"Overdone and Undercooked" Newspaper Columns©

“You know what this weekend is?”

“A honeydew weekend? Honey, can you do this. Honey, will you do that. Honey, over here. I have another chorrrreee…”

I turned and glared at my husband. “No silly. Remember last year at the Delmont’s?”

He clutched the arms of his chair and moaned.

“Yes,” I paused. “It is our annual late Summer weekend.”

As long as we have been neighbors, we have gathered together for this annual event. But this year, like last, the outdoor table was laden with goodies: corn on the cob, sweet pickles, potato salad, pickled beets, deviled eggs, kidney bean and macaroni salad, coleslaw, fresh melons, corn bread, apple pie, strawberry tarts and brownies.

Appetites where whet and the meat was ready to grill. Then it happened.

“Twenty-four thousand BTU control burner with 225-square inch cooking area, push button igniter and view window, model 5450,” smirked Lawrence Delmont, our host for our late summer weekend, as he wheeled his new toy onto the deck.

Libby, Lawrence’s wife grinned and rubbed Lawrence’s arm playfully as she told the other guest, Margo and her husband Bill and me and my husband Rob, about their new gas barbecue. “It taste just like briquettes. It is the lava rock you know makes the meat taste better.”

Lawrence had put on his Chef hat and apron with the words. ‘Cook with Class Use Gas.’

Libby continued on, “Well, no more bags of briquettes every time I go to the store. No lighter fluid. ”

Behind Margo, Bill groaned. “Yeah and no more taste either.”

Lawrence coughed pointedly. He paused his oven-mitted hand lingering over the meat, looked at Bill intently and said, “Oh, are you one of them?”

“Them?” Bill inquired.

“Yes. You know. . .there is no difference.” Lawrence said authoritatively.

“Who are you kidding. If it ain’t barbecue with the real thing it ain’t barbecue.” Bill scoffed. ‘You might as well cook in the oven.”

Libby appeared at my elbow and nodding toward Rob said, “Well you guys know how great gas is.”

I bit my lip and looked at Rob, who was fighting with a lawn chair.

“Well to me it is kinda like Coke and Pepsi. There’s a definite difference,” I stammered.

“What?!” hollered Lawrence, throwing up his hands in disgust.

Margo was at the table putting olives on each finger and pretending she didn’t know us.

“You see,” said Bill. “Any connoisseur would have an electric starter to put on their briquettes and would not use a lighter fluid. And would never ever stoop to plugging in an outdoor oven that will never give you the flavor of that delicious charcoal-grilled…”

“Well…I suppose,” Lawrence interrupted that you are the type that can bake bread on a stick and broil trout on a hot rock. And have you ever taken a look at that old oil drum you cut in half to make into a barbecue? You lose your appetite just looking at it. But I must say, that was better than what you use to use a wheelbarrow full of sand with bricks holding up the grill. . .”

It never really got too ugly, I recalled with a sigh until they brought out the Coke and Pepsi.

“Yeah, said Rob, as he got out of his living room chair. “I would rather have sat around the house with a lip full of Novocain.”

I began to hum and pick lint off my shorts. He stole a glance, and our eyes met. “Oh, no we’re not. . .” Rob said, alarmed.

‘No honey, we’re not going over there this year. They are coming here.”

“Do I have to go to another family reunion where the folding table sits on an uneven lawn and once again summer comes and everyone forgets to water the hamster or feed the fish, and we all have to attend the funerals.”

“My weekends are full of projects my husband starts, “Libby giggles. “I take five minutes on the lawn chair just to feel a cool breeze, take a deep breath, close my eyes and vroom—the chain saw starts or the Weed eater, or the yummy scent of Formica glue hits me between the eyes.”

“Here that?” I shouted.

“Oh no! We all say in unison. The dreaded sound of “THE ICE CREAM MAN.”

In our house it is utter panic when they hear that music. Kids can’t hear you call their name from the next room, but they can hear that music 10 blocks away. They will sit forever on the sidewalk and wait but they will not sit 10 seconds to let you blow dry their hair.

