When the topic of one’s personal faith journey comes up, mine was irrevocably entwined with two of the well known and powerful Mennonite orators of the day, George R. Brunk II and Myron S. Augsburger. I once got into trouble with the former (now deceased) and am still on friendly speaking terms with the latter. Both held a commanding presence in the Mennonite church of eastern U.S. of the 50s and 60s when I was growing up. I’ll share my intersections with both of these men in a three-part blog.
How I got in trouble with the dean of the seminary
… and I was never even a seminary student, and that was part of the problem. All through my years at Eastern Mennonite College except for the year I lived abroad, I was an active part of the Weather Vane (student newspaper) staff, which served as my practicum in journalism. Everyone needs a place to connect on a college campus and while our college was not big, the writers/photographers/designers who made up the staffs of our newspaper, literary magazine and yearbook was where I hung out.
So I was asked to write a descriptive essay on Eastern Mennonite Seminary for the college yearbook in 1975. The seminary was part of the EMC campus and community, yet its own entity on the edge of campus, even then. The yearbook that year attempted to be an artsy-fartsy attempt to be literary and cool, not just the same old yearbook with pictures and descriptive captions but more of an impressionistic feel for life on campus. That was what the editors described it, at least the way I remember it, and that’s what I wrote about the seminary in a half page essay to accompany a dark, foreboding-looking photo of the seminary building.
In those days not very many women went to seminary. There were only two that year, which probably represented a real growth spurt. I was starkly aware of my gender as I walked through the seminary building as I attempted to get inspired for my essay.
Here is part of the description I wrote in the 1974-75 Shen: (I think I was trying to write like T.S. Eliot in “Lovesong of J. Alfred Prufrock”) or some of the other poets and literature giants I was studying at the time as an English major. I have to resist the urge to edit myself now.)
Cloistered on the southwest perimeter of campus, the Eastern Mennonite Seminary squats, nor more or less imposing than the other brick edifices.
“Reserved,” a sign tells me. “The place reserved, or merely a parking space?” I wonder.
Inside, mingling with the somber coats and hats—a she-coat; I match it to the secretary.
In the room the people come and go, pattering the plastic walk-mat …”
But the part of the essay that got me in trouble was mentioning my awareness of my own legs in this densely male enclave as I tried to depict with words the atmosphere in the seminary. I wasn’t being disrespectful: I knew the scholars were working hard at a level far beyond mine but also had “lives” which made them human like me, which is what I tried to touch on:
Burrowing into Greek, Hebrew, Pastoral Care, Systematic Theology and Early Christian Thought, scholars lose themselves in individual study carrels. Here a photo of a baby, there a stale Styrofoam coffee cup. They man their carrels and barely stir as my female legs prowl into their den.
I ended the essay reflecting on the pleasant and inviting chapel atmosphere where there were cushions and hymnbooks in a holy hush. All in all, to me it was a fair description–for a surface look that any stranger walking in might have seen or observed.
But it was NOT taken that way by seminary staff and especially not the Dean. My face grew hot with shame and embarrassment as I read a long angry letter on the Opinion Board (I do not recall who wrote it) in the campus center not long after the Shen was published. How could any underclassman think they were representing what actually goes on in the studies of a 2-3 year graduate program without interviewing or getting information from the administrators or faculty there? How could this short description possibly do justice to the seminary program?
In hindsight and with many years of “maturing,” I certainly can understand the objections. I don’t remember now whether the yearbook editors offered a rebuttal on the opinion board or decided to just “let it go.” I do know that the upshot was that the following year, the seminary published its own yearbook, not just a page or small section in the underclassman year book over which it had no control.
That was then. Fast forward a few years, after I had been working in a sister Mennonite institution, then called Mennonite Broadcasts Inc., a few years. My offense to the seminary dean occasionally pricked my conscience, or at least my desire to do as the scripture tells us in Romans 12:18, “As far as it lies within you to leave peaceably with all.” This was the manifesto my father taught me from little up. I did not like the feeling of having an unsettled issue with George R. Brunk II. I wanted to find harmony. He was, after all, the evangelist who had once inspired me to walk the long saw dust trail, literally, in the days when many of my peers were also doing the same thing.
In the end, I don’t think I did much damage to the overall fine reputation of the seminary: pictured above is the current Eastern Mennonite University president Loren E. Swartzentruber, who was in seminary during those days.
To be continued.
The sawdust trail at a Brunk revival in Indiana, conducted by the “Brunk Brothers” 1952. In my next post I’ll tell you which of my relatives is found in this wonderful photo and why I felt a special need to “make things right” with George R. Brunk II.
