C-O-L-D

Brrrrr. That was the temperature in the North Carolina mountains last weekend. We had been checking the weather forecast every day before we left so we were prepared. Kinda. We brought all the requisite cold weather gear. Bruce even insisted I go buy some rainboots — thankfully, I did. They weren’t just for keeping out the rain, I discovered, but they also kept my feet warm too. It’s miserable to sit around with cold feet. And — at a music festival, there is obviously lots of sitting around time. We had better tent neighbors than last spring. These people knew to go to sleep at night. Last spring they wanted to talk all night and fight at 3 AM. (Too much brew, perhaps?) Anyway, we’re always amazed that the tent actually does hold in some warmth. Which you don’t know until you compare it to the outside temp. One night, I had to take my reading light and book inside my sleeping bag to snuggle down and read. A bit like being under the covers and reading after “lights out”when I was a kid. It was easy to pack up when we left the music festival campsite. We were wearing most of our clothes.

The last night in the mountains we did have the presence of mind to stay in our favorite lodge, down the road from my brother, rather than try to camp. By then we were ready for a warm bathroom and a steaming shower and a friendly restaurant across the road. We got to visit my niece, Michele, who has moved near her dad and step-mom, with her two little ones. Hugh’s house was jumping with all sorts of critters — both two and four legged on a cold, blustery night. It was a great visit. I’m glad we’ll get to see more of family in the future.

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The Ham Loaf Chronicles

My Uncle Gene, my father’s youngest brother and the last of the siblings, recently passed away at the age of 87. He went gently into that good night at a hospice with his family near him . My cousin, Susan, his youngest daughter, contacted several cousins who passed on the information to other cousins so we were all notified, thanks to the fast contact available through the internet. And thus started the great Ham Loaf saga.

Cousin Linda, Uncle Gene’s middle daughter, has a web site about food and recipes, her passion. In several email exchanges she shared Grandma Hubble’s recipe for Ham Loaf with the rest of us. Although a few of us had the recipe, it  started a dialogue about the famous family recipe.

Grandma Hubble, a very good cook, baked a delicious ham loaf — her signature dish. It’s a Midwestern thing — ground ham and ground pork mixed with egg, cracker meal and milk, baked in a loaf like a meat loaf. It’s delicious hot or cold. Sometimes I crave it. We always have it at the Hubble Reunion. It’s a tradition, sacred and immutable.

That lead to an exchange of other family recipes from another cousin, Jane. She shared anecdotal stories about the food too. It was grand fun to recall the people and food we all knew and loved. Our mutual grandparents could have taught classes on how to be grandparents. We were lucky and we know it.

With all of this, my craving was in high gear.  So I made ham loaf yesterday, improving on the way I’ve previously made it, thanks to the discussion, and it was better, however, not as wonderful as Grandma’s.  The good news is that Bruce, who never tasted the original recipe, thinks it’s pretty tasty.

So — thanks to Uncle Gene, we cousins haver re-connected and we’re even planning a Cousin Reunion next year of the 15 grandchildren of Grace and Ora, for the day before the official family reunion. Potluck and Pictures! And lots of stories!   Heaven knows we all like to talk, it’s in our DNA. Of course, we know what will be the main dish. Grandma would be proud.

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Oh Cookie!

I vacillated for over two weeks about baking Christmas cookies this year. On one hand, they are part of the tradition here; on the other, none of us needs the extra calories. So, yesterday I broke down and stirred up a double batch of Kathy’s Semi-Famous Cream Cheese Cookies. It is actually a recipe from my mother and she used to make them more than once a year. She would roll up the dough  in waxed paper, chill the roll, then slice and bake.  Toward the end of her life, she even said mine were better. I think she was just being polite and was glad she could eat them, but no longer had to go to all the work to bake them. Actually, it’s a simple recipe; they keep well and can be frozen too, The Christmas version is rolled out and cut which is the time consuming part. They are also iced, however, here the resident Frosting Elf jumped to the task and helped in that department. His payment is all the ones he can enjoy when I’m not looking.

