The Aroma of Peace

My little short legs have just been a-pumping the past few days.  Everywhere I walk, it is with purpose and a task in mind. 

We had a weather event (who comes up with these phrases?) last week and The Church House was closed on Thursday afternoon and Friday.  So, last week was a short week.

Next week would be a short week, with a Monday holiday, but mine is really short.  I’m adding 2 vacation days to that to spend a few days with my absent husband who is at the _______ in _______!  (I’m not saying because people seem to hate me when I say where I’m going. )

I’ve spent all week catching up so I can get ahead, if that makes sense. 

That doesn’t even account for the fact that there was an earthquake in Haiti and The Church House is buzzing with activity regarding aid for Haiti.

It seems like the world is just out of kilter, you know? 

Oh, did I mention that I sang at a funeral on Monday and am singing at a funeral this afternoon?  Quite the bookends for my work week.

Anyway, I rushed into the kitchen to grab a cup of coffee (and wouldn’t you know that I had to make it myself).  While impatiently waiting for it to drip on through and tapping my little size 6 foot and thinking of the 949 things that I needed to be doing, I took a deep breath.



I inhaled the wonderful aroma of cinnamon baking.  Today is Friday.  Every Friday morning, the children in the daycare get ½ slice of cinnamon toast for their morning snack. 

I closed my eyes and was instantly transported into a very warm kitchen, sitting as close to the radiator as I could get, reading a book out loud to my Mother, who was at the kitchen sink.  Snow was blowing outside the window, but it was so cozy and safe in that kitchen.  Mother would help me with whatever word I might be struggling with, without even looking - which I always thought was some sort of magic. (Several years later, as I practiced the piano, she could walk through and look at me and say, "B flat, Molli".  I didn’t figure out how she could do that, either, until my own was practicing the piano.  Then, I knew.)

Many, many cold afternoons of my childhood, and there were more than a few - we lived in Iowa and Missouri when I was a child - were spent in the kitchen with my dear Mother, sipping hot tea and eating cinnamon toast.  The aroma of cinnamon toast brings me a sense of safety, of comfort, of knowing that Daddy would be coming home and that everything really was going to be okay.

And, you know what?  When I opened my eyes and found that I was still in a world that has seemingly gone completely mad, I felt the sweetest peace.  As long as there is cinnamon toast to be made and children to eat it, as long as there are so many people who genuinely care about the victims of poverty and disaster, as long as I trust that God is in control and know that He will meet my needs…everything really is going to be all right.  Even if I don’t know or can’t grasp those things, it really is going to be okay.

Sometimes, it just takes the right aroma to make me remember.

Thank you, Heavenly Father, for the gift of music that seems to comfort those who are mourning, for the outpouring of compassion and giving that I have seen first-hand this week, for allowing me to go to _______ to see my Rocket Man and for a so many wonderful fragrances in Your world and our ability to inhale them and find peace.

Happy Birthday, Sweet Daddy!

Today, December 16, marks the 79th anniversary of the birth of My Sweet Daddy. I have already told you that I am the self-proclaimed Queen of Daddy’s Girls, so this day is very special to me. I love my Sweet Daddy for many reasons and in many ways. We share a very special relationship, and I can only hope and pray that you share a similar relationship with your Daddy.


My earliest memories are of My Sweet Daddy. He rocked me to sleep when I was little…and even when I thought I was pretty big. Until I started school, he would rock me after lunch in a big green rocking chair as I fell asleep for my nap. He sang to me Liza Jane and I Love Little Willie are two I remember, as well as hymns. He sang I Know Whom I Have Believed when I was afraid of storms and hold me close to his chest, where I heard his heart beating and felt safe and warm.