Shen Photo credits: I cannot see that our yearbook–(are any yearbooks?) copyrighted nor were the photos in the 1975 volume credited to specific photographers but are listed as follows (many of whom were fine friends of mine at the time): Dave Kraybill, J. Marcos Hostettler, Marian Eberly, Jim Mast, Jim Bishop, Jon Byler, Ken Pellman, Keith Gingerich, Deb Stoltzfus, Tim Landis. If anyone remembers who took the photos which illustrated the seminary essay, I’d love to know!
***
Did you ever get in trouble with authorities at your school? Did you make peace?
This is probably one of the first recipes many kids try to make which is kind of surprising because while the ingredients are just three and super simple, you are basically making a candy and as such there are a lot of things that can go wrong go wrong go wrong. Or a lot of ways a young child could easily burn themselves but I know I started making them when I was likely 10-12.
But the beauty of these babes is that they mix up so kickin’ fast. We had a potluck the other day at work which I had kind of forgotten about and whipped these suckers together as I was getting ready for work in less than 10 minutes, maybe 15 until they were cut into squares.
And they are relatively low in calories, with the nutrition of hey—breakfast cereal! Fortified, a bowl of cereal (1 ¼ cups) supply 25 percent of a day’s needs in Vitamin A, C, D, E; 60 percent of iron and a bunch of other vitamins/minerals. Extrapolated to the proportion of actual cereal used in the squares, 2 large squares might have that amount of vitamins. Consumed with a glass of milk: breakfast. Not that I’ve ever done that, but just saying. They also contain a lot of sugar but maybe no more than a kid would pour on a bowl of cereal when you’re not looking.
But Kellogg’s and the store brands no longer automatically put the recipe on the box, and often it is not on the bag of marshmallows either, so when I made these last week, I actually did have to look up the proportions online.
Rice Crispy Squares
6 cups cereal
40 marshmallows (regular size—not tiny, not the huge kind)
4 Tablespoons butter
Melt butter in skillet on top of stove, low to medium heat. When all melted, add the marshmallows, and stir until they are all melted. Do not let butter brown and do not melt too fast. Remove butter and melted marshmallows from heat. Immediately stir cereal into the pan. Will become very stiff. If making with a child, let the child stir until it becomes too hard for them.
Spread mixture into 13 x 9” pan sprayed with vegetable oil cooking spray. Using scraper or wax paper, press down into pan as evenly as possible. Let cool a minute or two, then cut into squares. Makes about 24.
Hint: If you are taking the whole pan to a potluck or other event but still want to taste them while they’re fresh, save enough mixture to spread into minipan.
About 100 calories a piece.
The things that can go wrong if you don’t work quickly and have marshmallows and cereal measured out ahead of time are (and I’ve made all these mistakes):
1) the butter or margarine cooks too long and turns brown
2) the marshmallows are put on two high of heat and the mixture hardens like candy as you spread them out in the pan
3) you wait too long to spread them out in the pan and the mixture becomes an unmanageable mess
4) too much stuff remains in the skillet and you waste a lot of cereal/ingredients
***
When did you first learn to make rice crispy squares? Or what do you remember making first as a child?
***
There’s a whole chapter on packable treats that supply decent nutrition in my book Whatever Happened to Dinner? The chapter is called “Eating on the Run–Taking Charge of ‘Fast’ Food” and it includes Jodi Nisly Hertzler’s chart for helping kids pack their own school lunches using one item from these groups: proteins, grains, fruits/veggies, and “treats.” Find the book here:
Two valley girls are doing us proud here in the Shenandoah Valley as March Madness gets serious. If we can’t have spring yet, at least we can enjoy great basketball.
The two are seniors Kirby Burkholder and Nikki Newman playing for James Madison University, who have played together 8-9 years all through high school and now college. One hails from my husband’s hometown, Bridgewater, and both went to his alma mater high school, Turner Ashby. “TA” for short or “Trashby Ashby” depending on who was trash talking them. One of my daughters has as her alma mater JMU so we actually went to Burkholder and Newman’s last home game at JMU on a recent cold and rainy Sunday afternoon, enduring a 30 minute wait without umbrellas to catch a shuttle bus back to our parking lot after their brilliantly played rout. Drenched but glad now we made the effort.
How much women’s basketball, my first true love in sports, has changed since the days I began interscholastic competition as a lowly 7th grader! And yes, I remember playing half court b-ball, when only “rovers” could run end-to-end on the court with guards just playing on one end and forwards on the other because women were judged too unfit to all run the length of the court. Or maybe the purpose was to slow down the game, I don’t know.
My junior high 7th and 8th grade teams in Middlebury, Ind. I’m 2nd row, third from left. Yes, we played in white blouses. Blouses. So we’d match. (Some who forgot white blouses have on their gym uniforms here, including my bestest friend, Martha front row, far right.)
