Tag Archives: Lightning Juice

Challah Lessons

November 6, 2023 By in Lightning Juice Tags: , , , , , , , , , , 2 Comments

Writing for my blog took a backseat in my thoughts during the month of October. In fact, I also haven’t written anything toward my current WIP since I arrived at Shabbat services on October seventh to discover that evil had ramped up its game. What followed has left me dumbfounded, angry, but also with an overwhelming desire to speak truth. And not HL Gibson’s truth, but rather Adonai’s truth.

If you spend any time perusing my blog or social media, you’ll come away with a very good idea of who I am based on what I believe and how I write. Transparency on my blog is always my intention because I want to forge a connection with my readers. This is why my blog has a relaxed presentation that invites comments. I want to have a conversation with you rather than have you feel that I’m constantly trying to sell my novel, Realm, to you or preach at you about writing.

So, the purpose of this post is to help me build back to a place of peace. More than ever, people need to make strong connections to help each other through the dark days. I hope that you’re encouraged to do the same, especially if you’re one of the creatives. A return to art and the creative process is healing from the inside out.

I started by trying a new challah recipe that I’m sharing with you. The simplicity of making bread starts as a return to routine and the need to keep my hands busy so that my brain doesn’t overload. It’s always so beautiful as the dough comes together and, even though still raw, smells delicious.

The first rising time is best used for studying scripture and reading. Dividing the dough and braiding each half into loaves is a time for prayer for those who will eat the challah and anyone who comes to mind. The second rising time is when I organize other parts of my day into productive tasks. The beauty of the whole process is that I’m practicing the concept of laboring so that I can enter Adonai’s rest and experience true shalom.

Peace is the goal here, but bread is the reminder of what is important to me, and what’s important is peace. It’s cyclical! It’s also a reminder that family and friends are the true treasures braided into my life. Making the challah is a blessing because it occurs in my little home, where we’ve lived safely for thirty years with a parade of pets from the four-footed to the winged to the finned. (Although I still don’t have a horse.)

Most importantly, making the challah is a warning—yes, warning—to not mistake complacency for peace. It’s work to not become so content that I drift into decadence and laziness. The next step is indifference and forgetfulness, and every stage of that downward spiral is a bad place to be. It is a grave danger to ignore the truth, no matter how painful, because then we become useless to ourselves and others when we fall into the wrong belief that the evil taking place out there will never touch us.

Bread is life, and life must be fought for. I cannot always predict when and where the battlefronts will open in my life, but I can be prepared to fight that evil even if it’s through the simple task of baking challah. I will stare evil in the face and say, “You will not disrupt my process. Not today.” And then, in the name of Adonai, I will share the fruits of my labor, the work of my hands, with those I love, thus defeating evil.

Do You Hear What I Hear?

October 2, 2023 By in Lightning Juice Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , 2 Comments

I tend to get in the middle of a task and suddenly needing something I can’t reach or forgot to grab in the first place. No problem. My husband, Will, is usually in the house, so I yell for him.

This exact scenario happened the other day, and fortunately, Will called back to ask what I needed thus expressing a willingness to retrieve said item. I told him exactly what I needed and exactly where to find it. The search was on.

I know, because I was the last person to use the item and/or the one who purchased it and placed it where it belonged, that it was exactly where I said it would be. But Will could not find it.

Now, if your home is anything like the Gibson Household, at this point, a conversation bellowed between rooms takes place because why would you walk into the room where the person in need is located? And now stuck in many ways! No help in locating the desperately needed item was forthcoming.

Except for a continued description of the item in the minutest detail shouted across the house in a voice somewhere between panic and rising anger. Quite possibly through clenched teeth.

And then, most unexpectedly and with great enthusiasm, Will’s shout of, “I found it!” rang throughout the house. Sighs of relief were enjoyed all around and life resumed with some sort of normalcy.

