Selling a Piece of My Heart

Posted on January 28, 2016 by Deborah Newell

The following is an excerpt from “Memories in a Daughter’s Heart”, to be published this spring on Amazon.com. “Memories” is a memoir of the last years of my mother’s life, and discusses dealing with dementia, as well as overcoming the grief that follows the death of a mother.

“…I have heard the Lord Almighty say, ‘All these big fine houses will be empty ruins.’” (Isaiah 5:9) Granted, all of our earthly homes will one day be gone, and replaced with beautiful heavenly mansions, but at the time I didn’t think of it that way. I didn’t want to lose the last of my physical reminders of my mom, but I had no choice but to sell her home.

It took me several months before I could bring myself to do it. Fortunately the house was paid for, I didn’t have to rush into making decisions. As much as I wanted to be able to keep it, and possibly use it as a second home, I knew it just wasn’t practical. Taking care of one home is difficult enough some days, let alone two.

I’d thought about it long and hard before I made my decision. There were so many wonderful memories there, it broke my heart to sell, but the house needed a family to live there full time. A family that would make new memories of their own life in that house. And the house needed a family that would live there all the time, and enjoy it like it should be enjoyed.

Our daughter Ashley was heartbroken over the decision. Like me, she didn’t want to give up the last part of her grandmother that she still had. But in the end, she realized like I had, that it was inevitable. So almost a year after we lost my mom, we ventured back to the Eastern Shore of Maryland from Virginia Beach, and began that very difficult task.

Right before we began packing, I walked through the house again. It was lonesome and empty. Vacant. A house with just pieces of furniture and no life. I went from bedroom to bedroom, and when I got to my mom’s room I sat on the bed and looked at her vanity. Most of her things were still on it, her shoes were still under the vanity seat. Daddy’s picture was still on the table by her mirror where she could tell him good morning and good night. And all of a sudden the tears came again, with a vengeance! It hurt so much.

There is such finality when we pack away and dispose of the tangible physical reminders of our loved ones. Although we’ve known for months there is no turning back, there’s just something about the physical act of disposing of their possessions. If you haven’t gone through it, you can’t understand it.

There are moments, though, during the process, when you laugh. Moments in which you make new memories. Like finding my mom’s wedding dress and her satin robe she wore on her honeymoon, and finding my aunt’s prom gown as well as her wedding dress. Of course Ashley and I tried them on, and we took photos for our own book of memories, playing “dress up” like two little kids would have done.

Without my faith, and without my certain knowledge that my mom was now living eternally in heaven, I do not know how I would have been able to do this. Although we aren’t supposed to put our hearts in these worldly possessions, we’re human, and at these times, it’s the only tangible remembrances we have left. Yes, our eternal treasures are in heaven, but because we are still here on earth, we still treasure these earthly possessions our loved ones leave behind.

When we go back to the area to visit friends or just take a break, I ride by the house and wonder what it looks like inside now. But even though the new owners said we were welcome to come by any time, I would never do that. I want to remember it as it was. The memories have to be enough. The past has to stay in the past.

A friend of mine wrote about riding past her family home recently. “Family homes can become homes for new families to live in…things can be forever changed. But I can stand still in your front yard, close my eyes and feel it all. I can see the family holidays, the kids’ table, croquet, the crickets, lightning bugs, smiling faces. I can smell bacon frying, freshly mowed grass and cow manure. I can close my eyes and swear I’m only 13 and I’m here for my summer visits. But I’m not…I’m all grown, with kids and even grandkids of my own now. Time doesn’t stand still for anyone and change can be so bittersweet, it’s painful. But no matter what changes, my memories will not. I will keep them in my heart forever.”

Snow Cream…A Special Treat

Posted on January 23, 2016 by Deborah Newell

When I was a child/teenager growing up on the Eastern Shore of Maryland, snow happened a bit more frequently than it usually does now (except for the past couple of years when they’ve gotten slammed!). Schools would be closed for up to a week because we got so much, the road crews couldn’t keep up with it all, especially on all the back roads in the area.

One year it snowed so much, my mother’s white car was literally impossible to see. She had parked it at the end of our long driveway, thinking she wouldn’t be able to get it out if we had a lot of snow. We did. And one of our neighbors had to dig the car out for her, but only after a couple of days when the roads were clear enough to drive on.

My friends who still live there still talk about how one of our friend’s fathers hooked all of our sleds up to his tractor one evening and pulled us around the field for at least an hour, had us warm up by a roaring bonfire (complete with roasting marshmallows on wire coat hangers!), and then his wife had us all inside for hot chocolate. I think most of us were sophomores in high school then, and of course, we were all invincible! I can’t remember how many of us there were, but it was a blast! Now…he’d probably be arrested for child endangerment…if our parents even let us go!

Yes, those were the days….we all had sleds, and would go to a hill in town and sled down for hours. We got chilled to the bone, our clothes got soaked…but who cared! We threw snowballs at each other, and at some of the adults unlucky enough to be in our way. And no one got mad at us. We were young and having fun.

So in honor of the snowstorm, it’s only fair that this weekend’s recipe is snow cream. Which of course, you can only make when you have clean fresh snow. So those of you in Florida or California, you’re probably out of luck on this one! I haven’t been able to find any substitutions for snow!

