Post #37 – Women’s Memoirs, ScrapMoir – Matilda Butler and Kendra Bonnett
Memoir Contest Winners Announced for KitchenScrap Stories
The April Memoir Contest brought in a large number of touching, funny, sweet, and most of all, delicious entries. We’re eager to share the winners, their stories, and their recipes with you. Today we are announcing the complete list of winners and are publishing the first place winning story. The Honorable Mention stories will be published beginning in July.
In the meantime, congratulations to all the winners. Our first place winner receives our five DVD set: The [Essential] Women’s Memoirs Writing Workshop: 21 Lessons from Planning to Publication.
First Place Winner:
Narcy Hogan, Start with the Yeast
Honorable Mentions
(In alphabetical order):
C.J. Barbre, Cookie Confession
LaTawnia Gray, Mom’s Winter Noodles
Ann Lane, Nana’s Molasses Cookies
Grace Ann Neuharth, Meat Rolls and Memories
Susan Nye, Shaking Up Thanksgiving
Deanne Watson, Smoked Snickerdoodles
START WITH THE YEAST
By Narcy Hogan
The sun slanted through the trees along our wooded lane in rural Vermont. It was early April, so the buds hadn’t leafed out yet. The wind made the tree limbs sway and creak. In the two years since I’d moved here from Colorado, I had come to love this sound. The wind caught my hair, blowing it across my face. I wished it could blow away my troubles just as easily.
My golden retriever, Murphy, had bounded ahead, happy to be outside. We didn’t usually walk at this time of day, but today was Sunday. Our preacher had stopped by after church because I had left during the service in tears for the third week in a row. Since I always attended church by myself and sat near the back, I hoped no one had noticed. Apparently I was wrong.
While I appreciated the preacher’s concern, I was embarrassed by it also. The truth was that my new husband and my teenage daughter from my first marriage hated each other. It felt as if they were playing an intense game of tug-a-war, and I was the old rag in the middle. I feared they would tear me apart before long. But I didn’t share that with the preacher. It just didn’t feel right.
I shook my head, letting the wind fling my hair first up to the sky and then back down again and prayed for help. Instead, I got more wind roaring past my ears. I enjoyed the wind and always thought of my Grandma Rosie, my mother’s mother, at times like these. She always wore a sheer scarf tied tight around her head whenever she was outside. She said even a breeze hurt her ears.
Grandma Rosie passed three years ago, so I thought it was a trick of the wind when I heard her voice.
“Hello, my dear Narcy.”
I stood still and looked around. I checked Murphy to see if he’d heard anything, but he was blissfully sniffing something in the undergrowth of ferns which had sprouted a week or so ago. I walked on, then heard it again.
“It is me, dear.”
This time I also had a sensation of soft, warm hands cupping my face the way Grandma Rosie did as she welcomed me into her house.
“Grandma? What are…How’d you…You’re dead!”
Grandma chuckled—a happy sound—which seemed odd since I’d never seen her laugh without covering her mouth.
“Only physically,” she said.
“That’s why I can’t see you.” Just then the afternoon sun caught something and reflected a bright patch of blue right in front of me.
“All I can see is beautiful aquamarine, like the ring you always wore. Is that you?”
“That’s me.”
“Oh, wait, I’m wearing that ring right now,” I said. “I wear it a lot.”
“I know. It makes me feel close to you.”
“So I can’t see you, but I can. And I just realized that I am talking to you, but I’m not talking out loud.”
“It’s hard to explain how it works,” Grandma apologized.
“But why now?”
“Because you prayed for help. I’ve been watching you, dear. I’ve seen how hard it is for you to be caught between two people you love.”
“It’s awful.” Tears gathered in my eyes, and I had to blink them away. “They each want to be the only one I love. I have love enough for both, but they don’t see that. What can I do?”
“Make rolls.”
I peered at the blue light. “What?”
“I said—“
“I heard you. That just wasn’t the answer I was expecting.” The suggestion was so ludicrous given my situation that I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
“Try it anyway.”
