"Overdone and Undercooked" Newspaper Columns©

There is something funny going on around here.  When I realized the extra noise in the house was my lonely footsteps echoing hollowly on the bare floor, I recognized that I wasn’t quite ready for the silence that the first day of school brings.

Since the day has started, I have thrown myself at any brainless endeavor just to keep myself busy with an attack of monotony.  This way when I am stacking the plastic bowl lids in a standing position and watching them slide down on the shelf or scraping the harden toothpaste off the faucet handle; I can do the one thing I don’t want to do…think.

Quite frankly, this is where the real trouble starts, with the quiet, comes all the thoughts racing through your mind.

You spend years protecting and providing from the minute of birth to keep the adversary of life away from your children.

Taking the gum, they found in a mall ashtray out of their mouth, breaking your nails to open child-proof doors and medicines, living without onions in any meal for a decade; only to throw them on a bus full of strangers with instruction to eat the lunch you made them.  It is then you realize the beginning of leaving the nest has started.

Will, her teacher, appreciate her uniqueness and be kind and gentle?  Will, she really eat anything you packed in her lunch?  Who are all these people she will spend seven hours a day with?

Questions that will never really be answered because if you ask your children, “What did you do today?”  You will receive a, “I dunno.”

Suddenly, they have a life away from you, full of moments that you can’t see or hear or be a part of.  It is one of those awkward, embarrassing moments like when you discovered you had lipstick on your teeth all day and realize how many people you affected by this and there is nothing you can do about it now.

You try to take small comfort in knowing they will soon be home again and you can hug them tight and stop brooding because they are back in your nest.

I always wish on the first day of school that I had been another type of woman, that I had walked another path.  You know what I mean.  If I had only had spunk, I wouldn’t have to be feeling the pain of motherhood.

Because if you were alone and no one cared you could have the tenacity and live only for adventure. I wish that I had more spunk and had more courage because today I would have been standing in the bush of Africa wearing a pith helmet.

I would whistle through my knuckles, and all the lions would come to me so that I could pet them and ride one around and never give a second thought about going to the dentist.

I wish that I had run off to Pairs and never finished school because I had a skinny nose and no hips and the world was waiting for me.

But, instead I’m in Bothell, and when I have the flu and look like bath water my family still loves me and worrying about each other has become my biggest and sweetest adventure.

The first day of school, who needs a treat more than Mom?  You might even want to share with your student.  Or maybe not!

SCHOOL SNACK FOR MOM

4 egg yolks

2 cups milk

1/4 cup sugar

1/4 teaspoon salt

1 teaspoon vanilla

In a small bowl beat together the egg yolk, sugar and salt.  In a saucepan slowly heat milk to almost boiling and then add slowly the egg yolk mixture. Cook the custard, stirring constantly until the sauce thickens and forms a thin coating on a metal spoon.  Stir in the vanilla.  Pour at once into a cool bowl and stir for a minute. Pour into your favorite dessert cups and chill thoroughly.

“You promised when summer was here!”

“Look outside.” I pointed to the window as I glared at my child, “You call that summer…it’s raining!”

My child’s bottom lip quivered and her head hung on her chest.

What modern-day mother has never been intimidated when she realizes she is trapped; trapped by the promises of, “Yes, you can have a pet–BUT, not till summer comes.”

Summer’s here.

Wearing a grin and holding a large sandwich bag with a zip lock top my 3-year-old proudly brought home her first pet.  Not just one, but two goldfish, gleamed at me through the plastic.

“I promise to feed them and love them every single day,” exclaimed my child. Somehow I knew it would be a long, hot summer.  We plopped Salt and Pepper (the fish, not the spice) into their brand new fish bowl.

How can something the size of my thumb make so much trouble?  By morning they were swimming gaily in fresh clear water.  By afternoon they were in LA smog.  Every other day they had to have a major overhaul. My daughter’s eagerness to feed them left them, well…dead.

Every day during the entire third grade, every note to Santa Clause, the Easter Bunny and birthday wish list, all said one thing, “P-L-E-A-S-E when summer comes may I have a hamster?”

I am as crazy about animals as the next guy, but face it, you really know when a child is serious on a request because they become relentless.  They keep their room neat, don’t slouch, stop snapping their gum and send you “Love You” notes.

That summer we picked up the hamster for $1.50 and his bedroom set for $69.95.  We let it run up and down our arms.  In our sleeve and up and down our pant legs for about a week.  He was cute.  All furry with a twitchy nose.  He had to have clean shavings and water.  A little more complicated than the goldfish.  But then our daughter was now older and more responsible. Right?

The darn thing about the hamster though was that it had this annoying habit of sleeping all day, as as soon as the lights were out, he would hop into the drivers seat of his exercise wheel and like an army marching through potato chips, go around and around all night long.

