July 2008

     The fourth of July is fast approaching.  Are you ready with plans for a family picnic?
     The fourth used to be a big thing especially for Pat.  Sandpoint always has a parade and carnival nearby and fireworks over Pend Oreille Lake in the evening.  It is major picnic time.  Of course in those days fireworks were not limited to sparklers for the children as they were when our kids were growing up.  You can read Pat’s story of the 4^th in “This Was the Late, Great Fourth,” in THE GRASSHOPPER TRAP.
     In more recent years we had a cabin on the river near Clark Fork, ID.  They have a parade there too but not big and fancy like Sandpoint.  Here the newly purchased fire truck and volunteer firemen lead the way and then comes lots of logging trucks carrying their prize loads.  There will be a local store represented by a pickup with a big sign heralding the store and children throwing candy to the kids at the street’s edge.  There are decorated kid wagons carrying children dressed up in costumes and the parents dutifully pulling then along.  There is an occasional riding lawnmower decorated with strings of crepe and driven by the proud owner or maybe the dealership owner of John Deer.  Pretty girls in their cowgirl duds ride beautiful horses waving and throwing candy.  Come to think of it, I don’t recall anyone picking up what the horses leave behind.  The Sandpoint Old Car group likes to come to the Clark Fork parade instead of participating in Sandpoint.  Vern and Gisela Schulze often drove their latest old car treasure.
     The town shuts down the main highway, because that is also the main street.  The street is lined with people two or three deep with the young ones up front dashing out to retrieve the candy.  The parade is a big cash raiser for Clark Fork.  Several men from the service organization make their way through the crowd selling raffle tickets to raise money for the fire department or the library or whatever needs operating funds that year.
     In the school grounds were gunny-sack races, contests to see if high school students can drop the principal in a barrel of water pitching baseballs, lots of booths offering typical food items and on and on.  Pat tells me the broad jump is especially fun.  Local girls lie on the grass and volunteer young men try to jump over them.  It is very popular.  Older men try too but that is pretty much controlled by wives in attendance.
     In my opinion, the most fun is the fireworks after the sun goes down.  We could see them from our cabin but that was the chicken’s way out.  To get the full effect you had to be at the town baseball field, right up front.  People put out their blankets on the sidelines of the field to sit and watch the display put on by the local service group.
     That is where Dave Lisaius and his fearless wife, Marty, sit.  Pat and I are the ones behind the batter’s box screen, standing so there is less exposed skin.
     A very enthusiastic crowd of locals set off their own fireworks.  Occasionally some folks add a few yelps to the oohs and awws when a stray rocket lands too close for comfort.
     The celebration is going on July 4^th.  Come and have a great north Idaho time!
     Another place we like to visit is Walla Walla, WA.  Here is a small town that has made itself over.  When the downtown stores moves out to the malls, the recently established wineries came downtown and put their tasting rooms in the empty storefronts.
     Now you can stay in a hotel downtown, walk around to the various wine tasting rooms and walk back to your hotel never having to get into your car to drive.  And they have some pretty good wines, not that I’m an expert or anything.  Of course, you can visit the wineries where the grapes grow too.  We toured one winery last time we were in town and tasted the wine firsthand from the barrels.  That was an educational and very pleasant experience.
     The downtown has an excellent sandwich shop and a candy and pastry shop just across the street, as well as several fine dining restaurants and interesting clothing and specialty stores.  All within walking distance.
     Dayton, a few miles north, has an excellent restaurant that we plan to try next time we are in the area.   Also, look for a goat farm that makes yummy cheeses.
     They celebrate the Walla Walla sweet onion during the summer and it would be fun to combine your wine tasting and onion tasting into one trip.  The Walla Walla Chamber of Commerce can give you details, 509/525-0850 or 877/998-4748.
     Besides good food, good wine and shopping, for history buffs, there is the Whitman Mission National Historic Site seven miles west of Walla Walla and Fort Walla Walla Museum, at the south end of town.
     Question:  Why is it that there are rhubarb recipes all over the place and when the rhubarb is available, you can’t find a single one of them?
     Here’s one I did find after our rhubarb was gone!

        Rhubarb Crumb Cake

½ cup shortening
1 ½ cups packed brown sugar
1 egg
1 tsp. baking soda
1 cup sour cream
2 cups flour
1 ½ cups cut-up rhubarb
1 teaspoon vanilla
½ cup sugar
1 teaspoon c innamon
1 tablespoon butter
1 cup chopped nuts

     Cream shortening and brown sugar.  Stir in egg; blend well.  Combine baking soda and sour cream; add alternately with flour.  Stir in rhubarb and vanilla.  Turn into greased and floured 9 x 13” pan.  Combine sugar, cinnamon and butter; sprinkle over batter.  Top with nuts.  Bake at 350 degrees 35 minutes or until cake tests done.
     This is a recipe from my mother so it has been around for quite some time.  I have noted on the recipe card to double the recipe and freeze one cake for later use because it is so good!

Have a happy and safe 4^th.

Bun and family

June 2008

I am constantly being asked if our children write.  I always say yes because they all tell me they do.  Well, I put them to the test to write something about their Dad for the June blog.  Only one came through and that was second daughter, Shannon.  Excuses such as moving, fulltime job and two small children just don’t cut it, girls. 

Shannon has two grown children and has worked in the Vancouver, B.C. library system for 21 years.  She is an accomplished watercolorist and writer as you will see after reading her story.  Her Dad and I are very proud of her.

If you wish to contact Shan about her story, please write to shannmcm18@yahoo.ca. 

