Grandma Dietrich's Ginger Cookies

This is an old family recipe handed down from my father's grandmother. At 97 Dad says he still remembers her making them. It is one of my favorite cookies. Good flavor but its soft chewy texture is why I like them so much. A great treat in the Fall with a glass of fresh cold cider.

Grandma Dietrich's Ginger Cookies
1  c. sugar
1/2  c. butter
1 egg
1 c. molasses
1 tsp. in 1/2 c. hot water
3 1/2  c. flour
1 tsp. ginger
1/2 tsp. cinnamon
1/2 tsp. ground cloves
1 c. raisins

Bake 325 deg. 10-12 minutes. Yield 3 doz.

I'm Trying to Write You a Letter

I'm trying to write you a letter. I chose a good quality paper and my favorite quill. For better or worse, it will be in my own hand so just seeing it you will think of me, know that I was thinking of you and had something I wanted to say just to you.

I'm giving it a lot of thought in hopes that you will find it meaningful in some way. It would be great if I had a secret to tell you but I've never been one to keep them. Maybe I'll include an invitation to meet for breakfast at the cafe. Maybe if I just do it as carefully as I can you will decide it's worth keeping and put it in that small box with your other keepsakes and someday, maybe when you are old and I'm not here, you will find it again and be reminded that as it was written I was thinking of you fondly.

Guarding the Estate

I'm guarding the estate. Sort of. They pay me to stand here year after year. Truth be told I don't really like these people and if a band of terrorists showed up in a van I'd hide behind this post and wish them well. Mean spirited of me I know, the landed gentry are just doing what they were taught. But I can't help thinking they could use some kind of wake up call, some kind of reality check.

I used to be handsome, cut a figure as they say, muscular and proud, the mighty lion with his shield. But now I'm worried and scared. You can see it in my face. The wife, she's sick a lot. The kids, drifting, in and out of love, in and out of jobs, in and out of trouble.

You know that country song, how does it go? Take this job and shove it, oh yeah, I would love to sing that song. But I can't do it. I'll keep doing this because I don't know what else to do.

Handheld

Red Peppers

The Camera Shop

The Camera Shop closed its doors on July 31st, another fatality of  big box stores and radical changes in the photo industry. We knew it was coming, just wondered when. I am a fan of long-lived small local businesses and this was a favorite. Owned and operated by Bill Ammerman since the mid '70's, with Bill Beseker as his trusty store manager most of that time, they served this community well. Bill and Bill, the Camera Shop guys.

In its hey-day it saw good business providing cameras, film, darkroom supplies, and good advice to local photo enthusiasts, working pros, and university photography students. In these times there was usually some young part-time counter help as well.

And the place was always a mess. Every flat surface was covered with something. An overflowing trash can often stood in the center aisle. Leaves, blown in from the street, scattered over the dirty carpet.  There were stacks of empty boxes and counters laden with shipping and receiving. Now and then an attempt at tidying up was made, likely the new young gal recently hired, but eventually the effort was abandoned, overwhelmed by the ruling chaos.

But from this scene they were ever helpful, willing to spend time with you and your needs. I repaired cameras for twenty years and the Camera Shop was a significant source of my work. I would stop in once or twice a week to pick up and deliver cameras. Although I would guess more than one customer left the store wondering what would happen to their beloved old camera left for repair amidst the debris, as far as I know they never lost track of a camera. More than once one of them made the 1 hour round trip to my place to facilitate getting a repair done for a customer in a hurry and I'm sure it was at no extra cost. And not once was a bill overdue. It was a pleasure to do business with them.

So long Bill and Bill. I wish you well.

A Small Table