Jus Jokin'

Up my sleeve

I've been holdin this card for quite some time.
Somebody's gotta do it.

Live Simply

I recently fell in love with a new fragrance...I thought I just had to have it, but it was way out of my price range...I thought about it and thought about it and tried to justify the indulgence. Then this happened...and now I'm usin' Bounce.
Have a blessed New Year everyone!
May your joys be plenty.
Love,
Lurlene

Shift Key

Shift Key

I Got Rhythm

Gingerbread Goddess

VerDell says it's important to put the daily musin's from the Book of Lurlene here on the Mustard.  I usually jus post'um on FaceBook, but she worries that one day FB will just melt away...and somehow things will be safer on Mustard.  I don't see her logic, but I don't like to fret her.

Her Bubba gave her a new torch for Christmas, she's been wantin to do some weldin and such, but she is beside herself because there's oxygen and acetylene canisters sittin down in the basement.  VerDell worries too much; there's a 1935 gas furnace down there that I figure will blow before her tanks...but she picks and chooses what bothers her. 

It bothers me that I can't stop eatin' cookies...and that no matter how hard I try, I can't loose not one pound of flesh in the Winter.  It dawned on me that that just wasn't natural.  We're all programed to store fat in the winter.  That bein' rationalized, I felt better about my muffin top...until spring.


  

A Christmas Toddy from the Crowbar

Don't drive after you drink this okay?

 Ingredients
4 cups (unsweetened) apple cider
1 cup cranberry juice
1 cup tequila (or more if you're not flyin or drivin afterwards)
1/4 cup triple sec
3 cinnamon sticks, a few cloves if you like (I like)
Lime slices for garnish'

Heat cider and cranberry juice with cinnamon sticks and cloves until hot. (do not let boil)
Remove from heat. 
Stir in tequila and liqueur. 
Serve in mugs. Garnish with lime. 

Find a place that gives you peace
put your feet up and enjoy

Merry Christmas everyone!

Love Buck, Lurlene and Mojo (the crow)

Starlite…Star Bright…Worst Cookies I baked all night

I don’t know why I continue to do it; IT bein’ to try and use peppermint in a cookie.  I don’t even like peppermint except for its medicinal value after havin a big ole El’ Camino Platter at our favorite cheap Mexican restaurant.  Starlites, are right there by the cash register for a darn good reason. 

Thing is, after my Daddy quit smokin, he used to keep a bag of Starlight Peppermints in the drawer by his bedside.  He’d read and chomp on candy until it drove my Momma crazy.  Come morning there would be nothing but “star-wraps” on the floor and the Siamese (cat) twins, Star and Light, would be tossin’um in the air and havin a good ole time skiddlin that cellophane all around the room.   There was no way you could sneak up on Daddy’s side of the bed… that’s for sure. 

I don’t know,  maybe that’s why I always look at’um, the bag of Starlites, maybe it goes deeper than I’m willin to admit. But be that as it may; for the last couple of years, I’ve tried, without success I might add, to incorporate Starlites or Junior Mints (another one of his favorites)  into the Annual Bellevue Super Club Cookie Swap.  (See Fightin’ Cookies from last year’s post for details).  I guess I rationalize that after one of those big heavy Christmas dinners a little mint might be just what the doctor ordered.  Plus I like to stand out…a bad habit…standin out for all the wrong reasons.   

But let me tell you about the looser cookies. 

Warning:  Inappropriate and graphic images are about to be created that might negatively affect your ability to enjoy peppermints and or cookies.  

The first year I was really excited to make a “hidden cookie” which is basically, a cookie cooked inside a cookie.  It called for Mint Thins…like the Girl Scouts sell, and sugar cookie dough.  Roll out the sugar cookie dough, put the Thin Mint inside and then top with another sugar cookie, pinch the edges and bake.  Well, that was fine except the sugar cookie spread out to be about the size of a grapefruit and the cookie “inside” remained intact, lookin more like my Grandma’s pacemaker snuggled next to her “you knows” than anything you would want to eat.   Judge ruled,  "Not purdy, growths should not be ingested."

Then, there was the Junior Mint fiasco, basically a “thumb-print” cookie filled with a Junior Mint.   These turned out lookin more like reindeer turds than anything you would want to eat. “Reindeer squirts on a rock” Buck said.  Worse than “not purdy”; voted most likely to confused with a butt-hole." 

Then there was a “rolled cookie” that some say was by far my worst; they called it Santa’s Pecker.  I’m not gonna even go into this one even though you have been forewarned regarding the graphic content.  Did I mention it was also rolled in coconut.  A Fuzzy Santa’s Pecker!    