Upon parting, however, he made a strange comment. “I couldn’t see it because I expected it to look like that other thing you have.”

What? I described what I needed in precise detail. Slow dawning came. “You weren’t really listening, were you?” At this point, I could allow my annoyance to boil over into anger, but HaShem has taught me to pause and look at the situation because there is usually a lesson involved.

Because Will expected the item to look like something else, he literally could not see what I needed on the shelf in front of him. My verbal description, i.e., what he heard, was useless because his brain saw what he wanted. He was blinded by his expectations.

How many times have we done the same thing with Adonai? We humbly petition for something we need, and when the answer doesn’t arrive looking exactly as we expect, we cannot see it. Or worse, we claim our prayer wasn’t answered.

The same thing applies when reading scripture. Believers claim that HaShem is still speaking to them, but when His words on the page don’t match our image of Adonai based on our religion, doctrine, theology, or traditions, we cast Him, His character, and his Word aside. We’re not hearing, and what’s worse, we’re not listening.

Believers who don’t or won’t listen cannot see what’s right in front of them. They cannot perceive HaShem’s truths. Their spiritual sight weakens because their ears are not listening, and they begin to trust what they see more than what they hear. In short, they aren’t obeying.

Obedience begins with hearing, progresses to listening, and grows into action.

Now don’t hear me say that my husband wasn’t obeying me. The point of this post is not to criticize men or husbands. I turned Adonai’s brilliant insight back on myself and learned that my expectations will be satisfied to their utmost when they look like HaShem’s will for me. I’ll know His will for me when I listen to His Word and act upon it.

Only then will I find Him, only then will I see Him.

Beyond the Realm

July 17, 2023 By in Lightning Juice, Realm Tags: , , , , , , 2 Comments

As I mentioned in my post, Of Bread & Study, my journey toward rejuvenating my creative forces began with stepping away from the unproductivity in my life and seeking other resources of creativity until such a time as the writing muse returned. I will admit that I still have a bit of trepidation about this decision because so much writing advice has little to no room for slowing down or—clutch the pearls—stopping altogether. It’s all: write and produce word count or die!

But I did step away from my current WIP, and the release I experienced has been amazing. I decided to bake bread as a non-writing hobby, and I started with good ole Irish soda bread. This is a favorite at the Gibson Household, and the recipe can be accessed by clicking this link: Irish Soda Bread with Caraway Seeds

I also embarked on a course of study with my friend and mentor, Dr. Sharon Stern. Sharon recently retired, and unbeknownst to her, the minute she announced her retirement, I decided to vie for a small amount of her time so I could pick her brain. Monday, we spent four hours reading and discussing Rabbi Dr. Itzhak Shapira’s book, The Rivka Remnant. Mind . . . blown . . .

I’m also crafting teatails because it’s summer and nothing tastes quite as refreshing as iced tea with the ability to take the edge off. I have two in the works, so stayed tuned.

My last newfound interest this summer has been farmers markets. I have developed a passion for shopping locally. The benefit of not allowing one’s purchasing options to be funneled to one location, as well as putting money back into one’s own community, are huge. Then there is the good work of undoing all the harm done by the plandemic. People are coming out, building community, talking, touching, smiling, and living life to the fullest. I want to be part of that.

Just so you don’t worry, I am writing, which is obvious based on the fact that you’re reading this post. Funny thing is, when I stopped forcing myself to work on my current WIP, the blog post ideas started showing up. I’m curious myself to see how many of them I act upon.

As always, Realm is available at BookBaby, my publisher, as well as other online retailers. Once you’ve journeyed through the Realm and fallen in love with the characters and story, please leave a review wherever you purchased my novel, on social media, or even my blog. Thank you, Realmers!

