tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-69565302017908339422024-03-13T06:33:12.195-05:00Biscuits and BagelsBecky Seitelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15266529092778510429noreply@blogger.comBlogger30125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6956530201790833942.post-9767530983834584172011-11-11T10:47:00.004-06:002011-11-11T11:01:22.810-06:00The liberator and the liberatedToday is a special day.<br />
<br />
Not because of the unique date, although that's pretty cool, especially at 11:11:11 11-11-11.<br />
<br />
Today is special because it's Veterans Day.<br />
<br />
It's been all over the news this freezing, frosty morning: a sobbing, preschool little girl is surprised in class by her father's return from Afghanistan; a solemn Vietnam veteran with empty shirt sleeves participated in a pre-Veterans Day parade; and Cindy McCain informed me that an average of 18 deaths each day are attributed to war-related PTSD.<br />
<br />
But as I thought about Veterans Day this morning, before that first cup of much-needed coffee, before I clicked the remote to hear about today's world events, my thoughts went back five years ago to a charmingly endearing WWII veteran sharing with me his stories of war, meeting Patton and Willie, and how this once-strapping elderly gentleman helped free the prisoners of Dachau.<br />
<br />
“Welcome to hell.”<br />
<br />
Those were the words spoken to 18-year-old Joe Sacco by a fellow infantryman when they entered the gates of Dachau on May 29, 1945. Fashioned atop the gates was a sign reading “Arbeit Macht Frei” or “Work Makes Free.” Yet it wasn’t work that freed the prisoners of Dachau. It was the American troops.<br />
<br />
Joe grew up in Birmingham and lived there until his death a few years ago, more than 60 years after he witnessed the atrocities at Dachau.<br />
<br />
“Everywhere I looked, in every direction, I saw dead women, children, old men, babies, beaten, starved, stabbed, shot, butchered, and left to rot on the ground,” he recalls in <i>Where the Birds Never Sing</i>, a book written about his experiences by his son, Jack Sacco.<br />
<br />
Holocaust survivor Max Steinmetz, also of Birmingham, spent time at Dachau but wasn’t there when Joe and the 92nd Signal Battalion arrived. He had left weeks earlier on a death march before being liberated by American troops. He realizes that without the American, British, and Russian forces, liberation day might never have arrived. <br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-BGlrmu9RR1E/Tr1MVgkmJlI/AAAAAAAAAIM/WxdR9ao_Fmk/s1600/Max+Steinmetz+Joe+Sacco_14+final.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="280" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-BGlrmu9RR1E/Tr1MVgkmJlI/AAAAAAAAAIM/WxdR9ao_Fmk/s400/Max+Steinmetz+Joe+Sacco_14+final.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">WW II veteran Joe Sacco and Holocaust survivor Max Steinmetz</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Liberation day was the beginning of a return to life for Max. His nightmare began when he was 17 and arrived at Auschwitz with his family after a grueling three-day train ride in the blistering heat of summer.<br />
<br />
“We were roughly pulled out of the cattle car and sent to a long line. My mother, father, and five-year-old sister were sent to the left. My brother and I were ordered to the right. We were issued striped prison uniforms with identification numbers. Our head was shaved, and we were sent to the barracks.<br />
<br />
A few hours later, I stepped out of the barracks. There was a thick heavy smoke and a nauseating odor that made me physically ill. I asked another prisoner what was happening, and he began to ask me about my arrival. I told him that I had just gotten off the train with my family and that my brother and I had been sent right. The rest of my family had been sent left.”<br />
<br />
“That smoke and odor is your family burning,” he explained. “The line to the left goes to the crematorium.”<br />
<br />
That was the tortured moment of truth for Max.<br />
<br />
More than three million Jews were murdered in gas chambers. New arrivals to the camp were told to hang their clothing on numbered hooks in the undressing room and, as a ploy, were instructed to remember the numbers for later. They were taken into the adjacent gas chamber which was disguised as a large shower. Pellets of the commercial pesticide Zyklon-B were released into the chamber. When the pellets made contact with air, lethal cyanide fumes were released and rose toward the ceiling. Children died first, since they were closer to the floor. Pandemonium erupted as the bitter, almond-like odor spread upward, with adults climbing on top of each other until a tangled heap of dead bodies reached to the ceiling.<br />
<br />
Special squads of Jewish slave laborers called Sonderkommandos bore the grim task of untangling victims and removing them from the gas chambers. Next they extracted any gold fillings from the victims’ teeth and searched body orifices for hidden valuables. Clothing, money, jewelry, eyeglasses, and other valuables were sorted and shipped back to Germany for re-use. Corpses were disposed of by various methods including mass burials and cremation, either in open fire pits or in specially designed crematoria such as those used<br />
at Auschwitz.<br />
<br />
As Allied troops moved across Europe in a series of offensives on Germany, they began to encounter and liberate concentration camp prisoners, many of whom had survived death marches into the interior of Germany.<br />
<br />
Soviet forces were the first to approach a major Nazi camp, reaching the camp of Majdanek near Lublin, Poland, in July 1944. On January 27, 1945, they entered Auschwitz and found hundreds of sick and<br />
exhausted prisoners. The Germans had been forced to leave these prisoners behind in their hasty retreat from the camp. Russian troops also liberated camps at Stutthof, Sachsenhausen, and Ravensbruck.<br />
<br />
The liberation process was continued by American, British, Canadian, and French troops. The Americans were responsible for liberating Buchenwald, Dachau, and Mauthausen, while British forces liberated camps in northern Germany, including Bergen-Belsen.<br />
<br />
“I met Joe several years ago,” Max shared with me to the background noise of Birmingham's city traffic. “It’s been amazing to hear him talk about that day and how the troops felt when they learned the truth of the Holocaust. And it seemed that a circle had been completed—the Liberator met the Liberated.”<br />
<br />
I'm going to salute a veteran today.<br />
<br />
I'm going to say thank you, Joe!<br />
<br />
And I know Max, and thousands of others will, too.<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>(Max Steinmetz is one of 20 survivors featured in </i><i><a href="http://beckyseitel.blogspot.com/2010/11/how-i-became-involved-in-alabama.html">Darkness into Life: Alabama's Holocaust Survivors Through Photography and Art</a>.)</i></span>Becky Seitelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15266529092778510429noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6956530201790833942.post-52097657576515631842011-09-14T17:56:00.003-05:002011-09-22T10:23:30.010-05:00Nana Ruby's extraordinary, stupendous, incredible, phenomenal cheesecakeOk, so one bright, sunny day last December, DH and I were out Christhanukah shopping and popped into HomeGoods to look for a special-request gift for DD1. After a little shopping, I made my way over to join Alan, who was (yikes) holding a cheesecake pan.<br />
<br />
With that cute, crooked smile he has, he looked at me and said in husband-speak, "Hey, Honey. I kinda thought you might want to get this just in case one day you might perhaps want to make a cheesecake maybe." Translation: "I'm going to get this pan so that you can learn to make my mother's extraordinary, stupendous, incredible, phenomenal cheesecake."<br />
<br />
Alan proceeded to the long-line check-out; I (demurely) fainted. <br />
<br />
Some minutes later, after the paramedics arrived and the smelling salts kicked in, I explained to them about my husband, the pan, and the impossible task of re-creating my mother-in-law's extraordinary, stupendous, incredible, phenomenal cheesecake. A few dozen sympathetic shoppers looked on as one of the paramedics shook his head and said, "Even I know better than to ask my wife to do something like my mother does." I let him know that his wife was one lucky woman, and I swear that had nothing to do with how much he looked like DiNozzo.<br />
<br />
After the holidays passed, and life settled back into our routine, good fortune seemed to be on my side. For a few months, I was successful in skating the cheesecake issue. Alan can sometimes be prone to forget (wink, wink), and I was heavily praying this would be one of those times. I hid the much-maligned pan in the very back of the lower cabinet, and as April showers turned into May flowers, I was breathing thankful, but silent, sighs of relief.<br />
<br />
Then, one day as I was ditching the ubiquitous Slice-O-Matic Onion Chopper (as seen on TV), I caught a glimpse of the Teflon rim of the cloistered spring-pan. I suddenly remembered how I had successfully met Alan's request for chopped liver ("like my mother's"). He raved about my creation, and even went so far as to roll his eyes heavenward and tell me it was even better than hers. At that point, I realized I wasn't .....well.....exactly chopped liver as they say, so why not give the cheesecake a try? <br />
<br />
My mother-in-law happily passed along the recipe and I headed to the grocery. I washed and dried the dusty pan, walked in circles around my kitchen island for half an hour, and then began to nervously place the cream cheese and other ingredients in the mixer.<br />
<br />
"Hey," I began to think as I scrapped the sides of the bowl. "This really is pretty easy." And I was oh, so, so happy to find that the ten minutes I spent trying to put the *&%# spring-pan back together really didn't hurt the consistency of the batter one little bit.<br />
<br />
Just south of an hour later, I was doing the Snoopy Dance and loudly singing, "I made Nana's cheesecake" to the tune of "Mary Had a Little Lamb." It was a Kodak moment that I, and my dogs, will never forget.<br />
<br />
That night, Alan ooh'ed and aah'ed as he scraped the dessert plate.<br />
<br />
"Honey, you nailed it." (That's husband-speak for, "Darlin', I am so glad I married you!")<br />
<br />
Now, it's your turn to make Nana Ruby's extraordinary, stupendous, incredible, phenomenal cheesecake. Get busy practicing your very own song and dance, and slide on over to preheat your oven to 350 degrees. <br />
<br />
Here's what you'll need:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/--55FEzOpdHs/TnEMxdJz6wI/AAAAAAAAAH4/vnQIUeUxiuU/s1600/cheesecake_ingrediants.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="248" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/--55FEzOpdHs/TnEMxdJz6wI/AAAAAAAAAH4/vnQIUeUxiuU/s400/cheesecake_ingrediants.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<b>Crust</b><br />
1 1/2 cups graham cracker crumbs<br />
1/4 cup butter, melted<b> </b><br />
<br />
<b>Cheesecake</b><br />
3 large packages cream cheese - room temperature <br />
4 eggs<br />
1 1/4 cups sugar<br />
1 teaspoon vanilla<br />
<br />
<b>Topping</b><br />
1 pint sour cream<br />
1/4 cup sugar<br />
1 teaspoon vanilla<br />
<br />
Mix together graham cracker crumbs and melted butter. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jtoATLg12bE/TnEMj61xe2I/AAAAAAAAAHo/WDNkF8MZ_wc/s1600/cheesecake_crust.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="272" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jtoATLg12bE/TnEMj61xe2I/AAAAAAAAAHo/WDNkF8MZ_wc/s400/cheesecake_crust.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br />
Press mixture into bottom of spring-pan. Set aside. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_WF7bEPqJpY/TnEMmObTPWI/AAAAAAAAAHs/DgMVaESH5lo/s1600/cheesecake_crust_pan.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="270" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_WF7bEPqJpY/TnEMmObTPWI/AAAAAAAAAHs/DgMVaESH5lo/s400/cheesecake_crust_pan.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
In mixer (or by hand), mix cream cheese until blended. Add eggs, one at a time, mixing well after each egg is added.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-9QMhWGUSwik/TnEMo0N8nTI/AAAAAAAAAHw/3eqOQCJyCf8/s1600/cheesecake_eggs.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="247" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-9QMhWGUSwik/TnEMo0N8nTI/AAAAAAAAAHw/3eqOQCJyCf8/s400/cheesecake_eggs.jpg" width="400" /></a></div> <br />
Add sugar and vanilla. Continue mixing until creamy. Pour onto crust.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-VZH4PnMeohU/TnEM0-3PuYI/AAAAAAAAAIA/GZzRXbrsk5A/s1600/cheesecake_batter_pan.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="295" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-VZH4PnMeohU/TnEM0-3PuYI/AAAAAAAAAIA/GZzRXbrsk5A/s400/cheesecake_batter_pan.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<br />
Bake at 350 degrees for 30 minutes. <br />
<br />
Mix topping ingredients (sour cream, sugar, and vanilla) gently by hand.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-2idlqxolpYc/TnEAr3FdJfI/AAAAAAAAAHk/-jPzoDNl7Sw/s1600/cheesecake_mix_topping.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="250" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-2idlqxolpYc/TnEAr3FdJfI/AAAAAAAAAHk/-jPzoDNl7Sw/s400/cheesecake_mix_topping.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
Spread topping onto cheesecake. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Fw4RFfX8n4A/TnEMytm4dMI/AAAAAAAAAH8/En0gIEMD-WU/s1600/cheesecake_topping.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="295" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Fw4RFfX8n4A/TnEMytm4dMI/AAAAAAAAAH8/En0gIEMD-WU/s400/cheesecake_topping.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<br />
Return cake to oven and bake 15 minutes at 350 degrees.<br />
<br />
Viola!<br />
<br />
Allow to cool at least one hour. I've never been able to resist a piece at this point, but the flavor is really enhanced when the cheesecake is served after being refrigerated overnight. Good luck with that.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-SDNODoVkCp8/TnEMr9kM_UI/AAAAAAAAAH0/Nb_2g3n5EzA/s1600/cheesecake_final.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-SDNODoVkCp8/TnEMr9kM_UI/AAAAAAAAAH0/Nb_2g3n5EzA/s400/cheesecake_final.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
Maybe next I'll conquer Nana Ruby's gefilte fish.<br />
<br />
Nahhhh.Becky Seitelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15266529092778510429noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6956530201790833942.post-56859934521065766602011-05-10T10:41:00.002-05:002011-05-10T10:57:29.478-05:00Max Herzel: Helping the World SeeIn honor of last week's Yom HaShoah (Holocaust Remembrance Day), 5771, I'd like to introduce you to Max Herzel of Birmingham. He is a Holocaust survivor who was liberated 66 years ago, and is one of 20 survivors featured in <i><a href="http://beckyseitel.blogspot.com/2010/11/how-i-became-involved-in-alabama.html">Darkness into Life: Alabama's Holocaust Survivors Through Photography and Art</a>.</i><br />
<br />
Max shared his story with me one evening at his inviting home on a shady street in Homewood. It's a story he's told hundreds of times, but his deep emotion drew me in and made me feel he was sharing his amazing story of survival only to me.<br />
<br />
Born in Antwerp, Belgium, in 1930, his father, Oscar, was a diamond cutter, and his mother, Nachama, a seamstress. Ten-year-old Max’s journey through one of history’s darkest periods began when Belgium was invaded by the Germans on May 10, 1940.<br />
<br />
"The city was awakened to the roar of airplanes flying across the sky," he recalled. "By Saturday evening, my parents decided to leave the city, and we nervously waited for sundown. We locked the house and proceeded to the main railroad station to travel to Brussels. Once there, we planned to join my father’s youngest sister and her husband. We took with us more fear than possessions."<br />
<br />
After traveling seven days and nights in a crowded boxcar, Max, his parents, and older brother, Harry, found refuge in Southern France.<br />
<br />
"This was just the beginning of the longest and saddest journey of my life," he said.<br />
<br />
He recalls this as the period when Jews were forced to wear a yellow Star of David outlined in black. In France, “Juif”, the French word for “Jew”, was written inside the star.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-puWop0-6-ys/TchXyphdgDI/AAAAAAAAAGg/IPAjuIbDXRQ/s1600/Max-Herzel-Star.gif" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="315" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-puWop0-6-ys/TchXyphdgDI/AAAAAAAAAGg/IPAjuIbDXRQ/s400/Max-Herzel-Star.gif" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Yellow Star </i>by Becky Seitel</td></tr>
</tbody></table>For centuries, the Star of David has been a symbol of Jewish pride. But during World War II, Nazis used the star to segregate and terrorize the Jewish people.<br />
<br />
“The German government’s policy of forcing Jews to wear a badge was a tactic aimed at isolating us from the rest of the population,” he explained. “It enabled the German government to identify, deprive, starve, and ultimately murder Jewish people.”<br />
<br />
Inside concentration camps, triangular patches were used to identify prisoners. The patches included:<br />
<ul><li>Jew—yellow </li>
<li>Gypsy—brown </li>
<li>Homosexual—pink </li>
<li>Asocial—black </li>
<li>Political prisoner—red</li>
</ul>The Asocial category was the most diverse, including prostitutes, vagrants, murderers, thieves, lesbians, and those who violated laws prohibiting sexual intercourse between Aryans and Jews. The word “Blod” on a black triangle marked mentally retarded inmates. For Jewish offenders, triangles of two different colors were combined to create a six-pointed star, one triangle yellow to denote a Jew, the second triangle another color to denote the added offense. <br />
