Why I Don't Work on Sundays

 In a tiny little community called Pine Level three miles northwest of the unharried small town called Leakesville (unharried barring tornadoes, that is), John and Perlena raised five children with dutiful reverence for Sundays.  My parents even called it the Sabbath, as in "Remember the Sabbath Day, to keep it holy."  The only work done around the farm on Sundays was the feeding of critters - two-legged and otherwise.  We didn't get outside playing and forget ourselves, whooping and a-hollering, didn't pop firecrackers or shoot firearms.  All those things were disrespectful to the day set apart by the Almighty as a day of rest.  Mama and Daddy took their rest seriously.

A couple of years after Daddy died, a fellow had come to cut the hay in the ten acre field by Mama's house on a Sunday.  Mama tried to dissuade him but he insisted it was the only time it could be done.  She warned him:  something was going to break but the fellow cut the hay anyways.  On his way home that Sunday evening his truck broke down (with the trailer and tractor and bush hog) well before he reached the Walley Bridge over Big Creek.  Mama said she gave him a proper "I told you so" the very next time she saw him.  He didn't cut hay on any Sunday afterwards, Mama having put the hex on his Sabbath-breaking activity. 

If someone ever did slip around and do work on Sunday, her washing machine broke.  Every time.  I don't know why it was always the washing machine but hearing about it was much worse than paying the repair bill.  It didn't take but a time or two of Mama being inconvenienced by a non-working washing machine to cease work efforts on the Sabbath in Pine Level.

Last fall, preparing for an open house reception, I thought the work was less labor-intensive and even though the end product was for profit, maybe the Almighty wouldn't mind if I got a head start on the busy week.  I should have listened to Him when the egg rolled off the counter and I caught it with my belly, requiring a change of clothes and much wiping of cabinet fronts and floor.

Because I have two Kitchenaid stand mixers and lots of loaf pans, I was making two cream cheese pound cakes simultaneously.  They were to be used in the wonderful dessert that is strawberry lasagna.  Strawberry lasagna is another fine recipe you'll want to google.  The butter, eggs, and cream cheese had been set out the night before.  Loaf pans were buttered and floured and sugar measured out.  Hmmmmm.... There wasn't any plain flour.  No problem riiiight?  There was plenty of self-rising flour, I'd just leave out the other leavening agents.  HE was telling me as the the egg rolled off "Six days shalt thou labor..." but I continued on, determined to sever late-night work time in half by getting ahead of schedule on prep work.  I made the cakes with self-rising flour.  They were put in the oven, temperature set, and started to bake. 

Forty-five minutes into the baking cycle, the aroma was too 'cooked-flour-ish' to not check. If you ever get to the point that you bake a couple of dozen cakes a month, you'll eventually notice that there is a shift in the aroma coming from the oven.  At first, a cake will give off a custardy egg-y aroma and then a sugary-buttery smell, then a cake-ish smell, and finally an almost-roasted flour smell.  Cream cheese pound cakes start in a cold oven;  it takes them a very long time to bake.  They hadn't been in the oven for even half the time required to fully bake and were already smelling that they were almost done! 

I opened the oven door.  I should have left it shut.  The cakes had risen so high, they were touching the top of the oven.  Carefully, oh so carefully, I tried to adjust one of the pans.  The cake batter ruptured/popped/exploded sending raw cake batter upwards to the top of the oven and then falling through the racks to the oven floor.  The other three pans followed the impetus of the first and did the same thing.  What a mess!

I didn't bother trying to do a thing at that point, I could only do one of two things anyways:  take the pans out and dump the batter then and there or let them finish baking and hope for something to be able to salvage.  I opted to let them bake.  Judging when they were done was a bit difficult, almost half of the batter had self-ejected from the pan in the explosive episode.  Eventually they were done, though, and there was nothing left to do but recalculate the profit margin ratio and remember to pick up more cream cheese and eggs at Piggly Wiggly to make more cakes on Monday.

