Crockpot Apple Butter

I learned to make the easiest apple butter ever. I didn’t even peel my apples, just cored and sectioned them. I was gifted 20 lbs of apples. They went straight into apple butter. 1 lb apples yields about a pint of apple butter. I will use this recipe for pumpkin, peach,pear or whatever produce I come by. Taste as you cook. You may add or decrease sugar or spices to your taste.

5 lbs apples (fills 6 qt crockpot. I heaped them up)

4 cups granulated sugar

3 tablespoons ground cinnamon

1/2 teaspoon ground ginger

Core and section apples. Top with sugar and spices. Set crockpot on medium. Cook 12 -18 hours. Blend till smooth with hand mixer. Jar in clean jars with new flats and rings. Cover with water, bring to boil and boil 10 minutes to seal. I did in pressure cooker since I made a lot. Excellent on hot biscuits. This makes an excellent gift!

This is about half my apple butter. The rest is still cooking. The house smells wonderful!

Mixed Nuts Part 1

imageThis is a repost of one of my favorite posts about my eccentric family. I posted it when my blog was new, so many of my readers haven’t seen it.  Enjoy!  If you’ve read it, please be patient.

When you are dealing with family, it clarifies things to have a scale. You don’t have to waste time analyzing people when you have a ready reference. This one works pretty well for my family.

1.Has a monogrammed straight jacket and standing reservation on mental ward.

2.Family is likely to move away without leaving forwarding address. Has jail time in the past or the future

3.People say, “Oh, crap. Here comes Johnny.”

4.Person can  go either way. Gets by on a good day. Never has been arrested. Can be lots of fun or a real mess. Relatives usually will invite in for coffee. Likely to have hormone-induced behavior.

5.Regular guy. Holds down a job. Mostly takes care of business. Probably not a serial marrier. Attends church when he has to.

6.Good fellow. Almost everybody likes him or her. Volunteers for Habitat for Humanity. Manages money well enough to retire early.

7.High achiever. Business is in order. Serves on city council.

8.Looks too good to be true. What’s really going on?

9.Over-achiever. Affairs are in order. Solid citizen. Dull, dull, dull. Could end up as a 1

Instead of saying, “Uncle Henry’s a pretty good guy, but sometimes he goes off the deep end, you could say, ‘He’s a usually about a 6 but he was a little 4-ish after Aunt Lou took his new truck and ran off with his brother’.” Or…

“Why in the world did Betty marry him? He was a jerk to her when she was married to his daddy.”

“Well, you know she’s a 5.”

“Oh, yeah. I forgot about that.” Or…

“You set the house on fire trying to dry your underwear in the oven?? What in the hell were you thinking?? And you call yourself a 6?”

“Look, you know darn well I’m a 6. It just seemed like a good idea. Appliances should be multifunctional. I’ve seen you pull a 2 lot of times and never threw it up to you. It could happen to anyone.” Or…

“You forgot and put the turnip greens through the spin cycle and now the washing machine drain is stopped up! I’m not even going to ask you what turnip greens were doing in the washing machine! You’re a 2 if I ever saw one. Your mama and sisters are 2′s, too!! Did you put the beans in the dishwasher, too, while you were at it?”

“No, I’m not an idiot. You cook beans on the stove. I put my rolls in the dishwasher to rise.”

Our family reunions are an eclectic mix of mostly 5′s who can tip into categories 4 and 6 when pressed.  Most are fairly regular folks, seasoned with a picante’ dash of street-corner preachers, nude airport racers, and folks who are just interesting in general. We have a couple of 7′s thrown in, reminders of what we could do if we tried. A person’s position on the social ladder is likely to be greatly influenced by his company or partner. For instance, if a submissive #5 marries a dominant #7, it is likely he or she will benefit. If the lower number Is dominant, not so much.

I was comfortable growing up in this eccentric milieu in the 1950’s. While I gave lip service to my parents’ goal of strict respectability, I enjoyed a ringside seat to periodic lunacy. It also justified my lapses. It ran it the family! And no matter how disappointed my parents might be when I messed up, at least I hadn’t been caught naked in traffic yet.