Of Bread & Study

July 6, 2023 By in Writing Advice, Writing Toolbox Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , Leave a comment

While the words and story ideas haven’t been coming to me lately, and my fingers missed the sense of productivity that comes with typing or writing, I have perceived an overwhelming need to do something with my hands. And since most of us are familiar with what happens to idle hands, I have decided to bake bread. I’ve dabbled with it before, but this time, I want to explore the deeper, more complex world of bread baking.

The idea came to me when the writing began to dwindle, and that’s usually an indication that I need to focus on something else for a while. I’ve learned to pay attention to Adonai nudging me in a different direction as well as walking in faith that I’ll return to my writing with a backpack full of ideas gleaned from my experiences.

I knew I was on the right track with my decision when the following blog post by my editor, Kori Frazier Morgan of Inkling Creative Strategies, popped up in my inbox. While I strongly encourage you to read the entire article, the following passage made a deep impression on me:

But still, I hadn’t released myself from the task of writing until Kori’s next blog post arrived with more suggestions that I needed to hear.

“You have to do something other than write. If you assume that writing is your passion, and therefore, you don’t need anything else, you will instill a monotonous pattern into your life rather than a rhythm of creativity that lets you interact with the world in ways that inspire and invigorate.”

Backed up with Kori’s personal statement of:

“. . . I didn’t really have any hobbies. Writing is too much a part of what I do vocationally to be a hobby, and because reading is a huge part of what makes me a better writer, it’s not a hobby but rather a conduit for my work.”

That explained why my pleasure reading had become an uninspiring, boring chore. I mean, seriously, me not love to read. That’s unthinkable! But Adonai’s words through Kori’s posts provided the permission I sought to stop writing, and I freed myself from what had become my creative process ground between the millstones of fruitless drudgery.

Now, before you think that I have abandoned reading altogether, I still find that my non-fiction reading/studies to be quite productive, and since I also glean great story ideas from such reading, I’ve decided to embark upon a study with my friend and mentor, Dr. Sharon Stern, as we read The Rivkah Remnant by Dr. Rabbi Itzhak Shapira together.

I’ll keep you posted on how my new hobbies are progressing, most specifically bread baking. Recipes will be featured on my blog and archived under the section called Lightning Juice, which is about Gibson family life and where I tuck personal posts.

Please do not think that the randomness of my blog posts appearing on different days at odd hours means that I will not strive to offer you quality content. Nothing could be further from the truth. Think of my posts like an old friend arriving to sit on your front porch in the early morning with a cup of coffee, midafternoon with a glass of iced tea, or late in the evening with a glass of wine. We’ll still chat, and our relationship will grow.

In closing, I encourage you to obtain a copy of my debut novel, Realm. I’ve included links below to assist with the purchase. After you’ve read Realm and fallen in love with the story and characters, please remember to leave a review at BookBaby, Goodreads, or an online location of your choice. Thank you!

What’s Going On?

September 12, 2022 By in Lightning Juice Tags: , , , , Leave a comment

I’ve read a lot of encouraging articles and essays on how to handle bad situations in our lives, and the first thing that always comes through is how calm and enlightened the author was. What I’ve had to remind myself after reading such a piece was that, most likely, when the author wrote, it was from a place of healing resulting in an after-the-fact relaying of the tale.

If you forget this while reading what should be encouraging words, you may come away believing the writer was unsympathetic, unempathetic, and a real know-it-all busybody who never again suffered the way you did or are. That simply isn’t true.

Just because someone overcame a trial and/or testing in his or her life and was able to share it doesn’t mean he or she won’t be down again. In fact, once a person overcomes, there is often barely a moment to catch one’s breath before another attack comes. But this is not the crisis we may believe it is.

Keep in mind that a way through has been made for us. Yes, a way through, not out. The text I’m referencing is often poorly translated to the detriment of many. Not only has the trial or testing been brought to you, or you to it, but it is for your betterment that you’re going through it.

I know that sometimes bad things happen that are simply an evil event, but even then, you’ll not be left without assistance, if you truly want it.

