Crumb Cake ~ From My Mothers Kitchen

Since receiving several requests for

The Crumb Cake recipe mentioned in my post 

"Please Come For Tea", I thought what better 

way to share it than on my blog....Enjoy...

Crumb Cake

Preheat oven to 375 F

Grease a 9-inch square cake pan.

In small bowl of electric mixer, cream

¾ cup of butter {my Mother used lard}

Blend together {rub}

1 cup of white sugar

Add 2 cups of all-purpose flour

and blend until resembles cornmeal…crumbs.

Reserve 1 cup of this mixture and set aside

Sift together and add

¼ tsp salt

1 tsp cinnamon

1 tsp ground cloves

1 tsp nutmeg

½-tsp baking soda

2 tsp baking powder

Then mix in

2 eggs

1 cup of buttermilk or sour milk

Fold in

1 cup of raisons

1 cup of currants

Pour batter into prepared pan.  Sprinkle with reserved crumb mixture.

Bake in preheated 375 oven for 40 - 50 minutes or until toothpick comes out clean.

Cool 5 minutes then remove from pan.

From my Mothers own pen

Please Come For Tea

In moments of alone time or in the company of friends,

the genuine pleasure of tea drinking is a timeless social

gesture that never loses its charm.

Enjoying a cup of tea has always been a special ritual for me.
My Mother taught me the knack of tea-time. From early on,
I have fond memories of sharing a cup of tea with my Mother.
I consider my Mother's famous crumb cake to be
the perfect accompaniment to this day.

The tradition of having a tea party has been passed down to my
children, and I now enjoy sipping tea
together with my grandchildren.
More than simply a beverage, tea allows one to pause,
while it feeds the soul through quiet reflection.

I always love to peruse different towns and villages,
seeking out a congenial respite for lunch.
Visiting these small towns almost always entails my discovering
the neighbourhood Tea Room.
I have often fantasized about running my own Tea Room.
While in these sanctuaries,
I continuously decorate in my mind's eye,
improving on their décor choices.
It would have an adjoining gift shop that would sell
everything related to the Art Of Making Tea.
I even have a name at the ready…
"The Lavender Lace Tea Room".

Ahh, I can picture it so clearly…..
Step in the door and be met by the fragrant aroma of tea...
the scent of scones warm from the oven...
the delightful company of friends, both old and new.
Sip & savour the moment! "Thε Lavender Lace Tea Room",
a fɾiendly, loving and peaceful place to visit and enjoy your favourite cup of Tea.

The ceremony of tea drinking has managed to remain a constant in my life - a comfort, a haven, a warm treat that outshines any afternoon refreshment and recharges my spirit. There is something calming found in a warm cup of tea...a time to reflect, relax, and treasure our friendships.

The art of tea allows us to celebrate. It is a time-honored ritual, a unique recipe for musing that secretly feeds the soul, especially when savoring that first sip.  Ahh, the sweet aroma of crumb cake…thank you Mom.

___________ ♥ღϠ₡ღ♥_____________
~~~~~~~VICTORIAN TEA~~~~~~~
~~~~~~NOW BEING SERVED~~~~~~
___________ ♥ღϠ₡ღ♥_____________
Finger Sandwiches*Fresh Scones*Jams*
*Whipped Cream*Butter tarts*Mini Muffins*
*Blueberry Truffles*Chocolate Surprise*
___________ ♥ღϠ₡ღ♥_____________
***TEA*COFFEE* LEMONADE***
House Specialty~ Lavender Lace Tea

For my Mother Mary
April 06 1917 - October 27, 2000

As I Stare At My Refection

Prelude  to a Prose

I have emptied my soul and allowed myself to

return to the dark pit of grief , temporarily...

I want you to know I am fine, after some tears of course.

The words below just poured out....

This prompt allowed me to

explain the raw numbing pain of loss....

This is how I felt in the first

months after my daughters funeral... perhaps years after.

