I've tried four different pumpkin bread recipes this year . . . and this one is by far the best. What I like about the recipe is that the crust of the pumpkin bread was crisp, but it was very light and airy. The cranberries were the perfect addition. We liked this so well, it's gone, and I'm making a second loaf tomorrow.
Ingredients
1 1/2 cups sugar
1/2 cup vegetable oil
2 eggs
1 cup real pumpkin
1 1/2 cups flour
1/2 teaspoon ground cloves
1/2 teaspoon nutmeg
1/2 teaspoon cinnamon
1/2 teaspoon baking soda
1/4 teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon baking powder
1 cup dried cranberries
Preparation
Preheat oven to 350°
Beat sugar and oil to blend.
Mix in eggs and pumpkin.
Sift flour, cloves, nutmeg, cinnamon, salt, baking soda, baking powder.
Gradually add flour mixture to pumpkin mixture.
Gently mix in dried cranberries.
Bake 60 minutes.
Cool on wire rack for ten minutes; turn loaf out on wire rack to finish cooling.
Saturday, October 15, 2016
Monday, October 10, 2016
Wish I'd Realized Sooner
As far back as I can remember, I begged my grandmother to tell me family stories. While she almost always obliged, I think there were times she grew weary of telling me the same story for the umpteenth time.
The other thing I used to do was pour through my mother's high school yearbooks. I'd read what people wrote to her, I'd read the senior quotes. I'd figure out which students had been or were couples at the time of graduation, or friends. I'd spin a theory about so many things . . . who became what later in life, who ended up married to whom.
So here's what I wish I'd realized sooner . . . my epiphany over the weekend . . . what I was doing was piecing together stories. I'd take bits of information, and piece them together, my imagination filling in the blanks. I was, in essence, writing.
Every once in awhile I get into a conversation about home-schooling. It may work for some families, but I've never been a proponent of it for ours. First of all, what business do I have trying to educate my child? I'm sure there's a response to that question, but that really isn't why I'm not a proponent. The reason I'm not is because I've seen how teachers have impacted the lives of both my sons. They've seen something I didn't, encouraged my kids to pursue those areas of interest, or areas of talent. Where would my kids be without the influence of teachers? Where would they find their mentors and role models?
How does this relate to the subject of this post? I wish someone had encouraged me to write more than they did. I wish I had learned to channel my fascination with family history, with piecing together stories, into writing. I used to write a lot. So much. I wrote poetry, song lyrics, and stories. I can vividly remember sitting in my bedroom on Ostrander Road, the house warm and cozy, snow blanketing the outside world . . . and writing.
It wasn't until I turned fifty that I seriously undertook writing a fictional "book." It's been an interesting process, particularly given how many books I've read, edited, designed both content and covers for. I read a post the other day written by an author who had just finished the first draft of her first book. She is ready to publish, meaning ready to find a publisher for her book. I remember those days. Very heady ones indeed. I read the comments her post received, and wanted to chuckle. I briefly considered responding, but decided to let her figure it out on her own.
My experience was mixed. I'm sure there were countless people following my journey who held their tongue at my naivete. Others shared their opinions with me freely, and prolifically.
I miss those days of utter excitement, endless possibilities from just that first book. I am overwhelmed by what it takes to effectively market a book, or books. It is a full-time job in and of itself. It's damn hard work, made harder by the push and pull of writing versus marketing . . . or even writing versus editing.
Doug has just let me know that the treadmill is free, so off I go. And while I'm on it, I'll likely read, get lost in the possibilities of yet another story, or series, as I usually do. And wish, again, that I'd realized what I am capable of sooner.
The other thing I used to do was pour through my mother's high school yearbooks. I'd read what people wrote to her, I'd read the senior quotes. I'd figure out which students had been or were couples at the time of graduation, or friends. I'd spin a theory about so many things . . . who became what later in life, who ended up married to whom.
So here's what I wish I'd realized sooner . . . my epiphany over the weekend . . . what I was doing was piecing together stories. I'd take bits of information, and piece them together, my imagination filling in the blanks. I was, in essence, writing.
Every once in awhile I get into a conversation about home-schooling. It may work for some families, but I've never been a proponent of it for ours. First of all, what business do I have trying to educate my child? I'm sure there's a response to that question, but that really isn't why I'm not a proponent. The reason I'm not is because I've seen how teachers have impacted the lives of both my sons. They've seen something I didn't, encouraged my kids to pursue those areas of interest, or areas of talent. Where would my kids be without the influence of teachers? Where would they find their mentors and role models?
How does this relate to the subject of this post? I wish someone had encouraged me to write more than they did. I wish I had learned to channel my fascination with family history, with piecing together stories, into writing. I used to write a lot. So much. I wrote poetry, song lyrics, and stories. I can vividly remember sitting in my bedroom on Ostrander Road, the house warm and cozy, snow blanketing the outside world . . . and writing.
It wasn't until I turned fifty that I seriously undertook writing a fictional "book." It's been an interesting process, particularly given how many books I've read, edited, designed both content and covers for. I read a post the other day written by an author who had just finished the first draft of her first book. She is ready to publish, meaning ready to find a publisher for her book. I remember those days. Very heady ones indeed. I read the comments her post received, and wanted to chuckle. I briefly considered responding, but decided to let her figure it out on her own.
My experience was mixed. I'm sure there were countless people following my journey who held their tongue at my naivete. Others shared their opinions with me freely, and prolifically.
I miss those days of utter excitement, endless possibilities from just that first book. I am overwhelmed by what it takes to effectively market a book, or books. It is a full-time job in and of itself. It's damn hard work, made harder by the push and pull of writing versus marketing . . . or even writing versus editing.
Doug has just let me know that the treadmill is free, so off I go. And while I'm on it, I'll likely read, get lost in the possibilities of yet another story, or series, as I usually do. And wish, again, that I'd realized what I am capable of sooner.
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