Shower Day

Today I'm missing my friend.

The crazy thing is that I didn't realize we were friends until last night when we got the phone call telling us she was gone. 

It wasn't like her leaving was a huge surprise, really....she was 91 years old.  

Her body was 91 years old; a rather big affront to her 45 year old heart and mind. She was always sort of bewildered that her bones and skin had the nerve to age when she had so much to do, yet.  How dare nature pull such a dirty trick?! 

She broke her "good arm" after Thanksgiving and had to spend time in the nursing home in Jordan until January. Spending that much time with THOSE OLD PEOPLE just about killed her, then and there. We talked about that time frequently and it occurred to me that she really hadn't spent much time with elderly people! The oldest folks she fraternized with were her kids, who are now in their late 60s. And their kids...who are in their 40s. No wonder the old people got on her nerves...

She checked out of the nursing home the first week of January and that was when I had the privilege and joy of visiting her once or twice a week to help her shower and reach things in high places or accompany her to the forbidden basement to fetch canned goods. We had always had a funny relationship, built on the mutual respect and understanding of two girls raised in the country who married into the same ranching family, decades apart. Now, we had time and a good reason to visit about things we were both interested in, like cooking and ranching and gardening and family. 

And so a friendship grew.

It's such a vulnerable place, needing help with things like showers; especially for a strong, independent woman who still lived alone past 90 years of age...

We talked about how many people she'd taken care of in her lifetime and I tried to remind her that it was just coming back around for her. We also talked about the reality of her going back to that nursing home if she didn't accept a little help. That kept her on the straight and narrow, project-wise, although I always worried that she'd push it just a little too far some days.

But after showers and on the phone arranging the dates and times for such events, we chatted and clucked and laughed. We could tease each other and forget names of people we should know. She'd feed my kids weird cookies that she'd baked with almond/quinoa/rice flours, and questionable produce from the bottom of the crisper drawer, sending them home with funny, odd things she'd dug up from drawers....old pocketbooks and plastic toys. I came home with Prevention magazine and so many stories of the day. Never once did it feel like a "duty" or something I HAD to do. They were golden afternoons that ended with sincere hugs and "I love you"s; promises to see each other next week.  

I tell you this with tears running down my face that yesterday not only did our grandma (for the kids, their great-grandma) leave this old earth, but so did one of my dearest friends. Today was our designated shower day (on a weekend, so she could see the kids), and we are so lost. She died in her garden, in the spring sunshine, at home....right where she wanted to be.  While we're not sad about that...one of our biggest goals was that she could stay home until the end,,,we are already lonesome for her. It's going to be a very long week. It's been a very hard day. 

Grandma Edith taught me so much, but one of the biggest things was that friendship can grow anywhere, anytime, if you're willing to nurture it. (Ever the gardener, wasn't she?!) 

Also...and I'm glad I never had to confess this to her, but....quinoa flour biscotti are really and truly awful. Just use real wheat flour and white sugar. I'll smile every time I see her "modified" recipes in my files.  

The Hundred-Foot Journey

I've found it.
The PERFECT contemporary movie that is NOT produced by BBC.
(At least, I don't think it is...hmmm...)

It's PG, takes place in India and France, is about cooking, finding one's place in the world, applauding both ambition AND contentment. There are small town politics, family politics (don't pretend you don't know what that is, now), a hint at national politics, a whole lot of heart in all of that.
 Did I mention it's mostly set in France and involves cooking?
With Helen Mirrin, of all actresses!

I very rarely love a movie to the core...especially those made after 1965....but I bought this one.
Watch it!
Preferably with an omelette and glass of wine, fresh fruit and cheese close at hand.
If you cannot find it or don't want to purchase it, come to my house and watch it with me!
(Wine and omelette complimentary, of course.)

  

It's a sad state of affairs....

....when flamingos are rustled from the mailbox.

We put new ones down there, but this time they're branded with the OC on the right hip. (I know. I couldn't really find the right hip on the plastic flamingos so I just went for the general area. Flamingo branding is tricky!)

A homemade pie reward will be given for information leading to the swipers of the previous flamingos. 

Easter at the 'fork

It was COLD!

The kids took their coats off for this picture, but I had to hurry up and capture the moment. Maggie was wearing a hat that Grandpa Jasper had found for her, the dress Aunt Bert made specially for her, and new silver shoes that were two sizes too big because I didn't have her to try them on when I bought them and I'm ALWAYS buying her shoes too small.