Daddy was a history major and he taught me American History by telling me stories. All in the first person, I might add. When he taught me about George Washington, he would say “George and I.” He might say, “When Lewis and Clark and I went west to the Pacific….” I believed that My Sweet Daddy held the paper for the signers of the Declaration of Independence, walked with Johnny Appleseed planting trees, helped Davy Crockett load and re-load at the Alamo and cooked the first Thanksgiving Feast at Plymouth. I really did. Imagine my dismay when my kindergarten teacher told me that he didn’t REALLY do those things. My grief was akin to that of a child who learns that Santa doesn’t really have a sleigh that flies.

As I grew, My Daddy had not only my heart and my love, but also my respect and admiration. He is a man of God, a man of integrity and a man of principles. His word is his honor. He was often…okay he was always firm with us. But I have never once doubted that he loved me. Never have, never will.

He wrote letters to me when I left home. Every Monday for years and years. Long before the age of email and instant access, I looked forward to the mailman at the end of the week. Very few weeks went by that I didn’t have a letter from my Daddy, full of news about the family and the church. What I treasured about those letters was not necessarily the news, but the assurance that life was going on and no matter where I was…home was still there.

My Daddy has a rare intellect and is one of the smartest people I have ever known. Not only book smart, although he is that in spades, but he also possesses a common sense that is rare in our culture today. He continued to quietly encourage me as I plodded and plodded toward my college degree. What an honor it was for me at the age of 45…just a few days short of my 46^th birthday, to have My Daddy and Mother (as well as my husband, both my children, my daughter-in-law and my grandsons) in the seats as they called my name and I walked across the stage to receive my Bachelors Degree. Showing my diploma to him and having him look at me and tell me how proud he was of me is one of the highlights of my adult life. My graduation honors were not quite as high as his…no adjectives before the Cum Laude, however the greatest graduation honor for me was his very evident pride.

I get up every morning with the assurance that My Sweet Daddy will pray for me, probably before the morning is through. He joyfully shares with me the good things that happen, and shares my sorrows when things don’t go so well. Recently when I had surgery, he sat by my side...day after day. We watched old westerns together. It was such a comfort to wake up and have him there close by.

So, on this day in the midst of Christmas preparations, I want to celebrate another birtht That of My Sweet Daddy. I am so thankful that God gave us to each other. Daddy, you have nurtured me, taught me, loved me, teased me, disciplined me, comforted me and loved me. I love you, My Sweet Daddy. Happy Birthday to You!

Christmas Sweets

{These are some of Molli's favorite Christmas recipes ... foods she makes every year - or close to it. Enjoy!}

Cool Whip Candy

3 (8 oz) Hershey bars
2 cartons Cool Whip
1/2 cup vanilla wafer crumbs or cookie crumbs or chopped nuts

Melt chocolate in microwave. Stir until smooth. Cool slightly. Stir in Cool Whip. Drop by teaspoons into crumbs or nuts. Place on waxed paper. Store in refrigerator.

Sugar Bacon
{Yep, bacon for dessert ... does it get any better?}

1/2 pound bacon at room temperature
1 cup (okay, who am I kidding, I always use more!) brown sugar

• Roll, pat, or shake the bacon in brown sugar. (I coat it big time!)
• Place bacon strips in flat pan with sides.
• Bake at 300 degrees until bacon is well done, 30 to 40 minutes.
• Remove with tongs and drain on brown paper bags.
• As it cools, bacon will get hard and can be broken into smaller pieces or served whole.

Tiger Butter

1 pound white chocolate or white almond bark
1 (12 ounce) jar of peanut butter
1 pound semisweet chocolate, melted

• Combine white chocolate and peanut and melt in microwave.
• Spread mixture onto a wax-paper-lined jellyroll pan.
• Pour melted semisweet chocolate over peanut butter mixture and swirl with knife.
• Chill until firm.
• Break into pieces.
• Store in refrigerator.

