How do you like them apples?

geriraedean

Where this day began was out in the yard watering my plants which are miraculously still alive on September 6.  Then the plan was to lock myself into my studio and slipcover cushions for eight hours but on my way back into the house I tripped over the 40 pound barrel of apples we picked on Tuesday night,  so, something had to be done with those.  I dug out my handy dandy vintage apple-peeler, corer and slicer with little hope that it would work for these mini apples.  It has its own temperament and usually plays coy but it was in fine form today.  It did everything it was supposed to with those little apples and then some and I decided I had better make an apple crisp  to see how the apples tasted when cooked.  Not all apples work for baking and I had no idea what kinds apples these were.  No name brand?  I didn’t want to waste the rest of the day making apple pies that nobody would eat.

When I first started making apple crisp for my husband in our first year of marriage the response was usually ‘this is not how my mom makes it”….”Maybe you should get her recipe”.  I should have slapped him but being the young submissive wife and eager to please I asked for Roses’ recipe and have never looked back.  It was delicious.  The main difference in the two recipes was that my mom’s recipe had oatmeal in it and Roses’ did not.  Ironically, my husband loves to eat oatmeal every morning of his life and usually does, so why there was a problem with it in the apple crisp I have no idea.  Simply because ‘this is not the way my mom makes it”?
I thought to myself (Louis and I like to think to ourselves)….I’m going  to reintroduce the oatmeal to my apple crisp.  Roses’ recipe with a little oatmeal added.  Those apples were so pleasing to the palate. Perfect for baking.  Just the right amount of tartness with a little sugar…ok, a lot of sugar!  This recipe was every bit as good as Roses’ and every bit as good as my mom’s.  I tweaked the family heirloom recipe to make it my own.
Now that I knew first hand that the apples were going to be great for pies I called up my mom to see if she had the day free and wanted to join me.  So much more pleasant spending the day in the kitchen with someone, especially mom.  I often wonder how many opportunities I will have to spend great days like this with my mom and I cherish our time together making memories.  We both love being in the kitchen whipping up something delicious.  We stopped for a Starbucks, put on our aprons, turned on Harry Connik Jr and mom started running apples through our secret apple weapon while  I began rolling out pastry.
We managed to get 14 pies and 2 apples crisps out of the apples.  I thought I hadn’t picked too many – as I had no idea if I would be able to use them but…14 pies. Not one apple left.  So now I am thinking of going back for more.
We are having guests  tomorrow night so I’ll  bake one of the crisps for dessert.  Naturally I had to make some homemade ice cream.  May as well do it up right.  I made some caramel pecan homemade ice cream to eat with the crisp.  That stuff is so decadent.  Real ice cream.  No preservatives or chemicals.  Just whole foods.  Eggs yolks,  sugar (well hello?  ice cream?) cream, whipped cream and whole milk, some caramel and pecans.  Nobody said it was low cal.  Its very rich with all that creme but its real food.  You can feel good about serving it and eating it (in moderation..yeah, yeah, yeah).   It seems when I make the ice cream, we fight over it.  How many bowls did you have?  Well I only got one.  None left? I didn’t realize I ate that much.  Fortunately, the only way to get the ice cream off the mixing paddle is with your finger.  So I get to lick my fingers which usually leads to a three spoon quality control . That means I end up tasting it and taking a new spoon for each taste…no double dipping. At this stage it’s soft serve ice cream but no one usually gets the benefit of that except me. There are perks to being the cook.

Not Another Cookbook…

geriraedean

The reason I changed the name of my blog to ‘The Red Plaid Apron’ is because…..I am writing a cookbook.  An inspirational, lifestyle, artistic cookbook.  I’m writing it because I have a story to tell.  Well, we all do but most just don’t have the inclination to put it down in sentences.  But I want to share my story because I have so enjoyed reading the stories of others.  Especially the real, honest, poignant, strong, encouraging stories of women of faith. Some didn’t start out in faith but found their faith through along the way.   As I read their words and stories  I realize that we are all on similar journeys and we all have something to offer.  Sharing your story makes you feel ‘less alone’ and more ‘understood’.  And I’m going to do it with food.