Then one night it happened.  I was alone in the house quietly sitting in my chair when out of the corner of my eye something scurried across the room.  My heart stopped. Yuck! A mouse in the house.

I heard it behind the fridge.  I must have clipped it just right with the broom because there it lay in the broom straw looking up at me.  How could (Marshmallow) the hamster have escaped his cage of steel?

After the funeral we were all too sick to think of getting another.  We took his deluxe condo and covered it with a towel and put it in the garage on top of the fish bowl.  We missed the sound of the wheel at night.

Thanks to a relative (you know who you are) our daughter got her first gift certificate…for a bird.  Two birds in fact.  They were supposed to mate.  Their cage was decked with all the latest amenities: nest fluff, egg and fruit sticks (to maintain strength), nesting bowl and plant foliage.  They lasted for years and sung beautifully.  Though they never did reproduce.  We changed their names from Fred and Wilma to Goldie and Tina.

As your children grow strong and independent you would like the summer pet urge to cease.  This summer?  Say hello to Chocolate (the brown kitty) and Peanut Butter (the orange calico kitty).

Here we go again!

A summer treat for Mom’s (AAT short for Alias Animal Trainer)

ESPRESSO ICE CREAM

2 – 1/2 cups sugar

2 tablespoons flour

1/4 teaspoon salt

2 – 1/2 cups hot espresso coffee

2 – 1/2 cups half and half

6 egg yolks

5 cups heavy cream

one vanilla bean, split in half

With a wire whisk, mix together the sugar, flour, salt and espresso, half and half and vanilla bean until well mixed.

Add egg yolks and creme.  Mix well.  Freeze in ice cream freezer.  Before serving remove vanilla bean.

(Shanna Celeste is a Bothell resident who enjoys sharing her recipe ideas and stories with readers.  Her column appears regularly in the Citizen.)

 

 

 

“You know what this weekend is?”

“A honeydew weekend? Honey, can you do this.  Honey, will you do that.  Honey, over here.  I have another chorrrreee…”

I turned and glared at my husband.  “No silly.  Remember last year at the Delmont’s?”

He clutched the arms of his chair and moaned.

“Yes,”  I paused. “It  is 4th of July weekend.”

As long as we have been neighbors we have gathered together for this annual event.  But this year, like last, the outdoor table was laden with goodies: corn on the cob, sweet pickles, potato salad, pickled beets, deviled eggs, kidney bean and macaroni salad, coldslaw, fresh melons, corn bread, apple pie, strawberry tarts and brownies.

Appetites where whet and the meat was ready to grill.  Then it happened.

“Twenty-four thousand BTU control burner with 225-square inch cooking area, push button igniter and view window, model 5450,” smirked Lawrence  Delmont, our host for our 4th of July barbecue, as he wheeled his new toy onto the deck.

Libby, Lawrence’s wife grinned and rubbed Lawrence’s arm playfully as she told the other guest, Margo and her husband Bill and me and my husband Tom, about their new gas barbecue.  “It taste just like briquettes.  It is the lava rock you know makes the meat taste better.”

Lawrence had put on his chef hat and apron with the words. ‘Cook with Class Use Gas.’

Libby continued on. “Well, no more bags of briquettes everytime I go to the store.  No more lighter fluid, no more. . . ”

Behind Margo, Bill groaned. “Yeah and no more taste either.”

Lawrence coughed pointedly.  He paused his oven-mitted hand lingering over the meat, looked at Bill intently and said, “Oh, are you one of them?”

“Them?”  Bill inquired.

“Yes.  You know. . .there is no difference.”  Lawrence said authoritatively.

“Who are you kidding.  If it ain’t barbecue with the real thing it ain’t barbecue.” Bill scoffed. ‘You might as well cook in the oven.”

Libby appeared at my elbow and nodding toward Tom said, “Well you guys know how great gas is.”

I bit my lip and looked at Tom, who was fighting with a lawn chair.

“Well to me it is kinda like Coke and Pepsi.  There’s a definite difference,” I stammered.

“What?!” hollered Lawrence, throwing up his hands in disgust.

Margo was at the table putting olives on each finger and pretending she didint know us.

“You see,” said Bill.  “Any connoisseur would have an electric starter to put on their briquettes and would not use a lighter fluid.  And would never ever stoop to plugging in an outdoor oven that will never give you the flavor of that delicious charcoal-grilled…”

“Well I suppose,”  Lawrence interrupted. ” that you are the type that can bake bread on a stick and broil trout on a hot rck.  And have you ever taken a look at that old oil drum you cut in half to make into a barbecue? You lose your appetite just looking at it.  But I must say, that was better than what you use to use a wheelbarrow full of sand with bricks holding up the grill. . .”