<br />
Within a few weeks of the family's arrival in Southern France, the men were forced into labor battalions. Determined to arrange his family’s escape, Oscar used bribery to flee to Marseilles. He and Harry were ultimately caught by the French police in late 1942 and were sent to a work camp. Upon their release, Harry joined the French Underground and Oscar went into hiding.<br />
<br />
"My mother became desperate and went down to the river attempting suicide by jumping off the bridge," Max says as you can literally see his memory take him back to late 1942. "She was taken to a local hospital and then transferred to St. Marie, a Catholic psychiatric hospital. I offer thanks to Dr. Pierre Doussinet, a righteous gentile, who kept her in the hospital after treatment. Had she been released, she would surely have been arrested by the French police and sent to a concentration camp."<br />
<br />
Even though the punishment would be death, many Gentiles saved Jews during the Holocaust. They were people who decided to make a difference because it was the right thing to do.<br />
<br />
Young Max and his family were aided during and after the war by Mrs. Decoux, a wealthy Parisian Gentile. Her first name has long been forgotten. When Max’s father could no longer hide in her basement, Mrs. Decoux helped him hide in the forest and brought him food until he was captured while attempting to escape to the Italian zone. <br />
<br />
“My father wrote this letter to Madame Decoux,” Max says of the letter translated below. “It was censored, as you can see by the censorship stamp, so we’ve never been able to determine exactly where he was."<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jnEzBM0s_MM/TchoFAK7a7I/AAAAAAAAAGs/WeQyEHWEJ24/s1600/Max-Herzel-Letter.gif" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jnEzBM0s_MM/TchoFAK7a7I/AAAAAAAAAGs/WeQyEHWEJ24/s400/Max-Herzel-Letter.gif" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Letter From My Father</i> by Becky Seitel</td></tr>
</tbody></table><i>February 19, 1944<br />
<br />
Dear Mrs. Decoux,<br />
<br />
I am writing you a few words from Italy. I’m able to tell you that I’m in good health. I’m also hoping the same by you and by Mrs. Churbard. I don’t know exactly where my wife is at the present time, also Harry and Max. Be kind and transmit this letter. Do not worry about me. I have much hope we will see each other soon. I’m positive that with my friend Mazaloigne and the rest of my friends everything is well. Wishing everyone well. From a friend who is thinking often of you.<br />
</i><br />
<i>Oscar</i><br />
<br />
"We later learned that he was captured and taken to Auschwitz, and then Buchenwald, where he died on February 26, 1945, approximately three months short of liberation. He was only 44. Also lost were his family of seven siblings and their children, as well as thirteen of my mother’s family."<br />
<br />
All alone during this time, young Max was sent to a series of four orphanages. When these became too dangerous, an underground Jewish agency, OSE (Oeuvre de Secours aux Enfants) placed him on a remote farm in Sironne in the French Alps. Posing as a Catholic orphan, he worked for his food and lodging. After the Allies regained France in 1944, all the hidden children were gathered by the OSE in an effort to reunite them with their families.<br />
<br />
"I was finally reunited with my mother and brother in Clermont-Ferrand where she had been living in the hospital. We learned that we were the only three survivors from the Salomon and Herzel families. We located my mother’s brother and sister in New York, and they sponsored my brother and me to come to America. We arrived on December 23, 1948. My mother joined us five years later."<br />
<br />
The patriotic new American served four years in the U.S. Air Force, and in 1955, married Cecille Herman. The family was completed with the birth of two children, the ultimate gift to a young man who had lost so much family to the evil acts of Adolf Hitler.<br />
<br />
Job opportunities brought Max to Birmingham where he was an executive with the Veterans Administration Medical Center. Today, he is an active member of the Alabama Holocaust Commission and the Birmingham Holocaust Education Center. He devotes countless hours each month sharing his story with junior and high school students throughout Alabama, keeping the history of the Holocaust alive, spreading the message of the death and destruction caused by hatred and bigotry.<br />
<br />
Another passion is Lions Clubs International, the world’s largest service organization, recognized for its service to the blind and visually impaired. He is actively involved as a Lion and is District Governor of Alabama District 34-O. He was named a Melvin Jones Fellow, the Lions’ highest form of recognition for an individual’s dedication to humanitarian service in his community and in the world community.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-XYZYen4N1tE/TchX93jg-HI/AAAAAAAAAGo/egYsW8el9ME/s1600/Max-Herzel-Lions-Clubl.gif" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="315" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-XYZYen4N1tE/TchX93jg-HI/AAAAAAAAAGo/egYsW8el9ME/s400/Max-Herzel-Lions-Clubl.gif" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Helping the World See</i> by Becky Seitel</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="text-align: center;"></div>"I especially enjoy being a part of our project to recycle used eyeglasses,” says Max who helps collect glasses and delivers them to the recycling center to be sorted and sent on vision missions to Latin America.<br />
<br />
The many pairs of glasses surrounding Max each day are a fraction of those that were stripped from Jews entering concentration camps and sent to “Aryan” Germans. Former First Lady Laura Bush, in a talk at the 10th Anniversary of the U.S. Holocaust Memorial Museum in Washington, D.C., recalled seeing a mountain of such glasses.<br />
<br />
“What moved me the most were the thousands of eyeglasses, their lenses still smudged with tears and dirt," she said. "It struck me how vulnerable we are as humans, how many needed those glasses to see, and how many people living around the camps and around the world refused to see. We see today, we know what happened, and we will never forget.”Becky Seitelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15266529092778510429noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6956530201790833942.post-64528663642248486542011-03-13T16:45:00.005-05:002011-03-13T16:56:39.945-05:00Caro's blanketGrandchildren. One of the greatest joys of life!<br />
<br />
Together, my sister, Kittie, and I have seven: Hayden, Cade, Carly, Kynze, Addie Ruth, Levi, and Caroline. That's three for me, four for my sister. As usual, she's out in first place. But I've worked my way through the second-child syndrome. Really, I have.<br />
<br />
Anyway, all of these beautiful children were welcomed into the world with a soft, warm, cuddly blanket made with love by their favorite Nana / Great Aunt. Except Sweet Caroline.<br />
<br />
I tried. Really, really tried. I just couldn't seem to get her blanket to the end stage.<br />
<br />
Until today. Today, I finished nine-month-old Caroline's blanket! <br />
<br />
But why did it take me so long? Why did the lover of all things crafty, Martha Stewarty, home-madey fail to have a blanket for this beautiful child when she born?<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-LWCTC61nRbM/TX0pDmc26DI/AAAAAAAAAGY/CNHTdHVTAhg/s1600/TG_2010_99_90.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="290" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-LWCTC61nRbM/TX0pDmc26DI/AAAAAAAAAGY/CNHTdHVTAhg/s400/TG_2010_99_90.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Caroline, last Thanksgiving, on a surrogate blanket.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
I didn't mean for it to happen. I started the little princess a blanket almost as soon as I found out she would be joining us. I talked to her Mom, found out the style and color she wanted, and quickly dashed out to buy the yarn.<br />
<br />
But somewhere along the way, I got delayed.<br />
<br />
Maybe it was the back surgery that kicked my, uh, back.<br />
<br />
Or, the subsequent surgery to correct complications of the back-kicking back surgery.<br />
<br />
Maybe it was the scorching summer that cost me several months. No joke. I can't knit or crochet in the summer. The yarn stings my hands, my hands sweat, and then I get in a really hostile mood. Not from the stinging and sweating, but from the frustration that comes from the damp yarn moving too slowly through my hands.<br />
<br />
Then, dang it, once the weather cooled, I realized I had a gaping hole in the middle of the blanket about 40 rows back. That's like 280 rows in dog rows. I'll admit I'm not very observant, but ouch...40 rows back? Ok, maybe there was a glass of wine involved, maybe not. I'm just saying....<br />
<br />
So, I had to <i>tink </i>(knit spelled backward) or <i>frog </i>(rip it, rip it, rip it), or whatever you want to call it. The Nancy Drew in me determined that at some point I stopped in the middle of a row, and when I picked up the blanket again, resumed knitting in the wrong direction. If you're a knitter, you know this is very easy to do if you're not paying attention, or if there is a glass of wine involved. That little fiasco set me back about a month. Or so.<br />
<br />
Arthritis tried to stop me, too. I won't give that a lot of space here, because that would acknowledge I'm old enough to have arthritis, and I'm not ready to go there.<br />
<br />
But, today, after all the stops and starts, Caro has a blanket! A soft, warm, cuddly blanket. A taupe, basketweave blanket. A blanket filled with the love of her great-aunt, sprinkled with dripped coffee and Diet Mt. Dew, and dotted with skipped stitches. And if it had the gestational period of an elephant, hopefully she'll never know.<br />
<br />
Because, after all, I did finish it before she learned to count!<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-c1f6YkP7K-o/TX0uDXUyhfI/AAAAAAAAAGc/T2xUn4TXJAg/s1600/basketweave+blanket.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-c1f6YkP7K-o/TX0uDXUyhfI/AAAAAAAAAGc/T2xUn4TXJAg/s400/basketweave+blanket.jpg" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Caro's blanket is just like her: a special, one-of-a-kind, gift of love.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Caro's basketweave blanket pattern:<br />
<br />
Supplies: approximately 900 yards of worsted weight yarn; size 8 circular knitting needles (or size to obtain gauge)<br />
<br />
Gauge: five stitches per inch<br />
<br />
Finished size: 31" x 31" or as desired <br />
<br />
Cast on 158 stitches.<br />
<br />
Knit 10 rows.<br />
<br />
Establish pattern:<br />
Row 1: K7, pm, *P4, K4, repeat from * to last 7 seven stitches, pm, K7<br />
Row 2 - 6: K to marker, *P4, K4, repeat from * to marker, K7 <br />
Row 7 - 12: K to marker, *K4, P4, repeat from * to marker, K7<br />
Repeat rows 1 - 12 until blanket measures approximately 30 inches, or desired length, and after completing row 6 or 12<br />
<br />
Knit 10 rows.<br />
<br />
Bind off and weave in ends!<br />
<br />
Happy knitting!Becky Seitelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15266529092778510429noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6956530201790833942.post-78160530903536557942011-01-10T15:41:00.002-06:002011-05-10T08:22:53.613-05:00An AdventurerIn my continued series, <i><a href="http://beckyseitel.blogspot.com/2010/11/how-i-became-involved-in-alabama.html">Darkness into Life: Alabama's Holocaust Survivors Through Photography and Art</a>,</i> I'd like to introduce you to Stan Minkinow of Huntsville.<br />
<br />
I met Stan one hot Saturday afternoon after a pleasant drive to Huntsville. The home he shares with his wife, Doris, is beautifully decorated with enchanting art. Stan is an avid art collector and can tell you exactly where on his worldly travels he lovingly purchased each piece. He is strikingly tall and has the posture that comes with being a life-long member of the Army. I was immediately drawn to hear the story of this Green Beret and retired Army Major. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_AxdM0YaCaZc/TStpJtJwplI/AAAAAAAAAGQ/R0Znl3rSjvQ/s1600/Stan_Minkinow_22.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="251" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_AxdM0YaCaZc/TStpJtJwplI/AAAAAAAAAGQ/R0Znl3rSjvQ/s320/Stan_Minkinow_22.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
In January 1942, when Stan was ten years old, he and his parents were forced to become residents of the Lodz Ghetto in Poland.<br />
<br />
Approximately 160,000 Jews, more than a third of the city’s population, were forced into the ghetto, the second largest in the Polish-occupied territory. Barbed-wire fencing isolated the ghetto from the rest of the city. Using Jewish residents for forced labor, the Lodz Ghetto soon became a major Nazi production center. Living conditions were horrendous. Lack of running water and sewer systems, along with overcrowding, hard labor, and starvation, reduced the ghetto by more than 20 percent. <br />
<br />
“Even before we were sent to the ghetto, I began to adapt,” he shares. “Jewish children weren’t allowed to attend school, so boredom and curiosity tempted me out onto the streets.” Those streets became his classroom where he witnessed the unusual becoming the ordinary. From carts carrying corpses to finely dressed people pocketing rotten potatoes, he watched as the daily events of his life changed.<br />
<br />
“I stood on the street corner near my grandparents’ apartment and watched as Jews filed through the gate,” he recalls. “I saw young people, old people, some pushing baby carriages, some arriving on foot or by horse-drawn taxis, others getting out of fancy cars.” <br />
<br />
Inside the Lodz Ghetto, the living quarters for his family consisted of one room with a stove, one bed for his parents, and one couch where young Stan slept. Food was scarce; their main staple was yellow beets; even their bread was made from beets. The family considered it a feast when they were able to acquire horse meat. “At night I often thought, ‘I hope I wake up as a German tomorrow so that I will have enough to eat.’ ”<br />
<br />
Stan and his parents bribed their way from the Lodz Ghetto to the Warsaw Ghetto. Less than a year later, his family made another daring escape, this time from the Warsaw Ghetto. Without even a suitcase, they approached the gate guarded by three policemen: one Jewish; one Polish; and the third, German. Stan’s father showed the German his passport, while his mother showed the Pole a booklet with cash inside. The family fled to the village of Radość, outside Warsaw, renting an apartment using their maid’s last name and living as Poles.<br />
<br />
“If the Polish officer had been doing his job, he would have shot us,” he says.<br />
<br />
After the Russians liberated Poland, Stan’s father was arrested for his involvement with the Polish government in exile. After a year, in yet another escape, Stan’s mother bribed a Polish guard to take her husband to Berlin. Stan recalls hearing gun shots as he and his mother were smuggled across the border sometime later. For a short time after the war, the family lived in a displaced persons camp in Berlin. Stan learned that his grandfather, Hein, had died at Auschwitz.<br />
<br />
Not surprisingly, what started in the ghetto with a young boy’s curiosity and thirst for adventure played out in Stan’s life. In 1951, he saw a U.S. Army recruiting film in Munich. He enlisted and became a member of the elite, newly-created Special Forces, later becoming an American Cold Warrior and a Green Beret. He completed Officer Candidate School and was commissioned as a Second Lieutenant in the Infantry. A tour of duty in Korea was followed by two tours in Vietnam. Among his numerous medals are the Distinguished Flying Cross, Bronze Star, and the Air Medal. He retired as a Major in 1979.<br />
<br />
“I am what you would call an adventurer,” he says with a smile.Becky Seitelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15266529092778510429noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6956530201790833942.post-76246798746161164572010-12-18T11:56:00.002-06:002010-12-18T12:30:19.950-06:00Have I looked in my father's eyes<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_AxdM0YaCaZc/TQvDQytipUI/AAAAAAAAAF8/8OhM4UUZEyw/s1600/Daddy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_AxdM0YaCaZc/TQvDQytipUI/AAAAAAAAAF8/8OhM4UUZEyw/s400/Daddy.jpg" width="257" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My father, Carl Barker</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</td></tr>
</tbody></table> <br />
Deep, dark brown<br />
More almond-shaped than any almond<br />
Short lashes loosely-covered with saggy skin<br />
<br />
Reading, always<br />
Anything and everything<br />
Day into night, sometimes into day again<br />
<br />
Stories of rugged cowboys with guns and sweaty horses,<br />
County, back-woods postal addresses<br />
Political commentaries, Sunday color comics<br />
<br />
Post-Herald<br />
Birmingham News<br />
Sports section first, forever and amen<br />
<br />
Disease-invaded like an army<br />
He fought them all with force<br />
Passed away one night while praying that he'd continue to live<br />
<br />
We learned what was possible<br />
Through salty, hot tears<br />
And smiled with happiness at the irony of his gift<br />
<br />
Corneas, still healthy, searching for more<br />
Traveled to someone unknown<br />
So that they could see, they could read<br />
<br />
Perhaps I, while on a journey to Montgomery or Mobile<br />
Looked in my father's eyes<br />
Though they were no longer almond-shaped and brown<br />
<br />
They would have been reading<br />
Anything, everything<br />