Father’s Day

By Shannon McManus

     I listened to the phone ring for the sixth time and knew that it would go to voicemail when the ring shifted to a dull tone.  That was the problem with being the only daughter that lives far away.  Mom and Dad were probably making the rounds between my three sisters' homes; a father's day breakfast with Erin's family, a quick trip to the dump after a yard sale with Peggy's family and a glass of wine while looking at the garden with Kelly.
     "Hi Dad, it's Shan.  Happy Father's Day.  I'll try calling back later."  I left a message then sat back and looked out the window.   My thoughts flowed to another time.
     When I was a teenager my friends used to look dreamily at my dad.  "That's your dad?"   They'd ask in wonder.  "He's handsome!"  I always thought Dad was a cross between Omar Sharif and Will Rogers because much of my childhood he had an Omar mustache and a Will Rogers love of telling stories.
     Way before Dad was a writer, he was a storyteller and my earliest memories are of him telling us stories.  Each girl had a favorite story that she would make him tell over and over.  "Tell us the one about the troll that lived in the woods by Sand Creek" or "Tell us about riding the pigs."  Most of the stories had some element of truth to them, but as a kid I truly believed that my dad had grown up in the Wild West, where trolls lived in my grandmother's bathtub and there were cowboys riding pigs.
     Life with Dad wasn't always idyllic though.  I remember one time when I was about six.  My older sister, Kelly and I were fighting.  Dad came in to our bedroom to break up the brawl.
     "All right, what's going on in here?"
     "She hit me!"  Kelly yelled.  "Spank her, Dad!"
     "I hit her because she bit me."
     "I only bit you because you scratched me."
     "Spank her!"
     "Whoa!  Kelly, I'll handle this.  You go wait in the front room and I'll deal with Shan.  And don't listen at the door either.  She'll get what's coming to her."
     Kelly smirked at me as she closed the door.
     "It's not my fault, Dad.  She started it."
     "Shh..."  Dad held his finger to his lips, while he opened the door a crack to make sure that Kelly was listening on the other side.  "Now, we're going to play a little trick on Kelly.  You slip this book down your pants.  I'll hit it really hard, so it makes a loud smack.  You won't feel a thing, but yell like it really hurts.  This will make Kelly feel bad and it'll be our little secret."
     I grinned and put the book down my pants.  Dad took a swing.  Wack!  He hit the book so hard it slid down my pant leg.  Before I could tell him there came another.  Wack! Wack!  Wack!  I burst into tears.  "Stop!"  I screamed, "It hurts!"
     Dad stopped.  "That was great.  You should be an actress.  I bet we really fooled Kelly."
     "I wasn't acting!  The book slipped."
     Dad burst into laughter.  "Bun," he called to my mother, "you're not going to believe what happen..."
     So much for our little secret. I think that was the only time any of us girls actually got spanked.
     Although Dad liked to write, he also liked to draw and paint.  One time when I was about four we had a studio in the basement so that he could do some oil painting.  I loved to go down to the studio with him and smell the rich oil and linseed scents.  He would teach me about painting, colors and perspectives.
     "Basic perspective is pretty simple.  See, you draw a long triangle like this.  Now the point of the triangle is the horizon.  The base of the triangle is the foreground.  If you draw lines across the triangle you have railroad tracks.  Now we'll just add some telephone poles and a few buildings."
     I'd watch in amazement as a landscape grew before me.  To this day the only things I can draw in perspective are railroad tracks.
     Both my parents loved art and many Sundays after church were spent visiting Spokane's one and only art gallery.  Listening to Dad talk about artists like Picasso and Matisse fueled my imagination.  I decided that I wanted to grow up to be one of these great artists that could inspire and create that spark of life I saw in my dad's eyes.
     I began working towards becoming great artist by painting a horse.  No matter what I did I just couldn't get it right.  Finally I got so frustrated I splashed color over it, orange, brown and ochre, to cover up the fur.  I now had a mountain.  Where the black eye of the horse was I made a silhouette of a house.  Dad said it was like a Picasso and it hung in our house for years.  I never did tell him it was supposed to be a horse, but then maybe Picasso started out painting horses too.  When Dad decided to give up painting in order to concentrate on writing he gave me his paint box.  That was a big day for me.  It was a graduation from tempera disks to oil paint tubes.  I was so proud as I stood looking at the dried and splitting tubes inside.
     Dad patted me on the head.  "Now you're a real artist.
     "Thanks, Dad!  I even promise to take better care of it than you."
     "Yeah, I guess it is a bit messy, but that's the way we artists are."
     I've forgotten most of what my Dad tried to teach me about art, but one thing that I did learn was that craft come from the mind aided by the heart, but art comes from the heart aided by the mind.
     Quiet talks with Dad were times I really valued.  Of course it was kind of hard to get him alone, especially with three sisters.  Some people think poor man, he doesn't have any sons, but I think he liked it that way.  You might say he was put on a pedestal.
     The only time I think that dad didn't like having all girls was when it came to Girl Scouts.  They were fine as long as they kept in their place, but when they started invading his turf with Father-Daughter banquets then something had to be done to put a stop to it.
     "Dad, guess what Thursday is?"
     "Hmm?"
     "It's Girl Scouts."
     "Umm."
     "And they're having a Father-Daughter banquet."
     "Good."
     "Everyone's supposed to bring a box dinner and we all sit around and watch some skits that we've been working on at Scouts."
     "Sounds fun."
     "So you'll go?"
     "What!  You mean I have to go too?"
     "But Dad, it's a Father-Daughter banquet.  I can't go to it by myself."
     "Whoever thought up these things ought to be shot."
     "Dad..."
     "I'll tell you what, fishing season just opened.  How about just you and I go out fishing instead?"
     "Alone?"
     "Yeah, just you and me."
     "Well, I guess."
     Actually it was fine with me.  I hated those banquets too, but I never let him know that because it was the only way to get him alone.
     Even though Dad was busy with writing and teaching, we always managed to get away in the summer for some family outings.  We used to go camping at a place called Priest Lake.  We'd drive all day, most of it down dirt roads.  If it was so hot, you could hardly breathe the clay dust would be so thick.  If it was raining and the windows were rolled up, you could hardly breathe because Dad's pipe smoke would be so thick.  It seemed like no matter what the weather was like I always arrived at the Priest Lake campground feeling pretty green.
     The first thing we always did when we got there, that is after jumping in the lake, was to go huckleberry picking.  One time we'd picked hours and had buckets of big dusty blue berries.  That night we put them in the ice chest and with visions of huckleberry pancakes dancing in our heads, we settled down for a night's sleep.  Kelly and I were in the station wagon that was attached to the tent.  Mom, Dad and Peggy, the baby at the time, were in the tent.  I heard Dad tap the side of the tent and say "Shoo!  Shoo!"  The next thing I knew there was a loud growl.  I saw Peggy fly over my head and land in the front seat.  Mom leaped into the station wagon, landing on Kelly. 
     Dad laughed.   "It's probably just a raccoon.  I'll just go out and chase it away--oh my God!"
     I didn't know Dad could move that fast.  Before I knew it he had jumped into the car, slamming the tailgate shut, rolled all the windows up and we were driving 100 miles per hour, with the tent flapping behind us, to spend the night parked outside the ranger's house.
     "What was it?"  I asked.
     "The biggest damn bear I ever saw!  It was up on the picnic table and it hung over both ends.  I swear he was going use my fishing pole for a toothpick.  And I'm sure as hell not sticking around to find out why he needs a toothpick."
     In the morning we went back to the campsite.  Dad studied the remains.  Squatting down he picked up pieces of wood and chewed on it as he contemplated the mess.  "Look at that ice chest.  It looks like a squashed beer can.  There isn't even a huckleberry in sight."
     "What are you chewing on?" Kelly asked.
     Dad took the piece of wood out of his mouth and studied it.  Sure enough it was his fishing pole.
     It was situations like this that Dad could always spin into a story.  It never did take too much to get him to tell stories though.  Many family car trips or dinners were spent listening to his adventures.
     "Dad, tell us a story."
     "Well, all right."
     "Tell us one about when you were little."
     "Have I told you the one about milking the cow in the dark?"
     We'd always say no because we wanted to hear it again.
     "Well, I was about your age Shan, around, ten.  It was my chore to milk the cow, before I went to school in the morning and before dinner at night.  Now this one day Skeet McGee and I had been horsin' around after school.  We'd followed Cindy Joe Hopkins home.  She was probably the prettiest girl at school.   We didn't follow too closely, but I think she knew we were there.  We couldn't believe our luck when she got home and went into their outhouse.  Sneaking up behind it we pushed as hard as we could and tipped it over.  Well, Mrs. Hopkins had seen us do it and she grabbed a switch and chased us through Grover's field and half way down Sand Creek.  We finally lost her when she slipped on a clay bank and landed in the creek.  Skeet and I kind of hoped she'd landed in some quicksand, but I guess she didn't because Cindy Joe was at school the next day.  Anyway, I got home pretty late because we figured we'd better hide out for a while, just to be on the safe side. 
     "I was just sliding into my chair for dinner when your grandmother looked at me and said, ' Did you milk the cow, Pat?'  She had that tone that mother's get in their voice when they already know the answer to the question.
     'Umm...no I guess I didn't.'
     'Then you get up right now and go milk her.'
     'But it's dark!'
     'You should have thought about that before you went gallivantin' all over the country, tipping over outhouses!'
     "I hated going down to the barn in the dark.  You had to walk past the woodshed, then the chicken coop, and worst of all the Big Tree, that was where the axe murderer lived.  But even the axe murderer was safer than your grandmother when she was mad.
     "So I grabbed the milk pail and hooked the flashlight onto my belt.  There was no way I was going into the barn without a flashlight.  When I got outside I knew the best thing to do was to walk slowly, nonchalantly, just in case the axe murderer was watching.  I also pretended that I had a bloodthirsty dog with me and a shotgun because you can never be too safe.
     'Now, Killer, you stay by my side.  We can't have you ripping the neighbors to shreds, only AXE MURDERERS.   Grr, grrr.  I know you're hungry, that's why I brought this SHOTGUN with me.'
     "It never occurred to me that if someone was close enough to hear me they were close enough to see that I didn't have a toy poodle with me, let alone a killer dog, to say nothing of a shotgun.
     "When I got to the barn the moonlight was coming in the window, so I decided not to use the flashlight.  I hooked it to my belt.  No use drawing attention to myself.  The only sound was the mooing of the cow, which sounded more like a ghost moaning.  I crept inside.  Setting the bucket under the cow and pulling up a stool to sit on, I began to milk.  Just then there was a tapping noise behind me.  I whirled around.  Nothing was there except hay and some empty stalls.  At least I hoped they were empty.  I turned back to the milking.  Tap, tap, tap...I milked faster.  The tapping grew louder.
     ‘Grr, grrrr.  Calm down Killer.  It's a good thing the safety catch is off and this old shotgun's right by my side.  You never know when you'll have to shoot from the hip.'
     "I skimmed the dark interior, nothing.  As soon as I started milking the tapping started again, it got faster and faster.  I grabbed up the milk pail and ran.  To this day there's a rut in the field from the barn to your grandmother's house."
     "What was the tapping?"  Kelly asked.   "Was it the axe murderer?"
     "Nope, it was the flashlight swinging on my belt and hitting the stool.  I kind of wished it had been the axe murderer.  That would have been easier to explain to your grandmother why there wasn't even a drop of milk left in the bucket when I got back to the house.”
     "Now did I ever tell you about the time I burnt my eyebrows off with gunpowder?"
     This was usually when Mom would stop him.  "Don't give them any ideas, Pat.  Remember what happened when you told them about peeing in the 7-up bottle."
     "Yeah, I guess you're right."
     "It did cure Pete of his 7-up habit though.”
     Dad loved telling stories about us kids too.  There was one about me that he told over and over.  It was okay when I was a little kid, I liked the attention, but when I was older and he told my fiancé, well...
     "You've got to watch out what you tell Shan, Kevin.  She has a tendency to take what you say literally.  Like the time when she was five years old and Peggy was a toddler.  We'd gone up to her grandma's place in Sandpoint, for Easter.  Now Shan's mom and I had carefully set out Easter eggs around the lawn.   Some were well hidden for the older kids and others were in plain sight for Peggy.  What does Shan do?  She runs over and snatches up an egg that was sitting out in the open on a lawn chair.  I said to her, 'You put that back where you got it.  That one's Peggy's.'  Just then her aunt decides to sit in the lawn chair.  Before I could stop her, Shan had slipped that egg right under her aunt's bum.  It was like watching a disaster in slow motion.  Let's just say that egg was to far gone even for the potato salad."
     I was just being an obedient daughter, but sometimes that's when I got into the most trouble.  Many parents worry about their kids getting into trouble with the law.  Not Dad, in fact he advertised it, and I didn't even do anything except to be the obedient daughter.
     "Shan, I got this job doing some P.R. work for the county and I need your help.  How'd you like to be my model?"
     With visions of stardom, I said, sure!  But when we got to the police station I began to have second thoughts.
     "Shan, I'd like you to meet Officer Phillips.  Officer, will you handcuff her?"
     "Dad!"
     "Now don't worry, Shan, it'll be a great picture.  Now haul her over to the table for fingerprints.  Do everything you'd do if you were arresting a juvenile delinquent.  Oh, that's great!  Let me get a picture of these black fingers.  Okay now can we lock her up?"
     "Daad--"
     "Great!  Great!  Good expression, Shan.  You've caught the dejected angry teenager look."
     It was later when the school counselor saw my pictures in the county flyer that I found out that fame wasn't what it was cracked up to be.
     It's been about a year now since I last saw Dad.  I try to fly out to Spokane about once a year.   It's always hard saying good-bye at the end of the trip.
     "Thanks for taking me fishing, Dad."
     Oh, my pleasure.  Hope you didn't miss that Father-Daughter Scout reunion too much."
     "Naw, besides that Dolly Parton we caught was sure good."
     "Dolly Varden, Shan, Varden.  You're just like you mother.  She's always doing that."
     I gave him a big hug.  "I love you, Dad."
     "You get your mushiness from your mother too."  He cleared his throat.  "Now come back soon, don't wait another year, and if you need anything just call.  And don't forget, it's Varden, not Parton!"
     The ring of the phone cut into my daydream.  "Hello?  Oh hi, Dad.  I was just thinking about you."

THE END

May 2008

I think spring has sprung.  I’m hoping, and all the flowers that are peeking through are hoping too.

Here’s a note I wrote just a week ago:   A robin is back.  It’s spring!  And then it snowed four inches last night.  This morning as I was shoveling a path out to the newspaper box, I noticed charcoal-and-rust feathers being blown across the new snow.  I hope it wasn’t my robin who had returned before the others to give us a sign that spring was coming.

This month I’m a little late sitting down to write.  We took off a couple of days and drove over to Seattle, hoping to find spring.  We did, but we also found rain.

