Keep Your Distance!

Be careful.

Don't lean in too close to your computer monitor. I have a terrible cold, and I don't want you to catch it!

I am nestled inside That Old House, with a box of tissues, a cup of coffee, and my computer. I had good intentions of doing a real post today, but this darned head cold is getting the better of me.

Instead, a teaser, for next week's Outdoor Wednesday post:

That's our daughter Alida at the Grand Canyon in Arizona.
Last Tuesday, she and her boyfriend hiked to the bottom of the Canyon,
camped overnight, and hiked back up on Wednesday.

She has some spectacular pictures, but has not had time to load them onto her computer yet.

These I snatched off her Facebook page.

When Alida returned to the rim of the canyon Wednesday afternoon, and was able to use her cell phone again,
she called, and we had to give her the news that her grandmother had passed away.

She flew home the next day; my father was surrounded by not only his four children and our spouses, but his 11 grandchildren, 2 step-grandchildren, 6 great-grandchildren, plus their assorted spouses, and significant others.

We got a marvelous picture of Pop with all the grands-and-great-grands, and I know exactly what my mother would have said had she been there. She would have turned to Pop with a big grin, and said, "See what we did?"

My thanks to Susan for hosting Outdoor Wednesday

at her A Southern Daydreamer blog. Visit!

Next Wednesday, I hope to have Alida as my guest blogger, as she shares more Grand Canyon pictures with us.
Now, stay warm! -- Cass

I pray for the people of earthquake-ravaged Haiti, a people who have known more poverty and sorrow than most of us can imagine. Our international church relief groups, the Salvation Army, and the Red Cross will need support, as they respond to the overwhelming needs of the Haitian people.

The Most Intimate Picture Of That Old House

The week of the New Year, we had to have our gas-fired steam boiler replaced.
The old one was -- to use technical terminology -- kaput.

Among the many mysterious maneuverings that went on in the boiler room was a rather intimate digital portrait of That Old House, taken by Joe the heating engineer, who boldly went where no man has gone before:

Right up her -- you should pardon the expression -- flue. All 4 stories' worth.
Yikes. That Old House is blushing.
She feels quite, well, exposed -- poor old dear.

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And as it is Monday, it is time for Mosaics!

Flowers in my sunroom and dining room,
sent in honor of my Mom, who passed away last week.

Many thanks to all the kind souls who supported our family last week.
Mama would have loved the outpouring of affection and caring.

Thanks to Mary of Little Red House for hosting Mosaic Monday! Click here to go there, and see some really lovely collages. Climb on the bandwagon. Mary herself is featuring glorious needlepoint pillows today -- beautiful!

Best wishes to all . . . Cass

Sunday Favorites and Heirloom Silver and New Apples. . . .

My family began saying goodbye to my mother some years ago, as Alzheimer's Disease robbed her of her abilities and skills, and slowly stole her away from us.

Mama -- our extraordinary mother, my father's extraordinary wife -- left us early last Tuesday morning.

I'm not back to blogging yet, so I'm re-posting an old story. I've got to go put together meat loaf soon -- my Dad and my sister and her family are coming to That Old House for dinner this evening -- a plain family meal after all the restaurant and catered fare this past week.

We are not yet ready to give up our daily family gatherings, although they are getting smaller. On Friday, my brothers, my sister, their spouses, and a more than half of mama's grandchildren gathered here at That Old House to assemble picture collages of Mom, and share a cold lunch. There was much laughing, a lot of stories, a little crying. Between visiting hours at the funeral home, we gathered at That Old House again, 22 of us, for lasagna and some catch-our-breath time. Yesterday, after a beautiful church service, my father hosted 60 family and friends for lunch at a local restaurant, to celebrate my mother's wonderful life.


I will miss her every day; however, I am just beginning to realize how grateful I am that she is no longer suffering, but is restored and beyond the hurts of this human life. When I think of her now, I don't think of her as she was these past few sad years, but as she used to be -- funny and vibrant and energetic, and nearly always with my father, or with some adoring children.

As my mother used to say, "Thank you, Jesus."

