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Those Canny Canines!
Truffles
Can You Change Your Luck?
Braided Garlic Bread (My Favorite Bread Ever!)
1 cup milk
1/4 cup sugar
1/4 cup butter
1 T or 1 pkg. dry yeast
3/4 cup warm water
1 egg
4-5 cups flour (I do 5 cups every time and it is perfect!)
Scald milk; remove from heat and add sugar and butter. Mix yeast with warm water (stir in a tsp or so of sugar—this activates the yeast). Let yeast grow while milk/butter mixture cools. In a large mixing bowl, combine yeast and cooled milk mixture, along with the egg. Mix with bread dough hook until dough pulls away from the sides. Divide dough in half, then make three “ropes” from each half. Dip each rope into a mixture of equal parts olive oil and butter; sprinkle in garlic salt and parmesan cheese. Braid into a loaf tucking ends under. Sprinkle with additional parmesan. Bake at 400 degrees for 15-18 minutes.
Also makes great bread sticks or pizza crust.
What Can We Learn From Baseball?
Here’s a great story about baseball – and perspective:
A little boy was overheard talking to himself as he strutted through the backyard, wearing his baseball cap and toting a ball and bat. “I’m the greatest hitter in the world,” he announced. Then he tossed the ball into the air, swung at it, and missed.
“Strike one!” he yelled. Undaunted, he picked up the ball and said again, “I’m the greatest hitter in the world!” He tossed the ball into the air. When it came down he swung again and missed. “Strike two!” he cried.
The boy then paused a moment to examine his bat and ball carefully. He spit on his hands and rubbed them together. He straightened his cap and said once more, “I’m the greatest hitter in the world!” Again he tossed the ball up in the air and swung at it. He missed. “Strike Three!”
“Wow!” he exclaimed. “I’m the greatest pitcher in the world!”
Either way – he’s right. Isn’t perspective a wonderful thing?
The “Mother” of Father’s Day
Sonora Smart was born in 1882 in Arkansas. Her parents were William Smart, a Civil War veteran, and his wife, Ellen. The family eventually moved west and settled in Washington.
When Sonora was 16, her mother died giving birth to her sixth child. Of that event it was written,
…the day had its nativity in a lonely farm dwelling. There Sorrow ministered amid the moaning of the March winds. A father sat with bowed head in his aloneness. About him clung his weeping children. The winds outside threw great scarves of powdered snow against the window panes, when suddenly one of the children tore himself from the group and rushed out into the storm calling for his mother. Yet even his childish voice could not penetrate the great silence that held this mother.
Hurriedly, the father gathered him back to his protection. For more than two decades, William Smart, alone, kept paternal vigilance over his motherless children.
Sonora Smart held her father in great esteem. At age 27, while hearing a church sermon about the newly celebrated Mother’s Day, Sonora felt strongly that fathers needed recognition as well. Inspired by her father’s love and sacrifice, she urged the Spokane Ministerial Alliance to pass a resolution, and the first Father’s Day was celebrated June 19, 1910. Today in the U.S., Canada and many other countries, on the third Sunday in June we honor fathers, grandfathers, stepfathers, uncles, and other men for the important role they play in our lives.
Chicken Won Ton Salad
Dad Will Come
I remember one evening years ago, while attending a Sunday School party, I looked at the clock, and it was past the time I was told to be home. Just then a knock came on the door. I was horrified — my dad had come after me. I felt humiliated in front of my friends. I thought I wanted to die. I was not pleasant with my dad; disobedience never makes one pleasant.
A few years later, my friends and I were driving home from a dance across the Indian reservation, ten miles from any shelter. It was 40 degrees below zero, and the wind chill continued to lower the temperature. A few miles farther into the blizzard, we discovered that there was no heat in the car. Then the car froze up and would not run. We came to a slow stop. We watched the snow swirling in front of us only until the windows quickly froze over. We were quiet and sober as we contemplated our fate — our lives were in danger. The silence was broken as a friend in the backseat asked, “How long do you think it will be before your dad will get here?”
Why do you think they thought my dad would come? One time I had thought I wanted to die because he had come after me. This time we lived because my dad came through the blizzard to save my life and the lives of my friends. This time I was pleasant with my dad — pleasant and very grateful.
Ardeth G Kapp
Chicken Poppy Seed Salad
Did You Stand For Me?
I was sitting the other day in a crowded airport, waiting for a boarding call on my flight to Arizona. As I sat there , I noticed an old man sitting across from me facing the large picture window that gave passengers a view of the runway. The history of a life of hardship traced the old mans eyes as they stared into the twilight of his years, and as I watched, I saw tears rolling from those ancient steel gray eyes, leaving a trail of sadness that tore at my heart. I got up and walked to him and asked if I could join him. Without even looking up to identify me, he nodded, and I sat down, feeling awkward but intensely drawn to him in compassion for his quiet tears. “I’m sorry, but I couldn’t help but notice you sitting here alone. Are you ok?” I asked. There was a deafening silence suddenly between us, for what seemed a long time, and finally he spoke in a voice that was worn and weary with age.”Did you stand when she walked by?” he asked. I was confused by his question, and a bit taken off guard by the tone of his voice that sounded almost accusatory. “I don’t understand sir, , I answered.”Did you stand when she walked by?” he asked again, staring straight into my eyes. “Who?” I asked him. But he turned away from me, staring again at the tarmac just outside our window. I waited for an answer, but there was not going to be any. Our conversation was over it seemed, and I got up to leave, hearing the call to board that by this time, was welcome as an excuse to get out of an awkward situation. I started walking away, but was troubled and torn by his question. I boarded my plane after clearing the gate, found my seat , and settled into it, looking back at the terminal I had just left. He was there as I had left him, sitting alone facing the tarmac. I watched for several minutes, and in that time I noticed a number of people stop to visit with him, presumably to ask if he was ok, and then walk away, some of them shaking there heads, others just gone from view at a brisk pace. And still he sat, fixated on a plane that was resting about 300 yards away, surrounded by military personnel. As I watched, a small procession of 6 men carried a flag draped coffin away from the plane to a waiting hearse, where they stood after the rear door of the black car had been closed and they offer a salute as the car slowly drove away. I looked back toward the window of the terminal, and instantly my tears nearly blinded me when I saw the old man I had been talking to also offering a salute, but from his wheel chair now parked next to the window. Since our craft had used a rolling stair gantry for passenger access, I got up, and made my way to the door of the plane, and got off. I walked deliberately, heading for the terminal, making my way through the crowds to the old man at the window. I walked up beside him, faced the plane as yet another coffin draped with Old Glory was placed in a waiting hearse, and I slowly raised my hand in salute, allowing my hand to drop only when the hearse rolled out of view around a security fence. I turned slowly to the old man who by now was looking solidly into my soul with eyes of countless memories. “I know her name now sir, and I stood when she walked by.” He was visibly moved, and he said to me in quavering voice ,”Thank you sir . . . for what you did. My greatest wish these days is to stand again for her, but I can’t.” I gave my legs in ’43 and my oldest son in ’67 to that Lady, so she could keep walking. It hurts when no one cares that she walks by. I missed my flight that day, but my heart and soul found wings to the heavens on the words of an 90 year old man who dared to share a heart full of memories with me and dared to remind me why Old Glory stills waves as the beacon of Hope in a lost world.