Grandma Cooney's Recipe Box

    I baked cookies today, and thought of my Grandma Cooney.  In my memory there isn't anyone  who made  better tasting cookies than Grandma ! I'm fortunate to have many of her recipes. That's because one year for Christmas, when I was 13 years old, one of Grandma's gifts to me was a  small metal recipe box , so reminiscent  from the early  1960's, filled with a variety of  recipe's  - Biscuits, Bread, Cakes, Cookies,  Pastry/Pies, Meats, Vegetables, Sauces  and Salad Dressings, each one  carefully handwritten on a
 3"  x 5"   card.   On top of the box it says,  "Favorite Recipes From My Grandma Cooney".  

   That box still sits on my kitchen counter, and Grandma's favorite recipes have become my favorite recipes, especially Thumb Print cookies.   This morning while I was adding  1/2 cup  brown sugar to 1/2 pound butter, and rolling the dough into the shape of a wagon wheel, I couldn't help but smile feeling Grandma's presence very near, and the hope she  was smiling too.

 

   
    But perhaps the most important recipe Grandma put in the box is this one, the  recipe  for living  life:

"Remember, petite, to find some way to be happy. For when you are sad you grow plain - when you are plain, you grow bitter, when you are bitter, then you are very disagreeable and a disagreeable woman has nothing, neither friends, nor love nor contentment"

   Thank you , Grandma,  for your long reaching guidance, and everlasting love.



   

Greer Garson, Grandma Viv & Her Dishes

    I  worked hard yesterday around the house, taking care of chores  and cooking , and painting the front room. So when evening fell, and and the sky grew dark  I was ready to relax, and watch one of my favorite actresses from the golden age of Hollywood ,  Greer Garson starring in a movie on TCM. To me the roles she played were always women to be admired,   full of spunk, and loyal. The first thing I noted about    the movie,  Her Twelve Men  was it was filmed  in 1954, the year my brother, Walt  was born. Reading the credits I also learned Tim Considine and David Stollery  - from  Mickey Mouse Club fame also starred. A much younger Tim and Dave than I remember seeing in Disney's Spin &  Marty series.

   Her Twelve Men is a sweet , lighthearted comedy, perfect for a viewing after a busy day, one to lift one's  spirit , and make one smile.  I   remember reading   it  was Greer Garson's last movie for MGM , and  was thinking of other great MGM movies she starred in  (Mrs. Miniver, Valley of Decision, That Forthsyte Woman) when a scene with her and another young actor appeared  on  screen.They were drinking tea , or maybe  it was hot chocolate.  No matter, what caught my attention was the cups and saucers they were drinking from - the very same VernonWare  Organdie pattern my Grandmother Vivian used every day !  The same cups and saucers that graced the table whenever we had a meal at grandma's house. The same cups and saucers I helped wash and dry after dinner.  

   The movie ended on a happy note, and I was ready for bed. As I closed my eyes, I thought   how  sweet  movies used to be, and more especially  of my grandmother, and her dishes, and the dear  memories they invoke.

In Memory Of

When  I was very young
a long time ago, I had
no worries or cares. The 
world was  bright, and 
all was good. The future 
seemed a distant place, far
from where I stood. Family 
and friends filled my home
with merriment and cheer,
where we  laughed and played , 
and knew each other well.
But years have passed ,
and we grow old, some
no longer here,only the memory
of their sweet song 
softly lingers still

Between Husband & Wife

As I lay down to sleep
to night, memories
of this day swirl around 
my head; First, my husband 
greeting me with a good 
morning hug, then outside
to split some wood, while 
I make pancakes on an electric
grill, the two of us eating
our fill,and discussing the
news of  the world. 
Our voices unheard
but to the two of us, our 
concerns , and worries, 
and hopes , and fears
no one will ever hear.

Longing for Spring

 I was fooled . Thought spring had arrived. Even put my snow shoes away. But today  I awoke to snow, and a cold winter day. We kept our wood burning stove blazing bright, helping to keep the household warm. Tonight the wind continues to howl,  and  bang  against the door. I shiver and sigh, my old bones ache; I sit in the chair with my book , but think of  blue skies and warmer days.

We Remember When... Friends From Long Ago

   I'm 62 years old.  Life, or the end of life  seems to be creeping in more and more.   Of late I hear of so many I have known  who have passed from this earth to their Heavenly home, or suffering with terminal disease.  Dear ones  that helped shape my life , and will always bring sweet memories to times past.   Just  a few hours ago,  I learned about another  from my youthful days who is suffering so, and about to part from this world. I , along with his family and many friends, pray for Dave Weldon, trusting our Lord is ever present with him.