Basic Snow Cream
1 c milk
1/3 c sugar
1 tsp vanilla
Pinch of salt

Whisk ingredients together and add 8 cups of CLEAN snow. (Note: Be sure to pour the SNOW into the mixture; not the other way around!) Mix together; re-freeze, covered, if necessary, and serve. (You might also add colored sprinkles or colored sugar on top, or even mini chocolate chips)

NOW…that’s not all. While I was researching, I came across several variations of this basic recipe that sound extra yummy. So….how about these:

Chocolate Peppermint Snow Cream
14 oz can sweetened condensed milk
¼ c unsweetened cocoa powder
½ tsp peppermint extract

Mix together and add 8 cups of CLEAN snow. Cover, and re-freeze an hour or so til it’s the right consistency.

Amaretto Caramel Snow Cream
1 c white chocolate chips
½ c thick caramel sauce
1/3 c milk
½ tsp salt

Mix together in microwave for 30 seconds; stir and repeat until smooth. LET COOL (or you’ll have caramel water!) I’d put it in the freezer and check it often til it’s chilled.

Add 8 cups of CLEAN snow. And the best part, ¼ c amaretto. Resist temptation to try immediately; cover and freeze to desired consistency.

Cake Batter Snow Cream
1/2 c sweetened condensed milk
¼ c yellow cake mix
3 tbsp cake flavored vodka (the recipes just keep getting better…)
2 tbl milk
1 tsp vanilla

Combine above ingredients and add 8 cups of CLEAN snow. Take a taste if you must, then cover and freeze to desired consistency.

Now….after finding all of these goodies, I can only say one thing…

BRING ON THE SNOW AND LET’S MAKE SOME SNOW CREAM!

Decking the Halls

Posted on December 17, 2015 by Deborah Newell

Through the eyes of a child….

Recently I came across a few photos from Christmases from my childhood….some from my first Christmas, and a few when I was probably five or six years old. Aside from thinking about how different my mom’s living room looked back then, I couldn’t help noticing the Christmas tree in the background, and thinking…did it really look like that?

Thinking back on those Christmases past, I still picture those trees in my mind, really big and fat, and smelling like, well, Christmas! There was a special scent in the house once the tree was put up. And I so enjoyed sitting in the living room at night with the only lights being from our tree. Through my child’s eyes I always thought each one was more beautiful than the previous year, but looking at the photos I’ve found, they really weren’t all that spectacular, compared with the ones we decorate today.

Christmas time certainly seemed a lot simpler when we were growing up. Because almost all of us used fresh cut trees, we’d wait until almost the week before Christmas before putting it up and decorating it. My mom and dad would move the old floor model radio that was in the corner of our living room by the fireplace to make room for the tree. Daddy would bring the tree home on top of his car after work, and set it in a bucket of water on the front porch until it was time to bring it in. Then he’d set to work sawing the bottom of it just right so the tree would fit in the stand. He’d put it in the corner and adjust it until it was straight, and then fasten a piece of string around the center and tie it to a nail in the wall, just in case it tried to topple over. And after it was up we had to make sure to keep water in that stand every day, or the tree would start drying out and dropping its needles all over the floor.

After the tree was in place, my mother would bring out the boxes of ornaments and lights, and we’d finally get to start decorating. We’d start with the “bubble lights” with their colored liquid that would bubble up as soon as the lighted bulb in the bottom of the base got hot, and then add big round snowball lights that looked like they were coated in colored ice. And of course there were strings of plain fat lights in different colors that got really hot, and would burn your fingers if you accidentally touched them.

Because we didn’t have as many ornaments as Ben and I do today, we’d make sure we placed each one carefully on just the right branch; certain ones needed to go close together. Why? I have no idea. They just did. And we carefully placed the delicate glass birds that had been my grandmother’s in a place of honor, so everyone could see them. I actually still have those birds, and still use them every year.

And who can forget those skinny silver icicles we used to throw on the tree as a finishing touch? The first ones I remember were real aluminum, and sometimes broke when you took them off at the end of the Christmas season. We’d always try to save them for the next year, but they didn’t survive very well. In later years they were made of some shiny synthetic material that stuck to everything…including our hands…when we tried to throw them on the tree. Even though they weren’t the easiest things to use, we still had to use them. The tree wouldn’t be complete without them.

Then we’d hang our stockings on the fireplace mantle, very carefully, so the tacks wouldn’t make too big a hole in the wood and mess it up. I had a red felt Santa Claus stocking that my aunt had made for me, and my mother had a matching one with “MOM” on it. I still hang mine up with our newer ones, even though it doesn’t get filled. (Although this year it just might find a few stocking stuffers in it for our new granddaughter, even though she isn’t here yet to appreciate them!) My mom would add some sprigs of fresh holly that she’d cut from the woods behind our house, and a few candles, and we were ready for Santa Claus!

Yes, I’m nostalgic for those days in the past. I don’t have a lot of memories of Christmas with my dad, since he died when I was only eight. But I remember the huge smiles on my parents’ faces when I’d come into the living room on Christmas morning, finding the cookies and milk gone, and all sizes of wrapped boxes under the tree, just for me. And there was always some piece or pieces of doll furniture my dad had made for me in his basement workshop, just like Santa Claus! It was truly a magical time, or so I thought.

But life goes on, and the memories of those long ago Christmases have become just that…memories which hide in special places in our minds where we can relive them briefly. But only briefly, because they tend to fade as they’re replaced with newer ones.

