Change is good. I hope.

Every year at Christmas I make peanut brittle and fudge and licorice caramels and sometimes toffee and Yum-yums (a family recipe thing). Occasionally Christmas cookies.

Not this year.

Why? Not sure. Too tired, maybe. Don't need all that sugar and neither do my kids and their kids. Probably.

I suppose if folks want that stuff they can make it.


I am making Yum-yums. And I think that's all. Not sure anyone will notice the difference. We'll see.

What do you think?

Soup’s In

I don’t like green bean casserole. It tastes fake. Cream of Mushroom soup, I believe, is the—what shall I say?—glue that holds the dish together. “Possibilities.” Read the word as if you’re singing it, as heard in a fairly recent Campbell Soup commercial about same dish.

Possibilities because there is so much you can do with Cream of Mushroom soup. Just go to the Campbell Soup website, which I did, and you’ll see what I mean. You can make

Beef & Mushroom Dijon

Creamy Vegetables in Pastry

2-Step Garlic Pork Chops

Chicken Fajitas—but tell me why you would use C of M soup in chicken fajitas

Chicken and Broccoli Alfredo

Chicken and Broccoli Alfredo for a Crowd

Company Buffet Layered Salad, not yet rated, (all recipes are rated with stars, one to five, but I can’t find out who does the rating)

Swiss Vegetable Medley—a five-star meal—and thirty some others,not to mention, because they weren’t on the list, the two casseroles I thought the soup was invented for: Tuna Casserole with Rice and Tuna Casserole with Noodles.

These are recipes I found by entering Cream of Mushroom soup without specifying what I wanted to use it with, like beans, peas, eggs, cheese, ham, pork, etc., which means hundreds of recipes are out there ready for you to dump your can of soup into.

I have wondered, and long before today, if anyone eats Cream of Mushroom soup. You know, just as soup. I found no information about that.

Of course, Campbell makes other soups that work well in recipes—Cream of Celery, my mother-in-law’s tuna casserole soup—Cream of Chicken, Cream of Chicken with Rice, Cream of Broccoli. Etc., etc., etc. But my guess is that C of M is the main mixer.

It’s true, I write with some disdain but must confess I have cooked with C of M soup. In the 1970s and 80s it seemed that was what a mother did, many a mother. She opened a can of soup, added it to other ingredients, cooked it or baked it, and set it before her family, who were supposed to be grateful and glad. Just take a look at the folks in the green bean casserole commercial. They are happy, delighted, in fact, at the prospect of eating the C of M soup-augmented beans topped with “savory, crunchy French fried onions.” You may already know that green bean casserole has become, for some, a Christmas dinner tradition, and I believe the commercial is designed to help us understand that we don’t have to wait for Christmas to enjoy this dish of disguised vegetables.

I used to take some pride in declaring I have never made it, never served it. That’s because someone else made it and served it to me. Once. But my son asked me to make it not long ago and bring to Thanksgiving dinner. So I did. He likes it, and I like him. But he now makes it, and I am glad.

I also take pride in declaring my use of C of M soup was minimal by comparison with friends I knew. But, yes, I did make beef Stroganoff and a Swiss Steak or two during the many years when my family gathered for dinner, and I made plenty of tuna casserole. My children—all grown and now eating meals they have prepared and calling me to ask how to get a picky child to eat—delight in telling me they always hated the tuna casserole. So I like to recommend it for their picky eaters. In my defense I say their dad loved tuna casserole, and I made it for him. Also in my defense I say I could remind them they ate plenty of Doritos casserole, which had not only Campbell’s Cream of Mushroom but also Cream of Chicken soup in it. Double whammy.

I know there are other brands of soup, but I mention only Campbell’s because I remember being warned not to use any other brand of soup, like the brands with the super market labels. Things just won’t turn out as good, I was told. Pretty much the same soup, as far as I can tell. Apparently the label makes the difference.

Speaking of labels, I don’t think we were reading them carefully in those days. We were less aware and assumed the stuff we bought in cans was okay to use, okay to eat. Besides, we could afford a can of soup. Today we’re a label-reading culture, and a quick glance at those soups alarms us. Mostly it’s the salt. In one ½-cup serving of C of M soup, for example, you get 870 milligrams of sodium. That’s 2175 per can. Not good. Besides, I think if you’re actually going to eat a serving of C of M soup—like if you’re really hungry and it’s all you have in your pantry—you’ll probably eat more than ½ a cup, so you’ll be salted for the day pretty much.

Campbell Company has heard the outcry for healthier soups. They now make versions whose labels boast “less sodium.” I note they do not say “low” sodium, and I see it as a marketing strategy more than a real concern for our arteries and blood pressure. These “less sodium” soups and Campbell’s “healthy” soups cost more than their regular soups. Of course.

I don’t cook with soup at all anymore, and I eat canned soup rarely now. I’m not a child and can live quite happily without the noodles in the chicken noodle soup, which, I am told, seem to have decreased in number noticeably over the years. (I don’t like to think of someone counting noodles at the Campbell Soup cannery. Terrible job.) And I’m not cooking for a big family anymore, at least not regularly, and when I do cook for them, I try to do it without a can of soup.

Once in a great while I’ll have some tomato soup from a can, but not often, and when I’ve opened the can and heated the stuff and had a bowl of it, I know I won’t want it again for a long, long time.

