traveling up and down the blind highway

Fellow writer and blogger, Alice Massa, wrote about her family’s recipe for Butter Horn cookies here is her blog address. http://alice13wordwalk.wordpress.com/. The. cookie recipe is December 21st.
I recall my Mother making small loafs of gumdrop cakes for Christmas. So not to tempt eager samplers ,she made the majority of the treats when we were in school. After cooling, she wrapped them in aluminum foil. thin red ribbon was tied to each cake with a red bow in the center of the ribbon’s crossing ties. They would keep for weeks in the freezer .They would remove them a day or two before giving them to friends and family. As we grew, the recipe was changed from gumdrops to spice drops. Fruit flavors were replaced with cinnamon, cloves, anise wintergreen and mint.
I found the original recipe on his computer. It was for making a large bundt cake or 3 larger loaves of cakes. I made a half of the recipe when we found a pound of the candy on sale.recipe. It made enough for three small loaves of cake. The cooking time decreased to one hour, not two.on my husband’s computer. The recipe makes 6 snall rectangle cakes. The cooking time is 250 degrees for ninety minutes. Our cakes were cooked at 60 minutes. This is to keep the candy from changing shape.
Mom would keep a supply of these cakes to hand out during the Christmas season. The recipe is below. The only change was to use butter instead of oleo or Crisco. My apologies Mom. They brought back fond memories of digging out the candy to eat first.I will give one to my younger brother when I see him after the New Year.

Rita’s Gumdrop Cake

1 cup butter or Crisco or oleo
1 cup sugar
1 1/2 cups of hot apple sauce with 1 rounded tsp of soda
2 well beaten eggs
2 cups of flour
1 tsp cinnamon
1 tsp cloves
1 tsp allspice
2 pounds spice drops
1 pound raisins
2 cups of nuts
Cream oleo and sugar. Add hot applesauce. Then add
well-beaten eggs. Sift dry ingredients together.
Roll gumdrops, raisins and nuts into 2 cups of flour.
Add this to the mixture.
Grease and flour pans
Bake at 250 degrees until toothpick comes out dry. 1 to 2 hrs depending on the size of the loaf.
This makes a large angel food pan or 2 or 3 small square pans.
Also you could make 1/2 of the recipe.

carolaspot@aol.com copy right 12/30/24

My first memory of Christmas cards was watching my mom as she sat with a stack of colorful cards at the kitchen table. She had a small address book with her list of people to send greetings. Each envelope was addressed with small flowing cursive. In each card there would be a personalize note of greeting. I was allowed to help by licking and attaching a stamp to the top right hand corner of each envelope.A return sticker was attached to the back side of the flap. Mom would work for several evenings to ready the cards for an early mailing. We would walk to the post office to mail the whole battch at one time. Then we would wait for the return cards to appear in the mail box.
Our mailbox was a flat rectangle with a flap on the top. There were two two curved hooks attatched to the bottom of the box for larger magizines and circulars. Often the post person had to ring the doorbell if the mailbox was full or the mail was too large .
My job was to open each card received and keep the envelopes to later check for changes in addresses. We would hang each card from a cord. The cards would start on the wall by the piano, travel across to the wall by the sofa across the mantle and finally across the top of the large picture window. Extra cards were hung on the hallway wall.
Each card was held in place with a tiny red clothespin. Later, ribbons and pins replaced the clothespins to secure the cards.
One year I took an old Readers Digest, folding the the top of each page to form the shape of a tree. I colored pages with green and red crayons. The front and back of the digest were glued together to form a 3D tree. Christmas cards could be slipped between pages for easy display and rereading.
When buying postage stamps, we always selected a group of stamps with an artistic rendering of the Madonna and Child. Our Catholic school sold decorative stamps for raising money for the missions. I recall that selling or buying five dollars of stamps would buy a baptism for a mission child. We could choose a name for the babies baptismal name.
These days, cards come from the older generation. Young family members, text or e-mail starting a thread or send photos from their computer. I still enjoy opening mail to find Christmas Cards.
For the last several years, I have enjoyed receiving mail with greeting in Braille. I enjoy the cards that were hand made by the sender.
Whether a one of a kind or a Christmas letter, all are read and hung from a ribbon in our family room. They will be the last remnants of Christmas to be taken down.
***. poem
Tradition
I sit, write, place a stamp
remembering mailing in the past.
assemble or work alone
Christmas greetings not by phone
cards felt with your hands
loving thoughts from land to land
carolaspot@aol.com copyrighted 12/23/24