And in those memories, we can once again enjoy Christmas through the eyes of the little child we used to be, and for a brief moment, forget the years that have intervened, and still smell the fragrance of that brightly decorated tree….

I Really Miss You, Mom

Posted on December 11, 2015 by Deborah Newell

This was actually written on November 16….. However, it is so totally true……

There are some times I miss you more than others, Mom. Today was one of those days.

Even though you’re no longer here, I truly believe you know that your granddaughter Ashley and her long-time boyfriend Chris were married a little over six months ago. I wish you could’ve met him. I know you’d love him as much as we all do. They’re absolutely perfect for each other. They have the same temperament. The same likes and dislikes. They balance each other.

I knew from the first few dates they had, that they’d end up together permanently. There really wasn’t any doubt.

Although some may think I’m a bit crazy, I believe you and Daddy, and the rest of our family who are with you in heaven, were given the gift of seeing their wedding. There were times that day I felt your presence so strongly….like you were there giving them your blessing, as you squeezed my dad’s hand and told him how proud you were of your granddaughter…how much you loved her. Did you see the charm on her bouquet? With that picture of you and her in your kitchen…with her sunburned face as she smiled at you? That’s one of her favorite pictures of the two of you.

Today was a special day, and one that I would have so loved to have shared with you. I’m sure you already know that our baby, your granddaughter, and my daughter, is having a baby of her own. I’m sure you knew it before I did, and probably before Ashley and Chris did. In fact, as Ashley said earlier, you already know whether it’s a boy or a girl. And you’re not telling us, either.

A few weeks ago Ben and I were able to join Ashley and Chris as we saw the first ultrasound of our grandchild. That was an awesome moment. Watching the two of them as they saw the first glimpse of that new life they created…I cannot even begin to express my thoughts. Ben and I were both a bit teary eyed. Ashley and Chris were just amazed. It was still a bit hard to believe.

But today. A month later, it was so different. It was just Ashley and me in that ultrasound room. Chris was at work, and so was Ben. I watched as the technician moved that wand around on my daughter’s belly, and that little darling grandchild of ours…your great-grandchild…was there just lounging around. Once in a while the legs would kick, or the arms would wave. This time, that little baby who’s only an inch and a half long, was clearly visible as a baby. A new life…not just a collection of cells, but a little person coming into being.

I so would have loved to tell you how I felt…to share that moment with you. I wanted the three of us…three generations…to be involved. I wondered how you’d felt when you found out I was having a baby. How you felt knowing your baby was having a baby of her own. Because that’s all I could think about. My baby that I carried for nine months was now carrying a baby of her own.

Jeremiah 1:5 tells us “Before I formed you in the womb, I knew you, before you were born I set you apart…” The Lord already knows all about this little person. What he or she will look like. What he or she will do with their life. And I believe the Lord has already filled you in, Mom, on all of it. And you and Daddy are even more excited about all that your first great grandchild will be. And you’re excited for all of us as well!

Yes, today was one of those days I have missed you more than I can even express, because there are just those times that I need my mom to talk to and share special moments with.

Mom, even though I can’t tell you in person, I just want you to know how excited I am. I think I can finally almost imagine how you felt when Ben and I told you that you were finally going to be a grandmother.

I just wish I could share it all with you in person. I love you, Mom. And I miss you…

November 16, 2015

Before It Was Black Friday

Posted on November 27, 2015 by Deborah Newell

I really don’t remember when everyone started calling the day after Thanksgiving Black Friday. I should, because I began my business career working as Marketing Director at a local shopping mall near my hometown.

But that was 35+ years ago. Back then, we didn’t put up the mall Christmas decorations until the week of Thanksgiving. I spent many evenings at that mall until 2:00 AM with my staff, making sure the decorations would be ready for the day after Christmas, when we had our big Santa Claus arrival. The place was packed when the man in the red suit arrived, usually by fire truck, and the security guards were lined up to keep the crowds back as he made his way to his place of honor at the mall, “ho ho ho-ing” as he waved to all the kids.

Fast forward ten years in the future, when Ben and I had our daughter Ashley, and my mother finally had her long-awaited grandchild. Everything took on a new meaning. New traditions were made.

For us, as for countless other families, the day after Thanksgiving evolved into a day of shopping traditions, as it ushered in the Christmas shopping season. Ben and I always took my mother and Ashley and ventured to the mall to see how much Christmas shopping we could get done in one day. The four of us, and everyone else, of course.

Those early days were fun. The malls weren’t wall to wall people quite like they are now. Shopping with a small child was interesting. Especially the year when that small child was two, and decided to have a meltdown in one of the department stores. There’s nothing like watching your daughter rolling on the floor screaming and kicking because she didn’t get her way, and having a sales associate come over to ask if everything was all right, and her retired-schoolteacher grandmother calmly saying, “It’s okay, she’s just having a temper tantrum. She’ll be fine.” And I wanted to go through the floor.

Then there was the first year Ashley was old enough to really appreciate what Santa Claus represented. The wonder in her eyes as she sat in his lap that first time and told him what she wanted for Christmas was so special. She believed he’d bring her that doll! She knew it! (And of course he did!)

Time marches on, though, and the years slowed my mom down, but she still always made the effort to go shopping with us on the day after Thanksgiving. She and Ashley would go through the newspaper ads after dinner, cut out coupons, make their lists, and we’d hit the stores the next morning. Mom had to rest every so often, but she always made the effort to go. It had become a tradition, and she wasn’t going to stop it.