Lacy, I will forever feel your Love.

☸  ☸  ☸  ☸  ☸  ☸  ☸  ☸  ☸  ☸ 

Dear Mirror
As I stare at my reflection
I see a stranger.
Sorrow has eaten me away, revealing a wraith-like shadow me, 

with coal-stained eyes deprived of sleep, a distressed washed-out,

tear- stained complexion, a withered sickly grossness that has

wrenched me through the looking glass of raw pain,

where I have vanished inside my own grief.

Feeling alone and fighting to stay present against the

bottomless black pit of despair, has used up all of my resolve.

My strength of will has no reserves.

I am a mere imitation of my former self, an impostor,

almost certainly unrecognizable by my friends and family.

Will this torment ever end?

☸  ☸  ☸  ☸  ☸  ☸  ☸  ☸  ☸  ☸  ☸  ☸  ☸ 

♥  © ஆεlεɳa

Challenge: Write a letter to the person you see in your mirror

posted on http://write-a-letter-wednesday.blogspot.com/2011/04/write-letter-wednesday-13.html

      Poetry Prompt...Finish this line...For

http://dodgewrites.blogspot.com/2011/03/todays-prompt-is-finish-this-line.html

A Love Letter

October 2, 2011

Dear Chantelle

Eighteen years today, Chantelle.  
The span of time seems impossible to comprehend. 

Words of love through poetry continue to find my pen.  
Lunch away at a quaint town, nearby. 
On the way there, the song on the radio as
if right on cue plays for me only.
 
The song “Don’t forget me when I’m gone”
evoke tears of gratitude for the much needed sign. 
A knowing glance from Bob as he also recognizes
the significance this special song has for me. 

Today welcomes autumns Indian summer.
We walk the town and visit the many charming shops,
looking for nothing in particular, but hoping to
find the perfect treasure to mark this day.

Ice tea and fish and chips satisfy our comfort food craving.  

Restaurant radio crackles, before another song starts. 

Your presence is felt as “Knights In White Satin”

plays quietly in the background.  

We sit in silence, listening to every word, welcoming another

amazing glimpse into the unnameable realm.

Lacy, our connection never falters. 

This day always amplifies your energy,

moving your essence even closer.

Although I still feel the pain of loss,

today it is filtered though all the love you continue to send.

Love is felt throughout my whole being. 

You will always be loved and never forgotten.

This is for my first visit to Write A Letter Wednesday

http://write-a-letter-wednesday.blogspot.com/

Merrow Churchyard By Moonlight

This is a Poem by 
my Great, Great Grandfather & Poet

FRANK JOHNSON, English born poet

September 2. 1810 - February 17, 1892

The Village Of Merrow

Scene, England,
-- a county bordering on the mouth of the River Thames.

Time, --towards the end of the first half of the present century.

Merrow Churchyard by Moonlight

Now  Dian’s  orb was hung on high,
And all so sunk in rest,
A stranger to the world had deemed
Its habitants were blest.

Who, with the sorcery around
Of a night so calm, so clear,
Could have borne to think that its least content
Could have ever known a tear?

A night indeed! -- so hushed, serene,
Scarce a dead leaflet stirr’d;
If, in the far, a cry, a chime,
Who would not such have heard.

The snowy moon that lives aloft
Seemed all alone to bide,
As if the only thing awake,
And watching all beside.

I could but think of day’s bight orb
Were made alone for light,
Man might have done without the sun,
For the sake of such a night.

Imagine my surprise while researching my
Family Tree a few short years ago to learn that my
Great, Great Grandfather was a published
writer and poet!  Frank Johnson…
author of Lashed to the Mizzen,Giles and Janey, or
The Kindly Gentleman, and The Village Of Merrow,
It’s Past and Present.  I was thrilled the day I received
a 1st edition copy of,The Village of  Merrow printed
by Lovell Printing and Publishing Company. 1876.