Seattle impressions:  umbrellas, clean, police sirens, damp.   Stick ladies wearing black, huge handbags and earphones, rushing, everybody rushing.

May is a very busy month for our family.  We have four birthdays including some of the youngest which all require big celebrations.  Then hot on the tail of May come two birthdays early in June with a new great grandbaby boy expected and high school graduation for one granddaughter.

Don’t forget Mother’s Day!  In our family the day was spent with either my mom or with Pat’s.  It is only just recently that I have become “the mother of honor,” or to say it another way, the oldest mother.  It feels strange and not much to my liking to be the center of all the attention.   But then we have daughters and the attention is not all that much.  Just kidding, girls!

From Pat’s stories you know Pat’s mother as a strong and hardworking lady. It was a thrill to be invited to dinner at their house when I was a young girl.  I was very excited.  I wanted to make a good impression because I was very much thinking about becoming a part of the McManus/DeMers family as the bride of the handsome and talented Patrick McManus.  (Well, maybe the talent came later.)  What to wear?  What do I talk about?  Would they like me?

When I arrived, the table in the dining room, which was at one end of the living room, was set with tablecloth, glassware and china.  Everything was prepared for a lavish dinner party.   We were seated according to Mabel’s instructions.  As I recall, I was in the kitchen.  What glorious meal awaited us?

Steam rose from the pitcher of hot milk and the platter of toasted Wonder Bread.  I couldn’t believe my eyes.  MILK TOAST!  What an incredible surprise!  Who would have thought such an event could cause this emotion?  I was totally overwhelmed.  It was amazing.  Mabel had lived up to her reputation as an inspired cook and come through again.

That was my introduction to Pat’s family.  There were other times when I was privileged to be treated to Mabel’s famous fried chicken dinners, but this is the dinner I will always remember.  In my family, milk toast was reserved for only the sick and infirmed.  I felt totally happy with my reception and ultimately, acceptance into the McManus/DeMers family.

I think you all know Mabel’s secret fried chicken recipe.  In case you’ve missed it, here’s what The Troll remembers:  Roll cut-up chicken pieces in flour and fry in one/half lard and one/half butter with lots of pepper.  I would add, wash the chicken and salt thoroughly, store in refrigerator overnight and fry the next day for a fabulous dinner.

That’s it.  The sun is shining and I want to get outside and plant peas to go with the potatoes Pat is planting.

Have a Happy Mother’s Day and enjoy your families.

All the best,

Bun

P.S.  For those of you who don’t know Wonder Bread, it was, and may still be, a white, spongy, absolutely no fiber, bread.  Highly prized by children for squeezing together to make all sorts of creative things and you could eat it too.     

April 2008

This past month there was an item that caught my interest.  The picture was in the newspaper showing former Gov. Eliot Spitzer and his wife, Silda, with the New York governor apologizing for his alleged use of high-priced prostitutes.  What a jerk to have his wife endure such public humiliation!

The worst thing Pat every asked me to do was in connection with gathering snakes.  He wanted me to hold the bag while he dropped them in.

In the first place they were just garter snakes in the garden and not anything that was bothering me.  He however, didn’t like to find them in amongst his treasured strawberries.  There would be a shriek and a little Stationary Panic dance every time one slithered out from behind the plant with the biggest berries as he bent over to pick them, visions of strawberry shortcake very much on his mind.

As I say, they weren’t bothering me.  I knew they weren’t threatening, but Pat was determined to have them out of his space.  His plan was to grab them with a device he had invented for the purpose, and I was to hold the gunny sack while he dropped them in.  Okay, I can do that.  There was much screaming and hopping around, with me trying to get the sack under the writhing snake.  Panic is an infectious thing and soon I was screaming and hopping too.  I don’t think we got any of the snakes in the bag, but it wasn’t long before they moved on anyway.  What snake wants to be associated with such crazy people?

Colonel Dan sent me an e-mail suggesting I try ground turkey in my “Hamburger Soup” recipe.  He is right, of course, but what I was trying to do was show how we managed when money was tight.  Who knew about ground turkey then?  As a matter of fact, who knew about cholesterol?

I want to share a couple more “money is tight” recipes.  In those days I was working as a secretary in the Poultry Science Dept. at Washington State University.  Employees could purchase eggs very cheaply and we ate a lot of eggs.  One way I fixed them was simply scrambling them with salt and pepper and a large dash of Worcestershire sauce.  Try them, scrambled eggs are really good this way.

Our friend, Boots Reynolds, cowboy cartoonist and Leanin’ Tree artist has a new book out, an art book “full of BEANS”.  You may be familiar with Boots’ art and remember him as the illustrator of some of Pat’s stories.

The book is called BOOTS ‘N’ BEANS and contains bean recipes from many famous people including Laura Bush and some not so famous.  Boots has anecdotes with the recipes as well as including the best of many of his artworks.

Boots has a recipe by me and a “Backward” by Pat in this entertaining book.  Here’s is my addition:  “Several years ago we (with four kids ranging from two to sixteen) had just arrived in London at Victoria train station.  Everyone was hungry.  We went into an eat-and-run café where the menu contained ‘Beans on Toast’.  We had heard about the food in England but thought this was the ultimate in gross.  As it turned out, it is a favorite of ours for fast, easy and good food.”

Instructions, in case you need them are:  heat canned pork ‘n’ beans, toast some good bread.  Place buttered toast on plate and pour beans over.  You can add sliced onion, if you like.

The book can be ordered from Keokee Co. Publishing, Inc., P.O. Box 722, Sandpoint, ID 83864, (800) 3573, or www.keokeebooks.com.  BOOTS ‘N’ BEANS sells for $34 plus $5 shipping.  Boots will autograph your book if you request it.

For Easter morning I made cinnamon rolls, hash browns with onion, sliced pineapple and bananas and coffee.  I know, no protein, but we were too full for eggs.  Pat said the cinnamon rolls were really good and wondered how I could get them on the table so early in the morning.  I explained that they were Rhodes frozen cinnamon rolls and all I had to do was pop them into the oven a half hour before breakfast.  Pat remembers his grandmother making hot cinnamon rolls which were waiting for him when he came home from school.  Everyone could use a grandmother like that.

We started thinking about the rest of the breakfast; pineapple from Mexico, DelMonte bananas from not here, hash browns frozen and from Minnesota, coffee instant, its beans from Columbia.  No wonder Pat said he didn’t recognize our food anymore.  Tastes good though.

I hope you have some spring flowers coming up where you are.  Here the bent stalks emerging from the weight of the snow have straighten up and are beginning to bloom.  I love the bright yellow crocuses.  They remind me of baby robins with their mouths open wide.

It is time to think about that garden.  Maybe we can do our small part by growing some of our food right here in our own backyards.  I’m going to try to grow zucchini again.  I have some really good zucchini recipes.  Wish me luck!

All the best,

Darlene (aka) Bun

March 2008

Greetings from snow land.  I have heard that there are daffodils and snow drops blooming north of here but if they are blooming here, they are still under a couple feet of snow.  This winter we had 72 inches of snow and the seasonal average is 45 inches.

It was enough for me to start thinking of going south.  But we’re still here in Spokane, Washington, betting on when the snow will finally disappear.  One winter we had snow until May.  That was the winter we were living on the Clark Fork River in Idaho.  It was all very pleasant, quiet days with snow piling up and the only thing there was to do was shovel and plow and drink hot cocoa with peppermint schnapps.  It all came to an end one day when Pat stomped in and announced we would have to move into town.  He couldn’t find anywhere else to pile the snow.  That was the year of the May snow. 

I want to write about the economy that Pat addresses in his January blog.  We were both born in 1933 during the Great Depression but had different experiences.  He lived on a farm and although they didn’t have electricity and what goes with it, they had warm fires, canned vegetables, fruit and meat, fresh eggs and milk and lanterns to read by.  We lived in town and had electricity but food and heat were only had if you had money to buy it and that wasn’t always available when jobs were hard to come by.  Luckily, I don’t remember any of the struggles my parents had, but I was, as I am sure Pat was, affected by the experiences of our parents.

Pat always wanted to be as self-sufficient as possible.  His plan was to live without the need for much money, raise our own food, gather berries and wild foods, cut wood in the national forests for our heat, etc.  It was a pretty good plan considering what they paid college instructors in those early days of our marriage.

 We grew a lot of our food in a huge garden complete with raspberries and blackberries.  I canned and canned and canned.  The cellar was filled with jars of food and potatoes, carrots and squash.  The freezer was full of jams and berries.  We gathered huckleberries.  We gathered mushrooms—morels, inky caps, shaggy manes and a kind Pat said they gathered when he was a child—the book said they were poisonous so we never ate them even though Pat continued to gather them.  We gathered asparagus along the Columbia River.  It had black specks on it, but we gathered it anyway.  Occasionally there was venison and fish to add to the freezer.   We hauled the kids into the national forest to where we could cut our winter wood.  Our then four-year-old recalls that was a very scary time for her.  I’m sure her older sisters told her grizzlies were near at hand waiting to gobble her up as soon as my head was turned.  

I made coffee from chicory roots that was terrible.  I tried making wine with elderberries, dandelions and rhubarb, only the rhubarb was drinkable.  We grew herbs and dried them.  We had bantam chickens; I don’t remember them laying any eggs.  We had a horse that supplied fertilizer, a lot of fertilizer, for the garden and we had a wonderful garden.  It wasn’t until we moved away from that garden that I was so proud of that I slowly learned it was not my green thumb but the soil that was so good. 

I can’t grow a zucchini where we live now.  That’s how bad it is.  However, we still have a garden full of blueberries, grapes, red and black raspberries and blackberries.  Strawberries grow in large tubs on the patio.  Marauding birds, deer, raccoons and grandchildren descent on our crops leaving little for us.

When the kids were growing up, I had so many hamburger (ground beef) recipes.  Hamburger in those days sold for three pounds for a dollar.  This recipe was given to Pat by the lady janitor he worked with cleaning college classrooms and offices while he was still in school.