We're just proud Angus's shirt is tucked in and his jeans don't have holes.

Around 3 p.m. we load up potluck dishes and head over to Susan's Easter party where the kids run amok waiting to gather up the 115-150 plastic eggs she's hidden in her yard.

Meanwhile, we grownups have appetizers and wine/beer, and catch up on each other's lives. Most of these folks I only ever see here at Susan's party, and then only every other year, so I have a lot of news to hear in a short time. 

Here the kids are playing what I think must be their version of Calvin-ball, where the only rule is that you can't play it the same way twice. 

The boys are sitting there trying to figure it out.

It's a girl game, so they're destined to sit there a long, long, LONG time...

I can't stand how dear and smoochable they are!

It could be 20 degrees out, but if there's grass, the boots are coming off!

I don't know whose child that would be....

After a quick bite to eat (on the kids' part), it's off to find eggs!

Susan's son hustled around and made a bonfire for us out of the old Christmas tree...maybe two of them...and we ended the day with wood smoke in our hair, salmon in our tummies, and smiles on our faces.

What a fun Easter!

A Day in the Life in Bigfork

The kids and I loaded up the car with bacon and play clothes, and headed west for Easter.

We haven't been ANYWHERE since last July and our people haven't been here for a visit, so it was high time for a trek.

We just kind of absorbed the neighbors next door as family. Built in cousins, so to speak.

This is baffling to the Farmer, who doesn't even know all his REAL relatives, much less tack on family willy-nilly. 

I grew up this way with the Duttons, so I myself can't understand how one could NOT.

Tricky.

Anyway, here's Angus with one of his very best friends and "cousin"s, Quinn.

They had been waging war on their sisters, although I'm not quite certain the sisters were aware of the onslaught as they were quite busy building fairy houses, themselves.

(Note the armor...the finest plastic available.)

The besieged sisters....

 ...and a sample of their fairy dwellings.

Exquisite!

 In the meantime, the grandparents were burning sticks and other assorted dryish things.

The fire danger is nothing in the Flathead after a soggy spring!

Typical scene from the front step in the afternoon....

Lion, sword, bike, sweatshirt.

Sometimes it snows and then they drag out the board games!

Here we have a rather intense game of Clue.

 I think that's Colonel Mustard....

The kids get more into the drama of the game than actually solving the mystery....

When the storm moves out, we go for walks/rides with the cousins.

It always makes me laugh at how ridiculously picturesque Montana scenes are!

Here they are discussing dead squirrels or something, stunning mountains behind them.

Here's where I run in the mornings.
Seriously.
And this isn't even one of the more remarkable mornings...

Here it is on a frigid morning when the clouds have settled on the mountains like a wispy shawl...

The one rule they hold sacred is the "Ice cream MUST be consumed before bed" rule. 

The ice cream was a little hard this round, needing a hammer to dislodge it from the carton.

It softened with all the caramel and chocolate syrup liberally applied after extraction...

Grandma Celestia obsessively crochets afghans.

We each have our own personal afghan under which to snuggle and read by the fire.

A lot of times, we watch deep, insightful films like Rocky and Bullwinkle.

This is just a lovely moment that I had to include.

Some of us give it up earlier than others...

 Even Houdini takes advantage of the afghans and snuggles!

Spaghetti....Doh!

Sand Springs School, 1978

(L to R) Mary Dutton, Kimberly, Pamela, and Ed Kreider, Teresa Nanini

This picture was taken in September, I think. You can tell because we're all still smiling and it looks like we'd had a little sun.  The winter of 1978 was horrific, even for a second grader like I was in this picture. What I remember most about it, though, is spaghetti.

We had spaghetti for lunch today and as I was putting away leftovers, I thought about that winter and all the spaghetti noodles I had eaten then.
Not spaghetti with sauce....just noodles.
And butter. Sometimes salt and pepper on it.
It was my first taste of "batchelor food", being snowed in with my teacher for at least a week.  Maybe it just FELT like a week, but I'm pretty sure it was. I'm certain it felt much, much longer for her.