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I am joining Chari's of Happy To Design for her Sunday Favorites blog party, and re-posting a story from September 18, 2009. Please join our hostess for more stories! Just click on the logo, below, to do so.





Just click the button,
and see
what others are writing
about today!

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(From September 18, 2009)

You know me as Cass, but that is my gang name.

No, not really, but it is a nickname.

My Grandmother, born in 1875, was named Catherine.
My Mother, born in 1921, is named Catherine.
I, born in (mumble mumble mumble cough), am also named Catherine.

It was inevitable that I should get a few things handed down to me from
both of The Catherines. One is the ability to carry a tune pretty darned well.

Others -- a love of books and language, some skills in hand work, and a great deal of child-rearing wisdom that Howard and I embraced. It must have been excellent advice; our daughters are not in jail. Although I haven't spoken to either of them yet today. . . .

*********************************************************************

Another legacy is a recipe for applesauce; it dates from the days when people
used all the parts of a pig except the oink; it is that thrifty.

I am also sharing something more tangible than a singing voice
and lessons on how to think like a child. I'm sharing my Grandmother Catherine's tea set.

I apologize; it is terribly tarnished but I haven't done my pre-Thanksgiving silver polishing blitz yet. I don't polish these pieces too often, as they are old plate and I don't want to risk polishing right through to the metal beneath.

When I was a very small child, my Mama kept this set on the low coffee table in the living room.
We could look at it, but not touch.

I looked at it a lot.

I was very young when I asked if I could have it and my mother answered,
"When you get married."
I think she even meant it.

About 6 years after my wedding, I finally pried it from her desperate, sweaty grasp.

I am not sure how old it is, but I guess it is from the 1920s or 30s.
It's not valuable, except to me. It is 1881 Rogers Quadruple Plate, Pattern 5014.
Does anyone have access to a good book on silverplated holloware?

Again, I am sorry for the condition of the pieces today;

you can see from the undersides that they polish up nicely.

Clearly, my Grandmother used this set. It has some small dings and dents.

Does anyone else think the tea pot looks like Aladdin's lamp?

I hope, if a Genie ever pops out, that he does windows, pulls weeds, and empties the dishwasher.
Them's my three wishes.

I love the engraving on the tops of the pieces, and the blank spaces for monograms. I doubt my grandparents could have afforded to have the tea pot monogrammed; they had 7 children to raise!

Okay, this post is getting long and rambling,
so I'm going to segue smoothly right into The Applesauce.

There, wasn't that smooth? So is The Applesauce. Here's what you do:

Take some apples. Any apples. Drops, bruised, or perfect, any variety. Wash them well, making sure to get into that dusty place around the stem, where the apple's belly button lint lurks.

Next, put them in a bowl and briefly admire how nice they look with drops of water artistically clinging to them.

Then get out a cutting board and a cleaver, and hack them up. Any which way.

Quartered.

Halved down the middle to expose that secret star in the center of every apple.

It doesn't matter how you chop them up, but do not peel them, do not remove their cores.
Just cut them up, and plop them into a nice big stockpot.

Add enough water that you can see it lurking down near the bottom of the pot, between the apples.

Don't cover them up with water, or you will end up with very lumpy apple juice.
You pretty much want to steam the apples;
you don't want them boiling and bobbling around in liquid.

Get the water steaming, then cook the apples over medium heat until they are soft and mushy.

Next, pull out that nifty kitchen appliance that our great-grandmothers swore by:
the food mill.

If you don't have a food mill, toddle off to your nearest
old-fashioned hardware store and buy one for a very low price.
You don't need a pricey fancy one from some la-di-dah cookware website.
A plain old aluminum one works just fine.

Cooked apples go into the food mill, food mill goes over a big bowl, elbow grease keeps the mill turning . . .

and you end up with a lovely bowl full of amazing applesauce.

And a big pile of empty skins and seeds and other icky parts
left in the food mill, that you can just toss out.

Meanwhile, the applesauce has gained every last bit of flavor and goodness from the apples.
No waste. You can sweeten or add cinnamon if you must; I usually don't.

