers, but now I had a bad feeling. I took her home, and poor Zelda hopped on three legs onto the grassy area that Max had shoveled for her. I held her the entire day. And the next. She didn’t complain much, only the occasional whimper when I touched a tender spot, but I also knew she wasn’t getting better.

Wednesday morning we were back at the vet. X-rays. Then the bad news. Her pelvis was fractured in two places. The vet felt terrible—first that he had fallen on her to start with and then that he hadn’t x-rayed her in the beginning. I felt bad, too. And so did Zelda. The surgery to wire her tiny bones together went well, and I brought her home on Thursday with pain pills, a plastic collar that looked like an upside down funnel framing her normally happy, but now confused face, and instructions that she had to remain confined for a minimum of four weeks.

It’s been almost a week since her surgery, and she’s doing as well as can be expected. I give her a break from her crate periodically and let her cuddle on my lap. And of course, I have to carry her outside to do her business. She gets a pill twice a day wrapped in smoked turkey, and will, in time be the spunky, mischievous critter we dropped off at the vet two days before Christmas. I know there’s a lesson in here on forgiveness and grace, and I must say I’m not harboring ill feelings, but what I’m feeling most is gratitude that the smile has returned to Zelda’s eyes and she’s back to thumping her tail when I talk to her.

Life can throw us some strange curves, but now that the crisis has passed, it’s time to get back into the routine and engage in what I expect to be a productive year in 2010. That’s the plan. Let’s hope for the best.

Zelda with our grandson during happier days last summer.

The Christmas Spirit

I’m the first to admit, the Christmas spirit is a little slow in making its appearance around here. I’m consumed with me-isms—my book promotion, my next project, my responsibilities to the writing groups I belong to, my blog posts, my email. It’s no wonder I feel like such a Scrooge. When we see only ourselves and the urgencies around us, it’s harder to gain our focus. And sadly, I’m guilty.

This past weekend, I went to Texas to see my grandson perform in his second Christmas band concert. Last year he was a beginning tuba player. This year, he’s advanced to the symphonic band. Oh, what a difference from last year until this one! The tempo was faster, they were together on the melody, and the blending of the sections was so much mellower. Delightful.

Proud Mimi with her grandsons, the tuba player on the left.

They played four numbers, the first of which was The Christmas Eve March where a portion of the song featured the percussion and tuba players. Lots of bum-bum-bum. They played with skill and authority. Next was African Noel with an exotic beat that reminded me of our brothers and sisters in another part of the world. A toe-tapping Holly, Jolly Christmas followed with the finale of Feliz Navidad, its Latin beat resounding with the very talented percussion section again. And in each of the songs, the tuba notes grounded the instruments, giving the overall performance depth and a framework.

It made me more aware than ever that we are all part of humankind. Different cultures. Different generations. One reason to celebrate. How can we not get in the Christmas spirit when we stop for a moment to ponder and remember that Jesus is the Spirit of Christmas? Jesus who came in fulfillment of the prophecy, to save us all, even a wretch like me.

I had a wonderful time with my grandsons and their parents as well as about twelve hours of playing my favorite Christmas CDs on the trip to and fro. I arrived home weary, but filled anew with the wonder of Christmas, the love of family, and the gift of music in our world.

May all heaven and nature sing!

CAFE SPECIAL OF THE WEEK - Smothered Chops

My mother-in-law was one of the best cooks I've ever known when it came to wholesome, country cooking. We teased her about being the "Cream of the Crop" for her many wins at the county fair and her lavish spreads, even for everyday meals. Rarely did we sit down to a meal at her house and find less that six or seven dishes on the table. Boy, was Max in for a jolt when he married me! His mom has slowed down (she's 89, for goodness sake . . . she deserves it), and many of her recipes that I now make have become dog-eared from much use. Smothered Chops is one of her specialties and probably should be renamed - Grandma's Smothered Chops.

It's a crock pot recipe - one of my favorite ways to steer clear of the kitchen as much as possible. Very simple. Mouthwatering. Hearty. Can't go wrong with this one!

SMOTHERED CHOPS

6 - 8 boneless pork chops
3 cans cream of mushroom soup (or one family-sized can)
Pepper to taste
1 Tbsp. canola or olive oil

Heat oil in skillet and brown chops thoroughly on both sides, but chops don't have to be cooked through. Place on plate with paper towels to remove excess oil; then layer mushroom soup and chops in crock pot. Pepper freely. Cook all day on Low or 4 to 5 hours on High. Serve over prepared rice. (I like the old-fashioned kind, but Minute Rice will do.)

Add a vegetable and/or a salad and you have a complete meal with all the food groups. I'll never be a cook in the same league as my mother-in-law, but I am glad I have her recipes and that her son likes my cooking almost as much as hers.

Q of the day: Do you eat meals around the table, hanging over the kitchen counter, in your car, in the den in front of the TV or . . . . . . ? What kinds of conversation do you have during meals? Inquiring minds want to know.

CAFE SPECIAL OF THE WEEK - Chicken Enchilada Casserole

One of the things I love about fall is, that with the cooler temperatures, I don’t mind heating up the kitchen to make our favorite oven dishes. And it’s especially nice when Max walks in from work and notices the rich aroma—“Mmm, something smells good.” Brownie points from my sweet hubby are always good.

Here’s a dish we like a lot. I think you will too.

