Mom’s Soup

chickpea minestroneAs promised, here is my second meatless meal recipe…..

I’ve talked before about Mom and Dad’s brave move to Leadville, Colorado, from Columbus, Nebraska, in the mid-70s. For as long as I remember, they had wanted to live in the Colorado mountains that they loved so much. The bakery in Leadville is what finally presented itself to them.

It wasn’t a perfect fit by any means. A while back I wrote a blog about our family’s time in Leadville. It was a rough town, largely dependent upon the molybdenum mine. Miners are a unique animal we soon learned.

But in addition to having to get used to the thin air (Leadville sits at an altitude of over 10,000 feet making for difficult breathing and short summers), my parents also had to get used to the fact that along with the bakery, there was a small coffee shop.

I’m not sure what the previous owners offered in the coffee shop. But for Gloor’s Bakery and Coffee Shop, breakfast consisted primarily of coffee and donuts or sweet rolls from the attached bakery and lunch was also simple – a few kinds of sandwiches and homemade soup.

Soup wasn’t a particularly new thing for my mom. As we grew up, she occasionally made us soup for a simple dinner or maybe a lunch treat. I remember she made vegetable beef soup with a beef shank that was absolutely delicious. I don’t think any of us have her recipe for that soup (because frankly she probably never had a recipe), but man I would like to have a bowl of it right this minute.

Anyhoo, under the direction of my mother, the Gloor Bakery Coffee Shop offered homemade soup, each day a different kind. Not endlessly different, but 10 or 12 kinds of soup that she rotated. I remember people stopping by the coffee shop in the morning to see what the soup-of-the-day was for that day, or calling to ask. Everyone had their favorite.

The soups truly were homemade from scratch. Each and every afternoon (except Saturday), Mom would make a big pot of soup for the next day. I’m sure at first this was kind of fun. After all, nothing smells better than soup simmering on the stove.

I’m here to tell you, however, that the fun wore off rather quickly and changed into drudgery. I hope that I don’t shock any of you when I tell you that my mother began referring to her soup as her “f***ing soup” as in “I’ve got to go make my f***ing soup for tomorrow.” Petite and pretty as she was, she could cuss right up there with the best of them!

And man-oh-man, was her soup ever good. She made Cream of Broccoli (which she called Broccoli Soup and I posted her recipe previously – also meatless by the way, which many of her soups were), Cream of Cauliflower, Cream of Asparagus, Clam Chowder, Beef Chili, Green Chili, Vegetable Beef, Potato, Ham-and-Bean, Minestrone, and for those warm summer THREE days or so, Gazpacho. I’m probably forgetting a few, and I’m sure my siblings will remind me.

Even writing about them makes me want to go cook up a pot of soup today. I only have her recipe for a few of them, unfortunately.

Here is a recipe I found for Chickpea Minestrone. As I write this, I’m 900 miles away from my mother’s Minestrone Soup recipe (one of the few soup recipes I have), but as a recall, her minestrone also contained chickpeas, pasta and no meat. However, this was a good version, and it comes from Vegetarian Times….

minestrone

Testing: One, Two, Three

abraham-tooking-isaac-to-mount-moriah-illustration-from-a-catechism-l-histoire-sainteFrom the time I was a little girl studying what was called Bible History at my Catholic elementary school, I always heartily disliked one story in the Bible. (It used to be two stories because it took me quite some time to get comfortable with the story of the Prodigal Son, but over the years, I’ve come to understand the meaning of that parable.)

The story that I continually struggle with, however, is the story in the Book of Genesis about God testing Abraham by asking him to sacrifice his beloved son Isaac. No matter how often I read that story, I can’t get comfortable with the idea of God feeling the need to test Abraham’s loyalty. It always sounded mean spirited and insecure, not at all like God.

The story of Abraham and Isaac was the Old Testament reading at Mass yesterday, much to my dismay. So I really tried to be open to the meaning of the story.

It is clear that Abraham fully trusted God in a way that isn’t easy to do. If God asked Abraham to do this oh-so-difficult thing, there must be a reason, or so Abraham firmly believed. And we all know that Abraham’s trust in God was justly rewarded and that the story has a happy ending (well, unless you’re the ram that took Isaac’s place!).

Trusting God with all your heart and soul isn’t easy. And Abraham wasn’t the only one who God tested. We know the story of Job and all of the obstacles he faced throughout his life. And for 40 years, the Israelites faced test after test as they wandered through the desert. Like the Israelites, we are faced with questions every day. Why did he get the promotion instead of me? Why can’t I have as much money as my neighbor? Even more difficult, why did my child become sick? The oft-heard-of why do bad things happen to good people?