FRANK JOHNSON, English born poet, emigrated to LennoxVille, Quebec

FRANK JOHNSON was the son of ROBERT JOHNSON and MARTHA TOVEY.
==============================================
The Magazine of Poetry and Literary Review - Page 421
edited by Charles Wells Moulton - American poetry - 1892

FRANK JOHNSON was born September 2nd, 1810, in London, Eng. He had barely entered upon his third year when he was sent to a preparatory school at Hampstead. From thence having completed his eighth year, he was transferred to a classical school in London, where after a seven years' training in Greek, Latin, French, Italian and mathematics, he was sent to Edinburgh University. Here, however, his ambition to be an actor, brought his studies in Edinburgh to a close. It was now that his naturally good constitution began somewhat to fail him, through too close an application to his self-directed studies, and with a view to recruit him, he was sent by his father, a medical practitioner, into Hertfordshire. It was here that he betook himself to the study of the flora of the fields, and it was during his rambles in the lanes and wastes of Hertfordshire, that he familiarized himself with the poverty and struggles of the underpaid labourers on the soil, a familiarity which, some years afterwards, he turned to good account in his "Village of Merrow. "

It was in his twenty- fifth year that, again with a view to thoroughly establish his health, and to wean him from his still lingering ambition to be an actor, his father proposed to him an extended course of travel, a proposition which was embraced with enthusiasm. In less than a month he embarked in a small South seaman, bound for a lengthened cruise in the Indian and Pacific oceans. It was thence that he acquired the terrible experience that enabled him to write his "Lashed to the Mizzen." After a cruise of upwards of two years, unbroken by a single night on shore, Mr. Johnson, on the vessel touching at New Zealand, abandoned her and resided along with the cannibals, thirty miles up the Hokiawga river, on the lookout for a chance passage to Australia, whence after a further detention, he embarked in a brig for Valparaiso, eventually reaching Buenos Ayres, by crossing with a guide the Andes and the Pampas. This was followed by extensive travel in the leading countries of Europe. Thus far his life appears to liave been one that few would have quarrelled with, but now the picture was about to change.

He invested quite a little fortune, bequeathed him during his travels by his grandfather, in the New Zealand Land Company's unfortunate Cook Straits Settlements. It would be a long story, but one by no means dishonouring to Mr. Johnson to show how, for upwards of eight years, the principal share in upholding the Port Nicholson Settlement, fell to him. It must suffice to say, that after almost incredible trials and disappointments, he had finally to retire with the loss of two-thirds of his capital and fearfully worn, into the bargain.

After his return to England, he farmed for a few years in Pembrokeshire, whence at the suggestion of his then still surviving mother, he removed with his four boys to Lower Canada, now the Province of Quebec. He is still living on the farm near Lennox Ville, acquired by him some thirty years since, with his eldest son who looks after the cultivation of the land. He still continues to be a welcome contributor to the local press, and his writings are regarded with favour. As a citizen and colonist Mr. Johnson holds a high rank.

For World Poetry Day  at One Stop Poetry.

Ah Spring!

Leaves

Awaken early to greet the warmth of the morning sun

Birds singing, busy with their nests

Cleansing rains offer nourishment for the parched canopy

The energy of the sun envelops the newness

A new life emerges from each branch 

A gentle breeze blows softly, rustling each new birth

In the quiet of the stillness

Alone

As each leaf opens gently
Bursting forth into nature,
It becomes a welcome witness
To an engaging Spring. 

Ah Spring!

As we say farewell to the long, ragged winter, anticipation of spring is felt deep within our spirit. This renewed spark is the essence of our connection to the Earth. After our deep hibernation under the cloak of winter's abundance, spring is a most welcoming season.

During winter's embrace we shield ourselves 

from the cold landscape.
We quietly hunker down to rejuvenate ourselves in 

anticipation of future blossoms. 