As I have shared previously, I love to eat and I love to make food.  What can I say?  It’s one of my languages of love…even to myself.  So I am on quest to make better food.  ‘Good for you’ food.  Food as medicine.  But also food as love and nourishment.  My motto is ‘all things in moderation’.  Well that actually hasn’t been my motto at all.  My food motto has been more of “if a little is good then a lot must be wonderful”.  Not so much.  I’m starting to realize that all things in moderation will serve me better.  More wise words from a wise person are these  ‘All things may be permissible but are they beneficial?’

But back to my cookbook.  I’ve been collecting cookbooks from the discount table at the local book store for about a year and a half now and I have a wonderful collection.  I’m not planning on making all the recipes –  ever.  I bought them to read more as novels.  I only bought hardcovers.  I only bought cookbooks with stories about the people, the geography and food customs.  I only bought cookbooks with beautiful photography.  They had to be under $10.  I feel bad for the authors of those cookbooks because I am picking them up for $3 and $5 but I’m loving their books.  Maybe someday my Cookbook will be on the discount table.  I don’t care.  I’m doing it anyway.  These books are now my inspiration and my education.

So I am going to spend the next sixteen months testing recipes and sharing my experiences with you on this blog.  Possibly making up recipes.  I’m going to resurrect and modify old family recipes that were my favorites growing up.  Most will be healthy but a few will be decadent.  All things in moderation.  One has to live, right?  And celebrate, right?  And I will do all of this wearing my Red Plaid Apron.  (There is a previous blog post about my red plaid apron).

In fact I started tonite.  My daughter and I have committed to eating much healthier.  It finally hit us…why are we abusing our bodies as we have been?  Do we feel great?  or even good?  A resounding NO.  We are feeling kind of Meh.  So we are committed to eating mostly whole foods as much as possible and nothing processed.  For the most part.  That is the goal.  So I promised her I would make homemade mayonnaise tonite. Because I can make it out of whole foods and then we can enhance other whole foods to our liking.  Well….I made two batches and broke them both.  One is not as broken as the other.  But they mean what they say when they tell you to use ‘light’ olive oil and ALL ingredients at room temperature.  This is key.  Oh…and if you are using a regular blender.  Make sure its turned off before taking the lid off.  Unless you like to have homemade mayo in your hair.

I also clarified some butter. This does not mean I gave it a lecture.  It means that I melted the butter and skimmed off the frothy white dairy portion for those that don’t do dairy.  Seriously you can barely tell the difference when you are eating baked potatoes.  YUM.  Or popcorn…which I am trying to limit as corn, apparently, was never meant for humans.  When I think of the prodigal son eating with the pigs, I’m thinking it couldn’t have been that bad if they were eating corn.  I love corn.  However, the body doesn’t digest corn.  How do I know this?  Do you have to ask?

Finally…I finally made Alfredo cheese sauce out of cashews.  I’ve been meaning to do this forever.  I have to admit I was skeptical.  Cheese flavor from cashews?  I felt the same way Mike does when I tell him that portobello mushrooms taste like steak.  But it really is awesome.  I added quite a bit of real garlic because…flavor. I sauteed the onions before I put them in as well because…well, flavor.  Lemon juice to take the cashew flavor away.  I even used nutritional yeast.  I can’t even believe I had that in the house but I did and I used it.  Not sure what that contributed.  Feel free to enlighten me if you are wise about these things.

Tomorrow’s adventures with food….I have a barrel full of small apples I picked from a friends yard that I have to do something with..stay tuned

Change is Inevitable.

geriraedean

I have chosen to give my blog a new look.  The reason for this is that I am in the process of giving my life a new look.  I’ve finally decided, after much deliberation, that I would start living my best life.  What am I waiting for?  I am 61.  Probably in the last third of my life.  Why not go out with with grace and a legacy?  I’ve been holding back and back peddling in regards to my life because……well that is a very good question.  Why am I not just charging forward and living the best life I can?

