dirt don't hurt

Admission:  In the past I have posted recipes on this blog just to keep them in a place where I won't be able to lose them, because I lose a lot of things.  (My mind, included.) At a recent Girl Scout campout, we made this cobbler and I just kept thinking in my head that s'mores and pie irons had better move over-- this is my new favorite campfire dessert! And to make the recipe available to myself wherever I am, I'm posting it here.  As a bonus, You guys can have it, too. Campfire Crisp -- this makes about 4-6 crisps Heavy duty foil in 12x12 or so pieces Pie filling of choice Cooking spray Topping Topping ingredients: 1 cup quick cook oats 1/3 cup flour 4 tablespoons butter 1/4 cup brown sugar Combine topping ingredients in a bowl and cut in butter to form the crumble.  Set aside. Spray foil with cooking spray, because no one likes to chisel their food.  Spoon desired amount of pie filling in the center of each foil piece.  Top with crumb topping, seal

We subscribe to a running magazine.  That does not make up prolific readers or runners, but at times we do our best to pretend we are both.  I usually prefer to read my running magazine while wearing sweat pants and eating pepperoni, thinking that I’ll definitely start tomorrow and leave it at that, but in one such issue I found something quite remarkable. Running and life.  They are more alike than I thought. The article referenced a Buddhist philosophy that inside all of our minds live a bunch of monkeys.  The way to succeed in any run is to tame the monkeys of the mind by meditation.  And as I sat there reading the article, suddenly I realized that I was running low on pepperoni and that if was going to make pizza for my family later in the week I had better get some at the store.   And eggs.  We are almost out of eggs.  And then I wondered where my phone was last put because I have a handy app that I use to write my shopping list so I don’t always leave it in the car like I

Once upon a time, my “low tire” light came on in my car.  This would not be enough to make anyone nervous or impatient, but seeing as I have a life-long fear of driving down the road and my entire tire falling off or exploding like an overfilled balloon, I was not too excited.  My husband is well aware of my nightmarish fear and that I am convinced that the moment of the great explosion I would be sent careening off the road down a 400 foot cliff even when driving right here in Wayne County, Ohio. So he kindly helped with setting up an appointment to have my tires changed, a painfully priced necessity, and after handing over my keys, I settled in with a cup of coffee and few things to keep me occupied while I sat in the waiting room for the next couple of hours. Soon after I sat down, I realized that the older couple that was also waiting for their vehicle to be serviced were reading the newspaper.  The Daily Record, to be specific.  And they were just getting to the section th

There are some things in life I that leave me wide-eyed and jaw-dropped, not because of their incredibility, but rather because they are new.  “How could I have possibly lived on this Earth for 35 years and not known that?!?” I have been known to shout, while shaking my fists and knocking my head. And that was just the reaction I had when I heard about Smigus Dyngus.  Because if there are two things that I love, it’s Polish heritage and water fights.  The thought of combining them both in the honor of Spring nearly makes my head spin.  (There is a casserole involved, too, but we’ll save that for later.) Easter traditions are dear to my heart, mostly because revolving around the amazing food we eat.  Easter Sunday is a veritable feast of kielbasa, babka (sweet Easter bread), ham, soft cheese, eggs, and enough beet horseradish to wash it all down.  Before eating the eggs, we all choose our favorite one and tap the ends together, to see who will get their Easter wish, similar to a t

I will never forget the moment I first held the gun in my hand.  The little scanner gun at the department store, of course.  With my fiancé at my side, we entered the aisles, ready to point, aim, and shoot everything we could possibly need to help us start our life together.  With our wedding shower being planned, we needed to give our family and friends an idea of what they should gift us at the party. Of all of the items we scanned, there was one such menial gift that meant the world to me.  It was my own set of plastic mixing bowls.  They weren’t fancy by any means, and I think the price tag barely topped five dollars.  They were practical and being a young bride-to-be who had never really lived on her own before, they seemed to encompass all that I wanted to be in my new role as wife and someday mother.  I remember opening that very gift, which was given to me by my grandmother.  I envisioned stirring bread dough and mixing Christmas cookies with my children.  I pictured myself