Sports section first, forever and amenBecky Seitelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15266529092778510429noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6956530201790833942.post-44125711749476375642010-12-17T15:42:00.000-06:002010-12-17T15:42:07.609-06:00The Daring Cooks December 2010 Challenge: Poach to Perfection!<a href="http://beckyseitel.blogspot.com/search/label/Daring%20Cook%20Challenge">Lately</a>, I have been blogging about joining <a href="http://thedaringkitchen.com/">The Daring Kitchen</a>,<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"> an-online community of cooks and bakers who are challenged each month to cook or bake something new and different. Everyone uses the same recipe and then posts their results, with narrative and photographs, on their blog.</span></span><br />
<br />
Jenn and Jill have challenged The Daring Cooks to learn to perfect the technique of poaching an egg. They chose an Eggs Benedict recipe from Alton Brown, Oeufs en Meurette from Cooking with Wine by Anne Willan, and Homemade Sundried Tomato & Pine Nut Seitan Sausages (poached) courtesy of Trudy of Veggie num num.<br />
<br />
I chose the Eggs Benedict recipe. <br />
<br />
Surprisingly, poaching an egg was not very difficult technique-wise. It really is all about the timing and there are a few tricks that can help. <br />
<br />
• Make sure to use the freshest eggs possible. Farm-fresh eggs will make for the best poached eggs. <br />
• Adding a bit of vinegar to the water will help stabilize the eggs and cook the whites faster, and keeping your water just below boiling point (about 190F) will help keep the fragile eggs from rupturing. Also make sure to salt the poaching water well.<br />
• The other main key to success is to crack your egg into a small bowl first, taking care not to break the yolk. Then it becomes easy to gently slide the entire egg into the water for the poaching process. <br />
• A poached egg is done when the whites are fully cooked and the yolk has just started to solidify but is still runny when you cut it open – usually three minutes. It’s ok to go a little longer though depending on your desired firmness. <br />
• You can poach eggs ahead of time (about a day). Just immerse them in ice water after poaching, and then keep them in a bowl of water in the fridge. When you are ready to use them, place them in hot (not boiling) water until they are warmed through.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Here's what you'll need for Eggs Benedict:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_AxdM0YaCaZc/TQvSMxo9M5I/AAAAAAAAAGA/GQCuRmb242g/s1600/eggs_benedict_ingredients.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_AxdM0YaCaZc/TQvSMxo9M5I/AAAAAAAAAGA/GQCuRmb242g/s400/eggs_benedict_ingredients.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>4 eggs (size is your choice)<br />
2 English muffins<br />
4 slices of Canadian bacon (or plain bacon if you prefer)<br />
Garnish<br />
Splash of vinegar (for poaching)<br />
<br />
The hollandaise sauce requires:<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AxdM0YaCaZc/TQvU4LtRe3I/AAAAAAAAAGE/S_rTgff-oQI/s1600/hollandaise.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AxdM0YaCaZc/TQvU4LtRe3I/AAAAAAAAAGE/S_rTgff-oQI/s400/hollandaise.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>3 large egg yolks<br />
1 teaspoon water<br />
1/4 teaspoon sugar<br />
12 tablespoons unsalted butter, chilled, and cut in small piecs <br />
1/2 teaspoon kosher salt<br />
2 teaspoons freshly squeezed lemon juice<br />
Pinch cayenne pepper (optional)<br />
<br />
Directions:<br />
1. Fill a medium saucepan halfway with water and bring to a simmer.<br />
2. Cut the chilled butter into small pieces and set aside.<br />
3. Whisk egg yolks and 1 teaspoon water in a mixing bowl large enough to sit on the saucepan without touching the water (or in top portion of a double boiler). Whisk for 1–2 minutes, until egg yolks lighten. Add the sugar and whisk 30 seconds more.<br />
4. Place bowl on saucepan over simmering water and whisk steadily 3–5 minutes (it only took about 3 for me) until the yolks thicken to coat the back of a spoon.<br />
5. Remove from heat (but let the water continue to simmer) and whisk in the butter, 1 piece at a time. Move the bowl to the pan again as needed to melt the butter, making sure to whisk constantly.<br />
6. Once all the butter is incorporated, remove from heat and whisk in the salt, lemon juice, and cayenne pepper (if using).<br />
7. Keep the hollandaise warm while you poach your eggs. Use a thermos, carafe, or bowl that you’ve preheated with warm water.<br />
8. If the water simmering in your pan has gotten too low, add enough so that you have 2–3 inches of water and bring back to a simmer.<br />
9. Add salt and a splash of vinegar (any kind will do). <br />
10. Crack eggs directly into the very gently simmering water (or crack first into a bowl and gently drop into the water), making sure they’re separated. Cook for 3 minutes for a viscous but still runny yolk.<br />
11. While waiting for the eggs, quickly fry the Canadian bacon and toast the English muffin.<br />
12. Top each half of English muffin with a piece of bacon. Remove the eggs with a slotted spoon, draining well, and place on top of the bacon. Top with hollandaise and garnish, and enjoy!<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_AxdM0YaCaZc/TQvU6N3SDJI/AAAAAAAAAGI/QW0haFRLQpk/s1600/eggs+benedict+final.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_AxdM0YaCaZc/TQvU6N3SDJI/AAAAAAAAAGI/QW0haFRLQpk/s400/eggs+benedict+final.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><b>Preparation time: </b><br />
Eggs Benedict: 20 minutes<br />
<br />
<b>Equipment required: </b><br />
Generally for poaching eggs you need:<br />
• Large shallow pan<br />
• Small bowl (for cracking eggs into)<br />
• Large slotted spoon for lifting out poached eggs<br />
• Timer<br />
<br />
For Eggs Benedict:<br />
• Double boiler (for the hollandaise)<br />
• Alternatively a saucepan and heat proof mixing bowl that is large enough to sit on top<br />
• Toaster or oven for toasting English muffins<br />
• Frying pan for cooking bacon<br />
• Thermos, carafe, or bowl (in which to keep the hollandaise warm)Becky Seitelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15266529092778510429noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6956530201790833942.post-23624472482145050012010-12-11T15:38:00.004-06:002010-12-11T15:42:31.852-06:00Homemade almond butterIn my slow, but steady, journey to a more natural diet, I began making almond butter a few months ago.<br />
<br />
I was often reading of the benefits of this wonderful alternative to peanut butter. The Doctors, Jillian Michaels, and Denise Austin said I should switch from peanut butter to almond butter so I jumped in the car and headed to the grocery store. When I saw the price, I immediately had a heart attack and fell to the floor faster than Alan can fall asleep in the recliner. When the paramedics came, they recommended that I learn to make my own almond butter. After all, what good are the health benefits if I have a coronary every time I purchase a jar? Made perfect sense to me.<br />
<br />
Before I share my recipe, here's what I have learned about almond butter:<br />
<br />
It is a food paste made from almonds (duh). Almonds are high in monounsaturated fats, which are considered to be a healthier form of fat than saturated fat. Like other nut butters, <span class="yellowFade"><span class="FadeWordContainer" style="position: relative;">almond</span></span> <span class="yellowFade"><span class="FadeWordContainer" style="position: relative;">butter</span></span> retains the nutritional value of the almonds it comes from. It is rich in protein, calcium, iron, essential fatty acids, Vitamin E, magnesium, and it is a great source of fiber. Unfortunately, it is also higher in calories than many other nut butters, but to me, the heart-health benefits outweigh the extra calories.<br />
<br />
The uses for <span class="yellowFade"><span class="FadeWordContainer" style="position: relative;">almond</span></span> <span class="yellowFade"><span class="FadeWordContainer" style="position: relative;">butter</span></span> are as varied as they are for peanut <span class="yellowFade"><span class="FadeWordContainer" style="position: relative;">butter</span></span>. It can be used like a spread, mixed into sauces and dressings, eaten plain, or used in desserts. The flavor is actually quite similar to peanut <span class="yellowFade"><span class="FadeWordContainer" style="position: relative;">butter</span></span>, with a faint hint of almonds.<br />
<br />
There are a number of different styles of <span class="yellowFade"><span class="FadeWordContainer" style="position: relative;">almond</span></span> <span class="yellowFade"><span class="FadeWordContainer" style="position: relative;">butter</span></span>, starting with toasted or raw. Toasted <span class="yellowFade"><span class="FadeWordContainer" style="position: relative;">almond</span></span> <span class="yellowFade"><span class="FadeWordContainer" style="position: relative;">butter</span></span> has a richer flavor, but some people prefer the milder taste of raw <span class="yellowFade"><span class="FadeWordContainer" style="position: relative;">almond</span></span> <span class="yellowFade"><span class="FadeWordContainer" style="position: relative;">butter</span></span>. The smoothest and creamiest is made from almonds that have been blanched to remove their skins, and then finely ground. More chunky versions include <span class="yellowFade"><span class="FadeWordContainer" style="position: relative;">almond</span></span> skin, and are not ground as finely. <br />
<br />
My version is made with toasted almonds, including the skin. I have made both toasted and raw, and personally prefer toasted.<br />
<br />
You'll need a heavy-duty food processor (not the small, mini version) plus these ingredients:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_AxdM0YaCaZc/TQPn5nA6KqI/AAAAAAAAAF0/MLRi2TcIy4w/s1600/almond_butter_ingredients.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="325" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_AxdM0YaCaZc/TQPn5nA6KqI/AAAAAAAAAF0/MLRi2TcIy4w/s400/almond_butter_ingredients.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
2 cups toasted almonds (I toast in the toaster oven on 350 degrees for six minutes)<br />
1/2 teaspoon salt (or to taste)<br />
2 tablespoons olive oil (or to taste)<br />
2 tablespoons brown sugar (or to taste)<br />
<br />
Add the toasted almonds to the food processor and process until the nuts are finely chopped and begin to turn creamy (1-2 minutes). Add the salt, olive oil, and brown sugar and process until the following consistency:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_AxdM0YaCaZc/TQPn0pC74uI/AAAAAAAAAFw/y7PmQ9toX10/s1600/almond_butter_processor.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="328" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_AxdM0YaCaZc/TQPn0pC74uI/AAAAAAAAAFw/y7PmQ9toX10/s400/almond_butter_processor.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
That's it! Seriously!<br />
<br />
Store the almond butter in your pantry or refrigerator. Just remember, there are no preservatives, so choose your storage method with that in mind. I have successfully pantry-stored almond butter for over a week with no problem.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_AxdM0YaCaZc/TQPj52zkFEI/AAAAAAAAAFs/th5CJ9ssxDs/s1600/almond_butter.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="392" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_AxdM0YaCaZc/TQPj52zkFEI/AAAAAAAAAFs/th5CJ9ssxDs/s400/almond_butter.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I love almond butter on vanilla wafers! What's not to love?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Enjoy!Becky Seitelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15266529092778510429noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6956530201790833942.post-46511740425219770352010-12-02T09:34:00.003-06:002011-05-10T09:28:30.365-05:00Out of the darkIn my continued series, <i><a href="http://beckyseitel.blogspot.com/2010/11/how-i-became-involved-in-alabama.html">Darkness into Life: Alabama's Holocaust Survivors Through Photography and Art</a>,</i> meet Riva Hirch and read her compelling story: <br />
<br />
When little girls are ten years old, they should be playing with dolls or hosting tea parties. <br />
<br />
When Riva Hirsch was ten years old, she was hidden by nuns in a bunker near a convent in Ukraine. Fearful of frequent visits by the SS soldiers, the nuns were only able to visit the bunker every two or three days to leave food and water.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_AxdM0YaCaZc/TPeyNeo0LkI/AAAAAAAAAFc/zlSrcYIxquo/s1600/Riva+Hirsch+Darkness.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_AxdM0YaCaZc/TPeyNeo0LkI/AAAAAAAAAFc/zlSrcYIxquo/s400/Riva+Hirsch+Darkness.jpg" width="313" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Out of the Dark</i> by Becky Seitel</td></tr>
</tbody></table>“When the door was cracked, it was my lifeline. The door separated me from the outside world. Inside that bunker, my life was lonely and frightening,” she recalls.<br />
<br />
So fearful were the nuns of being discovered, they often simply cracked the door and hurriedly threw in the food.<br />
<br />
“I was living among rats. If I was fast enough to get to the food before the rats ran away with it, I ate. If I was too slow, I was forced to exist on lice. They were all over me. At times, I could hardly open my eyes or my mouth. Swallowing lice helped keep me alive. They were my breakfast, lunch, and dinner.”<br />
<br />
Riva existed in this dark isolation for two years.<br />
<br />
“I don’t know how time passed. Day was night and night was day. I felt more dead than alive. But even though I didn’t have even the simple basics of life like other little girls, I was safe.” <br />
<br />
“In 1945, the door of the bunker opened wide. It had not been open more than a crack for two years. <br />
<br />
“The nuns wrapped my frost-bitten feet in cloth and draped a blanket over my shoulders. I was suffering from malaria and typhus. My vision was impaired and my teeth had fallen out. <br />
<br />
“A voice spoke in a language I didn’t understand. I later learned the Russian Army had liberated me. <br />
<br />
“A hand pushed me forward. I moved toward the light, and with small footsteps, left the bunker in Tulchin, Ukraine. <br />
<br />
“I was 12 years old.”<br />
<br />
Like many children of the Holocaust, Riva was robbed of her childhood more than six decades ago by Adolph Hitler.<br />
<br />
Today, she spends time working with the Elks Lodge of Mountain Brook to help promote the education and social development of Alabama’s youth. <br />
<br />
Riva is well-known throughout the state for her dedication to raising money for the Elks Youth Camp. Located on Lake Martin in Tallassee, Alabama, the Elks Youth Camp offers activities and programs for young people between ages eight and thirteen. The youngsters receive an opportunity to experience different surroundings while learning valuable lessons about life. The programs are designed to help build character while showing how important it is to work with others.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_AxdM0YaCaZc/TPeyPqkd7gI/AAAAAAAAAFg/edzXl3Ft7OA/s1600/Riva+Hirsch+Youth+Camp.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_AxdM0YaCaZc/TPeyPqkd7gI/AAAAAAAAAFg/edzXl3Ft7OA/s400/Riva+Hirsch+Youth+Camp.jpg" width="313" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Building Better Kids</i> by Becky Seitel</td></tr>
</tbody></table>In 2006, Riva single-handedly sold more Cadillac raffle tickets than any other Alabama member. This was just one of the reasons she was named Alabama Elk of the Year, becoming the first woman to receive that honor in the history of the Mountain Brook Lodge. <br />
<br />
“Since we came to America in 1962, people have been wonderful to my husband and me,” Riva says. “Being a part of the Elks Association gives me an opportunity to give something back to this country by giving our youth such a great opportunity to build character… and have fun!”<br />
<br />
Riva's husband, Aisic, is also a Holocaust survivor.<br />
<br />
When she talks about the terror she experienced in Ukraine, he understands more than anyone. That’s because he experienced circumstances very similar to Riva’s, almost 1,000 miles away in Poland.<br />
<br />
Riva and Aisic Hirsch married in Haifa in 1950, five years after they were liberated by Russian troops.<br />
<br />
“We both went to Palestine after the war, and it was there that I met my beshert, a Yiddish word that means perfect match, soul mate, destiny,” Riva explains.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_AxdM0YaCaZc/TPeyYNWBNZI/AAAAAAAAAFo/F9Gigsgn-5Q/s1600/Hirsch.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="313" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_AxdM0YaCaZc/TPeyYNWBNZI/AAAAAAAAAFo/F9Gigsgn-5Q/s400/Hirsch.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Beshert</i> by Becky Seitel</td></tr>
</tbody></table>“I was a police officer and often ate at a local café. Riva was a waitress there, just 16, and the most beautiful girl I had ever seen,” says Aisic. <br />
<br />
Through the years, they’ve shared much more than the painful story of their past. They’ve shared many happy family times, always observing and celebrating their Jewish faith and heritage, a faith and heritage that made them a target of murder by the Nazis and then brought them together in Palestine.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_AxdM0YaCaZc/TPeyUvG4FuI/AAAAAAAAAFk/QekEsZy45vI/s1600/Hirsch+Shabbat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_AxdM0YaCaZc/TPeyUvG4FuI/AAAAAAAAAFk/QekEsZy45vI/s400/Hirsch+Shabbat.jpg" width="313" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Friday Night </i>by Becky Seitel</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Becky Seitelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15266529092778510429noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6956530201790833942.post-57594574050800721702010-11-27T12:51:00.004-06:002010-11-28T11:06:51.583-06:00Daring Bakers' Challenge: Crostata<a href="http://beckyseitel.blogspot.com/search/label/Daring%20Cook%20Challenge">Last week</a>, I blogged about joining <a href="http://thedaringkitchen.com/">The Daring Kitchen</a>,<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"> an-online community of cooks and bakers who are challenged each month to cook or bake something new and different. Everyone uses the same recipe and then posts their results, with narrative and photographs, on their blog.</span></span><br />