     I  remember those early days of our childhood when we attended St. Rose of Lima school  together,  learning the foundations of our Catholic faith, and giving the nuns a run for their money. We were lively children. During our grade school days, Dave played on the basketball team, was an altar boy and  the first boy I kissed  playing Spin the Bottle at our eighth grade party. After St. Rose , we were classmates at Bell High , and in later years   neighbors living across the street from one another on the modest street ,  Flora Avenue.  Our  younger brothers, Walt and Mike were pals.

    For many years Dave and I shared the same friends, including his high school girlfriend, Pam .  Eventually, we all moved on and our lives took different turns; careers, marriage, family, and we  lived  lives happily ever after.  Yet,  we  still recall that time long ago when we knew each other when., and how sweet it was.

    God Bless you, David Weldon , the boy you were, and the man you grew to be.


   

Who am i?

Who am i ?
To  think my 
thoughts are so 
lofty , and worthy
to share with others 
i am nobody, 
except for those 
i know and love - 
they are the best
part of who
i am

Snowshoeing at Twilight

     It was late , twilight, when I went out snowshoeing today. The landscape,  with its soft shadows and shaded hues was especially lovely. I made several tracks across smooth white snow before I stopped to take in the magnificence of the trees all about me. They stood  perfectly still, not even  the slightest breeze brushing their piney branches. All was  quiet, peaceful,  not a sound could be heard, except my own breathing in and out.  I couldn't seem to move, like I was  locked in place,   as though the silence held me captive. My thoughts slowly  shifted from the challenges of my day to something more lofty and grand. A prayer of thanksgiving escaped my lips, grateful for God's creation so wonderfully displayed in nature 

A Ray of Light

 A ray  of sunlight
breaks  through the
cold, gray sky
to shine on
snow-covered trees,
the frozen ground,
and bird in flight;
Bringing  hope 
for the morrow
before  dark of night

January 27

The cold of winter
with its icy roads and
snow covered ground,
and colorless days 
of muted gray 
no longer seems
like the welcome
visitor one is 
happy to see,
but a tiresome quest
who has exhausted
her stay

The Turntable

i sit alone
(my husband has gone to bed)
and listen to music;
Favorite vinyl albums
played on a Pioneer
turntable from the
late 1970's
Considered an antique
to youth of today,
for me a sweet
gem from long 
ago yesterday -
the  familiar sound  of 
Peter, Paul and Mary,
Neil Diamond, and
The Carpenter's
make me smile
remembering those
days gone by

January Days

My beautiful north Idaho
even in January
with its cold , winter days
and the earth and trees
covered in snow
lifts my soul
to praise  God's  grandeur 
and splendor of 
nature in every season
and all ways

Victor Hugo & the Musical Les Miserables

    Yesterday was a grey, snowy day in north Idaho. A good day for staying in the house to read, write letters  or go to a movie.  My friend Patty and I chose the later. We met in town at noon -   the weather didn't seem to bother the many folks  milling about, most  in  coats, many  with the identifiable North Face logo,  and colorful scarfs and knit hat. Patty and I  looked the same, all bundled up  when we  walked into Riverstone Theater to see  Les Miserables., the much talked about movie musical adapted from the stage and based on Victor Hugo's timeless novel of the same name. It was a  perfect movie to see on a cold January day. I would say  a near perfect movie in every way, to see  any day.

    This movie was wonderfully cast - from Anne Hathaway's Fantaine and hearing her sing the  hauntingly lovely I Dreamed a Dream to Samantha Bank's Eponine to Daniel Huttlestone as the child Gavroche.

    While some critics bemoaned the singing voices of Hugh Jackman and Russell Crowe, I thought their voices were strong and steady, filled with just the right emotion, and  natural for the way  Jean Valjean and Javert might sound. Listening to Valjean (Jackman) prayerfully sing

God on high
hear my prayer
In my need you have always been there

He is young
He's afraid
Let him rest
Heaven blessed
Bring him home,
Bring him home,
Bring him home

 was only one of many times   I was moved to tears and  held out my left  hand for Patty to give me a tissue to wipe my eyes.  I thought of all the sons, including my own, and the fathers and mothers who passionately pray that same kind of prayer when their child has gone through struggles or in harms way.

    After learning his friends - the friends he  talked and laughed with, dreamed dreams with and were so full of hope   have all been killed , Marius (portrayed by the charming Eddie Redmayne) touches our hearts with his sad, lilting voice when he sings these lines from Empty Chairs, Empty Tables 

That I live, and you are gone.
There's a grief that can't be spoken.
There's a pain that goes on and on

and we think of our friends, the ones we laugh and talk with - so very dear to us.