With all those bad experiences, “why” I ask you, would I even attempt to make yet another peppermint cookie?  It boggles the mind, but needless to say…I did.  This year’s version involved crushing a bag of Starlites with a hammer or using a food processor.  Now let me just say, if you do use your food processor, make sure, very sure, it is completely dry prior to putting the Starlites in.  Otherwise, you got yourself a pink sticky, slick, mess of mint in the bottom.  So, the hammer is lookin good to me right now, but I warn you,  don’t hammer on your granite counter-top,  granite shards look a lot like peppermint splinters…but don’t melt.  I’m jus sayin. 

Another way to approach this is to just put the Starlites in a bag and hit them, on a cutting board, with a hammer.  Oh, and take the cellophane off, it takes too much time to pick it out even though it does melt when baked.  It can’t be good for you.  Another thing,  make sure the pieces are not too big because you know when you chew peppermints and they stick to the back side of your molars…yeah, they do that in a cookie too.  

All that bein’ said, this year I ended up with seventy two of the little Starlite buggers.  While the first batch was too big and the second was too soft, the third batch turned out just right.  And you know,  the cookie judge probably isn’t gonna like’um but I feel pretty sure, my Daddy would.  So, that bein’ said.

Starlite

Star bright

Last peppermint cookie I make tonight

I wish I may, I wish I might

Dream of my Daddy on Cookie Night!

Christmas - 1981

Merry Christmas Cookie Monster!

The Perfect Pine Cone

To an outsider, it may sound like a rude and callous event, most definitely not in the spirit of the Season of Light; but for the three who taught in elementary schools, it was simply a release in every connotation of the word.  

While we can’t remember just when the first Pine cone party took place it went without saying that it was always on the eve of the last day of school prior to Christmas, or as is now deemed more politically correct, “Winter Holiday”.

Except for Lurlene and Lushious, the remaining Two-Bits were all teachers and while bein’ a teacher in an off month is not easy,  it goes without sayin’ that in December, second graders hopped up on cookies and peppermint sticks, sugar plum fairy dust and Santa are more like ping pong balls than anything human. 

 

But that bein' said, on the last day of school, as tradition would have it, each Two-Bit- Teena-Teacher was honored with a display of Winter Holiday appreciation.  Their desks runneth over with tokens of gratitude that almost inevitably had, “To or For Teacher” engraved, stitched, etched, or on occasion actually burned onto its surface.    It was as if a teacher couldn’t appreciate that which didn’t have her profession or even more perplexing, an apple emblazoned on it.  Now I ask you, when was the last time you received a gift (Mom’s excluded) that was addressed to your profession?   Exactly....point made.

But be that as it may, it came to pass that on the eve of the last day of school, the Two-Bit Teachers would “re-wrap” selected gifts and we; the rude, heartless and yet celebratory, would draw numbers as in a “Thieves Christmas/Winter Holiday” Gift Exchange.  The competition (fueled by a few good margaritas) was fierce and at times raucous as we fought more for the most re-usable gift bag  that must, by rule, (and there were many)  go with the “stolen/selected” gift.    It is also important to add that also included in this Devil's mess were a few well selected items that each of us knew the other would covet, sharpening both our sense of selection and our deduction skills.

And so it was that I;  number 3 on round 3 and frustrated because all the good bags were gone, selected a little bundle of what appeared to be discarded tissue paper.  Only the single piece of green curly ribbon indicated that there may be more to this hapless bundle than met the eye.  The translucent white paper gave way easily to expose a single brown pine cone, unadorned by glitter or faux snow. It was simply, a perfect pine cone.

For just a moment the laughter and the cajoling stopped and each of us felt something akin to a spark that in turn ignited a greater light that seemed to fill the room and our heart.  No one remembered receiving that pine cone, nor did they remember rewrapping it during the confusion that was typical of the last day of school before Christmas/Winter Holiday.  

But there it was, a perfect and simple reminder that in this whirlwind that has become Christmas/Winter Holiday, this season that has been altered to seduce us into wanting instead of giving, getting instead of receiving, there are still wonders and miracles about us…unadorned and waiting to be found.   

I know I speak on behalf of the Two-Bit-Teena’s and all of us here in The Friendly Village in hoping that you find yours during this season of Christmas/Winter Holiday/Hanukkah/Solstice/Diwali/Yule/Sadeh/Koleda and so on.  