“Well,” Libby said. “Summer is no school volunteering, zucchini, kids running constantly until you notice one day they haven’t washed their hair or feet in weeks, hot days floating on an air mattress on the lake, oh and hey, great blackberry cobbler. You guys want the recipe?”
Here ’tis.
BLACKBERRY COBBLER
4 CUPS BLACKBERRIES
1 1/2 CUP SUGAR
1/2 TEASPOON CINNAMON
1 CUP FLOUR
1 1/2 TEASPOON BAKING POWDER
1/2 CUP MARGAINE
MIX BLACKBERRIES WITH HALF CUP SUGAR AND CINNAMON. PUT IN BAKING DISH. COMBINE RET OF INGREDIENTS AND CRUMBLE OVER TOP AND BAKE AT 400 DEGREES FOR 25 MINUTES. YUM!

4TH OF JULY!!!
Experts agree that the correct way to get into the holiday spirit is to relax and not allow yourself to become overwhelmed.

For example, the other day someone told me that it was the end of June.

“WHAT?!”

Helpful strangers standing yards away, shouted. “Three days until Fourth of July!”

“How could it be?” I queried the clerk as I scratched out “May” on my check for groceries. Then my faithful friend, Margo arrived on the scene and without a second’s hesitation reminded me I am to bring the main course for the annual Fourth of July picnic. What was I bringing?

By now I am considering making a break from the grocery line but I had other items on my busy agenda, with number one being remembering how to breathe.

I remembered to rely on the techniques for living a well-balance life that I had just read as I waited in line to check out my groceries.

So here was the procedure:

Visualize what you want to accomplish (I cannot believe I signed up for MAIN COURSE!)

Try to see as an opportunity for growth and learning (The worst part is you have not a clue what to make and you are at the end of your monthly budget.)

Do things that bring joy and fulfillment into your life (And don’t think for a moment that you are going to get out of it, because you aren’t.)

I came out of my unconscious state mumbling, “Hot Dogs.”

“HOT DOGS!” Margo yelled over her shoulder.

I look down the crowded aisle of shoppers and they look at me with the bright polite smiles of people who do not have a clue what had just been said.

“Whoa! Now, Margo lets not be hostile. I mean I’m not going to serve them with Cheez Whiz,” I explained.

‘To the best of my recollection, Cheez Whiz on a hot dog is mighty good,” said the customer second to the left in line.

I smile weakly.

Not feeling exceptionally energetic after purchasing $107.82 worth of groceries I knew as a food columnist I had to give that weenie a gourmet twist.

“Did I say Hot Dogs? No, no, no I meant Frankfurters,” I said. I felt a quiet giddiness and relief until I realized–condiments.

I pondered on this on the drive home. As I breathe deeply (so as not to become overwhelmed) I thought there has to be more than one way to butter a hot dog bun. Never doubt it, it only takes a rise in blood pressure to stagger the imagination to make a pretty dull weenie into…FOURTH OF JULY FRANKFURTERS

Score frankfurters about 1/4 inch deep. Brush with a sweet-sour BBQ, or zesty tomato sauce. Grill 6 inches from heat, turning and brushing once or twice with more sauce. Grill for 10 minutes or until hot dogs are puffed and richly glazed. Now take your pick of homemade condiments:

-Top grilled hot dogs with mashed avocado, sliced ripe olives and crushed cornchips.

-Line toasted hot dog buns with sautéed red and green peppers seasoned with chili sauce.

-Serve with grilled (canned or fresh) pineapple spears, chopped macadamia nuts and diced green peppers.

-Insert tiny pieces of white American Cheese into scored hot dogs before grilling; spread mustard on hot dogs buns and arrange slices of red and green pickled cherry peppers around hot dog.

-Spread toasted hot dog buns with canned deviled ham, place grilled hot dogs over and top with chopped Bermuda onion or Walla Walla sweets.

-Wrap lean bacon around hot dogs before grilling and top with hot dog relish in toasted buns.

-Fill toasted hot dog buns with rice salad and place grilled hot dog over top with dairy sour cream seasoned with mustard.

