Hugh Griffin’s Peach Pie

September 15, 2014 By in Edible Fiction, Food From The Secrets of Dr. John Welles Tags: , , , , , , 2 Comments
IMG_20140908_154003

Juicy Peach Pie

It is the summer of 1929. John Welles and his girlfriend, Garland Griffin, take a trip to visit her father. It’s a big step in their relationship. She is opening up to John and showing a side of herself he never knew existed.

While visiting, Garland’s widowed father, Hugh, serves the couple peach pie he made himself. The following recipe is the inspiration for the pie in my novel, The Secrets of Dr. John Welles. Although Hugh is, no doubt, a very talented man, it was actually my mother who made the pie pictured throughout this post.

Lightly crisp, buttery, flaky, tender, mouth-watering pie crust is the hallmark of my mother’s pies despite the flavor of filling used. She is such a master at it that I don’t even bother learning how to roll crust myself. Shameful, I know.

Anyhow, I hope you’ll enjoy the peach pie as much as John and Garland!

Hugh Griffin’s Peach Pie

WP_20140908_006

Expert Rolling of the Crust

For the Crust:

2 c all-purpose flour

1 t salt

1 c cold butter, cut into ½ inch pieces

Ice water

Sift flour and salt into a bowl. Work butter into the flour/salt mixture until it resembles coarse meal. A pastry blender or two knives is recommended so mixture stays cool. Add ice water one tablespoon at a time forming a dough ball with your hands. Work quickly to keep dough from warming. Wrap in plastic wrap and refrigerate while preparing peaches.

WP_20140908_007

Adding Peaches to the Crust

For the Filling:

5 – 6 good sized peaches

5 T butter

¾ c sugar

¼ c flour

1 t vanilla

1 t cinnamon

½ t salt

Peel and slice peaches into a large bowl. Add sugar, cinnamon, salt, flour, and vanilla. Toss until well coated. Cover and set aside.

WP_20140908_010

Perfectly Assembled

Assembling the pie:

Divide dough ball in half. Roll one half for a bottom crust to fit in a 9” pie plate. Add peach mixture and dot with tablespoon slices of butter. Roll top crust and place on top of peaches. Tuck the edges of the top crust under the edges of the bottom crust. Crimp edges with a fork. Cut slits in top crust to allow steam to escape. Brush crust with an egg wash (1 egg beaten w/ 1 t water.) Bake at 425 degrees for 25 – 30 minutes or until crust is golden brown, taking care not to burn the edges.

WP_20140908_015

The hand that rolls the pie crust rules the world!

 

The Best Part of Waking Up – a Sunday Morning Reminiscence

September 14, 2014 By in Lightning Juice Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , 2 Comments

Henry gives the corner of my eye sandpaper-tongue kisses. I chuckle, trying not to move. This is the signal for Aria to roll over off her back, stretch, and groan. Then she huffs morning collie breath in my face. She knows I’m awake.  I stretch and groan; an exercise made easier by the sunlight streaming through my blinds. All fifteen parakeets begin chorusing their demand to have the cage covers removed. I place both feet on the warm spot of carpet Aria has just vacated.

“Good morning, everyone.”

1410701455911

Notice the blown out elbows.

I don the world’s rattiest bathrobe and perform morning rituals. The robe wasn’t always so shabby. About twenty years ago, it was the plushest robe in blue and pink plaid flannel over thick white terrycloth. It was part of Victoria’s Secret’s Authentic Country Cotton collection; a Christmas present from Will. This robe and I have seen a lot together, but we’re keeping those secrets.

When Joshua was little, he used to wrap himself in it, tie the sash, and trail a good three feet of it on the floor. Except for the feminine color, he looked like a prince in royal robes. He would hold the collar in both little hands and say, “It smells like you, Mommy.” When he puts it on now, the hem ends just below his knees.

1410698346704

Bath Time

I head to the kitchen to make tea.  Henry and Aria sneak back to the bedroom to recapture the fading essence of Sunday morning.  She curls up in the corner while he walks around her head and shoulders.  After a few nuzzles, Henry grooms Aria’s paws and snout and she licks behind his ears.  I believe she gets the better end of the deal as Henry looks like he’s been drowned after a slaking by her tongue.