Love and Light

Lurlene

Note:  The Pine cone Party tradition continues and has morphed into a “Jingle Bell Swap”.  It remains irreverent and raucous requiring a “game on attitude” a cunning strategy and at least one Whitman’s Christmas Sampler. 

More Pie

When it comes to making cakes and pies, there are two kinds of folks in this world: cooks and bakers. So for those who know me, it goes without sayin' that I’m a cook.  For me, recipes are mere suggestions that if followed, will no doubt give me a predictable and perfectly edible outcome time and time again.  If, and this is a big if, I also sprinkle in obedience, exactness and patience; all of which I tend to run consistently short on.   I have to admit, that when it comes to bakin’ a cake, the recipe is gospel.  While I know the rules and the science, the devil usually gets the best of me and the cake falls!

Lately,  I’m startin' to find out that pies are different, they’re much more forgivin' and most even thrive on bein' cheated a teaspoon or two.   The other night Tadius cooked one; a coconut cream that ended up bein' eaten with a spoon, but you know, it didn’t matter, it was like puddin’ with a  crust and not one person complained. 

But I digress; all this is just to say that in this crazy world, sometimes our most trusted recipe fails us and we have no idea why.  Sometimes it just happens.  Science, gospel, tradition, it’s all subject to tamperin'.  But whatever fails you, try actin more like pie.

___________________________________________________

From: Lera Randall

Date: Sun, Nov 6, 2011 at 4:09 PM

Subject: Fwd: Chocolate Chess Pie

Chocolate Chess Pie

This recipe makes 1 Deep Dish Pie

Preheat oven to 350 degrees

Ingredients

1 stick of butter

1/4 cup of cocoa

1/4 cup of milk

1 1/2 cups of sugar

3 eggs

1 teaspoon vanilla

Pinch of salt

In a medium saucepan, melt butter on low heat. Stir in cocoa and

milk until smooth. Take off heat.

In a separate bowl, mix eggs, sugar, vanilla and salt until blended.

Mix cocoa mixture in to the egg mixture until well blended. Pour into Unbaked Deep Dish pie shell.

Bake for 45 minutes or until the middle doesn't shake.

Allow to cool before cutting. ENJOY!! 

Love, Aunt Lera

A Little Note Card from Lurlene

I want to thank VerDell for hostin' a perfect party for the 59th. She worked all day, wrote all night, cooked, (cause Bubba was outta town) cleaned and set the table for a fabulous "What the Cluck" celebration. On a school night and work day...everyone was so generous with their time and booze! Thank you...from the bottom of my heart...shallow that it is! All the Love, Lurlene

PS - Do not even begin to think I am not going to post the party story complete with pictures. xo

What the Cluck?

Now here in the Friendly Village, we will use any excuse for a gathering. If fact, if people have been scattered for a while, Lurlene has been known to say "What the Cluck!" and just invite everyone over for her famous chicken. Sometimes her famous chicken comes from a store...but that is another story. So..... just a little reminder.....

 

Clear as a bell not ringin'

"Let go of what isn’t real."

 So yesterday after seein these words in blog I was flippin through, I couldn’t get'um outta my mind.  They just took on a voice of their own, the way Miss Universe does things sometimes.  They stuck in my craw as folks like to say.  They were  speakin’ to me but I wasn’t quite sure what  was bein’ said.   So I jus started drawin' and clippin' and tryin to translate them somehow, but to my aggravation, nothin was materializin, I jus couldn’t capture it.  

So I jus put it aside and went on with business cause it was near five o’clock and time to make my nightly call to Momma.  (Note to self: I really should start callin Momma before  she has had her three beers ‘cause she gets a little edgy midway through round-two.)

All the while dialin the number,  I’m still chewin on those  words, “let go of what isn’t real”.  Does that mean my fantasy of bein a size 6 again, or somethin more concrete, like delusions,  misconceptions, imagined trespasses?  Maybe it means to temper my secret passion for cubic zirconias or knock off Prada, but then again  those are...real-ish:  fraudulent yes, but tangible.

  

Oh well, I just decided to stop mullin and focus on the Momma call.  (LGOWIR….relationships?) You have to understand, Momma and I have what some might describe as a contentious relationship.  I hear Mommas and daughters, especially those with strong personalities and even stronger opinions, are predestined to clash and sometimes crash into one-another's point of view, but the object of the occurrence is to learn from one another; winnin' is not an option.   I believe tolerance is a good and proper word to use here; our purpose is to agree to disagree and while that doesn’t always happen, when it does, I don’t know about Momma, but I feel  more empowered and relieved  not to have to be plottin’ my comeback.  But I digress.