HAMBURGER SOUP 

2 lbs. ground beef
2 tablespoons salad oil
½ teaspoon salt
¼ teaspoon pepper
1/8 teaspoon savory salt
¼ teaspoon each oregano and basil
1 pkg. onion soup mix (3 or 4 servings size)
6 cups boiling water
1 cup tomato sauce  (I use 8 oz. canned diced tomatoes instead.)
1 tablespoon soy sauce
1 cup celery, sliced
¼ cup celery leaves, chopped
1 cup carrots, sliced
1/3 cup dried split peas (optional)
1 cup elbow macaroni (optional)
Parmesan cheese 

In large soup pot with a tight lid, brown meat in salad oil.  Add salt, pepper, oregano, basil, savory salt and onion soup mix.  Stir in boiling water, tomato sauce and soy sauce.  Cover and simmer 15 minutes.   Prepare vegetables and add to mix and cook 30 minutes.   Add split peas and macaroni and cook 30 minutes longer, adding water if necessary.  Pass grated Parmesan cheese to be sprinkled over individual servings.  Makes 6 to 8 servings. 

Note:  I recently made this soup with only ½ cup of ground beef and loaded it up with celery which Pat loves.  I never add the split peas or macaroni, but you might like to try them.

Another tip.  I have a soup container and whenever there is a small amount of leftover vegetables or juice, gravy, meat, mashed potatoes, etc. it goes into the soup container in the freezer.  When I make vegetable soup everything that has been saved in the soup container goes into the soup pot with the other vegetables.  I think it adds more body and flavor to our soup.

Being self-sufficient was terribly hard work and time consuming.  We have some of the best memories  of that time.  There’s nothing like walking through the woods or sitting in a boat surrounded by the beauty of nature in the pursuit of dewberries or perch or whatever.  How else are you going to get to enjoy dewberry shortcake or shaggy manes and scrambled eggs?  You’ll never experience them unless you go out foraging. 

 But you better wait until the snow is gone!

February 1, 2008
Please forgive the delay in getting my blog up in January.  We bought a new computer and it took some time getting used to it.  We were following our third daughter’s advice that PCs were easy to learn.  Maybe so, but not for us!

I’m feeling obsolete these days.  There was our computer-learning problems and then my four-year-old granddaughter asking me what an iron is.  Apparently our children’s generation does not iron, at least at our youngest daughter’s house.  Oldest daughter says she never buys anything that needs ironing or dry cleaning.

My plan while Pat is “working” in Las Vegas for four days is to catch up on my ironing.  I’m looking forward to turning on the TV or CD player and enjoying the quiet and repetitious pushing the iron back and forth over a zillion shirts Pat seems to have worn over the last week or so.

According to another granddaughter, there are other things that are no longer even taught in high school.  Grandfather Pat was telling her that he recommended that she take shorthand before she heads off to college next year.  She informed him that there are no shorthand classes at her school; they use their I-Pods to record the lectures.  And no typing class; it is now called Keyboarding.  I can’t feel bad about the demise of shorthand, but it was a major part of my high school days.  Actually, I never used shorthand in the working world.  Luckily my various bosses preferred to write their letters and then give them to me to type.  However, I did need shorthand to pass the test to get the job.

I do love my computer and do not regret the loss of the typewriter.  I can move things around, delete errors and even long-winded prose on my computer.  Yeah, I do that sometimes.  Actually, I still use a typewriter because I have never learned to address envelopes on the computer.

My computer makes my writing Christmas letters easy.  I send out Christmas letters and am a strong defender of them.  I enjoy hearing from old friends and I hope they enjoy hearing from us.  Nothing makes me madder than a signed Christmas card and no personal message of what is happening in their lives.  Of course, at our age, no card at all sends my mind reeling with all sorts of bad things that could have happened.

I want to thank Bracy H. for the kind words about my blogs.  Also, Tim R. wrote to ask if Pat gets letters from folks who write that he has inspired them to try writing themselves and then send their humor writings for him to critique.  Yes, he does and yes, they do.  Are they awful?  Humor writing is harder to do than readers imagine.  Unfortunately, he doesn’t get around to answering their letters quite as often as I’m sure they would like.

2007 was a busy one for Pat with two books out and the resulting book tours and promotion.  Now he is busy working on another Bo Tully mystery and his Outdoor Life columns.  We do want him to continue working on both of those since that is what pays the bills.  Please be patient, in a slow-writing time I am sure he will answer your letters and even critique some of your stories.

A fair warning to all you husbands and lovers:  Valentine’s Day is just around the corner.  Although you may consider it just another day, your sweetheart thinks  it  is a very important day, with a capital “I”.  Patrick is not good at this and has even forgotten our anniversary that is also in February.  He hasn’t lately, but I think his daughters make sure he doesn’t.  I always send our four daughters Valentines.  Sometimes a husband or special friend is not in the picture, but they always get a gift letting them know they are special . 

On Valentine’s Day I plan to make my favourite banana cream pie for my special guy.  My mother was a great pie maker and this was one of my favourites.  She made it all from scratch, no mixes or pre-made pie crust for her.

Mom’s Pie Crust

1 cup lard, salt
2 cups of flour
cold water    

Makes a double crust. (Not specific enough for me.  I’ll use the next recipe.  I’ve given you this pie crust recipe before but it is a keeper.)

Never Fail Pie Crust
St. Joseph’s Catholic 75^th Jubilee 1907-1982 Cookbook, Sandpoint, ID

3 cups flour
1/4 teaspoon salt
1 cup shortening
½ cube margarine (1/4 cup)
3 teaspoons vinegar (I use cider)
1 beaten egg
4 tablespoons cold water

Mix first four ingredients together.  To the beaten egg, add vinegar and water.  Mix into flour mixture.  Roll thin.  Makes one crust.  Bake 475 degrees 8 to 10 minutes.

Vanilla Pudding
Recipe from my trusty Better Homes and Gardens New Cookbook 1968

¾ cup sugar
2 tablespoons cornstarch
1/4 teaspoon salt
2 cups milk
2 slightly beaten egg yolks or 1 well-beaten egg
2 tablespoons butter or margarine
1 teaspoon vanilla

In sauce pan, blend sugar, cornstarch and salt; add milk.  Cook and stir over medium heat till thickened and bubbly.  Cook and stir 2 minutes more.  Remove from heat.

Stir small amount of hot mixture into beaten yolks (or beaten egg); return to hot mixture; cook and stir 2 minutes more.  Remove from heat; add butter and vanilla.  Pour over sliced bananas in baked pie crust.  Serve with whipped cream (no store-bought “real cream” in a propellant container).

Enjoy and I hope someone special thinks of you on your Valentine’s Day.

LOL, Bun 

(LOL means Laugh Out Loud for my non-texting readers.) 

January 1, 2008
We hope you had the best Christmas season ever and all the best for 2008.

Our Christmas was good, but I’m exhausted.  With lots of family members living in the area, there are many places to go and things to do.  I’m ready to sit back and work on the income tax return.  I can’t believe I’m actually ready for that!

Have you got your resolution ready for the 2008?  I asked Pat what his was and he said, “To take the best care of you.”  I told him that was not funny enough for my blog and to work on another.

I decided we’d have a McManus Trivia contest for this month.  There are no prizes, just the knowledge that you are a very smart McManus observer.

Questions:

What does Pat value in a friend?

How big (pounds and inches) was the steelhead Pat caught recently?

What will Pat be doing in Las Vegas in February?

Where is Pat’s favorite fishing hole?

Where is Pat’s favorite place to lay his head?

Who is Pat’s favorite author?

What was the most insane thing Pat ever did?

What does Pat enjoy doing that you would never guess?

What does Pat miss most when he is on the road?

What award has Pat received that he brags about the most?

What is Pat’s favorite breakfast?

Answers:

Pat’s friends must be loyal, honest and have a good hunting car.

Steelhead was 6 pounds and 24” long, but it has grown since then.

Pat will be at the Shot Show in Las Vegas and will sign books for Outdoor Life.

Pat’s all-time favorite fishing hole was in an old Hudson car that had been discarded  in Sand Creek behind his house when he was nine.  He would float a line through the broken windshield into the back seat and catch an Eastern Brook every time.  He says that is the only thing he ever caught in a back seat.

Pat’s favorite place to lay his head and sleep is his own bed.  He hates hotels and traveling.

Pat’s favorite author is Ernest Hemingway.

The most insane thing Pat did was to take his wife and four small children for three months to England.  He said that shows he was mentally ill.  I suppose the second most insane thing was when he took us to Mexico for three months, but that time he only had three kids with him plus me.  I personally thought they were great adventures.  I think our kids did too.

Pat enjoys solving algebra problems.  Who would have thought?

Pat misses “his stuff” when he is away from home

The award Pat brags about the most is a bottle of 101 proof  Eagle Rare Kentucky Straight Bourbon Whiskey he and his team won in a shooting contest at a 1983 Outdoor Writers of American Association get-together with all the outdoor writers present and competing.  We still have the bottle, but it was long ago that the contents went missing!

Pat’s favorite breakfast is venison steak and pancakes.  Second would be smoked kokanee or steelhead on bagels with cream cheese, onions and capers.  Unfortunately, both are very rare at our house.  Another favorite is fried potatoes and onions cooked in an iron skillet over a campfire.  Pat is writing a story right now about his doing just that with his friend Vern.  Look for the story in Outdoor Life sometime this summer.

If you have more questions about Pat, please send them and I will try to answer them another time.

Happy New Year, Bun and Pat

P.S.  No recipe this time.  Who can think about food anyway after all the good and bad (for you) food of Christmas?

 Dec. 1. 2007
Current Events
   Recently in the newspaper it says “Superbug deaths soar.”  The article is about MRSA or methicillian-resistant Staphylococcus aureaus.  Pat tells me he read that two out of three men don’t wash their hands after using the bathroom.  He says that is why he uses his elbows to open restroom doors.
   In our newspaper today there is an item from the Chicago Tribune that says there is a study that finds pear-shaped women and their offspring smarter.  Fat-bottomed girls are more intelligent and their kids are too according to researchers at the University of Pittsburgh and the University of California at Santa Barbara.  Now that made me feel better!