I used to make 8 times the basic recipe in order to have enough for our crew and enough to share. Dale would take a huge batch up to ApplianceLand where, I was told, people would sneak some into a private stash so they’d be assured of getting some before the plague of locusts found them. That’s flattering or else they were just some really hungry people.  Once at the store Christmas party someone informed me, rather indignant, that he hadn’t gotten his fair share!  Dale said he even had trouble getting a couple.  Life must have been dull around Christmas time in the appliance business.

One year my next door neighbor called to ask for the recipe.  I promptly wrote it out of her and took it over.  On the way back it hit me — she doesn’t want the recipe, she wants the cookies!   I hadn’t yet gotten over there with a plate.  It had been a rough year for her — heart trouble and several hospitalizations.  So I filled a plate and ran them back over.  There are some things you want — you just want someone else to fix them.  I told her to eat them all before the others got home from work.

Once when James still lived at home, I got busy early in December and baked up a large batch, put them in a big plastic tub and placed them in the freezer. Close to Christmas I pulled out the tub to discover it was only half full. James, and friend Sheldon, had been coming home from school and helping themselves. “Cookies thaw real fast, Mom,” I learned from the resident cookie thief — He Who Was Not Too Contrite. “In fact, they’re not too bad frozen!”

So they are traditional. I remember David “helping” me — even before James was born so he was only two years old. That’s a lot of years to make them a staple at this household during Christmas. And I guess traditional favorites are all part of the Season.

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A Strange Malady

This is from Jim’s blog, JamesSlusher.com, written in October, about his children: three year old, Jonathan, and his sister, six year old Emily.

Jonathan has been slow to talk.  We haven’t determined yet what is causing his speech delays, but his hearing has been tested a number of times and it’s just fine.  So in the absence of knowing what the delay is (it could just be him taking his time), we work at getting him to say words.

Whenever he wants some juice, I make him say “Juice!”.  If he wants to be picked up, I make him say “up”.  Emily helps us all the time with this.  This morning she was giving Jonathan a good grilling.  Say “Daddy”, say “Mommy”, say “Emily” and on and on.  It got to the point the rest of us were starting to roll our eyes.  At one point, I piped up and and said, “Say diverticulitis“.

Emily stopped immediately and got a somewhat cross look on her face.

“Daddy, Jonathan can’t say diaperchickenitis.  That’s silly.”

She’s right.  Diaperchickenitis is silly.  If she thinks her old man isn’t going to work “diaperchickenitis” into every conversation he has over the next week or two, she doesn’t know me very well.

So now, if any of us have a rather vague ailment, we’re sure it’s diaperchickenitis.  It must be contagious. Look out — there is no remedy. However, I’d try Tylenol — or laughter.

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Thanks for Stuffing Me

Who can not love a holiday that requires people to sit and eat? We have had our family dinner today and everyone got to eat their fill, chat with the others and watch a little football. The kids couldn’t have their tractor ride — it was raining, but Andrew sure remembered it from last year! The grandchildren got to meet Patty Ann — Christine’s kitty, and Ginger, our Corgi-Beagle mix. Ginger was delighted; Patty, not so thrilled.

With Bruce’s excellent taste buds, the dressing was great. I kept it simple. But we have it so rarely, it is difficult not to pig out. I went a bit overboard on the veggies. Bruce loves Ambrosia and Watergate salad. Good balance to the turkey and mashed potatoes. I wish Pecan Pie were lo-cal — it’s not but, really, how often do we have it? Not frequently enough to worry about. I’ve gotten so I like Sweet Potato Pie more than Pumpkin. Even though I forgot to get out the Cool Whip.

We’re now almost ready for a recycling — the supper plate! Oh, boy . . . .

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Gone to the Dogs

We dog sat over the weekend with Koga, David and Darlene’s Carolina dog. Carolina dogs are hounds, long legged with long upright ears. He is twice as tall as our short little Ginger. I was struck by the similarity to having humans visit to having animals visit. We had to have a sleeping place, arrange meals and entertainment, and get the “children” to settle down when they started to roughhouse too hard.