For so long I have listened to voices that tell me, you can’t do that.   You don’t deserve that.  You can’t have that.  You can’t go there.  You can’t think that.  You can’t believe that. That’s too dangerous. That’s too scary.  That’s too risky.  That’s impossible.  That’s foolish.  That’s not practical.  You don’t have time.  You don’t have talent.  You don’t have skill.  You don’t have education.  You don’t have influence.  You don’t have fame.  You reached your peak…its all downhill from here.  It can’t be all down hill from here.  I can’t have reached my peak because I feel I’ve barely begun.

So no more sitting in the corner waiting for someone to ask me to dance.  No more waiting for the report card looking for A+’s with honors.  No more fear of the pink slip.  No more thinking someone else cares about my dreams and goals and wants to make them happen.  No more letting people and life intimidate me.  I want to be the Proverbs 31 woman that is clothed in strength and dignity and can laugh at the days to come.

Its time.  I think the older a woman gets the less tolerance she has for not getting it right.  Less tolerance for not getting what she wants from life.  The less tolerance she has for toxic people and ideals and anything that is dragging her down.  At least that seems to be my experience.   I’m not willing to sit back and let life happen and just react to whatever it throws my way.  To pick up the pieces of lost dreams and a broken and bruised heart.

So I am attacking every area of my life.  No stone will be left unturned.  My creative skills and calling.  My health.  My relationships.  My finances.  My time.  My ministry.  My legacy.  What am I leaving as a legacy? That is the most important item.

I always start of each New Year with a word from the Word. This year that word was stewardship. I’ve got four months to get  my stewardship  act together…. or a lifetime.

One of Steven Covey’s principles in the 7 Habits of Highly Effective People is to ‘begin with the end in mind’.  He even goes as far as to suggest a person writes their own Eulogy.  What do you want people to say about you when you are gone?  How do you want others to honor and remember you?  Then that is how you should live your life (with the end in mind).  Its not morbid at all…its wise.  None of us is getting out of here alive.

 

 

 

 