These apples were little MacIntoshes from a New Jersey orchard; I took my Dad there yesterday as he was jonesing for some late summer peaches. I also bought some fabulous eating apples at this orchard, bred specially for New Jersey.

(Meaning that when they ask, 'You wanna piece o'me? Huh?
You wanna piece of ME?" . . . you can truthfully answer, "Why, yes, I do.")

Sadly I cannot remember the name of these Jersey bred apples.

I will just have to go back and get some more; they are delicious.

So . . . if you visited That Old House yesterday, and are desperately hungry because there was no food on the tablescaped table, this is your little midday meal:

Freshly made, warm applesauce,

cornbread hot out of the oven

sharp Wisconsin Cheddar, and good Colombian coffee.

As my other Grandmother, Margrethe, used to say, when she finished
putting the food down at dinner to feed her family of NINE,
"Well, that's all there is, and what are you going to do about it?"

Go ahead, sit down.
Remember the table is set in the conservatory.

If you are really peckish, I've got a little seafood chowder heating up. ;-) -- Cass

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P.S. Illustrated Note to Self: When cooking on a stove, it helps to turn on the burner that is actually underneath the pot. It takes too long otherwise . . . .

Yes, I really did that. Doh!

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Well, I don't do that anymore; in November we replaced the electric stovetop with gas!

Many thanks to those who have left such kind and sweet comments on my last post about my Mother, or who have written privately to me. I am really touched, and it is so very comforting to know you are there, and thinking of us. God bless you all -- and thanks. -- Cass

. . . There Is A Season

To everything there is a season,
and a time to every purpose under heaven:

A time to be born, and a time to die;
a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted;

A time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up;

A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance;

A time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together;
a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing;

A time to get, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to cast away;

A time to rend, and a time to sew; a time to keep silence, and a time to speak;

A time to love, and a time to hate; a time of war; and a time of peace.

Ecclesiastes 3:1-8
King James Version

*********************************************Catherine, called Tina
March 31, 1921 - January 5, 2010
***************************************

Very early this morning, shortly after midnight, it became my mother's time to die. She passed peacefully into the arms of the Lord, and is Home. Alzheimer's disease may have defeated her in this life, but she has won the real reward.

It's been a busy day, and the next few days will be busy also. I want to thank the many of you who have sent kind wishes and prayers our way, both on the blog and privately. It's been tremendously comforting and uplifting.

****************************************************************************

And since Truth is stranger than Fiction . . .
a quick tale of remarkable coincidence.

As we sat talking with the funeral director in his office this morning, I glanced
at a nearby wall, where there were pictures of the two prior locations of the funeral home,
which has been owned by the same family for 3 generations.

The picture of their first funeral parlor looked very familiar.
Very, very familiar.
In fact, it looked pretty much like this:

That Old House served as their original funeral parlor from 1936 to 1938.
Now, what are the odds of that, I ask you?

*********************************************************************************

I am not sure what it is like in Heaven, only that if it indeed holds great joy and delight for my Mother, it will surely also hold wonderful yarn; for my Mom, it was always a time to knit. I wouldn't be surprised if the good Lord has a nice Fisherman's sweater before the week is out.

Blessings and thanks to you all -- Cass

The Best of Times, The Worst of Times

For the best, I had my daughters both home for Christmas; what a blessing.

Daughter Alida returned to California on New Year's Eve,
and on the following day she had a ringside seat for the Rose Bowl Parade in Pasadena.

She sent a couple of pictures, taken with her cell phone.

Daughter Anne is busily "building" costumes for a period play at her graduate school,

so she's back in her snug little apartment. Howard is back at work, and I . . .

Well, that brings us to the worst part.

My mother is nearing the end of her time with us. I am about to join my sister at Mom's bedside. I pray that God's will be done, and I pray for my father -- the very best example of a devoted husband -- and I pray that Mom's passage be peaceful and blessed.

So if you don't hear from me much in the next few days, you will know why.