Koga and Ginger know each other from the summer of 2007 when D and D kept Ginger for us for a month while we were in Europe so she didn’t have to stay in the kennel for a long time. They still knew each other and had a frolicking good time. Once I looked over and Ginger had gotten up under Koga; they looked like a double decker dog. Wish I’d had the camera handy. Or a video camera. We could have sent it in to America’s Funniest Videos.

I was feeling under the weather with a head cold so it was a good weekend to hole up with the dogs and settle in. The cold rainy weather was another reason to snuggle in. A good reason to curl up on the sofa with a dog — or two.

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“Once a Catholic . . .”

“Once a Catholic, always a Catholic” I used to say. How very true. After 50 years, I’ve returned to the Church. I was raised Catholic from the age of 6 to 12, baptized and made my First Communion. All the things I loved about the Church are still there. The aspects I didn’t understand as a child, now, as an adult, I do. It’s been a real “coming home.”

Believe me, on one level, it hasn’t been an easy decision; yet, on another, it was very easy. I joined the Episcopal Church 30 years ago in Norton, Kansas and it truly fulfilled a need since it was a blend of Protestantism and Catholicism. I’ve been an active member of St. Paul’s Episcopal Church in Augusta for almost 25 years. Bruce has been active, too, since our marriage. However, we’ve been talking about this for 2 years. The Catholic Church is the “original” church — it has almost 2000 years of history and tradition. I loved the mystery of the Mass as a child. I still do. There is a reverence found in a Catholic church that I’ve never felt any other place. The Mass is both a simple supper and a majestic celebration of Christ’s teaching and his life and death. Looking at a crucifix we are repeatedly reminded that He died for our sins. What an incredible gift!

We are studying with a class of others at the Church of the Most Holy Trinity. The class covers everything, slow and steady. What, why, when, where and how. It is fascinating to read and learn again with both the trust of a child and the sensibilities of an adult.

Ironically, my brother, Hugh, made the decision to return about the same time I did. Mother returned to the Church too when she was in her late 60s. I guess we all just needed to go back home, to our spiritual roots, our real home.

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More Bang for the Buck

If you haven’t watched “The Big Bang Theory” on Monday nights on CBS, please do. It’s on early — 8 PM EDT.  It starts its new season this coming Monday. For those of us who especially love and appreciate the beloved nerds in our lives, this program celebrates geekdom (or is it geekhood, or nerddom or nerdhood?) at its best. The characters are lovable even with all their idiosyncrasies. Actually their problems are ones we all have suffered at some point, and to some degree — just exaggerated because they are such geeks.  The truth is — we’re all nerdy about one thing, at least.  And that’s the point, of course.

We have a church class on Monday evenings, so the VCR is set to record it; we’ll watch it when we get home!  Join us!

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Oh, Happy Day!

The day of the Hubble reunion dawned bright and cool. A beautiful day, unlike the sweltering, humid days of the two past years we have attended. I believe the reunion has been going on annually on the second Sunday of August since the 1930s. My first recollection dates back to the 1950s. My family attended faithfully until we moved away from Southern Illinois in 1960. Mom and Dad planned part of their summer vacations around it for years. I came with them once when David was little and another time when both boys were still small. Then my immediate family lived too far away with summers way too busy with jobs and baseball and swimming lessons, and college classes for me. My sister, Christine, and I started attending again in 1995 and 1996. Then my school started having teachers return to work early in August so I was no longer able to go at all. Couldn’t attend the event on Sunday with the first day of school the following day. I missed it. Now that Bruce and I are retired we get to plan our own summers around it again.

