Past
When I was in the fourth grade, we lived in a small town that also housed the state penitentiary. In spite of this scary fact, it was really a very quiet little community…that is, until one early summer evening. One of the inmates, a very brutal killer, escaped from the penitentiary. A massive manhunt was conducted, but he wasn’t found. After a few days, the populace relaxed somewhat as everyone assumed he would be far away from town by that time. This particular summer evening, I was in my neighbor’s back yard, helping her pick some roses. Our homes were large old three-story frame houses. Each home had what once was a barn/stable in the back which the owners had converted to garages. With haylofts and faint odors, we still referred to them as barns. As I picked roses, I glanced up to the opening of the hayloft and saw movement. I told my neighbor, “There’s someone in your barn!” She smiled and said, “Carole, you’ve been reading too many Nancy Drew books.” My mother called me for dinner at that moment so I hurried next door. However, right on my heels was our neighbor. She ran into our house and asked my mother to please call the police…there really was someone in the hayloft! Well, obviously, the police were there immediately. They had machine guns and bull horns. They yelled for the person to come out with their hands in the air…at which time my little four year old brother appeared in the loft and said, “Please don’t shoot me.” The police left with roses from my neighbor and baked goods from my mother. (The police found the murderer about a week later, hiding in the woods).
Present
I recently read about the six year old boy in Louisiana who was shot and killed by the police last week. It was so heartrending to see the small casket carried to the gravesite. The little boy’s father was hospitalized and had not been told that his son was dead. What a crushing blow! As I thought about that family, I thought how differently my brother’s situation was handled. The police, upon seeing a four-year-old, immediately put their weapons down. The police sergeant got down on my brother’s eye level and very gently encouraged him not to wander into other people’s garages/barns. They smiled at him and treated him kindly. I have no wish to condemn the police officers in the death of the six year old boy. The courts will see that justice is served. However, when eighteen bullets are fired, and no one seems to be able to determine why, it is not only a tragedy but a travesty. I am certainly not someone who believes that every police officer is corrupt—far from it. I still believe that most police officers are honest and caring, faithful to their duty to protect and serve. However, I am disturbed by the increasing reports of seemingly unwarranted violence by law officers. Perhaps there is greater than ever societal pressure on police or perhaps it is an increasing number of brutal individuals using the cover of a badge to prey upon weaker members of society. At any rate, it is a cause for concern. “None calleth for justice, nor any pleadeth for truth: they trust in vanity and speak lies; they conceive mischief and bring forth iniquity.” (Isaiah 59: 4).
Recipe
Orange Upsidaisies
1 teas. grated orange rind
¾ cup orange juice
½ cup sugar
⅓ cup butter
⅛ teas. salt
Combine the above ingredients in a saucepan and simmer over low heat for 10 minutes. Divide the liquid equally into 12 well-greased muffin cups.
Sift together 2 cups of flour, 3 teas. of baking powder in a bowl.
Combine ⅓ of a cup of salad oil and ¾ cup of milk. Add all at once to the dry ingredients and blend well.
Roll out on a floured area to a 13x10” rectangle. Combine 2 tbsps. sugar, 1 teas. cinnamon, and ⅛ teas. salt. Sprinkle over the dough.
Roll as for a jelly roll (rolling the longest side). Cut into 12 slices and place in the muffin cups. Bake at 400 degrees for 20-25 minutes. Let stand for 5 minutes before removing.
This is a recipe that dates back to my childhood. I don’t know where it came from, but my mother showed me how to prepare these muffins, and it then became my job (and pleasure) every Saturday morning.
When I was in the fourth grade, we lived in a small town that also housed the state penitentiary. In spite of this scary fact, it was really a very quiet little community…that is, until one early summer evening. One of the inmates, a very brutal killer, escaped from the penitentiary. A massive manhunt was conducted, but he wasn’t found. After a few days, the populace relaxed somewhat as everyone assumed he would be far away from town by that time. This particular summer evening, I was in my neighbor’s back yard, helping her pick some roses. Our homes were large old three-story frame houses. Each home had what once was a barn/stable in the back which the owners had converted to garages. With haylofts and faint odors, we still referred to them as barns. As I picked roses, I glanced up to the opening of the hayloft and saw movement. I told my neighbor, “There’s someone in your barn!” She smiled and said, “Carole, you’ve been reading too many Nancy Drew books.” My mother called me for dinner at that moment so I hurried next door. However, right on my heels was our neighbor. She ran into our house and asked my mother to please call the police…there really was someone in the hayloft! Well, obviously, the police were there immediately. They had machine guns and bull horns. They yelled for the person to come out with their hands in the air…at which time my little four year old brother appeared in the loft and said, “Please don’t shoot me.” The police left with roses from my neighbor and baked goods from my mother. (The police found the murderer about a week later, hiding in the woods).
Present
I recently read about the six year old boy in Louisiana who was shot and killed by the police last week. It was so heartrending to see the small casket carried to the gravesite. The little boy’s father was hospitalized and had not been told that his son was dead. What a crushing blow! As I thought about that family, I thought how differently my brother’s situation was handled. The police, upon seeing a four-year-old, immediately put their weapons down. The police sergeant got down on my brother’s eye level and very gently encouraged him not to wander into other people’s garages/barns. They smiled at him and treated him kindly. I have no wish to condemn the police officers in the death of the six year old boy. The courts will see that justice is served. However, when eighteen bullets are fired, and no one seems to be able to determine why, it is not only a tragedy but a travesty. I am certainly not someone who believes that every police officer is corrupt—far from it. I still believe that most police officers are honest and caring, faithful to their duty to protect and serve. However, I am disturbed by the increasing reports of seemingly unwarranted violence by law officers. Perhaps there is greater than ever societal pressure on police or perhaps it is an increasing number of brutal individuals using the cover of a badge to prey upon weaker members of society. At any rate, it is a cause for concern. “None calleth for justice, nor any pleadeth for truth: they trust in vanity and speak lies; they conceive mischief and bring forth iniquity.” (Isaiah 59: 4).
Recipe
Orange Upsidaisies
1 teas. grated orange rind
¾ cup orange juice
½ cup sugar
⅓ cup butter
⅛ teas. salt
Combine the above ingredients in a saucepan and simmer over low heat for 10 minutes. Divide the liquid equally into 12 well-greased muffin cups.
Sift together 2 cups of flour, 3 teas. of baking powder in a bowl.
Combine ⅓ of a cup of salad oil and ¾ cup of milk. Add all at once to the dry ingredients and blend well.
Roll out on a floured area to a 13x10” rectangle. Combine 2 tbsps. sugar, 1 teas. cinnamon, and ⅛ teas. salt. Sprinkle over the dough.
Roll as for a jelly roll (rolling the longest side). Cut into 12 slices and place in the muffin cups. Bake at 400 degrees for 20-25 minutes. Let stand for 5 minutes before removing.
This is a recipe that dates back to my childhood. I don’t know where it came from, but my mother showed me how to prepare these muffins, and it then became my job (and pleasure) every Saturday morning.