When I was a young child, my Mom would surprise me by bringing tea and snacks to the picnic table. Items included a small copper tea pot, two expresso cups and doll dishes with cereal pieces. We would sit and drink Luke warm tea and eat cheerios. It was not the food and drink but a chance to spend a few minutes with my mother.
Tea sharing has always been social for me.
We started out as a bible study group. wanting to do more, we formed a smaller group of knitters that knitted for charity throughout the year. This group knitted rectangles to edge and sew together to make security blankets for children. We meet every other week to gather at a host’s home, have coffee and a snack and socialize, while knitting on a project. On my own, I have produced several dozen knitted felted animals to donate to charity.
So what has this to do with Christmas tea?
One of the women has a large home and enjoys baking traditional foods served at high tea.
So once a year, Pam hosts a Christmas tea for our group. So for many years, we discard our needles and take up the fork and spoon for this special treat.
This year, I wrote down the incorrect time for the tea.
Pam messaged ,”Where are you?”
“Home ,tea is at two”
” It is at one”
” Be there in 10 “
I came with apologies and poetry books, one for each lady.
Some of our projects are smaller and more simple but after 20 years we can multitask.
So we tell stories as knitting pieces lengthen and form useable items.
I call our group the knit Wits.
** an acrostic poem

Knit Wits
Knitting needles in hand we cast on.
Nonstop conversation hums.
I. smile feeling each lady’s project.
Time flies as knitting lengthens.
We gather in December for Christmas tea.
It is a special time to share.
Twenty years of friendship binds us.
Such events build fond memories.
carolaspot@aol.com 12/16/24 copyrighted

This year, the first of December surprised us. That and a storm, delayed decorating of the outside. Friday we pulled the Christmas boxes from the crawlspace.
“When did we purchase three artificial trees?”Asked John.
“I don’t know, but they are pretty worn.” I replied.
With that in mind, John bought another three foot Christmas tree with lights.
Next was the box of children’s party clothes. I had collected for the dolls we used in our porch tableau. Two sets of clothing, one for outdoor scenes and one for indoor displays. This year, we purchased a collapsable Santa bus in greens and reds. The dolls will be the correct size to help take presents from Santa and place them under the porch tree.
“Some of the dolls are looking their age,” I remarked.
John replied, “They will look fine from the road.”
The largest doll, a Patty Play pal is now a senior citizen. She has been in outside displayed for over 26 years. Her once red curly hair is matted and has turned a sandy color.
“I think we’ll give the largest doll a break this year, She is a bit too big for the bus.”
John agreed, “We do have six others to use in the scene,” he remarked.
Then there was the annual testing of the lights. The largest deer had half of the lights not working.
” How old is this deer?”
“Probably fifteen years.”
John sighed, “The motor for head movement hasn’t worked for five years, maybe he could be retired.”
I sorted through the box of the nativity figures and the barn. John’s Aunt Joy, made the figures from molds and painted each one with fine detail. They were the last ones made , 33 years ago. Other items have been added. There is a group of pine trees one ceramic tree painted by John’s cousin Kennan. Though now gone, it reminds us of his joy in family gatherings. He struggled to be understood speaking with cerebral palsy.
A Christmas Squirrel , painted red and green , a gift from our daughter Ruth, is always gazing upon the baby Jesus as he lays asleep in the manger.
There was no breakage this year. In the past angels, goats and even a wisemen have fallen to the hearth. We now have five of the Magi and one camel.
Decorating the new tree was a challenge . The new tree looked good but the branches were too thin to hold any of my older, heavier ornaments. Many were repacked to a wait a stronger tree next year. Most of the non breakable ornaments were placed on the outside Christmas tree. John placed enough lights to make both trees glow in the dark.
The final is the stripes of two inch ribbon hanging from the valance. That is where we pin each Christmas card we receive to be enjoyed all season.
I try to sort old Christmas items to be disposed, but the memories stop me each time.
**. Nona Poem
Putting up Christmas
memories stored in Christmas boxes
carefully rolled in white tissue
opened, memories spill out
I know each one by touch
old friends, worn with age.