When considering parenthood, most people entertain hormone-tinged delusions, imagining their children as cute, well-behaved, athletic, and smart. We gaze fondly at our partners imagining a baby with his blue eyes, her sweet smile when’s we should have looked a little closer at Grandpa’s buck teeth or Grandma’s frizzy hair. Even better, this baby is just as likely to inherit genes from a great-great grandpa, the horse thief, as from Grandpa John, the Pulitzer Prize Winner. The baby might look a lot more like Aunt Fanny, the lady wrestler, than its pretty mama. A better plan would probably be to put all babies in a lottery at birth, so parents could credit their lumps to bad luck and the joys to good parenting for the next twenty-one years. The kids would definitely appreciate it.

(to be continued)

Big Party

One day a city stockbroker decides he has just had too much. Too much stress, too much of the big city, too much everything. So he quits him job, gives up his apartment and rents out a Cabin in the middle of the wilderness. For six months he lives in tranquillity and isolation. Then, one day, there is a knock at the door.

He opens the door to see this huge lumberjack with a giant beard shuffling from foot to foot nervously. Eventually the big man speaks:

“I’m yer neighbour from the cabin about a mile down the road. Anyhow, I’m having a party on Saturday and I wondered if you’d like to come.”

The guy pauses for a second and then replies: “You know what, that would be great. It is about time I got out and it would be nice to meet some new people. I’d love to come.”

“Right,” says the lumberjack, looking a little relieved. “I’ll see you about eight o’clock on Saturday then.” And then he turns to leave.

But he pauses for a second and then turns back: “I should probably warn you, there is gonna be some pretty heavy drinking.”

“Well, I’m sure that’s OK. I used to drink quite a bit myself back in the city, so I think I’ll be alright with a bit of hard liquor.”

“Right then,” says the big man. “Well, eight o’clock then.”

But as he turns to go he pauses again and turns back: “Yeah, I should also mention: most likely there will also be a bit of fighting before the evening finishes.”

“Uh, well, OK,” the guy replies. “I mean, I get on pretty well with most people so I don’t see that being a problem. But if it gets rough, then I am sure I can take care of myself.”

“Right then,” says the big man. “See you at eight o’clock then.”

But once again he pauses and turns back, scratching his beard: “So I probably also need to tell you: there might be some pretty wild sex.”

The guy perks up a bit at that. “Well, you know, we are all consenting adults. And after all this time out here alone, I don’t think I’d have any problem with some intimate company if that’s what happens.”

“OK then,” says the man. “Well, see you Saturday.” And with that he turns and starts to stroll away.

“Oh wait, just one question,” says the guy. “What should I wear?”

The lumberjack pauses to think, and scratches his beard again. “I don’t suppose it really matters much. I just gonna be you and me.”

Now, Nobody Loves Me

My little niece Jenny got some quality time with scissors. She walked into the room holding a long lock of freshly shorn hair. She’d sheared her waist-length hair into a jagged mess right above the ear. Shocked, my sister burst into tears and fled the room. Following her mother’s lead, Chelsea, her little sister wailed and ran. Turning to her dad, Jenny wept and said, “I cut my hair and now, now nobody loves me!”

Irish Drinking Jokes

A garda was patrolling down O’Connell Streetin Dublin when he sees two fellas pissing up against the window of a shop. He parks the car and runs over to them.

He asks the first fella for his name and address. The man replies, ‘I’m Paddy O’Toole of no fixed abode.’ 

The Garda turns to the second fella and asks the same question.

He replies, ‘I’m Ben Riordain, and I live in the flat above Paddy!’”

Delirrrrrah

“Anto’s missus was in the Rotunda Hospital, ready to give birth to their first child. 

When they arrived, the nurse asked, ‘How dilated is she, sir?’.

Anto replied, ‘Delighted? She’s over the fu*king moon!‘”

Ordering a pint

“‘Sorry, love, can I have a pint of Guinnessand a packet of crisps where you’re ready there’.

‘Oh. You must be Irish‘, she replied. The man was evidently offended and responded, ‘The cheek, just because I order a pint of Guinness you assume I’m Irish. 

