My Turkey Exploded!

Do you like the Thanksgiving celebration?  It is one of my favorite meals.  I love the dark meat, dressing, and gravy.  OOPS, almost forgot the cranberries.  I am not so much into the side dishes.

I have been cooking Thanksgiving dinner for a long time.  I remember the first time I made the dinner for Michael’s family.  We had not yet celebrated our first anniversary so I guess that is why my cooking may have surprised my beloved father-in-law.

I learned how to make the dressing from my Mom’s mom.  Her stuffing was more like a savory bread pudding.  Sunday dinners at her home always had the same things, chicken, mashed potatoes, noodles, and dressing I always looked forward to the dressing.

My first time cooking Thanksgiving dinner was rather exciting for me.  I did not do the triple starch, only the mashed potatoes and my favorite the dressing.  I used about six loaves of bread along with 14 eggs.  Yes, you read that correctly, 14 eggs.  I love sage, so my dressing had a green tint to it as well as being moist.  The turkeys we served were always 25 pounds plus.  For the cooking, I believed in tightly crimping aluminum foil around the roaster to keep the turkey moist and it cooks evenly and in less time. 

Michael and his dad pulled the roaster from the oven, and slowly carefully, peeled back the foil to lift the turkey out to carve.  To their surprise, the turkey had self-carved compliments of the egg rich dressing stuffed into the bird.  The legs had separated from the carcass and the breast had fallen off the bone.  Lifting it out of the roaster was the biggest problem of the day.  My turkey exploded!  However, it remained very moist since the foil sealed in all the liquids.  Dad O’Kane had never seen such a thing before, and to my delight, he enjoyed the dressing. 

As time went on, we enjoyed cooking the holiday meals and tried some of the strangest things in our cooking methods.  One year Michael read a recipe in a magazine that deboned the turkey before cooking it.  He carefully pulled the skin back, and carved the breast meat off the bone and removed the breastbone.  Then he stuffed layers of the sliced breast meat and dressing to fill the cavity.  To finish, he delicately laid the skin back over the redesigned main course, and stitched the skin back in place.  This certainly made for easy carving at the table and interesting conversations for the family. 

One year we did the side dishes the day before.  I had two very large electric roasters, which were set up as a steaming station.  The side dishes were ready when the bird was ready.  I guess, as we got older we developed stress saving methods.

Michael, who happens to make wonderful bread, now bakes about six loaves of sage bread for the dressing.  We control the ingredients in an effort to avoid preservatives and unnecessary fats.  Besides, it makes the house smell so luscious.    

Today, I still have the same results; my turkeys carve themselves.  Oh yes, our birds are still 25 pounds plus.  What do we do with all the leftovers?  The answer is simple; club sandwiches on Friday, turkey salad on Saturday, and the rest, “turkey pot pies” putting all the left over meat, gravy, and veggies, in frozen pie shells for quick meals down the road. 

Thanksgiving is a wonderful opportunity for us to express the many reasons why we give thanks.  We have love, family, friends, and freedom.  Remembering, the freedom of religion was a major reasons the pilgrims sought refuge in this land.  We should remember our troops fighting so that all of our freedoms remain.  So in this season of gratitude, let us remember our troops, home and abroad, as they stand ready to defend our land and liberties.

Happy Thanksgiving!!!

Jan

 

Halloween what a great holiday!

Many say it is their favorite holiday.  What better time to dress up and be someone or something you are not.

Now this no doubt will give away my age; but back in the day, we went trick or treating for three nights.  We had our pillowcases ready and we went as a group.  My sister and I went with our cousins.

In our little town there were two houses you had to go to as quickly as your legs could carry you.  One house gave out caramel apples while the second house a good distance away gave out cinnamon apples.  It was a duty to ourselves to get to those houses first, and then retrace our steps to the other house after we collected our apples.  The first night was all about the houses east of our house.

At the end of the first night, we would return home, and dump out our haul and sort it on the table.  We put the candy we wanted to share with the family in one bowl, and candy that did not impress  put into the distribution bowl for the following night’s callers.

We did not get to go to the “apple” houses the following night.  With that end of town completed, we would move from out house to the west end. 

It was a fun time of year.  People would try to guess who you were as you approached their houses.  The gas station next to us would allow us to get something from their candy display, as did my uncle in his bar.  The only bar in town we would venture into since it was family owned.

Sometimes we would change costumes over the three nights.  The rest of the ritual was pretty much the same.  After the allotted time we would return home and again sort the candy.