Embracing the Seasons

geriraedean
You knew it was coming.  Because if you know me at all, you know that I am like an old Jewish God follower that celebrates everything.  I do mean everything, not just what God has done for me (although that is priority) but everything I love including certain seasons.  I do not even know how I became such a person.  Because I am not sure that anyone in my family is like this and truth be told, that is not really how we were brought up.  But I digress….
People love to talk about the weather.  Weather is a universal language. Weather is a conversation starter.  People from different cultures or demographics can always find some commonality to strike up a conversation by talking about the weather because its something everyone has to deal with.  Rich or poor, sick or well, joyful or depressed, employed or not, working or on vacation we all have an experience and opinion on the weather.
I would like to point out first and foremost that we do not control the weather.  None of us can control the weather.  Only the Creator has control of the weather and I am not so sure that once He set it in motion He doesn’t just let it develop on its own (Unless of course someone like Elijah prays that it won’t rain for three and a half years and has a very good reason). We get up everyday and the weather is what it is.  So don’t get mad at me if its snowing in September just because I happen to like snow.  I HAD NOTHING TO DO WITH IT. I also happen to love walking through the fallen leaves in September and October and listen to them crunch under my boots as I pull my cozy sweater in closer to my body and breath in the chill air.  Again….I did not go shake all those trees so the leaves would fall off and I had nothing to do with them turning color and I did not turn the environments thermostat down either.  By the way, I also didnt  invent Pumpkin Spice Lattes , but I’m sure glad someone did.
In the same way, I do not get angry at the population that sucks up hot, humid, stifling temperatures like its life giving oxygen (well I guess it actually is)  when I have to dress professionally and modestly and go about my business in that kind of heat.  It is what it is.  I do not like it one little bit,  but its not their fault.  So live and let live already. If you believe in global warming and that we, as irresponsible human beings are making it happen, and you secretly love this phenomenon, then do more of that stuff that’s allegedly making it happen.  I know nothing about global warming except that, by definition, it appears that the entire earth is getting hotter and hotter.
So even though fall and winter are my personal favorite seasons, I can totally appreciate the glorious summer.  This past spring (AKA longish winter spilling over into April) I have to admit I was ready for some warm heat to kiss my face and my toes were desperately aching to be free.  When the estranged summer finally  hit,  it hit with a vengeance.  And lollygag I did,  at outdoor patios drinking my version of coffee and leisurely lunching with whomever I could enlist to take the afternoon off and just enjoy the wonderful sunshine and warm Greek-ish breeze in one of my off the shoulder dresses.   I’m hesitant to confess that I found it very refreshing and relaxing to leave the house without a coat and to make use of my wardrobe of sandals.  Ahhh….bare feet. I was also longing for water.  I wanted to hear the waves crashing against a shore…any shore.   I wanted to feast my eyes on azure blue green water.  I wanted to paddle out to the middle of a lake and just drift and listen to the loons and herons.  Memorize the  majesty of the mountains covered with green evergreens and ponder the blue sky with its fluffy white clouds floating magically in place. Summer sounds of lawn mowers and motor boats hypnotize me into believing all is well with the world.  Sunglasses, straw hats, beach towels and flip flops become the clutter that take over the house, the cottage, the trailer or tent. Bike rides through the park and late night trips, with the car windows rolled down, to fetch a rootbeer float become wonderful memories. My favorite cool is sticking my leg out of the covers on a hot summer night.
But now fall has descended…like it or not.  It IS September and this puts me in a giddy,  all things are possible, mood. I’ve read the Farmers Almanac, I know whats coming in a few months and my heart still leaps within me. September had always meant new beginnings to me.  Much more so than January.  January doesn’t feel like the start of anything new. I was always entranced by the promise that September held.  New school year.  A chance to become someone new.  We moved a lot so very often I was going to a new school and making new friends. September was a chance to turn over a new leaf (pun intended).  A chance to start over. A chance to reinvent myself.  New pencils and notebooks.  New clothes. New activities.  If I had blown it last school year I could begin again.  The weather is still wonderful so you don’t have that to contend with and you can focus on goals and ambitions.  You can walk through the parks and not be uncomfortably hot or uncomfortably cold.  Its a ‘just right’ season and its weird how this season of things dying can be so incredibly gorgeous at the same time.  I love the amenities of cooler weather.  The sweaters and the leggings and the boots. The pumpkins and the Farmers Markets and the harvest.  The rolls of hay in the field.  The multi colored trees on the hills.  The darkness settling in earlier causing you to press into home.  Into homemade casseroles and soups.  Into evenings by the fire.  Reading in your pajamas.  I have always been a fan of canning and quilting and getting ready for the winter.  And of course, their is Christmas.  Don’t even get me started on Christmas.
I know the winter is coming.  But seriously…that first snowfall.  You know you secretly love it.  Snow is a miracle from heaven.  I cannot even.  I know it means bundling up and white knuckling your way through traffic but …silver lining… we don’t have creepy bugs and hurricanes and tsunamis.  I grew up on the prairies and in the frozen north and winter was not something we could wish away.    We didn’t have the financial means to flit off to a warmer climate for vacation (especially with a family of 9) so we had to embrace the winter.  We didn’t have the luxury of not doing so.  So I learned to love winter clothes (stupid bikini weather – I wasn’t one of the 5 girls in the world that looked great in a two pieces of colored dental floss anyway). We learned to skate and to ski.  I even learned to make an igloo on a school field trip into the wilderness (and slept in it). I didn’t grow up with a fireplace in our home but I have one now and it is a blessed thing.  My favorite warmth is sitting by the fireplace with a hot beverage in hand, wearing my cozy flannels, listening to Bing and reading a novel. Oh yes….and its snowing outside.
Just because I like fall and winter doesn’t mean we can’t be friends.  It doesn’t invalidate your hate of these seasons or your love of summer.   Its merely my preference and I feel it we are going to have the four seasons anyway then why not embrace the best of each.  Its not summer vs. winter.  Its life in Canada.  And I’m not in control of the seasons….I just like to write about them.

