I feel so sad. Hope the research bear is dead, killed by a hunter last week.

I have been eagerly following the daily updates, photos and live videos of some world-famous American black bears for almost two years now. In Ely, MN, a little north of where we live, a man named Lynn Rogers has been studying black bears for years. There have been many television programs on the man who walks with bears, and in December of 2009 I became interested myself.

The bear research people were able to install a live den camera in front of the den where Lily, a black research bear, had decided to hibernate. The world watched as she gave birth to her female cub, later named Hope. Things were being learned about black bears that had never been known before. Myths were being put to rest, and admiration and awe were being voiced as people from all over the globe watched this mother bear with her little cub.

Every morning in late 2009 and early 2010 I would get up in the dark and tune in to the live den-cam, and watch as Lily rested and readied herself for childbirth. Or is it cub-birth? When Hope was born I sobbed as I heard her little cubby cries and the maternal grunts of her mother as she checked her baby over and began to nurse. I laughed again and again when I heard the nursing sound that bears make — something akin to a tiny, revving motor. While the wintry Minnesota winds blew outside, Lily and Hope were safe in their den, and as each day passed, the world tuned in and could see Hope grow. Even elementary school children from all over the country watched from their classrooms.

When Lily and Hope began to play together inside the den, I exulted. I can’t explain it, but while living in a world where there’s always war, always a gazillion people mistreating other people, where there’s always too little to eat for some and too much to choose from for the greedy, watching this little enclave of peace and contentment made my heart thrill day after day. Somewhere in the world, something was happening that must surely have brought a smile to God’s face….right there in that bear den outside of Ely, MN. Here were two creatures doing exactly what God created them to do, and I don’t care what anyone says, I knew that God was pleased. Which is more than I can say for many of God’s creatures, including myself.

Lily and little Hope

When spring whispered in to the area and snow began to melt, Lily and Hope came out of their den and I watched. And smiled. And called my family to the computer many times and wanted them to be as delighted as I was. Lily is a radio collared bear, and the bear researchers can track her whereabouts and learn more about black bears. There’s so much more to these animals than I ever thought before. They’re fascinating, funny, endearing, and usually not harmful. The people who have radio collared the few research bears in northeastern Minnesota can approach the bears and talk to them, and the bears learn to trust and often sit quietly with the humans, sharing their space peacefully. I never knew that such huge animals survive mostly on insect grubs, wild berries and hazelnuts. I never knew that ants are such a huge part of a bear’s diet. And I never knew what faithful, patient, incredible mothers black bears are.

Lily and older Hope napping

As Hope grew, so did her antics. She and her mama Lily would stroll the forest together, nap side by side together, groom each other, and play together. They would gently bat at each other’s noses, wrestle and tumble together, and actually cuddle and show affection that was clearly evident. I know there are zoologists out there who will say we don’t know and can’t know what animals feel, and that humans always ascribe too many emotions to animals that can’t possibly exist, but after watching these bears for almost two years I’m not buying it. I saw Lily love her Hope. It might not be the kind of love humans are capable of, I don’t know. But it was love and devotion and self-sacrifice right in front of the world’s eyes, and it made me cry and rejoice each time I watched. When big Lily nuzzled little Hope and grunted her maternal bear sounds, my heart broke with joy.

Well, well, well. Then new bear history was made. Lily got pregnant again and the bear people wondered what would happen then? It’s not like black bears haven’t gotten pregnant before while still caring for a cub, it’s just that there’s never been a den-cam to showcase to the world how the mother, older cub, and newborn cub/s might possibly get along. Late last year another den-cam was set up in the new den Lily chose for the denning season. Was she actually going to den with her much larger cub Hope, give birth in that den and care for them all, staying together into the next summer?

I watched for a little while every single day. They knew Lily was pregnant, and she continued to be a wonderful mother to Hope, and even though Hope was pretty large by then, they denned together. How beautiful those daily videos were! Two large beings sharing a tight space, and being utterly content and peaceful while doing so. In January labor began and Lily gave birth to two cubs, a male and a female. They were later named Jason and Faith, and the viewing audience grew, and newspapers around the world printed stories about the Ely bears.

Mama Lily, yearling Hope and newest cubs Jason and Faith in their den

Lily was a devoted mother to all three of her cubs, and she allowed them to nurse at the same time. That always brought a chuckle when I saw how patiently she allowed huge Hope to burrow in to her belly at the same time the tiny little Jason and Faith did. The researchers commented about how fabulous it was to see big sister Hope accepting her little siblings and learning to be gentle and maternal with them as well.

Unfortunately, little cub Jason died early in his life. An autopsy revealed a couple of things that prevented him from growing up to adulthood — I learned that these things happen more than you might suspect. So a trio of females went on — big mama Lily, yearling Hope, and quickly growing little cub Faith.