Divinity

2 & 2/3 cup sugar
2/3 cup light corn syrup
1/4 cup water
2 egg whites
1 tsp. vanilla

• Heat sugar, corn syrup and water in a 2-qt saucepan over low heat, stirring constantly until sugar is dissolved.
• Cook, without stirring, until temperature on a candy thermometer reaches 260 degrees or until a small amount dropped into very cold water forms a hard ball.
• Remove from heat.
• Beat egg whites until stiff peaks form.
• Continue beating and pour hot syrup in a thin stream into egg whites.
• Add vanilla; beat until mixture holds its shape and becomes slightly dull.
• Drop from a buttered spoon onto waxed paper.

We hope you enjoy these recipes. Check back every Friday for more of our favorite holiday sweets and treats.

What are some of the favorite foods in your home at Christmas?



This post linked up with the ever so delightful Lisa at Stop & Smell the Chocolates! Go visit her for more dessert ideas ... Teri Lynne has linked her Red Velvet Cake recipe there!!

Peaceful Rest

Several years ago, we had quite a Christmas at our house. Not only were the usual suspects there (Ed, Mollianne, Annie, Forest, Malcolm and Sean) but also my sister’s family (Linda, Joey, BobbieJo, MJ and Sami), my parents (Bob and Charlotte) my step-daughters (Danika and Angel…both with boyfriends who are now ex-boyfriends), my brother-in-law and maybe a few more. Who could count them all?

I remember 2 things in particular. The first is that it was noisy. You can’t have that many people (especially people in my family) in one house and not have a lot of chatter, giggling, laughing, screeching and loud over-talking. Just can’t do it. No way. No how. It was loud. When Ed and I slipped away the nights we spent at a friend’s house, we commented on how quiet the quiet was when we got there.

The second memory is that I was sick. I used to get sick every Christmas, but it had been quite some time since I had been this ill, much less at Christmas. I woke up on the 23^rd with a scratchy throat, but went on to Church and sang in the Christmas program. I opted out of the annual ‘Cutting of the Christmas Tree’ and tried to get a nap on the couch. By the evening, I was running a pretty fair temperature and feeling awful. With a house-full of company!

I woke up on Christmas Eve with no voice at all, and was coughing a deep and horrible cough. It was official. I was sick. Really sick. I had to call the Music Director at church and tell her that I would be unable to sing my solo at the early Christmas Eve service. Actually, I whispered to her, but she got what I was trying to say. I think she had caller ID and figured out who was calling and managed to get to the bottom line from my croaky whispering.

As the day progressed, I felt worse and worse. It began to get dark and everyone was scurrying to get ready for church. I was on the couch, wrapped up in a blanket trying to hold my eyes open. There was no way I was going to get dressed up and go to church. If I went at all, it would be in the clothes I was wearing. As I observed the pandemonium in my house, my Sweet Daddy came and sat close to me. He brushed the hair back from my face and whispered, “Would you like me to stay home with you while the rest of them go to church?” Would I???

I should tell you that I am The Self-Proclaimed Queen of Daddy’s Girls. I have found comfort in his arms more times that I can count. I tried to open my eyes enough to focus on his face and croaked out a very weak, “Yes sir!” He sat down beside me and I leaned into those wonderful arms that have been a haven to me for over 50 years. We were both asleep before the last of the church-goers left the house.

We were still asleep, with my head on his shoulder when they burst in from church. I’ll have to say that they came in loudly, but I guess you’d have figured that out!

What a sweet Christmas memory, but it blends into so many other memories of times when my Sweet Daddy was there for me. I am so blessed to have an earthly father whose life has continually pointed me to my Heavenly Father. How easy it is for me to believe that My Father loves and cares for me when I’ve lived my whole life knowing how much my Sweet Daddy loves me. If he cares for me so…how much more does God care for me?

How wonderful to rest in The Father’s arms, with all of our burdens, weariness and busy-ness of the season when we celebrate the birth of His Son!

What burdens are you carrying? Has the Christmas season already got you down? Do you need the arms of a loving Father to give you rest?