In the Wee Small Hours of the Morning

geriraedean
In the wee small hours of the morning, when the whole wide world is fast asleep, you lie awake and think about the girl ( and the boy, and the husband and the bank account and all the tasks you have to do, and the state of affairs in your life and the world at large ) and never, ever think of counting sheep.
I am our night time security. Why get an alarm system? Between my son, Andrew and I there is usually someone up all night anyway.
I’ve become a patron of the night.   It’s not really the wisest choice healthwise. I know this. But I keep staying up anyway. Is it because I have adult kids at home that are always up late? Perhaps. Sometimes this is the only time I get to talk to them. Is it because very often they are not home and I am waiting up for them?  Sure.   Is it because I am busy doing things that should have been done in daylight hours? Sometimes. Often I am getting ready for some event and I am up making pies or cookies or cakes and cupcakes. Sometimes I’m making cards and banners.  Often I’m waiting for laundry.  Or maybe, its just because I can.  I don’t have to go to bed early and feel FOMO because I don’t have to get up at 5:30 anymore.  Mostly I am holding a book in my hand or my iPad (opened to Pinterest) and dozing in my favorite chair in the living room as I pretend to listen to Ella, Frank or Louis serenade with their smooth musical stylings.
When I finally do crawl into my soft, warm, comfy bed next to my snoring husband, I am SO grateful for the privilege of being able to do so.  Why don’t I do it earlier?   Very often its been a great day and I don’t want it to end.  Sometimes I wonder if I think I’m stopping time by stalling the next days arrival.  If I’m not dozing then I actually am reading, which I cherish and I just don’t seem to find time during my hectic unemployed days to read.  I’m too busy squandering time doing other OCD tasks.
I think my subconscious is telling me this is ‘my’ time.  This is the only time that really belongs to me and no other.  I’ve grown accustomed to the night sounds or lack thereof.   If I’m doing laundry, buying groceries, cleaning, organizing, out with my mother, running errands, out with friends (I will always drop everything to go for coffee (and I don’t even drink coffee))or even creating and working – by day, it feels like that is all done for someone else and I certainly don’t mind it at all.  But the night…the quiet, peaceful, restful, dark night draws me into its arms and there I snuggle up and rest in its reverie.
The darkness is easier on the eyes.  I also find that I can’t get into too much trouble in the night.  I so enjoy the warmth of lamplight and the fireplace which are much more conducive to night.  Its like sitting around the campfire without the smell of smoke permeating your hair and clothes and without the off-key campfire sing songs.  Of course,  I only love this whole nighttime thing when I am inside my blessed, warm, safe, cozy home, sitting in my favorite chair, dressed in my jammies and a cozy sweater (in the winter) with a cup of soothing, steaming beverage in my favorite mug, in hand.
But finally, I succumb to the call of my mattress (missing box springs and all) and crawl in and feel a sense of euphoria as my body is so glad to get rid of the weight of itself.  I hear my husbands breathing.  I listen to the sway of the aspens in the wind outside my window. And I count my blessings before I fall into a deep, other worldly sleep and all the muscles of my body breath a sigh of relief as does my weary heart. And the nighttime finally begins its healing.

Field of Dreams

geriraedean

Its taken me a very long time to get to this place but I’m finally here.  It rather reminds me of our trip to Sun Peaks on the August long weekend.  First a 3.5 hour wait on the highway due to an accident and then a tire blowout and spending the night in the car in a parking lot at Rogers Pass and creeping along from town to town in the morning looking for the just right size tire for our vehicle.  We eventually found the tires we needed, three towns down and finally made it to my aunts lake lodge and had a wonderful four days on the water. But who knew it would take so long to get there?