Have a wonderful final few days of Christmas!
Let us all join the Wise Men in discovering again the Babe in the manger. -- Cass

Topsy-Turvy Resolutions and Waffles In Flight

Do you keep your New Year's Resolutions?

I blush to admit, I do not. Well, rarely. So, this year, to increase the odds of my accomplishing something
successful in the New Year, my resolutions will be the opposite of what I really want to, or should, do.


So, for 2010, I resolve:

. . . to spend more time sitting at the computer and being sedentary,
until moss grows up my North side, and cheerful little woodland creatures nest in my hair.

. . . to let that protective coating of dust grow thicker at That Old House.

. . . to gain 50 pounds.

. . . to waste money.

. . . to stay at home and eat bagels and read The Sunday New York Times instead of going to church.

. . . to pro. cras. tin. ate.

. . . to gossip.

. . . to encourage invasive weeds and those giant weird sticky-bush thingies to take over the flower borders.

. . . to neglect the blog.

. . . to worry and fret and stew about things instead of leaving them in the Lord's capable hands.

There.
That about covers it, don't you think? If I follow my usual pattern,
I'll have broken all of those resolutions within a couple of months. Wish me luck!

What about you? Any fierce resolves for 2010?

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And speaking of deliciousness (and when are we not speaking of deliciousness?) our daughter Anne made the most amazing waffles on Christmas morning. She used our big Hofritz waffle iron and the Special Waffles recipe from The Fannie Farmer Cookbook, a.k.a our Kitchen Bible.

(Recipe at end of post.)

Sugar, flour, eggs, butter . . . .

Here, on our big kitchen isthmus, the assembled ingredients plus some stragglers that don't belong in the picture but were there when Annie took the shots. In the bowl of the Kitchen Aid, the whisk shows traces of beaten egg white; this is not a waffle you whip up in minutes from a mix, it is the real deal.

Batter:

Waffle iron -- I won it in a raffle -- it makes 4 at once:

You can tell this was a project I was not involved in,

or the electrical appliance would not have been right next to the sink.

Prepared waffles, waiting in the warm oven:

And the lighter-than-air result:

If you held one of these waffles in your hand, you could not detect its weight; they nearly flew, that's how light they were. And crispy. And tender. All the wonderful things the perfect breakfast waffle is supposed to be, and so often is not.

Plus, since they were so light, they had no calories.
That is my story, and I am sticking to it, just as those nonexistent calories will stick to me.

Thanks to my daughter Annie, who made these amazing waffles and took such beautiful pictures of them,
and to my daughter Alida who watched her sister and cheered her on, and ate her share of the deliciousness.

*************************************************************

Tomorrow, Saturday, we plan on trekking out to Long Island to our family beach house, to check on conditions and make sure the ice-eater is merrily gobbling the ice by the dock pilings. You may not be familiar with Long Island, so here's a map:

We live about an inch-and-a-half to the left of this map, in New Jersey, and our beach house is way the heck out on the North Fork of the Island. See that second little spit of land that hangs down into Peconic Bay to the left of Shelter Island, like the uvula that hangs down at the back of your throat? (Right near the Wineries designation.) That's Hog Neck; that's where we are headed. We'll get some pictures of a wintry farm and beach landscape!

Happy New Year to ALL! -- Cass

Special Waffles, adapted from The Fannie Farmer Cookbook

• 2 cups flour
• 3 t baking powder
• 1/2 t salt
• 3 eggs, separated
• 1 3/4 C milk
• 4 T butter, melted
• 3 T sugar

Warm up the waffle iron. Put flour, baking powder and salt in a bowl and combine. Beat the egg yolks, separately, with a whisk and add the milk and melted butter. Combine with the dry ingredients, and mix until smooth. Beat the egg whites in a clean bowl until stiff but not dry. Slowly add the sugar to the whites, beating constantly. Mix 1/3 of the whites into the batter, then fold in remaining egg whites carefully. Put 1/2 cup (or appropriate amount) of waffle batter in the hot iron, and bake. Don't overfill the iron, or the waffle will squish out the sides and make a dismal mess and you will curse the day you decided to make Special Waffles.