That was just Sunday.  The entire week continued similarly.  I would never have thought that mitochondrial DNA could pass down the Sabbath Work Curse, but it must have!  Tuesday's peanut butter fudge was soft and had to be rolled and dipped in peanut butter chips/parafin to be able to salvage that cost.  Wednesday night's pecan pie bars were baked a little too long and, being unsalvagable, had to be remade Thursday (major adjustment to the profit margin!).  Picking up a bag of self-rising flour to make more Cheddar Bay biscuits (because I configured amounts wrong?  How'd that happen?) that I thought was unopened resulted with a good pound of it on the floor.  Friday, after packing up and leaving, I quickly had to return to the house for the cold items forgotten in the refrigerator.

I've learned my lesson:
Remember the sabbath day, to keep it holy.
Six days shalt thou labour, and do all thy work:
But the seventh day is the sabbath of the LORD thy God: in it thou shalt not do any work, thou, nor thy son, nor thy daughter, thy manservant, nor thy maidservant, nor thy cattle, nor thy stranger that is within thy gates:
For in six days the LORD made heaven and earth, the sea, and all that in them is, and rested the seventh day: wherefore the LORD blessed the sabbath day, and hallowed it.
~Exodus 20:  8 - 11

At least my washing machine is still working.....

The Cake Pops That Never Were i.e., Betrayed by Thursday and Friday and OH! a Tornado

The electricity is off right now.  The cell phone, with only three bars of battery, tells me it's 9:23 p.m.  The flashing lights of the big power company trucks rolled by the street-side bedroom window a few moments ago.  I'm writing in longhand by candlelight, guessing at the lines.

Tomorrow our Women In the Church (WIC) is to host the Southern Region Meeting of Grace Presbytery WIC.  It's a full morning of snacking, singing, praying, devotions, fund-raising, accounting of church activities, more singing, more praying, and eating again.  The ladies of our small church have the reputation of being some of the finest cooks in the South.  The visitors will be expecting a fantastic spread.

It's a big to-do, hosting the Regional Meeting.  I've the responsibility of cooking the brisket; slow roasted, fork tender, and most juicy.  I'm making a fabulous dessert 'cause dessert is what I do best, riiiight?  I should have gone for something chocolate.

I was going to make the programs for the meeting Wednesday morning.  I didn't.  Microsoft Office/Word frustrates me to no end!  An hour of copy-paste-undo-edit of tortured existence was spent clackety-clacking on the keyboard of the archaic desk top computer.  I stared morosely at the screen, praying for enlightenment.  Noah came instead, requiring breakfast and other attentions. WOOT woot!  We've been potty training the last two weeks.  I say we:  recognizing his full-bladder body language is just as pertinent to potty training as his own awareness it's full.  It's a team effort.  I was glad to use Noah and the picture perfect weather as an excuse to procrastinate.  He ate, pottied, and we went outside.

This is where the week starts its downward spiral (pffffft!  If you knew the awful pun I'd just made you'd call me up and tell me Mama was right:  she does have four wonderful sons and then that gal).  I wanted to make an edible arrangement.  Nnnnno.  Not one of those pineapple-y, orange-y, melon-y things.  I did one of those only once and am content to let the good folks that enjoy doing that continue to enjoy them without any competition from me.  Ohhh no.  I was going to make these http://cindyeckhart.com/cutie-pie-cake-pops-are-sweeeet/, cake balls (or bonbons) on a stick.  I was going to cut construction paper petals to push up the stick, like I had seen a paper crafter do with the marshmallows, get leather leaf from Wade, and have the cutest awesome-est tastiest dessert ever.  These visiting ladies would remember it and me and the cakery's territory would expand.  It's what I get for thinking big and proud.  I should have known better.

Yesterday it was time to make the cake pops.  I wanted a peanut butter flavor to them so I added a big blop of my favorite generic brand to the pink icing.  Yep.  Pink butter cream icing left over from last week, just the right amount to mix with the also-left-over cake trimmings that had been put in the freezer.  The peanut butter butter cream icing is a nondescript color that doesn't appear in nature but it's ever so tasty and can be piped!

 Do you ever know something isn't going to work but just have to try it anyways?  I don't know why I bothered with the big measuring cup, knowing a larger bowl was required.  That's the start of messing up dishes for the next six hours or so.

This stuff is good!  Every one is going to love them.  I thought I'd use the melon scoop so each cake pop would be exactly the same size.  I'd still be scooping if I continued to use it.  It was abandoned after a dozen scoops.  Four minutes into the project and that's kitchen item number two used briefly and now occupying space in the dirty-dish side of the sink. 