Its been the same with me and my creativity.  I can’t believe how long its taken me to realize that creating is my life now.  Its something I have dreamed of for many years as I sat at my personally decorated desk in a corporate office, sending emails, filling out expense reports, updating spreadsheets, making travel arrangements, organizing meetings,  photocopying and scanning, covering off for reception etc. Because I am a person that makes the best of every situation, I loved my job.  Notice I didn’t call it a career. But I was always grateful for the opportunity to work for a living. I felt it was a blessing.   Always well aware of the fact that it is HE that gives us the ability to produce wealth.  I truly believe that God led me to each and every corporate office job I had – for such a time as that.  But now He is leading in a different direction.
I’ll tell you a little story.  Revelation is a better name for it.  I had spent the past fall and winter trying to replace my corporate job.  Mainly, because it was safe and predictable and paid the bills so to speak.  Although, as those words come out of my mouth I realize that really it was none of those things – based on the fact that it was taken away just as fast as it was given.  My livelihood was at someone else’s mercy.
I was getting very frustrated and discouraged as door after door slammed in my face.  Some people didn’t even open the door.  I just stood there knocking anyway.  I am ashamed to admit how thick my skull must be.  However, one Sunday in March, at our weekly morning service, a missionary was speaking.  My first reaction was….BORING.  I’ve been listening to missionaries since I attended and graduated from a 3 year Theology program  in my early 20’s.  I’ve heard it all.  I know missionary work is important work and people are called to the field and its a divine appointment.  But that doesn’t change the fact that I wasn’t interested in hearing this fellow’s story.  I wanted something I could apply to my very stagnant and confusing life.  So I began to make a TODO list for the coming week.
Next, he asked us to turn to II Kings 4 – Old Testament.  This is going to be dryer than I thought.  (Inspite of the fact that our regular pastor had made the Old Testament come alive for me in a way I never thought possible).  But this wasn’t our regular pastor.  He started reading the story of a Shunamite women whose husband had died (leaving a heap of debt) and the authorities coming to take her two sons into slavery to pay off the debt. She asked Elisha “What should I do?”.   Elisha said “What do you have in your house? What do you have in your possession?”  The Shunamite woman told him she really had nothing at all.   Nothing but a tiny vial of oil.  Elisha told her to send her boys out into the neighborhood and collect as many vessels as possible and then to go into her house and close the door and start pouring oil into the vessels.  She didn’t look at him like he was nuts (as I would have) she just did as he said.  Well she started pouring and every single one of those vessels was filled and she still had some left.  She reported back to Elisha, in amazement and he told her to go and sell all the oil (Obviously a  hot commodity back then) and to pay off her debts and live off the rest.
Well my ears perked at “What do you have in your house?  What do you have in your possession?”  It was as if the missionary (or God himself)  had a megaphone pointed in my direction and was saying  “Geri.  What do you have in your house?  I know you have a basement bulging to the max with creative supplies and you have a desire to create and you’ve been given the skills – what are you waiting for?”   Why are you knocking on doors that are never going to open to you??  Get busy and start creating.  Use whatever you have and just start.  And in between the lines I read ‘and HE will bless my efforts’ and make it all worthwhile’. Pay off my debts and live off the rest.  AND DO WHAT YOU LOVE.  What you are good at. The movie Field of Dreams comes to mind, Build the field and they will come.
There are days when I wonder if anybody could use or even want what I could create or offer. Am I good enough?  Do I have what it takes?   But that’s not my portfolio.  My orders were to just start creating.  I often mentioned to family and friends that if someone locked me in the basement for a year, I would never get bored.  There is so much to do.  So much I want to do.  So much I want to create.  It can be overwhelming at times.  Now the trick is to organize my thoughts, plans and start making.
I’ve started deleting all the corporate job opportunities that land in my email. If anyone, genuinely trying to be helpful, gives me a lead that does not involve using my creative skills, I politely say “No thank you.  I’m good”. I know what I am supposed to be doing.  I must rise above the fear of failure.  I must talk myself out of insignificance and unworthiness.  I must not give into procrastination or become overwhelmed.  Just  create it and they will come.