Black Friday wasn’t the same after we lost my mother, though. We made the best of it, but there was something missing; it just wasn’t right.

And I slowly realized the shopping tradition we’d done for so long wasn’t really about a day of shopping and spending money on gifts; sometimes buying things we really weren’t wild about for people, just because they were on our lists and we wanted to be done. It was about making memories, and enjoying being together.

Over the last few years I haven’t done the “Black Friday” shopping marathon. Yes, I still go shopping for a while with Ashley. But not the all-day excursions we used to do.

It’s not that I’m not in the holiday spirit. I’ve learned over these past years the holiday spirit is a lot more than going shopping on the day after Thanksgiving and seeing what bargains we can grab. We spend one day, Thanksgiving, saying how thankful we are for what we have, and the next day (or sometimes even later that evening!) we’re out seeing how many deals we can get, and how much money we can spend for things we, or other people, don’t really need.

I’m not criticizing anyone for their shopping traditions; we had them, too, and I’m sure Ashley and Ben and I will continue them when our grandchildren arrive. We’ll take them to see Santa Claus and have pictures made…all the things parents and grandparents do.

But for me, right now, I prefer to be thankful for what we have. For the blessings, and love, of friends and family. I will still give gifts to family and special friends, but they will be gifts from my heart, and not because they were on sale. I want those gifts to mean something other than how much I saved and what bargains I found on Black Friday.

And I still want to remember what I was thankful for yesterday…..

Remembrances from Thanksgiving

Posted on November 25, 2015 by Deborah Newell

This year I find myself having a hard time getting into the holiday spirit. Maybe it’s because of the stress of the past several months which have taken a toll on our family, particularly me. Or maybe it’s just more realization that as we get older, there are so many changes in our lives that we have no control over. People, both family and friends, have passed out of our lives for various reasons, and many times we either cannot, or do not, get them back.

To compound these feelings of the holiday blues, this year there have been a number of serious illnesses and deaths of friends’ family members that have added to the remembrances of loss I’ve been feeling. This is also the first year our daughter is living in her own home with her new husband, and although we’re very happy for them, it’s still a bittersweet feeling having our only child married and starting her own family. And hosting the Thanksgiving dinner for the first time in her new home!

Thanksgiving was always a fun-filled time when we were all growing up. At least that’s how I remember it. There was always tons of food, and so many people crowded around the table. Everyone was happy, and getting along, making jokes with each other, as well as talking about plans for Christmas and visits to Santa Claus. It was definitely a simpler time, at least through my eyes as a youngster. As far as I knew, there were no worries about money, jobs, health issues, or any other number of problems that affect our families.

Or maybe as a child, we just didn’t notice those problems.

Unfortunately I only vaguely remember a few holidays spent with my family with my dad also there. Being only eight years old when he died wasn’t easy, because it robbed me of so many memories I’d never have the opportunity to make. I do have some fuzzy ones in which we were all seated at my grandmother’s huge ornate walnut dining table, with her and my mom and my aunts bringing in huge plates of food, and my grandfather bowing his head and saying his quick “grace” before we all dug in to eat. But they’re that…fuzzy.

I have much better memories of those later family holiday dinners at my mother’s house. The food was wonderful, but it wasn’t picture perfect, nor served in all matching china. And we weren’t all dressed up in our best clothes. We were comfortable, in our casual clothes, and my mom and my aunts were all still wearing their aprons when we sat down to eat. We “toasted” with iced tea and soda, while my two uncles grabbed food from the plates that were passed around, with Uncle Jay dropping almost as much on the floor as went on his plate (and since he was usually the only one wearing a tie, you can imagine food went on that, too!)! The television was on in the next room, and everyone was talking at the same time. And as soon as we kids finished eating, we got up and either played games, argued good-naturedly with each other, or watched a movie on tv.

Those days were fun. We enjoyed being together, and never even thought about not being the “perfect” picture postcard family gathering. We were Just Plain Family.

As the years went by, things changed, as they always do. Children grew up and had children of their own, and holiday dinners weren’t the same, because my aunts and uncles now spent holidays with their grown children and THEIR children. The big family dinners continued for a while, just not at holidays. My husband and I continued Thanksgiving traditions at my mother’s as long as possible, and usually with my aunt and her grown children.

As the years fast forward, holidays become increasingly difficult because our special loved ones are living now only in our memories, and not seated at the table with us. Those memories of Thanksgivings past can sometimes hurt more than they can make us smile. In my dreams I imagine the ones who are already there getting together in heaven to still share a very special Thanksgiving dinner, probably in my mother’s heavenly mansion. With Uncle Jay still spilling food on his tie! And waiting for us to join them.

I know I’m not alone in feeling this way. I know many friends going through similar feelings. It’s normal, and it’s a part of life. We’re expected to automatically be happy because it’s the start of the holiday season. Many of us are almost forced to hide our feelings behind smiles that we make ourselves wear, because we think we’re the only ones feeling this way. But there are more out there than you know.

The next time you start feeling like that, don’t be embarrassed. If you’re having a tough time, you’re not the only one. If you’re hurting, you’re hurting. And it’s OK to feel that way. Call a close friend and talk about it. If you know someone who’s hurting, call them and welcome them into your home. You never know how significant a small gesture can be to someone this time of year. Nor do you know what new memories will be made.

