Recipe for Apple Cake

I took this cake to the Wisdom Class today, and it was delicious!


Double Apple Bundt Cake
Adapted from Dorie Greenspan’s Baking: From My Home to Yours

You can really use any kind of apples for this recipe, but the more firm they are, the easier they’ll be to grate. Also, if you opt for a store-bought apple butter, try to find the least sweet of the ones that are available (or, hey, make your own!). My cake came out a little sweeter than I might have liked due to an apple butter that was creeping near cloying, though nobody (but, um, me) complained about the sweetness of the finished cake. 

If you’ve got the time (and the willpower), this Bundt is the sort of fabulous cake that tastes when better when left to stand overnight, wrapped well in plastic wrap, before serving.

Makes 12 servings
2 cups all-purpose flour
2 teaspoons baking powder
1/2 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1/4 teaspoon freshly grated nutmeg
1/4 teaspoon ground ginger
1/4 teaspoon salt
10 tablespoons (1 1/4 sticks) unsalted butter, at room temperature
1 1/2 cups sugar
2 large eggs
1 cup store-bought (or homemade) apple butter, spiced or plain
2 medium apples, peeled, cored and grated
1 cup pecans or walnuts, chopped
1/2 cup plump, moist raisins (dark or golden)

Optional glaze:
1/3 cup confectioners’ sugar
about 2 tablespoons lemon juice, orange juice, (or milk or water, whatever you’ve got)

Position a rack to the center of the oven and preheat it oven to 350 degrees. Butter a 12-cup nonstick Bundt pan, or if yours is not nonstick, butter and flour it, too.

Whisk together the flour, baking powder, baking soda, spices and salt. Set aside.
In the bowl of an electric mixer, cream together the butter and sugar on medium speed until light, fluffy and pale in color, about 3 minutes. Scrape down the bowl.

Beat in the eggs one at a time. Scrape down the bowl again. Reduce the speed to low and mix in the apple butter–don’t worry if the batter looks curdled at this point.

Mix in the grated apples. With the mixer still running on low speed, stir in the dry ingredients gradually. When just a few streaks of flour remain, stir in the nuts and raisins. Stop the mixer and give the batter a few folds by hand just to make sure everything’s incorporated.

Scrape the batter into the prepared pan, and bake until a toothpick comes out clean inserted deeply into the center of the cake comes out clean, about 50 to 55 minutes. Let cool on a wire rack for about 10-15 minutes before unmolding it onto the rack to cool completely.

If you want to glaze the cake, stir together the confectioners’ sugar and your liquid of choice, a tiny bit at a time, until the glaze falls easily off the end of a spoon. Place the cake on a serving plate. Drizzle the cake generously with the glaze, letting it drip down the sides of the cake. Alternatively, you can dust the cake with confectioners’ sugar just before serving. This cake keeps beautifully at room temperature for up to 4 days, or up to 2 months in the freezer.

Frustration!!

I am totally frustrated with trying to print an attachment from Oblate School of Theology about the retreat I am attending next week!! It will not print or download on my computer because I do not have the latest Word Perfect and do not want to buy it. That's why I am now using Google Chrome documents, but I couldn't figure out how to transfer it there!!

It only has worked with emailing the document to Chuck, who could open it on his much older computer.

Fort Davis and Marfa, TX

The first two nights of our trip were spent in Fort Davis, TX. There is a triangle in southwest TX (only two hours from El Paso) of Fort Davis, Alpine, and Marfa. Ever since moving here, I have heard friends talk about that area, especially about the Marfa Lights.

The Veranda Inn, Fort Davis, TX

Our room

We stayed at a nice bed and breakfast inn called The Veranda, found through Trip Advisor, which we have come to trust as we travel. Through the recommendations from the owner of The Veranda, we spent one morning at the Chihuahuan Desert Nature Center.

It was a beautiful place to visit and would be a good place to go on hikes. We spent most of our time in the large greenhouse for cacti, third largest in the nation. So many different varieties of cacti in close proximity!

Jan in cacti greenhouse

 I am not very proficient at positioning pictures, but here are a few I took. Unfortunately, I did not write down the names of the cacti. But these images may give you a small idea of the different varieties growing there.

The morning we went there, we also drove to Marfa for lunch at The Food Shark and then drove up to the McDonald Observatory. We drove around the Fort Davis, Alpine, and Marfa and on roads around there in the Davis Mountains.

