Grandma Little's Rhubarb Pie (written by guest blogger Greg Little)

Today I am handing over the blog to my dad.  He originally wrote this for a co-worker who asked him to share his rhubarb pie recipe.  Enjoy

Grandma Little's Rhubarb Pie

Before you set about to make this pie, it is only fitting that you have an appreciation for the chef who created this masterpiece.  Grandma Little’s birth name is Julia Hunter and she was born in Sunderland, England in 1892.  Having one sister and twelve brothers was instrumental in the development of her strong will and persevering attitude.  On October 25, 1923 she boarded the Red Star Line ocean liner Belgenland in Southampton, England and nine days later she and her 5 year old son William arrived at Ellis Island, USA.  Six months earlier her husband Percival “Harry” sailed to America to find a better life for his family.  A better life indeed, but the sweetness of this new land was short lived for Harry.  He passed away twenty years after his arrival due to health problems.  Julia and William arrived with a suitcase and one large shipping crate, the total sum of all their belongings in the new world.  Fortunately this recipe is one of the things that made the trip.  As you mix the ingredients for this pie take a few moments to reflect on how they exemplify her life (our lives):

Rhubarb:  Bitterness and heartbreak, but so rewarding when mixed with the other ingredients

Sugar:  The sweetness of all good things in life

Flour and Salt:  The staples of life that provide consistency and stability

Eggs:  A sign of rebirth and starting anew, and the glue that keeps everything together

Put them all together and you have one remarkable woman AND a mouthwatering pie

INGREDIENTS for an 8” or 9” pie pan

3 Heaping cups of rhubarb (cut the stalks into ¾’ pieces)

1 ½ Cups sugar

3 Tablespoons flour

¼ Teaspoonful salt

3 Beaten eggs (save some to brush on the top of the pie)

For a 10” pie use 5 tablespoons flour, 2 ¼ cups sugar, 4 eggs, 5 cups rhubarb, and ¼ teaspoon salt

Mix the sugar, flour and salt together and pour it over the cut rhubarb.  Pour the well beaten eggs over the rhubarb mixture and mix well.  (Don’t put the filling into the crust until the top crust is rolled and ready to use.  Keep the bottom crust in the refrigerator until ready to use) Preheat the oven to 425⁰.  Bake the pie at 425⁰ for 15 minutes then reduce heat to 375⁰ for 40 minutes or until done.  Test to see if done by putting a fork in a hole in the center of the top crust.  If the rhubarb is soft the pie is done.

Funeral at the Bowling Alley

So a few posts ago I wrote about the laundromat and how it was always a critical part of the summer visit with Grandma.  Another fine establishment where we went, not once, but twice during the week was the bowling alley.  If you knew Maddie you know that you would never use the word "athletic" to describe her.  I don't think I can recall a single memory of her telling me that she played a sport, unless you consider "submarine watching" at Lakeview Park a sport.  She was never in a rush to do anything and the only time I actually saw her walk fast was when she spotted a piece of Heisey at an antique show.  But the woman loved to bowl.  Bowling was definitely her kind of sport.  She got to sit and smoke when it wasn't her turn and only had to stand up when it was her turn.  She was actually really good.  She was in at least two leagues.  On one of the mornings she would run into my other grandfather, Jim Gallagher.  I think he may have been in at least two leagues as well.  Anyway, when I would visit I would get to and sit and watch Grandma and the other little old ladies bowl.  I am not really sure how they convinced me this was fun.  I didn't get to play.  Sometimes if I was lucky they I would get to keep score.  This was way before automatic scoring so it was a good way to brush up on those math skills.  But for some reason I liked it.  Bowling Alley's really don't smell good, but that mixture of smoke, feet, the oil they use to polish the lanes, the disinfectant that they spray in the shoes all mixed up in that stale air always brings a smile to my face.  It was a bittersweet day when smoking got banned inside.  Good for my lungs, but the smell will never be the same.  Grandma bowled at Rebman's.  Right up from the Croatian Club on Oberlin Ave.  From what I can remember you went in and there were two sides of lanes.  We always went to the right.  I don't know what was on the left side, but it seemed very secretive.   Maybe there wasn't even bowling on the left, it was probably the bar.  Who knows?  After her stroke Grandma had to quit bowling.  I actually took her up to Rebman's a couple of times during her old league's time to visit her friends.  You could tell she was missed and she really enjoyed seeing everyone.  She kept saying she was trying to get better to be able to bowl again, but it never happened.