It never really got too ugly, I recalled with a sigh until they brought out the Coke and Pepsi.

“Yeah, said Tom, as he got out of his living room chair. “I would have rather have sat around the house with a lip full of Novocain.

I began to hum and pick lint off my shorts.  He stole a glance and our eyes met.  “Oh, no we’re not. . .” Tom said, alarmed.

‘No honey, we’re not going over there this year.  They are coming here. Were having Pizza.”

 

 

 

One of the most overzealous groups of people I know are ex-fatty’s.  They have gone from plump to pumped.  No longer does a hot fudge sundae rule their life.   They have learned the secret to controlling their weight by getting control of themselves.

I hate ’em.  They no longer go blindly through their day with their mouths open chewing and swallowing whatever comes through their path.  They walk by the refrigerator and don’t open it.  A treat is not candy but bottled water.  They would never think of putting and M&M found under the couch into their mouth.

Don’t misunderstand me.  I have nothing but respect for these truly unpleasant self-disciplined people.  I was once one, but then something happened.  No one told me I was getting older  and without informing me, my body took it upon itself to re-adjust my metabolism from hamburgers and shakes to don’t eat a pickle, you’ll blow up.

Because I am basically a strong person I was able to resist a lifestyle change. Unfortunately, my husband’s addiction to exercise grew steadily worse.  And to make matters worse he is also a black belt in Karate. Naturally, for the last several years I have tried to ignore this.

The key word was ignore, but he has become right-out obnoxious about the benefits of sweat.  Very frankly, I don’t feel the problem of chubbiness will be worked out in my  lifetime.  This seemed to be my answer until recently when I had to admit my cases of convenient excuses were growing thin while I…

My first day in Karate class I was devastated.  First off this outfit has no shoulder pads and hiding your waistline is impossible–they make you wear a belt!

Forget combing your hair.  In less than 15 minutes you have an entirely different hairdo–the wet look.

Of course getting in shape doesn’t happen in a day.  You have to build up to it through a series of self-inflicted and crippling body movements that immediately cause pain.

Normally articulate and well-spoken, after a one hour class exhaustion sets in, loss of appetite, and all direction.

Unfortunately, by 8 p.m. that evening I’m ready to eat a horse and that one hour is long forgotten, until morning, when everything including things you never think of like wrists, shriek and creak.

My friend says, “Have a tummy tuck, it’s less painful.”  I say as long as I stay a white belt my waistline won’t be as accentuated.  I’m trying to be a good sport, but you see that is one of the problems, it’s a sport and I have always been a spectator.  They say that studying martial arts is a lifetime experience.

I will need that time to get a black belt.

QUICK DINNER WHEN EXTRA TIRED

4 Bratwurst

1 large apple cored and sliced.

6 small yukon gold potatoes

1/2 medium size cabbage cut into small wedges

sour cream

Bring water to boil and add potatoes.  Last 10 minutes cook the bratwurst in the same water with the potatoes.  Drain and set potatoes and bratwurst on warm platter.

Bring hot water to boil in a large pot.  Place steamer in side and add  apple,   cabbage over low heat until apple is soft.  Season all with salt and pepper serve warm on platter with the Bratwurst and a dollop of sour cream.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Flat on my belly on cold linoleum and shoved against the mop head, the pantry shelves above me, I had not been able to move a muscle for three and 1/2 minutes.

Listening intently, I was awaiting the thieves who enter my kitchen.  You know the ones: Husband, alias utensil robber of spatulas, cooking pots, butter knives all snuck out of the kitchen drawers and led directly into …The Garage.

And here’s the clincher.  Once in the garage these precious kitchen utensils instantly become grease scoopers, oil drip pans and worse of all leather rippers.  I have self-described him as a “kitchen utensil junkie.”

The other thieves? Children.  From toddler to teenager they are in there pilfering the kitchen scissors, twine, spoons.  Anything their little mugs can get a hold of and then sneak upstairs to their rooms.

I had confronted, accused and questioned to NO avail.  All I ever received was denial.  “I didn’t do it.”   “I did NOT take it.”  “What would I want with that…duh?”

This week I made my biggest, most rewarding discovery in the time-honored way, by watching and waiting, waiting and watching.

A couple of days before I had hunted right there, in the teenager room blatantly lying on the floor,  Number One evidence-my kitchen scissors.  I took a Polaroid shot.  I continued the hunt with new appreciation, having now seen the competition.

In the garage under the car-my stock pot-with car oil dripping in it, another Polaroid snapped.

I waited until Saturday chores were completed.  Ready now for the confrontation I dropped the ax on this one-time only opportunity.

