Good news...

Don't want to start any false roomers, but just heard that 'What Took You So Long,' is now on shelves at Deseret Book stores, so trot right out there and get it. You can probably get it from Amazon, too, if you like doing it that way, and pretty soon you can even get it for your little electrical reader thingy. It's the story of how John and Lainie got together. You're going to love it. It's always good when you see two nice people finally find their glitch in life.

To celebrate the book, I'm passing along a real fine recipe you'll want to add to your collection. It'll be a special treat on these cool winter mornings. (Some great recipes in the book too. Knew you'd want to know that.)

LEMON RASPBERRY MUFFINS
Heat your oven up to 400 degrees and get your muffin tins ready. This recipe makes 18. Put 2 cups flour, 1 cup sugar, 1 tablespoon baking powder and 1/2 teaspoon salt in a big mixing bowl. Kind of whisk it around so it's mixed together. In a smaller bowl mix 2 eggs, 1/2 cup cooking oil, 1 teaspoon lemon zest, 1 cup milk, and 1 tablespoon lemon juice. Stir that into the dry ingredients and mix until the flour is moist, but don't overdo it. Then stir in a heaping cup of fresh or frozen raspberries. Scoop the batter into the muffin cups and bake for 18 to 20 minutes. Keep checking so they don't get too brown on top. Cool them on a rack. Mix 2 tablespoons lemon juice with a cup of powdered sugar (you may want to sift it if it's too lumpy) and drizzle that over the muffins. You'll have a hit on your hands when you make these. Let me know how they turn out for you.

People Are Nice

Since I've been handicapped with the pulled muscle (which happened when I was righteously exercising) I've been the recipient of many kindnesses as people watch me negotiate my way through the world on a wheeled walker. Elegant little contraption--aluminum, adjustable, and stylish now that we added the "ski" sliders on the back. It folds nicely to fit in the car.

Whenever people see me hobbling around on the walker, they hold doors for me, stand by so I can pass, and offer to hold or cary things for me. One friend even offered to clear a crowded hall for me at church, and as a large person with a commanding voice, he could have done it easily. I think he was disappointed when I declined, saying the hall would soon clear and the class wouldn't start without me. In fact, I went through the entire pre-holiday season going to church and special choir practices inching my way along because I'm so stubborn that I won't say "I can't do this." During the Christmas choir fireside performance, I was given permission to remain seated for the entire program--thoughtful choir director.

My friend Donna had a health crisis (she's in her 80s) so I loaned her that walker and now use my four-wheeled version that scoots me around much faster. It has a seat so I can sit in the kitchen and fix meals, and pockets to let me carry things I need, like a book or a bottle of hand lotion, so I don't really miss the other one.

However, I'm quite frustrated at the lack of progress as I go to physical therapy a couple of times a week, come home tired, and don't really notice much improvement. I refuse to think this is My Life from here on. In the meantime, I am sometimes moved to tears by the kindnesses and thoughtfulness of people who smile, hold the door, and say an encouraging word. Maybe being handicapped this way--temporarily, I insist--has its advantages.

Does Color Matter?

I see by the headlines that Oreo cookies are coming out in a new flavor--red velvet. Actually it isn't flavor as much as color that's changing. I've never been able to understand the charm of red velvet food. It doesn't have a distinctive flavor. It's just red. But it's in vogue right now, so I guess that's the point.

Fashions in food come and go, just like fashions in clothes and shoes. When I was a kid, it was all the rage to make layered Jello by setting one color according to the directions on the box, and then preparing the same color, only whipping the dickens out of it until it became airy and pastel, and then layering the two in a parfait glass. My college roommates called it fluffy Jello. Impressive served with a dollop of whipped cream, yes, but beyond the three-minute thrill of eating a non-nutritious food, where do we go from here? Now the trend is only a memory.

If you sit for any length of time and people-watch, you start feeling the same way about stripes. Fashion designers have plagued women now for several seasons with this unattractive fad. I've see horizontal stripes that aren't flattering even on skinny women. What's attractive about dressing like a football referee? Those guys with ample bellies running around on the field should feel embarrassed about wearing a uniform that emphasizes their least attractive feature. Women with infirm hip muscles (read "flabby glutes") should definitely not wear horizontal stripes. Just sayin'...have you seen yourselves walking away? If your Aunt Sophie won't tell you, honey, who will?

Let's hope that as a people we develop the good sense to let stripes go the way of fluffy Jello.

By the way, if you insist on eating those chemically-flavored Oreo cookies, at least get it right. Stick a fork in the frosting to dip them in milk--a lot less messy.