There was so much snow and so much wind that the highway was closed, I think. Even if it had not been closed, my parents were spending all their days trying to get the cows fed and had no time to spend transporting me to and from school that week.  My teacher, Miss Nanini, and her German Shepherd, Hobo, lived in a tiny little two room "teacherage" (with a bathroom, too...ooo!) right next to the school. The Kreiders lived just across the highway from the school so they were able to go home without too much effort on their folks' part, but my family lived over 40 miles away and it was flat impossible to get me educated AND the cows fed in that sort of weather.

Staying with your teacher in her house sounds really great when you're eight years old. We were never allowed in her house (she had to have SOME privacy) and always wanted to see her secret lair, her den, where she hung her broom! It turns out, though, that teachers aren't nearly as interesting at home as one imagines them to be. It didn't matter that she didn't have a television...we didn't have one at home, either, and I was a reader even then.  She had an 8 track player and about five Dave and Sugar albums that we played over and over and over and....
To this day, I can sing "Queen of the Silver Dollar" to you from start to finish, never missing a word.
I would bet my moonboots that Miss Nanini can, too.

The little house was wicked cold (I'm sure it had little or no insulation), only about a foot out from the propane heater was warm.  The rest of the house SMELLED like propane, but didn't benefit from the heat.  The only real warmth would have been in the kitchen, had she cooked at all, but alas...
The only thing Miss Nanini could and would cook was spaghetti.  Just the noodles. Topped with the butter and "spices". She was more of an outdoorsy person and I really don't think she'd ever HAD to cook for herself or anyone else. The burden of three squares probably floored her, on top of being responsible for this child 24 hours a day for 5 or 6 days.
So, we ate spaghetti noodles for lunch and supper.
Breakfast was white toast, with butter.
AND jam!

Bless her heart, anyway.
What an experience for everyone!
Looking back, I don't really understand why I didn't stay down the hill at Uncle Joe and Aunt Daisy's house. I'm sure there were good reasons and surely no one anticipated my stay being that extended.

Now, whenever I make spaghetti and have a little bite of the ones I'm putting away, I think of that week and wonder where Miss Nanini ended up.
And if she ever learned to cook anything else.

Lyrical

I'm an obsessive reader, devouring books as some might consume M&M candies. Writing, when it's really good, pulls me up short and causes me to reread passages several times (sometimes aloud) in order to savor the way the words create a thought or scene. 

Do you do this?

It's the same way with songs.

I know they're really poems set to music...that alone is kind of stunning when you think about it because the rhythm and meter has to match, never mind the actual tune. When it all comes together...wow! 

There are lyrics that cause me to play and replay a song, marveling at the writer's ability. 

For instance: 

"We run....come undone, like a string on a sweater that you pull but you know better, but doing what you shouldn't's half the fun..."

(We Run Sugarland)

The song is okay, but that little chunk of the chorus grabs me every time.  

Exactly.

All the strings I've pulled in my life...

Or this from Ian Tyson's song Fifty Years Ago:

"If I could roll back the years, back when I was young and limber, loose as ashes in the wind, had no irons in the fire..."

In the chorus we hear:

"And the sighing of the pines up here near the timberline 

makes me wish I'd done things different, but wishin' don't make it so..."

Youth isn't described any better than "loose as ashes in the wind" in my opinion. 

He also has a song about looking back and realizing certain things in your life (especially relationships) have been "gambled and lost like summer wages".

**If you haven't listened to Ian Tyson, run (don't walk) to the nearest music store and get his album All The Good'uns for a glorious introduction to his songs. Then, after you're hooked, I'd recommend Live at Longview.  You won't regret a penny.

(AND you'll feel like you're riding with my Dad in the pickup, driving a pasture in Montana...)**

Tom T. Hall kills me, as you know.

" 'How old do you think I am?' he asks.

Well, I said I didn't know.

  He said, 'I turned sixty-five about eleven months ago.'

I was sittin' in Miami pourin' blended whiskey down

when this old grey black gentleman was cleanin' up the lounge."

And that's just the tip of it! 

(Another album everyone should own...not borrow, my friends, but OWN IT.)

Pat Green has no end to good lyrics in his music...no end. 

Try Poetry on for size:

(You get the whole song, here...it's THAT GOOD. Hit the link to listen along!)

