my only thanksgiving recipe

One of the drawbacks (or benefits, as the case may be) of being the only one in your family who lives in an apartment is that you're simply not going to be the one to host holidays or parties. I've lived in this apartment for 14 years, I think. (Wow!) The only time I had everyone over was when I moved (though they were never all here at the same time) and on the day of Grandma M's memorial service. I do wish I lived in a big ol' house - I'd be the Christmas party house for sure.

So anyway, I've never roasted a turkey. There, I've said it. I think I've made mashed potatoes before, but that was probably 30 years ago or more. (I've got a good excuse for that one: I'm allergic to raw potato - break out in a terrible rash wherever it touches me.) However, I am usually good for bringing a dish or two to wherever the party is on Thanksgiving, and what follows is the recipe for the one I usually bring.

My friend B. asked for the recipe the other day, and I obliged... and thought I'd also share it with this space, in case others might enjoy. So - I hope you enjoy!

I'll give you the basics (I think I got it from a magazine ad in the 80's), and then the things I do to change it up, too, in case that appeals to you.

Berry Mallow* Yam Bake**

*I nixed the marshmallows years ago - it's already pretty darn sweet!
** hey, I googled "berry mallow yam bake" and this recipe is still alive on the interwebs!

combine:
½ cup flour
½ cup brown sugar, packed
½ cup rolled oats
1 tsp cinnamon

cut in until mixture resembles coarse crumbs:
⅓ cup butter the original said margarine, but I know better these days!

toss 1 cup of this mixture with:
2-17oz cans yams***
2 cups fresh cranberries
***of couse, nowdays the cans are a bit smaller. I use the 29 oz can. you can also use fresh, peeled sweet potatoes or yams, cut in 2" chunks - though you should bake it a little longer!

Place in a 1½ cup casserole, top with remaining crumbs. Bake at 350º for 35 minutes.

Simple, right? I usually make at least a double batch of this for my family. For the church dinner, I use 3 large cans of yams. I like to stir in chopped candied ginger and/or fresh orange zest with the yams & berries. And we've liked the resulting heat when I added a couple teaspoons of chipotle powder to the sugar mixture. At any rate, it's a really pretty dish; it's nice to have a non-beige item on the plate at T'giving! (Yeah, I've never taken a picture of it, so no photos here. Sorry.) Oh, and if you want to add the marshmallows, the original recipe calls for 1½ cups sprinkled on when it's finished baking, then under the broiler until lightly browned. I think that was how I set my oven on fire in 1982!

love, KQ

change...

a most intricate quilt

I really, really love the transition seasons.

fall makes me want to live in a small country town.
(but so does spring. and winter. and summer.)

This week I knew that fall was finally here when the temps rose over eighty (F) and then dropped to the high forties in the space of a day and a half. I was trying to figure out why I love that so much...

rainbows are everywhere when you know where to look...

I think it's the fresh, sting of cold when one walks outside from the warmth of home - the warmth lingers in the body, but the skin tingles with the chill. It's a delicious feeling to me. And then the reverse is also true: cold, cold skin (and/or fingers, toes, nose...)feels the immediate change moving indoors, and there is that tingle again as the comforting warmth envelops...

jewels that fall to the earth and then dissolve into it...

Oh, and the wet of rain, the slant of the sun, the changing (finally!) leaves and impossibly blue sky... for all these things, and more, I give thanks.

let's find more time to go wandering this season!

the Summer of twenty-ten (part VII) - the antedote

The Game.

Poets have said it better than I... it is eternal. It is simplicity itself. It is life. It is the best in us, it is the worst in us. It is green grass, blue skies - it is mud and rain.
It is pageantry and the star-spangled banner. It is a millionaire's game. It is a child's game.
It is not, any more, the national pastime. It is not a designated hitter. It is not Dodger blue, and it is not leaving in the top of the seventh. It is not booing your own. It is not the most expensive seat. It is not the same as having a picnic with a show going on in front of you.
For me, it is the romance: Fathers and sons (mothers, daughters, brothers, sisters, aunts, uncles, grandfathers, grandmothers) enjoying the game, telling stories, having a catch. It is seeing your kid put a ball in the pocket of his glove, wrap it with a rubber band and stick it under his mattress. It is sportsmanship (and sportswomanship).

It is best friends from kindergarten, all grown up, brought together again by the baseball gods to stand for the anthem.

It is pulling up to a farmstand and finding a cart of balls. It is watching the team win, turning off the television, and passing gently away into that good night. (Good night, Grandad. ♥)

It is Mike Ivey hitting in the bottom of the ninth, bases loaded, on a Friday night against the Dodgers at the 'Stick. It is a frozen chocolate malt blowing off your wooden spoon in swirling winds. It is the record that breaks. It's all that history. It is brothers sharing the outfield. It is old players coaching newer ones. It is the legends.