Grandmom’s Oyster Dressing

Posted on November 21, 2015 by Deborah Newell

One of the traditions at our family Thanksgiving dinners, and Christmas as well, is actually a dish that not everyone likes. But it was always on every holiday dinner table when I was growing up, as well as our holiday dinner tables now.

Growing up on the Eastern Shore of Maryland, which is one of the greatest seafood areas in the country (yes, I will argue with anyone on that!), we always enjoyed a some of the best blue crabs, clams, oysters, and fresh fish I’ve ever had. One of the traditional Eastern Shore holiday side dishes was what we called Oyster Dressing, also known in other areas as Scalloped Oysters.

I’m not an oyster fan per se, but this dish is something I very much enjoy. Unfortunately my husband doesn’t share my enthusiasm for it, especially since he’s allergic to oysters, but I’m thankful our son-in-law loves oysters, so I can still make it and have someone join me in eating it!

Traditionally my aunt always made the dish, and would bring it to my mom’s house just about ready to bake, so it would be piping hot when served. Since it’s just oysters, crackers, butter, and milk, she’d always bring her own quart of milk to pour into it right before she stuck it in the oven. Because she had to make sure the liquid covered all the crackers thoroughly so it wouldn’t be too dry, she always used a glass casserole dish. When we were kids we used to be fascinated by her pouring the milk in and getting the texture just right. Why, I have no idea; it was just one of those things we did…we were kids! And we didn’t have to help cook!

So for all of you who are curious, and sea food lovers, I’m happy to share the way we made this dish, and still do today. And please, use a round glass casserole dish…trust me, it’s easier!

Here’s all you need:

1 quart fresh oysters, rinsed and drained (check for any bits of broken shell!)
1 box of saltine crackers
softened butter
milk

Butter the bottom and sides of a round 1 1/2-2 quart glass casserole dish.
Crush some of the saltines and put in the bottom of the casserole dish, at least a 1 1/2 inch or so thick.
Place about 1/3 of the oysters on top of crackers, sprinkle with pepper, and dot with butter.
Repeat the process 2-3 times, ending with another layer of crackers, dotted with butter.
Cover with wax paper or saran wrap and refrigerate until ready to bake.
Just before putting in a pre-heated 350 degree oven, slowly pour in milk in a circular pattern until crackers are soaked. (We sometimes used a knife to cut through the crackers to be sure everything got soaked really well!0
Bake 40-55 minutes until done. During baking watch to see that it doesn’t dry out; if so, add a tiny bit more milk.

Serve hot! And if you have leftovers, cover and reheat in the oven or microwave.

Memories Lighting My Mind

Posted on November 16, 2015 by Deborah Newell

But what if the memories suddenly start fading….or if the light doesn’t always come on any more?

Most of us, if we are fortunate, will have our parents live long enough that some (hopefully only a few) of their memories will start to blur. It’s not something they can help, and trust me, they are just as upset over it as we are. Maybe more. Because these are their memories. Memories of days before we were ever born; before we were ever even thought of, because they were still children at the time. Many of their stories take place before they even met the person they would share their life with, and eventually become the two parents that made us.

We all have memories that we don’t want to fade. Memories of growing up. Fun times and special dinners with family members and friends when we were children…when we had no idea what the world would bring when we grew up. We remember high school, our first love, our prom, our graduation, and other special events.

Our parents remember those things, too. If only I had known years ago how precious those thoughts and memories were. If only I had asked the questions then that I want to ask now. And can’t.

Unfortunately, life intervenes, and we don’t always do and ask the things we should.

As our parents age, unless they, and we, are very lucky, their memories do start to fade somewhat. Sometimes they recognize it and talk to us about it, and sometimes they don’t. Sometimes they try to avoid the subject and try to go on as if nothing is happening out of the ordinary.

Ask questions while you still can, and help your parents cherish their memories. Write down the answers, maybe in a special journal you’ve bought just for that particular purpose. One day you’re going to want to be able to remember those stories, just as your parents told them to you. Because as they relate those stories, if you close your eyes, you can almost see in your mind the pictures they are re-living through their words.

Artists paint pictures on a canvas for us to see with our eyes; writers are artists who paint with words and create pictures in our minds. Our parents should be the artists we most want to paint for us while they are still able to do so.

What pictures do you want your parents to paint for you? What pictures do you wish they’d painted for you before they left? Take those pictures still in your mind and remember them before it’s too late.

Mom’s Cinnamon Buns

Posted on November 14, 2015 by Deborah Newell

My mother was an excellent cook. She made all kinds of wonderful dishes and over the next several months I will share some of our family recipes. But by far her most memorable accomplishment were her cinnamon buns, which are even mentioned in my forthcoming book, “Memories in a Daughter’s Heart.” Yes, they were that good!

My mother perfected the art of making these wonderful buns, a mixture of sticky, gooey cinnamon sweetness rolled up in a soft doughy roll, and most delicious when just about ten minutes out of the oven. (Just long enough for the hot brown sugar and butter icing to firm up a bit and not burn your mouth!) She made them for every family dinner as far back as I can remember. When all of her brothers and sisters and their families got together and decided what everyone was bringing, there was no question when it came to my mother’s contribution! And usually, one pan wasn’t enough!