The tribe sat in a circle as I slowly revealed the pictures behind my back as evidence.  They all sat there silently contemplating their destiny.

“This is proof of what I have been saying that you are thieves and have conspired to deplete me of any kitchen utensils.”  I shouted.

“I know your trick, you think you have learned to be crafty by putting the dishes away in mysterious places.  Well, you cannot throw me off the trail any longer I am on to you!  Several behavior studies (I threw this in as their attention began to lag) says that…”

If you want to know the truth, I glimpsed around the room they were captured, pinned down, stunned.  It was great.

“The closest you will come to life on this planet (home)  I continued,  is to admit to fault and I will go easy on you.”  No one quarreled,  no one disagreed.  Call me cautious, but I’m always suspicious when everyone is so agreeable all at the same time.  All at once.

I thought the case was closed until today, when I went to the cabinet to pull out my Jell-O mold…it was missing.  I looked out the kitchen window and there it was full of dirt…with a spoon in it.

For obvious reasons, I’m resigned to the fact that my pantry is too small for stakeouts and I have learned to cook with…

NO UTENSILS NEEDED RECIPES

CHICKEN -HAM PINWHEELS

2 chicken breasts

1/8 teaspoon salt

1/8 teaspoon dried basil leaves, crushed

dash pepper and dash of garlic salt

3 slices ham

2 teaspoons lemon juice

Paprika

Pound chicken breasts to 1/4 inch thickness. Mix salt, basil, pepper, and garlic salt; sprinkle on chicken.  Cover each chicken breast with 1-1/2 slices ham; roll up length- wise.  Place, seam side down, in 10×6 inch baking dish.  Drizzle with lemon juice; sprinkle with paprika.  Bake at 350 for 35 minutes.  Cover; chill thoroughly.  Before serving; cut chicken rolls into 1/4 inch slices.  If desired, serve with bite size rye bread spread with softened butter and mustard.  Makes 24 slices.

MEATBALL NUGGETS

2 cups soft bread crumbs

1/3 cup milk

1 tablespoon soy sauce

1/2 teaspoon garlic salt

1/4 teaspoon onion powder

1/2 pound ground beef

1/2 pound bulk pork sausage

1 5-ounce can water chestnuts, drained and finely chopped

Combine first 5 ingredients; add remaining ingredients and mix well.  Form into 1-inch balls.  Place on cookie sheet and freeze firm; wrap in foil or plastic bag and return to freezer.  Before serving, place frozen meatballs on sheet baking pan.  Bake at 250 for 35 minutes.  Keep warm in chafing dish.  Makes about 5 dozen.  Serve with toothpicks.

APPETIZER CHEESECAKE

2 cups dairy sour cream

1/2 cup finely chopped green pepper

1/2 cup finely chopped celery

1/4 cup finely chopped pimiento-stuffed green olives

1/4 cup finely chopped onion

2 teaspoons lemon juice

1 teaspoons Worcestershire sauce

Dash paprika

5 drops hot pepper sauce

1 -1/3 cup rich round cracker crumbs

Combine all ingredients except crumbs.  Line 4-cup  bowl with clear plastic wrap.  Spread 1/2 cup of the sour cream mixture in bottom of bowl. Layer with 1/2 cup of the crumbs; then 1 cup sour cream mixture, 1/2 cup crumbs, and remaining sour cream mixture.  Cover; chill for 24 hours.  Store remaining cracker crumbs.  Before serving: Unmold onto serving plate; remove wrap.  Top with remaining crumbs.  Serve with assorted crackers.

 

 

 

I stopped on the top step of the Marriott Hotel entryway and sucked in as much fresh San Francisco air as I could.  In my hand I held a check made out to me, Shanna, for $1 million.

Winning the Pillsbury million dollar bake-off was as nerve-racking as a teenager out past curfew, as painful as a root canal, and as difficult as preparing your taxes.

I ought to know, I can now afford to chuckle, but up until this minute, I vowed never to be so humiliated again.

You might think a cooking aficionado, such as myself, would be thrilled and honored to participate in such a wonderful time-honored event. But cooking is not without its dark side.

This is what happened to me.  This is my story.

Last December, 100 Bake-Off entrants were notified that their recipes had been selected for the contest finals, which were held last month.  For me, this meant an expense-paid trip to the competition finals in San Francisco, the opportunity to win $1 million and most importantly national recognition.

If only my Aunt Maddie had lived to see this-she had won every blue ribbon at every state fair for the last 60 years of her life for her famous apple pie.  If she had found out I put her recipe in the Pillsbury Million Dollar Contest she would have throttled me.  She was a mean old bat.

