Before you try to make them, let me state that these are the most temperamental cookies in the world! If anything can go wrong with them it will. Of course, I can't blame the cookies for the fact that I put in cornstarch today instead of baking powder. . .but even after I put it in, they were still as flat as pancakes-- flatter, actually. More like crepes. And I had to grease the pans because they stuck. But that could be because of the cornstarch. Usually I don't grease the pans. They taste good, though, so my brother will eat them, and be tickled that there is a smaller cookie to icing ratio than usual.  

Grandma's Brown Sugar Cookies
2 cups brown sugar
1/2 cup shortening (we use margarine)
2 eggs
1/2 cup milk or buttermilk (we always use milk and lemonjuice to make 'buttermilk')
1 tsp. Vanilla
3/4 tsp. baking soda
1 Tbsp. baking powder
3 cups flour
3/4 cup nuts (Dad doesn't like nuts, so we never put them in, but you can if you want.)
Bake at 350 degrees for 12 minutes (I always check them at 10, and they are usually done.)

Let cool. Ice them with Maple Frosting

Maple Frosting
1 lb. powdered sugar
1 stick of Margarine (1/2 cup)
1/2 tsp. maple flavoring
2 Tbsp. evaporated milk (about)

There are no directions with them, so I just make them like normal cookies- beat the shortening and sugar together, add the eggs, then the vanilla, then add the buttermilk and the flour, alternating between the two.

And they taste really good, even when they look funny. And the icing covers a lot of imperfections, which helps.

And this usually make about 4 dozen cookies, I think. I always double the batch.

But if I had my choice, I would make Peanut Butter Chocolate Chip cookies, which are my own tweaked recipe,the result of  taking my Aunt Alma's recipe and mixing it with Emily Byler's recipe, then adding stuff, and changing amounts until my (biased) opinion is that they are some of the best PB cookies ever. And they turn out okay most of the time.

Yeah for pictures!
  
Deborah, Rachel and Alyssa at the Castle in Portugal

Justin playing with the pigeons in the square below the castle.


The Aqueduct of Segovia. It's made without mortar!



At the Alhambra


Random meeting in Granada!

 
On the ferry on our way to the Chateau D'if



Florence at Night


 
Rachel outside the Colloseum, singing for Italian television!

 

Rachel proving that she really can sleep anywhere.

I realize that these are older pictures, but I'm thrilled that I was able to get them uploaded!

Last night I worked in the ICU for a while, then I went to IMC for the rest of the night. Everything was going pretty good. The patient that wanted to kick me was to weak to do any damage. My patient's who weren't sure where they were liked where ever that was. My coworkers were helpful and in good moods. Mostly. All in all, the makings of a great night.

Then it happened. The beep over the intercom that says "Something bad is or is about to happen." (It actually says "BEEEEEEEEEP", but we can translate.) Tonight it was a trauma code. Someone, somewhere was in an accident. Since I was on IMC, it was none of my business, and so I stayed upstairs and tried to catch up on charting. Then I got a phone call, "Hey, would come down here and translate, if you can?"

Now, I do not speak much Spanish. BUT, I apparently am willing to speak more than anyone else there, because when I got down there, the first thing they needed to know was his name. Not a problem.

Unfortunately, the first thing he wanted to know was where and how his wife was. When I translated, everyone looked away, then the one nurse whispered quietly, "She died in the accident. Because of his possible injuries, the doctor doesn't want to tell him yet." (If he had any spinal injuries he could hurt himself worse if he became agitated.)

So there I stood, right beside his head, holding his hand, asking him where he hurt, telling him the small amount of information that I was given: that his wife was still in the car, and that we didn't know everything that was wrong with her. All true, by the way, but not the whole truth. I  held his hand, listened to his cries of "mi esposa, mi esposa!' knowing the bad news, with nothing I could say. I prayed silently for him, assisted with calming him down, and waited for the news to become official. Unfortunately, I needed to go back to my floor before he was told. I explained to the main doctor (who knows more Spanish than she admits) how to say "She is dead."

His doctor came up to the floor before I left for home. I asked if there was any news she could give me. There wasn't much. The policeman who was at the accident site came to tell him about his wife. And he spoke Spanish, so he could tell him everything he wanted to know.

I don't know what will happen to this man. It's really none of my business. But it will be awhile before I will quit seeing his tears and hearing his cries.

Please, God, hold him tightly these next few weeks and months and send people into his life who can help him through this valley.