I remember many dinners with my two favorite uncles joking each other about who was going to eat most of them. We kids loved it when Uncle Jay and Uncle Fowler would have a “contest” to see how many they could grab at one time! Yes, those were some wonderful times, and great memories! And of course, really good eating! And the calories? With these culinary delights, who cared?

Our daughter Ashley loved to help her grandmother make the cinnamon buns, and fortunately for our family, Ashley has now taken over my mother’s role of “cinnamon bun chef”. She makes them for every holiday meal, and I have to say hers are just as good as the ones my mother made. Probably because of the love and memories that are baked inside each pan. And now that Ashley is married and hosting Thanksgiving dinner for the first time, you can be assured that her grandmother’s cinnamon buns will be on the menu!

So that you can also enjoy part of my mother’s legacy, here is the recipe for her cinnamon buns. If you try it, let us know in the comments below. We’d love to hear your feedback! And if you have questions, be sure to let us know and I’ll try to help!

My Mother’s Cinnamon Buns (Rachel’s Cinnamon Buns)

1 Box Pillsbury (or other brand) hot roll mix – make as directed but add 1/2 c. sugar. Knead well, and be sure to coat your hands with flour when kneading. Let dough raise in bowl until doubled in size. (Note: We put the bowl on top of our gas stove with waxed paper or a dish towel over the top.) **

When dough is raised, roll out on counter top, with dough about 1/4-3/8″ thick. Should be approximately 8″ wide and 18″ long. (I never measured, I just eyeball it! You’ll get the hang of it.)

After dough is rolled out, smear softened butter over the top of the dough, then heavily sprinkle with light brown sugar (we usually use the entire box!) and shake ground cinnamon over the top of it all. Roll the dough up jelly-roll fashion. Cut into rolls (about 1 1/2 – 2″ thick) and place in a buttered 9×14 glass baking dish. Dot top of each bun with butter, place waxed paper over the top, and let raise again until doubled in size.

Bake in pre-heated 350 degree oven for 20 minutes. Remove from oven and let cool in pan no longer than one minute. Invert quickly (and carefully) onto serving plate, spooning the syrupy brown sugar over buns to get every last drop! And then enjoy, enjoy! If there are any left, be sure to wrap them up tightly in saran wrap or tin foil for the next day. (Note: they’re good for breakfast heated in a paper towel in the microwave for about 15 seconds)

** Many stores don’t carry hot roll mix any more. If you can’t find it, here’s a trick to make your own:
Combine – 4 c. flour, 1/3 c. sugar, 1 tsp. salt, and 1/4 c. instant nonfat dry milk.
To make the dough dissolve 1 pkg. yeast in 1 c. warm (120-125 degrees) water. Add to dry mix along with 1 egg, 2 tbl. soft butter, and an additional 1/4-1/2 c. sugar. Knead as directed above.

The Price of Freedom

Posted on November 11, 2015 by Deborah Newell

The price of freedom cannot be measured monetarily. It is measured by the sacrifice of the lives of the men and women who defend it.

Today is Veterans Day. The day we thank all of those who have served and are currently serving in our military. Their bravery and dedication to duty is not appreciated nearly enough.

My father served in the Army during World War II, however, because of a bad knee that he had originally injured playing football in college, he was sent home with an honorable discharge and a knee brace.

My uncle also served, however, he did not get home until the war ended. He was quite fortunate. Although I do not know his entire story, I will relate what I know of it, because in my eyes, he was one of the heroes.

Fowler Cottingham joined the Army as a young man barely 18 years old. He was trained as a crewman on the fighter planes, and consequently sent to Germany, where he flew in several successful missions with his crew.

The morning of the day he flew his final mission was most likely just another day. Clear skies; light wind; a perfect day for flying. I can imagine the crew loading the plane, going through their pre-flight checklist, making sure their parachutes were ready, and most likely cracking jokes and talking about what they’d do when they came back from their mission.

Flying over enemy territory was never safe. Most of us have probably seen movies of the allied war planes heading out for missions over Germany. What the movies don’t adequately show is the danger our men faced during each of these missions.

They didn’t have all of the sophisticated equipment in 1945 that our armed forces have now. There were no computers, no GPS; only a navigator with paper maps showing where they were supposed to be flying. There were gunners who fired their weapons without fancy electronics to assist them. They had to judge where to aim, and when to pull the trigger, based on what knowledge the officers and ground troops had been able to discern. It was much different than today. But they had courage, and a sense of duty. They had volunteered to serve, and knew the risks involved.

I’m not sure exactly what happened, but my uncle’s plane took a hit from a German warplane. Fortunately they were all able to parachute out, and landed in a wooded area somewhere behind enemy lines. They had only a few supplies, and had no idea where they were. And no idea whether anyone else had any idea where they were, or even if they were alive.

Shortly afterwards they were captured by German soldiers and marched to one of the POW concentration camps. Capture was certainly better than being shot, which I’m sure they were all afraid, would happen. As brave as these men were, just remember, they were all in their early 20’s, the beginning of their lives. They all wondered if they’d ever see home and family again.

Over 93,000 men were held as prisoners in the German POW camps in World War II. They were held in drafty wooden buildings, with uncomfortable cots, and only a thin blanket for warmth. They were fed one or two meals a day, usually some type of thin soup and stale bread. Their only utensils were a tin spoon, and a tin cup for water. One day they were given a treat…candy bars which they quickly bit into. And then saw the worms inside.