But let’s return to where you may be now or have been in the past. Ask yourself, “What am I learning/did I learn?” If nothing, well, expect to repeat the lesson until you succeed. But if you did learn something, don’t keep it to yourself. From that place of healing, and maybe even from a place of hurting if you’re still going through it, you can move forward by using it to help others.

It sounds so simple when written here, but how many times have we allowed our shame to silence us or believed a negative event was for us alone because we were embarrassed or didn’t want to burden anyone with it? Stop doing that.

While we remember our moments of weakness, we do not allow them to define us. This is done by deep self-examination that should result in a truthful admission of wanting to grow out of and beyond the bad moments in our lives. But again, you must want this.

Society today would have you wallow in your misery at the least and parade your dysfunction at the worst. This is not Adonai’s plan for you. You are better than that, so do not allow yourself to become less than you have to ability to be. You were created for greatness.

Sounds so easy, right? Just jump up, act as if nothing is wrong, plaster on a smile, and whistle a happy tune!

Reality is more often open your eyes, take a deep slow breath, let the tears flow as you put your feet on the ground, and push off into another day. One step at a time. But do it.

Imagine being so unhappy with your surroundings that you decide to take a vacation. You stand up, take one step off your porch, and become even more disgusted, maybe even discouraged and/or enraged, that after taking a single step you didn’t arrive at the beach, the mountains, or wherever would make you feel good again.

Ridiculous, right? And yet, that’s exactly what so many people do in their walk of life when things go wrong. “I tried, and it didn’t work,” they complain to those encouraging them.

How about taking that step toward packing (planning), and getting in your car (moving), and driving to your ideal destination with a few rest stops along the way? Please see that life itself if a process and so isn’t the path to healing.

And yes, it’s going hurt. Consider the beneficial invasiveness that is hip surgery. I watched my own dear mother, who never cried in agony pre-surgery, experience emotional and physical pain post-surgery because healing hurts. She wasn’t permitted to sit until the aching stopped or the inflammation disappeared. She had to move from day one and attend therapy before she could fully wrap her head around what had occurred.

As cruel as it may sound, this is exactly how Adonai works in our lives, especially when something is horribly wrong within. He’ll remove it, and you’re going to hurt during the healing. Again, as hard as it is, it’s for your benefit and quite possibly someone else’s, too.

Consider my experience with thyroid cancer. I would never wish that on anyone but is it only through my experience that I was able to counsel two other people with truth about what they were going through. This is why we must come together as a community. I may have the words you need to hear, and you may have the answer I’ve been looking for.

Do not allow the evil, bad, wrong things in your life to galvanize you against revealing what is occurring to you. Do not be afraid or ashamed. Reach out to those who are part of your community. Seek assistance from wise, older people. Get up and fight. And when you cannot even fight, at least stand until you are able to pick up your sword, take a forward step, and re-engage in the battle. I promise, you will not be left alone or defenseless in your misery.

This post comes to you after almost a week of wrestling with something I still cannot define. But since I’m determined to not let it sidetrack me, I’ve turned it into an article, thus using what was meant for evil to be used for good.

If you’re able, please share a time when you overcame. You never know who may need to hear exactly what you have to say.

If you have comments or questions regarding my post, the comments section is open to you, too. Let’s have a conversation.

The Pleather Labyrinth

July 23, 2018 By in Lightning Juice Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , 2 Comments

This past Shabbat, a friend at church looked at my purse sitting on the table and said, “You’re quite an organized person, aren’t you?”

I pulled my beloved purse toward me, smiled proudly, and said, “Yes, yes I am.”

Allow me to explain. Two weeks ago I went on a day trip with two close friends. When I stepped away to powder my nose, fashionista friend said to mischievous friend, “Ugh… I really need to give her a new purse.”