Other Events
   On our most recent book tour for KERPLUNK! We made it home safely after traveling over 1400 miles and three Northwest states.  We narrowly missed bad weather in the Cascade passes and the Columbia Gorge.  The snow finally caught up with us in the Blue Mountains between Oregon and Idaho.  But Pat, being an Idaho boy, knows how to drive in snow and we had no problems.
   Our problems occurred when we saw how fast Boise, ID, has grown since we were there last and all the one-way streets that have resulted.  We did get to everywhere we wanted but some of those 1400 miles were spent finding our way back to the hotel!  Maps we carried had not kept up with the growth and did not show bridges that were now there, etc.  We had to go on faith in the doorman’s excellent directions.
   The huge turnout of Pat McManus fans at Hastings bookstore made up for our getting lost!  We left Boise with warm feelings for the town and its people, especially the doorman at Hotel 43.
   One’s perspective changes with age.  Now I pay much more attention to where the rest areas are.  It can get to be a difficult mathematical problem calculating distance, gas and McDonald stops and capacity. 
   On our first stop we stayed in Leavenworth, WA, at the Innsbrucker Motel.  For those of you that visit Leavenworth, a delightful Bavarian town situated in the foothills of the Cascades, think about staying overnight in the Pat McManus Room.  It has everything Pat would want complete with a mounted bear head over the huge bed.  On the book shelf there’s a set of McManus books to read as you curl up in the cozy chair or bed.  And shopping for the wives is right out the back door!
   They have other rooms if the bear head doesn’t thrill you.  Rooms include the Anne Morrow Lindbergh’s Gift From The Sea, Arthur Conan Doyle’s Sherlock Holmes, Shakespeare’s Midsummer Night’s Dream, Francis Hodgson Burnett’s Secret Garden and the Chocolate Room of the Charlie and The Chocolate Factory.  We stayed in the spacious Shakespeare room this time so I was able to get a good night’s sleep without the bear head menacing over the bed.
   The underwear fairy and some of her associates have been on strike.  Hopefully, it can be resolved soon.  The problem is we cannot locate the top fairy to negotiate.  Our guess is she flew the coop while we were on the road promoting KERPLUNK!  Things are getting desperate!  We may have to bring in management people to take over their duties soon.
   Christmas is fast approaching.  Here are some recipes of my favorite things to make for the holidays.  I count on the kids to make the cookies for sharing.  Several years ago, one our daughters and I put together a book of McManus family recipes for the immediate family.  I think it was about the time I decided the kids should take over Thanksgiving and Christmas traditions.  The recipes are from that book.

               Never Fail Pie Crust

          75^th Jubilee 1907-1982 St. Joseph’s
      Catholic Parish, Sandpoint, ID, Cookbook

      3 cups flour
      1 teaspoon salt (I use ¼ teaspoon)
      1 cup shortening
      ½ cube margarine
      3 teaspoons vinegar
      1 beaten egg
      4 tablespoons cold water

   Mix first four ingredients together.  In a separate bowl, beat egg until lemony, add vinegar and water.  Mix into flour mixture.  Roll thin.  Makes enough for two single crusts and decorations or one double crust.

   The next recipe is from my mother.  I always make it for the holidays because I like it.  It doesn’t have candied fruit.  It is good sliced, with whipped cream topping, toasted with butter or cream cheese, or just about any way as far as I am concerned.  Pat will eat this but doesn’t care that much for raisins.  Whipped cream makes everything better for him though.

                   Boiled Fruit Cake

     1 ½ cups sugar           1 cup lard (I use shortening)
     2 cups boiling water    1 teaspoon cinnamon
     1 teaspoon cloves       1 teaspoon allspice
     1 teaspoon nutmeg      1 cup raisins
     1 cup currants (can substitute more raisins, chopped)

     Mix the above and bring to a boil.  LET COOL and then add:

     2 teaspoons soda        1 teaspoon salt
     1 cup walnuts, chopped  2 ½ cups flour

     Pour into greased and floured loaf pans.  Cook at 350 degrees for about an hour.  This recipe makes more dough than one average-sized loaf pan.  I put the extra in a small loaf pan.  Cool before removing from pan.  You can make this early and freeze.

Aunt Verdi’s Never Fail Divinity never fails.  Pat remembers as a child that scattered around the upstairs bedroom floors were wax paper sheets of puddles of divinity that didn’t set up.  Of course, it never went to waste,  but Pat’s mom couldn’t serve it to guests.  The puddles didn’t bother Pat in the least.  Aunt Verdi was one of Pat’s mom’s sisters.

              Aunt Verdi’s Never Fail Divinity

          (You will need a helper with this recipe.)

Prepare first:

     In a large bowl, beat 3 egg whites until stiff with a couple dashes of salt.

First syrup:

     1 cup sugar with ¼ cup water. Boil until it spins a thread.

Second syrup:

     3 cups sugar, 1 cup Karol light syrup, 1 cup water. Bring to hard ball stage (takes longer to cook than first syrup).

Slowly pour first syrup into beaten egg whites at the same time having someone keep the beater going.  Do same with second syrup.  Continue beating until thick, adding 1/2 teaspoon almond flavoring and 1 teaspoon vanilla.  When it will hold its shape, add 1 cup of nut meats.  Spoon teaspoonsful onto wax paper to cool.  Makes lots for sharing!

   It’s time to get busy.  Use your own family treats or try some of ours.  Just know that the persons receiving your delectables will be delighted with your efforts.
   Have a joyous Christmas and a special new year.  Please say a prayer for our soldiers.  (I am told that Verdi’s divinity ships well.)

All the best,

Bun, Pat and all our family

November 2007
Booksigning Tours

In November Pat and I will be on the road again promoting the new book, KERPLUNK!, a collection of Outdoor Life stories. It will be a short tour compared to those of past years. Look for the schedule on our website or at the end of the November Outdoor Life story.

The long term forecast for the Pacific Northwest is that November will be wet. Not good for us to be driving over the Cascades and through the Columbia Gorge in Oregon. Keep your fingers crossed that wet means rain and not snow and ice.

Pat will not be flying to far away cities for this book. If you have been flying lately, you know the reasons why. Also, Spokane is in a fog belt, or at least the airport is, and winter is not a good time for plans that are not flexible.

I usually go when Pat drives. I enjoy these book tours because I visit all the malls (booksignings are mostly in malls), eat someone else's cooking and leave the beds to be made by someone else. What's not to like?

Pat, on the other hand, enjoys meeting the people but not the grind of getting from one place to another and finding parking spots at the bookstores. People who plan these tours usually forget to leave time for bathroom and food breaks, let alone finding the bookstore and a place to park.

The most extensive tour we ever attempted was to drive from Spokane to Brunswick, Maine and back, signing books along the way. We drove 9,879.3 miles including extra states and Ontario, Canada, with 46 signings at bookstores. All this was to promote THE NIGHT THE BEAR ATE GOOMBAW in 1989.

We had a great time and were only late for two booksignings, in Scranton and Johnstown, PA, because of detours that were not on our trusty Tiptiks from AAA. We arranged most of our own overnight motels and meals with the help of AAA guides except for Chicago and Boston, where the publisher's gal put us into lovely hotels right near downtown and gave us one day off in each of those cities.

At our Boston hotel, we learned from an Italian doorman, when he saw the boxes of books in the trunk of our car, what "Goombaw" meant. He told us it was like a best friend of an Italian man. Here Pat had thought he had made up the name for Crazy Eddie Muldoon's grandmother! The doorman also told us the Italian name for a girlfriend that the wife doesn't know about. But I already had a name for one of those!

We visited a young Amish man, Ben S. Fisher in Conyngham, PA. His brother had been in line in Scranton to tell us Ben was waiting for us at home. When we got to Ben's house, we found him installing a speedometer on his buggy. He gave us a ride with his horse and buggy over to meet his parents. It was a delightful stop.

We ran into snow in Bozeman, MT in June, and mud near Cody, WY, and had to use the 4-wheel drive to drive through. We were in gridlock in Seattle, WA. We were a little worried about that since we were scheduled to go through Chicago and Boston later. There was also a highway patrolman in Wyoming that slowed us down. It's hard not to get a ticket in WY!

Three days into our tour, and as we were driving from Seattle to Portland, we heard that THE NIGHT THE BEAR ATE GOOMBAW was No. 7 on the New York Times bestseller list.

For souvenirs on this trip I bought patches from each state we drove through. My denim jacket is covered with colorful patches. The only shopping I did was while Pat was filling up the car with gas in the stations by the side of the freeway. Patches take up little space and sewing on the patches gave me something to do during signings.

You usually won't see me at signings. When someone recently wrote to ask for a picture of me, I said no. I like to travel incognito. I may be in the bookstore but you won't know it unless you are wondering about the lady looking at the craft or gardening books and not Pat McManus.

One thing I learned is that a Butte, MT, bookstore has the best assortment of craft books. I asked the owner about that and he said that women in Butte don't have much to occupy them during the cold winter months in Montana. They do crafts.

We stopped in South Dakota and visited Wall Drug Store and the Corn Palace. How can you not after seeing their highway signs all across the state and the world? We visited a scenic outlook in South Dakota where it said you could see the Oregon Trail. We couldn't. Maybe since the Oregon Trail is 300 miles away. We think it was a joke?? We did see the Oregon Trail in Oregon by Baker City. There's an interesting place to stop if you have time.

 We had tornado watches in Iowa, severe thunderstorm warnings near Madison, WI and North Dakota and flash flood warnings in Cheyenne, WY.

We saw wild turkeys and elk in MT; deer crossing the highway near O'Hare Airport near Chicago; Canadian geese in ID, MT, and WY; greater and lesser Canada geese and Western Grebe in ID; loons in Brunswick, ME; antelope in WY; Great Blue Heron in WY and OR; prairie dogs in MT; rock marmots in WA; sandhill cranes in NE and mallard in a hotel swimming pool in Denver, CO.

Besides the AAA information, we took lots of extra maps and geology, bird and tree books. I also had a National Geographic article about the Platte River for when we drove through Nebraska. Another book I picked up and read was about the great flood in Johnstown, PA. All this gave us something to look for and expanded our understanding of what we were driving through.

Along the way I took note of various signs and names that tickled me. Here are a few of them. Remember this was back in 1989 and they may not be there anymore.