When she died she had already moved into the nursing home and there was no family homestead to host the funeral reception.  Many of the funeral homes in Lorain had reception rooms which would have been perfect, but they had all made Grandma mad at one point or another so she made her plans at one in Elyria that didn't.  I asked my mom where we were going to host the reception and she said Rebman's.  Apparently they had remodeled and now had a "party room".  I freaked out.  You can't have a funeral at a bowling alley, but then I remembered how much Grandma liked going there and I couldn't think of a better place.

The O Ring

When I was in high school I had to live through all sorts of humiliation.  I know so did everyone else in the world, but I am pretty sure I am one of few teenagers who had to carry a hemorrhoid pillow around high school.   Even more embarrassing was why.  I had to have surgery to remove a pilonidal cyst on my tailbone.  The typical patient for this surgery is an overweight extremely hairy old man, not a 16 year old girl.  But, in true Little fashion I faced it the only way I knew how.  Head on and try and find some humor in it.  The first surgery was really painful and I had to stay in the hospital for a couple of days. It was Thanksgiving.  I really didn't have the stomach for the hospital turkey, but my family brought me corn fritters.  I got released on Saturday.  Grandma and Grandpa Little were in town so Mom and Grandma came to pick me up from the hospital.  We didn't go home though.  It was Thanksgiving weekend and there was shopping to be done.  Walking wasn't really a problem, just sitting, so Mom and Grandma just had me lay down in the back seat.  Nothing was going to keep Maddie Little from shopping. They just popped some lortabs in me and away we went.  I got to rest a little on Sunday but Monday it was time for school.  The worst thing about the pillow is it was covered in brown fabric.  I didn't even want to think about why they would choose that color.  But, I had to go to school and I couldn't stand up all day so the pillow had to come with me.  My friends knew what was going on, but I had to keep explaining why I was carrying a brown pillow around school.  Depending on my mood my response would be either "I had surgery on my back" or " I just had surgery to make me a perfect a*****e".  I held my head high, put my pillow in its special bag and carried it like a badge of honor.  Booties weren't the thing in the '80's.  They didn't come into style until the '90's with Sir Mix A lot.  Too bad.  I could have told people my butt was so important it just had to be protected.  J-lo stole my story.  After everyone got used to the pillow it became a joke to steal it and hide it so I couldn't sit.  Ha ha real funny.   It was funny however when a friend, R*****, and I decided to photocopy our bottoms.  Let's just say my scar would make it impossible to deny that I had been the one sitting on the copier.  The worst moment came at our 25th Reunion when somebody came up and asked if I still had to carry my pillow around.  Really!!!  That is how I am remembered!!!  Unfortunately the first surgery didn't work so I had to have another, and another , and another.  I got to carry my pillow to UT as well.  They finally got it under control and so long as I don't do sit ups I am ok. ( no problem there). 

You may not be surprised that this post doesn't have a picture.  All I can say I thank goodness I grew up before social media.

The Laundromat

When I would go and spend a week with Grandma we always spent one morning at the Laundromat.  It was always the same Laundromat. The one on Oberlin Ave next to Drug Mart. I think all laundromats look and smell the same.  The yellowish fluorescent lighting from the aged yellowed light covers.  The plastic chairs on the metal base all in a row.  The folding tables.  The rollie baskets. The lady sitting outside smoking while her clothes are on spin.  When I see that lady I remember my grandmother.  Going to the laundromat meant she had nothing to do but sit and smoke.  She really enjoyed that.  A lot of people dread the laundromat. I really don't so long as it is clean.  There is something to be said about getting all the laundry done in a couple of hours.  It is an all weekend event at my house and God forbid I fall behind.   I am not sure why it took so long for my grandparents to get a washer and dryer. My theory is my grandmother didn't want one.  If there was a washer and dryer in the house she would have to do laundry.  She wasn't much for cleaning.  Or Cooking.  Or really anything domestic really.  Not having the option to do laundry meant she would not have to think about it.  She would also have to walk up and down the stairs instead of just sitting and smoking.  But they finally did get a washer and dryer.  It was down in the basement to the right of the stairs.  There was a utility sink and an ironing board.  There was also this %#*^+ thing that came up out of the floor .  It was like a stainless metal handle on the floor.  In the middle of the #%~€{< floor.  Who the hell puts something like that in the middle of the floor.  That thing is probably the reason I never became a famous foot model. I broke no less than four toes on it. Weeks at Grandma's just weren't the same without the laundromat, but not to fear, we still had the bowling alley.  That is a story for another day.