<br />
The 2010 November Daring Bakers’ challenge was hosted by Simona of briciole. She chose to challenge Daring Bakers to make pasta frolla for a crostata. She used her own experience as a source, as well as information from Pellegrino Artusi’s Science in the Kitchen and the Art of Eating Well.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td></tr>
</tbody></table>The mandatory challenge was to make pasta frolla using one of the two recipes provided and use it as the base layer for a crostata. The crostata could be made with fruit preserves or pastry cream or any other filling of my choice. The pasta frolla could be made with or without a food processor. I chose to go it sans food processor simply for the experience.<br />
<br />
Equipment required:<b><i></i></b><br />
<ul><li>bowls, as needed</li>
<li>fork</li>
<li>knife</li>
<li>bench (or pastry) scraper</li>
<li>rolling pin</li>
<li>pastry brush</li>
<li>9 or 9.5-inch fluted round tart pan with removable bottom, about 1 inch high. I didn't have a tart pan, but had been wanting one. I was able to pick one up for a mere $5.00 so I was pretty happy.</li>
</ul><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AxdM0YaCaZc/TPEp93m3kyI/AAAAAAAAAFU/P5O3Ju1DfpU/s1600/fluted_pan.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="265" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AxdM0YaCaZc/TPEp93m3kyI/AAAAAAAAAFU/P5O3Ju1DfpU/s400/fluted_pan.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">9.5-inch fluted round tart pan with removable bottom</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<ul></ul><ul><li><i>(Note: If you don't have a tart pan with a removable bottom, you can make crostata using a 9-inch cake pan or even a 9-inch pie plate.</i></li>
<li>a food process is useful, but not required</li>
</ul>I chose Version 1 of the pasta frolla.<br />
<br />
Ingredients:<br />
<ul><li>1/2 cup minus 1 tablespoon superfine sugar or a scant 3/4 cup of powdered sugar</li>
<li>1 and 3/4 cup unbleached all-purpose flour</li>
<li>a pinch of salt</li>
<li>1 stick cold unsalted butter, cut into small pieces </li>
<li>grated zest of half a lemon <i></i></li>
<li>1 large egg and 1 large egg yolk, lightly beaten in a small bowl</li>
</ul><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_AxdM0YaCaZc/TPEsqwfyi0I/AAAAAAAAAFY/3rsJd-gUgbk/s1600/pasta_frolla_ingred.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="277" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_AxdM0YaCaZc/TPEsqwfyi0I/AAAAAAAAAFY/3rsJd-gUgbk/s400/pasta_frolla_ingred.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">pasta frolla ingredients</td></tr>
</tbody></table><ol><li>Whisk together sugar, flours, and salt in a bowl.</li>
<li>Rub or cut the butter into the sugar and flour mixture until it has the consistency of coarse crumbs. You can do this in the bowl or on your work surface, using your fingertips or an implement of choice. </li>
<li>Make a well in the center of the flour and butter mixture and pour the beaten egg and vanilla extract into it.</li>
<li>Use a fork to incorporate the liquid into mixture and then use your fingertips. </li>
<li>Knead lightly just until the dough comes together into a ball.</li>
<li>Shape the dough into a flat disk and wrap in plastic wrap. Place the dough in the refrigerator and chill for at least two hours. You can refrigerate the dough overnight.</li>
</ol><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_AxdM0YaCaZc/TPEnUDICNzI/AAAAAAAAAFQ/_8ksbDwowoc/s1600/dough_well.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="301" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_AxdM0YaCaZc/TPEnUDICNzI/AAAAAAAAAFQ/_8ksbDwowoc/s400/dough_well.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">dough well</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_AxdM0YaCaZc/TPEnRRFPwoI/AAAAAAAAAFM/mQIwPcRWx9g/s1600/dough_disk.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="351" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_AxdM0YaCaZc/TPEnRRFPwoI/AAAAAAAAAFM/mQIwPcRWx9g/s400/dough_disk.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">dough disk</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Assembling the crostata<br />
<ol><li>Heat the oven to 375º F. </li>
<li>Take the pasta frolla out of the fridge, unwrap it and cut away ¼ of the dough. Reserve this dough to make the lattice top of the crostata. Refrigerate this dough while you work on the tart base.</li>
<li>To help roll the crostata dough, keep the dough on top of the plastic wrap in which it was wrapped. This can help rolling the dough and can also help when transferring the dough to your pan. You can also use parchment paper for this; however you can also roll the dough directly on a work surface if you prefer.</li>
<li>Lightly dust the top of the dough and your work surface (if you’re rolling directly on a work surface) with flour. Keep flour handy to dust the dough as you go along. </li>
<li>If the dough is very firm, start by pressing the dough with the rolling pin from the middle to each end, moving the rolling pin by a pin's width each time; turn the dough 180 degrees and repeat; when it softens, start rolling.</li>
<li>Roll the dough into a circle about 1/8th inch thick. </li>
<li>If you used the plastic wrap or parchment paper as rolling surface, flip dough over the pan, centering it, and delicately press it all around so the corners are well covered. Peel away the plastic wrap.</li>
<li>Trim the excess dough hanging over the edges of the pan. Press the remaining dough around the border into the sides of the pan making sure the border is an even thickness all the way around. </li>
<li>Prick the bottom of the dough with a fork in several places. </li>
<li>Take out of the fridge the reserved pasta frolla you had cut away earlier. Roll it with your pin and cut into strips or use cookie cutters to make small shapes (this is not traditional, but it looks cute); or roll with your hands into ropes.</li>
<li>Spread the jam or fruit preserves evenly over the bottom of the crostata. </li>
<li>Use the prepared strips or rolls of dough to make a lattice over the surface, or decorate with the cut shapes.</li>
<li>Brush the border and strips of dough with the reserved beaten eggs. You can add a drop or two of water to the beaten eggs if you don’t have enough liquid.</li>
<li>Put the tart in the oven and bake for 25 minutes. </li>
<li>After 25 minutes, check the tart and continue baking until the tart is of a nice golden hue. (Note: Every oven is different. In my oven it took 34 minutes to bake the tart until golden.)</li>
<li>When done, remove the tart from the oven and let cool. If you have used a tart pan with a removable bottom, then release the tart base from the fluted tart ring. Make sure the tart is completely cool before slicing and serving.</li>
</ol><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_AxdM0YaCaZc/TPEnOrc8cVI/AAAAAAAAAFI/UmMJAxJTElY/s1600/crostata_final.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="265" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_AxdM0YaCaZc/TPEnOrc8cVI/AAAAAAAAAFI/UmMJAxJTElY/s400/crostata_final.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">my crostata</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr></tr>
</tbody></table>The fresh-out-of-the-oven-crostata didn't last long. I shared with my niece and my husband, both who loved it, and my neighbor who said, "I am so glad I made the acquaintance of a crostata tonight!"<br />
<br />
I will definitely make this again, but will opt for the food processor version of the pasta frolla.<br />
<br />
I look forward to the next Daring Bakers' Challenge.Becky Seitelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15266529092778510429noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6956530201790833942.post-27074078203587418602010-11-26T10:51:00.000-06:002010-11-26T10:51:56.037-06:00My Thanksgiving ListYes, I know I'm a smidgen late, but this week went by in a chaotic whirlwind of house cleaning, planning, cooking, Christmas shopping, and an-over-the-river-and-through-the-woods drive to visit Kittie and family.<br />
<br />
Of course, it can almost go without saying that I'm thankful for my family, friends, neighbors, soldiers who keep us free, and Alabama football. These are the sources of my daily happiness. Without them....well, I don't even want to think about that.<br />
<br />
But let's admit, there are many things we don't always remember to be thankful for. And, yes, I know I ended a sentence with a preposition. (Remember that outstanding line from Designing Women when the snobby socialite told Julia, "Don't you know you don't end a sentence with a preposition?" Julia's retort was beyond perfect and not really printable here.<br />
<br />
So here (in no particular order) is my top five list of not so common things for which I am immensely thankful:<br />
<br />
1.<b> </b><i>I don't have to shave my legs as often as I used to. </i>When I was younger, leg shaving was a daily ritual. Then the need decreased to every other day. Now, the mid-50s have given me a three-day respite from the blade whose life has been extended, thereby saving me a little money. Thankful, thankful, thankful.<br />
<br />
2. <i>Snooze alarm.</i> I never, never, ever jump out of bed to greet the day on the first unwanted jolt from the alarm clock. The snooze alarm feature not only allows me to wake up slowly, but it let's me kinda thumb my nose at the clock and say, "Hey, you! I'll get up when I'm good and ready. You can't make me do it! Give me seven more minutes." That feels so good.<br />
<br />
3. <i>Under eye concealer.</i> Because I unequivocally trust Ellen Degeneres, I use Covergirl & Olay Simply Ageless #215. Without that tiny round container of flesh-colored magic, I would never be able to leave the house. Seriously. Ladies, have you ever thought you had leftover, smudged mascara on your under-eye area? So you grab a tissue, a little lotion or eye makeup remover, and clean the tender area only to find the tissue is clean and the smudge didn't go away? I have...several times. That's when I knew I had to depend on under eye concealer. Thankful? Yes. Everyday.<br />
<br />
4. <i>Hormone replacement therapy.</i> Not having to shave my legs as often is no where near balanced by menopause. Those years (oh yes, years) have been the most miserable of my life. Hot flashes are from Satan. Or Eve. I'm certain it dates back to that foolish day with the apple and the snake. It is impossible to cool off from a hot flash. I have chugged ice water, stood in the open freezer door, turned the air conditioner to 50 degrees, and slept with the windows open in the winter. Nothing helped until my doctor prescribed "the patch." Life became somewhat normal again. Of course, any chance of becoming a pole dancer immediately vanished, even thought the patch was clear and small. Still the audience conversation would go something like, "What's that on her tummy?" Someone would answer, "What? I don't see anything?" Another, "Yeah, right there. That little clear thing." But pole dancing was never a life mission for me, so I'm good with the patch.<br />
<br />
5. <i>Control top pantyhose.</i> I haven't worn hose in maybe three years. I personally have a love / hate relationship with them. When I was experiencing #4 above, I decided pantyhose were also from Satan. Instead of bra burnings, we should have burned hose. That said, they are a true friend when those slacks are just a tad snug or you have a few little ripples of cellulite showing through that new slinky, black dress. I'm happy they're there when I need them and tucked away in the back of a drawer when I don't.<br />
<br />
That's my list. Now, what are some of your less typical objects of thanks? I really need to know that I'm not the only quirky one out there.Becky Seitelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15266529092778510429noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6956530201790833942.post-63808883465814960572010-11-21T12:11:00.000-06:002010-11-21T12:11:19.144-06:00Onesie Gift IdeaIt's that time of year and, unlike some people, you hate to go to the mall.<br />
<br />
What to do?<br />
<br />
On-line shop, of course.<br />
<br />
If you have a tiny loved one, or will soon, I have a beautiful selection of hand-decorated onesies!<br />
<br />
Take a look:<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AxdM0YaCaZc/TOlbNrZofGI/AAAAAAAAAE0/dXrffYVDVdA/s1600/heart_onesie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AxdM0YaCaZc/TOlbNrZofGI/AAAAAAAAAE0/dXrffYVDVdA/s400/heart_onesie.jpg" width="298" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Satin hearts on white, 3 - 6 months, $10.00 plus shipping</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_AxdM0YaCaZc/TOlb7CuwbRI/AAAAAAAAAFA/mNcPh8Xjt20/s1600/diva_onesie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_AxdM0YaCaZc/TOlb7CuwbRI/AAAAAAAAAFA/mNcPh8Xjt20/s400/diva_onesie.jpg" width="308" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Future Diva on pink, 6 - 9 months, $12.00 plus shipping</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_AxdM0YaCaZc/TOlbXRB-WCI/AAAAAAAAAE8/ZW-7BQktOUI/s1600/mommy_onesie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_AxdM0YaCaZc/TOlbXRB-WCI/AAAAAAAAAE8/ZW-7BQktOUI/s400/mommy_onesie.jpg" width="303" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My Mommy Loves Me on white, 6 - 9 months, $10.00 plus shipping</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_AxdM0YaCaZc/TOlbCWMiqBI/AAAAAAAAAEw/6XQIKzoy3vU/s1600/owl_onesie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_AxdM0YaCaZc/TOlbCWMiqBI/AAAAAAAAAEw/6XQIKzoy3vU/s400/owl_onesie.jpg" width="288" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Owl on brown stripes, 6 - 9 months, $12.00 plus shipping</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AxdM0YaCaZc/TOlbS761-sI/AAAAAAAAAE4/CcLJ-GyVhVE/s1600/lollipop_onesie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AxdM0YaCaZc/TOlbS761-sI/AAAAAAAAAE4/CcLJ-GyVhVE/s400/lollipop_onesie.jpg" width="316" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lollipop on purple stripes, 12 months, $12.00 plus shipping</td></tr>
</tbody></table>These adorable onesies are 100% organic cotton and are machine washable.<br />
<br />
To order, please send an email to <a href="mailto:bseitel@bellsouth.net">bseitel@bellsouth.net</a>.<br />
<br />
Happy holidays! <br />
<br />
<i>Also a great baby shower gift!</i>Becky Seitelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15266529092778510429noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6956530201790833942.post-9469742098999247902010-11-19T08:39:00.000-06:002010-11-19T08:39:24.914-06:00Quick and easy gift ideaIf you're looking for an idea for hand-made Christmas gifts, here is one of my favorite quick, easy, and unique presents! Plus it's tons of fun to make with kids of all ages and is sure to elicit a smile for years to come.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_AxdM0YaCaZc/TOaJWw_2TTI/AAAAAAAAAEs/Iw3A00AJdgc/s1600/kynze-flowers.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_AxdM0YaCaZc/TOaJWw_2TTI/AAAAAAAAAEs/Iw3A00AJdgc/s400/kynze-flowers.jpg" width="302" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photograph with added flowers and ribbon.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>I actually saw this idea in a photography magazine years and years ago and stored it in my feeble brain until Kynze asked me to help her make a Mother's Day gift for her Mom. So one sunny Saturday, she donned a dress, strapped on her angel wings, and outside we went.<br />
<br />
Of course, she wanted to play more than pose!<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AxdM0YaCaZc/TOU1uVWZUHI/AAAAAAAAAEk/mshdSDiWKeo/s1600/Kynze_19.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AxdM0YaCaZc/TOU1uVWZUHI/AAAAAAAAAEk/mshdSDiWKeo/s400/Kynze_19.jpg" width="265" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Boogie Angel!</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AxdM0YaCaZc/TOU1pO2zHaI/AAAAAAAAAEc/OWhnrWTk6aI/s1600/Kynze_46.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AxdM0YaCaZc/TOU1pO2zHaI/AAAAAAAAAEc/OWhnrWTk6aI/s400/Kynze_46.jpg" width="285" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">As you can see, the angel forgot her petticoat!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Begin by staging the pose with one hand held out in a fist. Make certain the hand is low enough so that the flowers do not cover the face in the finished photograph.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_AxdM0YaCaZc/TOU35DfymjI/AAAAAAAAAEo/FlwmwfX_Etw/s1600/Kynze_16.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_AxdM0YaCaZc/TOU35DfymjI/AAAAAAAAAEo/FlwmwfX_Etw/s400/Kynze_16.jpg" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fist too high.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_AxdM0YaCaZc/TOU1sSfnb4I/AAAAAAAAAEg/F-ih_ry5G1A/s1600/Kynze_14.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_AxdM0YaCaZc/TOU1sSfnb4I/AAAAAAAAAEg/F-ih_ry5G1A/s400/Kynze_14.jpg" width="285" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Better placement of fist.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>After the photograph is printed, place a small slit or hole at the top and bottom of the fist. Insert the flower stem into the top of the fist, through the back of the photo, and then out the bottom of the fist. Add ribbon. You can also wrap the flower stems, if desired.<br />