    On the inside cover of the Broadway album   from 1986 is written, Les Miserables is a great blazing pageant of life and death at the barricades of political and social revolution in Victor Hugo's nineteenth century France. Yes.  But  also  so much more than that, as  Hugo himself wrote in his letter to M. Daelli, publisher of the Italian translation of LM

    "YOU ARE RIGHT, SIR, WHEN you tell that Les Miserables  is written for all nations. I do not know whether it will be read by all, but I wrote it for all. It is addressed to England as well to Spain, to Italy as well as to France, to Germany as well as to Ireland, to Republics which have slaves as well as to Empires which have serfs. Social problems overstep frontiers. The sores of the human race, those great sores which cover the globe, do not halt at the red or blue lines traced upon the map. In every place where man is ignorant and despairing, in every place where woman is sold for bread, wherever the child suffers for lack of the book which should instruct him and the hearth which should warm him, the book of Les Miserables knocks at the door and says: "Open to me, I come for you."

    It is a story of love, and loss, of sin and redemption, of hope and  moral courage; A story of friendship and faith.  Never give up. Press on. Hold to the high road. Choose the better part. Freedom .

    The blending of Hugo's novel with lyrics of Herbert Kretzmer and music by Alain Boublil and Claude-Michel Schonberg is brilliant, elevating  the tale of Jean Valjean and his question  Who Am I  to new heights.

SNOW

White and fluffy and soft, 
i  first think  of cotton
falling from the sky; 
 Then of prisms
 that  glisten in the light
covering the field  
like a blanket
on a king-size bed,  and
draping evergreens in
 winter cold.  Snow.

NEW YEAR'S DAY 2013

 For me, New Year's Day  2013 starts   with  homemade huckleberry pancakes and basted eggs breakfast,  the Rose Parade and college football games, then  quiet moments sitting  in front of the fire resting and relaxing,  reading Flannery O'Connor,  and Russell Janney's Miracle of the Bells. Gary and I play Cribbage, and watch deer just outside the window as they nibble at each other's muzzle.

It's cold and grey outside, the trees  flocked with snow, but this day, like every New Year's Day brings a feeling of excitement;  An anticipation something fresh and beautiful lays ahead. It allows us to shed the mistakes and missteps of the past year, and a freedom  to renew the failed resolutions we didn't quite meet in 2012. To strive again to be more generous and kind; to forgive. To lift the spirit of family and friend. To hold a hand, to understand.

How many of us don't long for peace in our families, communities, our nation; our world? With this  first day of the new year, I have hope  peace, and love  can be found.

NEW YEAR'S EVE 2012

The last day of the year - 2012.  Some who trusted in  the Mayan prophecy  believed this date would never be. I can't help but wonder   how many doomsday scenarios and end of the world predictions have been proclaimed through the years.   I take comfort in the Lord's word to us in Scripture, 'Only God knows the day and hour."

For me, the onset of this day wasn't much different than any other day, except a quiet knowledge,  and silent reflection that another year was ending - a new year soon to begin. I busied myself with usual things - washing dishes, laundry, and after Christmas chores - putting away Santa's and taking down the tree. I took time to browse  through favorite books, share  a hamburger with my husband and watch  a classic movie , After The Thin Man on TCM.  I called my mother, and chatted with my son, Gavin about the high's and low's of his new job, and read a note from my father about his Christmas Day. I hung a picture my grand-daughter, Emily  drew of her Grandpa and me on our refrigerator door, and smiled.

I  thought of those no longer here, and cried, and reflected on life's moment's , both big and small , so grateful for family and friends who color my life with joy - this past year and every year. 

The Advent Wreath

   Yesterday  when  Father Bill Crowley, the pastor of St. Thomas the Apostle parish  in Coeur d Alene   lighted the  first candle on the Advent wreath ,  I thought about  its significance , and how it helps Christians deepen our appreciation of Christmas , helping all who participate to anticipate, and prepare spiritually  for the coming of    the Lord.  I was also reminded of my  youth where I attended St. Rose of Lima parochial school  in the small Los Angeles  suburb of   Maywood, California during the 1950's and 60's.

    It was a time when southern California colors were vivid and bright, not yet hazed over in a constant veil of smog , and the landscape  still dotted with orange groves and dairy farms. St. Rose of Lima school, built in 1933 was a Spanish style two story structure with a red tile roof  and triple arched portico's off to the side of the front entrance. The architecture  gave way to the rich Hispanic heritage of southern California , and seemed both grand and humble as it stood among a neighborhood  of modest homes with well groomed front yards.