Today I probably enjoy watching football just as much, but how special it is to glory in the quick tempo and grace of a fast game of basketball. My sisters actually wore skirts to play (not just in gym but with other schools) but by the time I was playing we got to wear shorts. Worldly. We egged the coach into buying shorter shorts for uniforms because “it feels horrible to play with shorts reaching your knees,” I remember some girls saying. That’s funny now.
Pert was short but she knew how to jump, lifting her way above outstretched hands on our high school team. It also helped that to me, she was fearless.
My glory years were three years of high school, two of which I got to play with my sister, Pert, who went on to a significant career playing in college and then coaching at both levels. She even made it onto an exhibition team that played in Asia as a Christian outreach at the time. Pert, even though she was never more than 5’2” tall, was grace and spirit personified on the basketball court, charging ruthlessly through a knot of girls under the basket, somehow “slopping” (her words) the ball into the bucket. And drawing the foul from an opposing player. She was a great outside shot too and would have aced many 3-pointers in her day if they had counted that way. My oldest sister Nancy played too but I didn’t get to play with her. We sisters were all on the short side, me the tallest female if I stretched to 5’6″. My brother, the tallest of us around 6′ never played on a team. Go figure.
Our high school team (not very uniform). We wore “pinnies” with numbers for games. Pert on far left, middle row, long hair; me on far right, back row, long hair.
I remember especially one game when our small Bethany Christian school team traveled about an hour and a half away and some of the first string couldn’t go, or were sick, or whatever. When someone got into early foul trouble, I was number 6 off the bench that night, and I frankly wasn’t in shape enough to playing full court basketball for 32 minutes straight, doubling over at one point feeling like I was going to retch right there on the basketball floor. I motioned to my sister that I was about to puke and she got the coach to take me out. I think we won, no thanks to me. Usually I just played B-team, which is all the further I got in college too. But I played for fun. In Indiana, November was my favorite month because that’s when our season got under way. I loved playing the game and couldn’t wait for each opportunity.
I played for three years of high school until my family moved to north Florida where I was disappointed to learn there was no girls basketball in our area at the time. What? It was inconceivable to me, and even the boy basketball games played second fiddle to football, the only sport where big numbers of fans came out.
My team at Eastern Mennonite College (now University), 1972. I’m #33 next to the coach with her hair in a bun and likely a homemade dress. We played JMU that year.
When I got to college at Eastern Mennonite University, the cross town university to JMU, the women’s team at that time still actually competed against JMU. I remember playing in Godwin Hall and even then it was a ridiculous mismatch, a game JMU (then Madison College) agreed to simply because it was a sure win and an easy trip. But we were proud because the men’s team would never have played against Madison at that time, so we had one up on the guys. Right? And now I can say I played against JMU. Whoo Woo.
These days children have to start playing basketball and other sports in earnest by the time they reach third grade or maybe even earlier to have a chance of ever playing high school or college sports (but that’s another story and gripe). I guess that’s how kids like Burkholder and Newman and all of their colleagues play so crazy-skilled, fast, and awesome. Last night, at the point Gonzaga moved briefly ahead, Burkholder took over the game for her team, in my opinion, and made sure JMU stayed in the hunt. (Photos and run down here.) Let me hasten to say the strength of this team is their balance and tremendous team playing abilities more so than any one-or-two-woman show. Various players have stepped up during various games to give them a 29-5 record this year and I owe a shout out to at least two more players who will carry the JMU women forward after Burkholder and Newman graduate, junior Toia Gibbets (Norfolk, Va./Lake Taylor) and sophomore guard Precious Hall (Tallahassee, Fla./Maclay School). Somewhere along the line, north Florida women must have really started playing basketball!
Go JMU women. You gave a clinic last night on playing your hearts out and it just looked like you wanted this one a little more badly than the other team. And gave your hometown something to cheer for on this cold March night when more snow is predicted by Tuesday.
(Huddle: Anyone got a good joke to tell? I’m #34 here.)
But the real glory of those days was not any game won or individual records but the camaraderie and fun of being part of a great group of girls and women who loved playing the game. Traveling, especially in college, to schools throughout Virginia and now knowing just where many private women’s colleges like Sweet Briar and Longwood and Radford and many others were tucked away in small picturesque communities. It was eating those packed lunches on vans (low budget teams) and occasionally eating out and huddling before and after games and joking during time outs, when the coach ran out of things to tell us, “anybody gotta a good joke?” On the ESPN broadcast last night, I heard one player express much the same thought about the fun and joy of team camaraderie and thought, good for them. They’ve still got it right. And that’s something to keep in mind as parents, players and coaches.
Enjoy the ride.
***
Did you play a team sport in middle, high school, or college?
What sport to you enjoy the most now?
Do you think kids are playing for fun today or because their parents are hoping for stars or scholarships for their kids?
Do you remember exactly where and when you first tasted certain foods? My lasagna blog post was like that. (Sometime I’ll tell about the scary first time I ever had pizza at a friend’s home, which I could barely eat.)