Here's a much better cookie recipe that you may also have to eat with a fork because it's a little bit sticky:

GOOEY BUTTER BARS
Grease a 9X13 pan and heat the oven to 325. Stir 1 egg and 1/2 cup melted butter into a yellow cake mix. Press it evenly into the pan. Blend 8 oz. softened cream cheese, 2 eggs, 1/2 teaspoon lemon flavoring, 1/2 teaspoon vanilla flavoring, 1/2 teaspoon vanilla flavoring, and 2 cups powdered sugar. When it's nice and smooth, spread it over the layer in the pan. Bake 40-45 minutes until it's firm and a little bit golden brown. Try to wait until it's cool before you dig in. You can also try this using other cake mixes--chocolate, lemon, spice, even red velvet if you want--and adjusting the flavorings accordingly--you know, add some cinnamon or nutmeg if you use a spice cake mix. Lots of possibilities here. However, if you eat too many of these, you should definitely not wear horizontal stripes.

Book News

It looks like we're going to have another go-round with another book. Walnut Springs is publishing my second novel in February. Deseret Book is distributing again.

However, Deseret Book asked me to change the title... a small price to pay... so the second one is called What Took You So Long. To get it read to go to press in January, guess what I'll be doing over the holidays. Expect recipes. Actually editing is fun. I enjoy the process.

In the meantime I've been editing Book Three, titled See You in the Morning. Then my contemporary series is finished.

And the winner is...

Congratulations to Lacey Gunter who won the blog comment drawing for a free copy of Living It Down.

And thanks to all who entered, and all who came to the book launch last Saturday. It was great fun to see everyone there. If you couldn't come, we'll no doubt have other book signing events. And if you don't want to wait for that, it's available wherever Deseret Books are sold. If you don't see it on the shelf, down there on the bottom with all the other Ws, ASK FOR IT.

If you feel so inclined, write a review for Amazon.com or Good Reads, or your blog, or wherever you share ideas with other people. It would be greatly appreciated.

Here's another one of Aunt Sophie's recipes, easily doable by kids with a little help from mom or dad:

Flourless Peanut Butter Cookies
So easy! Heat the oven to 350. Mix up 1 cup peanut butter, 1 cup sugar, 1 egg, and 1 teaspoon vanilla extract--that's it. Scoop  1-1/2 tablespoon dough on a cookie pan lined with parchment paper. (Trust me--it just makes life easier.) Flatten each one a little bit with a fork. Bake 10 or 12 minutes until cookies firm up. Cool in the pan about two minutes before removing to a cooling rack.

Win a copy of my new book!

Welcome to my new blog. Here's the cover of my just-published novel! Walnut Springs Press has done a great job with editing and publishing. It'll soon be available wherever Deseret Books are sold. Join us for the book launch party:

Saturday, June 28

Pioneer Books

450 West Center

Provo

4 to 7 p.m.

(Aunt Sophie says there will be cookies.)

Here's my backstory as a writer. Read it and make a comment before June 20, and you'll be entered in a drawing for a copy of the book...

            I spent 33 years living in a place I didn’t love, and all I got for it was a book publishing contract.

            Lemme ‘splain.

            In 1976, after two frustrating years in a rural Arizona town, two years in Iran, and two years on Guam, we were looking for a place to settle down. I preferred an urban setting; my husband just wanted a secure job. We both wanted to be reasonably close to one set of grandparents or the other so our children could get acquainted with them. We got an offer from a junior high (which later became a middle school) about two hours away from my husband’s parents in Provo, Utah. After visiting the town and struggling to find a suitable place to live, we landed temporarily in a single-wide mobile home smaller than the one we’d lived in before, vowing that we’d build a bigger house as soon as possible.

            I remember that after we fasted and prayed about moving there, I got off my knees and said to my husband, “I wish we didn’t have to go there.” We set up housekeeping, put our older daughter in a preschool, made friends in the ward, struggled to learn how the town functioned socially (hint: teachers are targets), and dealt with the main drawback of being those peculiar outsiders who didn’t care about hunting and fishing. For the first three months we lived there, I often cried myself to sleep. One bright spot, however, was that a woman in the ward invited me to attend a meeting of a writers group she belonged to, associated with a statewide organization, the League of Utah Writers. I met some lovely people there who became lasting friends, attended whenever my demanding family life would allow, and began some serious writing projects of my own.