I am not into purses the way the majority of women seem to be. I find a purse that meets my size requirements and compartment needs, and I carry that baby until tidbits of pleather flake off the handles exposing the fabric beneath and the lining rips out. I loathe purse shopping. Besides, the stupid things are so freaking expensive for something that’s going to be chucked into the back seat of my car, flung into a shopping cart, and occasionally forgotten at Home Depot or a restaurant.

I actually do have a lovely, leather purse my mother brought me from Italy, but it’s only big enough to accommodate a whispered secret and a tissue. Not practical. I carry it to weddings, funerals, and really fancy lunch dates.

What probably tipped fashionista friend over the edge was my horror story of how I once stapled the broken strap of a favorite purse and went right on carrying it. No doubt this is what prompted her to ask me upon exiting the bathroom, “How do you feel about black and white herringbone?”

A moment of confusion overcame me until mischievous friend spilled the beans on fashionista friend’s disdain for my bedraggled purse.

“Are you embarrassed to be seen with me and my purse in public?” I asked, laughing.

“Yes,” fashionista friend replied emphatically. She descended to the Fashionista Cave where she stores a bin of spare purses. I believe said bin has a keypad lock (with a code known only by her), is wired with explosives, and is guarded by a German Shepherd. Upon her return, she said, “I chose this one for you because I knew you’d like all the compartments.”

“You want me to switch out purses before we leave, don’t you?”

From the look on her face, I’m pretty sure that was understood. I plopped down on her living room floor and began sorting stuff into all the wonderful compartments of my lovely new purse. It was amazing. Everything just fell into place as I separated the most important items from those used less frequently. I even cleaned out a bunch of garbage I’d been hauling around and tossed it into a plastic shopping bag for disposal. Fashionista friend granted me one pardon when she allowed me to cut the handy little license holder from the old purse and slip it into the new one. Then she threw my old purse away, and we left.

Skip ahead to the next day when my husband noticed the new purse. I swear purses are like magnets for men in the weirdest way. They spy your purse, and suddenly they need something out of it. Of course, I couldn’t have hubby rooting around in my new purse like a warthog grubbing for food. Men are notorious for turning purses into disheveled messes as if a bear pawed through it.

For a microsecond, I entertained the thought of explaining to him how the setup of the new purse really wasn’t that different from the old. Inside the main zippered section (always the largest) was a tiny zippered section where cash and credit cards are stored. That was the same as was the open portion where lipstick, Chapstick, cough drops, and tissues were tucked.

The new purse also had a middle section with a place for my cellphone, check book, and sunglasses. So, slight up grade. Actually, super, awesome terrific upgrade because there are two zippers to this compartment that only need to be opened halfway to reveal a particular side. Lovin’ it!

But wait, there’s more. The next level down is yet another zippered section with a metal zipper pull where I store my keys. Husband should be kissing the ground where fashionista friend walks because in the past two weeks, I haven’t misplaced my keys once since I’ve owned this purse all due to the special place in my purse for keys. “Why did she mention the metal zipper pull?” you ask. Well, I’ll tell you. It’s because my metal keys go in the section with the metal zipper pull. See how that works. Easy enough for any husband who needs to put gas in my car to remember in which section he can find my keys.

Oh, but that’s not all. The whole back of the purse is open, so incidentals like brochures from gourmet olive oil shops and the business cards of women trying to sell me Viking refrigerators land there. No zipper or snap ensures that they fall out which is actually my goal.

There’s a tiny pouch with a snap where my business cards live and another with a zipper where gift cards I have yet to use and restaurant rewards cards are tucked. Brilliant, isn’t it? A place for everything and everything in its place. Did I mention that my lovely, new purse has handles and a shoulder strap? What’s not to love?

But just try explaining why things are where they are to a man, and the whole system breaks down. A woman would look at my purse and know in seconds where to begin searching for whatever she needed. Not that a woman would rummage through my purse without asking. Oh, no—that’s the sort of criminal behavior only men would commit.