My Uncle Fowler and his crew spent six months in that camp, guarded by armed soldiers and German shepherds. They never knew when or if the guards would come for some of them to question them, torture them, or kill them.

There are some experiences that are just too terrible to discuss because they bring back too many nightmares. My uncle would never discuss any of what happened, other than what I have written here; not with his parents, his wife, or his two sons. After his return, and until the day he died, he was scared of German shepherds because he had seen them tear hands and arms off of prisoners who were trying to escape.

How did these men survive this ordeal? And where was the Lord in this? I’m sure the men wondered many times where He was. Even at the young age of 20, when he was captured, my uncle was a man of faith, and I’m certain his faith helped sustain him.

Jeremiah 29:11 reminds us: “For I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord, plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.” The Lord was watching over them the entire time.

Yes, their plane was shot down, but the crew survived. The Lord directed the German bullets away from the fuselage so that the plane didn’t explode, which would have killed them all. When they landed in the woods, they had no idea where they were, and no idea where to go. The German soldiers could have killed them, but instead they were captured and allowed to live. Many other soldiers spent years in these concentration camps before being freed; these men only had to endure for six months. Many died in these camps, but these men all survived, because the Lord had plans for them. My uncle had a young woman, my aunt, waiting to meet him, fall in love, and marry. The Lord had plans for all of them and made sure those plans were carried out. Prayers for safety were answered; just not the way that was expected.

I wish I knew the names of my uncle’s crew members, but I never had the opportunity to find out. I would love to thank them as well for serving with him, and being part of his support system while in the camp.

And again, to all of our veterans and those who are still serving, and their families, Happy Veteran’s Day. Thank you for your service. May God bless you all, and keep you safe.

Dreaming of My Mother’s Wedding

Posted on November 10, 2015 by Deborah Newell

Hanging in our guest room closet is a yellowed and torn lacy dress that has undoubtedly seen better – and happier – days. And it carries memories that I wish I could see and hear. And since today is my husband and my wedding anniversary, I thought it appropriate to post this story today.

I found the dress in my mother’s attic many years ago. It had been hanging there since my mom and dad moved into their first and only home sometime back in 1940 or so. They were married on June 18, 1938. 77 years ago. And the dress hung there until I had to clean out her home eight years ago.

I have this one picture of her and my dad on their wedding day. And I cherish this photo.

I wish I knew more about their wedding day. But my mother was an extremely private person, and as much as she loved my father, I don’t know a lot about their early days together. I never had the nerve to ask, because my dad passed away when I was only eight years old. And even though I was an adult in my fifties’ with a teenage daughter when my mom left us, I had never asked her much about her wedding, because I knew the memories would make her cry. Because of all the special times she never got to share with the only man she ever loved.

And although I don’t totally know all of their story, I want to share some of what I know, and some of what I can only imagine.

My mom fell in love with my dad the first time she saw him in high school. I can imagine them laughing together after school, and him coming over to see her at my grandfather’s farm. I’m sure they spent a lot of time together on that big front porch, and rocking in that old porch swing I wish we still had! Times were different in the 1930’s, and I can imagine that my grandfather kept a close eye on the young man who was “courting” his daughter.

I’m sure when my dad left for college, my mom was unbelievably lonesome for him. She went to college at a school close to home, but he attended college in Williamsburg, which back then was a long way from their homes! Although I’m sure they wrote letters back and forth to each other a lot, since phone calls were so expensive, one of the regrets I have is that I never found any of their letters to each other, and my mother kept almost EVERYTHING. What a treasure that would have been!

It must have felt like an eternity for them until college graduation happened. And my mom and dad were finally able to start seeing each other regularly again, in between her teaching school and my dad working as a salesman for his uncle. Obviously, they both knew they were meant to be together. And like every young girl totally in love, she dreamed of her wedding day!

On Christmas Eve, 1937, my dad brought her Christmas present over. She was expecting (and hoping for) a ring. And I can only imagine the disappointment on her face and in her heart when my dad handed her this big box, beautifully wrapped I’m sure, that was her gift. My mom being the lady she was, opened it, and tried not to show her disappointment when she saw it was a hand-crocheted pillow with the initial “C” on it. (Since her name started with an “L” she should’ve known something else was coming, but…) Evidently her disappointment really showed when she told my dad how much she liked it, and he asked her what was wrong (smiling to himself, I’m sure). And then he pulled out the REAL gift! And that ring was…and still is…beautiful! Because I have it now (and the pillow)!

Knowing my dad, and the times they lived in, I’m sure he’d already talked to my grandfather and had his permission. And he’d probably been a lot more nervous asking him than our future son-in-law was when he talked to Ashley’s dad! So now they were officially engaged! And here’s the young bride to be!

From that evening until their wedding six months later, I’m sure all my mom did was count the days until she was a bride. Her two brothers and her older sister were already married, and I’m sure she’d dreamed of her wedding day since the day she first saw my dad.

Weddings in that era were usually quite simple and for the most part, included only family members, and maybe a few close friends. Being a farming community, money was tight, and wedding expenses were kept at a minimum. A few flowers, a wedding cake, and food made by family and friends, and that was basically it. Sometimes there was another couple standing up with the bride and groom, and sometimes there wasn’t. And even more unfortunate, there were very few wedding photographers to memorialize the day. I’m happy to have the one picture!