By the way, I never liked tomato soup cake. Sounds gross, doesn’t it. I only made it once, about twenty-five years ago, because my best friend gave me the recipe for it and said the cake was great. I never told her how I felt about it. We were friends, after all. I wonder if they have a Cream of Mushroom soup cake. Hope not. Anyway, if you like the sound of tomato soup cake, I can give you the recipe.

Pickled Pigs' Feet

Something I haven't thought about for many years. Until a couple of months ago, when I saw jars of same in the "Hispanic" foods section of the market. (Grocery store to you, market to me.)

And so now, of course, I want some. I haven't bought any, because the jars are big. But I'm thinking about it.

It's my dad. He liked pickled pigs' feet, and he said, as he said many times, "Try it. It's good. You'll like it." Or words similar. Often he said, "It's good for you." But I don't know if he could have said that about pigs' feet. Anyway, I tried it, and I liked it.

Not like tongue. Yuck. Still have a hard time with that, not that you could find tongue at any meat counter I've seen lately.

Oysters. I wouldn't dream of eating one then. My mother always said Daddy liked to eat them raw so they could crawl down his throat. Crawl, I think, was the wrong word. Slide would have been more like it. But she said crawl, and it sounded right to me, the little girl who also never dreamed that when she grew up she would like oysters. Raw, even.

I don't know if any of the other kids, my siblings, liked pickled pigs' feet. I mean, it sounds like something you're not supposed to eat--the feet of pigs. And I wonder if they, the feet of pigs, would be as good today as I would want them to be.

Know what I mean?

Oh Daddy. I may have to find out.

It's About Death. Sorry.

In the world of the university there are distances. For instance, there is a notable and noticeable distance between a  full professor--one who has been chair of the department, let's say, who is a world recognized scholar on George Eliot, much published and quoted, etc., etc.--and a part-time adjunct instructor. Yes, I taught for more than 15 years, but I was considered part-time all that time. Which tells you which of the two I have mentioned I am.

And while we share the same first name, such a commonality does not shorten the distance between us. Not in academia, as some folks like to call it. Not on your life.

And while formerly I have called the wind The Great Equalizer because of how it makes us all look alike, I now know the truth.

Death is The Great Equalizer. That truth was underscored for me recently.

The full professor has had that unhappy experience now. The one where her husband dies and she is suddenly something she never wanted to be. A widow.

Last Saturday she and I happened to be washing our hands next to each other in the restroom during intermission of the Boise Philharmonic concert.

Me: Hello, Carol.
Carol M: (Surprised, of course. I mean, it's the bathroom after all.) Oh, hello.
Me: How are you? How do you like being a widow? (Yes, I really said that, but the tone of my voice and the look on my face made it a legitimate and not unkind question. Trust me.)
CM: Oh, it's hard.

I have to say that she does not look good.

CM: I think I'm starting to be, to know what to do, or how to just live with it.

It has been 5 1/2 months since Lonnie died. He was 81 and had been ill for a while

Me: Not the way you planned it.
CM: No.
Me: Soon after I became a widow someone told me, "You never get over it."
CM: No. You don't.

By now we were moving out of the restroom. She was behind me.

CM: We were close. (It was like a protest against death and a wish that we could talk about it for another minute--before returning for the rest of the concert.)
Me: (Feeling sad for her. Wishing I could help.) I know you were. (Holding my fingers together) You were like this.
CM: Yes.
Me: Besides, he was fun.
CM: Yes, he was very fun.

See what I mean? No distance between us. Sorry that she is suffering. Sorry.
Fully aware, though, that death often brings people together.

A Good Day

It's Ann's birthday, too. She's not a baby, but she's my baby, my youngest. Born on her grandpa Brimley's birthday. She did see him a few months after her birth, but, of course, she wouldn't remember that.

My mother died a month or so before Ann was born. I always said she saw my mother before she came down, and at that meeting my mother told Ann, "You go down and be a peace maker in that family." Not that we were at war. But any family has its times of conflict and needs peace. I also always thought that Ann did bring a spirit of peace and love to us.

No longer a baby, no longer a child, four children of her own, doing very well at that hard, hard job of being a mother. And it is hard--unless you have a nanny, I guess.

I hope she has a good day, a happy day. And, as much as she loves those kids, a few minutes away from them today would be a good thing for everyone. But I'm not in charge.

Happy, happy birthday Ann.

It's just the widow again

Don't you wonder if Wayne has seen his little great granddaughter? I do.

Well, I wonder a lot of things, like where he is and what he is doing. I can't think that he and my parents are just sitting down somewhere.

My brother Sterling says he believes our parents have been resurrected. I simply do not know. Of course, we all want to know, but we don't want to have to die to find out. We all wish one of them would come back and tell us.

I always say, death is the hardest thing, the hardest part of life. Don't be telling me I shouldn't say that. It is just hard.

I have a new friend who is a recent widow, not quite a year. She is grieving. But anyone whose loved one has died is grieving, 11 months or 11 years.

Here I say again, I am not unhappy; I am happy. But I am also sad.

News

I have entered the realm of greatness, ggma. That's me.

Emmy Rae Gilmore, born at noon in Memphis, Tennessee, October 16, 2014, 7lbs 5oz.

I have seen pictures. Beautiful baby. Really. Beautiful mom and dad, Cory and Sean.

Happy.