Only on her death bed, when all the relatives were lined up around the bed, did Aunt Maddie point her crippled, arthritic, 90-year-old finger at me.

At a whisper Aunt Maddie said, ‘Tell the family the jokes on them (sickly cough.) The secret in my famous apple pie, (a very long silent pause) I never used apples, (weak laugh). It was pears!” I tore out of that room and immediately sent the recipe in.

Me and a zillion others were flown straight to an oven, where the immense pressure began.  Immediately, when I saw the new crust-free, stainless oven, I became confused and disoriented.  There was no messy kitchen attached to it.  There were no toddlers hanging on my ankles, nor teenagers yelling that they refused to eat that slop another night.

I announced to the group that I could not cook under these sterile circumstances and I threw down my apron ready to walk home a beaten women.

If it wasn’t for Pills, the Pillsbury Doughboy, I–I don’t even want to think about it.   He was not considered a very smart cookie, wasting much of his dough on half-baked schemes.  Still, even as a crusty old man, he was a roll model for millions.  He persuaded me to stay.  I rolled up my sleeves and began to dirty up that oven.  I threw flour in all directions. I greased the burners and started a smoke fire.  Finally, I was comfortable enough to cook.

Panic ensued anyway.  Even a cool-headed cook such as myself began to succumb to a culinary meltdown.  Unfortunately, I set my finished creation, Aunt Maddie’s Apple Pie, onto the chair to cool, then absent-mindedly sat on it after hearing this doozy from a co-contestant:

My personal new best friend, Veteran Pillsbury spokesman.  The Pillsbury Doughboy, had died of a severe yeast infection and complications from repeated poking to the belly.  He was only 71.

My co-contestant explained to me (she is from Jersey) “Hey, get over it! You’re not his only friend, ya know. I hear Mrs. Butterworth, The California Raisins, Hungry Jack, Betty Crocker, The Hostess Twinkies, Captain Crunch, and many others gonna be thar to help deliver the eulogy.”

Lucky for me, and so typical of Pills good nature, one of the rules he created was to allow for making the recipe three times. I figured, good enough.  That is when I baked a new pie for the judges…it was the winner.

But naturally I knew this would happen because a dessert always wins. One top winner will be chosen in each of the four recipe categories: Yada, yada, yada. BUT first place is always the fourth category: desserts and treats.

What judge is going to remember that simple shrimp taco when dessert is coming around the corner?  I know I’m not alone here because what it boils down to is what does everyone remember about a meal–DESSERT!  What tastes best in a meal–DESSERT.  Why do you eat a meal–DESSERT.

I returned home to an ungrateful family. “Shanna, don’t you think you’re crying over split milk,” my husband said. “I can handle it!” I would holler. “Without Pills do you think I would have won? Huh? Huh?

I’m feeling stressed again.  Having money is nothing but work.  This is my last column. OVERDONE and UNDERCOOKED is POOPED and EXHAUSTED.

Besides, I don’t need the money.

Uh March, the month of green shamrocks and potatoes.  Potatoes?  Yes, that starchy tuber was at one time a major food source to the Irish.  March is the perfect month to celebrate this super stable.

Rich in energy-providing carbohydrates with zero fat the potato is America’s answer to quick and creative cooking ideas.

A potatoes healing abilities start in the peel.  A  baked 7-ounce spud contains more than twice the potassium of one medium-size banana.

The potato is everywhere you look but unfortunately he is still confined to rumors that is best eaten: Fried.

I recently caught up with Mr. Potato cozy in his large space inside Safeway ‘s produce bin.

Q.  The fact that you share your bin close to the sweet potato does that mean you are related?

A.  Actually, expect in name the sweet potato and I are not related.  I mean puh-leeze can’t you tell with that intense lush orange color that she is a member of the morning glory family?

Q.  I have heard that sweet potatoes are loaded with beta carotene, Vitamin A, hence their brilliant orange color.

A.  Yeah, what is your point?

Q.  I just wondered if you might be a little fried over that?

A.  Hey, I thought this interview was about me.   And my relatives, round reds, yellow flesh, blue, purple, russets, long whites (deep breath), etc?

Q.  Yes, you’re quite right.  Let’s start with you Mr. Potato.  Are you considered a “waxy” or “floury” type of potato.  I have heard these terms describe the texture of a potato.

A.  OK.  I want you to get this straight.  This is very important.  Waxy:  Denotes low-starch, high water content.  These waxy potatoes keep their shape when cooked.  They  are my cousins, the red and white potato.

Q.  I see.   Mr…Ummm, can I just call you, Spud?

A.  Of course, of course, I don’t usually get to baked about people using my nickname.

Q.  Spud, please describe “floury” potatoes.

A.  We will always have our differences but the floury potato denotes high in starch and low in water.  This is because heir sugar content has converted to starch by the time the potato is harvested.  These potatoes “fluff” when baked or other words just call them Russets.