Mays

Cepeda

McCovey

Marichal

It's the stories: the ones that will break your heart, and those that cause your spirit to soar.

It really is the crack of the bat and the roar of the crowd. It is cheering for the home team, 40,000 orange rally rags waving in unison. It is the remembering of glory and heartbreak and falling in love with the team. It is the chess game strategy. It is the tragedy of the loss. Yes, it is even a bad call at the plate.

photo courtesy of Google images

It is clever, charming, beloved broadcasters.

It is wearing orange on Fridays. It is hating the Dodgers. It is not caring much about the Series unless Your Team is in it. It is crying for joy when Your Team makes it to the Series.
It is not life or death. It is not more important than loved ones lost, or sick, or hurt. But it is a balm against those things. It is a sweet distraction. It is a reprise from the pain. And sometimes it can even be the antidote for the grief, easing it enough to snap the stress and hurt and anger and make all of those things less severe, helping you to go on.

the Summer of twenty-ten (part VI) - in Memoriam

September 24

Twelve days after the wedding, a memorial service was held for the Bullis family. The Quartet was asked to sing, as well as the choir and the Prayz group. Our four living former pastors were invited to attend, and accepted. An army of ushers was formed.

Because Bethany holds 200 people at most, and estimates were that there would be five times that in attendance, we had a logistics problem. Enter 1st Presbyterian Church of Burlingame. They have a much, much larger sanctuary, with overflow rooms and even a large patio where the service could be broadcast to more overflow. The pastors worked things out, and we were told where and when to show up. When we did, it was amazing: all we needed to do was make the music. The church had thought of everything, took care of every detail from printing the bulletin - to helping with the sound check - to setting up rooms for the family, pastors and musicians to wait - to passing out water during the (quite warm) service. They were warm and gracious, unobtrusive yet enveloping. I know that the Bethany community will always be grateful for their hospitality.

Like the Sunday following the disaster, there was a feeling of family coming together. So many people from Bethany's past showed up to love and grieve with us. The pastors shared themselves without reservation, and what a comfort it was to have the rock of their presence. (The current pastoral circumstance is far from comforting, which made this even more important.) The choir sang an arrangement of "Amazing Grace" (Sung here by the Turtle Creek Chorale). The Quartet sang Bobby McFerrin's the 23rd Psalm. T. played his composition, Elegy in Eb, on the cello. The family shared with us precious memories of each loved one. A few close friends also shared memories. There was nothing about the afternoon that was not beautiful.

After the service there was a reception at Will's high school, just a mile or so from the church. (Attendees of the service were encouraged to park at the school, and buses were used to transport to the church.) It was held in the gym, with long tables spread with food down half the length of the gym under unreal, yellow lights. I got there late (took Mom home first, at her request), and had little opportunity to speak with the family. However, I did speak to a few of their neighbors - other folks from Bethany, who survived the blast - and I was so grateful to hug them and tell them that I was glad they had made it.

Winding down, T. and I sat out on the front lawn of the school, looking at the moon and replaying the previous few days and amazing event we'd just been part of. (This is part of what we do for each other: help one another to digest the big events in our lives.) I remember thinking that I was so grateful (there's that word again!) for the relationships I hold with the many dear friends I saw that day. I thought about how the grass felt on my bare legs, and when was the last time I sat on the grass? I remembered my own high school days. I thought about how - even in the midst of terrible sorrow - it was, truly, a perfect evening.

the Summer of twenty-ten (part V)

I ask you: could there be a more lovely setting?

After church on Easter, my dear friend's daughter Piper approached me. Her mama had alerted me that the question was coming: would I be the florist for her wedding? A whole range of emotions swept through me at the thought. Holy cow. What a huge responsibility! and honor! and challenge! I'm not really a florist! I love flowers! (I need the money!) I said yes. When I agreed to take the job, I had no idea what was in store for the summer. When Dad got sick(er) I'd think, "can I bear this and do Piper's flowers?" Somehow, the answer was always yes.

sunflowers: the bride's favorite, and such a cheerful flower!

Piper and I corresponded over the summer, and I learned that she was definitely not going to be a bridezilla (thank heaven!) Like her mama, she is an easy-going spirit. The wedding site was found and Sunday, September 12 was chosen. She wanted happy, bright colors with sunflowers, lavender and poppies; an overall wildflower look. (The poppies were nixed - it was an evening wedding, and they close at night!) She was going to have six (SIX!) bridesmaids, each dressed in a different color, and her betrothed would have six groomsmen.