This deep freeze partially hides us from one and other.

Spring’s arrival beckons us to awaken!
As the days become brighter, our souls yearn to reconnect.
As the days grow longer, 

so do our walks and chats with neighbours.
At Spring's first blush, we eagerly emerge from winter's hold,
realizing our good fortune of living in such a diverse and
miraculous world, which we have the honor of call home.

♥  © Hεlεɳa ωђίԵε

Lets help celebrate Spring over at One Stop Poetry with Brian Miller 

Lighting a candle for Christchurch N.Z.

Lighting a candle for
  Christchurch N.Z.
Lღ√Ƹ & LﻨցнԵ
♥
¸.*`.¸ღ¸.*`.¸ღ¸.*`.¸ღ¸.*`.¸ღ¸.*
`.¸¸♥´¯) ¸.☆´¯)
(¸☆´ (¸.♥´´¯`•.¸¸.ღ

This candle represents a show of support for all the victims in
the New Zealand Earthquake.

♥  Hεlεɳa ♥

The Dream

On my blog

"Memory Box Creations", I posted

"Beyond the Veil",

which resulted from a dream

I had in September 1995, while bereaving the

sudden loss of my teenage daughter, Lacy.

I have chosen to share this dream to demonstrate

how my interpretations

allow me to not only process grief and tragedy,

but also serve to inspire me

to interact with these unseen realms as a

conduit to my poetic muse.

I am currently revisiting that time and writing

my personal account

of healing through loss, in the hopes that by doing so,

it may show others how writing can be a doorway to get

to the other side of healing a pain that one thinks will never heal.

Please know that I do continue to feel deep loss,

yet the love that I have for Lacy (Chantelle) remains.

However, the emotional pain is filtered and softened

the more that I write and share my story

with others...like yourself.

The poem follows the Dream

Chantelle Lee Lace

November 25, 1975 - October 2, 1992

Dream ~ September 8, 1995

Chantelle had returned.

The dream is somewhat vague,

but I knew she was back with us.

I found that I felt so happy,

yet at the same time I was paralyzed by fear...

Of something happening to her again.

My fear was all-consuming.

Next scene…

I was looking through a very large window,

with extra-wide sills.

The window was arched at the top with exquisite,

antique crown mouldings and cornices.

There was no glass in the window…

I was compelled to gaze through the opening.

Off in the distance, I noticed an old house.

White stone walls offered a warm welcome.

I thought to myself,

how perfect would it be to be able

to live in this amazing house.

A voice…I hear it is haunted…

I spun around to see who spoke, but no one was there.

As I turned back toward the window,

there was a woman standing near the white stone house.

Everything had a grey cast, much like a black-and-white photo.

I looked into the depths of her eyes, and she

acknowledged my gaze by nodding her head.

She looked so sad

Although I was a little frightened,

I continued to stare.

Then, I smiled at her, and she returned the smile.

Our smiles seemed to unlock this still picture…

allowing her the freedom to walk towards me.

She wore a dark dress with an ivory lace collar and cuffs.

Her dark hair was piled up on top of her head.

She was a petite woman, with delicate features.

We did not speak aloud…communication was telepathic.

She recognized my fear and in some way calmed me.

As she approached the window, it ever so subtlety

changed to include a table and chairs.

She sat on one side while I remained on the other.

The archway was still prominent over us.

I immediately asked about Chantelle.

She told me that she also was experiencing some

bad dreams and finding it difficult to adjust without me.

She told me that we were both afraid and

therefore made things more difficult.

She told me that Chantelle comes to visit me in my dreams…

I noticed that she was watching my hands.

I sensed that she was going to touch me.

I immediately thought that if she did,

our visit might end and again I was frightened.

I felt compelled to look at her hands.

They looked transparent and unearthly.

She cupped my hand in hers…welcoming the connection

and commenting how warm I felt.

Such pleasure this seemed to give her.