"Starvation Rest Area" in Oregon

"Spuds McStuff," Pendleton, OR

"Terminal Foods and Meats," Butte, MT

"Wishy Washy Washeria," Themopolis, WY

"Oh My God Road Company," Loveland, CO

"Love One An Udder," American Breeders Assn. Madison, WI

"Jackie's Super Flea," Potterville, MI

"Tourist Trap & Factory Outlet," Bethel, ME

"Tower of Pizza," Johnstown, PA

On the return trip, Pat drove terrible long stretches at a time, as he is always anxious to get back home. By the time we got to Missoula, MT, he had bad cramps in his back and we had to stop at a motel. He stood in a hot shower for an hour and the cramps disappeared. "Let's go," he said. We had only been at the motel slightly more than an hour. "Why don't you go check us out?" Pat said. When I got back to the car, he said, "Boy I'm glad I got you to do that!" Only then did I catch on! He is not an easy person to live with.

It was a great trip. Pat and I enjoyed it all. People were tremendous and turnouts were wonderful. I'm just glad we did it while were were young.

Since I know you are looking forward to my recipe, here it is. I took an International Vegetable Cooking class at the YWCA years ago and the recipe is a bit unusual for cooking your holiday bird, but it is very good. You won't be disappointed. The instructors were a young couple that had a restaurant at the time called The Well. I lost track of them, but I know they are still out there cooking up some yummy meals.

The Well Turkey or Roasted Chicken

Basting sauce: 1 cup hot water, 1 cup soy sauce, 1 cup cooking sherry, 1 tablespoon parsley, 1 tablespoon sage, 2 teaspoons rosemary, 2 teaspoons thyme

Mix and pour over top and cover and bake. Toward end, remove lid and baste turkey and brown. Make gravy from leftover sauce.

 Happy Thanksgiving and we'll look for you in Seattle, Portland, Spokane or Boise!

October 2007
Underwear Fairy, Books and Halloween

   Carolanne Hart of Virginia writes that they have the same Underwear Fairy I wrote about in my September blog. This fairy is more widespread than I thought!
   I finally got Napoleon out of Russia. Remember I was reading "Napoleon's Russian Campaign." Napoleon left his soldiers and went home to France leaving what troops he had left to feign for themselves. While watching the first portion of Ken Burns' "The War" television documentary, I learned that General Douglas MacArthur did the same to his troops on Bataan during World War II. I know a couple of those men who survived the Bataan Death March, and I salute them for the heroes they are.
   I just finished reading the book about Edgar Cayce, "The Sleeping Prophet," by Jess Stearn. Pat brought it home from the library. He was interested in Cayce's thoughts on the "Universal Mind." Tidbits I picked up on my read were, "To lose weight, eat apples only." I can testify that apples fill you up so you don't want to eat anything else. I haven't lost any weight though! The other tidbit was, "Eat three almonds a day to prevent cancer." Well, there you go. No wonder I haven't been losing weight, I've been eating those almonds!
   I don't remember any Halloween stories from my childhood except one time when the kids on our block were confused about what day was Halloween. At fourth grade we confused easily, but we didn't want to miss it so arbitrary chose a night toward the end of October. It worked for awhile until someone pointed out to us that Halloween wasn't for two more days.
   Pat has written about Halloween and we have put a story up on the website for you. Halloween was very different for the boys on Highway 2 then the kids in town.
   And things are different today from when we were growing up. We no longer prepare homemade treats for the tricksters. No candy corn, fudge, cookies, apples or popcorn balls. It all has to be individually packaged, and I don't mean Ziploc bags but sealed packages from a store. I used to make and give popcorn balls but no more except to my own family. That way I am pretty sure I won't be sued for broken teeth and lost fillings.

 OLD-TIME POPCORN BALLS

(From my trusty, old Better Homes and Gardens, 4th printing, 1971)

2 cups granulated sugar
1 1/2 cups water
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/2 cup corn syrup (Karo light)
1 teaspoon cider vinegar
1 teaspoon vanilla
5 quarts popped corn

   Butter sides of saucepan. In it combine sugar, water, salt, syrup, and vinegar. Cook to hard ball stage (250 degrees). Stir in vanilla. Slowly pour over popped corn *, stirring just to mix well. Butter hands lightly; shape into balls. (It will be hot!) Makes 15 to 20 balls.
   *My suggestions. Be sure to remove unpopped kernels before making the syrup. Use butter and not margarine for your hands, sauce pan and platter. I usually put a little melted butter and salt on popped corn before pouring on the syrup.

   Not so good for you probably, but we only have them once a year. Enjoy!

September 2007
Unsolved Mysery:
The Underwear Fairy is at it again. There has been a continuation of this mystery since Pat was very young. She comes often. She deposits clean shorts in Pat’s underwear drawer and clean socks in his socks drawer. Suspects include his grandmother, mother, and even, his wife.

Suspect Fairy #1:

Edith, Pat’s grandmother, was a strong and independent pioneer woman. Her husband fired a rifle over the heads of her and their four children and ran them off the homestead near Sandpoint, ID. Edith said she was happy it was one of his good days. She began cooking at the various logging camps in the area. Edith kept the smallest children with her and the others went to work wherever they could.

Suspect Fairy #2:

Mabel, Pat’s mother, found work at age nine as live-in maid, housecleaner and nanny for the family of the head ranger of the U.S. Forest Service, Sandpoint District. She stayed with them until she graduated from high school. Then she made her way to Lewiston, ID. She wanted to become a teacher. She went into a dormitory at Lewiston Teachers College and started cleaning. Someone noticed her and offered her room, board and tuition for her work. That is how she earned her teaching certification.

Mabel started teaching all eight grades in rural schools. Several years later she married Francis McManus of Bemidji, MN. They had two children; Patricia, and six years later, her younger brother, Patrick. Frank had come home from World War I in bad shape. He had been wounded and also suffered exposure to mustard gas in the trenches of France. He had terrible pains in his abdomen and eventually died in 1941, when Pat was seven.

Mabel worked all this time teaching, mostly in one-room schools where the McManus family lived right in the school. Mabel flunked Pat in the second grade. The reason given on his report card was “too many absences.” Considering that he lived in the school, Pat regards this as a major achievement.

Mabel had purchased a small stump farm of twenty acres, with a house and barn, bordering on Sand Creek. While Pat was quite small, the house burned down. Pat was always blamed for it although he denies being involved. While the house was burning, Mabel turned and said matter of factly, “I’ll build a house over there near those trees.” And she did.

She paid off the loan for the house at $25 a month. She cleared the stumps and grew wheat and hay. The wheat fed the chickens Mabel raised and the hay fed the cows. In those days you could fill up your car with vegetables and fruit for five dollars from Spokane Valley. Mabel canned everything and the root cellar was full; the wood shed was full of chopped wood. They were ready for another winter.

Three years after Frank died, Mabel married Vic DeMers. Vic managed a local grocery store. Then came the terrible years when Vic delivered papers from Sandpoint to Bonners Ferry. These years were terrible because Pat was required to help. There was the drive of sixty miles every night, rain, snow or sleet, then home to milk the cows. Mabel always had a hot dinner waiting for them. She did not teach during the years she and Vic were married. Vic died in 1954 and Mabel went back to teaching.

Pat’s grandmother, Edith, lived her later years with her three daughters, moving every four months or so between their homes. She eventually suffered a stroke and was unable to walk but Pat remembers mostly her good cooking, her love of radio soap operas, and playing gin rummy with her.

Mabel loved card playing, her cigarettes, and a good time. She made great fried chicken by frying it with ½ lard and ½ butter and lots of pepper according to those who know. Pat believes his stepfather died of fried chicken. Mabel’s other specialties were milk toast and gruel. She was busy raising two children, teaching full time and running a working farm with cows, chickens and an occasional turkey or two. Mabel died February 2, 1987 at 86 years old.

Suspect Fairy #3:

Bun (aka Darlene), Pat’s wife, and she’s not talking. No background information available on this woman. She is known to attack weeds without provocation. Consider her armed with hoe and dangerous.

It was only a year ago that Pat even noticed the underwear mystery. Where did that clean underwear come from? How did they get into his drawers when he remembers only tossing them on the bedroom floor?

It is time to get to the bottom of this! (No pun intended.)

August 2007
Dear all:

It is HOT, HOT, HOT here. Pat is saying his feet are finally getting warm from winter and I am lying low. As you can see, heat affects us differently. Pat likes it; I wilt big time.

We are surviving though. I get up early and open up the windows and doors and set up the fans to blow in the cool air and bring temperatures down in the house to low 70's.  Then Pat gets up dressed in long pants and an extra shirt! He even put on a heavy wool sweater last night to watch the news while I am sitting there in sleeveless shirt and shorts!

Pat mentioned yesterday that he would like to go looking for huckleberries. That would be great if it would rain. As it is, I am sure that the huckleberries are long gone, fading away like any sensible thing would do in this heat.

If you are so inclined to do some picking, here is my favorite huckleberry recipe from the out-of-print WHATCHAGOT STEW authored by Patricia McManus Gass and Patrick.

 HUCKLEBERRY MUFFINS

1/2 cup butter or margarine

1 c sugar

2 eggs

1 3/4 cups sifted flour

1  teaspoon baking powder

3/4 teaspoon baking soda

1/4  teaspoon salt

1/4 teaspoon nutmeg

1/4 teaspoon cloves

3/4 cup buttermilk

1 cup huckleberries, fresh or frozen

Cream butter or margarine, sugar, and eggs together. Sir in dry ingredients alternating with buttermilk. Fold in well-drained huckleberries. Pour into greased muffin tins and bake at 375 degrees for 20 to 25 minutes, or until done. Dip in topping. Makes 12 to 15 muffins.

Topping: 1/3  cup melted butter or margarine, 3/4 cup sugar, 2 tablespoons grated orange rind. Mix sugar and grated orange rind together. While muffins are still warm, dip tops in melted butter or margarine, then into the sugar-orange rind mixture.

I just finished a book, SAINT FRANCIS by Nikos Kazantzakis and there is a quote credited to St. Francis that I like quite a bit, "To love means to lose oneself in the beloved." I think this is about right except (and this is a big one) when your beloved is snoring beside you in bed.

I am making this short because I fell this morning and landed on my nose and glasses while pulling some weeds on our hillside. I'm okay except for a skinned nose and busted glasses. I can see without glasses but everything is more fuzzy than usual.

 Thank you for your understanding and support. Stay cool.