Q.  Do I see a little green envy around your eyes?

A.   Psst, come a little closer and I’ll show ya.  OK NOT THAT CLOSE!  My skin… and now, I don’t want you to lose any peel over this, but it has been over-exposed to light.  Which can sometimes cast a green tint of color.

Q.  Oh, I see…does that make you bitter?

A.  Noooooo, just cut away the green portion before cooking.

Q.   Talking of cooking.  I hear that you are absolutely your best fried or in a potato salad.

A.  Geeez!  When are you people going to realize that I can be whipped, scalloped, AuGratin, and mashed and soooooo much more?

Q.   Mashed?

A.  It is easy.  But some people get twice-baked about it. Let me explain.  On your stove top in a saucepan, combine potatoes and enough salted water to cover, bring to a boil.  Reduce heat and cook until tender; drain.  If cooking whole potatoes, allow 30 t0 40 minutes; if cut -up potatoes, allow 20 minutes.  Using a potato masher or electric mixer, mash potatoes.  Mix in, Now this is the most important part – always use WARM milk or cream.  Add butter to taste.

Q.  Recently, a friend informed me that you hope customers here at Safeway will keep you in the dark.  Just, what does that mean?

A.  The reason. .  I didn’t want you to get to close to me, earlier, was because I’v e got a …sprout.

Q.  Oh.

A.  Yeah, if you don’t keep me in a cool (40F to 50F) dry, dark place to protect me from light exposure…I grow sprouts.  But, just knock ’em off and prepare me anyway.  I always taste fine.

Q.  Well, I’ve leaned bushels about potatoes today.   Thank you, Spud.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Watch your metaphors if you catch yourself saying, “I can’t stomach that,” or “I’m fed up.”  Your digestive system maybe sending you a  not too subtle message.

Deborah Krouse-Shields, a certified laser reiki master and hatha yoga instructor, believes people with gastrointestinal complaints will find that yoga massages internal organs and eases constriction.

Sitting on the classroom floor with legs crossed and back straight.  Shield shuts her eyes and breathes in.  Her voice is low.  The room is dark.  A candle flickers and new age music plays softly in the background.

Verbiage like celestial navigation, pranayama, charka, and earth’s energy spews from her lips like water down a fall.

She explains to her students as they bend into their yoga postures that breathing or (pranayama as it is called in hatha yoga) is the point to achieve  state of stillness, perceive celestial energy attuned with other life source energy.

Shield’s quiet, affirming voice allows her words to penetrate as deep as the stretching, which releases accumulated metabolic toxins in the tissue.

“The journey is the goal, so take your time,” She trills, tapping her thyroid with her flattened hand while marching in place.

Yoga is no magic bullet, but our systems that have been stressed by bad eating and poor digestion can be cleansed.  This ancient healing art will allow you to transcend the limitations of everyday thoughts.  It will help strengthen your nerves, and invigorate your life with vital energy.

The landscape is dotted with fast-food franchises only too happy to sell high-fat, sugary foods to all comers.  And yoga philosophy believes that almost all disease derives from poor digestion.

So, what do we do?  Remember that the body needs food for two purposes: As fuel to supply energy and to repair body tissues.  If fuel in the form of food were not available, the body would consume itself.

The following four elements, proteins, carbohydrates, fat and minerals are found in larger proportions, in vegetables than in animal tissues.

Nuts, peas, beans, milk and cheese contain a  large  percentage of protein, whereas wheat, oats, rice, and other grains, potatoes, etc., are mainly carbohydrates (sugar and starches).

The main supply of organic minerals comes from fruits and vegetables.

Vegetables are the most important source of vitamin in a diet.  Those which can be eaten raw, such  as lettuce, spinach, cabbage, and tomatoes contain the three main types of vitamin:  A, B and C.  Vitamins A and B are not appreciably affected by boiling, but frying may destroy them.

Milk is a complete protein food.  Thus, a diet containing milk and dairy products, fresh fruits, leafy vegetables ad whole grains should be an ideal vitamin-rich diet.

The general rule of the Yoga students calls for a combination of nuts, cereals and plenty of fresh fruit and vegetables to get all of the important vitamins and minerals. Yoga experts believe a natural diet gives more disease resistance and prolong life.

Some common spices that aid digestion can be sprinkled on food.  Just a pinch of Coriander, Cardamom, Cumin, and Turmeric is very helpful.

Shields says that when holding static yoga postures, inhale deeply through your nose into your abdomen.  Then slowly exhale and envision that your entire being is cleansed of all negativity and no longer needs emotions.