CHICKEN ENCHILADA CASSEROLE

3 large chicken breasts, cooked
1 can chopped green chiles
1 can green enchilada sauce
3 cups Mexican style shredded cheese
6 to 8 medium-sized flour tortillas

Cube the cooked chicken and mix with green chiles in a bowl. Spray a 9 x 13 baking dish with Pam. Place a couple of the tortillas in the bottom of the dish. Spread ½ the chicken mixture, 1/3 of the green enchilada sauce, and 1/3 of the cheese over tortillas. Repeat for another layer. Top with tortillas, the last 1/3 of the sauce, ending with the remaining cheese.

Bake at 350 degrees 30 minutes or until bubbly.

Serve with a green salad, corn, and warm tortillas. Pass the sour cream, guacamole, and salsa for garnish, if desired. Margaritas would be a great addition to the meal too, but I’ve never learned how to make them ☺

¡Que aproveche!

CAFE SPECIAL OF THE WEEK - Cherry Cream Pie

A few days before my oldest son’s twelfth birthday, the element went out of our electric oven. This was during the era when we actually baked birthday cakes instead of stopping by the local bakery and ordering the sugary, themed cakes that are routine today. I considered it part of my vow of motherhood to bake and decorate my boys’ birthday cakes – or any family member, for that matter. Everyone had their favorites, so on your birthday, you had “your” special flavor.

So, what’s a mom to do without a functioning oven?

It was no secret that Andy, the birthday boy, adored his Grandma Stewart’s cherry cream pies . . . and since no oven was required, I announced he would be getting a birthday pie that year. He declared it the best birthday ever. And so began a new tradition—Andy’s birthday PIE.

In honor of Andy’s birthday this week, and because I only bring you the best treats here at the café, here’s the recipe for Cherry Cream Pie. Happy Birthday, Andy!

CHERRY CREAM PIE

1 large bar cream cheese
½ cup lemon juice (Minute Maid frozen, real juice)
1 can Eagle Brand milk

Mix in food processor until very smooth.
Pour into 12-inch graham cracker crust (the extra serving size).
Top with 1 can creamed cherry pie filling.
Refrigerate two hours before serving.

How about you? Any quirky birthday traditions in your family???

CAFE SPECIAL OF THE WEEK - My Sister Donna's Special Salsa

I just returned from a mini-reunion of sorts. Some California relatives ventured to Oklahoma (and my dad's house) so on Saturday, some of the local kinfolk joined us. My sisters were there and one of my boys and two grandsons. All in all, a very fun day. Everyone helped out with either the cooking or making some of our favorite dishes. My sister, Donna, made her famous salsa. I'd forgotten just how good it was, and thought it would be a tasty recipe to have here at the Cafe today. The only other thing you need is a bag of tortilla chips and the desire to sit around the table with family and friends.

MY SISTER DONNA’S SPECIAL SALSA

1 large can diced tomatoes, with liquid

2 small cans diced green chiles

1 can “El Pato” – bright yellow can (This is the secret sauce)

1 bunch chopped green onion

1 fistful chopped cilantro

1 – 3 tsp. black pepper, depending how spicy you like your salsa

1 clove garlic, crushed

Pinch of oregano

Mix all together. Chill and serve.

Makes about 3 pints.

During the summer when you can get "good" homegrown tomatoes at produce stands and farmers' markets, you can use those instead of the canned ones for an even fresher taste. A hint from Donna. When testing to see if you have enough spice, use a tortilla chip for tasting. The salt from the chip will give the salsa a balanced taste. This has been a family favorite for a long time, and here at the cafe, we're all family. Grab a bag of tortilla chips and join the fun.

HAPPY FATHER'S DAY

As I went out walking one morning for pleasure,

I spied an old cowpuncher a-ridin’ along.

I cocked my head and smiled in admiration as the tune Daddy sang filled the cab of the pickup truck. The miles whizzed by, gobbled up by the Whoopie, ti-yi-yo, get along you little dogies. I’ve long since forgotten where the road ended, but the pleasure of the ride lingers. Every kid should be so lucky to have a dad swoop her up and carry her off to whatever fancy demanded attention that day.

Daddy was unusual like that, taking me or my sisters off to look at a donkey or pick up a couple of roosters, perhaps scout out a lead for a trade he had in mind. Sometimes I found myself riding shotgun as we went to the weekly livestock sale or holding a shoebox full of day-old chicks to take to the house and keep warm until the entire nest had hatched. Unusual, because in the fifties other dads didn’t involve themselves much in the parenting process, but then, normal conventions held little interest for Daddy, then or now.

continue reading here.

This is the beginning of a story I wrote about my dad in 2001. It was my first published magazine article and appeared in SaddleBaron: Magazine of the West. I've been blessed to have a great dad who taught me a lot of what he knows, and although I'll never be the storyteller he is, I do think I inherited a bit of his take on life - enjoying the moment. So for you, Daddy, Happy Father's Day. You've blessed me with life, a lot of laughs, and a heritage I'm proud of.

In the photo, my sisters and me with Daddy at our son's wedding last summer.

LOVE AND ROMANCE - A New Blog You'll Like

Do you like to hear how other writers who are also wives and moms keep the romance sizzling in their marriage? ROMANCE YOUR SPOUSE, this mostly G-rated blog is fun, informative, and a joint effort by five of my favorite romance writing friends (Hint: One is a relative). Pop over and check them out. When you do, you'll see why I'm particularly excited about today's guest blogger.