Finally, I’m in possession of a tub of tea. We’re Americans; we don’t do anything small including our teacups. Will purchased honey sold on the side of the road in Hartville. It’s in a small Ball jar with a masking tape price tag. This makes it taste homier for some reason. The flavor is between clover and dessert wine and compliments my tea perfectly. Gotta love roadside stands; the best pies, corn, eggs, and honey can be found there.

1410698580445

$8 for a jar of liquid sunshine – quite a deal.

Tea in hand, animals in tow, I head for the living room to read the Bible. That’s when I hear the familiar metallic creaking of Joshua’s loft bed. He’s coming down the ladder. I quickly intercept him in the hallway and guide him to my room. A morning nap in my bed will buy me some more quite time.

As for Will, he’s dead to the world in the back bedroom, banished due to ungodly snoring. The bed is a brand new, high-quality mattress from The Original Mattress Factory, so keep your scorn in check. It’s not as if I exiled him to the garage. Besides, he’s concluded that it’s easier to sleep a few nights alone than not at all with my elbow constantly in his side.

So, I’m guaranteed an hour of peace and solitude. I really could use more sleep, but I hate to waste the morning. Who knows what miracles, spectacular or ordinary, may take place? Think I’ll stay awake and find out.

I May Be That Mother

September 12, 2014 By in Lightning Juice Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , 2 Comments
IMG_20140912_104552

Next stop: Red Belt

You know the one:  she’s jumping up at sporting events, bawling out coaches and other players, encouraging get in there and kick the other kids’ butts. Yeah, that’s me. At least my kid doesn’t play a team sport, but if he did…

What my kid does is take karate at the Dale McCutcheon School of Martial Arts in Uniontown, Ohio. He started in grade school when he received an invitation for a two-week free trial from a former classmate. At first, Joshua was anxious, but his friend and another buddy would be there with him. You should have seen them in their fresh white karate gis, belts tied haphazardly around their thin waists. Joshua looked nervous in the picture I took the first day; you can tell from his cheesy smile.

That was umpteen million years ago. Today, Joshua is a freshman and testing for red belt. The test will be at least four hours, possibly longer. Even as I type this I can feel the anxiety building in me, tears welling in my eyes. I don’t think I can watch this time. Brown belt testing was hard enough. Five and seven-man attacks are the worst to watch.

I remember flying out of the observation room, storming down the short hallway, standing with my toes pressed against the mats, screaming, “Punch ‘im, Joshua! Punch ‘im in the nose! That’s it, baby, hit ‘im harder, HARDER! Knock ‘im into next week!”

The only thing that kept me from flying onto the mats to join my kid in battle was the respect I have for the black-belt instructors, the school, and karate in general. When I returned to the observation room, another parent asked, “Are you all right, Momma?”

In my defense, I don’t do it because I think the whole process is unfair or that my kid is getting picked on. I also realize this isn’t about me.  But ask yourself (not you, dads): How would you react when five to seven larger kids are jumping your kid all at once? So, yeah, I don’t think I’ll be going tonight.

UPDATE: My mother called to say she thinks we should attend this evening up to the point when they conduct attacks. Then we’ll bail out to McDonald’s for coffee and torture ourselves imagining the worst.

Beer and Cigarettes

September 10, 2014 By in Lightning Juice Tags: , , , , , , , , , 5 Comments

I think I might be a terrible mother. (Somewhere my mother is nodding her head Yes.) Ever since our son, Joshua, was born, I have tried to make good choices for him until he was old enough to do so for himself. For those of you who know me, you’re probably thinking This is going to be one of those stories where she believes she’s been too hard on Joshua, but we’ll reassure her she did the right thing. It’s not.

It started the day we took Joshua to B.A. Sweetie Candy Company in Cleveland. Our baby was going to be a freshman in a few days, and we wanted to give him a treat before he started high school. What better way to ensure our baby remained a baby than by taking him to a gigantic candy warehouse?  The usual complaints of are we there yet didn’t even phase us as we made the long trip. We had to endure them because our destination was a surprise. Imagine the look that would appear on Joshua’s face when we arrived. I did.