-Top grilled hot dogs in toasted buns with orange sections and sweet onion slices.

My front page piece on: ‘Emergency Mothers’ Help Scared Children By Shanna Family Editor

Who can a lost, frightened or sick child turn to on his way to or from school?

If the Pilot Club of Houston County has its way, there will soon be mothers on each block around local elementary schools to give comfort to any bewildered youngster.

The club last night kicked off a new “Emergency Mothers Project,” designed to provide a safe place school children can go to in time of need.

Large signs with the letter “E” in red will be placed in windows of homes when mothers will be home during school hours.

The volunteer mothers will be screened thoroughly by the principals of Parkwood and Shirley Hills elementary schools, where the project will begin, it was revealed.

Janice Ten Hoor, chairman of the club’s education international relations, said, “A sign will be placed one per city block, and volunteers are needed.”

Mrs. Ten Hoor said the club got the idea of the Emergency Mothers project from a similar program in Arizona called “Helping Hand.”

She explained children at the schools will be told they can receive help at any of the homes marked by the big, red letter “E.”

If a child is lost or frightened, or being followed or bothered by someone, the youngster can find safety in a home designated by the letter, according to Mrs. Ten Hoor.

“What we want to do is help make the streets safe for all our children,” she said.

The Pilot Club hopes the idea will spread to include all elementary schools in the area and plans to make Emergency Mothers a permanent club project if support is received.

Members were told last night that the idea has received enthusiastic support from the schools and the police department.

To help support the Emergency Mothers project, Warner Robins Chief W.H. “Pip” Rape and Lt. Hubert West, community relations officer, spoke to the group last night.

“There are not enough men on the police force to make all out streets totally safe for youth. We must all work together to support this project,” Chief Rape said.

“We are proud to support such a project, and as long as I am police chief, you will be protected,” he added.

Rape also said broken homes add to the development of many delinquents. “Parents must take the responsibility for their children, and children must have respect for their elders,” the veteran police chief said.

Lt. West said the police department is understaffed but commented on the good relations and cooperation with the Houston County Sheriff’s Department.

Planning for the project began this summer and is now officially started. This program will run throughout the school year.

The Pilot Club of Houston County is made up of select businesswomen such as lawyers, nurses and teachers who give their services to worthy needs.

It strikes with little warning and affects your entire day.

Let me repeat: Your day can be lost if this happens to you:

1. At 6 a.m… you hear the garbage truck and remember once again no one took it outside.
2. The hairbrush you couldn’t find the night before, mysteriously appears under your foot, first thing when you get out of bed.
3. At the breakfast table your little league guy reminds you of the camp out and that you had been elected to go from house to house to pick up 22 checks, since no one got them on time to rent the park.
4. It’s your turn to ask (beg) your office co-workers to donate to the money pool for the new Mommie-to-be. As you approach her you look her right in the eye and say how good she looks pregnant. She looks you right back in the eye and tells you she is not pregnant. Suzy down the hall is…

Right now, your left eye is rolling around in your head, independently of your right one.
What can you do?

Well, how does cinnamon bread, a caramel twist, or a chocolate biscotti sound. It is the only thing that will help in this day of need.

No time to cook? Need it now? Then don’t walk run to Rettig Farms Bakery located right here in our own neighborhood.

“We have something that is exclusive to our bakery,” says Barbara Beden-Hill, the proprietor of Rettig Farms Bakery.
“We have the original recipe for cinnamon bread directly from Arthur’s Bakery.”

Located for 37 years in Bellevue the bakery was famous for the cinnamon bread and caramel twists.

Excitedly, Beden-Hill explained how they not only have the bread recipe, but also Arthur’s bread pans.

Only a baker knows that having a bread pan that fits the recipe is premium that way there is no adjusting of a recipe due to the limitations of the bread pan.

Tony, Beden-Hill’s husband and co-owner and Chef at the former Trudeau’s of Kirkland explained that another exclusive treat comes from his very own Italian great-grandmother- twice-baked biscotti.

He enjoyed creating delightful variations from her original recipe by introducing seven new types of biscotti.

