by jphilo | Feb 29, 2012 | Recipes
Do you remember the meatloaf controversy generated by a comment made in the December 14 post? The one where I innocently stated my ambivalence toward meatloaf?
Well several people from both sides of the meatloaf controversy made comments about my predilection, but one particular comment caught my attention. It was from my cousin Karen. She said she wasn’t a meatloaf lover either, but recommended a recipe from another of our cousins (there are 37 of us), Gail.
Karen sent the recipe, which I tried a few weeks ago. It received the coveted Hiram seal of approval with special commendation in the “best leftovers” category. Though it didn’t receive my seal, due to my continued and unrepentant ambivalence, it was the best meatloaf I have ever tasted. Give it a try and leave a comment!
Gail’s Little Cheddar Meat Loaves
1 pound 93% lean ground beef
3/4 cup milk
1 egg
1/2 cup shredded cheddar cheese
1/2 cup chopped onion
1/2 cup quick cooking oatmeal
1 teaspoon salt
Preheat oven to 350 degrees. In a medium bowl, mix all ingredients together. Form into 8 mini loaves and place into a greased 9 x 13 pan.
Mix together 2/3 cup ketchup, 1 1/2 teaspoons mustard and 1/4 cup sugar. Drizzle over mini loaves. Bake 45 – 60 minutes.
Note: Karen says she always makes and bakes a double batch, then freezes the leftovers for fast meals.
by jphilo | Dec 12, 2011 | Family
My state is populated in large part by hard-working, low-emoting, never-wear-your-heart-on-your-sleeve stock. Not a people given to big scenes and making themselves stand out in a crowd. So when my cousin, who also lives in this state, shared this link on FaceBook, I was surprised.
Seems that one particular college crowd, also in this state, is pushing the edges of the keep-your-eyes-to-the-ground mentality of their elders. The chorus from Simpson College, a private United Methodist College located south of Des Moines in Indianola, made their presence known last weekend.
They got plenty of notice last Sunday during their flash mob performance of the Hallelujah Chorus at Jordan Creek Mall in West Des Moines. One man in the crowd even started singing along. In my state, people like that are called exhibitionists. Proof of how these things can get out of hand and should be stopped.
But I didn’t stop it. I shared the link on my FB wall, and now several other people have shared it on their walls. And another of my cousins, also from this state, sent an email to all our cousins (and there are lots of them) with the YouTube link attached because guess what? Her son is in the Simpson College Chorus, and there’s a really good shot of him, singing away with his heart on his sleeve and emoting for all the world to see.
Click on this link to view the YouTube video. At the 57 second mark, pay close attention to the tall, bearded, handsome young man wearing a red Simpson College sweatshirt and his hands in his pocket. That’s my cousin’s son.
Believe me, all his hard-working, don’t-make-yourself-stand-out rellies are pleased as punch that he and the other members of the chorus didn’t follow their elders’ examples. In fact, I’m wishing I was brave enough to do something to spread Christmas cheer myself
Any suggestions?
by jphilo | Oct 19, 2010 | Family
Ahhh…home again after two days of interviews and speaking engagements, two nights in strange beds, and two drives through the countryside where farmers were harvesting at full tilt. Though my eyelids are drooping and my body can’t wait to rest on our mattress’s familiar bumps and lumps, my heart is grateful for the people who made this quick trip a treasure of joy.
First, my cousin and his wife opened their home to me Sunday evening. Catching up on life with the adults was grand, but catching up on kid stuff with their children was a gold mine of information. I am now fluent in Thomas the Tank lingo, northwest Iowa youth tackle football league play-offs, downloading MP3 files, or the alphabet song – thanks to their three boys (ages 12, 10 & 5) and their 3-year-old daughter.
Monday yielded its own delights. The morning’s walking trail wound past a farmer combining corn and the local grain elevator with its growing pile of Iowa corn. Later in the day, the professionals and parents in the special needs community who agreed to be interviewed for my book shared nugget after nugget of wisdom. Then my daughter, her husband and I went out to dinner to celebrate his new job.
