Strawberry Fields

Sam and I had a quick lunch at the Presbyterian men's burger stand yesterday. We are shingling the church so it was definitely a working lunch.

And the beginning of an obsessive desire for

Mary Jean Miller's daughter had returned from a strawberry picking trip to Heron Lake. As she was leaving, Mary Jean, gave Sam and I each a strawberry and sent one along for Mom.

The berry was huge, juicy and sweet.

One was definitely not enough.

I could not stop thinking about it.

Those strawberries were my destiny.

So this morning, as Mom and I were driving to her house, I came up with a plan. Mom was reluctant as she needed to tend to some newly planted vegetables . But she succumbed to the call of the berry. I made a quick trip to the office to start payroll, stopped back home to change clothes and we were on our way at 10 am. It took a little over an hour to get to Heron Lake and the berry picking closed at noon.

We found the farm with no problems. It was a hot windy day and I soon realized that Mom would not be able to join me picking--the only way to get to the field was by hayrack. With no time to waste, I parked Mom in the shade where she could see what was going on, had my containers weighed and hopped on the hayrack.

I forgot my phone/camera so I didn't get any photos--the plants were loaded with huge fruit and I was able to quickly fill my containers. I so wished Mom could have enjoyed looking at the vast clean rows of strawberry plants dotted with groups of pickers of all ages.

After checking out, I returned to the car and placed a large bowl in Mom's lap. She popped one in her mouth and sighed deeply. They are just too beautiful for words

We were on our way home at noon, stopped for gas and did a drive through lunch. A hair appointment, grocery shopping and tornado warnings rounded out the rest of the day.

While I made dinner, Mom hulled berries--almost reverently. They were that good.

I cooked a batch of jam

We had some for dessert

And still have some in the frig for tomorrow

Forever Friends

I hurried into the house late one afternoon and set my bag of groceries on the counter. Mom took her time and after putting away some things in her room, joined me in the kitchen. We had freshly picked asparagus and a large bag of fresh mixed greens from Louise's garden. Perfect accompaniments to the grilled burgers planned for dinner.

I perched at the island with my laptop, checking my email, facebook and a few of my favorite blogs, sharing bits of news with Mom along the way. Mom especially enjoys the Amish cook's weekly column. So many of the recipes and information about their farm and family remind Mom of her own life.

We laughed at the irony of reading about the Amish on a blog.

I wondered out loud, "What did I do before Google, Facebook, Epicurious and Pioneer Woman?" 

Mostly, I suppose I called Mom.


And before that, Mom called Marion, her dear, sweet neighbor and friend. Mom remembers, "One time I phoned. Marion for her pickle recipe. We had to go through the pros and cons of several pickle recipes, then we talked about our kids, the weather, our gardens and a little bit of everything else. By the time we were done talking, it was too late to start making pickles."

Much like spending so much time on a blog post about cooking that there was barely enough time to throw together Kraft Mac and Cheese for dinner. Not that I've ever done that, mind you. I'm drawing a purely hypothetical example for illustrative purposes only. (When in reality, Mom is waiting for me to make breakfast as I'm writing about, well, you get the picture by now)

Marion passed away a little over a week ago. I baked a batch of rhubarb muffins to take to the family. The lawn was immaculately mowed and flower beds all neatly weeded as I drove on the yard to drop them off. Marion's beautiful farm house is in pristine condition thanks to the hard work of her children and grandchildren who lovingly care for the historic family farm.

I placed the tray of muffins on the kitchen table covered in a flowered cloth. Marion's daughter Debbie and I embraced and I took a seat at the table for a quick visit. Through tears, Debbie related the last days of Marion's life. We laughed, cried, talked about our homes, our kids, our jobs, the weather and a little bit of everything.

Facebook is great, but sometimes we need to be face to face.