Broccoli salad was one of those memorable firsts but I liked it immediately. It was my first year out of college and I was living with a roommate, Mary Ellen Witmer, and we drove to Lancaster Pa., to visit one of her long time friends. We had Sunday dinner (I think) at the home of her friend, Joyce (now) Thomas, and she fixed broccoli salad. I don’t remember anything else about that meal but the salad. Weird.
The original recipe which Joyce gave me did not include all the delicious options that the food editors for my book, Whatever Happened to Dinner added, which you’ll see below. (And don’t miss the special drawing I’ll mention at the bottom for a free copy of a different cookbook.)
But the best thing about this recipe is that my husband, while not a big fan of cooked broccoli in general (although he’ll eat it), loves this broccoli salad.
Some guys (gals too?) will eat anything with bacon in it, right? Unless that’s not your thing, and this is perfectly good if you’ve of any vegetarian bent, without a sniff of bacon. There are of course lots of other variations on the web–I’m linking to this one because this cook remembers the first time she tasted broccoli salad too. As others have pointed out, this salad has crunch, sweet, sour, nutty, and cool crispness.
I love this as a good basic alternative to tossed salad or cole slaw, my other two go-to’s.
Joyce Thomas’ Broccoli Salad
1 large head of broccoli, or several crowns, chopped (substitute half cauliflower, if you like)
1/3 cup raisins or dried cranberries
3 spring onions**, chopped (or ¼ – ½ cup chopped red onion)
4 slices bacon, fried and crumbed (optional)
½ cup chopped pecans, almonds, sunflower seeds, peanuts, or walnuts (optional)
Dressing:
1 cup* salad dressing (I like Miracle Whip best for this—I’m my mother’s daughter)
1-2 tablespoons vinegar (to taste)
¼ cup sugar
Stir dressing ingredients together and pour over the salad. Best if refrigerated several hours or overnight.
* I would only use 1 cup of salad dressing if it were a very large head of broccoli. As written above, this recipe would serve 8-10 hearty eaters. For a smaller group or family, half all amounts for the dressing part of the recipe, and half the amount of broccoli. All other amounts to your taste.
** Spring onions come in so many sizes, from very very thin, to robust. So of course use your judgement and taste for how much onion to add.
***
Head on over to the other blog I work with, Mennobytes where we’re sharing the journey of one small family (they have a 6-week-old baby) who are trying to cook through Lent with NO EATING OUT. Here’s the link. They are using the More-with-Less bestselling cookbook by Doris Janzen Longacre, originally published the year we got married, 1976. To have your name entered to win a free copy of More-with-Less Cookbook, just comment on THAT blog about any recipe or food that helps YOU cook “more with less.” (Deadline for that drawing is 4 p.m. ET Thur. March 28.)
I’ve been kind of quiet about Lent and temptation and giving up something this year. After last year’s rather ambitious blog series of Lenten meditations, I decided to keep a less stressful and quiet Lent this year and just give up chocolate and Facebook on Sundays. A sacrifice for sure, but not as big of a sacrifice for me as say, coffee or completely giving up Facebook. Or bread (one of my daughters loves bread so much she gave that up one year). But bigger than say, giving up Brussels sprouts, which I like, but hardly ever make. Or giving up a smart phone, which I do not own.
Then yesterday, one of my worst devils sneaked into the breakroom at my office and sat there sneering at me. See the little yellow guy beckoning on the Peanut M& M package? Yes, that. Rather than indulge, I quickly snapped a photo to keep myself from eating that just-right- combo-of-salty-crunch-and-savory-sweetness right then and there. But I was tempted. Can you tell?
And I had already cheated. I made yellow-cake chocolate-frosting cupcakes for my husband’s birthday two weeks ago, which of course I had to eat too lest he think I was poisoning him. So I squeezed by on that pecadillo by rationalizing it was just frosting and not really chocolate as in candy so it was ok.
A couple days ago, blogger Jennifer Murch confessed (on Facebook) her weakness for red licorice, which I quickly jumped on and admitted my cravings for the red sugary high. I was somewhat comforted and amazed regarding the number of us who were eager to confess right then and there on Facebook our addiction to licorice. Talk about not a private confessional booth.
Giving something up for Lent of course is not the important part. And these are all light duty sins–“sinlite?”: chocolate, coffee, licorice … the real tempter must get a kick out of seeing all of us light duty Christians running around during Lent obsessing over giving up Facebook and Peanut M & Ms. Giving up something is to help us take up other disciplines and use the time or money saved for better causes. To pray earnestly every time our temptation beckons–not for strength to fore go chocolate, but to look inward and weed out the pride and jealousy and laziness we see there. To pay attention to the niggling lusts and materialism and better-than-thou-ism that would lead us astray.