All you have to do is ask and He is there. His wonderful promise in Matthew 11:28 is this: Come to me, all of you who are weary and loaded down with burdens, and I will give you rest. (International Standard Version 2008)

I Love Christmas

(Four generations ... Neenie, Bigmama holding Molli, Mother)

I love Christmas. I love the music. I love the decorations. I love the giving and receiving of gifts. I love the food…I really love the food. I love the memories I treasure in my heart of Christmas past and the hope I cling to for Christmas future. I try with all my might to enjoy and celebrate Christmas present in such a way that would be pleasing to our Almighty God whose Son we adore.

I could probably write an entire book about all the interesting Christmas memories I have, but I will spare you that-for now. I am not easily moved to tears. I don’t like sappy movies or books. But get me started on Christmas stories, and I’ll have to admit that my eyes get a bit misty.

When I was a little girl, we lived in Iowa. It seemed that we were a million miles away from my Grandparents and the ride to get to them, which we did at some point most every Christmas, took even longer than it did in the summer. My Neenie’s house would be decorated so beautifully. I have some of those decorations now and I cherish them. Things were sort of fancy at her house, and we always got THE LECTURE about behaving, not running, no fighting…yada yada yada!

We usually stayed with Neenie and Bobo (my maternal grandparents) but would drive to Grandma and Grandpa’s house ( my paternal grandparents) to visit with them, about 30 miles away. Grandma would greet us at the door and tell us, ‘you know where you are and you know where the food is…help yourselves!’ I can remember Mother telling us (along with the above lecture) to PLEASE not act like we hadn’t eaten for weeks. But, who could help it? Grandma had fudge, divinity, rice krispies treats, potato chips, oranges, bananas, R.C. colas and Pepsi (in bottles in the refrigerator and ever so much better than what we drink today) and it was ours for the taking. If we ate it all up, more would be there the next day when we came back. It was like paradise. She kept the goodies in tins on the table and we could just go and get it. In fact, she meant it when she said to help ourselves. She was too busy to get it for us. Boy! Oh, Boy! My mouth waters today when I think about that table in her house.

Except for one year. I imagine it was the Christmas of 1962. We didn’t go home for Christmas. You see, Daddy got us up in the night and we were taken to the home of family friends. We had been so excited because Mother was expecting a baby. He (I was sure it was going to be a boy, all the other kids but me were boys…so why wouldn’t this one be, as well?) was due close to my birthday. On December 23, if my memory serves me correctly, Mother lost that baby.

When Mother came home, we got another lecture. We weren’t to make demands on her. We were to be quiet so she could rest. No fighting, fussing, running, etc. She was pale. Christmas became not the normal laughter and cheer, but rather sad.

Until…a car pulled up in the driveway. It was Bobo and Neenie. And Bigmama. Neenie’s mother. God bless her, Bigmama had on her apron and had ridden all the way to Iowa wearing it. She came in and took charge. Believe you me…she knew how to be in charge! Food was prepared. Gifts were opened. Christmas took on that magic again. We were with family. I knew it was important if Bigmama came.

(Bigmama)

I don’t have any idea what I got that year for Christmas. I’m sure there were pajamas and probably a doll under the tree. I’m equally as sure that we read the story of Christ’s birth from the Gospel of Luke, because we did that every year. I imagine we said a prayer and were thankful for all of our blessings before we tore into the gifts. I couldn’t swear to any of that.

What I can swear to is this; Family mattered to us. Not only our little family, but also our extended family. I learned by example that when things don’t go as planned or when bad things happen…family comes to help get you through. I learned that if Mother couldn’t care for us, someone who loved us very much would step in and fill in for her until she was again able to do that. Some of those people weren’t family, but they loved us and took us in.

More often than not as an adult, I have been far away from my parents, brothers and sister. I have made Christmas in tiny apartments, beautiful homes and even in temporary military housing. I have eaten Christmas dinner in a chow hall full of GIs who were probably as homesick as I was. One Christmas, we were living in the Bachelor Officer’s Quarters with Marines during part of the Christmas season. I read “Winnie the Pooh” along with the Christmas Story to my children in the common room, and had some pretty big Marines move their chairs closer and ask me to keep going long after the children had fallen asleep. I’ve shared Christmas with dear friends, and made some new friends over Christmas dinner.