Now I know there are many jokes about how scary the inside of a woman’s purse is. There’s even a stupid song about it. I am here to tell you that’s no accident. If we could fit a Minotaur in our purses to keep men out—or at least deter, possibly maim them for tossing it like inexperienced burglars—we would. And don’t bother suggesting that we draw them a map or label the compartments. Our husbands would ask us to store the map in our purses, and it’s not as if we’re going to number the compartments with a black Sharpie.

So now you understand how the friend at church pegged me as an organized person. I like to think she was a little bit envious of my purse. I’m going to carry this one forever, and when I say forever what I mean is until tidbits of pleather flake off the handles exposing the fabric beneath and the lining rips out.

True Grit

June 13, 2018 By in Lightning Juice Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , 4 Comments

Memory Makers Masquerading as Cats

I love blog posts about the magic of ordinary days. You know the ones that expound upon the grit in our daily lives as if it’s some sort of fairy dust sprinkled over us that makes everything perfect and wonderful. This blog post is about the true nature of grit.

If you have ever owned cats or know anything about their personalities, you know they are thieving, little devils. They develop weird passions for things like pens, pencils, Q-tips, etc. Basically, anything they can swipe off a table, out of a cubby in a bathroom cabinet, or from the trash. My three cats (Henry, Simon, and Freddie) crave pencils especially if I’ve placed an eraser cap on the end. They usually chew off the eraser that comes with a pencil (I have found gnarled pieces of metal left as evidence of their handiwork) necessitating the addition of an eraser cap. I believe they work in concert to ensure this happens, and then they celebrate by waiting until I go to bed to work the pencil out of the jar in the living room, the wire spiral of my notebook, or from the side of my laptop cooling station.

Looking for one of my lost pencils is what prompted this blog post. I was on my hands and knees in the kitchen with the three offenders watching my progress as I laid my head parallel to the floor to peer beneath the printer table. I spied a popcorn kernel, and my mind flooded with memories of teaching Joshua how to make popcorn on the stove. I retrieved the kernel and sat back on my knees as I recalled what a great day that was and how many more like it we’ve had since. But I didn’t find the pencil.

I looked into the corners of the fireplace mantel also in the kitchen. A two by three piece of grey Lego was wedged behind the antique wood. It has been years since my kid played with Legos. He started by building every kit according to instructions, but his best creations were those he made up without the benefit of a pattern. The Titanic with a removable panel to simulate destruction by an iceberg, the Iron Giant, a mask similar to that worn by General Grievous, an M1 Garand that ejected the clip, a three-level ship longer than my kitchen table, and a working crossbow were among my favorites. Still no pencil.

Under the stove I found a cap from a bottle of Leinenkugel’s Summer Shandy. How my cats managed to get the bottle cap was beyond me, but its discovery prompted the memory of a wonderful, teen-free evening spent with my husband. The night was outrageously hot and the light beverage tasted delicious and refreshing. Husband and I felt like newly-weds again as we whiled away hours in each other’s company doing absolutely nothing and loving every moment. Again, no pencil.

I crawled all over the house looking for my pencil. I could have simply used another one, but it was a matter of principle now. The cats trailed me with mild interest, and I swear they nodded their heads toward their litterbox as if suggesting I look there. Little creeps.

Every room received a thorough search, and along the way tidbits of stuff located beneath furniture or in corners prompted memories of the past twenty five years. At times I fretted over scuffed baseboards and the scars of puppy-chewed carpet, a house that looks quite “lived in” and the realization that I need to sweep more often than I already do! (A wise friend once said, “If you have pets, you’re going to have pet hair.”) But every inch of every room in our home offered up life that was and still is sound and stable. I cast a glance at my cats who sat just out of reach watching me. Their smug faces seemed to say, “You’re welcome.”