Rhubarbarama Chapter II

I have a couple more rhubarb recipes to share:

Rhubarb Cheesecake Squares

Crumb base:
1/2 c .butter
1 cup flour
3/4 c. oatmeal
1/2 c brown sugar
1/4 tsp cinnamon
Blend all the ingredients for the crumb base until they form coarse crumbs. Pat half of the crumbs into a greased 9 x 9 pan.
Filling
1 8-oz pkg cream cheese--room temperature
3/4 c. sugar
1 egg
1/8 tsp nutmeg
2 c. rhuarb cut up
1/4 tsp cinnamon
Combine all ingredients except rhubarb and blend until smooth. Gently stir in rhubarb. Spread filling over crust. Top with reserved crumbs. Bake at 350 degrees 40 to 45 minutes. Cool dessert and keep refrigerated.

Rhubarb Rumble 

(Don't get me started about who came up with such a cheesy name for this quick, easy and deliciously refreshing pie)
3 c chopped rhubarb
1-3 oz pkg strawberry gelatin
1 1/2 c cold milk
1 small pkg instant vanilla pudding mix
1 8" graham cracker crust.
Place rhubarb in a microwave bowl (I use a small casserole), cover and microwave on high for 6 to 8 minutes or until rhubarb is softened. Immediately stir in gelatin until dissolved and cool completely. In a bowl, combine milk and pudding mix and beat on low for 2 minutes. Fold into rhubarb mix and spoon into crust. Cover and refrigerate. Makes 8 servings.

Can use sugar free jello and pudding. I usually use a (boughten) shortbread pie crust instead of graham cracker

Rhubarbarama

Everything's coming up rhubarb around the "compound" these days. I still don't have my laptop back--maybe today--so I apologize for the poor photo quality with this post.

We served fellowship time at church on Sunday. Since the chickens are all gung-ho about eating bugs and laying LOTS of eggs, I made a big batch of egg salad to serve on round bread. It took stops a 5 grocery stores to finally get the bread I wanted. But I didn't have anything better to do...yeah, right...

I also made 3 batches of these lovely rhubarb muffins. The recipe is from Mom's church cookbook--one of many great recipes I've used from there. It's always fun to look through a church cookbook, especially when the names are familiar and often trigger a memory of that particular person. This recipe is from Lucille Habegar--who I remember fondly as a tiny, well-groomed woman who was always smiling. She lives at Parker Oaks now--her picture was in the paper recently--and she was still smiling!

These are great muffins--moist and tender and not a bit fussy about anything. I use buttermilk to make them--our grocery store carries half-pints of buttermilk that are perfect for baking. I keep one on hand all the time. I don't use nuts in my baking--I love nuts, nuts are good, some of my best friends like nuts in their baked goods. But I don't. There, I said it. Sometimes we just have to take a stand.

Rhubarb Muffins

1 1/4 c brown sugar

1/2 c vegetable oil

1 c sour milk or buttermilk

2 tsp vanilla
1 egg

2 1/2 c flour

1 tsp baking soda

2 1/2 c rhubarb, diced

1/2 tsp salt

1 tsp baking powder

1/2 c chopped nuts (optional)

Topping

1/3 c sugar

1 Tbsp butter

1 tsp cinnamon

Combine first 5 ingredients and mix well. Combine dry ingredients and add to first ingredients. Mix well. Stir in rhubarab and nuts that have been dusted with flour. Spoon batter into muffin cups. Sprinkle with topping. Press lightly into batter before baking. Bake 350 for 20 to 25 minutes.

(For me this makes 18 muffins using the large pampered chef scoop)

Here's a quick dessert that I found on the Amish Cooks website  http://www.oasisnewsfeatures.com/

RHUBARB DUMP CAKE

3 cups chopped rhubarb

1 /2 cup sugar

1 3 ounce package strawberry gelatin

1 9-ounce Jiffy Cake mix White or Yellow or homemade cake mix

1 /4 cup butter, cut up into pieces

1 /2 cup warm water

Layer ingredients as listed in an 8 X 8 pan and don‘t stir. Bake at 350 for 30 minutes or until rhubarb is tender.

This was easy and delicious...and when was the last time you bought a Jiffy Cake Mix?