Cranberry/Macadamia/Lemon/Pistachio/Chocolate/Almond and Anise.

A loaf of bread prepared by hand tastes soooo good and is so little trouble to turn your upside down day to right side up goodness!!

“That lasted about five minutes.”

“You sound shocked,” I said to my neighbor, Margo, as we listened to the refrigerator door pop open, and slam shut, the cupboards bang back and forth.

Margo brushed the hair out of her eyes with her purple, dyed fingers and deftly peeled a hard cooked egg and popped it whole into her mouth.

“You kidddddss goeth to your roooomm,” Margo stammered, grinned, and chewed all at the same time.

I shook my head and watched the kids slam the last cupboard door. I think I knew we were in trouble after the kids dropped the last dye pellet in vinegar and the dog knocked it off the table and everyone was crying.

“It’s nothing.” Margo spoke clearly. “But your fault. If you hadn’t hid the Easter candy in the oven, we would still be dying Easter eggs.”

“And how did they find out the candy was in the oven?” I asked suspiciously.

Margo held up her hands in disgust. “After wiping up the dye, I came back up from under the table and I used the oven handle for support, the kids saw inside, and it was over.” She sighed.

Peeping over my coffee cup I murmured. “I guess so.” Nevertheless, it was true. I have run out of hiding spaces in my house. We must have a dozen Easter baskets and where do you put them? They do not fit in a drawer. If I store them in the garage, months later I find them holding nuts and bolts. It was discouraging. I felt like a fool. The way it stands now I can’t depend on any of my old hiding places.

You know the good ones. The oven lid drawer. Inside beach bags, the laundry bin, the canisters marked “flour” that no one has ever looked in except me.

I find Thank-You notes in those places now.

“You want to talk about hiding things,” I said to Margo who was now eating the Easter candy. “My husband, the thief, has more things that belong in this kitchen hiding in that garage of his.”

Margo stirred her coffee slowly. “Let me guess. You found your roaster pan and he used it to change the oil in the car.”

“Yes! OH, yes,” I said with relief. ‘Remember when I told you that things were mysteriously disappearing? My sewing scissors, kitchen knives, pots, juice jugs, the list goes on.”

“My goodness, that’s a lot of things,” Margo said, unconsciously lining the yellow marshmallow chicks in a row.

“Well, last night I go walking into the garage and my husband barks at me to stay back. “Why can’t I come in the garage? I asked defensively as I walked toward him.

“I don’t want you to touch anything!”

“Get serious,” I said, resting my elbows on the workbench, cupping my face in my hands, and looking up at him. (Sometimes you must act coy to catch them.)

His eyes narrowed and I had the feeling he knew, I knew, he was hiding something. We stared at each other. Then he half turned, and I heard a thud. On the floor was my best bathroom towel with an engine on it.

“Well, I’ve got to go home,” Margot said, as she leaned back in her chair and flipped a jellybean into the air and into her mouth. ‘I’m starved. I have to go home and fix dinner.”

As she exited thru the kitchen door, she poked her head back through and said, “Oh by the way, what are you going to do with five dozen hard-cooked eggs?

Here’s what you do:
SCOTCH EGGS
One of my all-time favorites. Great hot or cold. Portable and very filling.
¾ lb. pork sausage
12 hard-cooked eggs
1 egg, beaten
1/3 cup fine dry bread crumbs
Fat for deep frying
Divide sausage into 12 equal portions. Shape each portion into a flat patty and wrap completely around one peeled, hard cooked egg, then roll in breadcrumbs until completely coated. Place Eggs in preheated deep fat until golden brown and heated through, 6-9 minutes. Drain on absorbent paper.
PICKLED EGGS
For fun have kids throw a few peeled, hard-cooked eggs into the pickle jar. They are tasty even if a little green, other wise: 2 cups white vinegar, 2 tablespoons sugar, 1 medium onion, sliced and separated into rings, I teaspoon salt, 1 teaspoon whole mixed pickling spice, 12 hard-cooked eggs.

In medium saucepan combine all ingredients except eggs. Simmer over low heat, uncovered, until onion is tender.
Arrange eggs in each of two one-quart jars (save your pickle jars) with tight fitting lids.