Food Shark Marfa, TX

Blogger Meet-Up

I finally had the opportunity to meet Sherry of many blogs! I am used to her Feather Adrift Blog, but am not sure if that is the correct title anymore.

Jan and Sherry in Las Cruces, NM on May 22, 2014

In fact, Chuck and I met Sherry and her husband and Diego, their dog. They generously took us out to dinner where we had some of the best cheese enchiladas we have ever had. This was a wonderful way to start our two-week trip.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There has been a long absence from blogging: first I got sick with a bad cold, which was further complicated by an infection and the brief cessation of my RA drugs. I was amazed at how quickly the antiobiotics helped improve my health once I got a Z-pack. My rheumatologist told me that often when we get a cold, start to get better and then get sick again, we have caught an infection. So I learned that this time.

Then Chuck and I went on a two-week trip to the west and north, with our final destination being Salt Lake City to visit our youngest daughter MJ. I downloaded 353 pictures from my camera to my computer and so will be posting pictures in the coming weeks about our trip. I would like to record it for myself some way.

I did manage to get a few pics on Facebook about our trip, but these were from my I-phone. Now that Chuck has learned how to download I-pictures to the computer, maybe I'll have some of these here, too.

WE had a wonderful trip, meeting wonderful people and seeing beautiful sites.

Emma's Baptism

Our dear friend, Rev. Gloria Lear, presided over Emma's baptism on Sunday, May 18 at First United Methodist Church.

Here are a few pictures from that happy event.




The friends son DC grew up with before the baptism. My son has the beard and is holding Emma.




Rev. Gloria Lear showing newly baptized Emma to her parents and Godparents.




Rev. Gloria Lear showing Emma to the congregation.




Chuck, AA, Avery, Jan, DC with Emma

I love being Nana!

Mother's Day

By Gertrud Mueller Nelson

I feel like my mother was a remarkable woman; she was talented in many ways and very loving, especially to me, her only child. We were good friends all my life, which is why I still miss her today on this American holiday of Mother's Day, even though she died 22 years ago.

As I ponder this, I realize that I never wondered that she might have missed her mother, too. Until I had children of my own, I never thought too much of my mother having emotions other than the irritation she sometimes exhibited towards my father and/or me, otherwise she was pleasant.

I suppose it is difficult to empathize with someone else's feelings unless one has experienced it in a similar capacity. She must have missed her family during all the years we moved around with my dad in the Marine Corps, but never shared anything with me. (I was self-centered and only thought of how moves were difficult for me!) When her parents died, she did not express her loneliness or regret at all. I was an adolescent at those time and would have been old enough to understand some of that--or so I think now.

I wish she had shared some of those feelings with me, but she was of the generation that did not complain. In fact, that is how she brought me up: "Don't bother people with your problems." It has taken me years to realize that expressing sad memories and/or emotions is not "complaining," which I am still learning how to do.

As people are expressing on FB and elsewhere, each female is the result of her mother and her children (if she has any). I am fortunate to have my four children, two with loving spouses, who are continuing to grow me into the person I am, as are my two granddaughters. I will always be thankful for the mother I had.

Happy Mother's Day to all: I hope you are able to treasure memories of your mother today.

Allergies + Cold = No Voice

From here

For the past several months, I have been beset by allergies, worse than anytime since I was a child. Visiting my new doctor, I started taking a second antihistamine. Taking two under her guidance seemed to help me a lot until I caught a cold.

This past weekend we took care of granddaughters Emma and Avery. Emma seemed to have a light cold, which I may have caught from her or out in the air of stores and other places.

Besides a stuffed head, I have lost my voice. Looking up "laryngitis" on the internet brought forth the information that caffeine and antihistamines tend to dry out the throat and mouth, which could contribute to inflammation of the larynx.

My self-diagnosis indicates rest with lots of fluids, plus cessation of antihistamines for a few days. (The latter effects have not worn off yet, because I took a pill this morning.) So we will see. . . .

It is always annoying that I feel so badly with a COLD!

Avery with Chalk

Chuck and I babysat our granddaughters Avery and Emma this past weekend. Here is Avery drawing with chalk on her driveway.









- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Look!

My Mother's Birthday

I always think of my mother on her birthday, April 24. She would have been 95 today if she had lived. It is funny to think that her birth certificate showed that she was born on April 23, 1919, but her birthday was always celebrated on April 24. My guess is that she was born around midnight, but at home, so there was no "official" time recorded.

