I really did intend to write a post yesterday. I threw on a polka dot Bow Tie o’ the Day and drove Suzanne to her office because her foot is still under the weather from her surgery. It’s healing well, but it is literally a big pain in her hoof. After I got her settled in her office, I headed home to write something for TIE O’ THE DAY. Somehow, I found myself pulling into a car dealership to test-drive a new truck. And then I fell into material love with the vee-hicle I drove—a 2022 Ford Maverick. I was indeed sidetracked all day with the entire process. I haven’t decided for sure if I’m going to buy the pretty thing, but I’m leaning towards it. My 23-year-old jalopy truck cannot last forever, although I mostly wish it would—if only for its passenger window which still has my long-departed Araby’s doggie snot-and-slobber smudges all across the in-side of it. When the two of us were in our Millard County environment, Araby was a happy, barking fixture in the bed of my truck. When we were in our bigly city world, Araby was my eager shotgun-rider. She’s been in mutt heaven for over 8 years now, and I will never wash her beloved smudges off “her” truck window. The smeared mess is worth more than the truck itself, at least to me.
[Yesterday, I re-posted a photo of Mom slicing her cheese bread. I told about the importance of cheese bread at our family holiday meals. Today, here’s a second re-post of the recipe.]
Five red Bow Ties o’ the Day are proud to provide a recipe we think you’ll find tasty. It’s cheesy and bready. Who could find fault with that?
Actually, I really can’t call this a “recipe.” Mom’s recipes ranged from easy-peasy to intricate and near-impossible. This is a simple one. Three ingredients are all you need. You’ll also need an oven.
1 loaf of French bread. 1 stick or 1/2 stick of butter. And one jar of Kraft Old English Spread.
Lay a sheet of foil across a cookie sheet. You do not want to have to clean baked-on cheese off your cookie sheet. Use the foil.
Hand-mix the cheese spread and butter together until it’s creamy. Mom generally uses the whole stick of butter, although I’ve seen her use just half a stick. I always use just the half.
With a bread knife, skin ALL the crust off the French bread. Ditch the crust.
Cover the bottom of the skinned loaf with the cheese/butter spread, then place it on the foil-covered cookie sheet. Continue to cover the sides and top of the loaf with the cheese/butter spread. Spread the spread as evenly as you can. Since the size of French bread loaves vary, you might or might not use the entire amount of spread. Plus, you’ll definitely want to experiment with how thick you like your cheese spread layer to be. If you want a thin layer of the cheese/butter mixture on the entire loaf, you’ll probably have enough to cover two loaves.
Bake for 10-ish minutes, at 350 degrees. Ovens vary, you know. Experiment with how crusty—if at all—you like the top of your cheese bread to be. The more you experiment with the variables, the more cheese bread you’ll “have to” eat.🤤
I recommend you slice the cheese bread (an electric knife works best) while it’s still hot. And put it on the table hot. But it’s still yummy when it has cooled off.
As any good cook knows, even with an easy recipe the taste is in the details. Mom’s excellent cooking was the result of tweaking good recipes to make them better, as well as her knack for timing. Still, she cooked primarily by sight, smell, and taste. Measuring ingredients wasn’t much of a concern to her. She guesstimated a lot. That’s what makes it difficult to pin down her actual recipes.
If someone wanted a recipe, she’d give them one. She’d also invite them to come to the house to watch her make what they were asking about. Her complicated candy-type creations are especially almost impossible to re-create, even if you watched her make it and tried to write everything down. She was always changing the way she did it or adding a new twist or a different ingredient. And, of course, exact measurements were not always Mom’s way.
Oh. About the potato chips and Diet Coke in the photo. Those food staples are for you to snack on while you make the cheese bread. Substitute a bottle of wine for the Diet Coke, if you are so inclined. Chocolate is also allowed.
[This is a re-post from 2019, offered for your re-enjoyment. I’ve had a request for Mom’s cheese bread recipe again. I will re-post her recipe in the next TIE O’ THE DAY installment.]
Entwined hearts Bow Tie o’ the Day is perfect for Mom. I have been told she’s having an extremely tough time missing Dad recently. Even though he’s gone, their love lives. It’s a time/space continuum thing.
This photo was taken almost 20 years ago. I think Mom is in the kitchen at the Palomar. Most likely, this was a Thanksgiving bash. Check out Mom’s attack face. She is darn well gonna conquer those two loaves of cheese bread. And note the oven burns on the back of Mom’s hand. You’ve heard of rug burn. Well, this is cheese bread burn. She burned her hands on the oven coils every time she made cheese bread. Every time, I tell you. Mom never met an oven glove she’d use. She was strictly a dishtowel gal.