Pour one cup vinegar mixture over eggs in each jar. Cover and refrigerate several hours or overnight to blend flavors. Eggs may be stored in the refrigerator up to two weeks.

HOPPY EASTER!

This week, Shanna takes the role of a classic crime detective to find the mystery—and the dinner—on the Spirit of Washington’s “Mystery Dinner Train.”

I had been a private gumshoe too many years to go for a comy gag like that. The train conductor had told me that what I was missing was inside the train.

I stood. My eyes turned toward the mountains. I was looking for some short-cut that would lead me somewhere, anywhere, to the perfect Valentine for my schweetheart.

The conductor’s smile pulled the corners of his mouth out half an inch. He reached inside his coat, prowled in a pocket, came out with a ticket. “Here.” He said, pushing the ticket in my hand. “Try it.”

Without looking back, I laughed at myself. I had time to turn around and see the words “Spirit of Washington” sketched across the locomotive. “Maybe, just maybe this could be THE Valentine gift,” I sighed. The lightness had gone out of my step when I realized my Valentine could see through a brick wall as quickly as anyone. This wears whiskers! I thought of all the past candy and cards. Enough already, I had to keep it a surprise!

I was looking for more than that fancy pants three-course gourmet meal. I needed a little mystery to keep this romance alive! Just then, the Conductor handed me a brochure. Mayhem, intrigue, and a whodunit good time was available on a MURDER mystery train!

My eyes quickly swept the room. I was sitting inside the Olympic railroad car built-in 1937. People were boarding as the servers helped them find their dining tables. I looked at them. They looked at me. My hunch says all of them could be the murderer! I would trust no one and suspect everyone!

I was breathing heavily with the effort of adding more honey butter on my roll. I had already had plenty of the herbed cream cheese and salmon rillette. It was a matter of minutes before the crisp romaine tossed with poppy seed vinaigrette dressing topped with fresh grapefruit, and toasted almonds were about to arrive.

I asked the waiter, Paul, for the recipe. He bared his uppers and lowers. He was more than glad to share:

MRS. T’s Poppy Seed Vinaigrette Dressing

¼ cup of sugar

1 ½ T onion juice

1 cup of vegetable oil

1 tsp dry mustard

1 tsp salt

1 ½ T poppy seeds

1/3 cup cider vinegar

Mix all ingredients except (the oil and poppy seed) in a blender until they are well mixed. Add the oil slowly while continuing to blend when thickened stir in the poppy seed and refrigerate.

A young lady brightened with a smile stood up and instructed us all to wear our name tags for I.D. when they find the dead body. She goes through the instructions fast, with technical terms flying like sparks from a train wheel.

I was lucky that night; we had a live crowd. Not a dead beat in the group. You could tell they were eager for the 44-mile round trip dinner experience to begin.

Suddenly a gorgeous raven-haired woman pushes her chair away from the table. She is gagging. NO. She is choking. Her table mate’s complexion went pasty. Suddenly the raven-haired beauty clammed up and started eating again.

Parts of it rang as wrong as a counterfeit quarter.

I whirled around, and there in the aisle stands a Detective. His teeth were smoky. He shook my hand. I rubbed my fingers back in shape where he’d squeezed them into pretzels.

He wants to know if I was acquainted with a certain gentleman.

I told him, “Don’t push me around. I might crack you one on the kisser.”

He went searching from table to table. More suspicious characters started fighting. Suddenly one of them staggered and went down into a withering heap.

The wheels of calamity were moving, but before I knew it, they had us debarking the train at Columbia Winery.

After a tour of the gift shop, where a quintet sang their hearts out, then a wine tasting we went for a tour of the winery.

Only we found more than wine barrels.

The plot thickened . . .

Cast of Characters

Spirit of Washington Dinner Train A 3 ½ hour round trip adventure including a wooden trestle built-in 1891 102 feet in height. Seven vintage cars that have been completely restored showing scenic views with gourmet cuisine.