Each one a story
Some are lost
but not
gone

Carolaspot@aol.com copyright 12/9/24
Postscript, after writing this post one of the dolls joined
others in toy land heaven.

I am not a shopper. If I have a item I need, I open my I Pad and search Amazon for the item. I can ask my smart devise to search for suggestions. If I find what I want, I can ask the A lady to buy it. But this past Friday, With a light snow falling the lure of the mall was hard to resist.
At first, we were out for a drive to check out the local grocery store. We needed milk, bread and juice. The parking lot was not over crowded. We moved around the store with little difficulty.
Driving down 28th street, the main thoroughfare, we noted that Chick fil A was filled with customers trying to get a late lunch. We were not hungry so continued to the mall to check the stores.
The first stop was Kohl’s. We had been there earlier in the week. At that time, the store was filled with so much merchandise that getting down the aisles was difficult. On Friday, the aisles were filled with people and carts filled with sale items. The checkout lines extended to the back of the store and around the corner. Customers were smiling and patiently waiting for a cashier.
Leaving Kohl’s, we crossed to the mall.
The sound of the crowds created a cacophony of crying, laughter and music with an occasional phrase of greeting.
“Hey!”
“Love the color.”
Where did you get the phone?”
“Wa!”
The Center court area sported a 15 foot polar bear greeting visitors to Santa. One boy waited patiently for his turn to sit on Santa’s lap.
Every store we passed was filled with people buying gifts and bargains. John and I walked arm and arm into the fray. Most people saw my white cane a veered from our path. The exception was teens. One girl in a rush to get around, kicked my cane, She mumbled an apology as she hurried past. Several older male teens, strolled towards us. At the last second one realized that we weren’t getting out of his way and stopped holding his friends back.
Even the food court was buzzing with chair scraping and conversation. The man at the charity kettle had to help me get my money into the full money holder.
The number people warmed up the mall to a toasty temperature. Still in my winter coat, I was sweating. After buying some Christmas candy corn, we headed for the nearest exit.
Cold air and silence followed us to our car. After 15 minutes, we had snaked our way out of the parking lot.
A drive turned into a two hour walk. I had my exercise for the day. For the rest of this season, I will stick to online shopping.
** poem
Shopping
Shopping days, only 17 days to go
Hurry with laden parcels
out into the cold
What to get, where’s my list?
Do we have enough?
Pause, I remember
It’s not about the stuff.
carolaspot@aol.com copyrighted 12/2/24

Lately, our Thanksgiving celebrations have been quiet and low keyed. We used to gather in Northville at my younger brother’s home. My other two brothers stay closer to home and their family members. All this will change this year. Ruth married Aaron Gould and with this marriage comes another branch of the family that has been added.
We will gather with nine members of Aaron’s family, most for the first time. We will travel to Grand Haven To a celebration hosted by the newlyweds.
Different family members suggested favorites to share. The menu has expended to include appetizers, deep fried turkey, macaroni and cheese, green bean casserole, squash, sweet potatoes, stuffing muffins and a dish called fluff. Wine, pop, coffee and tea will be served with pie desert. Each place setting will be given a chocolate foil wrapped turkey. The combing of tastes shows how two families joined together. The goal is to meet the new family members and get to know them over a meal of thanks.
One can worry about the event or one can keep smiling and learn to be a good guest. As my father,Daddy Bruce sad to my husband John when we were first married,”I don’t care what you wear, even buck naked, but I want you to come.”
Ruth’s response to her Dad’s concerns was much the same. “Dad I don’t care how you come, I want you to be there.”
May your Thanksgiving be blessed with family and friends to share the time together. Some day you will remember this day with fond memory.
**. poem
The Gathering
visitor, host gather from a far
come down the steps or travel by car
a toast, prayer, feast bring favorites
to share with all
share with family, let barriers fall
learn to listen, meet new friends
sharing love, we make amends
carolaspot@aol@.com copyrighted 11/25/24