I eventually found my pencil inside the cooling station where a clumsy paw had pushed it in an effort to snag it off the table. I threaten to beat their hides every time one of my pencils goes missing, but I have to admit the process of looking for it adds to my memories most positively. Someday—hopefully not in the near future—my broken heart will reminisce Henry, Simon, and Freddie, and I’ll be most appreciative for the days they decided to steal my pencils.

Tumbler Roulette

February 23, 2018 By in Lightning Juice Tags: , , , , , , 2 Comments

I am seriously considering the switch to disposable plastic cups. I originally wanted to do this because both of the men in my house, husband and son, are notorious for grabbing a clean glass when they have one right in front of them. The amount of dirty dishes they produce in a day is staggering, but at the forefront of the parade of crockery and glassware marching into my dishwasher is always the humble tumbler.

They recently earned a reprieve in my campaign to get them to reuse a glass when illness took America in its grip. Just today I logged on Facebook to see that several more friends were either succumbing to the creeping crud or finally recovering from it. Because I am somewhat of a germaphobe, I granted husband and son amnesty during the periods of sickness that took down the Gibson Household not once, not twice, but three times.

But my men, God bless them, aren’t always diligent in following my gently applied guidelines when it comes to glasses. For example, I love to keep a glass by the sink full of ice cubes and fresh water so I can grab a drink whenever I’m thirsty. We don’t own one of those fancy refrigerators with water and ice magically spewing from the door, so this practice served me well until my son decided to indulge himself in my thirst quenching drink. I cannot tell you how many times the water-thieving twerp has guzzled my beverage moments before I reached for it. Adding insult to injury, he left the empty glass full of ice cubes right where I placed it.

Husband, on the other hand, is actually quite good about not drinking from my glass except that he forgets which glass is his and exactly where he set it. His mistake results in another lecture on the evils of the “community glass” replete with examples of how drinking from someone else’s glass is just plain gross.

“Guys, my glass is the one with the pebbled texture on the inside, okay?”

“Oh, I drank out of that one,” says the son who came home from school with the sniffles.

Big sigh as I empty that glass and place it in the dishwasher. Then I fill another glass, this time one with a lovely pattern resembling tartan plaid cut into the glass, and fill it with ice and water for me and me alone. Except this is also the pattern of the glass husband, who is recovering from illness, has decided upon, and now he can’t remember where he set his glass, and maybe he drank out of mine, maybe not. Two more glasses enter the dishwasher to prevent the spread of germs.

Three new glasses are procured for dinner, all different in pattern and color, and we agree to keep an eye on them for later use. Except my guys don’t, and to make matters worse, they cleared the dinner dishes, mixed up our glasses, and forgot which belonged to them. So you see I simply have to switch to plastic for the good of all mankind or at least to maintain my sanity.

The run on drinking glasses became so bad that we started using mugs. Not that this kept my boys from mixing up which one they had used to begin with. And I even caught the younger one drinking from mine again. I had to abandon my lovely glass (or mug) of chilled water waiting for me on the sink in favor of all three of us grabbing a fresh glass (or mug) every time we wanted a drink. And let me tell you, we’re water drinkers at the Gibson Household…which I suppose is a good thing especially when one is trying to push fluids during an illness.

But seriously, I’m switching to plastic cups. It’ll be me and Solo against all the tree-huggers who claim the popular red receptacle is a hazard to landfills. I can no longer play Jacob in trying to sort out the speckled and striped glasses and who drank out of which one. Procter & Gamble will no longer receive my money for countless boxes of dishwasher detergent every two weeks. Now, I will support Dart Container in my effort to stamp out germs.

In the words of Toby Keith, “Proceed to party!”

Let Them Eat Cake

December 21, 2017 By in Lightning Juice Tags: , , , , , 2 Comments

The last recipe I’d like to share with you from our Hanukkah celebration is one that always popped up in church cookbooks.  Unfortunately, those old cookbooks are disappearing and no one seems to produce them anymore.  I held on to this recipe and tweaked it a little by using raw sugar in place of white and dark brown sugar instead of light brown.  The changes make for an even richer cake that still receives lots of praise.  Not to mention I love pulling out this old recipe to share with people who’ve never tasted it.