Gretchen’s of Course is a partnership of Schwartz Brothers Restaurants. Guests are offered a three-course meal with an appetizer, choice of entrees, and dessert. Northwest wines and beers are also featured. They do all the food preparation, the staff, and the table settings

Columbia Winery Enjoy a 45 minute stop at the winery. Including complimentary Northwest wines and a tour. Columbia is exclusively known for its Winemaker, David Lake. He is the only Master of Winemaking in the United States.

It’s a Mystery Be sure to share some personal information, and you might end up a murder suspect. You get the chance to solve the murder, and booby prizes are awarded for the very good, the very bad, and the funny answers.

Shanna is a Northshore resident who enjoys sharing her stories and recipes with readers. Her column appears regularly in the Citizen

But the best Fathers are the crazy ones!
Since I can remember my Dad has had a different hobby every year. Granted some lasted maybe two years, but when he got on the trail of a new hobby it was not just talk it was pure action.

One year it was Boats. I have never been to so many Boat shows in my life; Boat pamphlets, Boat stores, Boat books, but that one blew over when the Boat prices came up too high.

Next was Art. Art shows, Art supplies, Art fairs, and more Art books.

Horses were next with three Arabians, horse shows, equestrian equipment, horse books and sore legs.

But through all his hobbies and he still has more I have learned about all sorts of things and each one has helped me, and one is even helping me now and that was the year of his bread making.

Hmmm…was that a good year! Rolls, Buns, Christmas Bread. All delicious! Though his bread year is over he still has the recipes! I will share with you now.

But remember when you see your Father next give him a big hug because he deserves it!

CARROT TEA BREAD
3 eggs
1 ½ cups sugar
¾ cup vegetable oil
2 ¾ cups sifted all purpose flour
1 ¾ teaspoons baking powder
2 teaspoon baking soda
¼ teaspoon salt
1 ½ teaspoons ground cinnamon
1 ½ cups finely shredded carrots
Grease a 9x5x3 inch loaf pan. Line bottom with wax paper.
Beat eggs, sugar, and vegetable oil in a large mixing bowl until well blended.
Sift flour, baking powder, stir into egg mixture
Stir in shredded carrots
Turn into the prepared loaf pan.
Bake in slow oven (325) for one hour and 20 minutes or until center springs back when lightly pressed.
Cool 10 minutes in the pan on a wire rack. Peel off wax paper bottom of the pan.
Cool completely.
Sprinkle top with confectioner sugar if you wish.

NUTTY OATMEAL BREAD
1 ½ cups sifted flour.
½ teaspoon salt
½ teaspoon baking powder
1 teaspoon baking soda
¾ cup quick cooking oatmeal
1 egg
½ cup sugar
1 cup sour cream
1/3 cup dark molasses
½ cup pitted dates
1 cup nuts
Preheat oven to 350 degrees.
Line a greased 8 ½ by 4 ½ inch loaf pan.
Sift flour, salt, baking powder and soda into mixing bowl. Add oatmeal. Put egg, sugar, sour cream and molasses into a blender, cover and process until smooth and well blend. Add dates and nuts chopped. Empty into dry ingredients and stir well.

Fill prepared pan and bake 45 to 55 minutes.

It’s a pleasant, wet and rainy day, and I am standing in a semicircle of approximately 133 “you cut ’em” Christmas trees.

My husband is running with a sawblade in his left hand, a blue tarp in his right hand, and a translucent look in his eyes. Evidently, he has spotted yet another tree that might meet his specific conditions.

My 7-year-old daughter is lying on the ground at my feet, moaning deliriously that she is “tree sick.” Her tiny limp body is lying quietly as she explains that after rows and rows of trees, she can no long muster the energy to walk another step.

I don’t know about you, but when I go to ‘cut’em” I don’t waste a lot of time. I stride briskly to the most attractive tree standing and shout, “Here!”

Your professional Christmas tree cutter (husband), on the other hand, does not even think about cutting until he has conducted a complete tree study of the site-circling the selected tree warily, as though it were an alien space-ship, checking it out from every possible angle, squatting and squinting, finger in the air checking the wind, feeling the needles, analyzing the distance from the road to the truck, back to the tree…

And so, amid an atmosphere of unbearable tension, comparable to not being able to find your car keys when you are already late to that very important meeting, my daughter and I wait, and wait, and wait.