Inhale again visualizing your being suffused with you, then exhale, emanating this joy to the universe around you.  This active focus on using the breath to release tension to heal yourself instills a peace of mind and emotional stability.  It will allow serenity to flow through you and it will deeply change the quality of your life, Shields says.

The five important Yogic rues for good health: proper exercise to stimulate circulation, proper breathing exercise, to absorb more oxygen, proper relaxation of the body and mind, natural wholesome food and proper thinking and concentration of the mind.

Yoga is not for sissies.  You do not have to be strong or even flexible to start. Almost anyone can do it.  It does take practice.  And none too soon in our stress-filled culture that upsets our stomachs.

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I would enjoy hearing from readers who are addicted to eating and show no signs of breaking the habit.  Leave me a message if you have a recipe for breakfast, lunch or dinner that understands a life interrupted by kids, work and laundry!

 

 

Happy New Year!  Quick. . .go get your scissors, you will want to cut this column out of the newspaper and keep it handy.  I have complied many new, quick and exciting helpful hints of food for the body and living hints for the soul.  A terrific way to start your New Year!

If you find a day in this brand New Year where your recipe or just the day feels a little ‘Overdone and Undercooked’ remember this special recipe for happiness. . .just for you.

Here ’tis:  Combine 1 cup of love, a pinch of helpfulness, a sprig of loyalty and a dash of patience.  Mix a generous portion of smiles and a few drops of tears.  Fold these ingredients into the mixture; stir until it forms a light consistency.  Sprinkle with a little kindness and serve every day.

20 FOOD HINTS FOR THE BODY AND LIVING HINTS FOR THE  SOUL

1. Try using plastic bags (that come from the dry cleaners) under your throw rugs to keep them from slipping.  It works like a charm.
2. I have just found a wonderful lint remover.  Just put on a rubber glove and rub the garment.  The lint comes off like a magnet.
3. Use cornstarch to clean fuzzy stuffed animals.  Rub the cornstarch on the fuzzy part and let it stand a few minutes and then brush out the cornstarch and the toys are clean once again.  Use the cornstarch as it comes right out of the box.
4. Don’t throw away lemon halves after the juice has been extracted.  They may be dipped in salt and rubbed on the bottom of your copper-bottomed pots for a few minutes and they will gleam like new. Then pick up a soap-filled pad and scour the bottom of the pot lightly.  This will leave a film on the pot, which will help prevent further accumulation.
5. Lemons also work on a cutting board.  After rubbing on your pots, allow to stand for about one hour.  Then wash the board under your hot water faucet with some good detergent and put out in the sun to dry.  You will find that your cutting board will be bleached to a whiteness as never before.
6. This is a really nifty trick using good ole aluminum foil. Just wad up a piece of foil.  After making a ball rub briskly over any rusted spots on your chrome furniture or chrome-plated bumpers.  Get ready to take a deep breath of wonder as you watch that rust disappear.
7. Would you like to know a surefire method for keeping cut flowers fresh twice as long?  Simply add an aspirin to the water in your vase.
8. To apply nail polish more easily, simply grasp an empty coffee cup with the hand to be painted.  This make it so much easier to steady your hands.
9. Husband used up all the rags?  Got a messy project and don’t want to ruin your clothers?  For shoulder-to-knees protection when painting or doing messy chores, cut a T-slit at the bottom of a plastic trash bag, cut holes at the sides under the fold, slip arms and head through the slits.
10. Here’s the fastest way to remove the core from a head of iceberg lettuce; bang the head, core side down, on to a hard surface such as your kitchen counter and the core should pop right out.
11. To remove pesky onion and garlic smells from your wood cutting boards, scrub the surface with a paste of baking soda and water.
12. Try saving the water from boiled peeled potatoes to use in your next bread mix. It adds the perfect flavor to bread loaves.
13. Neighborhood dogs won’t stay out of your garbage cans? This remedy works every time-pour a dash of household ammonia into garbage bags before closing them.  The scent will deter those critters.
14. When forming meatballs with all of the gooey stuff included, put a few drops of vinegar on your hands every so often and the ingredients will not stick to your hands.
15. A teaspoon of salad oil prevents rice from sticking together and keeps water from boiling over.  And speaking of boiling over, never put a lid on a pot that contains milk, you are guaranteed a mess.
16. When cutting hard-boiled eggs in two dip your knife in boiling hot water first. This makes the most beautiful slice you have ever seen.
17. Have you ever wondered how restaurants make those cute garnishes? For a fancy carrot curl cut thin lengthwise strips of carrot with a vegetable peeler. Roll around your finger and fasten with toothpick. Chill in ice water. Remove picks before using.
18. For radish roses, cut root and stem end from radish. Then, cut down from stem end in four or five pieces to pull skin away and from petals.
19. If your a homemade cook and like to fix and freeze, remember these helpful hints. Cooked foods should be cooled before being put into freezer.
20. Keep food packages as thin and flat as practical, foods will freeze and thaw more quickly.  And if you run out of freezer containers for your homemade soup, let the soup cool and put into freezer bags.  They will freeze flat and you can re-heat in the bag.  Remember do that if you use freezer bags, the frozen mixture may not be as deep as a frozen block of food from a container. Therefore, the reheating time may be shorter.