Today I took Caroline to the laundromat. Our bedspread is just too big for our extra large washer. She had a ball.  She kept staring into the machine saying "our blanket is going around'.  She would hold her hands against the dryer just like I still do to feel the heat.  She spread her coloring books and markers out on the row of chairs.  She jumped on the different colored linoleum squares.  I watched her and laughed just like I am sure my grandmother watched me.

The Year I Got a Hairpiece

My excuse- it's the early '80's, everybody was doing it.  The problem- my hair.  I have a lot of hair.  I have a lot of really fine straight hair that refuses to hold a style.  As a child my hair was always in the way.  It took forever to wash and dry.  And the worst part was I think my mom dreamed of a little curly haired daughter so I would have to sleep on the dreaded pink sponge rollers.  I hated the sponge rollers more than anything in the entire world.  I don't know what was worse, waking up with a sore head or waking up and everything was slightly damp because the hair didn't dry all the way.  Slightly damp hair meant sitting under the hair dryer.  Yes the one like you see in beauty shops.  I devised a plan to get rid of sponge rollers forever.  The Dorothy Hamill.  It was the answer to all my problems.  I was like 8 or 9 so I really didn't care that I looked like a boy.  NO MORE SPONGE ROLLERS!!!  Unfortunately my new found freedom presented a new problem.  A very big problem.  The Nutcracker.

I was a student at Nan Klinger's School of Ballet.  Nan Klinger wasn't just a dance instructor.  She was completely hardcore.  She founded the Cuyahoga Valley Youth Ballet and some of its dancers even went on to the NYC Ballet.  We knew this because she told us this every class.  Ballet was not something to be taken lightly.  It was a lifestyle, not an after school activity.  If Nan saw you out in public she would pat you on the butt to make sure you were holding those cheeks in tight.  Clench those cheeks, shoulders back, head held high.  ALWAYS.  Your hands should always be in position, slightly bent cupped inward.  I don't know if this is why, but my fingers are permanently bent in this position.  It always seemed odd to me that our ballet school that was so great was in the basement of some building.  It also seemed odd to me that Nan could teach an entire class without having to ash her cigarette.  Smoking kept her thin I suppose.  Anyway, I had been in ballet long enough and I had mastered my basic techniques so I was going to get to be a Party Girl in the Nutcracker at the Akron Civic Theatre.  Every little girl's dream.  I was so excited.  And then I went to class with my new haircut.  Nan was not impressed.  She took one look at me and I was out.  She probably would have kicked me out of the class, but I am sure we were prompt payers.  I was devastated.  Nan Klinger may have owned the ballet world in Summit County but she was no match for Kate (Kathy then) Little.  My mom is not someone who lets things stand in the way for what she (or her daughter) wants.  You can say the words Kate Little in some circles and things just happen.  Even if she isn't there.  Anyway, mom was not going to let a bad adorable, trendy haircut get in the way of my stage debut.  She took some of the hair that had been ripped off by the sponge rollers that were now not being used and had a wigmaker match a hairpiece.  I had the most beautiful ringlets and I didn't have to be tortured all night to get them.  My dream came true.  I danced in the Nutcracker for about 30 seconds and got to come out for the bows.  Next step if I kept up the hard work would be an angel.  But alas, I grew weary of ballet and moved on to other activities. Nan Klinger survived without me.  

Thanks mom for not letting anything stand in my way.