Here's one more, courtesy of daughter Addie who served this custardy delight to her book club Sunday Night

Rhubarb Crisp

1 cup butter
2 cup flour
10 TBSP powdered sugar

Mix until crumbly and press into 9x13 pan (sprayed with Pam). Bake at 350° for about 20 minutes or until lightly browned.

3 cups sugar
1/2 cup flour
5 whole eggs, beaten
1/2 tsp. salt
1 1/2 tsp. baking powder
2 tsp. cinnamon
7-8 cups diced rhubarb

Combine all ingredients; mix well. Pour over crust. Bake at 350° for about an hour -- tent the pan with foil for the first 45 minutes or so. Filling should be set & not jiggly.

I usually bake mine for a little over an hour -- but that's because I usually add more rhubarb than it calls for and always throw in an extra egg. I also use a piece of foil over the top for about the first 45 minutes or so – otherwise the top gets too browned.  The filling bakes to a custard consistency -- it's even better the next day after sitting in the fridge overnight. The custardy goodness seeps into the shortbread crust a bit.

What I left out of the previous post and an update..

I dropped Mom off at her house this morning and went inside to retrieve an envelope containing her new debit cards. I had intentionally left them there because they need to be activated from her home phone and I didn't want to risk losing them. (In case you haven't been keeping track, I lose a lot of stuff).

I couldn't find them and asked Mom if she knew where they were and she uttered the words I don't often hear from her, "I think I might have thrown them away."

Understand, this is a woman who saves every scrap of paper along with plastic bags, aluminum foil, butcher paper, twist-ties, newspapers, magazines and soap slivers.

"Are you sure?" I asked incredulously.

"I thought they were just some kind of advertisement." A logical explanation, I must admit.

I removed the garbage can from under the sink. It wouldn't have been bad except for the coffee grounds.

They weren't in there. And I am SO not going to the dumpster.

"Don't worry," I said cheerfully. "I'll call the bank and have them send new ones." There was no point in making a big deal about it. This problem could be solved relatively painlessly. My pleasant attitude hit a minor bump when I learned that the bank was going to charge $5.00 and I quickly ended the call before I said something I'd regret.


Mom was waiting outside for me when I picked her up at our usual time. As she got in the car, she said to me, "You know, we are two DUMB women." Not exactly the greeting I expected, but she continued, "When you brought me back here, the door was locked."

I don't usually lock up when we are going on an errand but out of habit, I must have locked it as we were leaving.

It gets worse.

I instantly remember the point as she was getting out of the car when I looked at her purse lying in the back seat and saying to her, "You don't need your purse, do you?"
She eyed it longingly and replied, "I guess not. It's only going to be a couple hours."
I need to tell you here, my mom  and her "pocketbook" are seldom separated. She needs her purse and her purse needs her. I understand that. Whatever possessed me to tamper with the handbag laws of the universe.This could have been bad. Really bad.
"So, what did you do?" I ask, knowing that the spare door key from the garage is missing and assumed to be in Zac's possession.

"Well, the guest entry door was open."

While I am thankful, I am also wondering why it was not locked, as I clearly remember locking it sometime back and the door is never (or so I thought) used.

I thought of all the things I usually do--like make sure Mom has her purse and cane, wait until she's in the door before leaving. Things expected of a a responsible, attentive, conscientious caregiver.

And as if I wasn't feeling ashamed and inadequate enough, here were the words that struck terror to my very core, "If that ever happens again, do you think I can see good enough to drive my car to Huntley?"

Morsels

Sorry for the long lapse between posts. I'm having trouble with my laptop. That's only part of the story. Maybe someday I'll fill you in on the rest. I have a huge stack of paper in my office inbox and a comparable amount of email to go through so will have to make this quick:

It's only 2 pm and I been embarrassed, elated and efficient. Let's start with
Efficient:
Mom had a foot appointment in Blue Earth today at the senior citizen's center. Left her there at 11:18 am, dropped off a roofing proposal, then went to the license bureau, the food co-op, the vet , the printer, the vet (again), Kwik Trip and the dollar store. Returned to pick her up at 12:07 pm. She wasn't done. Used the time to read the paper. Took her for lunch at McDonalds--her favorite--chatted with a few friends, dropped her off and was at my desk by 1:13. Now I'm back here to fritter the afternoon away....