I made this cake to share at my writers group.  Even though a few ladies took two pieces, there was plenty left for my boys.  And then it was game on.  They ate it for breakfast with coffee, as a midday snack, and again after dinner.  I had to battle them to get a piece myself.  The only thing to do was make another which worked out for me as I needed one more blog post this week.

This easy, delicious cake would be great on Christmas morning while opening gifts or to have on hand for when friends stop by during the holidays.  The ‘everything mixed in one bowl’ batter and topping along with ingredients one almost always has on hand makes you look like a culinary genius when the guests taste that first bite.

Old-fashioned Oatmeal Cake

1 ¼ c boiling water

1 c oats

1 stick butter, unsalted

1 c sugar (I use raw)

1 c packed dark brown sugar

2 eggs

1 t vanilla

1 ½ c flour

½ t salt

1 t baking soda

1 ½ t cinnamon

Preheat your oven to 350°.

Pour the boiling water over the oats and allow them to stand for 20 minutes or until the water is absorbed and the oats are cool.  Using a handheld mixer, cream the butter, both sugars, eggs, and vanilla.  Add the oats and mix thoroughly.  Sift the flour, salt, soda, and cinnamon.  Add the dry ingredients to the wet mixture and blend well.  Pour the batter into a 9 x 13 inch pan that has been greased or sprayed with cooking spray.  Bake at 350° for 35 to 40 minutes.  A knife inserted in the center should come out clean.

Five minutes before the oatmeal cake comes out, prepare the topping mixture.

Topping:

½ c dark brown sugar

½ stick of unsalted butter, softened

¼ heavy whipping cream (can substitute whole milk)

1 c chopped pecans or walnuts

½ c flaked coconut

½ t vanilla

Mix all ingredients together and spread carefully over the hot cake so as not to tear the surface.  Work with small dollops of topping.  Heat from the cake will melt the butter and sugar as you spread.

Enjoy!

Oy Olé!

December 18, 2017 By in Lightning Juice Tags: , , , , , 2 Comments

As we continue our Hanukkah celebration, I have to laugh because yet again the Gibson Household is experiencing What I Like About Being American.  By that I mean we enjoyed another, non-traditional yet delicious meal.  We love to include the best a culture has to offer, namely their food.

Mexican Family Skillet was invented a few days before I was due to grocery shop, and I needed to extend a pound of ground beef to feed and satisfy two hungry men as well as myself.  A little scrounging through my pantry shelves and spice cupboards, and a new dish was invented.

I don’t doubt that it’s a much Americanized version of Mexican cuisine, but the blending of cultures through food produces peace in a way that is often overlooked.  While it may sound too common to be served for a holiday, it still draws my family together over dinner, and that’s what really counts.

Mexican Family Skillet

1 lb. ground beef

6 green onions, the white and a small portion of the green, diced –OR– 1 small sweet onion, diced

1 can black beans, drained and rinsed

1 can corn, drained and rinsed

1 can petit diced tomatoes, DO NOT DRAIN

1 T chili powder

¼ t garlic powder

¼ t onion powder

¼ t crushed red pepper flakes

¼ t oregano

½ t paprika

1 ½ t ground cumin

1 t sea salt

1 t black pepper

1 – 8 oz. block of cheddar, shredded

Sour cream, guacamole, chopped avocado, optional

Cook the ground beef in a skillet with the onions until the meat is no longer pink.  Drain the mixture thoroughly and return to the skillet.  Add the black beans, corn, and tomatoes with their juice.  Stir to mix.  Add the spices, stir, and heat through.

Serve the meat and vegetable mixture in tortillas.  Top with cheddar cheese.  Sour cream, guacamole, or chopped avocado is optional.

Enjoy!