If I ordered a bowl of pasta would you that make me Italian?!’

‘No’ she replied. ‘But this is a newsagents…‘”

Feeling himself

“Sheamus drops into the local pub on the way back home from visiting the doctor. ‘What’s the story?’ Paddy asks when he sees the look on Sheamus’s face.

‘I haven’t been feeling myself lately‘, Sheamus replied. ‘That’s good’ says Paddy. ‘Sure you’d be arrested for less!’”

Flies in a pint

This is one of the many Irish stereotype jokes that’s flying around, but unlike many it isn’t exactly offensive.

“An Englishman, a Scotsman and an Irishman wander into a little old pub in Kildare. They each ask the barman for a pint of Guinness. After the pints are placed onto the bar, three bluebottles drop into each man’s freshly poured pint.

The Englishman pushes his pint away in disgust and orders up another. The Scot reaches in and plucks the fly out.

The Irishman reaches in, picks the fly out, holds it up close to his face and shouts, “Spit it out you little b*stard.””

Legal advice

“An English lawyer was sat with his Irish client. ‘Marty’ he sighed, ‘Why is it that whenever you ask an Irishman a question, he replies with another question?’‘Bollocks. Who told you that?’ asked Marty.”

Death by Guinness

It’s been doing the rounds on WhatsApp for a while, but hopefully it’ll give you a laugh.

“It was a cold Friday evening when the doorbell rang is Mrs Molloy’s house. When she answered the door, Pat Glynn, her husband’s manager at the brewery, was stood on the doorstep.

‘Pat. Hello. Where’s my husband? He should have been home from work 3 hours ago?’ The man sighed. ‘I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this, Mrs Molloy, but there was an accident over in the brewery. Your husband fell into a vat of Guinness and drowned’.

Ten shots, please

‘Oh my God’ she replied. ‘Please tell me it was quick?!’ ‘Well… no. It wasn’t. He climbed out 4 times to take a p*ss‘.”

“Ben walked into the local bar all a fluster and ordered seven shots of Irish whiskeyand a pint of Smwithicks. When the barman arrived back with the pint, all of the shots of whiskey had been drunk.

‘Ah here, you drank those very quickly‘ said the barman. ‘Well’ says Ben, ‘If you had what I had you’d drink them quickly, too’.

‘Shite’ replied the barman ‘What do you have?’ ‘A tenner’ replied Ben.”

Your Money is No Good Here

It’s good to compare notes with your family. My brother just told me my dad helped his brother-in-law counterfeit quarters back in the 1930s. Daddy’s oldest sister, Aunt Jenny, married Uncle Chester, a bona fide reprobate, a rabble-rousing drunk who enlisted Daddy to help with his quarter counterfeiting business. I don’t know if Daddy would have even qualified for reform school if he’d gotten caught, since he was just a hungry little kid trying to win a place at Aunt Jenny’s table for a few days. Mama and his younger sisters were about to starve since his own father was sick in bed at his mother’s house. Grandma wanted nothing to do with her daughter-in-law and the grandkids, though she was willing to care for her son. The boys were pretty much working for room and board anywhere they could.

At any rate, Uncle Chester made pretty good quarters, a time-consuming job requiring a steadier hand than his, since he was rarely sober. According the Daddy, Uncle Chester made impressions of both side of quarters using Plaster of Paris casts lined with onion-skin paper. The steady hands were needed to line the molds up and glue them together, leaving a tiny pour-hole at the top, where they could pour in Uncle Chester’s special melted alloy. Once the ragged quarters set, a little artistry work was required to finish them off. Voila! Quarters!

 

 

 

 

Uncle Chester had no trouble passing his bogus quarters at the grocery store, the mercantile, and the hardware store. The problem came at the bar. Though he was normally stingy and careful, one night he got a snootful and wanted to buy a round for everybody in the house. Indiscreetly, he brought out a bag of quarters to pay his tab. They didn’t ring true when he poured them on the counter. The proprietor objected, Uncle Chester tore into him, and Uncle Chester ended up in Leavenworth.