(Frankly, I thought this was a bit excessive when I heard about it, but at the wedding I realized: there was so much love in this wedding that there had to be 12 attendents, just to help carry it all!)

I planned out what I'd need for 7 bouquets, 10 boutonnieres, 2 corsages and 2 flower girl baskets. One fun Saturday morning, I met Piper, her sister and mama and best friend at the flower market. We wandered around, and I showed them a few things, they showed me what they liked: sunflowers (gold), bachelor's buttons (blue), hydrangea (green), sweet william (her betrothed's name) (hot pink), an ornamental grass, and gold and red "brains" (cock's comb) were some of the favorites.

I had my own mini-flower market going in the garage...

I added some veronica, red gerberas and purple sweet peas to fill out the (extensive) color palatte.

Oh, how I LOVE sweetpeas! These had pretty short stems -
couldn't make it into the bride's bouquet - but they sure were purty in the others!

Some feathers caught my eye... perfect for the men's boutonnieres! Piper was not at all sure about that, but when I explained it to her, she was on board. It was all coming together, and I was alternately nerve-wracked and excited.

pheasant feathers, dried lavender and satin ribbon. classy, no?

The weekend before the wedding, I assembled all of my hardware: preservative, wire, foam, pins, ribbons, glue - everything I could find that might help. I scrubbed down and disinfected with bleach an army of plastic buckets. I pre-ordered the sunflowers and bachelor's buttons. Unable to secure fresh lavender stems, I not only bought 3 live plants, but I also moved on a hot tip and (ditching church) high-tailed it to a farmer's market 25 miles away where I could buy nice bundles of the dried herb.

yeah, I'm a mite bit proud of these...
even the father of the bride complimented me on them,
and he (to quote a breakfast cereal commercial) hates everything!

That week, I was fully ready with my checklists and time tables. I made all the bouts, since all but three would not have any fresh flowers in them - and those I could easily add to later. Thursday, my day off, was September 9. I went to the markets and gathered up the flowers. Armloads of them - my entire back seat was brimming with blooms! They all went to my parents' garage - where it stays relatively cool even on a hot day - to get fresh cuts and plunged into preservative-laden water. I set up a couple tables and some chairs...

the workshop. flower baskets and bouts
in the foreground, oodles of blooms, everywhere!

And then, it was 6:11 p.m. and San Bruno exploded.

Again, I said to myself, "can I bear this and do Piper's flowers"? The answer: "you must, so of course you can". That's fine and dandy, but now I was not only grieving, but the power was out and I was instantly about a half-day behind schedule. Saturday dawned warm and bright. I worked in the morning, then went to the wedding rehearsal - oh yeah, the Quartet was singing, too! My dear friend B. came back with me (thanks, B!) to help, and gallantly made herself useful while I spinned out of control for a bit. Then we got to work and banged out six beautiful bridesmaids bouquets. I finished the bride's bouquet, made the "centerpiece" and cleaned up for the night, placing the bouquets in ice chests.

bridesmaids bouquets

Sunday morning - wedding day! According to my master schedule, I was going to skip church, but with the events of 9/9 I could not do that. I had to be with my people. I also could not afford the 2 hours it would require to attend - there were bouquets to wrap, bouts to finish, corsages to make... I did what I had to do, and when I got to church, I looked for volunteers to help with the finishing touches afterward. I found three lovely friends to agree, Jenny jumped in - doing a yeoman's job - as my assistant for the day, and Mom helped too!

bridesmaids bouquets and centerpiece

Oh, what a flurry of flowers, friends and activity there was in the garage that afternoon! Six of us, plus T., who came to look at the structural requirements of the centerpiece (I was so worried about hanging that thing!) With barely enough time, Mom and J. offered to take pictures of the finished product while I dashed home to change... and we were off!

I couldn't figure out how we were going to transport the bouquets,
except in drinking glasses. But those fall down!
I sent J. to the church to pick up a couple of dish pans.
She found these wonderful silverware holders and saved the day!

Delivered the flowers and bouts - to wild acclaim. Realized that the corsages had been forgotten back at the house - but because of a terrible traffic accident, we couldn't get back. A quick call to B. and her hub K., and they graciously agreed to pick them up on their way. Went to the site, got to work on hanging the centerpiece. It worked! (Okay, so it had to be hung a couple of different times, and J. did the ladder work, and then K. helped to make it hang higher, and all right some of the flowers fell out, but I had this great glue that works on wet foam... so it all worked out!)

all's well in the end, right?

So: the project of the flowers was a blessing in that it was an urgent distraction from our grief - a place to look away for a short time, to catch our breath before moving further into mourning. The women who helped me were each grateful for the distraction too - working with our hands to make something beautiful, in the company of loving sisters, can only be good. And I am oh, so grateful to them for their help. It takes a village, indeed. The wedding was a joyful island in a sea of sorrow, and it was buoyant enough to carry us all along for a few days; blessed relief.