I also need to pay attention to what happens to my faith when the biggest sacrifice I can think of is Peanut M&Ms. Or giving up Facebook on Sundays. How easily we rationalize our sins–an easy step to take when we’ve practiced rationalizing how chocolate frosting doesn’t really count as chocolate candy.
God be merciful to me a light duty follower of the Christ who willingly gave up his life in the cruelest most inhumane death imaginable.
I am ashamed. I’m reminded of this story Jesus told:
9 To some who were confident of their own righteousness and looked down on everyone else, Jesus told this parable: 10 “Two men went up to the temple to pray, one a Pharisee and the other a tax collector. 11 The Pharisee stood by himself and prayed: ‘God, I thank you that I am not like other people—robbers, evildoers, adulterers—or even like this tax collector. 12 I fast twice a week and give a tenth of all I get.’
13 “But the tax collector stood at a distance. He would not even look up to heaven, but beat his breast and said, ‘God, have mercy on me, a sinner.’
14 “I tell you that this man, rather than the other, went home justified before God. For all those who exalt themselves will be humbled, and those who humble themselves will be exalted.” (Luke 18: 9-14)
Today pumped up athletes beat their chests when they’re all braggy and talking trash to the other team. When did that powerful symbol of deep despair get turned around anyway?
God, be merciful to me, a sinner.
A weekly reader-contributed feature in the Washington Post Sunday Magazine is called “Mine” with the subheading, “So much of life is contained in such small things. What holds meaning for you?”
Yesterday’s item, a tiny electric motor from a toy boat that a man keeps from his grandfather’s treasures reminded me powerfully of a music box that came into my possession after my grandmother, Ruth May Loucks Stauffer (mother’s mother) died in 1991.
On the bottom of my Grandmother’s music box it says “Isola Di Capri” (Island of Capri) and “Made in Italy,” with “Swiss Musical Movement.”
I visited Italy with my parents in December 1973 when they came to Europe for about 10 days when I spent my junior year in Spain. They landed in Rome and we took a one day trip to the Isle of Capri. I wasn’t much into buying “souvenirs” that year and brought very few back with me. So this gift, which my mother gave to her mother and then passed on to me after Grandma died reminds me of how spare I was buying stuff for myself that year (couldn’t afford it and philosophically, I felt that souvenirs were what tourists did and I wasn’t a tourist). But I’m oh so grateful for this belated treasure from an enchanted day spent on the Isle of Capri with my parents. (All my photos of Italy and Capri are slides. Bummer. Check here for some lovely images.)
I love that Grandma wrote in a hidden place inside, “Bertha’s gift bought in Italy April 1974.” (Likely April was when Grandma received the box from my mother, since they lived 900 miles away and probably didn’t visit until spring or Easter following that big trip to Europe at Christmas.)
But the other touches that make Grandma’s music box so special are the trinkets she kept inside: hospital I.D. bracelets from three different hospital stays. (How could I ever part with them, since Grandmother didn’t?) Two have only her name and esoteric hospital numbers but one is dated 2/6/76, the year I got married in May, which probably explains why I don’t remember anything about her hospitalization that year.
There is also a tiny “Get Well Soon” card such as what would come with a floral gift. It is signed “From your special helper Penny” and on the back Grandma wrote “This penny a gift on Mother’s Day while I was in Muncie [Ind.] hospital, from Penny Sneed. She helped me walk first, a nice little girl.” The penny, taped to the card, was minted 1974.
So wherever you are, Penny Sneed, “a nice little girl” and likely a nurse aid or perhaps volunteer in Muncie, Ind., thank you for your little namesake gift and helping Grandma walk again (hip surgery?). Apparently Penny’s personality touched my grandmother deeply or she would not have kept it.
I’ll use the Post’s question as my invite for comments:
“So much of life is contained in such small things. What holds meaning for you?”
What older thing are you keeping just because it is special to you?
***
You can read more about my adventures in Spain (and Italy and elsewhere) from my memoir of that year, Departure, still available from those wonderful booksellers who collect out of print books and keep them circulating through Amazon. (original cover not shown in picture).
Part 3.
Here is the promised recipe for Funnel Cakes: yes, just like you get at a fair. Funnel cakes are only a little more difficult to make than pancakes. (And if you don’t like all the little backstory, skip right on down. And here are links if you missed Part 1 and Part 2 to this “Planning a 60th birthday party” series.)
This was a family tradition on holiday mornings when no other big activity was planned: my husband’s extended family used to have their Thanksgiving meal the evening before because of hunters in the family, and so we never had anything special to do on the big day. So funnel cakes for a late lazy breakfast were a fun tradition, or on other holidays like New Years Day, Memorial Day, Labor Day. You don’t want to do this when you have a lot of other big plans for your morning (like Christmas), because the biggest issue is cleaning up the rather grand mess you’ll make.