“I haven’t made rolls since I helped you when I was a kid.” I threw my hands in the air. “I don’t even remember how.”
“It’ll come back to you, and I’ll help.”
“Oh, why not,” I mumbled. By then, we were back at my house anyway. Calling for Murphy, we went inside and, once in the kitchen, I searched my recipe box. “This only lists the ingredients,” I announced, holding the card up. “No instructions on how to form the rolls or how long to bake them.”
“Start with the yeast,” Grandma said. “It will grow and get really frothy while you mix the rest of the ingredients in the bowl.”
I mixed and stirred while Grandma—hummed. I didn’t remember her being a hummer. And it was weird to think I wasn’t really even hearing it with my ears. When I had everything mixed together, the dough was wet and sticky and smelled like yeast.
“Now put some flour on the counter and knead the dough. Push it down, pull it back, fold it over. Don’t be afraid to really work it. It’ll take your frustration and anger, so pound it if it feels good,” Grandma instructed.
I did as Grandma suggested and unleashed my emotions on the dough. When I was spent and had the dough back in the bowl, covered with a checkered kitchen towel, I sat at the table with a steaming cup of tea. “Grandma, did you use your dough as a punching bag?”
“You bet I did. I was married to your grandpa for 71 years. It wasn’t always easy.”
Crinkling my forehead, I asked, “So did you only make rolls to ease your frustration?”
“Oh, no! Many times I made them out of pure joy, especially the times when my grandchildren helped me.” She gave me a wink.
I smiled. While the dough rose, I relaxed and Grandma hummed. It was a comfortable feeling just having her there.
When the dough was at the top of the bowl, Grandma told me how to punch it down and then I began to form the rolls.
“Pinch off a walnut-sized piece and put it in the palm of your hand,” she reminded me. “Knead it with your fingers by pulling around the outside and pushing it back into the middle. Then turn and do it again.”
“I remember now. It’s sticking to my fingers. I guess I must need more shortening.”
“That’s right. You’ll put two of these pieces in each muffin cup and they will bake together as one roll.”
I got my first roll formed and in the pan and was greasing my hands again when Grandma went on, “This is the time you need to put all your creativity into what you’re doing. To make truly great rolls, you need to imbue them with some of your essence. I know you’re creative, you take after me in that way.”
Concentrating on creating rolls, I had the muffin pans full before I knew it. I put them in the oven, then sat at the table again. “I really enjoyed making rolls, Grandma, but I still don’t know what to do about my current situation.”
Grandma Rosie sighed. “You have to stick with the part of you that is talking with me. Contact it regularly. When you’re in contact, you’ll just know what to do. You have to trust yourself and God.”
The timer rang, I took the pans out of the oven. “They look just like I remember. And they smell so good.” I gingerly popped a hot roll out of the pan and buttered it. I gave Murphy a bite and took one myself. A big smile grew on my face as I savored it.
“I’m off now,” Grandma said. “Enjoy your rolls, and remember I’m always here for you.”
“But I’m still not sure how to contact you,” I objected.
“Start with the yeast,” Grandma chuckled.
Rosa’s Hot Rolls
Mix together and let sit until real foamy:
1 tsp. sugar
1 pkg. dry yeast
½ C. water
Mix together:
¾ C. sugar
1 heaping T shortening
1T. salt
1 egg
2-1/2 C. warm water
4 C. flour
Add:
Yeast mixture
4 more cups flour
Stir until mixed, then knead well. Put in large, greased bowl (I cover bowl with Saran Wrap and a towel) and let rise for at least 1 hour. Punch down (grease hands with shortening, pull dough from outer rim and punch it into the middle. Flip it over and do this on the other side also). Let rise for another hour.
Make into rolls (Grease your hands with shortening, then take a pinch a little larger than a walnut and do a mini punch down, set this into cupcake pan. Take another pinch and do same thing. Put this in pan next to the previous one—each roll is made up of two pinches).
The recipe makes about 2-1/2 pans of rolls. Let rise for at least one more hour.
Bake at 400 degrees for 20 minutes, or until golden brown.
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