"Some things I've done make my conscience burn

My very spine shudder and squirm
I only hope that I've learned from my sin
I heard a voice when I was thirteen
Got baptized - washed up clean
But the world has a way, if you know what I mean
To scuff you up again and again

I can't explain a blessed thing
Not a falling star, or a feathered wing
Or how a man in chains has the strength to sing
Just one thing is clear to me
there's always more than what appears to be
And when the light's just right
I swear I see poetry

Now, somebody made every natural thing
From the soul, inside out to saturn's rings
How my baby smiles and how Ray Charles sings
Of course we were created
The clouds make rain, the ocean makes sand
The earth breates fire, and lava makes land
Now that took a mighty hand
And a wild imagination

I can't explain a blessed thing
Not a falling star, or a feathered wing
Or how a man in chains has the strength to sing
Just one thing is clear to me
there's always more than what appears to be
And when the light's just right
I swear I see poetry

The dreams I dreamed came back ten-fold
The friends I have, to the woman I hold
I look down, I'm on streets of gold
After all the mud along the way
And sometimes the big old mystery
Just leans right in on me
And whispers that I'm home and I am free
And I'll take that any day

I can't explain a blessed thing
Not a falling star, or a feathered wing
Or how a man in chains has the strength to sing
Just one thing is clear to me
there's always more than what appears to be
And when the light's just right
I swear I see poetry"

-lyrics by Walt Wilkins

Here's my last one for this post:

"The lakes and pines, they bleed of beauty and grace.

And the rivers, they run wild like an endless race.

The forests soar so tall then they fall to the sea,

as the church bells ring and sing in harmony..."

That, if you can believe it, is a Kid Rock song. 

He's not generally known for his poetic soul (see following picture), but he really nailed it with this one.

The tune is really wonderful and the rest of the lyrics are the same.

I don't think I've ever listened to it just once in a sitting; I always rewind for a second round. 

(There will probably be a second "Lyrical" post, but this is all I have time for today.  Besides, it's going to take you a little while to get over my dad, Tom T Hall and Kid Rock being mentioned in the same post...)

Oh, Baby!

I'm happy to announce the birth of Violet Jane's first calf, a bull baby named Chrysanthemum (called Chrys)! 

Isn't he one of the most perfect Angus calves you've ever seen?!

(Please excuse the lettering on the tag. I didn't do it, and am slightly appalled at the portrayal of the OC brand.)

His mother thinks he's the most perfect calf in the world, too, and she's concerned I might steal him out from under her pretty nose. Here she's checking to make sure he's safely hidden under the tree where she left him. (New mother cows are terrible at keeping secrets...)

Daisy also calved yesterday morning, but I haven't gotten a picture, yet.  She had a heifer who's named Buttercup. (Although you know she'll be referred to as Princess Buttercup like the heroine in The Princess Bride.)

A Camping We Will Go!

Although, it kind of feels like cheating with this sort of luxurious tent-on-wheels.

We are now the happy and excited keepers of a pop-up camper. I'd say "owners" but I get the feeling that she will own us when all is said and done. 

We've been talking about getting one for several years, but hadn't seriously pursued the idea until Justin and Andrea Pluhar (yes, cousins) put theirs up for sale. 

I showed the Farmer pictures and urged him to call Justin to get the details, which he grudgingly did. The next day a deal was made (to my great astonishment) and Justin delivered her right to our yard about 10 days later! 

(The kids and I named her "Sally" because in Webster's dictionary, a sally is a brief excursion.)

It's incredible to me that a flat little trailer like this:

....will slowly unfold and stretch out....

....to something like THIS, with two huge beds, a table, couch, stove, sink, awning for shade (which we didn't put out on this trial set up)!

The kids were slow to warm to the idea of a camper.

 No corner or hidey hole was left unexamined. The beds were tested and found satisfactory.

The table was deemed worthy of snacks and board games.

All in all, BIG THUMBS UP from the crew!

(They especially liked the privacy curtains so they wouldn't wake anyone else if by chance they got up perilously early in the morning on a camping trip. I'm trying not to imagine what shenanigans will take place at those times...)

One of the best things was that I was able to take it down by myself, with no help from the more mechanical people in our family. (Which would be everyone else...even the cats.)

I KNOW!

I can barely run a toaster and yet this camper went back together without anything breaking or bending on me. 

We're planning our adventures and modifying the car to pull her everywhere.

Look out, Montana!