I found the recipe once in a magazine (sorry I didn’t write down the source) but my paper, as you can see, has now come apart (time to write it up fresh, but now it will at least be online). I Googled funnel cakes and there are of course a lot of recipes out there. My recipe does not use sugar (other than to sprinkle on top) or butter so that cuts the richness just a bit. And some of them talked about using a skimmer so I actually went out and bought one thinking it might make turning the funnel cakes a little easier, or at least lifting them up out of the hot grease. Meh, it worked only so so for this operation.
Basically I use a long handled 2 prong fork and a tongs to turn them. But that’s definitely the hardest part, and if you make them with small children around, be OH SO CAREFUL with the hot grease. Don’t let them come near it. If they want to help, let them sift the powdered sugar over the cooked funnel cakes, which is fun too.
Funnel cakes
2 beaten eggs
1 ½ cups milk
2 cups sifted flour
1 tsp. baking powder
½ tsp. salt
2 cups cooking oil
In mixing bowl, combine eggs and milk. Sift together flour, baking powder, and salt. Add to egg mixture and meat smooth with egg beater or small mixer or by hand. Test batter to see if it flows easily through a funnel; if too thick, add milk; if too thin, add flour.
In 8-inch skillet (or electric skillet) heat cooking oil to 360 degrees. (That’s why I use an electric skillet that has a temperature gauge on the control knob.) Covering bottom opening of funnel with finger, pour a generous half cup batter into funnel.
Top: spiral dough in skillet; me using fork to lift funnel cake; daughter sifting confectioner’s sugar.
Hold funnel close to oil, release batter into spiral shape in pan. Fry till golden, about 3 minutes. Turn cake carefully (tongs and spatula). Cook 1 minute more. Drain on paper towel. Sprinkle with confectioner sugar using sifter, or with cinnamon sugar. Can also serve with hot syrup. Makes 6-8 large funnel cakes, or more if you make them smaller.
For the birthday party crowd, I doubled the recipe, and had batter left over, after making roughly 12-14.
Here’s the birthday guy. And below, me with a grand mess.
***
Do you have a special pastry or other “big mess” food that has become a family tradition? (Growing up, we’d make Cracker Jack once a year.) What else?
For my book with more family traditions and delicious recipes mostly from the Shenandoah Valley of Virginia, check it out here:
Part 2.
As noted yesterday, my daughters and I came up with the idea of having a “lawn party” theme for my husband’s 60th birthday. Here is the lowdown.
First I need to explain that in Virginia, a “lawn party” is a euphemism for a carnival, a term which came into play during a time when carnivals were considered not quite decent or kosher for members of some churches (I have not documented this).
A lawn party is put on as a major fundraiser by fire departments, rescue squads, Ruritan or any club and requires the all-hands-on-deck cooperation of dozens, even hundreds, of volunteers. You have multiple food booths, fair or carnival type games, maybe rides (or at least a jumping cage for the kiddies) and at the really big ones, a Tractor Pull. The general community gets in the act by coming out in droves for two or three nights over the weekend for their evening meal (Thursday, Friday, and Saturday) and many happily donate cakes for a “cake walk” (to be explained shortly). Small town—or up and coming regional bands (or bad karoke music) supply mostly country or blue grass music from a small stage.
So here is how our indoor lawn party went down.
Music. Two daughters prepared a playlist of their father’s favorite music of the 60s and 70s, back when we actually listened to pop music. Great music like: Monster Mash, Up Around the Bend (Creedence Clearwater Revival was one of my husband’s fav bands), Proud Mary, Heard it through the Grapevine, Lookin Out My Back Door, Bad Moon Rising, Smoke on the Water, Radar Love, In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida (by Iron Butterfly), You Don’t Mess Around with Jim. You get the idea. Good stuff.
Food. I tried to serve typical lawn party food, adapted to the home scene: barbecues, (fried chicken, no I didn’t fry it myself), chips (instead of French Fries), soft drinks—with the addition of veggies and cheese which you would never find at a lawn party but, well, there had to be something a little nutritious! There was not much left at the end of the evening.
Games. Let me tell you, I had no idea how we’d actually do some of the games below going in, but my daughters helped think through plans that would work.
Go Fish! Or Pin the hook on the Fishie. I blew up a picture of likely the biggest fish my husband ever caught as a kid, and we stuck post it notes on the picture with the closest “hook” winning a prize.
Dime Toss. I invited my daughters to scour their cupboards for mugs and cups and saucers they were not using; I also visited the local MCC Gift and Thrift Store and bought up a small supply. I dug up all of the dimes I could find in the house and allotted each player 5 dimes for their turn of tossing a dime, one at a time, trying to land one in a cup or dish. One vase had a dollar bill rubber-banded to it as a special prize. We used the dining room table (but forgot to get a picture of it in action) and for a while the dimes were flying everywhere (but not dangerously, which was a slight concern). Two of the boys later turned it into a ping pong table, using one of the prizes (a small ping pong set) he had won.