    Upon entering through a pair of massive wood doors at the front of the school, students  grades one through eight  stepped into a protected,  and disciplined environment dedicated to religious and academic studies.  It  was on the ground floor, in the long hall   that   the entire student body would gather every Wednesday afternoon for the the lighting of the Advent Wreath during the four weeks of Advent.   The wreath  hung from  the vaulted  ceiling, and was larger than any wreath I've seen to this day.  The janitor, who was ever present around the school, making sure the toilets flushed properly, and floors were cleaned, constructed a rope pulley that allowed the wreath to be raised and lowered  to make the candles easier for one of the older students to  light;  I recall  the  thick  lush, green branches , and how beautiful they were,   and the scent of   a fresh wintry mountain smell that permeated the hall.  It's a smell familiar  from the wooded area I live in today, far from my southern California roots, and am reminded of  that time long ago, and what the evergreen branches  circled around the wreath represent - continuous life.

    My grade school days are long past, but  I  happily  remember the good  Sisters of Notre Dame, wearing  traditional habits,  that included  a black tunic, white Wimple  and Rosary beads hanging from their cincture, and how they  read   scripture passages aloud  from Isiah, then lead us into prayer, and  helped us understand about the Advent Wreath and its meaning  to our spiritual life.  We learned what the four candles; three purple,  and one pink - the base of each candle  nestled into the evergreen branches represented.   The purple candles signify prayer and penance; dark days of waiting. The pink candle, lit on the third week of Advent is a sign of hope that the long wait is almost over - the birth of the Messiah is near.

    Even now, if I  look closely through  memory's eye, I can almost  see Sister Mary Angelista blow into her small round pitch pipe alerting 250  uniformed boys and girls it was time to sing, "O Come, O Come Emmanuel" , and smile. Giving thanks for the blessing of that time, and what it means to me today.



  ***Note: The word Advent is derived from the Latin adventus  meaning arrival, approach, coming.

Great Horned Owl

I heard the familiar hoot
of the Great Horned Owl
again this morning;  His loud
and persistent call
who, who, who
continued on  like 
the beat of a tom-tom
sounding an alarm 
at the break of dawn -
waking me from gentle sleep
and my  land of dreams


Note: Great Horned Owls make their home in north Idaho year round,and are chiefly nocturnal. I have seen this owl starring back at me a few times over the past years and am struck  by the gaze of  his yellow gold eyes -  strikingly beautiful  as he  penetrates the dusk, and  the focus of his vision.  According to Stan Tekiela's Birds of Idaho field guide, the Great Horned  Owl  isn't able to turn its head all the way around , and his 'ears' are actually tufts of feathers (horns) and have nothing to do with his hearing, which is excellent -  the Great Horned Owl is able to hear a mouse moving beneath a foot of snow.  Because his wing feathers are ragged on ends, the Great Horned Owl is like a thief in the night ,  stealth and silent when he takes flight.

Beauty All About Me

I may not live here forever, perhaps a time will come when I have to leave this place - but for the moment,  I delight in the beauty of my surroundings - nature at its best.

A forest of evergreen trees circle round our north Idaho home, like a fortress protecting the King's crown; There is the shimmery glimmer of Lake Coeur d Alene not far in the distance, and the sway of a gentle breeze,  like a breath of  life moving  across  the land. I see a Red Tail hawk fly low in the sky, while two Blue Jays, brilliant in color perch on the feeder hanging from the limb of a fir nearly 100 years old. I watch white tail deer follow one another over wooded trails , and a hen turkey lead her brood of eight through a thicket of   brush. It is peaceful and quiet, like the sacredness of a sanctuary. I am reminded of the Biblical verse  Psalm 24:1 The earth is the Lord's ,and its fullness, and am grateful for the bounty He shares.

  

His Birthday in Heaven - September 4

Every Sunday at Mass, after the Gospel reading and homily,  Catholics  proclaim their Profession of Faith  - the end of the  creed is this : I believe in the Holy Spirit, the Holy Catholic Church, the Communion of Saints, the forgiveness of sins, the resurrection of the body, and life everlasting . 

By Communion of Saints the church means the union which exists between the members of the church on earth with one another, and with the blessed in Heaven. A spiritual solidarity which binds the faithful together - both living and dead.

I hold this belief dear, and perhaps because of it,  find it   easier   to  picture my brother Walt celebrating his birthday today with the Heavenly crowd.  Surrounded by Angelic well wishers, joyfully singing to him the birthday song.  Others are there  celebrating with him, too  - the faithful departed he knew and loved while on this earth - grandparents, aunts, uncles, and long time  friends.  And Walt is smiling and happy.

I hope, just for a moment Walt looks down from Heaven's door to hear me say, I remember this day,  the day of your birth and how special you were - Happy Birthday, little  brother !  Love from your Sis, always and forever.