Mom and Dad had a small, simple wedding, but nonetheless perfect for them. I do know a few bits and pieces, but here is where my dreams step in, as I imagine her on her wedding day as a young woman of 25, the same age as my own daughter….

My mom was an excellent seamstress, and most likely she made her wedding gown, sewing every stitch carefully because it was the most important dress she’d ever make. (I so wish it had been better preserved.) She wanted to look absolutely perfect when she stepped down the stairs to meet her husband-to-be.

I’m sure she woke up that warm and sunny morning quite early, because she was so excited. Downstairs, her mom, and probably some other relatives, were already preparing food for after the ceremony. I’ve never found a picture of their wedding cake, but I can imagine that someone in the family, most likely her sister-in-law Ruth, who was an excellent cook and seamstress, made it herself as a gift for them.

As the bride-to-be, I can imagine my mom sitting in front of her vanity mirror, carefully arranging her hair and putting on just a touch of makeup. Her hands probably shook a bit, and even though I never remember my mother wearing nail polish, I can see her applying it for that day. After all, her engagement ring was about to receive its mate!

The wedding was set for early afternoon, at my grandparents’ house. Her older sister Mary was there, wearing a light blue dress, and would hold her bouquet for her during the ceremony. Although she would have been called the Matron of Honor today, back then she was just there standing with her sister, and most likely her husband was standing with my dad.

How I would love to have heard the conversation between the two sisters that morning! It’s hard to imagine my mom as the young woman she once was, and I’m sure she was just as nervous and scared and excited as brides are today. I can also imagine their younger sister, who would have only been 13 at the time, rushing into the room and wanting to be a part of the action as well. And most likely being shooed away because they had important things to discuss that she was too young to hear!

As she put on her wedding gown, and her sister helped her zip it up, I can picture her turning to the mirror and watching as her veil was attached, and wondering who that woman in the mirror was. She was becoming a different person…no longer a single lady, but now a WIFE! Wondering what changes that would bring…

Rachel and Clay were married in the living room of her childhood home. Everyone was standing, because there wasn’t a lot of room for extra chairs, and she had a large family, who were all in attendance. I can picture her walking down the stairs on my grandfather’s arm, dressed in his best Sunday suit, nervous but smiling, my mom with her veil over her face, and carrying a huge bouquet of roses, as was the style for brides at that time. All she could see was my dad’s face. And as she walked down the stairs, all he could see was her.

And they were married. No fanfare, no row of bridesmaids or groomsmen. No sit-down dinner with champagne toasts and dancing. No elaborate decorations. Just a simple ceremony, cake cutting and pure happiness. A dream come true for a young bride and groom. A brief honeymoon, and then on to start their life together.

And yes, until his premature passing a brief twenty years later, they did live happily ever after.

Photo Sources: Personal files

Grandmother’s Pumpkin Pie

Posted on November 7, 2015 by Deborah Newell

I come from a family of good cooks. My grandparents owned a farm, and my grandmother Lang was always cooking up big farm meals for Granddaddy’s “hired help” as well as the rest of the family. And she was a great cook! (And for those of you who know me well, you know that cooking is not my favorite pastime. Although I do like to bake!)

I still have some of her recipes that were handed down to my mother, but unfortunately only a few are in her own handwriting. Of course, after trying to read some of them, I’m actually glad my mother copied them over! Grandmom’s handwriting was a very flowery style, so instead of trying to read them, I’ll keep them in my special scrapbook of memories.

It was always a treat to go to my grandparents’ home for family dinners and holidays. The food set out on her heavy carved oak dining table was a feast fit for a family of fifteen, because that’s about how many of us were there back in those days. Sure, us kids sometimes had to eat out in the kitchen because there wasn’t enough room at the table, but there was always plenty of food for everyone!

At this time of year it’s certainly appropriate to talk about her Thanksgiving dinners. Although I don’t remember quite as many of them being held at the farm, since my mother’s dining room was bigger, my grandmother always supplied the pumpkin pie! And it was delicious! Every bit homemade, from the piecrust to the filling! She usually made at least two, because everyone wanted some of it. So I thought I’d share a bit of Emma Jarman Lang’s special pumpkin pie by posting the recipe for you.

2 cups pumpkin (yes, she actually used canned pumpkin)
1 cup sugar
1 tsp. salt
1/2 tsp ginger
2 tsp cinnamon
1/2 tsp allspice
1/2 tsp nutmeg
1/4 tsp ground cloves

Mix all ingredients together, and add gradually:
2 eggs, beaten
1 3/4 c milk
pinch of lemon juice (no more than 1/2 tsp)
**I add 1/4 tsp of almond extract as well (I had to contribute something!)

Mix well and pour into unbaked pie crust. (I don’t have her original pie crust recipe, but pre-made ones are fine!) I like using a deep dish 9-10″ crust, because you usually have some filling left over, which of course is always yummy to bake in a little casserole dish to enjoy before the main meal!

Bake in preheated 425 degree oven for 15 minutes, and then turn down the oven to 350 degrees and bake for another 45 minutes. Cool on a wire baking rack.

And of course serve it with whipped cream! Real whipped cream if you have time to make it!

What special recipes do you have from your parents and grandparents? Feel free to share them with us! And from time to time, I’ll publish more recipes for our special family treats.

Just Living Life

A journal of advice, stories, and ideas from years of living

Category Archives: Memories