Cake Walk. Our version was a little like musical chairs with small posters on the floor each bearing the name of one of Stuart’s vehicles (or our family vehicles) through the years, more than 11 different cars/trucks/minivans. It was fun reminiscing and would have been more fun to blow up old pictures of each one, but that would have taken a lot of digging for photos. So while the music played, players walked around the “cake table” (which was bearing cupcakes), and land on one of the posters stating vehicle brands, and the game chief drew small slips out of a basket bearing the names of the vehicles. Whoever stood on that poster would then win his/her cupcake. (At a real lawn party, each winner would have received a real whole cake. Too much for our small scale party. Cake table shown below).
Log Guessing Game. I’ve never seen this at a lawn party, but taking my husband’s affinity for cutting wood, burning wood, and frequently expecting that his daughters and I just “know” the different types of wood as well as he has come to know them over the years, we came up with 10 samples of wood growing on our property and let people do their best guess of which was which, from a multiple choice list. My environmental scientist daughter prepared a careful answer key, also shown below.
Photo Booth. I’ve never actually seen a photo booth at a lawn party either but this idea was kind of culled from amusement parks where you can dress up in old style clothing. So two daughters brought props and I combed the attic for old musical and Halloween costumes. Some guests seemed to enjoy hamming it up a little for the camera. Especially Abby and Jaiben.
Is Mary a great hippie or what? (she even has the right kind of name)!
Tractor Pull. The game that some of the kids were excited to try was our version of a tractor pull. Again, for the uninitiated, this is where tractors of all sizes and descriptions, and in some cases old antique tractors, line up for a chance to pull a “sled” that increases its resistance as the tractor putts down the smooth dirt track. The tractors belch puffs of smoke, the crowd cheers, and the guy who manages to get the farthest down the track wins.
Our “sled” was an upside down dolly, the “track” was two lines in the basement cement, and we added resistance with increasing weights—up to 70 pounds.
Upside down dolly base
First “weight:” 40 lbs salt
Second weight added: 14 lbs cat litter
Final weight: old brake drum, 16 pounds
The “tractor” was an awesome little wooden riding toy my husband built about 30 years ago for the children (in an adult woodworking class) which is rumored to be indestructible (even a 250-pound man can sit on it with no ill effects to the toy).
The “crowd” in this case were impressed that the toy could pull 70 pounds.
The tractor pull also gave us confidence the riding toy will likely stand up to any punishment our growing grandsons will give it. 
All participants were declared winners, and encouraged to please please please grab a gift from the prize table (mostly while elephants I was happy to move out of my closet).
In the end, yes, it took a little creativity and a little leg work and elbow grease, and I think we had as much fun working together, as friends and family had in participating (and thanks to dads who pitched in to take care of little ones).
We would have loved to invite even more friends and relatives. Weather wise, it was the most beautiful Saturday we’ve had in a while so I hope everyone else had just as much fun doing other things on that fine day. Everyone has busy schedules and we so appreciate all who took the time to come celebrate with us–which is what birthday parties are really about.
On Friday, I’ll blog about making real lawn party food, funnel cakes. As I was preparing for this party, flipping through reams of old photos to find the fishing picture of my husband, I was struck by all the photos of birthday parties in my boxes and albums. That is because it is one of the times parents and everyone is more inclined to snap pictures. I know a family whose grandchildren live 630 miles away yet they frequently drive the 1200+ mile round trip in order to be present for those important occasions. We didn’t often do that—drive to my folks’ for birthdays nor did my parents drive here—but sometimes celebrated in conjunction with other events which 1) made me glad we celebrated as often as we did, but also 2) mindful that you can never get together often enough.
As we planned this decade birthday party, I particularly remembered the line of Helen Poindexter from my church, a beautiful English prof for many years and now in her 90s. At a 40th birthday celebration for our pastor, Helen quipped, “Oh to be 40 again.”
How true. Someday we’ll wish we were “just 60” again. So it goes. The moral is to enjoy each day as you live it, like Thorton Wilder wrote in the play, “Our Town.”
(Most photos courtesy of Brian Sinclair and other family photographers.)
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Do you have “lawn parties” in your area as described above? I have not run into them, really, in any area other than Virginia. I’m sure there are similar carnivals and small fairs and fundraisers, but does anyone else call them lawn parties? Hope you’ll comment!
Have you ever driven a ridiculous distance for a birthday party of a family member or friend?
Part 1. Hatching the idea.
I’ve been to plenty over-the-hill parties given at the ripe age of turning 40 (and 50, 60, 65), and after about the second one, I was tired of the gravestone themes (especially when so many loved ones die for real way too early); the boxes of “senior” diapers given (especially when your own dad has to start wearing them); and the gag gifts of prune juice and fanny floss.