By the third night, we were running a bit tired.  However, there were treats to be had and we needed to collect our morsels.  We knew that by the third night we would be receiving someone else’s unwanted candies.  We all knew by the third day we would be collecting someone else’s hand offs.  But there was the possibility that one person’s dislike was another’s favorite.

I remember one Halloween when my sister and I both were down with one of those childhood things, chicken pox or the measles.  Our cousins stopped at the house to collect their treats, and to show us their costumes.  No fair!  We couldn’t go out with them.

Things were different back then.  As far as we knew cars did not take kids to the different neighborhoods.  Maybe it was just that our little town was not that impressive.  So glad too, or the “apple” houses would have been invaded before we could get to our treats.  No free x-rays offered by the local hospital for pins or needles, and  we were not destructive in our outings. 

Rarely did we encounter a house that did not participate.  We even had a few we were afraid to go to the door.  I would assume every child has had creepy feeling about a house. 

Today’s Halloweens are different, and in some cases, nonexistent.  Some communities prefer to do parties instead.  Others take their children to the various malls where the stores hand out treats and parents can be with their children.

All this being said, I think fondly on those memories of our candy collecting. I can’t pass a candied apple without remembering our mad dashes to the two special houses.

I think I will close here and go dip some apples, isn’t Fall great!

Trick or Treat!

 

Jan

 

Sisters

Here we go again, more family to introduce.  This time, I would like you all to meet my older sister, Nikki.  My sister happens to be a fashionable person.  You know the type; she can wear blue jeans and a t-shirt and look great.  Me….not so much!

Nikki has her favorite colors, although she looks good in just about any color.  Me….not so much!  I wear a lot of black and white, or navy and white.  Nikki does too.  Again, she looks great.  Me…..not so much!

Now, I don’t say these things because she always impressing me.  Big sisters often have their younger sisters look to them in awe.  Well, at least I did and still do.

Nikki could sing, and boy, could she dance…and still can.  Me….not so much.  I cannot keep a beat in my head so that ruins any chances of being able to dance.  Dancing for me is a spectator sport.  As for singing, just be glad you are not sitting near me in church.

I often think of the scene in the movie White Christmas where Rosemary Clooney and Vera-Ellen do that song Sisters.  Since I don’t sing or dance we will never be doing that scene for anyone.  Nikki could pull off her side.  Me….not so much!

Nikki has never been one to have long conversations, and we have different interest.  I am the quiet sit in the corner and read type so unless she wants a book report from me we just talk family. 

I am sure you all are aware that family is extremely important to me.  We chat and I catch up on all sorts of happenings with Nikki, her husband, and her daughter and her family.  Then we talk about anything that is happening in our brother’s lives.  Well, if we have heard from them recently.

After we talk about each other, then we check on any news from our cousins.  Unfortunately, I don’t get to see my cousins very often living in Durham, almost “500 miles away from home”.  Hey, that sounds like a song I remember.

Okay, now that you know her a bit and about our relationship, I can tell you a story.  It’s her time to be in my blog instead of her suggesting what stories I should tell of other family members.

If you have kept up with my blogs, you know the person my Dad was during his life.  Dad had a soft spot for sales.  If he could find a good one, he would buy it, needed or not.  Mom was somewhat flabbergasted with the sale items he would find.  She told him, just because it is on sale, doesn’t make it a bargain.  If you don’t use the item, it is not a good sale.

Nikki was on the receiving end of one of Dad’s sale finds.  As a little girl, she liked the color red.  Well, Dad knew she loved the color red and he happened to come across a sale of dresses in her size.  Therefore, he bought her seven red dresses.  He bought every dress in her size that was in red.  There were some variations in style, but they were all red.

Who buys seven red dresses in the same size for a growing child?  I still wonder if Nikki ever had the chance to wear all seven before outgrowing the size.  We went to a parochial school, so that meant uniforms, no chance there to wear her newly acquired wardrobe.

To this day, this is one of our family gathering stories.  Of course, Nikki and I are the only ones who actually experienced this particular event.  We are the oldest of the siblings.  I still have an inward giggle when I see her in anything red.  I can’t help but think back to the seven red dresses.

I am not sure how she will appreciate me sharing this with you; but I figured since she likes to give me suggestions on stories for this blog, I thought it only fair that I share one about her.  I love it!  Nikki….probably not so much!

Brothers

In my last blog, you met my brother Joey.  He is the oldest of the boys, and at 57 says I am the only one still calling him Joey.