Not all of those questions are answered as slickly and peacefully as in Abraham’s situation. Still, as our homilist Fr. Doug asked the congregation, how do you become courageous if you aren’t faced with situations in which you need courage? God tests us every day so that He can help us to become saints.

I hope I can always be as confident in God’s love as Abraham. And if anyone can help me understand the story of Abraham better, help me out!

On an unrelated note, I recently noticed that my Denver church, which has always been called Church of the Risen Christ, is now called Risen Christ Catholic Parish. This change peaked my curiosity, so I started googling Catholic churches with which I am familiar. Sure enough, every single one that I googled (which admittedly wasn’t that many) is calling itself (Fill in the Blank) Catholic Parish or Catholic Community. For example, the church we attend in Mesa is All Saints Catholic Parish. The church we attended before Bill and I married is now St. Vincent de Paul Catholic Parish.

The tweaked names must mean something. Here’s what I’m guessing: Catholic churches have never been big on “community building.” The focus has always been on worship and the Eucharist. I’m guessing that there is a concerted effort to focus a bit more on being a faith community, emphasis on community. If so, I think that is a positive move. Still and all, I can’t help but cringe a bit every Sunday when I’m asked to greet my neighbor and introduce myself.

You can take the Catholic out of the cradle, but you can’t make her drink (or some such mixed metaphor).

Saturday Smile: Colonel Mustard in the Library With a Hammer

We came back to Denver for a long weekend because we have missed our family. It has been hovering around 75 degrees with clear skies in Arizona. As Bill told someone yesterday, “We wanted to get away from the nice weather for a few days.”

Here’s what our back yard looks like in Denver…..

backyard snow

But despite the frigid temperatures, it has been awesome to see the family. The grandkids (at least some of them) gathered as soon as we got there…..

grands gathered

I spent part of yesterday watching 4-year-old Mylee and 9-month-old Cole while Mommy and Daddy went to an appointment. Cole slept, but Mylee began bringing out games. Her favorite was Clue Junior. From what I could tell, she has no idea how to play the game, so her version was largely about setting up the board and assigning positions. It then involved a roll of the die which led to hopping madly around the board in no particular order.

mylee clue

I also got to see 11-year-old Addie practice for her upcoming school play Shrek.

And we’ve only been here a couple of days.

Have a great weekend.

 

Friday Book Whimsy: Home is Where My People Are

searchSophie Hudson writes about what she knows best – her family and friends, her spirituality, and her southern roots.

And in Home is Where My People Are: The Roads That Lead Us to Where We Belong, her second book, Hudson takes us along on her journey from childhood to being a grown up, including all of the bumps along the way. At times, I laughed out loud. At other times, I cried at a particularly poignant story. The book is eminently readable.

As in her first book, A Little Salty to Cut the Sweet, this book is a series of short tales about her life, a life that is probably not a lot more interesting than ours, but a helluva lot funnier because of Hudson’s clever perspective.

Hudson’s objective, or at least what I perceive as her objective, is to illustrate how our friends and family impact us in ways we don’t even realize at the time. Home is not just four walls that keep you warm and dry; it is the people who make you feel loved and teach you how to be a kind and productive adult just from knowing them. It is your family. But it is also your friends and your neighbors and your priests or ministers and your teachers.

As many of us did, Hudson struggled some in figuring out her relationship with God, and the people she met throughout her life have led her to a point where she is comfortable. The book, frankly, focuses a lot on her strong love of God, so if this isn’t your cup of tea, don’t bother reading it. She, however, doesn’t preach. She simply tells her story.

We met and came to love her family in her first book, and love them even more after her second. We see a side of her that is both unexpected and familiar. Hudson’s writing is so darn funny that you wish she was your best friend so that you could call her up and tell her about this funny book you just read.

I think that’s the sign of a good writer.

Buy Home is Where My People Are from Amazon here.

Buy Home is Where My People from Barnes and Noble here.

Buy Home is Where My People from Tattered Cover here.

Buy Home is Where My People from Changing Hands here.

E-Gads, Part II

booksI was at the gym the other day, walking fast on the treadmill and totally absorbed in I am Pilgrim (a book I will review at a later date). Suddenly I realized there was someone leaning on my treadmill, and I had to come back to real life (not easy to do from the terrifying life I was living from being so caught up in I am Pilgrim). I was reading on my Ipad.

It was a 70-something woman trying to catch my attention.

