Heritage Pie

A long lost cousin I've reconnected with on Facebook posted a scan of an old recipe she found recently. Apparently she has been sorting through things and eliminating clutter, just as I have been doing.  Sorting recipes always slows me down because I have way too many of them and I try every year to find a way to get them more organized and get rid of duplicates. She was having a problem too, but it was more because some needed to be rewritten before being tossed. And how do you toss away a piece of paper with your own Grandmother's handwriting on it, even if it is damaged by oil and time? Such things tug at the heart.

The recipe was for a Butterscotch Pie and for some reason I downloaded it. Probably because I have my own fond memories of Vera Coughlin.

 It wasn't easy to read, so I tried running it through some editing software, but all I really succeeded in doing was to get the yellow out of the paper and changing the size. I printed off my best effort and went about trying to decipher the words that had nearly faded away. I had just rolled out the last of my Christmas pastry and needed a filling for a single crust pie. I decided this was a good time to try this heritage pie.

As I began to mix the ingredients together, I was suddenly aware that the dear lady had not spelled out tablespoon and teaspoon as even tbsp and tsp. I had to hope that "T" was tablespoon and "t" was teaspoon and that it wasn't just a quirk of her handwriting that caused her to capitalize one of the T's and not the other.

There was another part of the recipe that confused me. It looked like she wanted me to add the warm milk to the egg yolks, but if you've ever made lemon pie filling from a package, you know you would add the egg yolks to the mixture in the pot, along with some of the cold water, before adding the hot liquid. I decided to do this the same way.

In the end, it all worked out, and I will write out the recipe in a manner I can understand for future reference.

Butterscotch Pie
1/4 cup butter
1 cup brown sugar
5 tbsp flour
pinch of salt
1 tsp vanilla
2 egg yolks (reserve the whites for meringue)x
2 cups of milk, divided

Cream together butter, brown sugar, flour, salt and vanilla in a pot.
Beat egg yolks with a 1/2 cup of the milk and stir into sugar mixture until well blended. Heat the remaining 1 1/2 cups of milk until it's hot but not boiling and pour into the pot with the rest of the ingredients.  Cook over medium heat, stirring constantly. When bubbles break the surface, cook for another 30 seconds. Pour into cooled 9" pie shell and top with meringue.

Meringue
Beat 2 egg whites until soft peaks form.
Gradually add 1/4 cup of white sugar and beat on high for 2 minutes until stiff peaks form.

Forever Young..........At Heart, at Least

I had a milestone birthday this week.  The government considers you a senior citizen when you turn 65, but we all know you aren't old at that age. Turning 70, however, somehow makes me feel a little older.

I wanted you all to picture grandmothers from your family albums.  Not digital pictures, but real photos from long ago. Mature women used to look older than they do now, I hear.  I wanted to point out my generation isn't aging as fast.  But when I stopped to think about it, those women didn't have today's modern conveniences, and basically wore their bodies out doing things we can now push buttons to get done.

I'm going to show you pictures from my own albums.  I can't show you my own mother at my age, as she never made it this far.  My grandmothers though, both made it to about 86.

My father's mother would definitely present the picture I had in mind to show how much the aging process of women had changed since then.  The thing is, she had a stroke, and spent years in a wheelchair, in a hospital before nursing homes.  She could get up and walk behind the chair, and go play cards with other resident patients to pass the time.  Later, when moved to a home, the facilities didn't permit her to move around as much. Sitting ages your body. Not trying to move ages you faster.  Lack of interaction ages the mind.

My other grandmother had cancer, and the treatments she underwent were life changing, but she wasn't one to let that stop her.  She lived another 20 years just because, as my Mother put it, she was too stubborn to lie down.

So, as I thought of all this, I came to realize, there may have been reasons why the women looked older back then.  Hard work, illness, and lack of mobility can all manage to wear on us, and age us no matter what year we were born in.

My Mom often wondered when I'd dress my age, and I tried to tell her I was.  The way we dress has changed over the years too.  And while I would never feel comfortable wandering the streets in pajama bottoms, or leggings like some my age would, I probably wear jeans more often now than at any other point in my lifetime.

I discovered in my early 40's that who you were in your youth never really changes much as you age. You may gain weight, grow wrinkles and change hair colour (on purpose or not) but the being inside that body is still the same.  Our spirit stays young and we don't see ourselves as old as we are. We just feel the same as we always did, but we notice those around us are aging.  Have you ever gone somewhere and looked around and thought that the others there were old, only to have to face the truth that they were the same age as you were?  That sort of thing has been happening to me for the past 20 years!

I was out playing ball with my grandsons last week.  They had a couple of tires stacked in my driveway, and we were basically shooting hoops.  I know one of my grandmother's would happily have been out there with us, if it had been in her time. I guess that means we aren't really aging less quickly now, we're just healthier.

I've mentioned that I have acquired a knee problem this past year.  My mind still had me thinking  I was young enough to go on with life as I always had, but Mother Nature has a way of slowing us down, ready or not.  So, while I was happily out playing with the kids last week, a little visit to the knee specialist this week has me limping terribly at the moment, and probably looking rather decrepit to the kids. Like I said, you age when you can't move, and you age fast. Excuse me while I get up and do what I still can.  Like my grandmother, I'm not ready to lie down.  I'm going to try my best to outrun aging, even on a bum knee.

A Grandma By Any Other Name ....

I raised an autistic child and was well aware that he often took the things I said literally.  I guess I forgot that other small children can be equally confused by our choice of words.

My oldest grandson will soon be eight years old.  He came to visit, and after spending some time playing with his Grandfather, he sat with me for a while.  He asked me, "Nana, why don't I have a Grandmother?" 

I was shocked, but informed him he did, in fact, have two Grandmothers. (well three if we want to get technical, but let's not just now).  He said, "No I don't." And I said, "I'm your Grandmother, and Budda is your other Grandmother."  Instantly I saw the problem.  While the other one was Gramma in the beginning, the wee one couldn't pronounce that and one day it came out as Budda, and that has stuck. Me, I've always been Nana because I had a Nana and a Nanny myself while growing up.  So, while this grandson knew his Mother had both a Grandmother and a Grandfather, known to him as GG and GGPaw, he though he just had a Grandfather and no Grandmothers.

After being straightened out on this matter, he sat quietly for a while thinking about it. I guess he got it straight because when he spoke again, he said, "So, my mommy had me and my brother, and you had Daddy and Uncle Steve, right?"  I assured him that this was so.  I think he was relieved to discover that he did actually have Grandmothers, even if he calls us something else.  He wasn't so deprived after all.  Grandmothers are special people you know.