She ever so gently lifted my hands up to her face,

touching her with the back of my hand.

She closed her eyes momentarily.

When she opened her eyes, she was weeping.

Tears filled her eyes to full.

Tears of joy, melancholy, love, sadness…

She was filled with such emotion; it was overwhelming.

I felt her love and understood.

I asked her to tell Chantelle that I loved her,

missed her and that I think of her every minute of the day.

I wanted to say so much more but I was so

overwhelmed that I was a loss for words.

She indicated that she now had to leave.

Surprisingly, she came around the table somehow to my side,

all the while continuing to hold my hands.

She reached out and hugged me ever so gently.

Together we cried…

I felt such calm and gained an understanding

for which words could never explain.

I know that Chantelle is not far away.

I realized that she is not meant to be here now

That somehow if she were here I would not be able

to fulfill my destiny, because my love for her

is so strong that I would live only for her.

My visitor, now ghost-like, was leaving.

A staircase appeared and as she climbed,

I noticed that the grey cast had lifted, and she

now was surrounded by dazzling translucent colors.

After experience….
Sept 9th , the next day…

My nephew’s wedding day…

Before the ceremony, I went inside to use the powder room.

Upon entering, my thoughts went back to my dream from last night…

This gorgeous old building was reminiscent of the white stone house in the dream

especially the big arched windows with wide window sills.

I wandered from room to room unnoticed.

This old building felt familiar, like I had been there before.

I embraced this serendipitous happening and thoroughly enjoyed my

nephew's wedding day...

all aglow with love and radiant color. 

Beyond The Veil

She came while I was resting

Spoke softly as I slept

Quiet tears of rapture

In dark silence, I wept.

Her essence did not threaten,

Her grace felt deep within

Her eyes conveyed such tenderness,

She chose to now begin.

She first appeared in shades of grey

Eyes downcast, colors dull.

But as she moved much closer,

Her being glowed with love.

I sensed a tinge of fear,

As she reached for my embrace

Her touch with kind caress

Cupped my hands up to her face.

Tears filled her eyes to full,

In her presence I felt safe.

This lady from the past

Transcended time and space.

She answered many queries

As trust and compassion grew,

She spoke of many things

That in my heart I knew were true.

When she turned to leave,

I saw the essence of her light.

The grey cast had been lifted

Replaced by colors bright.

Not only in my dreams

Will these miracles be found,

For our hearts with love eternal

Are now forever bound.

Hεlεɳa 

Celestial Dream Spiral

 

Celestial Dream Spiral

 

Falling, falling quickly...the sensation overwhelms.
I cannot catch my breath!
Falling, floating, spiraling...down, down, down... ever so softly.

Fear tried to intervene. I would not let it, not this time.
Please, this time has to be different.

Spiraling further down, down, down.

“Look around”, my inner voice urged,

"Don't miss out on this extraordinary experience."

All at once, a feeling of serene tranquility enveloped my being.
Now calm and untroubled, I looked upon a sea of bountiful clouds.
White canopies dotted the sky, surrounding me in reassuring numbers.

Spiraling down, down...gently down.

The air was clear, the sky so blue, the clouds transparent.
So unique was this hue, unlike any sky that I have ever witnessed.
What was I a part of? What was I witnessing?
So many simultaneously spiraling to the earth.
Thousands, no! hundreds of thousands.
Collective eyes all watching with surprised amazement,
taking in this breathtaking happening!

No words, no worries, no stress, no judgment.
Feeling so in the moment and more alive than I have ever felt.
Such an overwhelming sense of electrifying peace.
We shared anticipatory curiosity, celebrations of love, incredible joy,
all with accelerated faith and certainty.
Traces of inner wisdom remained,
conveying to me that no matter what: I AM...and always will be.

Upon awakening, my body continued to shake
within this spiraling vortex of
transcendental energy.