Happy Easter!

This is the most joyful of Easter morning songs...
He is risen! Alleluia!

Bull in the Bog

About a month ago, my friend Amber and I slipped away from our families (leaving them with frozen pizza and Netflix) to go to a Cowboy Poetry evening at the Range Riders Museum in Miles City.
I say "my friend Amber", but before that evening we were really just acquaintances at Cohagen community functions. She had bravely sent me a message, asking if perhaps I'd be interested in this sort of thing....not knowing if I was clinically crazy or anything...and I thought it would be fun, so we made the plan.

(I had no idea what to expect. I've never heard cowboy poetry. I've certainly heard colorful cowboy vocabulary, but not poetry...and that was accidental, because all the cowboys I have known are very respectful when there are women and children around.)

We had a great visit on the way to Miles City! That's 70 miles of "get to know you" windshield time, and by the time you get there, you'll have a pretty good idea if you'll be friends or not.  The really tricky thing is, if you're NOT, the same trip back home can seem like 100 miles...

It was pretty evident when we walked into the Range Riders that we were some of the youngest attendees there.  I would have to say the average age (conservatively) was around 67 years. There were a few more of us "youngsters" that came in, but all in all it was a fairly mature crowd, if you know what I mean.

Amber and I found seats right in the front row of tables, off to the side, so we could really see (and hear) all the action. (You know...because the term "cowboy poetry" is just ripe with the notion of commotion, right?)  We had coffee and continued visiting until the poets were assembled on stage and the MC got things going.

The first poet (I use that term sort of loosely in this case) was Wally Badgett.  I hesitate to try to describe him here because there really are no words that can do him justice. He's an old cowboy who has a local (Eastern Montana) reputation for big stories that have a vein of truth somewhere in them. The books he's written are very entertaining to those who know this, but would hardly be recommended as historical references to anyone anywhere else.  His first piece was about how the CBC company came to the area to gather range horses to send back east for dog food. My grandpa Everett Mosby rode with the CBC for a short time, so it really WAS interesting to me.

After a singer who did a couple Montana songs, Ann Secrest Hanson was up to the microphone.
If I couldn't do Wally Badgett justice in description, I'm completely speechless when it comes to Ann. Take a minute right now to read this very good biography on her. (Click on the red letters to go to the link).

You can see why I would be a little star struck...
I grew up hearing Ann Secrest stories, and was so hoping to get to meet her at the end of the evening.

She smiled a little, looked down at her papers and chuckled.
"I was looking out at the audience tonight and realized there were a lot of poems I couldn't read because people who know me too well are here. I saw you *pointed out at the crowd*, can't do this one. Or you *pointed at another*, can't do this one!"
She paused for a moment, then to my complete amazement said, "I don't suppose Billy Dutton is here tonight, is he?"
Well, sitting right there in the front row was his daughter, and I laughed and told her so...still astonished at the coincidence!
Ann took a good look at me and said, "You realize I've taken artistic liberty in some of my poems. Do you still want me to read this one about your father?"
Why, YES! Now, more than ever!

So I had the pleasure of hearing Ann Secrest (Hanson) read this poem she had written with my dad in it.

This is a copy she sent me in the mail, later, because.....this was the most thrilling part of the evening...when the program took a break for dinner, Ann came over to meet and visit with me! We talked about people we both knew, Cohagen, Jordan, poetry, North Dakota (where she now lives). The woman whose autograph I wanted pushed a piece of paper over and asked me for MY address, so she could send a copy of the poem to me when she got back home. (She wanted to copy it from the book because it had my Dad's picture on the book version.)
She even ate supper with us, which was such a treat, because I was able to ask her questions about her life, which she graciously answered with good humor.

When the poem came in the mail, a copy of the cover of the book was included, with a little note at the bottom that made me happy:

What an evening!

A new friend, a real live "hero" who wrote about my other real live hero, no cooking that night...

a gold star day for certain! 

I hope you enjoy the poem as much as I did.  

(One of the "artistic liberties" would have been making my Dad a stock inspector. I'm pretty sure he never was. He would have been equipped with ropes and gear, though, and he did chew Copenhagen at the time.)