<br />
Remove the glass from the picture frame and insert the photograph.<br />
<br />
Viola!<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_AxdM0YaCaZc/TOaJWw_2TTI/AAAAAAAAAEs/Iw3A00AJdgc/s1600/kynze-flowers.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_AxdM0YaCaZc/TOaJWw_2TTI/AAAAAAAAAEs/Iw3A00AJdgc/s400/kynze-flowers.jpg" width="302" /></a></div><br />
Smile and give yourself a pat on the back! You're about to be loved even more by the recipient of this wonderful keepsake!<br />
<br />
<i>Note: this idea is also neat with two or more children. Either stack their fists or place hand around hand. </i>Becky Seitelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15266529092778510429noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6956530201790833942.post-72154758713384118552010-11-15T09:11:00.003-06:002010-11-17T08:58:17.930-06:00My first Daring Cooks' Challenge: spinach soufflé<h2><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">A few months ago, a friend of Alan's suggested I join <a href="http://thedaringkitchen.com/">The Daring Kitchen</a>, an-online community of cooks and bakers who are challenged each month to cook or bake something new and different. Everyone uses the same recipe and then posts their results, with narrative and photographs, on their blog. Sounded like fun to me, so here I am...posting the results of my first challenge: a spinach</span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"> soufflé.</span></span></h2><h2><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Dave and Linda from Monkeyshines in the Kitchen chose soufflés as our November 2010 Daring Cooks' Challenge! Dave and Linda provided two of their own delicious recipes plus a sinfully decadent chocolate soufflé recipe adapted from Gordon Ramsay's recipe found at the BBD Good Food website. </span></span></h2><h2><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Of the three recipes, I chose the watercress / spinach soufflé, a little afraid to invest in the ingredients for the crab and artichoke soufflé or the chocolate soufflé. </span></span></h2><h2><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">A great thing about the challenge is that you're not required to buy new dishes, pans, etc. An alternative is always given. In this case, I could use any 2-quart baking dish that had tall, relatively straight sides. But I thought this would be a great time to purchase a soufflé dish since one was not in my limited kitchen arsenal. </span></span></h2><h2><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">First stop was Wal-mart where a round soufflé dish costs around $22. No way! But, ah, an oval soufflé dish goes for $9. Go figure. So I purchased the oval dish, feeling proud that I had beaten the system. Imagine my disappointment when I began to re-read the recipe and discovered that the 2 1/2 quart oval dish was too large. Back to Wal-mart, return the oval soufflé dish, go to Target, prices and options the same, on to Tuesday Morning, T J Maxx, and a few other stores. No luck.</span></span></h2><h2><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">The idea of emailing my neighbors came next. Most replies were simply "No," except for my exceptionally comical neighbor who responded, "Do I look like the kind of girl who would own a soufflé dish"? I'm still chuckling about that.</span></span></h2><h2><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Alan suggested going to Old Time Pottery, which I thought was a wasted trip, but you'll never guess what I found there: a round 2-quart soufflé dish for $2. Yes $2. So I bought two! Don't tell me you wouldn't have. You know you would. </span></span></h2><h2><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">My set-aside day for the challenge arrived and I have to admit I was nervous. I read and re-read the recipe upteen times and learned, among other things, that soufflé is French for puff up or blow up. I learned about making the roux, adding ingredients and whisking egg yolks over simmering water, preparing them, but not cooking them, for the cooked mixture. I was also told that perhaps the most difficult aspect of the challenge would be to photograph the finished soufflé since what goes up must come down. I was warned to work quickly.</span></span></h2><h2><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">The instructions also suggested that I prepare all ingredients prior to starting the cooking process. </span></span></h2><h2><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Here's how my work area looked:</span></span></h2><div center;="" class="text-align:"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1369/5166299091_442747dd93_b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="281" src="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1369/5166299091_442747dd93_b.jpg" width="320" /></a></div></div><br />
2 tablespoons butter, plus additional for the soufflé dish<br />
3 1/2 tablespoons all purpose flour<br />
1 cup milk<br />
1/2 cup parmesan cheese, finely grated, plus additional for the soufflé dish<br />
1 cup finely chopped de-stemmed watercress (can substitute spinach) - this measure is the leaves after they’ve been washed, de-stemmed, and chopped<br />
4 large eggs, separated<br />
1/2 teaspoon prepared mustard<br />
1/4 teaspoon cream of tartar (a dash {~ 1/2 teaspoon} of lemon juice can be substituted)<br />
Salt and pepper to taste<br />
<br />
Directions:<br />
<br />
Butter the soufflé dish thoroughly, then grate a small amount of cheese in each dish and tap so that the sides are evenly coated with the cheese. Place the dish in the refrigerator until needed. This helps the soufflé climb.<br />
<br />
Preheat oven to 350º F. <br />
<br />
Wash and chop the watercress / spinach.<br />
<br />
Finely grate the parmesan cheese.<br />
<br />
In a medium-size saucepan, melt the butter over medium heat.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4107/5166898588_f048516ef3_b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4107/5166898588_f048516ef3_b.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
Stir in the flour to make a roux. Cook 1 minute, then add the milk, a little at a time, and stir until just thickened, about 1 minute. Add the cheese and stir until it’s just melted. Remove from heat then add the watercress / spinach and salt and pepper.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4020/5166297959_f4d9a3f2de_b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4020/5166297959_f4d9a3f2de_b.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
In a larger pan, bring water to a gentle simmer. (I used a double-boiler with a small amount of water in the bottom pot. I did not allow the water to touch the upper pot.) Whisk the egg yolks in a bowl set just over this water until pale and slightly foamy – about six minutes. <b>Do not</b> allow the eggs to cook.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4013/5166297303_d2aab45148_b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4013/5166297303_d2aab45148_b.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1381/5166897974_4484638a2d_b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1381/5166897974_4484638a2d_b.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
Mix the egg yolks into the watercress sauce.<br />
<br />
Beat the egg whites and cream of tartar until they form stiff peaks yet are still glossy.<br />
<br />
Fold the egg whites into the sauce in three additions so that it’s evenly mixed, but too much volume isn't lost.<br />
<br />
Remove the soufflé dish from the refrigerator and spoon the mix into it. Use a spatula to even the top and wipe off any spills.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1259/5166896958_64f85c452c_b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1259/5166896958_64f85c452c_b.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
Bake 40 minutes, then serve immediately.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1311/5166298647_9c9e204500_b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="235" src="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1311/5166298647_9c9e204500_b.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4049/5166896698_58fc5fc387_b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="218" src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4049/5166896698_58fc5fc387_b.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">At the end of 40 minutes, I was literally giddy with excitement. The soufflé had risen and looked and smelled divine.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I shared some of the just-out-of-the-oven dish with a friend who commented that it was not only delicious but beautiful. That night, Alan said that every bite was fabulous and he was already looking forward to leftovers the following night.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I will definitely make soufflés in the future, a lot less nervous and a lot more daring!</div>Becky Seitelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15266529092778510429noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6956530201790833942.post-70808316340775686022010-11-10T10:30:00.002-06:002011-05-09T19:37:09.695-05:00How I became involved in an Alabama holocaust survivors' exhibitIn my recent post, "<a href="http://beckyseitel.blogspot.com/2010/11/you-didnt-know-jack.html">You didn't know Jack</a>," I noted I would share how I became involved in <i>"Darkness into Life: Alabama's Holocaust Survivors Through Photography and Art."</i><br />
<br />
In early 2005, my husband, Alan, and I were looking for a community project that would share our common interests. Alan is Jewish, I am Christian, and before we were married, we committed to being supportive of each other’s religion. But since we don’t worship together, we felt a desire to do something as a couple that would allow us to share a mutually-rewarding experience outside traditional spiritual settings.<br />
<br />
I had recently re-discovered photography, so right away we had our method, but we talked for months about the message. We discussed current issues: breast cancer, AIDS, homelessness, and organ donation since Alan’s son had recently undergone a successful liver transplant.<br />
<br />
But when we attended a local Holocaust Memorial Service and heard the first-hand accounts of the Holocaust, our message became clear. I had never met a Holocaust survivor, and had certainly never heard a first-hand account of that horrible time in history. I realized our grandchildren would be unlikely to hear these personal stories since many survivors are now in their 80’s and 90’s. As we walked to the car in stunned silence, I looked at Alan and said, “I think we found our project.”<br />
<br />
Additional weeks of discussion followed. Alan felt that we had to do something different from other Holocaust exhibits. We talked about the photographs we would shoot, how many (perhaps ten), and where we would exhibit, but we knew there was something missing in our plan.<br />
<br />
During this time, we attended an art exhibit by Mitzi J. Levin, and discovered the missing piece. We invited Mitzi to join us and paint the memories of the survivors: their childhood, imprisonment or hiding, and liberation. My photographs would capture them in the present and the result would be the stories of the lives of Birmingham’s Holocaust survivors – how they prevented Hitler from winning by living happy, successful lives, how they traveled from <i>"Darkness into Life</i>."<br />
<br />
Our initial exhibit at Birmingham’s Levite Jewish Community Center on April 1, 2007, drew 1,700 people on opening day. Staff members from the Birmingham Civil Rights Institute visited the exhibit and invited us to show at the Institute. They also asked us to expand the exhibit to include all of Alabama.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4039/5164460778_ef6f1d242f_b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="233" src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4039/5164460778_ef6f1d242f_b.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Birmingham's Holocaust Survivors: (l-r) Ruth Siegler, Max Steinmetz,<br />
Ilse Nathan, Jack Bass (deceased), Henry Aizenman (deceased), Aisic Hirsch, <br />
Martin Aaron, Riva Hirsch, and Max Steinmetz</td></tr>
</tbody></table>The idea of ten photographs grew into a 78-piece exhibit that has been donated to the Birmingham Holocaust Education Committee to help teach junior and senior high school students about the Holocaust, genocide, and bigotry. And most importantly, to join together and say “Never Again!"<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4033/5164480264_1d17810486_b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4033/5164480264_1d17810486_b.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Survivor Martin Aaron (back, middle) and Mortimer Jordan high school students</td></tr>
</tbody></table>I am proud to be part of this project and to have been entrusted with the inspiring stories of 20 people who became my friends and mentors. I am so thankful for knowing them and deeply miss the three survivors who are no longer with us.<br />
<br />
<i>"Darkness into Life</i>" currently travels to high schools, colleges, and community centers in Alabama and is booked almost two years in advance. For more information, contact <a href="mailto:barbsolomon@bellsouth.net">Barbara Solomon</a>.<br />
<br />
Over the next few months, I'll continue to share Alabama's holocaust survivors stories of survival and determination.Becky Seitelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15266529092778510429noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6956530201790833942.post-7352330434398501982010-11-09T09:10:00.005-06:002010-11-09T09:18:41.669-06:00Lighter sweet country cornbreadThis isn't your mother's cornbread. And it isn't my mother's cornbread. But it is, by far, the best cornbread I have ever had.<br />
<br />
This recipe is from <u>The Dash Diet for Hypertension</u> by Thomas Moore, M.D. Dash is an acronym for dietary approaches to stop hypertension and is an eating plan my doctor recommended to help manage my on-going battle with high blood pressure. (Thank you, Daddy, for the gift of hypertension.)<br />
<br />
Here's what you'll need to make this delicious Southern comfort food: <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_AxdM0YaCaZc/TNgONk283WI/AAAAAAAAAEQ/V8Sc6KSoT8A/s1600/cornbread-ingredients.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="276" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_AxdM0YaCaZc/TNgONk283WI/AAAAAAAAAEQ/V8Sc6KSoT8A/s400/cornbread-ingredients.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
1 cup skim milk<br />
2 tablespoons margarine, melted<br />
2 egg whites<br />
1 1/4 cups yellow cornmeal<br />
1 cup all-purpose flour<br />
1/2 cup granulated sugar (I use Splenda)<br />
1 tablespoon low-sodium baking powder<br />
<br />
Preheat the oven to 400 degrees F. Grease the bottom and sides of an iron skillet, muffin tins, or an 8 x 8-inch pan with cooking spray.<br />
<br />
In a large stainless steel mixing bowl, beat the milk, margarine, and egg whites together. Add the cornmeal, flour, sugar, and baking powder all at once and stir just until moistened. The batter will be lumpy. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_AxdM0YaCaZc/TNgrs0spKCI/AAAAAAAAAEY/2e0PU-vZyqY/s1600/batter.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="286" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_AxdM0YaCaZc/TNgrs0spKCI/AAAAAAAAAEY/2e0PU-vZyqY/s400/batter.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
Pour the batter into the skillet, tins, or pan and bake for 20 to 25 minutes or until golden brown and toothpick inserted in the center comes out dry.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_AxdM0YaCaZc/TNgrg3YS6qI/AAAAAAAAAEU/Ol-xPV_DVl4/s1600/cornbread-muffin.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="186" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_AxdM0YaCaZc/TNgrg3YS6qI/AAAAAAAAAEU/Ol-xPV_DVl4/s400/cornbread-muffin.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
Enjoy! <br />
<br />
12 servings - 144 calories, 2 fat grams, 45 mg. sodium per servingBecky Seitelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15266529092778510429noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6956530201790833942.post-33558057512843334242010-11-04T14:50:00.005-05:002011-05-10T08:18:26.809-05:00You didn't know JackI loved Jack Bass. He's gone now. But I still love him.<br />
<br />
I didn't want to. Love him, that is. But I fell, just like anyone who met him, heard him speak, and became captivated by his intelligence, wit, and charm.<br />
<br />
I didn't want to love him because of his advanced age and poor health. I knew he was somewhat living on borrowed time and I never was very good with that whole better to have loved and lost thing. He had a severe heart condition that had almost claimed him some years back. I knew it would come knocking for him again soon. <br />
<br />
Love him? No way. He was often rude and frequently crude. He could tell an off-color joke almost better than Robin Williams and Lewis Black. But I could never help laughing. He was always on, always happy. If you spent 15 minutes with Jack, you’d be entertained by Truman Capote, Winston Churchill, and Ronald Reagan. “I inherited my sense of humor from my grandfather," he told me. "Of course, it disappeared when I was at Auschwitz. I became numb there….no anger, no pain, no feeling at all. It was difficult to focus on anything. I was just trying to live another hour.”<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_AxdM0YaCaZc/TNMAHBJF8oI/AAAAAAAAAEM/8hXIQ6knGss/s1600/Jack+Bass+Filmstrip+sequence+final.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="295" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_AxdM0YaCaZc/TNMAHBJF8oI/AAAAAAAAAEM/8hXIQ6knGss/s400/Jack+Bass+Filmstrip+sequence+final.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jack as Truman Capote</td></tr>