“I see you here at the gym all the time,” she said, “and I notice you are always reading from your Ipad.”

She went on to tell me that she has a new Ipad which she is struggling to learn to use. She began questioning me about reading from this unfamiliar device.

Do you like it? Is it expensive? Where do you get your books?

I told her I read almost exclusively from my Ipad, having both Kindle and Nook apps loaded. I further explained that it could, of course, be expensive, though an electronic new release book is substantially less expensive than a full-price (read, non-Costco) hard cover book.

“But I get a lot of my books from the library,” I told her.

She asked me lots of questions about library e-books, and I tried to answer them, but suggested she visit her local library to get really good answers from the librarians instead of my probably largely incorrect answers.

You see, once Bill gave me a Nook for Christmas, I was hooked. Being a voracious reader, it gives me great pleasure to know that right there on that contraption I am holding in my hot little hand, I have book after book at the ready. Surprisingly, I get as much satisfaction from that as I always got from looking at a stack of books on my dresser.

I KNOW. I can’t believe it either.

I know all of the downfalls of reading electronically. You probably shouldn’t take it down to the beach or the swimming pool. When I have to leave my treadmill to, well, you know, I have to ask Bill to watch my Ipad so it doesn’t get stolen. No one would be interested in my tattered books. There have been stories as of late that the backlighting from books on the Ipad may cause sleeplessness. Perhaps most disappointing of all, you can’t share books with others as you can paper books.

And most creepy, someone (Jeff Bezos? Larry Page? Sergey Brin? Homeland Security? Barack Obama?) keeps track of what I’m reading. And what I’m highlighting. I know this because when I’m reading a library e-book, the book will tell me how many other people have highlighted that same section. Please don’t tell me that. It creeps me out.

But the fact that Google knows where I am all of the time and has a good idea of all of my interests and activities is something I’m simply becoming used to. And Them (whoever “Them” are) knowing what I read isn’t terribly problematic unless I’m reading porn or how to build a nuclear device in my basement. Which I’m not.  And I am waiting for my phone call from Homeland Security any minute since they undoubtedly read Nana’s Whimsies.

But despite any downsides, there is one thing about reading an e-book that I love most of all and is the main reason I will continue reading them until there is proof positive that if you read e-books long enough, you’re eyeballs shrivel up and fall out of your head. I love the feature that allows me immediate access to definitions and Wikipedia. I probably use that feature 20 or 30 times in each and every book I read. There is always something I don’t understand, and heaven knows there are always words for which I don’t know the meaning.

And someday I will tell you about me and my love affair with Wikipedia.

So, do you read on e-readers or are you a faithful paper book reader?

E-Gads, Part I

blurry ipadWhen Bill and I took our three month tour of Europe back in 2008, one of my biggest concerns was just how I was going to have access to books for the entire trip. I read A LOT! Probably at least a book a week.

I packed up a box of books and sent it to the hotel in Galveston, TX, where we stayed the night before we got on the cruise ship that took us over to Barcelona where our adventure began. Even though I didn’t pack a single hard cover book, it still weighed a LOT. My idea was that I would consider the books to be dispensable. That meant as I was reading them, I would tear out and dispose of the pages I’d already read, thereby making the box increasingly lighter.

Except I found I simply couldn’t destroy a book.

So I went to Plan B. I would simply leave books behind when I’d finished them. Perhaps a hotel staff person could read English and would take the books. Or, if there was a used book store, I would take them there.

That didn’t work either. I did manage to leave some books behind. However, in fear of running out of reading material, any time I came across a bookstore that sold English language books, I bought a couple. Or I would read the book and like it so much that I simply couldn’t leave it behind (because heaven forbid I would purchase a second copy when I got home).

Right before we left on our trip, Amazon began presenting a new-fangled contraption called a Kindle. Despite being a technological neophyte who clings to 19th Century inventions, I could full-out see the advantage this so-called Kindle could have for our trip. They were expensive (as new technology always is), but the price didn’t matter. What did matter, however, was that they were so popular that they were on back order and I wouldn’t be able to acquire one for several months. Too late for my purposes.

So, as I said above, I packed the box of books. And at each stop on our tour – and we saw a lot of things and spent time in a lot of different places – Bill would have to haul out that box of books to carry into our hotel. God bless my husband. He never complained.