In this blog, I would like to introduce you to my brother Frankie.  He is the second of my three brothers, and yes, I still call him Frankie.  Frankie has a wonderful jolly personality.  If you hear him laugh, you automatically find yourself laughing.

All brothers have times of challenge and my brothers are no different.  The three years that separate Joey and Frankie are enough to let them be friends; but close enough to torment one another.  Don’t all brothers do that anyway?

I remember Joey had a Volkswagen Beetle.  It most likely was his first car.  Picture this; a rope going from the hood under the car to trunk and then over the roof, somewhat holding the car together as the ends tied on the hood.  Tied dyed shirts were the fad at the time; but his was the only tied down car I ever saw.  In addition, the vehicle stalled on a regular basis, which required a push to pop the clutch and get it going. 

One early chilly morning, Joey was ready to leave the house for school but was unable to start his car.  He came into the house to get Frankie to help him by getting into the family car and giving him a push. 

Frankie was slow to rise.  So naturally, he was slow moving when Joey called him into service.  Frankie would help anyone, even his tormentor.  So Frankie got up, dressed, and put on his jacket to go out and help.

Frankie got into the family Studebaker and started it up as Joey got into his Beetle.  You can tell by the fact that the family car was a Studebaker, how long ago this event happened.  Unfortunately, Frankie did not give Joey a gentle push.  It wasn’t intentional, but he gave the car a bit more gas than necessary, which caused the vehicle to jump forward, ramming into Joey’s car.

My sister Nikki and I stood in the window watching and could not help but laugh.  In his younger years, Joey had a tendency to overreact.  Turning red faced and jumping from his car, he headed for his rear bumper to inspect the damage.  Then Joey started towards Frankie in the other car with his red face and yelling that Frankie had hit his car too hard.  Frankie sat in the Studebaker laughing but taking the precaution of locking the car door.  Joey, not deterred, ran for the other door.  Frankie reached over and locked that door as well.  No automatic door locks in those days.

Joey must have felt like the wolf in The Three Little Pigs story.  He was certainly huffing and puffing.  He wanted to get his hands on Frankie so badly.  Frankie just sat in the secured car laughing as Joey went ballistic.  The funniest part of the entire event was Frankie, being the jolly person; we saw his shoulders shaking with his laughter.  This of course, was not helping Joey who by now was running late and worried about a dent in his bumper.  How could a person be upset about a ding in a car held together by a rope?

My brothers had their fair share of childhood ordeals; but they were good brothers.  Unfortunately, the years and miles have separated all of us.  However, when we do get together we love to reminisce about those younger days.  This is one of the stories we recall and results in Frankie again laughing until his shoulders shake and all are laughing with him.

I hope we never forget those great times, which is one reason I write.  I also encourage others to take the time to record your memories for your children.  I am sure Frankie’s daughters will get a laugh out of this episode.

Jan

The Bull

Many of you know already that I am the second of five children.  All three of my brothers are younger.

As with any family, we have a variety of personalities from the parents to the children.  In the past, I have written about my Dad and most recently about my Mom.  Dad’s war injuries plagued him the rest of his life while Mom was a delicate person with a low energy level.  Now we come to my brother Joey who is the oldest of the boys and the adventurous type, always exploring and trying new things.  He is the type that draws others to him.

I have also written about the limited amount of activity in our small hometown.  You could play softball or climb the hills.  Climbing the hills was the more adventurous way to spend the day.  I did my fair share of climbing but not with my brother as the leader.  Since I was older than Joey, my hikes were lead by an older cousin.

As time went on, my brother Joey took on the role of leader, and as usual, he had a band of young boys that followed his lead.  One day they decided to climb the hill, which was an easy feat for my brother.  He always was physically fit and still is today. 

The “fun” started when a hysterical younger boy came running to our house crying that a bull had gored Joey.  We did not know exactly what to make of this but almost immediately another boy came to the house with the same report.

Now my Dad never got upset unless we were in danger, and this was definitely one of those times.  Both Mom and Dad got in the car and drove to the nearest location where they could access a path to climb up the hill.  I am sure their thoughts were full of frightening sights not to mention how to get medical assistance to him must have weighed heavily in their hearts and minds.  I can still see Mom and Dad struggling to climb a path no wider than a foot.  Dad had a knee that would lock up making the climb difficult.  Mom, frail and delicate, was holding onto Dad’s hand as he pulled her along behind him on the path.  Both were breathless and pale as snow, still they attacked the path as though they were raging war on the hillside.

Suddenly from far below they hear Joey calling to them as he came along through the creek bed.  Both showed instant signs of guarded relief.  As they scrambled down the path, they ran to him to check him over for injuries.