She met my father while they were both stationed in Hawaii during WWII. They both served in the Marine Corps. Here is a picture of her taken in her uniform in December 1943. She was about the age of my youngest daughter (now), who is named after her.

Happy Bunny Day!

Here is an Easter picture of Emma taken by her daddy, our son. Grandpa Chuck found that cute dress at Cracker Barrel, where he goes every Wednesday morning to meet with his Emmaus Reunion Group.

Chuck also bought a little bunny dress in March 1982 for newborn AE to wear home from the hospital. I like the connection between his dress choices for daughter and granddaughter.

Happy Easter and Happy Bunny Day!

Wishing You Easter Joy!

And for a much deeper message, please read my blogging friend Terri's post "Easter: Revealing Our Truest Self."

The Art of Losing: Maundy Thursday

As I googled "stripping the altars" for Maundy Thursday, I came up with a link to a good article "Stripped Bare: Holy Week and the Art of Losing" in the May 16, 2012 issue of Christian Century. It was so good that I posted it on FB, which seems to be looked upon more frequently than this blog. I hope you'll read it.

The author of that article, Richard Lischer, pointed to a poem by Elizabeth Bishop (1911-1979), a new poet for me.

One Art

by Elizabeth Bishop

The art of losing isn't hard to master; so many things seem filled with the intent to be lost that their loss is no disaster. Lose something every day. Accept the fluster of lost door keys, the hour badly spent. The art of losing isn't hard to master. Then practice losing farther, losing faster: places, and names, and where it was you meant to travel. None of these will bring disaster. I lost my mother's watch. And look! my last, or next-to-last, of three loved houses went. The art of losing isn't hard to master. I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster, some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent. I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster. —Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture I love) I shan't have lied. It's evident the art of losing's not too hard to master though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.

One Art

by Elizabeth Bishop

The art of losing isn't hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster.

Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant 
to travel. None of these will bring disaster.

I lost my mother's watch. And look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three loved houses went.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster.


—Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan't have lied.  It's evident
the art of losing's not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.

- See more at: http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/15212#sthash.SpPvsGvI.dpuf

One Art

by Elizabeth Bishop

The art of losing isn't hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster.

Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant 
to travel. None of these will bring disaster.

I lost my mother's watch. And look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three loved houses went.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster.


—Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan't have lied.  It's evident
the art of losing's not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.

- See more at: http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/15212#sthash.SpPvsGvI.dpuf

One Art

by Elizabeth Bishop

The art of losing isn't hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster.

Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant 
to travel. None of these will bring disaster.

I lost my mother's watch. And look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three loved houses went.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster.


—Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan't have lied.  It's evident
the art of losing's not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.

- See more at: http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/15212#sthash.SpPvsGvI.dpuf

One Art

by Elizabeth Bishop

The art of losing isn't hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster.

Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant 
to travel. None of these will bring disaster.

I lost my mother's watch. And look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three loved houses went.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster.


—Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan't have lied.  It's evident
the art of losing's not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.

- See more at: http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/15212#sthash.SpPvsGvI.dpuf

One Art

by Elizabeth Bishop

The art of losing isn't hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster.

Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant 
to travel. None of these will bring disaster.

I lost my mother's watch. And look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three loved houses went.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster.


—Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan't have lied.  It's evident
the art of losing's not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.

- See more at: http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/15212#sthash.SpPvsGvI.dpuf

One Art

by Elizabeth Bishop

The art of losing isn't hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster.

Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant 
to travel. None of these will bring disaster.

I lost my mother's watch. And look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three loved houses went.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster.


—Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan't have lied.  It's evident
the art of losing's not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.

- See more at: http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/15212#sthash.SpPvsGvI.dpuf

Story? Truth?

“Story helps us with the questions that have no answers. I wish the Church (of all denominations) would be brave enough to acknowledge that there are questions which, during our mortal lives, are not going to be answered. There are no answers to the wonder of Creation, the marvel of the Incarnation, the glory of the Resurrection. Too many answers lead to smug self-righteousness and—even worse—to human beings, rather than God, deciding who is and who is not loved by the Maker. Can’t we trust God?”

Madeleine L’Engle. The Rock That Is Higher: Story As Truth. Colorado Springs: WaterBrook Press, 2002. 102.

Friday Five: A Short One

RevKarla brings today's Friday Five to RevGalBlogPals:

It’s time for the pre-Holy Week Friday Five!