We no sooner got home, however, than Bill – who embraces any new technology – got his first e-reader, a Sony, I think. It was rudimentary. Difficult to load books, no back lighting thereby often requiring a book light to read, not a lot of memory. I, on the other hand, clung to my paper books. Don’t get me wrong. I wasn’t self-righteous about it. But on the occasions when he would be trying to find his place in the book (remember, it was rudimentary), I would say, “Look, Bill. Here’s my bookmark,” as I quickly opened the book to my place. It was flat-out hilarious as you can imagine. His sides hurt from laughing.

But then people besides my technology-loving husband began buying e-readers. Jen, for instance. What’s more, she was loving it.

Again, I tried really hard to not be self-righteous. To each his/her own, I told myself. I simply couldn’t imaging not reading a paper book. And being a serious Library user, I couldn’t imagine not borrowing books from the library for free. Seriously? You pay for every book?

And then Bill bought me a Nook for Christmas. I think it might have been 2011.

I loved it immediately. Tomorrow, I’ll tell you why.

The Meat of the Matter

Ingredients for a simple and delicious meatless meal.

Ingredients for a simple and delicious meatless meal.

As a so-called cradle Catholic, I’ve always been puzzled at the concept of abstaining from meat on Fridays. When I was a child, we couldn’t eat meat any Friday of the year. At some point in the mid-60s I think, the Church rule changed to what it is today – abstaining from meat on Fridays in Lent only.

What’s always puzzled me is, why meat? Why not something else? Why not coffee, or meat and fish, or alcohol, or bubble gum. Well, maybe not bubble gum as I don’t think there was such a thing as bubble gum in the middle ages.  There is some thought that a long, long time ago in a galaxy far, far away, the Catholic Church was trying to help out the struggling fishing industry. I don’t know if that is true or not, though according to the internet – which as you know, never lies – that is very possibly the case.

The reason this puzzles me so is that not eating meat on Fridays is absolutely no sacrifice for me. In fact, I love that I finally have an excuse to cook fish to serve to Bill, for whom giving up meat IS actually a sacrifice.

And furthermore (and I’m really starting to get nervous about a bolt of lightning), not eating meat on Fridays has the oh-so-slight resemblance to the hypocrites, about which I have been so focused this Lenten season. Look at me. I’m a Catholic. I’m not eating meat on Fridays. My conclusion is that while I may go to hell, it won’t be because I ate a piece of meat on Friday during Lent. Not that I have, mind you.

Having said all of that, I have been furiously posting nonmeat recipes on Pinterest and googling simple and tasty vegetarian fare so that I can have something to place in front of my hungry husband each Friday. As an aside, (and I know I have mentioned this before) back in the days when we couldn’t eat meat on any Friday, I remember my mom and dad staying up until midnight Friday night so that my mom could fry a skinny steak for my dad, who apparently believed he couldn’t go to work with only salmon casserole in his tummy. God bless them both.

As a service to my Catholic readers or anyone else interested in occasional vegetarian eating (and also to break the monotony of my seemingly endless blabbering on about my wholly uninteresting life) I am going to post non-meat recipes each week during Lent. For one day a week for the next 40 days and 40 nights, I’m going to pretend I’m a cooking blog.

God help us all.

When my son Court was small and my parents were both still living (I know you are all now saying, “I thought she wasn’t going to talk about herself!”), we used to meet at the Old Spaghetti Factory in Denver.  I have so many fond memories of mclains spaghetti factorythe times we spent there. And my memories continue, as it still is such a fun place to eat, especially when you have kids. We recently ate dinner at the Spaghetti Factory around Christmastime when our Vermont family was visiting. No one minded that there were a few kids running around and the volume was somewhat elevated.

Every time I have eaten at the Spaghetti Factory – every single, solitary time – I have ordered the same thing. It is called Pot Pourri, which is a sampler of their spaghetti with meat, marinara, clam, and mizithra cheese and browned butter.

The truth is, I don’t know why I don’t just order spaghetti with mizithra cheese, spaghetti mizithraas that is the one I like the most. I think it’s because I like to have a bit of the red sauce to mix into the cheese.

Here is the method  for making Old Spaghetti Factory’s spaghetti with mizithra cheese and browned butter. The most important thing is to make sure the butter is nicely browned. Not just melted, but browned. And lots of cheese.

spaghetti browned butter mizithra cheese 2

Voila. A perfect Friday dinner.

 

 

Other Cheek

Jesus on cross

This is crucifix that hangs in Santa Croce in Gerusalemme, a beautiful basilica in Rome. The crucifix is very moving as the depiction of the crucifixion is likely much more realistic than what we usually see. It literally made me cry when I first saw it. This is what He had to endure so that my sins are forgiven.