</tbody></table>But most of all, I didn't want to love him and have his pain become my pain. Knowing that someone I loved had suffered the atrocities of the Holocaust kept me awake at night. It still does.<br />
<br />
Jack Bass was born Jurgen Jakob Bassfreund in 1923 in Berncastle, Germany, ten years before the monster Adolph Hitler came to power. He was eight years old when he began to suffer name-calling by his classmates and was required by his teacher to recite a demeaning passage from the poem <i>The Tree Which Wanted to Change Its Leaves</i> by Friedrich Ruchert. Each time the poem was read, Jack was called forward to tell the story of a bearded Jew who stole the golden leaves from a beautiful tree in the forest. He never forgot the feelings that came with those recitations. When I first met him, he could still recite that poem from memory, his German accent heavy, his ocean-blue eyes watery and morose.<br />
<br />
Following his father’s death in 1932, Jack, his sister, and his mother moved to Trier, then Cologne, and finally to Berlin, each time moving to a larger city in an effort to remain anonymous. Jack’s mother remarried and recognizing the bleak future, his step-father left for the U.S. in 1938 to arrange the family’s emigration. During Kristallnacht in Berlin, Jack was almost killed in the glass-covered streets. His step-father did not return to Germany.<br />
<br />
In mid-1942, Joseph Goebbels, Reich Minister of Enlightenment and Propaganda, promised to make Berlin “Judenrein” (free of Jews) by Hitler’s birthday. Jack and his mother were arrested that year and separated during deportation. He was sent by railroad cattle car to Auschwitz; she was sent to her death.<br />
<br />
Because he was young and strong, Jack was selected for slave labor in five different camps: Auschwitz III (Buna or Monowitz), Auschwitz I, Dachau, Gross-Rosen, and Mühldorf. Each move was hastened by the approaching Russian forces. Jack worked building factories and sorting human hair to be used in the manufacture of mattresses.<br />
<br />
Jack's stories were so difficult to hear, especially this story I put together five years ago about 'running to the fence.'<br />
<br />
<ul>“Stop! High Voltage!” </ul><ul>Unfortunately, this warning was not enough to prevent prisoners from committing suicide on the electric fence surrounding the concentration camp. Jack Bass recalled that the thought of suicide was entertained by almost everyone, if only for a brief time. It was born from the helplessness of the harsh environment, the hunger, the disease, the fear of the unknown. </ul><ul>“Many people ended it all because the suffering was too great,” he said. “They chose what we called ‘running to the fence.’ They would fling themselves on the fence and die immediately as the electricity ran through their bodies. They would hang there until the current was turned off the next day. In yet one more act of cruelty by the Nazis, their bodies would remain on the ground for days. </ul><ul>“After a while, I became numb to that painful sight of death, at least during the day. But during my nightly walk to the outhouse, I had to turn away. The nights were always cold and foggy. The gloom that settled over me was intensified by a lifeless form stuck to the electric fence.” </ul><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AxdM0YaCaZc/TNL_dHP86DI/AAAAAAAAAEI/7AcBeHidl7A/s1600/Jack+Bass+Barbwire_03+final.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AxdM0YaCaZc/TNL_dHP86DI/AAAAAAAAAEI/7AcBeHidl7A/s320/Jack+Bass+Barbwire_03+final.jpg" width="303" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Haunting Memories"</td></tr>
</tbody></table>One thing that helped Jack survive the camps was his love of music and the songs he silently hummed to himself everyday. I called him 'The Music Maven.' If you visited him at home, you would think you'd just entered a music library. Classical music was always playing softly in the background; ivory busts of Beethoven, Liszt, Chopin, and Paderevski sat quietly on the bookcase; and almost 1,000 pieces of music filled every nook and cranny.<br />
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The Germans also recognized the power of music. At each of the extermination camps, the Nazis created orchestras of prisoner-musicians. Auschwitz, for example, had six orchestras, one of which contained more than 100 musicians. “The musician’s job was to motivate fellow prisoners by playing as they marched to and from work each day,” Jack told me. “I remember hearing <i>The Merry Widow</i> as I marched to my job of building an airport.” Sadly, many musicians were also forced to play and watch helplessly as their friends and families were led to the gas chambers. It’s no surprise that the suicide rate among musicians was higher than that of most other camp workers.<br />
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Jack was near death on May 8, 1945, when the American GI’s took over the Mühldorf camp in Germany and sent him to a makeshift hospital in Ampfing, Germany.<br />
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“I waited to be taken to the large Red Cross van, but noticed through the window that the van was too full to carry all of us, and I watched it pull away," he shared with me. "After all I had been through, I was left behind. Thankfully, the van returned for me the next day and took me from that horrible place to my freedom. I was twenty-two years old and weighed only sixty pounds."<br />
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Always the comedian, Jack even managed to turn that horrid description of himself into humor. Years later, one of his favorite quips was directed to doubters of the Holocaust: “If the Holocaust didn’t happen, I went through one hell of a weight loss program for nothing."<br />
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Probably by now, you're wondering, "After all that happened, how did Jack manage to be so happy, telling jokes and impersonations at every opportunity?" I wondered that, too, so one day I posed that question to him.<br />
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"If I wasn't happy," he said with a twinkle in his eye, "Hitler would have won. And I'm not going to let that happen.<br />
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Jack died this year. I visited him in the hospital intensive care unit, a room so full of machines and tubes, I almost had to play hopscotch to get to his bedside. When I gently touched <i>706332</i> tattooed on arm, he opened his eyes, and with his face and hands barely moving, he began to impersonate Truman Capote. He was making me laugh even as he was dying. <br />
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I loved Jack Bass. He's gone now. But I still love him.<br />
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<i>(I met Jack through my involvement in "Darkness into Life: Alabama's Holocaust Survivors through Photography and Art." I'll share the history of the exhibit with you next week.)</i>Becky Seitelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15266529092778510429noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6956530201790833942.post-1081996147914591862010-11-01T11:17:00.001-05:002010-11-01T11:37:56.242-05:00Honey mustard vinaigretteI ran across the most amazing honey mustard vinaigrette recipe last Friday. I'd been looking for a honey mustard salad dressing recipe for a few weeks, and this one far exceeded anything I'd hoped to make. Not only is it delicious with a savory fragrance, it is unbelievably quick and easy to make.<br />
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Here's what you'll need:<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_AxdM0YaCaZc/TM7extAcN_I/AAAAAAAAAEA/byhVMqx8aIg/s1600/salad-dressing-ingredients.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="302" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_AxdM0YaCaZc/TM7extAcN_I/AAAAAAAAAEA/byhVMqx8aIg/s320/salad-dressing-ingredients.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br />
1/2 cup olive oil<br />
1/4 cup white wine vinegar<br />
1 clove of garlic (pressed)<br />
1 tablespoon dijon mustard<br />
2 tablespoons honey<br />
salt and pepper to taste<br />
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I mixed all ingredients in my gently-used-recently-purchased-at-a-bargain KitchenAid mixer because I love it dearly and look for any excuse to use it. I have even discovered I can generate enough air with the wisk attachment to dry my hair!<br />
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Or you can simply mix all ingredients together and shake well.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_AxdM0YaCaZc/TM7dLh8pP8I/AAAAAAAAAD4/9IHhfx1Jn9k/s1600/dressing.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="271" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_AxdM0YaCaZc/TM7dLh8pP8I/AAAAAAAAAD4/9IHhfx1Jn9k/s320/dressing.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
Add more honey for a sweeter vinaigrette or more mustard for a tangier vinaigrette.<br />
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Saturday night, we enjoyed our new find on a tossed salad with tomato, cheese, cucumber, zuchinni, and toasted almonds. Sunday night, we equally loved it with spinach, grapes, feta, and pecans. <br />
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Almost forgot! Just kidding about the hair drying comment!<br />
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Kinda!Becky Seitelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15266529092778510429noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6956530201790833942.post-8335998269001190122010-10-29T10:12:00.005-05:002010-11-21T11:43:45.041-06:00Funny tings my childwen said when they was yittleThe late Art Linkletter made us laugh and lifted our spirits with his long-running television show, "Kids say the darndest things." But there's nothing quite like the "darndest things" our own children say. Since my two daughters were little tykes, I've always meant to stop and journal about how they've made me laugh and lifted my spirits. Today, I'm finally going to do just that. Here are my top five favorites:<br />
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One afternoon, when I picked up four-year-old Jaime from day care, she burst into the car with the unabashed enthusiasm that only little children possess. "Mommy, Mommy, David KISSED me!" she squealed. A boy kissed her? I wasn't even remotely prepared for this. Didn't I have at least 10, no make that 20, more years until I had to feel this? "Gee, Honey, where did David kiss you?" I asked, dreading the answer, praying that it would be cheek instead of lips. Pointing to the playground, she said, "Over by the slide!" Laughing out loud, I foolishly realized that I didn't have anything to worry about....for a while, at least.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_AxdM0YaCaZc/TMrOa0cEy7I/AAAAAAAAADE/yn7L7SW_E-M/s320/jaime-1.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="232" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jaime - kindergarten graduation</td></tr>
</tbody></table>As a new kindergartner, Jennifer was going on her first play date without me. As I brushed her hair, I reminded her about good table manners, no running in the house, and all the other things Moms worry their children will do, or not do, when away from home. Of course, she was rolling her eyes, muttering, "I know, I know." "Okay, what do you say when you leave to come home?" I said as a way to remind her to say 'Thank you for having me.' I received one of those looks I still get today as she incredulously said, "Bye!"<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_AxdM0YaCaZc/TMrOo6c0rYI/AAAAAAAAADM/kxAdlwPolEo/s320/jen-1.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="240" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jennifer at five</td></tr>
</tbody></table>As any parent knows, storms are frightening to children, especially toddlers. But nighttime storms? They're the absolute worst. A storm at bedtime meant I would have to lay down with Jaime until she lost at fighting sleep. Unfortunately for me, this usually meant I fell asleep, too; my day ending at 7:30 p.m. I'd promised myself that I would never tell her fibs about storms and that I would try to explain to her the importance of rain, and what caused the loud booms of thunder and the brilliant flashes of lighting. But one night, I had something that had to be completed, and just couldn't fall asleep early. So, guess what? Yep, I told a little fib. Actually, I told a big lie. "Honey, that thunder is just God moving around his furniture," I explained with a serious face. I can still remember how she sat trembling on the sofa, little feet so far from the floor, sucking those two callused fingers. Just then, an incredibly loud crash of thunder rattled the windows. Looking at me with new comprehension of the storm, she said, "Oh, Mommy, there went the dining room table!"<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_AxdM0YaCaZc/TMrOfPGrKUI/AAAAAAAAADI/qHThX_STWqY/s320/jaime-2.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="236" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Three-year-old Jaime</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Jennifer was six and just learning to read when the new Minor High School was near completion. We rode by one day and she asked why there weren't any students or cars there. "It's not finished yet, Baby." "But it is, too, Mommy. Look! The sign out front says 'Dunn.'" (Dunn Construction was the builder.)<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_AxdM0YaCaZc/TMrOxTwZ71I/AAAAAAAAADQ/b4y44VQisFM/s320/jen-2.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="215" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Three-year-old Jennifer</td></tr>
</tbody></table>But here's my favorite and it needs no introduction nor explanation: three-year-old Jennifer, with a puzzled look on her face, walked into the kitchen one day and asked, "Mommy, why do Daddies have tails in the front?" If you're interested in my answer, drop me an email.<br />
<ol></ol>Becky Seitelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15266529092778510429noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6956530201790833942.post-92225609328129443782010-10-27T11:51:00.003-05:002010-10-27T11:55:47.435-05:00Two ingredient pumpkin muffinsYou heard me correctly. Or would that be read me correctly? Either way.....<br />
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Two ingredient pumpkin muffins. Two, as in deux, dos, due, 二, twee, ni, dva, tsvey.<br />
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This is, without a doubt, the most simple recipe ever. It always turns out perfectly. Even if you can't boil water, it is impossible for these muffins to be a failure. Well, not impossible. If they're left in the oven a really, really long time, they will burn. But you get the picture.<br />
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Speaking of picture, here are those two ingredients.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="290" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_AxdM0YaCaZc/TMhNOhYhCwI/AAAAAAAAAC4/c4IWCQuFk50/s400/pumpkin-muffin-ingredients.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="400" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Only two ingredients are used in delicious pumpkin muffins.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>In a large mixing bowl, combine the two ingredients. The batter will be thick and lumpy and have that wonderful, soothing smell of Fall. Plop into muffin tins or a loaf pan sprayed with non-stick spray. I bake them in muffin tins, bag individually, and store in the freezer for a quick out-the-door breakfast or yummy afternoon snack.<br />
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Of course, you could stop at two ingredients because they are, after all, two ingredient muffins. But you don't have to stop there. Add chopped apple, an overripe banana, raisins, or nuts. Or better yet, add them all! <br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="270" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AxdM0YaCaZc/TMhSJ2xqBbI/AAAAAAAAADA/GqrFlpoNs0A/s400/pumpkin-batter.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="400" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Don't try to make them pretty!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Bake according to the instructions for the cake mix or until a toothpick inserted in the center of the muffin or loaf is clean. If you add the extra ingredients, cooking time will increase, usually by 5 - 10 minutes.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="210" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_AxdM0YaCaZc/TMhR8W4tB3I/AAAAAAAAAC8/nmjPQ6KG4Ro/s400/pumpkin-muffins.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="400" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Butter and honey, anyone?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Remove to a cooling rack and allow to cool for 10 minutes, if possible! Serve with butter and honey.<br />
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Hey, I saw that! Didn't your mother tell you not to lick your fingers?Becky Seitelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15266529092778510429noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6956530201790833942.post-190610228183700832010-10-25T10:50:00.007-05:002010-10-26T15:08:02.923-05:00Across the pond, part threeAs Monday dawned in The Cotswolds, we were filled with sadness that it was time to leave this beautiful and peaceful area of England. Getting lost several times in the previous days had robbed us of precious time that was to be spent exploring villages. We carefully planned our morning to visit as many towns as possible before we began the drive to London.<br />