Which brings us to this morning when I spoke at a service club in my hometown, sharing childhood stories and memories of the people who helped our family after Dad was diagnosed with MS. Afterwards a friend of my parents spoke to me. “Every time I visited your dad,” he said, “I left with more than I had given. It was impossible to visit him and not leave smiling, feeling good.” We looked at each other, our eyes bright with tears.
Home again, reliving the memory, I wonder if this dear man knows what his words mean to me. They the assurance that my father’s life mattered, that he is remembered, that he gave more than he was given. His words are my golden treasure.
And I am grateful.
by jphilo | Nov 16, 2009 | Family
After several weeks of travel and book promotion, I enjoyed a weekend at home. Not a lazy weekend, though. This one was jam-packed with so many simple sweet pleasures, I’m still on an emotional high. Here’s a brief rundown:
- A weekend visit with Anne and her boyfriend.
- A Saturday night supper with them, Hiram, and five of Anne’s college-aged cousins (part of the gang that was with us for Labor Day weekend), all hungry for home cooking.
- A game of Pictionary Telephone after supper that had us laughing until we cried and our abs were aching.
- A quick phone visit with our son. He’s been out of the monastery for almost a year, but I’m still filled with wonder and gratitude everytime we chat.
- Two walks, complete with sunny skies and the company of my husband.
But the most unexpected happiness came during Sunday morning worship, when I sat beside the most delightful five-year-old boy. He showed me the new hole in his sock. “I don’t know how it happened,” he confided.
I told him I have the same problem with my socks, and before long, we had bonded. Pretty soon he was sitting on my lap, and when we stood to sing, he hugged my leg. Then somehow, I was holding him, his skinny arms wrapped tight around my neck. I sang and he swayed to the music, both of us giving and receiving more than we expected.
In my younger days, I would have dismissed the moment, and all the delights of the weekend, as ordinary, hardly worthy to be remembered. But now I’m old enough to recognize how precious and rare are such sweet and simple expressions of love.
And I’m old enough to respond to a weekend overflowing with such lovely moments in as I should have all along: with a prayer of thanks, a grateful and humble heart, and an eye trained to watch for and recognize God’s grace in life’s sweet and simple pleasures.
by jphilo | Nov 13, 2009 | Daily Life
The weather was gorgeous last Saturday when I drove home from northwest Iowa. The farmers, unable to harvest their crops during our wet October, were out in force. Mile after mile, combines devoured the straight, rustling rows. Augers poured golden streams of corn and soy beans into waiting grain carts.
Sunset came and went, but the work continued. The powerful headlights of the farm machinery illuminated the darkness on both sides of the road. Even though I was wary, scanning the highway for slow-moving vehicles hauling the grain to storage, a deep peace enveloped me as I sped towards home.
The feeling was the same one I experience on days like today, the quiet housework days that tag along behind a string of hectic weeks. For some reason, a to do list of ordinary tasks, the rhythm of the washing machine, and the aroma of crockpot stew mingling with the scent of whatever’s baking in the oven speaks peace and contentment to my harried soul.
So today I am busy with mundane tasks, and anticipating this weekend’s visit with my daughter and her boyfriend. I’m looking forward to supper with them and several of Anne’s college-aged cousins on Saturday night. I’ve already made and frozen applesauce for them to take back to their apartments and dorms. Later today I’ll whip up pumpkin bread to send along, too.
But I hope to send more than just applesauce and pumpkin bread when they go. I want to pass on this harvest of contentment found in everyday life. I want to shower these young adults with the abundance of common delights God has rained upon my generation. I want to send this crop of men and women, our family’s precious hope for the future, wrapped in the ordinary goodness of fellowship, simple food, and home.
That’s a tall order for a supper with relatives, pumpkin bread, and applesauce. But it’s all I have to give. Somehow, I think, it could be enough.