Here we are, four days into Lent, and I’m lucky that I haven’t thrown my bum shoulder out of joint for all of the patting myself on the back that I’ve been doing. I have lived a simpler life, at least for the past four days. Aren’t I something? I am fulfilling my Lenten promise. I rock.

But at Mass yesterday, in his homily our deacon abruptly caught my hand at the wrist (figuratively speaking) and stopped all of my back patting by telling me that it isn’t important that I “give up” something for Lent; what I really need to do is “give in.”

We are all flawed human beings. Every single one of us. I am. Bill is. My brother and sisters are. My children and grandchildren are. My nieces and nephews are. We are flawed because we are human. That’s why God sent his Son to die an excruciating death. So that our sins are forgiven. Our sins that result from the fact that we are human. And so we are flawed. See how that works?

We need, said Deacon Gordon, to “give in” to God. Live our lives as He wants us to live. Love each other. All the time. Not just when people are behaving the way you want them to behave. All. The. Time.

Isn’t it remarkable that God loves me even when I don’t live my life the way he wants me to? Even when I use His name in anger. Even when I ignore people in need. Even when I don’t love my neighbor as myself, one of only two things Jesus — during his short life — really told us we need to do. Love God and love your neighbor.

And here’s me, dutifully going to Mass each Sunday, giving money to my church, giving up something hard for Lent, calling myself a devout Catholic, and forgetting to do something as simple as forgiving my neighbor.

Shame on me. Shame on any of us who let human things divide us from those we love. There is nothing more important than our family and friends, except for our love of God. And if you properly love God, you will love your friends and family, despite their faults.

What I came to realize as I thought about Deacon Gordon’s words was that forgiving someone doesn’t necessarily mean I think what they did was okay. But being angry really only hurts me. The other person gets a pass and I am imprisoned by my own fury. Forgiveness sets me free.

So I’m not giving up my Lenten resolution to live a simpler life. But I am going to be aware of the things that will bring me true joy. Not happiness, which is fleeting, but joy, which is deeper and longer-lasting.

As a final reminder (as if our deacon’s homily hadn’t hit home hard enough), towards the end of Mass, someone collapsed and had to be taken away in an ambulance. It was a startling reminder to me that life is short and unpredictable.

Our Father who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread and forgive us our trespasses AS WE FORGIVE THOSE WHO TRESPASS AGAINST US and lead us not into temptation but deliver us from evil.

 

Saturday Smile: Back in the Good Ol’ Days

Our 5-year-old grandson Joseph’s school in Montpelier, VT, celebrated the 75th anniversary of its founding this past week. As part of the festivities, his class dressed up in attire circa 1930.

joseph dressed 1930s

 

joseph 2

According to his mama, he was OBSESSED with getting his naturally curly hair styled perfectly straight. It required much hairspray. Finally, he conceded that there must have been people in the 1930s who had naturally curly hair.

For your information, there was no need to purchase new pants for the occasion. The pants he wore were his very own from when he was 3. Said our daughter, “Apparently he has only gained height, and no girth.”

Have a great weekend.

Friday Book Whimsy: The Violets of March

searchI love the title of this book – the first novel written by Sarah Jio, who has gone on to write six or seven more novels. And I have already admitted to frequently being drawn into a book simply by its cover or title.

The Violets of March is the story of Emily, newly divorced and trying to recover from this unexpected life change. Years back, she authored one bestselling novel, and has been unable to write another since. To once again find her equilibrium, she decides to spend the month of March visiting her beloved Aunt Bee on Bainbridge Island, across the sound from Seattle, where she had spent many happy summers.

As Emily settles in, she comes across a diary that introduces her to a mysterious love story from back in the 1940s, featuring an unknown woman named Esther, the diary’s author. She can’t stop reading, and eventually begins to learn that this story has a profound impact on her own life and the lives of those she loves. It explains many things about her life.

The book goes back and forth from Emily’s time on Bainsbridge Island to the 1940s, as Emily begins to put together some of the pieces of her own life.

The book is a romance novel, plain and simple. And there’s not a thing wrong with that. The descriptions of this lush island and the relaxed and friendly people who inhabit it caused me great enjoyment. The story was predictable, but quite frankly, I think part of its predictability was that I might have read the book before – a long time ago. It all sounded so familiar to me.

If you are looking for a pleasant and uncomplicated read, The Violets of March is for you.

Buy The Violets of March from Amazon here.

Buy The Violets of March from Barnes and Noble here.

The Violets of March from Tattered Cover here.

Buy The Violets of March from Changing Hands here.