1.  What is your favorite Easter candy?

Cadbury mini chocolate eggs. I like the rich milk chocolate with the crunchy outer shell.


2.  Do you have an Easter memory from childhood to share, then please do.  Or any Easter memory.

 I think the excitement of looking for Easter eggs with my children stands out. DC's wife AA loved this tradition when they first started dating in college, because everyone still had eggs to find! (That's because there is a wide range of children--four in 10 1/2 years.)

3.  Speaking of, what your most favorite day of the past two weeks been?  Why?

Almost all the days have seemed "favorite" because we are having perfect weather. It is in the high 70s and around 60 or below at night. People get tired of me saying, "This weather is like a Bellingham (WA) summer day!) There is always a brief period in south TX,which constitutes our spring, that the weather is sublime. It doesn't last long and soon heat and humidity will be here to stay.


4.  I am kind of digging’ Chipotle’s sofritos these days (marinated and “shredded” tofu) and have been eating them like twice a week.  Is there something new in your life that keeps bringing you back for more?  (be ye creative here…)

Something "new" is the rediscovery of writing notes to friends and family. I had forgotten how much I enjoy doing that! I have stockpiles of cute cards that I collect when I travel and need to be sending them out.
 
5.  Of course, a sentence. Using the following words (or some form thereof):  Tree frog, squares, kleenex, eyeglass, lost, daffodil, palms, lamb, Peeps, licorice jelly beans, and donkey.

Sorry, I can't do that today. The beautiful spring weather has stirred up my allergies, so I am in a muddle.

Our Lord of Flaked Paint

Our Lord of Flaked Paint freckling
sallow skin and emerald robes,

Our Lord of Mudpuddle Eyes
that look away in weary irritation,

no one can touch your loneliness,
God cut off from God.

You who flamed a world into being
with only words, stood

in the midst of bickering men,
fig trees dying, and sparrows

falling to the ground.
Were there days when heat and dust,

the smell of stale crowds
pushing you from place to place,

asking for one more resurrection,
food for thousands

or withered hands healed,
made you want to slash the canvas,

fly back to heaven and start fresh
on some new world far away?

Days where your head ached
from sun on sand and water,

where your throat scraped raw
from shouting Blessed are. . . to men

who would go home, forget, and return
to nail you to a piece of wood?

No one understood your stories,
could grasp that you would trade

legions of angels
for nine ungrateful lepers,

the friend who turned you in,
and never enough sleep.

Our Lord of Omnipotent Frustration
with your halo like a setting sun,

your hand is raised as if to bless me,
though I can't imagine why.

~~Jana-Lee Germaine

Christian Century, November 3, 2009.

(Not) Blogging = Procrastination

Well, at one point, I committed to blogging every day or at least more frequently. That started to fizzle when I had company from Canada and then recovery time afterwards. So this procrastination image fits me in connection to (not) blogging:

Keeping Quiet

Now we will count to twelve
and we will all keep still.

For once on the face of the earth,
let’s not speak in any language;
let’s stop for one second
and not move our arms so much.

It would be an exotic moment
without rush, without engines;
we would all be together
in a sudden strangeness.

Fishermen in the cold sea
would not harm whales
and the man gathering salt
would look at his hurt hands.

Those who prepare green wars,
wars with gas, wars with fire,
victories with no survivors,
would put on clean clothes
and walk about with their brothers
in the shade, doing nothing.

What I want should not be confused
with total inactivity.
Life is what it is about;
I want no truck with death.

If we were not so single-minded
about keeping our lives moving,
and for once could do nothing,
perhaps a huge silence
might interrupt this sadness
of never understanding ourselves
and of threatening ourselves with death.
Perhaps the earth can teach us
as when everything seems dead
and later proves to be alive.

Now I’ll count up to twelve
and you keep quiet and I will go.

Pablo Neruda

Source: translated by Alistair Reid in Extravagaria

From Inward/Outward. Subscribe here.    
 

Hidden God, We Pray

Hidden God, whose depths are infinite,
Help us shed our outer layers in this silence.
Uncover the stranger that is within.
Living on the surface, seeing only what is visible,
can blind us toward the very thing we need to recognize. 
Rather than the condemnation we claim upon ourselves and others, 
guide us to deeper truths through which life emerges. 
Bring acceptance, clarity and peace up from the sacred chaos. Amen.

—Prayer by Janet Salbert