That really wasn’t so bad. His cell-mate taught him to make twenty-dollar bills. Before long, Uncle Chester was out, but wasn’t able to pass his twenties because he couldn’t get the color just right. After a number of frustrating attempts, he poured up some quarters and headed back to the bar. When he poured his clinky quarters out on the bar, just as Uncle Chester anticipated, the bar-tender objected. “Are you telling me my money’s no good?” A fight and arrest ensued. Uncle Chester went back to Leavenworth for a refresher, polished his craft, and never had any more counterfeiting troubles.

All’s well that ends well.

Footloose and Fancy Free (Part 3)

breastBobo’s old truck rattled in one Saturday about four. White-headed kids in overalls piled out of the back, their bare feet kicking up a dust. Fishing poles dangled out of the truck bed. Grinning, Bobo slung a stringer of bream over his shoulder. Inez slid out of the front seat, wagging a newborn and helping her twin toddlers slide to the ground. One was diapered,one not. She laughed, explaining, “His britches stunk too bad for the front. Sometimes that busted glass works out purty good! The kids in the back didn’t care nohow long as the truck was a’movin’.”

While Daddy and Bobo cleaned the fish, Mother and Inez peeled potatoes. Long before the days of paper plates, we had to make do. The bigger kids got to sit on the kitchen floor with pie plates. Fried fish and French-fries were finger food. Toddlers sat at the table next to their mamas. As the adults started eating, I was amazed when Inez casually pulled out an enormous breast. Her baby rooted and snapped it up. I’d never seen anything so shocking. Mother was so modest, she triple-locked the bathroom door. I’d never even seen her in her panties. My mouth flew open, “Mother, that baby’s eatin’ its Mama!”

Annie Sleeps Around

dalmation 2More on Annie, our foul-tempered, farting, fat, Dalmatian who only liked the neighbor kid across the street.

One of Annie’s loveliest traits was that it was impossible to keep her off the furniture. When we told the kids to go to bed, she was the first to hit the bed. Anyone careless enough to leave a bedroom door open could count on a bed partner as soon as they drifted off. A couple of houseguests were awakened by the crushing weight of a heavy, nasty, growling surprise when they didn’t shut their door securely. No featherweight, she’d heft herself on atop an unfortunate sleeper with no concern whatsoever for whomever might be occupying that bed. It was common to hear one of us yell out “Get out, Annie!” followed by a nasty tempered, low growl, then the padding of feet down the hall.

From another room, a from a muffled voice would let out a big “Oof! Annie! Get over!” There’d be some shuffling from that bed till she crowded that victim enough to get moved along.

Annie had no intention of going outdoors when we left. When she heard us making preparations to leave, she’d sneak stealthily back to the kid’s room. We turned to tables on her own day, announcing we were on our way out, making a great show of leaving, then awaiting her by the door. As soon as the door shut, she came prancing in the living room, prepared to jump on the sofa. She was mortified when she spotted us, dropped her head, and walked to the front door to be put out. It was good to get the best of her for once.

Tea Cakes

What’s your favorite recipe?

My grandmother and Mother made these. I made them for my children. My daughter makes these. Who knows how far back this recipe goes?

Tea Cakes

preheat oven to 340(not 350)

3 cups self-rising flour(if using plain add 1 1/2 teaspoons baking powder and a pinch of salt per cup flour)

2 cups sugar

8 oz softened butter

1 egg

1 tsp vanilla

Just enough milk to make very firm dough

Cream sugar, butter, egg, vanilla. Mix in flour a cup at a time. May have to add milk to complete mixing to consistency of playdo. Reserve a bit of flour to dust top of dough and hands. Roll into 1 inch balls. Place on greased cookie sheet with cookies not touching. Bake on middle rack about 12 minutes. Then take pans out and turn around to bake evenly. Cook another 7 minutes just until edges start to brown. Tops will still be soft. If you overcook, they get hard. We love them soft. Cool on a rack. You can roll and freeze to prepare ahead.

If desired, press center down and add a dollop of jam or center with chocolate kiss before baking.

I hope your family loves these as much as mine does.

Photo borrowed from All recipes