Lily, Hope and Faith

I kept visiting the bear study website to see what was up with the three bears. I can’t even begin to explain the happiness I felt watching these beautiful creatures. I showed them to my grandchildren. I told friends about them. Everyone was kind and patient with me.  The world could check in and see Lily and Hope playing together as they walked through the north woods. If you’d like to see a short video taken just a couple of weeks ago of Lily nursing her yearling Hope and smaller cub Faith at the same time, click here. See how patient she is! See how they play together after they’ve had their meal…such a happy wonder.

So in mid-September when the daily updates reported that Hope was missing, my heart sank. It’s bear season in northern Minnesota right now, and I couldn’t stand the thought of someone killing Hope. Black bears are plentiful in this state, and some people actually eat bear meat, so being able to find and shoot a bear in our area would not be difficult.

When bear hunting season opens, Lynn Rogers and his bear researchers affix brightly colored ribbons to the radio collars to identify the research bears. They post signs in the woods and ask hunters to please refrain from shooting research bears, those with beribboned radio collars. Many hunters do comply and take uncollared bears instead.

But this year that was not the case. As the days went on and only mama Lily and the newest cub Faith could be found together, it seemed like the unthinkable had happened. Early this week it was confirmed that on Friday, September 16, 2011, a hunter shot and killed Hope. He had put out a bait station (which is legal in Minnesota) and had seen a lone yearling come to eat. He says he did not know it was Hope, because she didn’t have a radio collar around her neck. The bear folks had tried to put a collar on Hope many times, but she didn’t like it and kept working it off. This hunter hunts for yearlings because of the quality of their meat, and now Hope will provide several meals for him and whoever sits at his table.

I’m not trying to vilify this hunter. He was doing what people have done through the millennia — hunting for his own food. My husband Michael has hunted for white tail deer each November for forty-eight years. I have never been thrilled with his hunting but it’s the culture in this state, and I’ve just accepted it as such. I have tried on occasion to eat venison and have never really taken to the wild flavor.

But I do eat cows. And I eat chickens too. And fish. And the occasional pig. And here is part of my crisis, if it is a crisis. I don’t want to eat animals anymore. But I like the taste of animals. I have been an omnivore for so long I wouldn’t know where to begin to become a vegetarian. I have read books on how to slowly become a vegetarian, and can’t seem to do it. We have people in our house that I don’t think could live without eating some meat. I can’t make them feel what I’m feeling. I know how to eat less meat and cook with less meat. So I have had seasons where I’ve done that. But I have this quandary — I’m seeing animals in a new light and I don’t know how to do anything about it. I don’t think it’s wrong to eat meat. I know it’s not always the healthiest choice, but I don’t think it’s wrong.

Here’s another facet of the turmoil I’m feeling. Why, oh why, am I so torn up about the death of Hope the black bear, when human beings are killed every day and my emotions don’t seem to run as deep and ragged for them? Troy Davis, very possibly an innocent man, was given a poisonous lethal injection recently and died in a Georgia prison. Did I mourn? Yes, but not like I mourn for Hope, Lily and Faith, the three bears. What’s up with that? Can anyone explain this to me? I see newspaper photographs of innocent people who die all over the world — the victims of war and disease and human contempt. Do I mourn for them? Yes, and I often pray. But does that tear me apart inside like the knowledge of the hunter shooting Hope and cutting her up for his freezer and table? No. And it seems like a crisis of sorts that I don’t mourn as deeply for hurting people as much as I do for these simple bears.

I’m not sure what I’m going to do. About eating meat. About how much I hate the death penalty. About why I’ve felt so deeply about these black bears. About why I’m not as saddened and/or outraged as I should be about the pain and suffering that permeates our world.

It feels like a crisis of sorts. But I don’t know exactly what to do about any of this.

And it’s not as if there aren’t a few other teeny things going on around here too.

So I’m going to pray about everything.

Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus.

Philippians 4:6-7

“I wonder what our kids would say about the relationship we have with our phone? My guess is that many of us need to breakup and move on.”

Benjamin Nockels

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For those of you who have never met my husband Michael, he used to have quite the build. Not that he doesn’t look nice now, but when he was a young man he had the kind of muscles and broad shoulders that most men must lift weights and pray hard for.

I always thought Michael’s broad shoulders represented more than just hard work and good heredity. To me, they were symbolic of the kind of man he had to be to take on the job of being my husband and a daddy to my two little girls.

Thirty years of marriage has shown me just how strong his shoulders have been. You could say that Michael has had a high-maintenance wife. You could say that raising the little daughters of a man who easily walked away from them was a challenge at times. You could say that doing decades of carpentry for 10 hours a day in every kind of weather gave him strength and stamina.

I think the best proof of Michael’s strong shoulders is how humbly and cheerfully he has carried us and loved us for all these years. We have not been the lightest of burdens for a man. No indeed. In fact, if any other man had decided to take on what Michael has, he probably would have eventually given up.

Michael has never given up.

Back in April, Michael had one of those strong and broad shoulders replaced at the Mayo Clinic.

Predictably, his right arm and shoulder have atrophied a bit and he’s had to undergo weeks of physical therapy to build his strength and mobility again. He will have to be careful for the rest of his life. No heavy lifting, no shooting rifles during hunting season, no push-ups.