By now our daughter is trying to make snow angels in the mud and I am unbelievably letting her. I see other families in the tree farm. They’re staring intently at trees way off in the distance, but I think they’re staring at us. We have been here so long.

I think about grabbing my daughter’s hand and pulling her up to her feet and taking her down the hill for our third cup of hot cider and her second candy cane, but too late, she has been entertaining the crowds by holding her breath as she runs up and down the tree rows.

The more time that passed with virtually nothing happening, the more excited I get about that cider. I start down the hill when suddenly I heard a loud, long, whopping yelp that I recognized as my husband.

I turned to see him stand up, wipe tree pitch off his hands, and in a voice that would made a gold digger stop, announced, “This …is the tree. There it stood in all of its glory–all 14 feet of it.

“That’s too big,” I say.

“Not so,” he said. “I will trim off the bottom. You’ll see.”

“Don’t you remember last year?” I asked. “It was too big, you didn’t trim enough.”

“Did so.”

“Did not.”

“Did so.”

“Did not.”

“Did.”

“Not!”

Like anything else, success depends on the proper tools, so in the back of our car is an assortment of many saws, blue tarps, gloves, rope and any necessity to fell Paul Bunyan’s tree.

“Quick, run back to the truck and pick out the yellowed-handled two-blade milliliter saw. Oh, and by the way, grab me a cider,” he says with a big smile.

Rolling my eyes back in my head and shrugging my shoulders, I approach the tree surgeon, punch him in the arm where he pretended to be knocked into the fir tree, and head to the car trying to consider the many, many complex factors involved in the “you cut ’em tree man.

This is, after all, a once-a-year experience. And this tree-prepare to experience a heart tremor- was home cut. How were we going to get it in the truck, let alone through the front door? At least when I finally do get home, I can make a nice hot cup of:

HOT SPICY APPLE CIDER

6 cups apple cider, 1 cinnamon stick, 1/4 cup honey, 1/4 teaspoon nutmeg, 3 tablespoons lemon juice, 1 teaspoon lemon rind, 1 can (2-1/2 cups) unsweetened pineapple juice.

Heat cider and cinnamon stick in a large pan. Bring to a boil and simmer covered for 5 minutes. Add remaining ingredients and simmer uncovered 5 minutes longer.

SIMPLY DELICIOUS EGGNOG

1 egg, 2 tablespoons sugar, 1 cup milk, chilled, 1/4 teaspoon vanilla. Beat egg and sugar together. Beat in milk and vanilla. Serve cold in a tall glass sprinkled lightly with nutmeg. Serve immediately.

Note: This column was published in Sandra Haldeman Martz of Papier-Mache Press, anthology “There’s No Place Like Home for the Holidays”. Where I was welcomed by two different Barnes & Noble bookstores and Columbia Winery for a book signing and reading.

On these chilly winter days nothing is more appealing than hot soup, a cozy fire and home.
Dill weed, garlic and other spices leave the room scented with their own sweet tangy perfume.
The soul of homemade soup that makes the tasty stock is the spices.

Did you know that an aluminum tea ball caddy can be filled with your soup’s spices and immersed when cooking?
After cooking re-move the caddy and your soup will be free of floating bay leaves, and spices will still have all the delicious flavor.

To remove any excess fat from soup just drop in a lettuce leaf let it remain until the grease is absorbed. Remove lettuce leaf before serving.

So simple and effective these little tricks make you feel more confident in your kitchen. Here are a few more:
If you add mashed potatoes to any cream soup it will act as a thickener. Replacing the use of flour. It also adds taste and not as many calories.

To bring out the tang of your tomato soup, add a little sugar and for an instant cream sauce substitute one can cheddar cheese soup or cream of mushroom celery or chicken broth plus ¼ cup milk.

Try my favorite “sit at home and enjoy” soup recipes below. When their aroma begins to tickly your nose you will remember what is so special about these frosty winter days.