Elated
I've been missing my mobile broadband USB stick for almost 2 months now. Last Friday, I walked into *un-named local retailer*  to buy a new one.The owner, who I have secretly named "Crazy-eyed-Mike" looked me in the eye (sort of) and convinced me to give it a little more time saying, "I thought I'd lost my drill--just couldn't find it anywhere. So I went and bought a new one. Two days later, I found the other one."

I guess it must have been some kind of divine intervention--even though I was inwardly scoffing at his comparison between losing something as large as a power drill and a 2" x 1/2" electronic device. I resigned myself to a long road trip without surfing capability and left the store empty-handed.

This morning, as I was leaving to get Mom, I reached in my purse for some lipstick, grabbed a small  rectangular object from an inside compartment and pulled this out:

Thank you crazy-eyed-Mike--I owe you big time!

Embarrassed:
This morning I was finishing off a box of Trader Joe's granola while working in my office. I usually have it with yogurt but forgot to put a carton in my bag this morning. So I was just dumping it into my palm and munching on it at my desk.
The UPS man walked into my office as I was practicing some music on my keyboard. I jumped up and signed for the package and exchanged pleasantries with the young man who, I now recall, was staring at me intently.
When I went to apply the lipstick (see Elated), I flipped down the vanity mirror in the car and saw a huge crumb of granola plastered just above my  upper lip.

It looked a lot like a booger.

But I was so elated about finding my USB stick that it barely registered on the humiliation meter.

Meeting deadlines

will forever be a challenge for me.

Except when it comes to my hair. My meticulous attention to timing of color, cut, highlights and lowlights is second only to NASA's timing of space shuttle trips to the international space station.

But I don't let a little thing like a thunderstorm or, oooohhh, lightning get in my way. Sissies..

Nothing can keep my from my every  5-week-2:30 Thursday-afternoon ritual. Screaming roots trump anything Mother Nature has up her proverbial sleeve.

I left the salon this afternoon feeling slick and sassy. Tiffany blew it dry and straightened it. I went in looking like little orphan Annie and left with red-carpet-ready shiny straightened locks.

My phone rang as I was heading for Fairmont from Truman. It was Addie.

"Whatcha doing?" she asked.

"I just got my hair done and I can't quite get over how I look." I've been growing my hair out for some time now and for the first time it actually looks long

I admired myself again in the rearview mirror:
Eyebrows playfully arched: Check.
Chunky Highlights: Check Check
Seductive sliver of hair partially covering my left eye: Check Check Check.

"Sounds like somebody's ready for a date night," she suggested.

"You know, if I only look at myself from the nose up, I look amazing."

"You and Dad should do something."

"Maybe I will give him a call. He should be done with his hearing aid appointment."

As soon as I uttered those words, the whole mood changed.

"Dad's getting a hearing aid?'

"Well, no, he and Grandma went for an evaluation."

Bad to worse. He's at a hearing aid appointment. With his mother.


Sam called when I was in the grocery store, "Are you still in town?" I asked.

"Yes," he replied, "I'm heading home now."

"Do you want to go somewhere for a drink? I just got my hair done and feel like doing something."

"I don't think so. I want to get home. I've had really bad gas this afternoon."

Well, if the visual of him at the hearing aid appointment wasn't enough, this bit of information was the icing on the cake.

I came home, poured Mom and I a glass of wine and I made spaghetti carbonara.

Mom went to her room to listen to the radio and Sam and I watched Survivor together.

During a commercial he looked over at me and said, " I hardly recognized you when you came home. Your hair looks really different."

"Do you like it?"

"Yup."
 
Hey, at least he noticed.

But I am stopping short of calling this a date night. Now, Monday night's Windsor Chop Dinner at The Club in Easton for the Faribault County Township Officers Association--that was a date because Sam wore cologne.

So if I really stop and think about it, two dates in four nights would have set a dangerous precedent.


 

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