            When we found a small piece of property on the other end of town and started planning for a home, I anticipated putting down roots, both literally and figuratively. I intended to become a country gentlewoman—perfect my knowledge of gardening, plant fruit trees, make jam, have a root cellar, create bouquets from flowers in my own yard, and learn all the old-fashioned country homemaking skills, which are very different from city homemaking skills. In the city you follow the case lot sales; in the country you pay attention to the length of the growing season. You learn when to plant, how to water a garden, and where to get quantities of produce to preserve in bottles and freezer.

            We moved into our house in February, 1977, and subscribed to seed catalogs. That spring I planted tomato seeds indoors. We put them on an old metal rack in the sunny kitchen window, a sliding glass door, and cheered when sprouts came out of the soil. And then I sneezed. And sneezed. And sneezed. I’d never had allergies before. We decided that next year we’d get tomato plants at the local nursery. Still, whenever I worked outdoors, I continued to sneeze.

            After a couple of years of this, I realized that gardening wasn’t going to be my lifetime pursuit. Then I learned that some friends in the ward were part of a local community theater, and I was thrilled. Drama has been one of the serious loves of my life—like raspberries and hazelnuts—and to find an outlet for that in this rural place was a tender mercy indeed.

            Fast forward a few years. Being involved in the ward, I made friends and found a few things in common with others. My life choices—serving a mission, graduating from college, being a writer—had painted me into an obscure corner in a community where all non-natives were suspicious anyway. In fact, when we were looking for a place to live in 1976, we’d follow up on ads in the newspaper, finding that doors we knocked on were opened only slightly, and potential landlords asked why we were moving to town, who we were related to, and if we had temple recommends. One clueless person cheerfully suggested that as a stopgap measure until something opened up, we could pitch a tent in the KOA campground. Nevertheless, over the years, I met a few very dear people whose genuine friendship fed my spirit.

Directing plays for community theater brought some satisfaction, but it wasn’t enough. Even without the acceptance I craved, I couldn’t stay home and watch soap operas all the time. I got a job with the school district writing school news stories for the local weekly paper. I became involved with arts organizations, started some that didn’t last long due to lack of support, and launched an annual art show that’s still going. I became the PR person for various other community groups that needed my writing skills. I taught creative writing for college outreach programs offering classes locally. Eventually, my three plays based on Book of Mormon stories were produced by the stake with great success. I later became the writing tutor in my husband’s school where I taught one-on-one to coach children in good writing and thinking skills. In my home, I mentored a few brilliant high school students who were gifted writers. Knowing that the world was bigger than the city limits of our tiny town, our three children left home. Later, I found satisfaction serving in the Manti Temple for three years.

During all this busyness, however, even though I was deeply involved in the community, I often felt isolated, lonely, and depressed. Writing had always been my escape, so I kept writing. Entering League of Utah Writers contests, I eventually won some respectable prizes for my essays, poetry, and novels. When my husband retired and we moved to Provo, I had a body of work that included hundreds of newspaper articles, a couple of short stories, about fifty essays, a portfolio of poetry, four plays, files full of undeveloped ideas for future projects, and six novels in various stages of completion.

In Provo, it pleased me to find a book club in our ward. I joined the American Night Writers Association (ANWA—a national organization of LDS women writers), and attended writing conferences for networking and education. I became almost compulsive about honing my skills and perfecting my work. A writer who did line-and-content editing evaluated five of my novels and encouraged me to submit them for publication. She knew people who knew people, and pretty soon, so did I. In the writer’s milieu, I felt accepted, nourished, and valued.

Another set of what seems like serendipitous circumstances brings me to today. My first novel has been published and I feel like the poster child for late bloomers. Looking back, I realize that if I hadn’t been in that circumstance of isolation, loneliness, and depression, my attention would probably have gone to more mundane pursuits, temporarily satisfying, but still transitory, less creatively fulfilling. Only in looking back can I see the pattern of doors closing, followed by windows opening. It is as Elder Bednar said in his April 2014 conference talk:

Each of us carries a load. Our individual load is comprised of demands and opportunities, obligations and privileges, afflictions and blessings, and options and constraints… Sometimes we mistakenly may believe that happiness is the absence of a load. But bearing a load is a necessary and essential part of the plan of happiness. Because our individual load needs to generate spiritual traction, we should be careful to not haul around in our lives so many nice but unnecessary things that we are distracted and diverted from the things that truly matter most.

Though I found dear friends there, I still don’t love that place I lived for 33 years. It is familiar, but I don’t pine away with nostalgia. That place didn’t necessarily love me, and yet I tried to bloom where I was planted. Hard as it was, I do love the outcome of the struggle.