So for my husband’s 60th, I wanted to do something a little different that was in the spirit of my husband’s many interests and loves through his life so far. Two years ago when I had a decade birthday my daughters threw a wonderful surprise (not to be topped) party where the highlight was everyone pitching in to make homemade yeast raised donuts in the church kitchen. We had made such donuts at least one other time for a party and they wanted to repeat that.
The donut party. Photo by Brian Sinclair
Now that was a party to pull off without your mother’s knowledge, but just beneath surface of her kitchen activity. One daughter gradually whisked all of the supplies out of our kitchen and transported them to the church kitchen, and then disappeared for the day (under the ruse of doing Christmas shopping) to mix, knead and raise the dough—and meanwhile decorate and pull all of the other birthday elements together. I still marvel at how they pulled that off—and arranged for one sister who lives about 400 miles away to come and REALLY surprise me. I was blown away (read more about that one, here.)
The surprise. Photo by Brian Sinclair
So in asking my daughters what we should do for their father’s 60th, I proposed continuing the Davis theme of holding a homemade donut party, but this time at our house. One of them suggested why not make homemade funnel cakes instead—wouldn’t that be a little easier? Yes! Absolutely. We frequently (read, I) made them on for breakfast on holidays when we didn’t have any other big plans: Memorial Day, Labor Day, New Year’s Day.
From there my mind took the next logical leap: here in the Shenandoah Valley, funnel cakes are lawn party food. Why not re-create a lawn party right in our own living room/kitchen/dining room (it being early March and all, in the winter that just wouldn’t go away.) I’ve already written about how through the summer, where there are local lawn parties going on almost every weekend, that’s one of my husband’s favorite weekend activities.
By e-mail, the girls and I brainstormed activities and foods.
We made invitations.
Those were the easy parts. The next steps were actually carrying out the grandiose and somewhat half baked ideas. To be continued.
An indoor carnival of sorts is not your thing? The key is finding something that is “the thing” of whoever you are celebrating. They are big into sports? Hunting? Fashion/shopping? Foodie? Hiking? What do they enjoy doing? That might be a theme and help pull something together they’ll remember until at least the next decade. We hope.
Part 2: On my blog this Thursday, how my three daughters helped pulled off an indoor lawn party without an entire ladies auxiliary or Ruritan Club helping. Working around the needs of two babies who let their needs be known frequently.
Part 3: On Friday, making the homemade funnel cakes–the recipe and how to’s.
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Have you planned a different kind of decade birthday party? What worked? What didn’t? I’d love to hear from you.
Here are some more “commercial” ideas, and a Pinterest Board of more ideas.
And here is a beautiful recipe and coffee table book with Celebration ideas throughout family life.
I don’t recall my mother making cornbread when I was growing up but I can’t imagine serving chili soup without that option. (See my chili recipe here.) But then, she was a Yankee. No southern cook (dare I be so bold to put myself halfway in that camp) can be without a go-to recipe to stir up on a busy day.
Some cornbread doesn’t do much for me—if it is too crumbly, dry, or hard. I guess I also like mine best with a little sugar in it, which by most accounts is not true southern cornbread. The real thing, according to some, also has to be baked in a cast iron skillet.
From my experiments, reading recipes, and trying the cornbread others make, I think the best combination includes enough flour that the cornbread is not super crumbly, and just enough sugar to make it a little sweet. Some recipes call for a cup of sugar (for a 9 x 12 pan); my recipe, which came from a cornmeal box, just includes ¼ cup sugar. I’m betting you could weasel that back to 2 tablespoons if you wanted.
I love this recipe because it takes liquid shortening (vegetable oil) which makes for super easy mixing and clean up, just one bowl with one spoon and one measuring cup. I cut this recipe in half now that the children are gone and it bakes up just fine in a bread pan.
Corn Bread (adapted from cornmeal box; original used 1 cup corn meal and 1 cup flour)
¾ cup yellow corn meal
1 ¼ cup flour
¼ cup sugar
4 tsp. baking powder
½ tsp. salt
1 egg
1 cup milk
¼ cup vegetable oil or other shortening, soft
Sift dry ingredients (first five) together.
Add next three ingredients.
Beat with spoon until smooth.
Bake at 425 degrees for 20-25 minutes.
Makes enough for a 9 x 9 inch pan, or 12 muffins.
How easy is that? I’ve whipped this up while doing a load of laundry, unloading the dishwasher and entertaining a clingy toddler or two. While a pot of chili is simmering. Not because I was a supermom, this recipe is that easy.
For more recipes from Shenandoah Valley cooks, turn to Whatever Happened to Dinner: Recipes and Reflections on Family Mealtime.
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