ღ Hεlεɳa
~.^

 

Posted for Theme Thursday

http://themethursday.blogspot.com/

 

Embracing The Season Of Love

My favorite heart and Rose necklace

As February arrives, Cupid’s arrow finds us smitten with dreams of spring. With the world still asleep under a blanket of snow, I am inspired to spend quiet time lost in words of romance. However, the cold, wet and grey month of February has many concealed gifts.

Remember early school days, when you gave out Valentines to all your friends? Candy hearts inscribed with words of love, red-hot cinnamon hearts, and oh! the heart-shaped box filled with your favorite chocolates.
I still like the heart box more than the candy, lol.

In February, my fondest memories of treasured gifts of love come to light. From the diamond heart necklace that my husband gave me on our first Valentine's Day together, to the tiny rose pendant gift from my daughter's dearest friend. Then, of course, there are the homemade Valentine’s received from my children and more recently from my grandchildren. These gifts from the heart, received with love, continue to promise all that I hold dear. Heartfelt keepsakes that mean more than the eyes can see.

Such gifts as these create what I call, a sensation memory, the kind that stays in your heart forever. These tangible gifts hold more than sweets inside; they hold a promise of intention, the intention to offer the most precious of gifts, the gift of love. Perhaps the month of February isn’t so gloomy after all.

♥ Hεlεɳa ~.^

The Solitary Joys Of January

Winter’s hold is tight in January, as the house creaks and the furnace hums. 
Outside the trees are frosted with ice that sparkle in the sunshine. 
The sliding door protests and needs extra encouragement to open. 
Topaz, my thirteen-year-old Sheltie passes through to brave the
frigid landscape.  The morning doves scatter with her arrival,
but soon return to continue enjoying their breakfast feast.
The crisp morning air tickles your nostrils as the snow crunches underfoot.
The cold seems animated as it rouses Topaz to quickly return to our cozy,
warm home, bringing along winter’s fresh scent.

The cold of January is such that one must live in the moment. 
The stillness outside resonates throughout the house. 
It brings with it a time for reflection, when life slows down after
the holiday who-haw flurry.  January, my time to renew emotionally
and to restore some order to my house. I tear apart cupboards and make
room for the clarity that sparseness brings.

You’re coaxed to your kitchen with calls for comfort foods,
cooking spicy savoury stews, tomato sauces, casseroles,
chicken pot  pie and the like. You find yourself craving
sticky sweet deserts like butter pecan tarts, apple pie, and banana bread. 
The aroma of baking these delights fill your home to perfection.

Yes, the solitary joys of January, where days are shorter and nights are long.
A time where I curl up with my stacks of magazines, ponder over the memories
evoked by perusing photos from the past year and drink in the inspiration it evokes. 
It’s a time when I yearn for comfort through the tranquil seclusion that winter brings. Now, for some peaceful musings in front of the fire, while enjoying a
steaming hot tea and the sweet desert fresh from the oven.

ღ Hεlεɳa ~.^

Lady Topaz

 

My Sheltie has dedicated herself to me.
At night she sleeps in my room, always close by. 
In the morning while I journal and enjoy my morning tea,
she lays beside me,.  She is there now as I write this.

If I shift in my chair, she raises her head.
If I stand, she does. My life is her business.
Topaz thinks it's normal to come everywhere with me.

We are joined at the soul.
She doesn't understand why I would
want to do anything without her.

This Devotion isn't something I've earned.
It's not because I am good...it's because she is good.  
I am the center of her world. She reads me like a book.
My moods, my health are felt deep in her bones.

Topaz will never break my heart, unless she leaves me.
Her love and devotion is ever present, unless you refuse it.
She fills me with endless love and Joy. Even her eyes smile when I return home. 

Dogs are a treasured gift.
They trust you unless you teach them not to.
Dogs offer us so much without asking for anything in return.

I am eternally grateful for Topaz coming into my life.
My Little Fur Child

ღ Hεlεɳa ~.^