I’m not goin into details here because those are for  nitpickers, but somewhere in the midst of talkin about our day and makin’ the somewhat mundain sound excitin’ Momma  slipped in one of her famous "gotcha’s" and you know; I was no more good.  I could feel my pressure goin’ on up, like one of those bell ringin games at the state fair, the one where the guy takes a big ole hammer and slams it down on the pad to quote, “measure his strength” with the object bein to make the bell go off, the ultimate prize...ring that bell.  I could just see it in slow-mo and I knew if that bell went off, well it would just  signal the beginnin of  what I have learned to call the “Loose-Loose Game of Verbal Chance and Skill”, and that’s when I heard it; “Let go of what isn’t real”.   Clear as a bell NOT ringin.  Nobody can change another person's view of reality...I could argue until I was blue in the face, but folks believe what they believe if it suits a purpose.  Memory is selective and sometimes that's a good thing...I'm not gonna argue about it.

 
Thank you Miss Universe for savin’ my butt yet again, and for givin me tools before I even knew I would need them.

Invisible Ink

Hittin' on two months now and I've been thinkin' more than doin'.  I started readin about writin and I shouldn't have.  It made me want to get things right...while before I just got things and what went down was as right as it was gonna get. 

Maybe I jus got quiet for a spell while I tried to figure out what direction to go in.  All I know is that I missed this spot.  I come here and usually have no plan...or else I have one and it changes as I type.  I told VerDell that there were days that I sat down to write one thing and it was another that bubbled up.  I liked that.  I miss surprises, seems like I have to make so many "plans" to make sure my responsibilities are taken care of that I've all but planned myself right out of  the picture.  I feel like I'm stuck on cruise control, keepin things all steady and consistent and as any Two-Bit-Teena who has ever gone anywhere with me knows; I hate cruise control.

But I digress;  It's time to get back to the stories and what better way than to go to the source of all sweet inspiration, the Supper Club Cookbook.  I know...I know...it doesn't have an index...it's filled with pinches and "smidgens" but I bet you can't pick it up without rememberin' the significance of "Three Call Pound Cake" and "Not Angel Hair" noodles.  For those of you who (still) have it, I bet there isn't one page that doesn't take you back (about twenty pounds).  So join me on the "Ship of Fools" and do feel free to add you own flavor in the form of comments or down right denial...spice it up, cause the "Eatin Season" is upon us and it time to invite recollection back to the table.

Next entry:  Heavy Hors

Honey please don't go...

Missing: Honey bee colony, last seen buzzin' about my back yard, came as a swarm four years ago, have been livin' happily in large silver oak tree. If you see them please let them know that they were loved and that I hope they will find another suitable abode...I will miss them.

Loose Lips Limeade

A page from the original BSC cookbook - 1991

It's August, and a perfect month to reflect on frozen beverages.  As a matter of fact, I do believe this should be the official Frozen Adult Beverage Month!  But anyway...

I can honestly say that nothin' starts off a great Supper Club like a good ole  "lip loosener".  Makes us  forget we are tired or that our job sucks and any other annoyance of the day.  We’ve all been together so long, some folks wonder just what we have to talk about and well, thing is…we never know until the Loose Lip Limeades (L3's) kick in.   Then, about 30 minutes after serving the first one, it’s anybody’s game.

Just start askin’ folks stuff, or tell an old story with a new twist just to see who takes the bait.  For even more fun, open up with, “Purl told me a funny story about you the other day.”  We all know that Purl has let many a cat out tha proverbial bag, the child can’t help herself.

All that bein said, here’s a general recipe.  Feel free to make substitutions as you see fit.  

Basic Loose Lips Limeade

A can of frozen limeade

Use that empty can and fill it with tequila

Note:  Always use your can!  If it was a 6 oz can, use 6 oz of tequila, if it was a 16 oz. can…ditto)

1/3 can "Granma Ney" or Triple Sec

A tray of ice cubes or more depending on the size of your can…or your blender

Feelin Fancy? Use real lime wedges to squish on top

Dump it all in a blender and puree.  If for any reason it doesn’t render the desired kick, top it with another shot of tequila and stir…or just suck it off the top, you won’t care about the rest of the drink when it’s gone.  

This recipe is deeply rooted in Supper Club tradition and has many variations.