All rolled out and thoroughly chilled, it was time to afix the lollipop sticks to the cake balls -- except there aren't any more lollipop sticks.  Not a problem;  I've plenty of bamboo skewers.  I can envision the arrangement - SO stinking cute!  Two small measuring cups later (one for the almond bark, one for the chocolate) the cake balls with bamboo skewers rigidly upright are back in the refrigerator chilling again.

If I'd served them uncoated with the petals and everything I wonder if the visiting PresWIC ladies would have know they were supposed to be any other way?  I didn't think to think like that, proceeding through actions that only frustrated more and more with each hour. 

The cake pops weren't meant to be.  As I tried to dip them in the melted almond bark, the skewers would either come completely out or would punch through the top.  I carefully rewarmed the almond bark with a bit of shortening to thin it out and that didn't work either.  Worse!!  I got distracted with two squares of the stuff in the microwave and did my own Chickasawhay River design in scorched-bark-medium inspired by McCarty's Pottery.   Another dirty dish.

Putting the almond bark in the squeeze bottle to get it on the cake pops was a two-part bad idea.  The first part of bad was thinking I could melt the bark in the bottle and stir it smooth.  The second part was thinking I could somehow get it to the underside of the cake pop where the skewer was attached without the cake ball falling off.  I reiterate:  two-part bad idea.  Now there's the cutting board, a knife, and a squeeze bottle dirty.  And half of the almond bark mostly on the counter and the floor, but not on the cake balls.

I decided to abandon the idea of cake pops and just make awesome cake balls.  I had plenty of pretty and petite paper muffin cups.  I could dip them in icing, drizzle with the last of the almond bark, sprinkle a few with pecans and the ladies would still ooh and ahhh.

A handful of times, I've warmed icing to make a drizzling/dipping medium.  I had plenty of other pink icings in the refrigerator left over from last week.  It's a ladies' meeting and ladies like pink.  I could use some of that!  Exasperation does bad things to your thought processes, like not allowing logic or something.  I didn't think to see which icings were what and pulled out cream cheese icing.  "Oh," I hear your thoughts, "why would that make any difference?"  I wouldn't have though it would have either but  I was beyond irritated and unable to think.  All that fat in the peanut butter butter cream filling caused all that fat in the very warm cream cheese icing to just roll on off.  Rechilling didn't help.   I was NOT dipping the cake balls in pink icing.

Trying to get to some point of accomplishment for the entire morning gone heading into the afternoon, I melted  the chocolate bark and dipped half the cake balls without incident, even managing to get on the sprinkles of toasted pecans or peanuts.

Forget the oohs and ahhs, remembered good impressions, and expanded cakery territory.   I want this OVER with.  The last two squares of almond bark are attended more carefully in their melting process than England's new princess-to-be.  The ugly things are dipped, their warped-by-now shape shoddily camouflaged with pecans and/or peanuts that were not originally planned for them.  They're done.  Ugly mistakes are 'disappeared' around here, the horrid ugly ones consumed by the children, parents, myself and the dog - a scant two dozen of them going for the ladies' meeting.

Friday I worked the entire morning on the meeting's program, managing to figure out all that was necessary with the word processing program.  MS Help really isn't any help at all when you're Microsoft Office Challenged.  Some marvelous kids' blog was more helpful than all the techno-babble from any hundred sites viewed trying to make the template for the program.  You could tell from his language that he was a youngster or maybe he's a counselor for the word-processing-programs disadvantaged folks like me.  Bless his heart, I understood him perfectly. The program was assembled, printed and copied.  I dropped those off at the church and did some last minute decorating, making it home around 6:30 this evening. 

The tornado siren has been sounding every few minutes the entire afternoon.  I don't pay it a lot of attention.  The wind picked up.  The neighbor called.  We were on the phone when the tornado came tearing through this small community in the very Deep South of Mississippi.  I watched its dark form occupy the view for several seconds out the parlor window.  There will be no Grace PresWIC Regional Meeting here tomorrow.  The cake balls very suddenly and forcibly have been put in their inconsequential place in the Big Scheme of Things.  But that's another story...