To me, Christmas is about being content wherever you are. It is about the Joy that came to the world and resides in my heart. It is about little children singing “Away in a Manger” and it is about having a spirit of generosity. So, if I am far away from those I hold dear, I remember that the place Christmas truly happens is in my heart. It has nothing to do with location or company. It has everything to do with God becoming flesh and dwelling among us.

I’m praying for each of you to enjoy a Christmas experience so sweet that you will cherish it in your heart the whole year long.

~ Mollianne

Ward Lee Buster

Ward Buster was born on November 4, 1903. He was my Sweet Daddy’s father and my Grandpa. When I was very little, I called him PawPaw, but that slipped easily into Grandpa as I got older.

My relationship to him was always that of a granddaughter to her Grandpa. He gave me nickels and told me I was a pretty girl and bought me candy cigarettes at his country store. He had a soft voice and often winked when he told me something. I don’t recall having deep philosophical conversations with him. It was just simple and looking back, very sweet. He loved me and I loved him. That was enough.

It wasn’t until after he died that I came to know more of the man he was. When I went home for his funeral, I had a two- party check in my wallet that I needed to get cashed. I went to the bank and starting explaining away and when I got to the part about my Grandfather, Ward Buster, who had died the teller said, ‘Honey…if you are Ward Buster’s granddaughter, we will cash that check. His word and his name are solid here.’ I don’t know about you, but that hadn’t ever happened to me. I found out by the respect I was given that my Grandpa was an honest man.

I’m told that he was the ‘white sheep’ of his family. He had some brothers who might have been rough fellows, and perhaps on the wrong side of the law on occasion. At the family cemetery once, I asked my Daddy if we were kin to the man on a tombstone that had the Buster name. Daddy laughed and told me that Grandpa would have said, ‘They may be kin to us, but we aren’t kin to them!’

When I was very little, Grandpa and Grandma lived on a small farm in Eugene, Missouri. They had chickens and a horse. They might have had cows at that point, but I only remember the chickens and the horse. And an outside pump for water. I always wanted to pump water from that thing, but was much too little and puny to do it. I remember Grandpa telling me to try again and he pumped the water while I held on. He smiled and put his hand on my head and said, ‘See! You did it.’ Grandpa ran the Shell store and it was an glorious place for a small child to visit! Wonderful smells and textures. Wood floors that creaked and cracked and what seemed to me to be an endlessly long counter. I recall sitting up on that counter and smoking my candy ‘Lucky Strikes’ thinking that I was a very big dog, indeed. I have the cash register from that store and it is one of my prize possessions.

Grandpa was quite a hunter and fisherman. He used to keep a small spiral notebook in his pocket with the number of fish he caught for each day of the summer that he went fishing. I can remember calling a date out to him and he would look it up and tell me how many fish he’d caught that day.

I never once saw him outside without a hat on, even if he was just walking out to the car. He had ball caps and nice hats. I have one that is a London Fog tweed and I wear it on occasion.

He loved baseball, and he especially loved the St. Louis Cardinals. I remember sitting very still and listening to games when I was wee-tiny. We would sit in their living room and listen on the old radio. The last time I saw him, he was watching the World Series. I don’t believe that the Cards had made it, but he was cheering for the National League.

I’m told that he was quite a ball player. I have a picture of his team from the 1930s when they were the Mid-Missouri Champs. I asked my Daddy once what year Grandpa graduated from High School. Daddy laughed and said that Grandpa didn’t graduate from High School, although he went for quite a few years. I asked Daddy what that meant, exactly. The answer I got was that he went until basketball season was over and then he would find work. The next year, he’d do the same thing. I don’t know if that is legend or not, but it is a good story. I do know that Grandpa was a very smart man, even if he didn’t have much in the way of higher education. They tell me that he could add up a column of numbers quicker than I could punch the numbers in to my calculator. What an amazing gift!