• The Supper Club Margarita when made with bottom shelf tequila (Poor Peppe)
• The Ruski-Rita when made with bottom shelf vodka (Aristocrat)
• The Flora-rita when made with frozen orange juice
• The Champa-rita when made with Cooks
• And last but not least…Bubba’s Best Cruncha-rita, first created when the cap off the bottle went in the blender and currently not recommended due to posin' a choakin' hazard. 

Cheers everybody and just remember, in the wrong company “Loose Lips Can Sink Ships” but in the safe harbor of Supper Club, they just float our boat!  Drink and talk responsibly!  

Hittin' the Fan

You know, these are tryin' times!

Peas of Mind

I have to say, I was scratchin’ my head this weekend while enjoying the free-for-all in Bobby’s garden. He and Dianne had gone into town for the birth of their sixth grand-child and told Buck and me to pick the garden so things wouldn’t go to waste. Well, you don’t have to tell me twice to pick a garden; I only hesitate when I fear I might come off too greedy, I didn’t want Dianne to come back home and wonder if a plague of locust had been through.

That bein’ said, Buck and I set out, like a pair of hungry trick-or-treaters, baskets and bags in hand, across the short divide between Shipman’s Farmacy and the Oley Garden O’Plenty.

Buck headed straight for Dianne’s garden shed to “rest-up” from the stroll, while I made a beeline for the heirloom tomatoes.

You can always tell an heirloom; it doesn’t care if it’s pretty, it grows just as lobed and split-ugly as it wants to be, cause in the garden it’s not about bein’ pretty, it’s about the taste and heirloom tomatoes are bread for glory. When pickin tomatoes, it’s a good idea to carry a salt shaker in your back pocket just in case temptation strikes.

So with a “not-to-greedy” bag filled with tomatoes, it was time to move onto the more back breakin’ task of pickin beans. Now I have to say that while I know some things about pickin a garden, I got a little confounded when it came to the corn and black-eyed-peas. I had to take pause cause, they looked ready, but we all know that “lookin ready” and “bein ready” are two different things and not knowin’ the difference can get you in a bunch of trouble, if you know what I mean.

Anyway, those black-eyed-pea vines were loaded with what looked like long green knotty fingers, five beans to the palm. I knew each one of those knots was a precious pea but I was still baffled ‘cause some of the pods were as green as the vine; some were changing over to a soft pinkish brown, and then some were as tan and weathered as my grand-momma’s hands.

I have to say, the whole experience got me to thinkin about life and potential; about recognizin prime and bein’ in season. It was one of those moments when I wish I had paid closer attention…to a lot of things.

But I was in the garden and I figured I would just have to use my senses to figure things out; do they cling to the vine or release with a touch, do they smell “green” or has that given away to a hint of maturity, do they give to touch or resist? I just figured there was wisdom in the garden and if I wanted to eat black-eyed-peas, I was just gonna have to tap it, one pea-pod at a time. So not unlike that little trespasser, Goldilocks, I set out to find what was “just right”.

The green ones were full enough but not willin to give into the harvest, they hung on for dear life and defied every effort to open up. When they did, the pea was as pretty as a little emerald and just as hard. Searchin back as far as I could, I could never remember eatin’ a green black-eyed-pea so I decided these ladies were not ready to leave the vine.

Movin on to the pinkish brown ones, they popped off the vine with little effort, and while not quite as eye catchin, they opened as easy as a new zipper and surrendered perfect cream colored peas with shiny black eyes that I swear seemed to twinkle! The taste test said it all, they were as good raw as they would be after a slow simmer in nothing but black pepper and a pinch of salt. I had found the princess pea-pod and was ready to pick my fill.

But while I had deduced what was prime, what about the old ladies of the vine, the ones with parchment thin brown fingers and “knuckles” that seemed to have shrunken and hardened in place? With all due respect, surely they had a destiny other than the compost pile.

Curiosity got the best of me and as I cautiously peeled back the pod, somethin that sounded like pearls from a broken strand, tapped, bounced, and rolled across the table. You could have knocked me over with a ham-bone, ‘cause inside, pretty and bone white as you please were perfect little dried peas, just like what you see stacked up in the grocery store on New Year’s Eve. I was so excited ‘cause I swear I could almost hear the old girls whisper with well preserved dignity, “now you know.”

So with baskets full of peas for dinner and some for luck, Buck and I closed the garden gate and headed home for the peace that comes with shellin’ beans on a hot summer day.


Note:
Special thanks to Bobby and Dianne Oley for sharing their bounty each and every time we return to the Farmacy. Your garden is a treasure and a testament to your caring, nurturing ways.