Kitchen Therapy

geriraedean
I was lingering in my studio scribbling thoughts into my journal, updating my written daytimer, looking for ideas I had saved on Pinterest, listening to Spotify and feeling restless.  My extended vacation had come to an end. Somehow my sister and I had turned two weeks together into what was really like 6 weeks together. Me at her place for two weeks…two weeks each of us at home doing our thing but keeping in touch regularly due to our renewed connection, followed by almost two weeks of her coming here.  During her time out west we spent 5 days at my aunts lovely cottage at Sun Peaks.  Its been a full summer up until now.  Not that I don’t have work to do.  I do.  I am keeping busy working on other peoples furniture, baking for their life events and decorating and sewing etc. The odd day at an engineering firm.   But I was restless.  I felt like I had to do something to calm my spirit.  So I decided to make my way to my kitchen and see what I could cook and/or bake for my people.  It felt like I hadn’t  done anything for them for a long time. Well….because I haven’t. So often they smell wonderful aromas in the kitchen and get all excited and I have to tell them “this isn’t for you”.  It was their turn.
I pretended I was a farm wife for the rest of the day.  Donned my red plaid apron.  Clipped my hair back.  Washed my hands.  Fixed myself a cool drink, turned on Ella, browsed my collection of cookbooks and began to make the biggest mess you have ever seen.  I believe I dirtied every pot, pan, utensil and kitchen appliance I have.
I wanted to make some bread.  There is just something about homemade bread. So I decided to whip up a loaf or four.   Well one doesn’t really whip up bread. It’s actually a caring, nurturing task with many stages but the results are well worth the effort. Just to present a fresh, homemade loaf of bread to my peeps. It’s right up there with being a surgeon-almost.
During one of the breads rising stages I began to make chicken pot pie.  I wanted to make good use of some frozen pie pastry. While the pastry was thawing I cooked up all the elements of the filling. Using ingredients like chicken (naturally), potatoes (I’d never put potatoes in this before), carrots, sauteing onions and celery and herbs.  Making a creamy, chicken broth roux.  I could have eaten the filling in a bowl and ditched the pastry but I’m a pastry gal at heart and usually devour anything wrapped in this flaky, buttery shell.   I had enough filling and pastry to make three pot pies. One for tonite, one for later and one to give away.  Sorry, it’s already spoken for. I’m taking a meal to a friend recuperating from surgery so….however, my own family came down to see what smelled so good and we’re delighted there was one for them.
The bread was coming along nicely and I couldn’t wait to pop those loaves in the oven and fill the house with the aroma of homemade heaven. I turned a couple of loaves into cinnamon raisin.  Next time I’m going to try sugar bread.  That’s where you actually put sugar cubes into the dough and bake them in, says the girl that’s supposed to be weening herself off the addictive substance.  I still like to call myself a girl. Is that OK if your 61?  Women are people I see at airports and at church and at law firms and reading the news on TV at night, running entire countries. Not girls baking bread in their modest kitchens and enjoying it.
Since I was already surrounded by mess, I figured I would make some fresh pie pastry and make a few fruit pies to freeze, giving me the opportunity to work on my pie art.  It needed to chill so I found a spot for it in the fridge and went back to my bread.  And my oatmeal jar cookies.  I was making jars of oatmeal cookies by measuring all the dry ingredients into a quart jars and layering them.  When the whim hits us for fresh baked cookies we just add butter, eggs and vanila and voila.  By the time the Pot Pie and the bread was done and cooling and I managed to wash all the dishes, I was too tired to work on pie art so I guess that will be a project for another day.
This is another day and I think I’ll go bake a batch of those delectable little cookies. I’ll post the recipe soon.
PS  Just had another piece of  that chicken pot pie.  Scrumptious.  I am smitten with my new pastry recipe that I was given last fall to bake 70  pies and 30 dozen butter tarts.  (Its a secret.)  Is it wrong to love your own cooking???