My Grandpa, although he was an honest and good man, did not become a Christian until he was in his 60s. I remember going with my Daddy to Jefferson City, Missouri, and watching as Daddy baptized Grandpa. After that, I remember that he kept a Bible on his table beside his chair, along with his Louis L’Amour novels.

While this Generation to Generation blog is mostly about the women of our family, today is a day to honor one of our men. Ward Lee Buster. I miss his quiet ways and his gentle smile. His standard of honesty and integrity is one that I hope I live up to and am able to pass on to my children and grandchildren so that he would be proud of us…and would be willing to say that not only were we kin to him, but also that he was kin to us.

My Son of the South

I’m a southern girl. I was raised primarily in the mid-west (a perfectly wonderful place to grow up and be from, I might add) but our home was a southern home. My mother’s family is from the south and my daddy’s is from the mid-west and I have always believed that I grew up with the best of all possible worlds. When I moved to Alabama in 1986, it was as comfortable as an old shoe. I had come home.

My life in Alabama had some unpleasantness (that is how we southerners like to refer to lots of things…including what some textbooks call the Civil War) and within a decade, I found myself the single mother of a son going off to college and a teenaged daughter. I was unprepared for such a life, but I put on my big-girl panties and pulled from my strong Midwestern resolve and my Rebel pride and decided that some unpleasantness was NOT going to ruin my life.

Little did I know what God had in my path, just around the bend. Earlier this week, I shared about my first kiss with Ed, on a chilly Sunday evening. I’m not kidding at all when I tell you that my heart skips a beat after more than a few years just thinking about that slow, sweet first kiss.

I suppose I should just go ahead and confess that the person involved in the unpleasantness was a Yankee. Yes, believe it or not, my first marriage was a mixed one. A Southern/Midwestern girl married to a Massachusetts Yankee. He pahked his cahr in the yahd. Everything he did, he did intensely and most of it quickly. He walked fast, he thought quickly and he talked fast. He kept my little ole head spinning at times.It was an interesting time that ended up, as I said, unpleasantly.

One of my prayers at the end of that marriage and the beginning of the rest of my life was that if God had another mate for me, could he please, Please, PLEASE be a Southerner? You know what? God really does answer prayers, and sometimes He answers in spades. The deliverer of that sweetest of first kisses is now the love of my life and the man of my dreams. Also the answer to my prayers, as he was born in Macon, Georgia (doesn’t get any more Southern than that, I tell ya!) and lived in Memphis, Tennessee from the time he was 12 until he graduated from college. I am happily ever after-ing in the Camelot subdivision with a true Son of the South! Seriously a Southerner!

His Mother doesn’t care much about cooking, and I don’t think I’m talking out of turn, because she says the same thing. Neither did her mother. But, I’m told that his paternal grandmother, Ma, was an exceptional southern cook. And he sure does love him some Southern Cooking. I’m going to share one of his favorites with you, because you just might have a Son of the South that you’d like to please. The recipe below is for Pecan Tarts. The first bite will make you hear the soaring ovation from ‘Gone With the Wind’. You just want to eat them slow and savor all the goodness.

Go ahead…try it. And, y’all come back, ya hear?

~ Mollianne

Pecan Tarts

3 whole eggs

1 cup white corn syrup

1 cup chopped pecans

1 cup sugar

¼ cup melted butter

1 teaspoon vanilla

16 tart shells (from the frozen foods section at the Piggly Wiggly, y’all!)

Mix all ingredients well for about 2 minutes with a mixer. Pour into raw tart shells and cook very slowly at 300 degrees for 45-50 minutes.