In our house, the electric knife was used for cutting only two things: carving turkey and slicing cheese bread. It was basically used only on Thanksgiving, Christmas, and Easter. And then the gadget was immediately put back in its little 70’s original box, and into the kitchen cupboard where Mom and Dad kept the checkbook. The knife laid in its skinny box all alone for 362 days a year. Poor thing. I should have put a bow tie in with it for company.
Mom’s cheese bread is a sacred food. Many of you have had the privilege of tasting Mom’s confections over the years, and you know she was an excellent all-around cook. But Mom’s cheese bread was something she made almost exclusively for family holiday dinners. It was a rare gem. And it was the key food item of those dinners. Dinner did not happen without the cheese bread. Kinds of salads changed. Different versions of potatoes joined the basic mashed potatoes. You’d think the turkey would be the star of these feasts, but it was always about the cheese bread.
And it was war. The most desired slices of cheese bread are the ends, where the cheese-to-bread ratio is the highest. If you managed to score one of the ends, it was only because you managed to steal one before someone else stole it.
At some point after dinner, there was what I’ll refer to as The Tri-Annual Battle Over the Tinfoil On Which the Cheese bread Was Cooked. The tinfoil cheese was like the cherry on top. It was like the prize in the cereal box. The foil was covered in baked-on, cheese bread drippings. Dad usually won that war. And then he would sit at the head of the table, picking carmelized blobs of cheese off the tinfoil—obnoxiously, so we couldn’t help but watch it happen. And we drooled through the torture of witnessing him gorge himself on the results of our defeat.
I have made this cheese bread for parties and dinners and potlucks in three states in this U.S. of A., and I can attest to its lusciousness. A couple of enemies became my friends because of this cheese bread. Its power knows no bounds. 🧀 🥖
I finally got to give Mom her birthday hugs, a few days after her actual birthaversary. Mom loves sunflowers, and I was able to find a snazzy Shirt Full o’ Sunflowers to wear for her. It only made sense for me to wear my bees Face Mask o’ the Day with it. In honor of Mom’s fun belief that she is a witch with always-sharpened broom, I donned my flying witches Tie o’ the Day. Mom also liked my pig earrings and my chicken Sloggers shoes, which I chose just for her. She’s such a farm girl.
I managed to find a soft batch of marshmallow Circus Peanuts, which is one of Mom’s fave store-bought treats. We opted to stick a birthday candle in one, so we could sing to Mom. She blew it out like a pro, despite her oxygen difficulties. Of course, she’s had 91 years of practice at blowing out birthday candles.
Mom was more “with it” and energetic than she has been recently. Even Skitter noticed it. Suzanne and I had a wonderful few hours of conversation with the old dame. I was so pleased with Mom’s improvement, and I give credit to the fine cast o’ folks at Millard Care and Rehab. They look out for Mom like she’s family, and it shows.
I often say that Mom was my first blessing, and it is still true. My gratitude for having Mom runneth over—still and always.
A funny thing happened on the way to see Mom on her 91st birthday yesterday. Well, I guess it wasn’t a funny thing, and we never really got on our way. The car was packed with birthday stuff and Skitter’s bed, but my stoopid Cranky Hanky Panky decided it wasn’t in the mood to drive 300 miles in one day—not for me, not for Mom, not for any reason. I’ve argued with my stoopid pancreas often over the last two decades, and I can usually talk it into cooperating at least a little bit when it’s truly important. But not yesterday. Nope. I couldn’t wrestle my panky into compliance in any way, shape, or form. I even stooped so low as to promise my Cranky Hanky Panky I wouldn’t make it go through its surgery next month, if it would just be nice enough to lay low so we could visit Mom on her birthday. My stoopid pancreas knew I was lying. So I guess it’s not so stoopid after all. It got all the attention yesterday. And I didn’t get to go to Deltaville for Mom’s bigly day.