I dreamed about the three of us leisurely strolling every aisle, choosing candy with the same care a diamond buyer would give an uncut stone, and greedily wiping out over half our stash on the long trip home. It would be perfect. And it was with the exception of one small glitch:  Joshua spied the gigantic Jelly Belly dispenser upon entering the building. He rushed over and began reading flavors on the front of each sleeve of jelly beans. No, no—this is not how we do it. Joshua, you completely passed the bins of old fashioned candy over here. We must do this in an orderly manner so we don’t miss anything or overspend. Of course, I didn’t say any of this to him.

“Mom, they have Pomegranate.” (His favorite flavor in life.) “And look, Cappuccino. Can I have these, Mom?”

“Well, Jelly Belly Beans are very expensive. Why don’t you make sure this is what you want before we take them out? We can’t put them back like wrapped candy.”

“Okay.”

What a great kid. He endured my plan of touring the building and found other things he wanted. He enjoyed it, too. I was secretly pleased when he chose a few old fashioned candies that pre-dated me. Tootsie Pops and candy cigarettes had been favorites among the candy in my Halloween pumpkin. However, the Jelly Belly Beans were his goal and exactly where we ended up. That’s fine. I tactfully pointed out that he needed to weigh the beans to about a quarter of a pound so we didn’t go over our candy budget. Like the trooper he is, he did.

It was no surprise when he chose Pomegranate and Cappuccino. Then he found a flavor that wasn’t exactly, how should I say this, savory?

“Mom, look—Draft Beer.”

“Uh, yeah. What about Mint Chocolate Chip or Mango Chili?”

“Can I have these?”

“Why?”

“I want to see if they taste like beer.”

“And how would you know? How about Sizzling Cinnamon? Those are great, Josh.”

He smiled halfheartedly and shoved his hands in his pockets, but he didn’t move away from the dreaded flavor. My inner mother braced for a confrontation. I stepped closer to appraise the offending candy. It was actually quite pretty; a soft golden jelly bean with a pearlescent coating. So innocent looking.

“All right, but just a few.”

We paid for our ridiculous quantity of candy and went home a happy, satisfied family. Internal mother reared her head again, so only one item each was sampled during our drive. Joshua did not choose the Draft Beer beans. That happened a few days later.

He sat cross-legged on my bed with his bag of beans. I could tell he wanted my approval for having chosen them and now eating them. He placed one in his mouth and chewed. The expression on his face was priceless.

“Ugh, they do taste like beer.”

“Again, how would you know?”

“Here, Mom, try one.”

How to describe the taste? Really, really cheap beer that ends on a sickening sweet note. What were you thinking, Jelly Belly? What’s worse, the flavor lingered on my breath. I believe these things would get a person in trouble with a cop in the event that said person was pulled over for speeding.

“Aauugh, this awful. I can’t believe I let you buy these.”

Joshua was quite entertained at this point. He wanted something else from the pile and grabbed his candy cigarettes. That’s when it hit me.

My precious baby sat there with a bag of Draft Beer jelly beans and a candy cigarette elegantly positioned between two fingers. He held it like a pro. Images of out-of-control college parties swam before my eyes.

“I am such a terrible mother. I let you buy Draft Beer jelly beans and candy cigarettes.”

An ornery grin spread over Joshua’s face, lighting up his eyes, before he said, “What kind of parent are you?”

The Weight of Words

September 9, 2014 By in The Weight of Words Tags: , , , , , 1 Comment

I have always been intrigued by words and their definitions.  I believe word choice is crucial whether writing or speaking.  Many of the words I use daily were learned while reading thus giving me a rather decent vocabulary.  I don’t see this happening with children today.  Too many books are dumbed down for them, and this trend that has crept into adult fiction.

I don’t claim to be a master.  I will undoubtedly make mistakes.  Please be tactful when pointing them out.  In the meantime, I’ll keep learning and striving for the very best language in everything I do.

For this reason, I have created The Weight of Words.  I’ll feature various words and definitions I have found interesting.  I hope you will find them useful and/or helpful.  If you have any word suggestions for this category, please don’t hesitate to comment.

