Two peas in a pod

Grandma and Grandson.
Mutual admiration.
And mutual love.

A cozy Christmas with a cozy book

Growing up there was one Christmas present I was particularly blessed to receive each year.

The gift of a new book!

My books were always carefully selected for me by my Grandma Esther. This grade achool teacher had a knack for knowing just what I’d like.

The topics were widely varied. One Christmas it was a simple tale about a laughing hyena, with detailed pen and ink drawings that made me giggle. But it still had a great message to share.

The next, I unwrapped a Betty Crocker cookbook just for kids. This little guide taught me how to make greasy, but gut filling grilled cheese sandwiches and the “best popovers ever,” according to Grandma.

But my favorite book of all was a children’s collection of poetry that Grandma tracked down just for me. After I’d moved away, the heavy dog eared book sat on a sagging bookshelf in my bedroom at Mom and Dad’s house. And it remained there for decades.

I’d often think about taking it, as Mom was encouraging my sister and I to move our ‘childhood things’ out of the old place. Yet I felt the book still belonged in my polka dotted bedroom, next to other old ‘friends’ still standing tall between the bookends.

I would find myself pulling out this treasury of poems to look up a favorite childhood limerick each time I’d visit, until Mom and Dad passed away and the house finally sold.

Yet maybe I’m still just a big kid.

My granddaughter’s the same age now as I was when Grandma Esther starting selecting the perfect books to put under my tree.

And I’ve just bought the perfect book for my special Granddaughter for this Christmas. It’s a simple tale about dogs, with beautiful illustrations, and an important message to share.

I’m thinking after the holidays when she comes over to make popovers, I may even show her my old poetry book.

That is if she lets me read her new dog book first.

Grandma Esther’s Angel Pie: Part 2

As requested, here is Grandma’s full Angel Pie recipe that I described in a post on Sunday. And of course,
it’s in Grandma’s own writing. She would have loved that I was able to share it.

Angel Pie

I think of Grandma Esther a lot in the summer as I often spent time at her home during my school breaks as a child. The last few months, as I turn off the kitchen light before turning in, my eyes have been fixating on Grandma’s Angel Pie (A.K.A, Lemon Meringue) recipe on my bulletin board.

Lemon Meringue was Grandma’s pie of choice, whether she baked it or someone else did. She was as passionate about it as she was her Lutefisk (one very pungent lye fish).

As for myself, I always opted for the chocolate cake as a kid. But as I’ve grown older, I appreciate her beloved pie as well (but I still say no to smelly fish).

Since I’ve had a craving for Grandma’s pie, I thought I’d bake one for the picnic at husband Richard’s group home last week. I knew that he and the other residents would love seeing the foot of fluffy white meringue a top the lemon filling. But I discovered I was missing one of the ingredients, Cream Of Tatar. I ended up buying a chocolate cake instead.

As I still had my lemon craving this weekend, I drove to the local Dairy Queen Drive-Up for a Lemon Meringue Blizzard. It was good, but it just wasn’t the same. So I went straight into the grocery next door and bought Cream of Tatar.

Looks like I’ll be baking for next month’s picnic.

Grandma would be so proud of me!

Snowballs in July

I love a pretty snowball bush in the summer. It makes me think of Grandma Esther’s old sleeping porch, and the many overnights spent out there. I’d wake up to the sound of the mourning doves by the old clothes line in back, and feel the beads of moisture from the humidity on my skin.

I’d open my eyes to the sight of another sunrise on the pristine white snowballs, hanging heavy on the bush.

I can almost smell the coffee and fresh buns, traveling on a light breeze from Grandma’s kitchen window. And there’s Grandma, taking a break from baking at her blue Formica and chrome table. Sipping coffee from her blue and white rose patterned china cup.

Oh, to be a kid again in the summer.

Donuts or Root Beer Floats? One tough choice

My uncle from California called today. We shared many memories. He told me how Grandma Esther couldn’t drive past a donut shop without stopping in for one, along with a cup of good, strong coffee. Maybe she was the inspiration for Dunkin’ Donuts?

I countered that she couldn’t drive by an ice cream shop serving root beer floats without stopping either.

Twenty minutes later I sat outside at a coffee shop with a donut and coffee, toasting Grandma. My uncle had planted the seed for my craving, and after all, the glaze looked so fresh!

Then I saw the ice cream store next door had just opened for the season, with a sign advertising root beer floats. Grandma would have been in her glory!