Preparing for the big night with help from Graham and Ness

Soccer

I am really not an athletic person. I am a competitive person, but I am not really good at sports.  I am not sure why.  Maybe it is genetic.  My great-grandfather was a professional runner in England, like the Chariot's of Fire guy, but it didn't get passed down to me.  Maybe it is because I didn't start sports early enough.  I did gymnastics for a year when I was 4 and ballet for a few years.  My first introduction to group sports was softball.  We practiced at Oak Park on 12th Street in Cuyahoga Falls.  I don't remember much except that we were really bad.  I am sure it had nothing to do with our coach who came to practice in her bedroom slippers and pretty much just stood there with a whistle and clipboard.  In 4th grade I joined the soccer team.  I was actually halfway decent. Who knew? The thing about girls soccer in the early 80's was if you weren't afraid of the ball and were even slightly aggressive you were already heads above the others.  I played through the 7th grade and then decided my calling was to be a cheerleader.  Not sure who I was kidding.  While I had the loud part down, my acrobatic skills were less than desirable   And even more detrimental to my career was my hair.  No matter how many perms I got my straight slick hair would not achieve the height that was needed to look like one of the team.  No offense to my cheerleader friends but ya'll have to admit the cheer squad did have the biggest hair in the school.  But, being at the small Christian school they didn't have too many options so I made the squad for one season.  Didn't last long though.  A girl who could actually do a cartwheel knocked me out the next year.  I had a decision to make.  Should I go back to soccer, or give up my athletic career.  I made my decision based on a very important thing.  Boys.  Soccer definitely had the boys that I found hot.  Soccer players had "Bono' mullets not "The Boz' mullets that the football players had.  In the 80's you really didn't have a no mullet option you know. So soccer it was.  And it was a good decision.  I had quite a few more years in me and when I moved to Tennessee soccer helped me develop some really good friendships. A couple of us girls even made a statement by trying out for the boys team at Tennessee High because they didn't have a girls team. Didn't make the team, but they did get another girls sport the next year.  Unfortunately it was softball. Thank goodness the coach actually wore shoes.

I don't think kids today get the same experience out of sports that most of us did.  Kids can join a sports team at age 4.  They can move to competitive "traveling" teams when they are like 6.  They practice 5 or 6 times a week.  Some kids love this and I think that is fine, but I think a lot of kids get left behind and by the time middle school comes around the competition is just too great so they don't get to play.  I am pretty sure I wouldn't make the team if I was a kid now.  I just wasn't that committed.

 I cherish my soccer memories and my soccer friends.  Some of these players were actually really good and I think some still play today.  The rest of us were just in it for the fun, and fun it definitely was.


And here is the gymnastics picture.  I love that my white underpants are hanging out of my leotard.  What do you bet they make thongs for 4 year olds now so that doesn't happen.

Emma

My mother is a wonderful decorator.  Her house rivals anything you would see in Southern Living or House Beautiful.  She considers every detail and is incredibly creative.  She sees things that other people miss.  She can walk into a thrift shop and turn $15 into something that you would find for sale in Pottery Barn for $150.  Her gardens are amazing too.  It doesn't hurt that my dad is an perfectionist in his renovations either.  My parents have always been able to buy a house that most people would pass on and turn it into a showcase in a few short years.  They always sell their houses in an amazingly short amount of time.  I think the average is about 3 days.  Why am I telling you all this? Two reasons.  One is that I just want to brag.  The other is because I think it is really cool that my mother is one of the few people that I know that can take something incredibly tacky and make it seem like it is completely normal.  Take Emma the Goose.  Emma was my mother's concrete goose that she picked up at some garden shop.  I don't know that whoever cast the concrete goose ever intended it to be dressed up, but somebody decided that these statues needed clothes.  It was actually quite popular in Ohio to have a dressed up goose, but that trend didn't quite make it down to Tennessee so it seemed just a little weird to my high school friends.  Emma had all sorts of outfits for every holiday and occasion.  You can see the bee above.  Here is the Valentine outfit.

She had a Santa outfit of course and a St. Patrick's outfit.  Most of the outfit's were made by Grandma Gallagher.  I think it became a game on how ridiculous the outfit could be.  Unfortunately for Emma she did not have a winter coat.

(yes this is Tennessee, not Ohio)

I am a little surprised that she didn't get to come inside when it got too cold outside.  A friend of mine from high school, John, was in love with Emma.  We all thought it was a little weird, but John was like that.  When Mom and Dad moved from the Bellebrook house my mom decided that Emma did not have a good place to live at the new condo so she gave Emma and all her outfits to John.  John was delighted.  I am pretty sure Rebecca did not have as much love for Emma and might have said a few choice words under her breath when she had to go and change the goose's outfit.  Not really sure what happened to Emma.  She may have gotten "lost" when the Byers moved to Texas.  They never speak of it and we don't ask.  

Not sure why my mom loved Emma so much.  Maybe it was because Emma is a reminder to not take things so seriously and to do what you like even if it seems a little tacky. 

Now what lesson do you think the sheep taught us?