Picture Perfect Love

September 9, 2014 By in Read & Relax Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , 2 Comments

Welcome to my first installment of Read & Relax.  The story I’ve chosen to share with you was written for a contest at the Faded Velvet antique store located, at the time, in Hartville, Ohio.  The owner, Donna, posted an old, sepia-toned picture on her Facebook page and challenged participants to write a story about the people in it.  I won the contest and received a gift certificate to the store which I used to purchase a beautiful cut glass pitcher.

IMG_20140909_092034_414IMG_20140909_093401_805

 

 

 

 

 

 

I now own the photograph thanks to the generosity of a best friend.  The original isn’t a tintype, but since I have always been fascinated with the tintypes my mother owned, I decided to make it one for my story.  All that is known about the couple in the picture is they lived on a farm in Massillon, Ohio.

So, make a cup of English breakfast tea, sit back, read and relax.

Picture Perfect Love

Edible Fiction

September 8, 2014 By in Edible Fiction Tags: , , , , , , 4 Comments

About a month ago, I had a brilliant idea for my blog:  feature the food in my novel, The Secrets of Dr. John Welles. That very same day, a patron at the library where I work checked out a book called Fictitious Dishes by Dinah Fried.

I could have been bitter, believing my brilliant idea to have been stolen right out from under my nose, but realized I was on to something good. I placed the book on hold and waited another month for my turn to read it.

In the meantime, I scoured my own novel for every mention of food. There were plenty. I’m not really surprised because I have always enjoyed eating. Also in that vein of thought, I love to feed my family and friends. It made sense that I fed my fictional people as well.

Based on this discovery, I decided to provide recipes and pictures of the food in my book. My goal would be to immerse the reader into the world of my main character, John Welles. Not to mention, it has been and will be incredibly fun to create the food, photograph the food, and eat the food.

Bon appétit!

Welcome to my Author Blog

September 7, 2014 By in Uncategorized Tags: , , , , , , , 3 Comments

Welcome to my author blog, Friend. I am so pleased you found me.

The overall purpose of my blog is to familiarize you with my writing, most specifically my novel, The Secrets of Dr. John Welles. I also write short stories and picture books. Recently, I decided to try my hand at middle grade fiction; the project is going well.

Following me is quite easy. Just click the +Follow button hovering in the bottom right hand corner of the screen or take advantage of the sign-up directly on the Home page. In addition to my blog, there are various ways for us to become better acquainted. I can be found on Facebook, Twitter, Pinterest, and Goodreads.

I look forward to getting to know you better.

HL Gibson, Author

Lightning Juice

August 25, 2014 By in Lightning Juice Tags: , , , , , Leave a comment

Several weeks ago, I decided to clean out my closet. Ambitious, I know. Thankfully, the job proved to be easier than I first expected. The solution was to simply remove everything I hadn’t used or worn in over a year and cart it off to Goodwill. A little sweeping, rearranging, and I was patting myself on the back in no time.

Right before I closed the closet doors for the day, I spied the box for my hiking boots in the back corner. Hadn’t I just worn those? I was pretty sure they were still sitting in the hallway going downstairs.

I wavered for a second: Leave the boots where they were and call it a day or retrieve them and feel truly satisfied on a job well done? I made a split second decision.

“Joshua?” I yelled from the bedroom.

(Pause)

“What?” he yelled back from the kitchen.

So typical of a teenager. Don’t bother to get up to come see what I want. (Yes, I know I was being equally lazy by not fetching the boots myself.)

“Bring me my Nevados,” I said, using the brand name of the boot.

(Pause)

“Your what?”

(Sigh)

“My Nevados!”

“What’s that?”

I quickly realized this exchange wasn’t going to produce the results I wanted. He was playing Minecraft.

Small sidebar: If you know anything about Minecraft, you know that once a person is addicted, yes, addicted, there is no reaching them throughout the duration of time they are engaged in playing. On one hand, Joshua loves it. He’s formed online communities with his friends and builds like a first rate architect. On the other hand, I’m firmly convinced too much exposure will suck out his brain.

“Please – bring – me – my – hiking – boots,” I bellowed at this point.

(Pause)

“Your what?”

(Sigh with teeth grinding)

“HIKING BOOTS!”

(Pause)

“Your lightning juice?”

Yes, Joshua, that is what I said: My lightning juice.