Apples, Apples, Apples

Photo by scrumpyboy

Is there anything quite as good on a cool fall day as the crunchy sound a crisp, tart apple makes and the rush of liquid sunshine into your mouth as you taste its tart sweetness? Maybe a thing or two, but I think that apples are one of the most delicious gifts of fall. I wonder sometimes if the appeal of the apple had anything to do with Eve’s decision to take that first bite? I’ll have to admit that on more than one occasion, something made with apples has deterred my diet plans. I could sure use a caramel apple made in Mother’s kitchen about now.

I spent the autumn of 1981 in Syracuse, NY. I was a military wife at that time, and we were stationed at Hancock Field. It was a magical fall, with all of the northern colors of leaves and many quaint places to explore. My ex-husband worked shift work and was often home during the daytime and we would pack up the little car with the children and just drive.

One afternoon, we came upon an apple orchard that had a little stand in front where they were selling apples. We bought a bag and stuck up a conversation with the man who owned the orchard. He asked if we would like to see what he had in the barn behind the stand. Curious, we said of course we would. He had a very old cider press, and was actually making cider. He invited us to put a cup under the spout and have a taste. I have never had a beverage that was more satisfying. Fresh from the press, that cider was the stuff that dreams are surely made of. It was like a 4^th of July explosion in my mouth. Of course, we bought a gallon, and were quite disappointed that it was empty by the time we got home.

We became very regular customers of that apple orchard that fall. We learned to take our own containers, and stock up, because we almost always emptied one container by the time we arrived back at home.

What precious memories of a fun time. I can close my eyes and see that old stand and barn at the orchard. I have spent years trying to recapture the taste of that freshly pressed cider…and nothing ever lives up to the mark.

My, oh my! I do love apples and apple cider. Below is the most amazing apple cake I have ever had. Another staple at my house in the fall, this is one that is sure to please anybody with a sweet tooth.

Hoping that today, you will find delight in an apple!

~Mollianne

Fresh Apple Cake with Caramel Frosting

1 ½ cups salad oil

2 cups sugar

2 large eggs

1 tsp salt

1 tsp soda

2 tsp baking powder

1 tsp vanilla

2 ½ cups flour

1 cup pecans

3 cups chopped raw apples

Prepare raw apples and set aside. Measure salad oil into large mixing bowl. Add sugar and eggs. Beat until creamy on low speed with electric mixer. Sift flour with salt, soda and baking powder. Add a small amount of flour at a time to the creamed mixture. Beat well after each addition. When all the flour has been added, or when batter becomes very stiff, remove electric mixer. Fold in chopped pecans and chopped apples. Spread evenly into a 9 x 13 inch pan (or 2 9 inch pans) lined with wax paper.

Bake at 350 degrees for 55 or 60 minutes. turn onto cake rack, remove wax paper, cool and frost.

The apples should be tart and crisp for this recipe.

Caramel Icing

½ cup butter

1 cup brown sugar

¼ cup milk

1 box powdered sugar

Cook butter and sugar together until well blended. Add ¼ cup milk and one box of powdered sugar. Mix and add just enough to spread.

Wonderful Wednesdays

I like Wednesdays. Wednesday is the day that reminds me that anything meaningful I want to do this week better get done, and also that the weekend is coming if I can just hang on. I work in a large church and Wednesdays are our busy day. There is always lots of activity in the building on Wednesdays. We host a Wednesday Night Supper, so there is always a wonderful blend of fragrances in the hallway as our chef prepares the meal. Mmmmm!

Three of my co-workers and I share a meal at lunch every Wednesday. We take turns preparing for each other. It has been a delightful experience for us. We have a bit of down time in a busy day. We don’t grab fast food. We have tried (notice I say tried) to have healthy food. Everything about the experience has been good. I thought I would share with you today a recipe that I’m going to make the next time it is my turn. With the cooler weather, my thoughts have turned to soup, and this one is a dandy.

Happy Wednesday to you!