Bun (aka Darlene McManus)

July 2007
A recent e-mail requested Pat to write something to be read at the couple's
wedding.  His first reaction was to tell them "DON'T DO IT!" but he changed his
mind with some arm twisting from me.  Then we were asked by the local newspaper
to be featured in their "Love" column.  "No way, our story is not about love, it
is about necessity," we said.

That was when I decided to write about how Pat and I met and married.  Our first
date was on my 18th birthday and set up by my cousin, Bob.  My family had
recently moved in with Bob's family to help run a gas station and motel in
Sandpoint, Idaho.  I was away at college but Bob showed Pat my high school
graduation picture and Pat said, "I'm going to marry that girl."

Cousin Bob built up this big story to peak my interest:  Pat's father owned the
local hardware store.  Pat was a big football star and drove a brand new car. 
Sounds good, right?  As it turned out, Pat's step dad worked at a hardware
store, the car was owned by his parents, Pat was a guard on the local high school
championship football team and, in his own words, "a star!"

Two days after Christmas we had our first date.  Roller skating.  It was a very
cold night with temperatures down to 20 degrees below and the roads were very
icy.  We were coming home by a back way.  I don't know why we were on that road,
but I soon learned Pat often takes the "scenic" route particularly when he is
thinking about something else.  We spotted a car in the ditch.  Pat got out to
help the drunken driver, leaving me warm and cozy in the car with the lights and
heater running.

When he finally got the car and driver on the road, we discovered that our car's
motor wouldn't start.  The battery was dead!  Pat hiked back a mile or two to
the main road and called a taxi, which never showed up.  Then he sneaked into a
friend's garage and "borrowed" a battery and installed it in his car and drove
me home.  It was rather late and my mother was waiting up for me.

The next time I heard from Pat was in a letter sent to my college address.
It was a poem about our freezing adventure; I was hooked.

We went together for two years.  When I finished my business course in Spokane,
I took a job with the hospital in Pullman where I knew Pat's plan was to enroll
in Washington State College.  We were pretty much committed to each other by
that time.

I recommend two years' courtship because in that time we learned a lot about
each other and our reactions to adversity.  My reaction is immediate panic with
much worrying in between.  Pat always smoothed everything out and made it
better.

One time, for example, I had to work Christmas day.  Pat had stayed in Pullman
so we could spend Christmas together.  We could have had turkey dinner at the
hospital, but decided we would go downtown after work to get dinner.  The
Chinese restaurant would be open, or so we thought.  Everything in town was
closed up tight.

I had received a waffle iron for Christmas so we decided to have waffles. 
Nobody had told me about seasoning the waffle iron!  I don't know how many times
I scraped out waffles, crying all the time.  Eventually, someone or something took mercy
on me and we had our waffles for our first Christmas dinner together.

Another time we had to go to Moscow, ID to buy our wedding license, since we
were to be married in Sandpoint, Idaho and were living in Washington state.  We
didn't own a car so we took the bus, got the license and were back in time to
catch the bus for our return to Pullman.  The bus service had been canceled
because of blizzard conditions!  We didn't have any money and knew no one we
could call.  Pat talked a kind taxi driver into taking us the ten miles back to
my place were I must have had some cash to add to money from cashing in the
return bus tickets.  I figured if he still wanted to marry me after those two
incidents, I was in good hands.

It should be mentioned that Pat was starving and that was the "necessity" part
of my story.  His freshman year he had made good money working in construction. 
The summer of his sophomore year he could only find a job in a gas station at minimum
wage.  During the school year Pat worked also at a local laundry while going to
college plus $25 he received as a dependent of a deceased veteran.  He also
cleaned an apartment building to earn his apartment (or hovel as he referred to
it.)  By winter quarter he weighed 140 lbs.  The last meal he had before our
wedding was Vienna sausages straight out of the can.  We figured with my salary
and Pat's jobs we could pay tuition, food, books, etc.  We do all that and saved
$50 a month besides.

We were suppose to be married Saturday, January 30.  The flowers and cake were
ordered, the church reserved.  I had a new dress, Pat, a new suit and tie.  Then
tragedy stuck.  Vic DeMers, Pat's step dad died while shoveling the deep snow at
the family's farm.  The funeral for Vic was on what had formerly been our
wedding day.

We returned to Pullman unmarried.  My boss at the hospital let me sleep on a cot
in his basement because I had already let my apartment go.  Arrangements were made
for us to get married in Moscow since we already had the Idaho marriage license,
at the Catholic church on Wednesday at the children's school mass.  The two mothers
came and my sister, who was going to University of Idaho in Moscow, and Pat's cousin,
Bill stood up for us.

It was a great wedding.  The only thing I remember is the whispers and tittering
of the little children in the background.  I thought it was a good sign. 
Afterwards Bill and his wife, Mary Lou, invited us to breakfast at their home. 
The mothers and Pat and I went back to Pat's (and now, our) apartment and we had
wedding cake and coffee before the mothers left to drive back to Sandpoint.

Pat cleaned the apartment house furnace because that was a daily part of what he
did to earn our apartment.  I don't remember what I did.  In the evening we
walked down to a local restaurant for dinner and then to a Randolph Scott movie. 
Our married life had begun.

I guess there is a love story after all.

All the best,
Bun

June 2007
   Happy Camping!

   The papers are full of ads for camping equipment--tents, sleeping bags, beer--and that signals the opening of the camping season for the Northwest. But not for me! Do you ever think it is 40 degrees at night and probably raining?  It always rains on holiday weekends.
   Many people think that Memorial Day is time to get out the camping gear and head for the mountains, rivers and "The Lake." Where we live in eastern Washington there are dozens of lakes, but they are never referred to by their names.  It is always "The Lake."
   We did a lot of camping when the kids were little. We once took off in June after college classes were done (Pat was a college teacher) and ran into snow in the Blue Mountains. Pat wanted to show us where he had hunted the fall before. Where he drank out of a mud puddle because they had forgotten to bring water. (I guess the coffee wasn't that bad either.) Where he didn't see that 6-point elk, and where he learned that all hunting partners are not equal.
   The Blue Mountain area is lovely, and we found a nice campsite with piles of snow all around. I am sure that was when I declared I would never again camp until it was at least 80 degrees at night!
   Our plan was to go across central Oregon. We knew from other trips that there are some beautiful places even though the area between the mountains of Wallowa and the ocean waves of the coast included a lot of  what could easily be mistaken for desert. Pat likes desert.
   We got a late start the next morning.  As usual Pat fixed a huge breakfast of pancakes and bacon or maybe it was fried onions and potatoes and cowboy coffeecake brought from home. Whatever breakfast was, Pat cooked it.  We had plenty of time; we were on vacation.
   It took us more time to break up camp than we had anticipated and it was dark as we headed into the desert: couldn't see a thing, no signs of lights or human beings, and it was raining hard.
   The two kids were tired, I was tired. We forced Pat to stop. We can sleep in the car, we won't put up a tent; it will be all right. Tomorrow the sun will shine and we can make it to the beach. Pat and I awoke to little kids in the backseat shouting at us that there was something looking in the car window. It was cows! We had overnighted in the middle of a herd of cows. And it was still raining.
   There was more rain as we sloshed into Portland.  Portland, the city of many bridges and never the one we want.  Because of the bad weather we decided to find a motel and get a good night's sleep before heading to the beach.  Maybe the rain would stop!
   No. We headed towards Seattle. Seattle is a nice place. Portland is nice too but it was the matter of getting lost everywhere we tried to go.  There is plenty to do in the rain in Seattle. We could visit the zoo, go to the waterfront, check out the used bookstores. Maybe it wouldn't be raining up there.
   No. I learned right then that you don't let Pat even think he is heading towards home because once he gets the scent you can't deter him from going all the way even if you are in the middle of Nebraska.
   One thing about camping, it makes your home look so good.  There is nothing like coming over that hill and seeing Spokane and Mount Spokane stretching out before you. You know that chair, coffee maker, shower and bed are close by.  The sun was shining.  It had been a great trip!
   We camped many times. Pat who earned money to pay the bills in the summer time when he didn't get paid for two months shot 16 mm film of various events around the area and sold them to television stations, giving us many opportunities for adventure. He shot films of archaeological digs, ice fishing, gold panning, bear, mountain goat and elk trapping, and even that annual story about picking the first buttercup of the spring. You probably recognize some of the films that turned into stories for "Field & Stream" and "Outdoor Life."
   Needless to say, our grownup children still love to camp and are planning an outing of all the families in "warmer" weather.  Something their mother taught them.
   Have a safe June.  Think of us at home in our warm house while you are there camping in the rain and remember to take cowboy coffeecake for when you can't get the campfire going.

COWBOY COFFEE CAKE 
Better Homes and Gardens NEW COOK BOOK, 4th printing 1971

2 1/2 cups sifted all-purpose flour
2 cups brown sugar
1/2 teaspoon salt
2/3 cup shortening
2 teaspoons baking powder
1/2 teaspoon soda
1/2 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1/2 teaspoon ground nutmeg
1 cup sour milk
2 beaten eggs

Oven 375 degrees.

Mix flour, sugar, salt, and shortening till crumbly; reserve 1/2 cup. To remaining crumbs, add baking powder, soda, and spices; mix well. Add milk and eggs; mix well.  Pour into 2 greased and floured 8 x 1 1/2" rounds; top with reserved crumbs. Bake at 375 degrees for 25 to 30 minutes.  Serve warm (or cold).  Makes 2 cakes.

May you have many adventures and many good memories,

Bun (aka) Darlene

May 1, 2007
   Greetings from our house!

   All is right with the world. Pat made it home from the last part of his book tour. He is tired and says he will never do that again! However, when the next book comes out (KERPLUNK in November), I am sure he will remember all the good fans turning out for AVALANCHE and he'll be off again.
   The bedroom project I wrote about in my last blog was finished with forty minutes to spare. With enormous help from third daughter and her husband...let's rephrase that...I helped third daughter and her husband remove old wallpaper, prep and paint our bedroom including the trim and doors. We finished at ten minutes to seven and Pat's plane touched down at 7:30 p.m. The bed was made, the clocks set, books back on the nightstand when he walked in the door.
   And supper was on the table! I baked chicken, a salad and his favorite bread pudding. His mother was not a good cook so anything I do seems great.