The following photos were taken by Piper's wedding photographer, Jeremy Young

flower girl basket, filled with lavender

the groom, sporting his feather-and-"brains" bout

of course, the bride

I was SO happy to see that the colors in the
bouquets matched the girls' dresses perfectly!

the Summer of twenty-ten (part IV)

September 9 - one month ago

I was home, my day off. I'd been running around all day, buying flowers and supplies for the wedding (more on that later), getting the flowers cooled and in buckets, etc. I was in my apartment when there came an immediately identifiable sound: jet engine, very close. Weird, I thought in that split second, that it keeps coming. While nearby, they don't usually fly right over this area - especially on a sunny day. And then the sound did not get quieter, nor louder, and then a BOOM. Running to the window, I looked northwest in the direction of the sound. Above the roofline of the adjacent building I saw the column of smoke.

I ran out of the apartment and down the stairs, bare feet, no keys. I wanted to get to where I could see better. Well, the view was no better from 3 floors down on the sidewalk than it was in my apartment, but I could tell better where it was. Clearly, it was part of my neighborhood, not in my section, but on the other side of San Bruno Ave.

(click to enlarge)
'A' is where the blast happened; 'B' is my street.
this also encompasses my parents' home (near the oval track
in the SE corner) and my church (just SW of 'B')

The next hour or so are a blur. Neighbors who came outside the same time as me let me back into the building. I turned on the t.v. - and was frustrated initially that there was nothing there, just the evening news. I called Mom and Dad - they were fine, and had an excellent view of the smoke and fire. Dad was sure it was not an airplane - the theory I was going on - but a gas line. (How right he was.) I called T. to tell him that San Bruno was going to be on the news, what I knew, and that I was safe. All this time, and for about 2 hours, the roar of the "jet engine" did not cease.

Finally, the news of the explosion came on - reporting a possible plane crash (per local reports, based on the sound we all heard) or maybe a gas station explosion. They showed some initial photos... just smoke, no perspective or landmarks. And then there was an aerial shot, panning from Lunardi's and the [intact] gas station, across San Bruno Ave, and down Glenview... to Claremont... where my friends the Bullis family were.
No.
No, no, no, oh no.

Will, Sue, Janine and Greg, at Janine's college graduation, June 2009

Will, with his dad Greg looking on, in 2006 at Bethany's 50th anniversary

I posted on facebook that we were safe some time before the power went out. With no lights, I decided I wanted to be with my parents - just in case. From their elevation, I could indeed see the fire. I stood on the hill behind their house and watched - I don't know for how long. I saw the airplanes come in, bombing the fire with retardant, over and over again, for at least an hour. I prayed. And I hoped that Lavonne, Sue, Greg and Will were somewhere, anywhere else at that hour.

Lavonne at one of our 1st Saturday dinners

Mom & Dad's phone kept ringing, and several of the calls were robo-calls from the sheriff's department, announcing a voluntary evacuation for all within ¾ of a mile of the explosion. They decided that they would stay in place - and I'd decided that I was sticking with them for the duration. Calls from my sister, reassuring her that I'd take care of the folks if need be, making sure that her father-in-law had someone with him. Checked on my friend Anne, who lives very near, but above, the blast. Called my kids, who had not yet heard of the explosion. I told A., "just look up; you can see the smoke from anywhere you are right now". I went home to pack a bag, finding 4 voice mails: 2 from the sheriff, one from a dear friend from the Woods, one from a reporter for the Examiner. We had take-out dinner. I did not take any photos. I did not sleep well in my old bedroom.

Next morning we learned that Sue was safe. She was at work in a late meeting. A search was on for the others. I think we all knew that they were no longer on Earth, but still we waited for official word. It did not come for nearly a week. Sunday, we all gathered for church. It was packed. It was surreal. It was comforting. It was agonizing. It was sacred. It was so, so beautiful to all be together, even in our grief.

Will and Janine, with friend Michelle (R), at a chilly beach party for First Saturday

Lavonne (R) with friends K. and B. at that same beach party.
I didn't realize until I went searching for these photos:
Lavonne joined in the fun for MANY of our 1st Saturday events!

(It was not unexpected that there might be unfamiliar faces among us in worship, but it turned out that three of those were members of the press. They were quite persistent - inappropriately so. The invasion of the neighborhood by helicopters and small aircraft would be so relentless that I found myself raging at them over those first several days - a sign of some PTSD on my part.)

my roofline and one of the ever-present choppers

Next: a blessed union, a blessed distraction.