A few weeks ago I was supposed to be in Memphis, spending a considerable amount of time in the great outdoors, specifically in cemeteries (which, if I can’t be in the middle of a forest, is the next best thing). According to the weather on my handy, dandy phone, this was not advisable.
It’s that time of year. The time when we drag our traditions out of the closets and boxes and begin spreading them about the house. When recipes and recollections join together to create new memories or give life to old ones.
Earl Columbus Strawn was 21 when he registered for the draft on June 5, 1917.
Monday night I just happened to catch the last episode of this season’s “Halloween Baking Championship”—you know, the one where they have the final four bakers and one of them wins $25,000 and a feature in Food Network Magazine while everyone else goes home empty-handed?
Years ago, a well-known celebrity lost a child when she was five months pregnant. She and her husband shared pictures of themselves holding their baby, obviously and understandably grieving their loss—and numerous people found fault with that.
In their later years, both of my parents suffered from dementia, my father thanks to Diffuse Lewy Body Disease and my mother compliments of vascular disease which led to portions of her brain slowly dying. Two very different causes, but the same end result.
Every December my daughter and I (and our special guest baker Tommy) gather for three very long days (plus usually one for gathering supplies) and we bake. And we bake and we bake and we bake.
We’ve all heard the old saying “You can’t take it with you”, right? And we all know why old sayings get to be old sayings, right? (In case you don’t, it’s because there’s a grain of truth hidden in them . . .)
It’s raining. A rare occurrence of late. And a welcome one. It’s done that off and on for the last few days, and you know what? The grass that once crunched under my feet is now soft and green again. And in need of mowing.