Ham and Cheese Rolls

These are my new stash-in-the-freezer-for-branding-or-shipping rolls.  Cinnamon or caramel rolls are wonderful, but often we need something with protein to sustain us partway through the morning. The beauty of this dough is that it's incredibly flexible and CAN be made into cinnamon rolls as well, if you wish.  It's also very forgiving if you forget the eggs that are warming to room temperature in the bowl by the sink, as Shelly and I did the first time I made the recipe with her....we used that dough for a pizza crust and it was excellent! 

My friend Shelly (Reeves Smith) is the illustrator of some of my favorite cookbooks, but I believe the best one is 

Besides this roll recipe, it contains the recipe for Jan's Brownies (posted here under "Recipes" in the topic list), Stuffed Spud Soup, Fried Chicken Salad....and other ideas for slim, trim eating. 

(Actually, that's what I love about it: it was compiled before all the freedoms hit...gluten, dairy, sugar, flavor, etc...)

If you get it JUST for the brownie recipe and the illustrations, it would be money well spent.

Here's the dough recipe:

(I'm posting the picture so you can see the illustration, but will type the recipe out, too.)

Light Wheat Rolls

5 eggs (place in bowl of warm water to bring to room temperature)

1 cup water

1 cup milk

3/4 cup butter

1 cup sugar

3 cups white flour (or 2 white/1 wheat...I've never used the wheat, so I can't say how it works here)

3 pkgs rapid rise yeast (or, if your yeast is in a jar, 6 3/4 teaspoons...I go 7, because 3/4 tsp??)

Additional 6-7 cups white flour

Heat the milk, water and butter until very warm (butter does not need to melt); set aside.

In a large mixing bowl, combine the sugar, 3 cups of flour, and yeast. 

Crack the now-warmed eggs into the warm liquid mixture, then add the liquid mixture to the flour mixture and mix well for about 3 minutes or until well combined. (Use your dough hook, here.) 

Add additional flour 1/2 cup at a time until dough is smooth and elastic...the recipe says 10 minutes, but that depends on your mixer and flour.  The dough should NOT be sticky in any way.  Place in greased pan and cover with greased plastic wrap to rest while you prepare the ingredients for your ham and cheese rolls, cinnamon rolls.

 OR form into dinner rolls right now, placing them in a greased baking pan, covering lightly with a greased  plastic wrap, letting rise until doubled in size. Brush beaten egg over the tops before baking in a 350 degree oven for about 20-25 minutes until golden brown. Makes 3 dozen rolls this way.

Ham and Cheese ingredients:

1 lb ham, sliced or chopped into little cubes (we used leftover ham this way and it worked splendidly)

1 lb shredded cheese...or more at your discretion. (The recipe says to use cheddar, but there's nothing saying you can't use Swiss or pepper jack if that's what you have or prefer.)

1 cup softened butter

4-5 green onion tops, sliced (This, too, is optional in my opinion; if your family recoils from anything green, by all means leave it out.)

1 egg, beaten

Assembling the rolls:

Roll out 1/2 of your now well rested dough on a floured surface as though you're making cinnamon rolls.  Brush the dough liberally with the softened butter, making sure to go to the edges with it. Then, (and this is how Shelly says it's supposed to be done) lay sliced ham on top of the buttered dough. I sprinkled my sliced or diced ham over it and it was just fine; probably not as pretty, but it worked. Sprinkle 1/2 of your chosen cheese over the ham, and the onion greens over the cheese.  

Carefully roll the whole mess up like you would for cinnamon rolls....see Exhibit A:

Slice the roll into 12 sections, as evenly as you can. 

Then....and this is the unexpected part, at least for me....pinch the bottom of each roll to keep all the goody contained and put it in a well greased muffin pan...like so:

Crazy, huh?

I had to buy another muffin tin for this, because with only one tin this is an ALL DAY project.

Cover the now filled muffin pans with the greased plastic wrap and let rise for 20-30 minutes.

Brush the tops of the rolls with beaten egg before baking for 30-40 minutes at 350 degrees until golden brown.

They should come out of the oven looking like this:

I'll give you a moment, here...

Remove the rolls from the pan to cool on a wire rack.

The recipe is supposed to make 30 rolls, but I found that it made 24 nice big ones for me.

It seems like a long process, but honestly, it's about the same as making homemade cinnamon rolls. Also, it's a very convivial recipe...it's much nicer to make it up with one of your best friends in the kitchen with you. 

Happy baking!