My first cousins, the Pucketts, the children of my beloved Aunt Wanda are custodians and caretakers of the Hubble Home Place, lovingly called “The Farm.” Located between Enterprise (where Grandpa Ora Hubble was raised) and Mt. Erie (where Grandma Grace Galbreath Hubble was raised); it’s about 5 miles north of Fairfield. It’s been fun to tell Bruce about the days, and people, now gone, surprising me how much I remember. This year we discovered Zif Cemetery together. Ar our age, visiting cemeteries is part of life. Someone has to check. When I mentioned to two different cousins that we’d been up to Zif, their first question was, “Is it being cared for?” The old burial grounds are not covered by perpetual care clauses, are they? They rely on the memories of descendants who live close enough and care enough to come and mow and pull weeds. I had always thought I wanted to be cremated, but now I’m rethinking that position.

Zif Cemetery- 2008

The home place dates back to 1880. It was a basic three room house at first, added on to several times through the years, eventually becoming a four bedroom, eight room house with two stories and a very steep staircase. A man would come and step off the size of the new addition and stick a wooden stake in the ground. So much for tape measures and levels and building codes. Consequently, nothing was plumb or level, so the intervening years simply adds to the original design.

I remember when one porch, located off the back of the dining room, was enclosed and made into a bathroom. Thus ended the treks to the outhouse. Thank heavens it was a two-holer. You needed a companion to watch for bugs and other critters while you concentrated on your business. A rite of passage was when you finally got old enough, and brave enough, to go there on your own.

Although we eat outside, now under tents, the dining room contains a large table. I don’t believe I’ve ever seen it without all the leaves, which are needed for all the food. (Truth is, the leaves probably wouldn’t separate anyway.) Meat is placed on the south side, salads and vegetables in the middle, desserts on the north end. One obligatory meat dish is ham loaf. This year it was baked by Carolyn, wife of cousin Jim Puckett, and quite delicious. Hers was less spicy than the one I make, and I liked hers better.

After the blessing, we all dug in. At least two trips to the table are required for everyone. It’s a reunion rule. This year, following dinner, we played a trivia game. The questions pertained to the Hubble family history. We divided up the under-the-tent-people, the porch-people and the under-the-tree-people to make two teams. What started as light-hearted fun rapidly got quite competitive! I was surprised by what I knew AND what I didn’t know. I’m going to bone up next year. My side lost by one stinkin’ point. We’re not called the hard-headed Hubbles for nothin’!

Bruce and Kathy - Hubble reunion 2006

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Happy Bones

Bruce and I recently returned from the Hubble Family Reunion in southern Illinois. This was our third annual trek. It gets more fun each year.

We had amazing weather for August. When I checked weather.com and found out the weather was predicted to be in the low 80s, I thought they had made a mistake. Checked it twice more to be sure. What luck!

We arrived on Saturday and made a visit to Zif Cemetery, which is about a mile down the road from the home place, the family farm house. (It’s remarkable what you can find on mapquest.) It’s a charming little country cemetery, on a hill, overlooking farm land and woods. The grass had recently been cut so it was neat. Armed with the camera, Bruce and I wandered all over the small cemetery looking for the gravestones of Sullivan and Sarah Hubble, my great great grandparents. I picked up any sticks and fallen petals of the artificial flowers as I wandered around. Lots and lots of Hubbles were there. Lots of Hosseltons were buried there too. We couldn’t find the graves for Sullivan and Sarah. We took pictures anyway and I vowed to check with my cousins the next day at the reunion for the exact location of their stones. It was a lovely place for my ancestors’ bones to rest.

On the way out, we stopped at the nearby corner where a propane site was burning off its excess. Bruce thought it unique that a high gas flame was burning so visibly. He wanted a picture. A blue pickup turned the corner and the driver gave the obligatory country wave. Then he backed up and stuck his head out the window. “I have to ask. What’s a car from Georgia doing taking pictures out here?” Bruce answered, “We’ve been to the cemetery. My wife has family buried there.” “Oh.” I got out and walked around to the driver and introduced myself and explained what we had been doing. “My name is Fred Hosselton,” he said. “Well,” I said, “I have to ask, are there more Hubbles or Hosseltons buried over there?” “Oh, there’s more Hubbles. Hubble women tended to marry Hosselton men,” he said with a grin. We laughed. I resisted the urge to ask him his wife’s maiden name and where his burial plot was located.

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