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Our reward was a brief ride through Upper Slaughter, Lower Slaughter, and Burford. Bibury, our favorite village, was so inviting that we stopped and spent a leisurely hour taking in all that this slice of heaven had to offer.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_AxdM0YaCaZc/TMWEnPS-25I/AAAAAAAAACQ/TlLwhxMZ3bQ/s320/England_2010_137+copy.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="213" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Typical village path (road). This one is in Upper Slaughter.</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
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</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_AxdM0YaCaZc/TMWEnPS-25I/AAAAAAAAACQ/TlLwhxMZ3bQ/s1600/England_2010_137+copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_AxdM0YaCaZc/TMWDneJ9qkI/AAAAAAAAACM/NjbOdvSdrPE/s1600/England_2010_185+copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_AxdM0YaCaZc/TMWDneJ9qkI/AAAAAAAAACM/NjbOdvSdrPE/s320/England_2010_185+copy.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One of the lush gardens of Bibury.</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td></tr>
</tbody></table>Windsor Castle was our next stop since it is conveniently located between The Cotswolds and London. It is impossible for me to find the words to describe the castle that Queen Elizabeth calls home. I will simply say this: it is big! As we approached the castle, its gray, stone walls and 1,000 rooms greeted us, stretching out endlessly in every direction. We toured the state rooms which are as elegant and royal as one would imagine. The Queen spends weekends at Windsor Castle so this led me to ask one of the guards if she leaves personal items there, such as a toothbrush, or does she bring a packed bag with her from Buckingham Palace. In return, I received a somewhat terse response of, "I would have no way of knowing that, madam." FYI, the British do not like to joke around about their monarchy with tourists! <br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="215" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_AxdM0YaCaZc/TMWMdsvlOeI/AAAAAAAAACc/Q0EMwc3lhJo/s320/England_2010_212+copy.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="320" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One of Windsor's courtyards.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_AxdM0YaCaZc/TMWMdsvlOeI/AAAAAAAAACc/Q0EMwc3lhJo/s1600/England_2010_212+copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_AxdM0YaCaZc/TMWNctrU8-I/AAAAAAAAACg/NUE9dXJdXWs/s320/England_2010_204+copy.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="213" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Meticulously manicured gardens are located throughout the castle grounds.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_AxdM0YaCaZc/TMWNctrU8-I/AAAAAAAAACg/NUE9dXJdXWs/s1600/England_2010_204+copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div>We left Windsor as thankful to be returning the rental car as an expectant mother is to receive an epidural. After a long and tiring day, we wearily traveled by tube (subway) to our hotel, The Grosvenor House, in the Mayfair area of London.<br />
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The next few days found us visiting Westminster Abbey, the Houses of Parliament, Big Ben, #10 Downing Street, Kensington Palace, Kensington Park, St. Paul's Cathedral, Harrods, Piccadilly Circus, and the Eye.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_AxdM0YaCaZc/TMWX8W5BM5I/AAAAAAAAACs/OXOwQRv7CIs/s320/England_2010_238+copy.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="320" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Houses of Parliament</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
A riverboat cruise on the Thames was an efficient way to see many historic sites and we especially enjoyed the guide's humorous narration. I was surprised at the Thames' pollution. Extremely muddy and odorous, this famous river was once the site of the monarchy's palace until the smell made it necessary to build a new castle away from the Thames. <br />
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We spent an hour on an entertaining tour of the Tower of London. Our Beefeater guide was priceless and kept us laughing throughout this ancient palace of death and imprisonment. We visited the site of Anne Boleyn's beheading which fortunately is nice and clean now. And the Crown Jewels...wow! Absolutely stunning.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AxdM0YaCaZc/TMWWc_dV7fI/AAAAAAAAACo/WpglAolqBj0/s320/England_2010_405+copy.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="320" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Memorial at the site of Anne Boleyn's beheading.</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
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</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AxdM0YaCaZc/TMWWc_dV7fI/AAAAAAAAACo/WpglAolqBj0/s1600/England_2010_405+copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div>The pageantry and ceremony of the Changing of the Guards at Buckingham Palace included hundreds of plumed horses, soldiers dressed in candy-apple red, and a marching band that surprised us by playing "New York, New York." We arrived an hour early to claim our viewing spot and were joined by a few thousand people eagerly awaiting this top tourist attraction. We enjoyed about 45 minutes of the ceremony and left early, feeling we needed to move on to other venues.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="164" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_AxdM0YaCaZc/TMWgPyTRrJI/AAAAAAAAAC0/VV7dnSukt1o/s320/England_2010_360+copy.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="320" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Buckingham Palace Changing of the Guards</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
It was impossible to pass up the opportunity to attend a London theatre production and "Wicked" did not disappoint us. This prequel to "The Wizard of Oz" tells us the story of Elphaba, The Wicked Witch of the West, and Glenda, the Good Witch of the North. It's an evening I'll never forget.<br />
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I was very fortunate to meet Sharon (Alan's cousin) and Len and their treat of dinner at Lemonia was incredible. I felt like I had known them for years and their company was instantly pleasant and comfortable. Their driving tour of the city at night presented us with a different view of London. Thank you Sharon and Len. I certainly hope we meet again.<br />
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I'll complete my story by sharing that I was constantly on the look out for Eric Clapton. From the moment I exited Delta flight DL10, I was on Eric watch. I asked pub patrons, tube riders, and hotel desk clerks if they ever say him in the area. The answer was always the same: "No." And then one day near the end of our vacation, I was rushing along with everyone else in the tube, and when I turned a corner, suddenly there he was, staring right at me. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_AxdM0YaCaZc/TMWedzILzaI/AAAAAAAAACw/VLoLoJW3Mdg/s1600/England_2010_468+copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_AxdM0YaCaZc/TMWedzILzaI/AAAAAAAAACw/VLoLoJW3Mdg/s320/England_2010_468+copy.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br />
I could go home....my vacation was complete.Becky Seitelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15266529092778510429noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6956530201790833942.post-79354341646919204912010-10-19T15:05:00.017-05:002010-10-25T08:06:12.246-05:00Across the pond, part two<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Excitement had been building for 90 days as the day of our departure to England finally arrived. Our adrenaline was pumping and we were sitting on ready when my brother-in-law and mother-in-law arrived to drive us to the airport.<br />
<br />
Unfortunately, my brother-in-law missed our driveway and backed over our mailbox instead. Not just bumped into it, but turned it into five pieces spread across our lawn like a game of pick-up-sticks. And to add insult to injury, he later learned that he had done $1800 in damages to his wife's car. Ouch! Double ouch! As to our mailbox, thanks to our talented neighbor, David, for repairing it while we were away!<br />
<br />
Hugs, kisses, and goodbye's at the airport were still filled with <a href="http://beckyseitel.blogspot.com/2010_09_01_archive.html">anticipation</a>, though tinged with disbelief and regret about the accident. Alan hugged his Mom, telling her, "I'll see you when we get back," and she responded with a tearful, "If I'm still here." Jewish mother guilt: fact or fiction? I'll let you be the judge.<br />
<br />
On those two depressing notes, we checked our bags, praying they wouldn't be over the 50 lb. limit and headed to our gate. Thankfully, we had smooth sailing, so to speak, from that point. We endured the unavoidable layover in Atlanta and departed for Heathrow around 10:30 p.m. After an eight-hour flight spent napping, setting our internal and external clocks six hours forward, an unnecessary hour at the car rental company, and an almost two-hour nightmarish drive in the rain to The Cotswolds, we arrived at the Old Manse Hotel in Burton-on-the-Water around 4:00 p.m. <br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="290" src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4030/5081813925_1ab76cf522_b.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="400" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Old Manse Hotel, Burton-on-the-Water, The Cotswolds</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4030/5081813925_1ab76cf522_b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div>If you're unfamiliar with The Cotswolds, it is a range of wolds (hills) in west-central England. The area is characterized by charming small towns and beautifully-manicured villages built of the underlying Cotswold stone, a honey-colored limestone. Some of the towns include Bath, Bibury, Bourton-on-the-Water, Broadway, Burford, Chipping Campden, Gloucester, Stow-on-the-Wold, Stratford on Avon, Lower Slaughter, Upper Slaughter, and Winchcombe.<br />
<br />
After getting settled in our quaint attic room, which included a breathtaking view of a duck-filled canal, we headed out to visit a local pub. When the bartender discovered we were from Alabama, he theatrically held out both arms and loudly exclaimed, "None of the patrons in this pub had anything to do with the oil on your beaches!" We were laughing as everyone agreed by raising their drink in the air and shouting, "Here, here."<br />
<br />
Dinner was fish and chips, one of the more famous English dishes. I quickly learned that English peas are appropriately named because they are served with almost everything in England. They can be ordered "mushy" or "whole." "Mushy" peas have been squished with a fork. We found it strange that one cannot mush their own peas but must order them that way. <br />
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The next morning, we set out early for a bright and sunny drive to explore Stonehenge and Bath. We rode through miles of the most beautiful lush, green countryside I have ever seen. Every scene was more enchanting than the last and most were dotted with woolly sheep or Gateway boxes disguised as Holstein cattle.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="162" src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4108/5082289980_49c57de3b0_b.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="320" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The beautiful rolling wolds (hills) of The Cotswolds.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4108/5082289980_49c57de3b0_b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div><br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="201" src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4021/5081775405_e6c9c15fab_b.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="320" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pastures of sheep lined most of the lanes.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Stonehenge, one of the most famous sites in the world, was a little disappointing to me. It's location in the middle of a field surrounded by chain-link fencing and flanked by traffic surprised me. We opted for the "recession" tour and took photographs outside the fence, not understanding why anyone would pay more to get a few steps closer.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="251" src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4017/5082254456_7f102101b2_b.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="400" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The busy road leading to Stonehenge.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4017/5082254456_7f102101b2_b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="172" src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4030/5082258494_db6dc20a51_b.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="400" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Stonehenge</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4030/5082258494_db6dc20a51_b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div>I mentioned in my prior post that we became lost on numerous occasions. The first time happened on our way from Stonehenge to Bath. Imagine our shock and disbelieft when we thought we were nearing Bath only to be met with the familiar view of Stonehenge again! After a third stop for directions and a nice lunch at The Bell at Standerwick, we finally made it to Bath just in time to be among the day's last visitors to the Bath Spa.<br />
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For two thousand years, Bath has been a spa town, built around Britain’s only hot mineral springs. The Romans were the first to realize the value of the hot mineral water and built their religious spa of Aquae Sulis around the three springs in the 16th century. The water still pools among the ruins but is untreated and smells worse than rotten potatoes. Our audio tour was fascinating and educational and we left imagining health-seeking kings and queens reclined in rest and relaxation centuries ago.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4110/5081692135_de118a0663_b.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="320" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bath Spa</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4110/5081692135_de118a0663_b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div>We drove around the crowded city and visited a few sites recommended in our guide book including Circus and Royal Crescent. We also experienced the romance of late evening when we happened upon a sunset wedding, the bride and groom giddy as their photographer captured their special day on the lawn of an ancient church.<br />
<br />
We returned to Burton-on-the-Water very late to find all of the pubs' kitchens closed. However, we managed to pick up Chinese take away (known to Americans as take out) and excitingly discussed our plans for the following day.<br />
<br />
Sunday dawned clear and cold and we traveled north to Broadway where we walked through the village and later ate lunch. Alan was feeling adventurous and had a "when in Rome attitude" when he ordered steak and kidney pie. One bite and he instantly regretted his choice. I ate chicken soup and laughed as he managed to choke down one of England's most-loved dishes.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4035/5082390306_f49b3c712f_b.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="320" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">High (Main) Street in Broadway</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4035/5082390306_f49b3c712f_b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div>Regretfully, our plans to meet Alan's cousin, Gerald, and his wife in Oxford fell through. But that bad luck turned into good luck as we then had the opportunity to tour Blenheim Palace, the birthplace and burial site of Sir Winston Churchill. Blenheim Palace is currently home to the 11th Duke and Duchess of Marlborough and is set in 2100 acres of beautiful parkland. This magnificent palace is surrounded by sweeping lawns, award-winning formal gardens, and a stunning lake. <br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AxdM0YaCaZc/TL3svmrqm3I/AAAAAAAAACE/K4gx4-6q2t0/s320/England_2010_439+copy.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="320" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Blenheim Palace</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AxdM0YaCaZc/TL3svmrqm3I/AAAAAAAAACE/K4gx4-6q2t0/s1600/England_2010_439+copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_AxdM0YaCaZc/TL3s5mdoyaI/AAAAAAAAACI/zWHEaff7t64/s400/England_2010_437+copy.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="300" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Blenheim Palace gardens</td></tr>
</tbody></table>We arrived back in Burton-on-the-Water just in time for our dinner reservation at Rose Tree where we enjoyed tender, roasted duck and freshly grilled steak.<br />
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Day two was often frustrating due to getting lost, unfamiliar driving situations, and heavy traffic, but that was easily outweighed by the beauty of Broadway and the splendor of Blenheim. I'll continue later with the remainder of our time in The Cotswolds and our arrival in London.Becky Seitelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15266529092778510429noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6956530201790833942.post-64250473462709744822010-10-14T13:33:00.004-05:002010-10-19T18:20:10.021-05:00Across the pond, part oneAlan and I recently returned from nine days in England, and now that we have almost recovered from the Jet Lag demon, I think I will impersonate a travel blogger for just a bit. Why? Because:<br />
<ul><li>Alan can't read my journal writing to look back at the details of our trip;</li>