Do you have any crazy recipes that your friends and family are amazed by the ingredients?  You know like “Brown paper bag apple pie” or 7-UP cake. I would love to feature your favorites next month.

 

 

It’s a pleasant, wet and rainy day, and I am standing in a semicircle of approximately 133 “you cut ’em” Christmas trees.

My husband is running with a sawblade in his left hand, a blue tarp in his right hand, and a translucent look in his eyes.  Evidently, he has spotted yet another tree that might meet his specific conditions.

My 7-year old daughter is lying on the ground at my feet, moaning deliriously that she is “tree sick.”  Her tiny limp body is lying quietly as she explains that after rows and rows of trees she can no long muster the energy to walk another step.

I don’t know about you, but when I go to ‘cut’em” I don’t waste a lot of time. I stride briskly to the most attractive tree standing and shout, “Here!”

Your professional Christmas tree cutter (husband), on the other hand, does not even think about cutting until he has conducted a complete tree study of the site-circling the selected tree warily, as though it were an alien space-ship, checking it out from every possible angle, squatting and squinting, finger in the air checking the wind, feeling the needles, analyzing the distance from the road to the truck, back to the tree…

And so, amid an atmosphere of unbearable tension, comparable to not being able to find your car keys when you are already late to that very important meeting, my daughter and I wait, and wait, and wait.

By now our daughter is trying to make snow angels in the mud and I am unbelievably letting her.  I see other families in the tree farm.  They’re staring intently at trees way off in the distance, but I think they’re staring at us.  We have been here so long.

I think about grabbing my daughter’s hand and pulling her up to her feet and taking her down the hill for our third cup of hot cider and her second candy cane, but too late, she has been entertaining the crowds by holding her breath as she runs up and down the tree rows.

The more time that passed with virtually nothing happening, the more excited I got about that cider.  I started down the hill when suddenly I heard a loud, long, whopping yelp that I recognized as my husband.

I turned to see him stand up, wipe tree pitch off his hands, and in a voice that would have made a gold digger stop, announced, “This …is the tree.”

There it stood in all of its glory-all 14 feet of it.

“That’s too big,” I said.

“Not so,” he said. “I will trim off the bottom.  You’ll see.”

“Don’t you remember last year?” I asked.  “It was too big, you did not trim enough.”

“Did so.”

“Did not.”

“Did so.

“Did not.”

“Did.”

“Not!”

Like anything else, success depends on the proper tools, so in the back of our truck is an assortment of many saws, blue tarps, gloves, rope and any necessity to fall Paul Bunyan’s tree.

“Quick, run back to the truck and pick out the yellowed handled two blade milliliter saw.  Oh, and by the way, grab me a cider,” he says with a big smile.

Rolling my eyes back in my head and shrugging my shoulders, I approached the tree surgeon punched him in the arm where he pretended to be knocked into the fir tree, and I headed to the car trying to consider the many, many complex factors involved in the “you cut ’em tree man.

This is, after all, a once a year experience.  And this tree-prepare to experience a heart tremor- was home cut.  How were we going to get it in the truck, let alone through the front door?  At least when I finally do get home I can make a nice hot cup of:

HOT SPICY APPLE CIDER

6 cups apple cider, 1 cinnamon stick, 1/4 cup honey, 1/4 teaspoon nutmeg, 3 tablespoons lemon juice, 1 teaspoon lemon rind, 1 can (2-1/2 cups) unsweetened pineapple juice.

Heat cider and cinnamon stick in a large pan.  Bring to a boil and simmer covered for 5 minutes.  Add remaining ingredients and simmer uncovered 5 minutes longer.

SIMPLY DELICIOUS EGGNOG

1 egg, 2 tablespoons sugar, 1 cup chilled milk, 1/4 teaspoon vanilla.  Beat egg and sugar together.  Beat in milk and vanilla.  Serve cold in a tall glass sprinkled lightly with nutmeg.  Serve immediately

Note:  This column was published in Sandra Haldeman Martz of Papier-Mache Press, anthology “There’s No Place Like Home for the Holidays”.  Where I was welcomed by two different Barnes & Noble bookstores that held a booksigning and reading.