Three girls, Cheryll, Carol and Laurel, grew up in a small town in south east Michigan. Though living in the same neighborhood, they went to different schools.They were born within a month of each other. Though they have grown and changed, they are still friends.
This the story about my two longest friendships. Despite life’s changes, I am still friends with both women.
I met Cheryll, in kindergarten. Both of our moms were room mothers. We both started school when we were four. Our mothers became good friends. Neither Cheryll ,Laurel or I had sisters. I had four brothers but Cheryll was an only child. Cheryll lived close enough that we could walk to each other’s home. Estelle, Cheryll’s mom, was from Georgia. I was introduced to different foods when I was invited to lunch. Sweet tea, biscuits and gravy and hush puppies were introduced to my pallet .
In turn, my mom shared rhubarb, asparagus and raspberries dishes when Cheryll came to lunch. When Cheryll repeated third grade, we saw less of each other.
That year, Laurel moved from Detroit to a house around the corner. Our backyards shared a fence in the far left corner of the lots.
Laurel was the only girl. She had two older half brothers that lived else where.
Dorothy, Laurel’s mom was an expert baker. I still can smell and taste her cheesy bread, warm from the oven.
The three of us had the propensity to get into trouble. Cheryll and I went to an overnight at the Baptist youth group. We took a girl’s ample bra, soaked it and put in the church’s freezer over night. Or the time we were going to clean out the unused coal bin to make a game room. There was coal in the bin.The time we were taking a picnic to the park only to turn on Center and end up at the horse barns for the track.
Laurel and I also shared adventures. We were going to clean out the garden shed to have a play house. Or the time, we met two boys at Commerce Lake and Laurel’s mom had to save us from them. There were many times we picked raspberries to eat rather than bring them in.
All three of us were fond of Petit Fours, small layer candy composed of layers of cake and icing. They were the size of an inch square and came in a candy box at Christmas. My mom would hide them in the freezer. No matter how well hidden, we would find the box and help ourselves to a couple. Then we moved the candy to hide the missing pieces. The box was returned to it’s hiding place.
Over the years, we grew apart. I stayed and worked in Michigan. Cheryll’s husband Dave, joined the Navy and moved to Charleston then to Huston. Laurel moved to California and worked for a law firm and wrote articles for publications. We had our professions and different interests.
Over the last 25 years, we have renewed lines of communication. We have visited each other in their homes and in turn they have visited me.
This month we will turn 70. I was first in October and Laurel will turn on the 22nd and Cheryll on the 28. This means we have no secrets from each other. We have been with each other through good and bad and are still friends.
So here’s to the best women I could grow with. Happy 70

My amazing sisters
** poem
Sisters

no girls allowed
we pushed against the bounds
only girls no sisters, alone
adopting each other
we shared our homes
Now we face 70
come to journey’s end
grateful, we are still friends.
carolaspot copyright 11/18/24

Today, take time at 11 am pausing to remember those men and women that served their country in the military. Those that returned home and the many that did not.The history of this day is wrapped up in my families history. At the signing of peace terms the allies and Germany stopped hostilities at the 11 hour, on the 11th day of 1918. On that same morning, My Mother, was born at home to Alfred and Anna Heatly . One of our relatives collected the front pages of the Detroit Times, Free Press and the Detroit News. Those Headlines of the ending of the War to end all wars, hung in our families den along with a pastel drawing of my mother in her early twenties.
Though military conflicts continued to erupt in the world, WWII , Korean war, the Vietnam conflict and the war in Afghanistan . War and fighting in Iran proved the war didn’t end all wars, we continue to pray and hope on the 11th of November that military conflicts will be resolved.
On this day the family would visit the gravesites of love ones that served their country.
In 1954, the Armistice Day to Veteran’s Day to honor all men and women that served in all branches of the military. My mother worked the line at Willow run to make parts for bombers. She traveled to Florida then California following Dad’s enlistment in the Marines. There she worked as a secretary for General Henry Smith in the 4th division, stationed at Fort Pendleton In 1943, when dad was to ship out, a very pregnant Rita traveled back to Northville to await the birth of her first born, Bruce Robert Turnbull.
Bruce returned home to work with his father in the Electric shop, while their family grew to four boys and one girl.
Mom balanced raising a family while keeping the books for the store. After the death of my grandfather Clifford, dad sold the electric shop. My mother found a job at the Northville township offices. Later she worked in the High School counseling office as their secretary.
Our family teased mom about her frugal ways with statements such as,
“If Mom had a nickel, she would squeezing it to stretch to a dime.”
She saved enough of her salary to pay for trips to Brazil, Yugoslavia, England,Spain and Hawaii with the Knights of Columbus. She made many friends that she corresponded with until her death.