<li>We researched our trip by reading several travel blogs and web sites and they were a great source of "do and don't" information. (I'll list some of those blogs and sites at the end of this post). Hopefully, someone will pick up a tidbit of information here that will help them with their plans; and</li>
<li>I can't read my journal writing to look back at the details of our trip.</li>
</ul>Earlier this year, we sadly realized that our last vacation was six years ago. Of course, we've made brief trips to the lake and Alan's brother's beach house, but no big journeys to sights unseen. And that, my friends, is almost a fate worse than death for my husband. He lives to travel. He loves to see places he hasn't seen, and sometimes, but not often, he will even travel back to see them again. But the ultimate high for him is to <i>plan</i> to travel. His collection of charts, graphs, blogs, books, web sites, and maps all make me believe with absolute certainty that he is a direct descendant of Eugene Fodor. <br />
<br />
And so he began to get the travel bug. I admit, I was also ready for a getaway. Fortunately, we had just enough Sky Miles and Hotel Points to take a nice trip even though I'm still one of those pesky unemployment statistics you hear about everyday on the news. We began to talk about destinations and after much discussion and elimination, narrowed our list down to three: Israel, England, and a drive up the east coast to view the incredible red, orange, and yellow of the approaching autumn.<br />
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One day in June, as I was recovering from surgery (an anterior lumbar interbody fusion, i.e. a disc in my back was removed and replaced through an almost foot long vertical incision in my abdomen...and yes, everything in the surgeon's path was retracted up and out of my tummy), Alan asked me what I thought about making the trip to England. I foggily muttered that I needed another pain pill. He translated that to "yes."<br />
<br />
From that point on, he was metaphorically off to the races and literally off to The Cotswolds and London. We (he) had 90 days to plan our trip to the Mother Country. More pain pills, phone calls, reservations, cancellations, reservations, inquiries, and consultations followed. And that was just the first day! I'll omit an account of the remaining 89 (but I will say "ditto") and share some information that we found helpful as we (he) planned our trip across the pond:<br />
<ul><li>Our personal automobile insurance was not valid for a rental car. Our insurance agent strongly suggested that we get the optional rental insurance. Thankfully, we took his advice. (See next tip).</li>
<li>If I return to the UK, I will rent the absolute smallest car available. England's roads (lanes) are at least one foot smaller than their automobiles (carriages). And if the owner of the white van who lost their passenger mirror on September 24 in Bath is reading this, we're very sorry. Not that I'm relating that incident to the condition of our driver's mirror. (See previous tip.)</li>
<li>Our health insurance was valid in the UK. The caveat is that a claim must be labeled "urgent" in order to be covered. Just fyi, bleeding foot blisters and PTSD from driving on the opposite side of the road from the opposite side of the car and circling endlessly in round-abouts are not viewed as "urgent."</li>
<li>AAA does not offer a map of England (hence the first A).</li>
<li>The London Travel Card is more advantageous than the Oyster Card if planning to use multiple modes of public transportation. I can send you the Excel file to back that up, if you're interested.</li>
<li>Banks and credit card companies recommend that they be notified about your travel plans. Otherwise, they might think your card that has only been used in Birmingham, Alabama, is stolen if it's suddenly used in Birmingham, England. The result could be a "hold" on all transactions.</li>
<li>Prior to leaving Birmingham, we converted some dollars to pounds and also purchased Traveler's Checks. It was very difficult to cash the Traveler's Checks. It would have been better to use our ATM card. Note: you must contact your bank prior to departure to activate the card for foreign usage.</li>
<li>My iPhone ceased to be a mobile device when we left U.S. airspace. Of course, in free wifi locations, I could use my apps and Internet. As in America, there is a Starbucks on almost every corner in London, so free wifi was not a problem. AT&T offers a special travel package for those who must have phone and text access, and also a package for 3G. We purchased the minimum 3G package for the iPad thinking it would be helpful if we were lost. Looking back, that was $24.99 not wisely spent. We were lost in The Cotswolds at least 12 times and couldn't access 3G. Perhaps those freaky Stonehenge rocks blocked the satellite waves.</li>
<li>Regarding the 12 times we were lost in The Cotswolds: if you have a GPS, purchase and download England maps. The $24.99 spent (see above) for 3G seemed a much better bargain than $60 for England software for our GPS. Wrong, wrong, wrong. If you do not have a GPS, get one in the rental car.</li>
<li> To paraphrase an old joke, "How do you get to London?" The answer: "Preparation, preparation, preparation." Alan's endless work, paid off beautifully, as always. No unexpected problems (if you don't count getting lost), no worries, no "uh-oh's." Winging it, as I probably would have done, is not a good option. Thanks, dear.You're the best.</li>
</ul>Next up in a few days: our trip through The Cotswolds. Until then, I'll be busy investigating the possibility of opening a Krispy Kreme in Bibury.<br />
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As promised, here are just a few of the blogs and web sites we found especially helpful:<br />
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<a href="http://www.fodors.com/community/europe/trip-report-two-quick-but-wonderful-days-scouting-the-cotswolds.cfm">http://www.fodors.com/community/europe/trip-report-two-quick-but-wonderful-days-scouting-the-cotswolds.cfm</a><br />
<a href="http://www.the-cotswolds.org/top/english/seeanddo/romanticroad/index.shtml">http://www.the-cotswolds.org/top/english/seeanddo/romanticroad/index.shtml</a><br />
<a href="http://www.britishtourplans.com/">http://www.britishtourplans.com/</a><br />
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<i>England for Dummies</i> and <i>Fodor's England</i> were two of the most helpful books we read.Becky Seitelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15266529092778510429noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6956530201790833942.post-78059569366823179592010-10-12T14:06:00.016-05:002010-11-10T12:54:12.367-06:00Honey wheat bread (with update)Nothing smells more heavenly and stirs more positive memories than a loaf of bread wafting from the oven. (It's not everyday that I get to use wafting in a sentence. That was pretty exciting!) The added bonus for me is that it's not filled with things I can't spell or pronounce. No hidden additives and no preservatives. Just healthy ingredients that, when mixed together and risen to perfection, feel like velvet as I turn it into the loaf pan.<br />
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I started making bread about 30 years ago. Since then, I have tried countless recipes and this is my favorite, and the favorite of my family. I generally can rack up about 10 bonus wife points with this recipe.<br />
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I'd like to say that I'm a purist and that I make this delicious bread the old-fashioned way. I'd like to say that, but I can't. I'm a little on what some might call the lazy side (I prefer to think I'm practicing time management), so I let my bread machine do most of the work. I use the "dough" setting for mixing, kneading, and the first rising. Then I transfer the dough to a loaf pan for the final rising and baking. It's a visual thing for me. I prefer my bread to look like a loaf and not a square box. And I despise the hole in the bottom of the bread that's left by the mixing / kneading blade.<br />
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Here's what you'll need:<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4089/5075050705_35e361610b_b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="280" src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4089/5075050705_35e361610b_b.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
Non-stick spray <br />
1 1/8 cups warm milk (110 degrees F/45 degrees C)<br />
1/4 cup honey<br />
1 teaspoon salt<br />
2 cups whole wheat flour, or 1 1/2 cups whole wheat flour*<br />
1 cup bread flour, or 1 1/2 cups bread flour*<br />
(*flour to total 3 cups) <br />
2 tablespoons olive oil, or melted butter<br />
1 1/2 teaspoons active dry yeast<br />
1 egg (optional)<span class="plaincharacterwrap break"> </span><br />
<br />
<span class="plaincharacterwrap break">Spray the bread machine canister with non-stick spray. Add ingredients in the order recommended in your bread machine manual. Select the "dough" setting and then take a nap, read a book, or whatever. You'll have about 1 3/4 hours, give or take a few minutes.</span><br />
<br />
<span class="plaincharacterwrap break">At the end of the "dough" setting, transfer the dough to a loaf pan sprayed with non-stick spray. Shape as needed and press lightly to remove air bubbles. I hate those pesky holes in the middle of sandwich bread.</span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4038/5076093378_cab799ec47_b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="211" src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4038/5076093378_cab799ec47_b.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4038/5076093378_1966478ffb_b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div><br />
<span class="plaincharacterwrap break">Optional: gently use a pastry brush to glaze the top of the bread with a beaten egg. </span><br />
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<span class="plaincharacterwrap break"></span><span class="plaincharacterwrap break">Cover the pan with a clean cloth, place in a warm area, and allow to rise for 30 minutes.</span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4042/5076092678_402a936cee_b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="208" src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4042/5076092678_402a936cee_b.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<span class="plaincharacterwrap break">Bake in a preheated 350 degree oven for 30 minutes.</span><br />
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<span class="plaincharacterwrap break">Remove from pan and cool on a wire rack.</span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4053/5075494613_3d4c79ebdf_b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="296" src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4053/5075494613_3d4c79ebdf_b.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<span class="plaincharacterwrap break">Slather with butter and enjoy! </span><br />
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Notes:<br />
<ul><li>This recipe works even if you're not into time management like I am. You can omit the bread machine and make this recipe completely on your own, or use your bread machine for the entire process. </li>
<li>Water can be used instead of milk. I like the milk's nutritional benefits and the beautiful texture and enhanced flavor it adds to the bread.</li>
<li> If you don't have a food thermometer, about 50 seconds in the microwave will warm the milk to approximately 110 degrees. </li>
<li>Apply non-stick spray to the measuring cup you'll use for the honey. The honey will slide out of the measuring cup with absolutely no help from you.</li>
</ul>I'm off to decide how I should use those 10 bonus wife points I earned today. Better yet, I might just make another loaf and go for 20!<br />
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<br />
UPDATE 10/26/10<br />
Several people have emailed me asking if this recipe can be increased to produce a larger loaf. The answer is absolutely! I love the larger loaf...it's so pretty, and I love the smaller loaf, too.....it's so pretty!<br />
<br />
Here are the ingredient conversions:<br />
<br />
1 3/4 cups warm milk (110 degrees F/45 degrees C)<br />
1/3 cup honey<br />
1 1/2 teaspoons salt<br />
3 cups whole wheat flour, or 2 1/2 cups whole wheat flour*<br />
1 1/2 cups bread flour, or 2 cups bread flour*<br />
(*flour to total 4 1/2 cups) <br />
3 tablespoons olive oil, or melted butter<br />
2 1/4 teaspoons active dry yeast<span class="plaincharacterwrap break"> </span><br />
<br />
<span class="plaincharacterwrap break">Recipe directions remain the same.</span>Becky Seitelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15266529092778510429noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6956530201790833942.post-48775806183362547582010-10-07T12:25:00.001-05:002010-11-21T11:44:09.403-06:00GranmomI never had grandparents.<br />
<br />
Well, of course I had grandparents. Everyone does. Except Adam and Eve. And their children. And Jesus.<br />
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I mean I never knew my grandparents. All four of them passed away before I was born. Neal (1946), Josie (1945), Sam (1954), and Kittie (1948) were gone before this granddaughter was born in 1955. <br />
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As a child, I don't remember missing the grandparent experience. I have memories of their grass-covered graves and gray-speckled, granite headstones, mowed and cleaned on sunny Saturday afternoons before Decoration Sundays. But I had not yet learned to miss their bear hugs and wet kisses.<br />
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As a young adult, I don't remember <i>consciously</i> missing the grandparent experience. I realize now that I consistently formed close friendships with older women. At 20, one of my good friends was 65, or so. She came over and spent many wonderful evenings with me while my husband was at work. Looking back, those types of friendships were the norm. Unknown to me at that time, I was seeking surrogate grandmothers at work, at church, next door, anywhere, everywhere.<br />
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Over the past few years, I've been painfully aware of missing the grandparent experience. I especially miss my grandmothers. Maybe it started when I became a grandmother. Suddenly, I was doing things with my grandchildren that I longed to have done with my grandmother. A yearning started in me that has floated in and out like the feathers that would have softened her pillows.<br />
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And so, I began think about her, wish I had known her, loved her.<br />
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Did she smell like fresh-baked bread? <span style="color: #333300;">Pacquin's Hand Cream</span>? Roses?<br />
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Was her lap soft and her skin hard and cracked? Did she sing like a mockingbird, or did I only think she did? And what would we have done together when I had her all to myself? <br />
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Would she have taken me down the hill to the dirt playground at the grammar school, hiking her faded, floral house dress to her knees so that we could see-saw until our legs ached? And our bellies hurt from laughter?<br />
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Would I have learned to knit much earlier than the age of 52, creating doilies that we would stiffen with sugar starch into rock-hard furniture adornments? I'd still have a blushing-pink one today, tucked carefully away in the cedar chest. And I'd stop and smile at the faded, intertwined thread whenever I opened the strong-smelling chest to retrieve a sweater or quilt.<br />
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I would have helped her in the garden. She would have picked ruby-red tomatoes and lovingly placed them in her mother's apron, holding it out by the bottom two corners, forming a bowl at her waist. Juicy, drippy sandwiches on her freshly-made bread would then be my reward.<br />
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I'm certain she would have let me lick the cake mix bowl. As she wiped my chubby cheeks that were smeared with uncooked sugary delight, she would tell me this was our little secret and not to tell my mother.<br />
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And when my mother called to say it was time for me to come home, she would say, "Oh, Margaret, let her stay a little longer. Just let her spend the night. I promised I would braid her hair, but we've been so busy that we haven't had time. And her grandfather told her they might walk to the creek and skip stones."<br />
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But more than anything, I achingly wonder what I would have called her? My grandmother shouldn't be remembered so casually as "her" or "she" or "Mother's mother" or "Daddy's mother."<br />
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I remember that endearments of the 50s typically included "Granny," "Mamaw," and "Memaw." But for some unknown reason, those don't feel right for my grandmother.<br />
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"Mama Kittie?" Not unless I wanted the family's gestating, calico cat to come running to my side!<br />
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"Jo-Jo?" No-no.<br />
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"Granmom?" Hummmm...I like that. I think that might be it! How I would have specified whether I was referring to Kittie or Josie isn't important. I know now that I would have called my grandmother "Granmom."<br />
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And if I close my eyes and listen in the quiet, still afternoon, I can hear Granmom sweetly, oh so lovingly, calling to me, "Where is my Princess Rebecca? Come here, dear child, and we shall have a tea party."Becky Seitelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15266529092778510429noreply@blogger.com1