~Mollianne

Southwest Chicken Soup - in the Crock pot

Put: 2 pounds chicken (I know people who buy rotisserie chicken from the store, but I just get a few breasts and thighs and bake them the night before) cut into bit size pieces in the Crock pot.

Add: 1 package dry ranch dressing mix and 2 packages of taco seasoning and mix with the meat.

Add:

1 chopped onion

1 can of black beans, drained

1 can kidney beans, drained

1 can pinto beans, drained

1 can shoepeg corn, drained

1 can Ro-Tel tomatoes with chilies

1 can diced tomatoes

2 cups water

2-3 cans chicken broth (depending on how soup-y you want it)

Simmer for 2 hours or longer on low.

Garnish with sour cream, cheese, tortillas strips or chips, cilantro, etc.

For more great Works for Me Wednesday ideas, check out We are THAT Family!

Did I mention that I love this time of year?

Image from bing.com

It is another glorious autumn day here in the Heart of Dixie and as I looked out my bedroom window this morning, I saw some exciting changes of color in my yard. Once again, my cheeks were cool and the air was crisp as I walked to the car. The hymn “For the Beauty of the Earth” has been in my heart and on my lips all day long.

It is just the sort of day that makes me so grateful for the senses of sight, smell, and touch. There is a glory in the colors as they change delight my eyes. The fragrance of apples and cinnamon and pumpkins is such a treat. The feel of a leaf that I pick up to examine is luxurious.

Today, I want to celebrate God’s bounty and share with you a wonderful recipe that satisfies my senses of sight, smell and touch. May you ‘taste and see that God is good’ today.

~Mollianne

Fried Apples (from Cracker Barrel)

6 tart apples, sliced

1 tsp Lemon juice

¼ cup Bacon drippings

1/3 cup brown sugar

1/8 tsp. salt

1 tsp. Cinnamon

1 dash nutmeg

In a large skillet, melt bacon drippings. Pour apples evenly over skillet bottom. Sprinkle lemon juice over them, then brown sugar, then salt. Cover and cook over low heat for 15 minutes until apples are tender and juicy. Sprinkle with cinnamon and nutmeg.

(You won’t be sorry you made these…I promise!)

It's Here

Photo by elbfoto

Autumn is here.

Really, truly here and I LOVE it!

While some, including my darling husband, find that Autumn is the prelude to winter, cold and darkness, I find that I come alive and am at my best when the morning air is crisp and my cheeks are cool. I love the colors of autumn. I love the smells and the food and the gathering of family and friends to watch football, go trick or treating. Thanksgiving is one of my favorite holidays. The food is great, the expectations and obligations are much less than that of Christmas and there is something so wonderful about a day to eat and be thankful for all of God’s bounty. I love that Columbus Day is a holiday for me and I almost always do something just for me on that day! I love that we honor our Veterans in the autumn (another day off for me). I fell in love with Ed in the autumn and every year, I get that catch in my throat and remember the first sweet kiss that happened on a chilly Sunday evening. It really is my favorite time of year.

In honor of the fact that I wore my boots and a wrap to church this past Sunday morning so I’d be warm, I would like to share one of my all time favorite autumn recipes with you. It is a tradition in my home and as long as I am able, I will celebrate the first cool days with gingerbread. Whenever possible, I have a piece with apple cider, fresh if I can get it, and heated if at all possible! Autumn Blessings to you, each and all!

~ Mollianne

Gingerbread

½ cup oil

1 cup sugar

½ tsp. salt

3 tblsp. molasses

1 egg

2 cups flour

½ tsp. ginger

1 tsp. cinnamon

½ tsp. nutmeg

¾ tsp. baking soda

1 ¼ cup buttermilk

Beat the first four ingredients together. Add the egg and beat again, till smooth. In a separate bowl, combine the flour with spices and soda. Add flour mixture to first mixture alternately with buttermilk, beating after each addition.

Bake in a greased and floured baking dish (or use muffin tins…my favorite way to eat them) at 375 degrees for 35 to 40 minutes.