Mom died in 2002 at the age of 84 years. I still hear comments from friends and family that she was a super mom, a quiet woman of faith. We share stories about her in our family gatherings.
**. Poem
Quiet Light
her birth ended a war
Her death ending a century.
In between, she married, raised a family.
Quiet in faith , service to others,
Her example still shines.
carolfarn@aol.com copyright 11/11/24

My Mom was a poll worker when I was growing up. She was a secretary for the township and enjoyed working with numbers. My dad co owned a business in our town, “The Northville Electric Shop” with my grandfather. So on election Tuesday, we kids were expected to watch each other.
Early in the morning, mom would be at the polling site by 6:15 to set up the register of voters and to tabulate the voting machines. The machines were on a wall of switches. You would flip each selection one by one. You could check your selections and change one or more of the selections before you finalized your vote. With the opening of the curtain, the switches returned to their original positions and your votes produced a paper ballot.
Often, you would see two pairs of legs behind the curtain. one small and one large.
“Can I pull one Mommy?”
“No Honey, but I will let you open the curtain when we are done.”
Occasionally, the curtain would not close properly. Two poll workers would have to assist the voter, one from each party. My mother came from a long line of Democrats in our largely Republican town. My Dad’s family voted Republican. Dad would tease Mom by saying,
“Our votes cancel each other out.”
Mom insisted that she was an Independent.
“I vote for the best candidate,” she would reply.
“But Rita, most of your choices are Democrats.”
I am sure they discussed the pro and cons of different candidates but they never argued in front of us kids. Voting was secret and was taken seriously.
In the 60’s, mom would be at the polls into the late evening checking, tabulating and counting each vote. We would not see her until the next morning. She was proud to be a part of the election process.
Voting machines have changed. The blind, deaf and physically challenged can vote independently and in private. Ear phones, auditory reading of the ballet and keys to mark the ballot can be done by computer. The children watch as their parent or older sibling vote. One by one, the voters bring their sleeved ballot to be processed by machine. The system ensures a private and secure voting experience.
This year, there are more choices. absentee ballets, early voting and of course, voting on the first Tuesday in November. Wear your I voted sticker proudly. Casting your ballot is your right and privilege.

&&&

***. poem
Ballot
busy. workers checking IDs
all voters wait in line
long lines are a tradition
learning from elders, children watch
one ballot people mark their choices
time will show the results
carolaspot@aol.com
November 4th 2024 copyrighted

Fellow poet and artist, Lynda Lambert, advises me to drop seeds of our art and poetry exchange into each interaction. I followed her advise while I was attending the APH Insights Art Show earlier this month. I did not expect such quick growth.
I planned to donate my art to a local Michigan organization that encouraged blind artists of all ages. What I didn’t expect was to talk to a Michigan group that was starting a art program for blind children and their families.
” I love your owl family tableau.” one teacher gushed.
Another teacher sighed,”But your piece is not for sale.”
A third teacher pointed out,”She is a local Michigan artist.”
I was nudged by God sharply,
“What are you waiting for? You wanted to find a good home for your art that would encourage others to create.”
I smiled, “I was looking for an organization to donate this to, Would you like it?”
Excitedly, they raced to get their director Brenda Mahoney ,Director of Michigan outreach , art for the blind. We talked and the group from camp Tuhsmeheta was excited to get the art piece for their newly opening nature center.
Last week, Ms. Mahoney called to apologized for not taking the art home with her. The art show closed on Friday and Brenda didn’t have time to pick it up.
“Could you come to the ribbon cutting ceremony and meet the staff?”
I looked at John, he nodded a yes.
“We will be there.”
The camp was thirty minutes away in Greenville. We arrived at three and took a tour of the nature center and classroom. There were many animal pelts and parts to examine tactilely. Brenda talked about expanding their art into workshops to encourage blind artists. I gave an interview and was asked if I would be interested in giving workshops on producing art from items found in nature. I was thrilled to be asked and I am interested in promoting art. I talked about the year long art and poetry exchange with my friend Lynda. Ms. Mahoney wanted to be kept informed of the progress and completion of the project.
You never know the path that the Lord will lead you to. As my brother notes ,
Carol, “The Lord is in charge, go with the flow.”

**. poem
The Call
I had no clue
what I would do
no plan
placed in God’s hands
taking the offering
me in tow, He ran
carolaspot@aol.com copyrighted 10/28/24