OYSTER STEW
1 PINT MILK
½ CUP CREAM
¼ CUP BUTTER
1 PINT OYSTER
1 TEASPOON SALT
DASH OF PEPPER
Heat milk and cream to scalding. Just before serving, melt butter in saucepan add oysters and liquid. Cook gently just until oyster edges curl. Add to scalded milk and cream. Season with salt and pepper. Serve immediately.

BEEF BARLEY SOUP
2 POUNDS BEEF SHORT RIBS
5 CUPS WATER
1 LARGE ONION, SLICED
1 16-OUNCE CAN TOMATOES, CUT UP
1 TABLESPOON INSTANT BEEF BOUILLION GRANULES, SALT AND BASIL. SIMMER COVERED ONE AND ½ HOURS.

In Dutch oven slowly brown short ribs on all sides. Drain off excess fat. Add water, undrained tomatoes, onion, bouillon granules, salt, and basil. Simmer covered 1-1/2 hour.

Add carrot, celery, green pepper, barley, and parsley. Simmer covered 45 minutes. Remove meat and bones. Chop meat. Discard bones. Skim excess fat from soup. Return meat to cooker. Season soup to taste with additional salt and pepper.

My husband clapped his hand over his mouth. “I can’t take one more?”

I said nudging him in the ribs. “Incidentally, that was a good tuck and roll exit from the kid’s room.
“Hey, I saw my chance and I took it.” He grinned.

At the same time, we both reached for a Snickers sitting on top of the mound of Halloween candy covering the middle of the living room floor.

It had been about one hour, and three days worth of calories devoured. We were feeling pretty yucky.
But we still arm wrestled for the Snickers. I mean this is …. tradition.

What good is a Holiday if you can’t fall headfirst into it? What other time of the year can you send your child out to roam the streets in the dark and come home and deposit $100 worth of candy at your front door.

You beg and cajole with your children to pleaaasse share that Mars bar only to have their grubby (oh I meant chubby) little hands grab it and yell, “No, it’s mine.”

Too young to express it you know they are thinking, “Hey, you big person you weren’t out there knocking on those doors. It was me!”

Little do they know that Mom and Dad pace the hall waiting for them to finally surrender to sleep.
We sneak down the hall and tiptoe into their room, feeling around in the dark, until we find the Trick or Treat bag. We tiptoe out and run down the hall.

It always amazed me that the kids never discovered the huge dent left in the Trick or Treat bag. I think that it was the sheer pleasure of owning so much of one thing, at one time, that everything looked huge in their small eyes.

Naturally, I cannot buy chocolate and pass it out on Halloween; there would be nothing to pass out.
My daughter has caught onto this and now gives me a list of the candy she likes for us to hand out: Lemonheads, Hot Tamales, Zot (they explode in your mouth) Ring Pops (a lollipop stuck on top of a plastic ring to put on your finger) and Gummi Worms (like chewing a plastic bag).

Of course, the Halloween holiday would not be without drinking Rootbeer floats and listening to the radio while you carve out pumpkins.

You have to take the weekend tour of the pumpkin farm. Here you experience a hayride, spooky house and a play put on by the barnyard animals.

Overcome by the aroma of hot cider, you buy a soup tureen shaped like a pumpkin that you can only use twice a year and have absolutely no cabinet big enough in the kitchen to put it in.

You end up purchasing a u-pick pumpkin for about $8.75 a pound.

Waiting for darkness to arrive on the night of Halloween is not half as suspenseful as having your child pick out their costume. Within minutes of arriving at the fabric store, they are tearing through the pattern books. “That’s IT! That’s IT! They scream.” Great honey, you want to be a pirate. OK Let’s go.

“WAIT. I’ve changed my mind they cry. Four hours and a paper cut later you leave the store with yards of material you have no idea what to do with.

After a few years when you really are into the swing of making costumes and have the technique down. They tell you no way am I wearing a homemade costume.

All I need are my jeans and that $65 mask.

Let’s face it. Halloween is sugar, sugar, sugar! Let’s get the kids started now!
TRICK OR TREAT!