I have heard Mom had a bunch of guests drop by. I’ve heard she had a wonderful time. BT/Mercedes sent me this photo of Mom enjoying herself. I’m trying not to feel bad about not getting to be there, but I do. As soon as I can get my stoopid pancreas in gear, I’m taking a second 91st birthday to her.🎂🎈🎁
Bow Ties o’ the Day send a hearty MERRY BIRTHDAY! to the first-born of the Ron and Helen Wright clan: my sister, Betty. She is more commonly known to her friends and family as BT or Bett. I call her Mercedes. She is not just my blood sibling. We are also linked by a fascination with words and what words can accomplish. We understand their power to elucidate complexities and to inspire change. We share the belief that words are real tools that can be wielded as compassionate embraces or as destructive weaponry. We both read like there’s no tomorrow. We both write. We take notes on everything we see, read, or do. We study as if there’s going to be a quiz. And there is, in fact, a quiz. It’s called life, and it happens every day we’re alive. The words we read and write and say—and the actions the words make happen—will determine if we pass. Mercedes is at the top of her class, as per usual. She aces the bigly test every day.
BTW For those of you who don’t know, Mercedes is the bride in the photo. I’m the wee beast. My Sister Who Wishes To Remain Nameless (SWWTRN) completes our sisters trio.
Nope. Mom never goes anywhere without a housecoat. She still has one hanging here in our front closet, as is probably the case at BT/Mercedes’ and Ron’s homes, too. Her nightgown and housecoat will be here—hanging right where they’ve hung for the last decade—for Mom in case she’s ever able to visit for a sleepover again. She is always welcome here, even though Millard Care and Rehab is the place she needs to be.
In Mom’s nearly 91 years, she has been a part of a slew of amazing stories, which she has never tired of telling us kids about. I’ve been thinking I should share some of the more obscure knee-slappers with you. I was going to start with the tale of what happened one night with Mom, her sister, Rosalie, and Rosalie’s husband, Boyd. But, upon further thought, I’m probably not allowed to tell that one, no matter how amusing it was. So then I decided to tell you the one about the camper Dad built and about the many members of the Delta 2nd Ward who borrowed it. But I’m forbidden from telling you that story, too. So then I decided to tell you the story of how Mom bought a dark, long-haired wig in Provo, just to freak out Dad. But, again, I can’t tell that tale to y’all either, now that I think of it. Nor can I tell you the story of Mom and Dad and the bee yard with an electric fence. That story is not for those readers who are faint of heart or could expire due to excessive laughter—because TIE O’ THE DAY doesn’t carry life insurance for its readers.
I will try to think of some of Mom’s tamer true tales.
Last September, when Mom turned 90, Millard Care and Rehab was on pandemic lockdown, so we celebrated from outside her window. It was not the grand party she deserved, but I think she got the idea that we adore her and are grateful to call her ours. She also got a bazillion birthday cards from family, friends, and a few TIE O’ THE DAY readers she has never met. I thank y’all for that. Well, it’s that time o’ year again—and it’s that pandemic again. The latest news I’ve heard is that the care center is off-limits to visitors, as of a few days ago, because a resident has tested positive for COVID-19. I’m hoping that somehow we’ll be able to see and hug Mom—not just through a window—for her 91st birthday, on September 26. But just in case we’re not allowed in, I’m putting her birthday card and present in the mail. Likewise, if you’d like to send Mom a birthday greeting this week, you know she’d love it. Here’s her address: Helen A. Wright, Millard Care and Rehab, Room #104, Delta, UT 84624
[My brother, Ron, has called me Queenie for as long as either of us can remember, but we all know Mom is the true Queen of All Kindness and Potato Salad. When this post showed up as a memory on my feed this morning, I simply had to post it for y’all once again. Ain’t Mom royally regal?!]
I love running across pix of Mom. Here she is, sometime around four years ago, visiting me in my former Delta abode. When I was in town, Mom wandered over to hang with me two or three times a day. Usually, Mom held court on my porch, where we solved the problems of the world. We were laughing so hard about something one summer day on the porch that Mrs. Rowlette—who just happened to be driving by—pulled into my driveway and asked what was so funny. We invited her onto the sacred porch, where she laughed with us for the next hour. Mrs. Rowlette was not the first, nor was she the last, to find out what happened on the porch, stayed on the porch.
When the weather and temperature didn’t cooperate, this bigly chair by the bigly picture window at my place was Mom’s throne. Mom’s style needs no neckwear, although I’d give her the bowtie off my neck if she wanted it. And you can see where I got my basic fashion sensibilities, right?
With Labor Day now behind us, summer 2021 is gone, too. As I was going through some files yesterday, I stumbled upon this photographic gem of me in the front yard of my family’s home. I was 14 that summer. I think the head in the corner of the pic belongs to my nephew, Ronnie, who would have been 2 at the time. I’ve never had to recognize him by just his head before, but I’m almost certain this shaded noggin belongs to him. The Bow Tie o’ the Day I’ve drawn on my neck here is further proof that every look is vastly improved with the right neckwear.