MY MOM'S RICE OR BREAD PUDDING RECIPE

   Break up stale bread into 1" cubes in casserole suitable for putting in oven.  Add raisins, sliced apples or fruit.  Beat together:  2 eggs, 2/3 cup sugar, 1/4 teaspoon nutmeg, 2 cups sugar.  Pour over bread to cover.  Bake 350 degrees for 45 minutes.  It is done when table knife blade comes out clean.

   Pat likes his pudding with whipped cream on top. It is a delicious way to use up stale bread.  I have never made it with rice so I don't know if you use cooked or uncooked.
   The newly painted bedroom looks great but just down the hall is an eyesore, "The Office" with its dirty yellow-striped wallpaper and blue ribbon bows on top edge.
   A few years ago it was decided that Pat would move into my office and his office would return to the guest bedroom. With a little trepidation...Would this work out? Would I disturb him? Would he disturb me? The move was made. After all, he has been retired for many years and we are together constantly.
   Along the short wall of "The Office" is Pat's domain. First comes the electric typewriter and table.  Next a desk made from three 2-drawer file cabinets and a door for the desk top.  On top of the door is a telephone, lamp, computer and printer. On the wall above the makeshift desk is  pink foot and handprints (ceramics from one of our grandchildren), a clock and one of my favorite Outdoor Life illustrations done by Daniel Vasconcellos showing Pat and his fish-netting expertise. There is also a huge corkboard which hold a calendar, drawings from grandchildren, schedules, telephone numbers, and numerous 3x5 cards with information on them that he has no idea about anymore. A 4-drawer file cabinet topped with travel brochures and labeling machine completes his wall.
   The end of the room is French doors where we could go out into the backyard but seldom do. It gives us a great view of robins looking for supper in the grass or a stray cat passing through after a visit to the catnip plant or the startled look of a deer peering in.
   The opposite wall is my space, filled with file cabinets, computer, printer, copier, fax, shredder, bookcase holding reference books and anything Pat doesn't want on his desk.
   The fourth wall is closets which hold Pat's traveling clothes and suitcase, office supplies and my sewing projects.
   There you have "The Office." A lot of time is spent in here. It works for us as long as I can keep ahead of the paper flood.
   I do enjoy a time away from Pat though, whether it is a fishing trip or a book tour. It gives me the opportunity to do that project, not cook, and to watch the television shows I want. You ladies understand about such things. We love our hubbies, but absence makes the heart grow fonder.

All the best, Darlene (aka) Bun

P.S.  The man who takes care of our sprinkler system told me that his brother-in-law noticed that THE BLIGHT WAY was dedicated to "Darlene." "Who's that?" he asked. Well, next time Pat will have to say "To my wonderful (or loving, lovely, precious, darling--he can fill in the adjectives) wife, Darlene" so people will know my real name, instead of just "Bun".

March 27, 2007
   Dear All,
   Pat is off on a book tour to promote Avalanche, his second Bo Tully mystery.  I’m at home preparing to tear the house apart.  I do this every time he leaves.  This year my project is painting the bedroom.  Pat hates chaos and being without a bedroom and your own bed qualifies for a big one.
   The income tax return is done.  Pat doesn’t want to know anything about taxes or even income.  I tell him the tax return is done.  Pat, "How much do we have to pay?"  Me, "You don’t want to know, but we have enough to pay it."  Pat, "Good."
   There was an article in the latest AAA magazine stating the New Royal Bath in Bath, England, features two bathing pools fed by mineral-rich hot springs.  You can thank the McManus family for putting a bug in someone’s ear.  Back when the kids were young (1972), we were all traveling around England as part of what they call a  "holiday."  Our little group of four children ranging from two to sixteen plus Pat and me is hardly a "holiday."  There we were in line to purchase tickets to enter the Old Roman Baths.  The kids were hopping up and down.  "Ask if they rent swimsuits," they told their Dad.  Pat, being the good and distracted father, did.  If looks could kill, we would have been goners.  Pat later said, "And the Romans didn’t even bother to clean up the place!"
    It is spring at our place with all the bulbs up and cheering the winter-weary.  It is time to be thinking about Easter.  This year for the first time we are turning over the Easter egg hunt and dinner to the younger generation.  In years past Pat has concocted some fantastic hunts that included using the telescope upstairs to focus on a single egg hidden in the yard below; riddles that lead the child to an egg on the boat dock and fishing contests to retrieve the big and small children (two to 50+) Easter prizes.  Pat is such a good hider of eggs that throughout the summer I find plastic eggs throughout my flower beds.
   Last Easter I had the idea to have everyone bring their favorite childhood recipe for a potluck.  It was a total disaster!  I think our taste for greasy foods has changed.  The only thing that was still good was my spaghetti sauce and Erin’s purchased pizza (her food of choice as a teenager).  Scalloped Potatoes and Little Pigs, the recipe lost forever fortunately, didn’t make the winner column.
   Kelly brought Vegetable Layered Salad, the recipe from Whatchagot Stew by Patricia McManus Gass (Pat’s sister).  This book is out of print, but it still has some great recipes.  Here is the one for Kelly’s salad.
 
        1/2 pound bacon
        1 package (10 ounces) frozen peas
        6 cups of lettuce or other greens, torn into bite-size pieces
        1 cup sliced green onions
        1 cup diced celery
        1/2 cup diced green pepper (optional)
        1/2 cup sliced fresh mushrooms
        2 cups shredded Cheddar cheese
        1 cup mayonnaise
        3/4 cup sour cream
        2 tablespoons sugar

    Cook bacon until crisp, drain and crumble.  Pour hot water over peas in sieve just until thawed, then rinse with cold water and drain well.  Using a bowl with a tight-fitting lid, layer the lettuce, onions, celery, green pepper, peas, mushrooms and Cheddar cheese.  Mix the mayonnaise and sour cream and frost top of the salad, then sprinkle lightly with sugar.  Sprinkle crumbled bacon over the top.  Cover tightly and refrigerate for 10 to 12 hours.  Toss before serving.  Serves 12.
   
   Here’s a quote from Paul Graves’ Elder Care column that was in our daily newspaper recently:
"Remember, elders are more valuable than the younger generation.  We have silver in our hair, gold in our teeth, stones in our kidneys, and lead in our feet, plus we’re loaded with natural gas!"

All the best, Bun

March 1, 2007
     Dear All,
    You may wonder about the picture of the mountain goat at the top of the page. This drawing was done by Anne Heitner for a calendar we did years ago. The goat is appropriate for me for two reasons: I am a Capricorn and you can ask our son-in-laws about the other.
    And you probably noticed that Pat saw I was having so much fun with this blog that he has started his own.
    I want to thank you for your e-mails. E-mailer Ray asked, "Out of all your camping trips, which one is the most memorable and why?" I suppose the most memorable camping trip was my first up Pack River in Idaho with Pat. I had never been camping before. It rained the whole time! I am sure Pat has written about it. There were no Yeti or Sasquatches, only a new bride wondering what she had gotten herself into.
    I do not hunt or fish although I have accompanied Pat fishing several times. Instead of fishing I devote my time to looking at the incredible scenery around me, trying to take that perfect picture, or identifying birds, trees or whatever. During the Cuban crisis I was very interested in learning all the edible plants and have continued my interest in all plants.
    This month’s blog topic is "Books We Are Reading."
   I am reading Napoleon’s Russian Campaign by Count Philippe-Paul De Segur. Pat recommended it. I am enjoying it. The book was written by an aide-de-camp on General Bonaparte’s staff during the French invasion of Russia. Books I just finished were by Janet Evanovich. They were given to me by our oldest daughter for Christmas. I called her and said they were a bit "raw" for me, but after reading some more I was hooked. Evanovich"s books are very popular with the Barnes & Noble staff where Kelly works.
    I read a book from cover to cover. Pat doesn’t. In the bedroom on the floor are: Women in Love by D. H. Lawrence and The Writings of Ralph Waldo Emerson; on the bedstand, The Fatal Shore by Robert Hughes; on the dresser, The Russia House by John leCarre and The Narnian, The Life and Imagination of C. S. Lewis by Alan Jacobs; in the bathroom, two of The Week (our favorite news magazine); in the family room, The Original Sudoku, The Education of Henry Adams, Vol. 1, An Autobiography; The Complete Idiot’s Guide to Learning German (I got that for him for Christmas!) and The Pocket Idiot’s Guide to German Phrases. We won’t go into the library because the table is piled high with books recently pulled down from the shelves to check on something or the other.
    We both enjoy books and reading. Pat built shelves in a room designated as "the library" when we first moved in. They are overflowing. More shelving or fewer books is in order.
    I’ll leave you this month with a quote from The Week’s story on poet Frederick Seldel’s latest  collection, Ooga-Booga: "A naked woman my age is just a total nightmare." No word on his age, but has he looked at a naked man his age??
   
All the best, Darlene (aka) Bun

February 2, 2007
     It's official. Punxsutawney Phil has declared that we will have an early spring. Pat says it is the first time in years that he hasn't wanted to shoot the little thing. We don't have ground hogs in Spokane where we live; we have rock marmots, but not a whole lot of faith is put in their predictions.
    This weekend we were to have celebrated our 53rd wedding anniversary with a night in a fancy Spokane hotel with a fancy dinner in their fancy restaurant. However, no such luck. I'm down with something evil and plans have been cancelled. When you reach our age it seems that planning goes out the window and spontaneity becomes the key word.
    Our wedding was suppose to have been January 30, but instead we had a funeral for Pat's step dad, Vic DeMers. Vic had been up shoveling off the roof preparing for our big event when he had a heart attack. The following Wednesday we were married in Moscow, ID during a children's mass. It was quite nice actually. Present besides the school children were my sister, Shirley, Pat's cousin, Bill and his wife and our two mothers. That evening Pat and I went out to dinner and to a Randolph Scott movie. I should have known right then there would be some future problems with WESTERNS. Pat loves them. I don't. He had two nights of westerns this past week when I lay in bed too sick to complain. He says he has his fill for a while anyway.
    Well, there you have my first attempt at a "blog." Pretty good since I haven't the faintest idea what a "blog" is. I will try to do this once a month until which time Pat declares he will take over or I am booed off the planet.
    Please send questions (probideaux@aol.com) and I will either choose to answer them or not.

All the best, Darlene (aka) Bun