Much to their relief they did not find a mark on him from the incident.  Apparently, the bull got out of its pasture and charged Joey who climbed a tree, and the bull missed him entirely.  However, the bull stood by the tree trying to wait out Joey’s descent but eventually wondered off allowing Joey to climb down out of the tree.

Now that Mom and Dad had an opportunity to calm down and find out what happened and to hear the entire story, they slowly returned to normal. I am still amazed to this day that they attempted to climb that hill.  It all boils down to the willingness of a parent to do anything to protect and aid their child.

I and my siblings were fortunate to have parents that cared.  They protected us and came to our rescue whenever necessary….well to the rescue of physical danger anyway. 

Yes, all five of us have different personalities, and most of us have mellowed as we aged.  However, Joey will forever be the adventurer in our family.

A mother’s lesson in fudge

Sorry I have not posted anything recently.  I so wanted to do a post for Mother's Day, and before I knew it the day was over.  However, Mother’s Day, Father’s Day, Grandparent’s Day or even In-Law’s Day can be any day you want to do something special for that person.

My Mom passed away seven years ago.  She dealt with cancer for seven years prior.  I think of her every day.  There are days when I want to call her and tell her what is going on in my world.  Even though I can’t call her on the phone; I still talk to her.

Recently I was trying to think of something to post about her.  I can tell you my Mom was a complicated woman.  She had complicated emotions and held so much inside.  She was a strict person; but she would fight like a mama bear to protect her five kids.  However, I wanted to write about some of our fun times, so I decided to write about “impossible fudge.”

When I was growing up we had a great lady who lived next door.  She taught me to ride a bike and was our babysitter.  She and my mother were friends.  In time, Joyce married our cousin Chuckie.  I am getting off subject again.

On Friday nights Mom and Joyce would get together, usually in the summer, and make fudge.  Okay, they would try to make fudge.  We didn’t have a candy thermometer so judging the fudge was always tricky.

I can’t tell you how many times Mom would be putting the fudge in the freezer to get it to the right consistency.  Sometimes we had fudge soup while other times we had hard tack.  It was always a waiting game to see what we would end up with for the evening. 

Fudge became the challenge, which is why I refer to it as “impossible fudge”.  Joyce would later refer to the attempts as “spoon fudge.”  What I learned from Mom’s attempts was that she did not give up.  She would try and try again almost every Friday night. 

This complicated woman with five kids taught us things that at the time we did not realize were life lessons.  Who thinks of fudge as a life lesson?  It wasn’t the fudge; it was the determination she had to keep trying. 

When Mom was diagnosed with Ovarian Cancer, I was terrified.  Mom had health issues; but I was afraid this one was just too much for her.  Well, she fought her battle with the same determination as she did her attempts at making fudge.

It was this same determination that would save my life, even after Mom was gone.  In 2010, I went through the ordeal of a ruptured appendix.  Before I could be released from the hospital, my right lung collapsed.  I was in a lot of pain and struggling to breathe and was ready to give up.  I hurt too much to keep fighting.  As I lay in the hospital bed, after making my peace with God, I just sort of collapsed into the bed.  I was sure this was the end.  As I collapsed, God and my Mom sent me a message to keep fighting.  It was just the simple unexpected thought of my Mom that brought me out of my resigned state.  If Mom would fight for her life then I should too.  And, I lay in the bed for a bit thinking of my Mom, and remembering how she did not allow the fudge to win, but tried time and time again. 

I can’t tell you if she ever got the fudge right; but I know I got her lesson.

The Shroud of Turin

Easter is upon us, and for many that means special services and Stations of the Cross.  Christians have many of these special services but I would like to speak of something not exactly a tradition.  However, I have found this to be an amazing part of building a faith.

You may have heard of the Shroud of Turin.  Some will know exactly what I am speaking of while others will not.  No matter; I will take this opportunity to try and relay some key points about the Shroud.

The Shroud is a fine linen cloth measuring 14 feet three inches long and three feet seven inches wide.  This historical cloth is believed to be the burial cloth of Jesus Christ.  Initially, the cloth was probably meant for Joseph of Arimathea.  Joseph was a high ranking member of the Jewish faith at the time of Jesus, but held his beliefs in his heart.  Nevertheless, he had the courage to ask Pilate for the body of Jesus upon His death.

Many believe the cloth used was to be Joseph’s burial shroud; instead he used his own tomb and cloth for Jesus’ burial.

As the story goes, on Easter Sunday, Christ was raised from the dead.  At which time the image of a tortured and crucified man was imprinted upon the cloth. Years of research have shown that it was formed by a burst of complex radiation coming from a dematerializing body about 30 to 36 hours after death.

For many years scientist have been trying to prove or disprove this “miracle”.  Some will believe, while others will not, and still others will find that the Shroud does not bring them to a Christian faith; because their faith was already rock solid.

I would like to give you some history on the Shroud of Turin.  I hope this is of interest to you, as I have explored the topic with two very well know researchers with the Council for the Study of the Shroud of Turin.  These two wonderful people are Dr. Alan Whanger and his delightful wife Mary.

King Abgar the V of Edessa was suffering from leprosy and wrote to Jesus asking that He come and cure him of his horrible disease.  Jesus responding saying He was unable at that time; but would soon send someone.  It was at this point Jesus was going to Jerusalem to bring about His passion and death. Copies of these letters are still in existence.

Historical records show that Thaddeus, also believed to be Judas the Zealot, took the Shroud to King Abgar.  The king did have his miracle; he was cured.  As a result he converted to Christianity.  Now, at the time when the cloth was brought to Edessa it was sealed in a cloth envelope, with only the face showing.

As was the custom at this point in history, likenesses of the pagan gods were mounted above the city’s main gate.  People entering the city were meant to pay homage to the displayed gods. 

Abgar had a tile image of the Shroud face take the place of the previous display.  With the display of the Shroud face there was also an inscription above the main city gate, it read “Christ the God.  He who hopes in thee is never disappointed”.

Now Edessa was a city along the trade routes between the Mediterranean and the Far East, so that this provided for many to see the face on the Shroud.  This also explains why early icons of Jesus Christ all have similar features.  It is believed that these icons were copied from the Shroud.

When King Abgar died in 55AD, King Ma’nu, a known pagan, came into power in 57 AD.  He was known to persecute the Christians.  He wanted the new icon destroyed.  He failed in this plan since the cloth was hidden to avoid destruction.

The year 525AD brought to the city of Edessa a major flood that almost destroyed the city. Workmen repairing the city gate found the hidden icon.  By this time the city had once again returned to Christianity and was recognized as the City of Churches.

In the year 944, Romanus I, the Emperor of the Byzantine Empire, decided his last act in office would be to bring the icon to Constantinople, the capital of the Roman Empire.  Constantinople had a collection of relics and icons and the Shroud would have been a major relic to possess.

Romanus sent troops to Edessa and laid siege to the city for six weeks.  Even with the city of Edessa under Muslim rule, the people wanted to keep their treasured icon. It took many concessions and promises on the part of Romanus in order to get the people of Edessa to finally relinquish this precious relic.  There is an interest fact here about the icon.  As far as the people of Edessa knew it was only the face of Christ.  Remember the icon was sealed in a cloth envelope and had never been opened.

During the Fourth Crusade, Constantinople was overrun and many of the churches relics were carted off including the Shroud.  In 1204 the Shroud surfaced in a small village in Lirey France.  Many believed the icon was in the possession of the Knights Templar in both France and England.  It is believed that the Shroud was smuggled back to France and placed on public display.

No one is exactly how Geoffrey de Charny gained control of the Shroud, but he brought it to Lirey in 1357.  This is when it was declared the true burial Shroud of Christ.

The ownership of the icon fell to Margaret de Charny; she in turn relinquished ownership to the Savoy family, the ruling house of France and Italy.  This is when it was moved to the royal capitol of Turin Italy in 1578.  A special chapel was built for the sole purpose of housing the shroud.  The chapel is in the Cathedral of Saint John the Baptist that adjoins the royal palace.

The Shroud was nearly destroyed in 1532 when a fire broke out and the silver box that held the Shroud started to burned and the molten silver fell upon the Shroud in places. It is the repaired of the cloth that some have used as a reason to believe the Shroud was a hoax.  The burned areas of the Shroud were seamed and rewoven.  It is from these area materials were taken for the radio carbon dating process.  This also explains why the results came closer to the date of the mid- 1500s.

The Shroud was moved again to safeguard it during World Word II. Then in 1983 Umberto II, the exiled king of Italy, bequeath the Shroud to the Vatican.

There is a great deal more about the Shroud of Turin that I would love to share, and I would suggest that anyone interested in learning more buy the book “The Shroud of Turin An Adventure of Discovery by Mary and Alan Whanger, on www.amazon.com.

Have a Blessed Easter and Celebrate the Risen Lord!