We recently made our last trip to the Mayo Clinic and the x-rays showed that the new reverse prosthesis that is Michael’s new shoulder joint is “articulating well” and looks just as it should. The orthopedic surgeon who did the replacement was out of town for this appointment, and we met with his young Physician’s Assistant, Lori D. She was tall, beautiful and brilliant, and she showed us the many x-ray views that had been taken that morning, dispassionately tossing around words like circumduction and glenoid process. She answered our questions knowledgeably and was polished and professional; she knew the ins and outs of Michael’s case. We learned that the lingering shoulder soreness Michael has each day probably isn’t related to the sawed off bone and new metal and plastic prosthesis, but to the muscles and tendons that will now take up to a year to fully heal. It was comforting to know that.

As we shook hands and said goodbye to P.A. Lori D. at the Mayo Clinic in Rochester, MN, I wished I had the time and opportunity to tell her more about Michael’s broad shoulders.

She knew more about his glenohumeral joint than I ever will. But I could have told her a few things about what life is like with a man who’s as strong on the inside as he is on the outside. Probably stronger. I could have told her about all that Michael’s broad shoulders have carried, and how countless lives have been blessed beyond measure because of his strength.

I would have told Lori D. that when Michael was a younger man he used to be powerfully built. And I would have said that in spite of his fading physical strength, he’s still fearlessly carrying us around with his amazing inner strength. And only the most indomitable man could do that.

I’m not sure that Lori D. would have seen what I’m talking about.

But I can see it clearly…every single day.

Show me your ways, LORD,
   teach me your paths.
Guide me in your truth and teach me,
   for you are God my Savior,
   and my hope is in you all day long.

Psalm 25:4-5

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Whatever we’re doing today, let’s put our hope in the Lord all day long. If things go wrong, let’s put our hope in the Lord anyway. If we mess up, let’s say we’re sorry and ask the Lord to get us back on His path. If we’re tired and discouraged, let’s put our hope in the Lord. If we’re happy and grateful, let’s put our hope in the Lord. If we have no money, no friends, no health, no peace, let us reach out to Him and put our hope in Him.

Lord, show us your ways. Teach us your paths. Guide us in your truth and teach us. Let us make you our God and Savior.

Lord Jesus, we put our hope in you today…

All day long.

When my children were young we listened to a lot of music in our house and car. Randy Stonehill, Petra, Amy Grant, Farrell and Farrell, and Steven Curtis Chapman, just to name a few. It’s been a long time since I’ve purchased a new Steven Curtis Chapman CD, but after I heard this song for the first time recently, I think I just might get this one.

A new (already dear) friend named Linda told me about this song and how it had touched her, so I looked it up on YouTube and liked it right away. Then I listened again and liked it more. Then I listened again and pretty much loved it.

The music video is amusing and clever, and I like how SCC pokes fun at himself a bit all throughout. But as you listen, try to follow the words too.

I don’t even know where to begin some days in trying “to do everything I do to bring a smile to God’s face.” I’m a pretty big failure at this. But I can truly sense those infrequent times when I do bring a smile to His face, and honestly, there’s nothing else like it. It usually has to do with being patient, encouraging, unoffended, selfless and other near-impossible traits.

I want the little things I do to matter. Don’t you? Don’t you want to know that if you clean the toilet, wipe up the ketchup from the floor, hold your tongue when you could let it rip, when you hug a child, encourage your spouse, brush your teeth, and peel some potatoes over and over again, it’s not all meaningless? That if done with the right attitude (there’s the rub) it really could matter to God? And that it could matter for eternity?

This song by Steven Curtis Chapman makes me laugh. And it makes me hope. And it makes me want to do better. Tell me what you think after you’ve watched it through….

Do Everything

You’re picking up toys on the living room floor
for the 15th time today
Matching up socks and sweeping up lost
Cheerios that got away
You put a baby on your hip and color on your lips
and head out the door
And while I may not know you, I bet I know you
Wonder sometimes does it matter at all?
Well let me remind you it all matters just as long as you

Do everything you do to the glory of the One who made you
‘Cause He made you to do
Every little thing that you do to bring a smile to His face
And tell the story of grace
With every move that you make
And every little thing you do

Ooh ooooh oooooh

Maybe you’re that guy with the suit and tie
Maybe your shirt says your name
You may be hooking up mergers, cooking up burgers
But at the end of the day

Little stuff, big stuff, in between stuff
God sees it all the same
And while I may not know you, I bet I know you
Wonder sometimes does it matter at all?
Well let me remind you it all matters just as long as you

Do everything you do to the glory of the One who made you
‘Cause He made you
To do every little thing that you do to bring a smile to His face
And tell the story of grace with every move that you make
And every thing that you do

Well maybe you’re sitting in math class
Or maybe on a mission in the Congo
Maybe you’re working at the office
Singing along with the radio
Maybe you’re dining at a five-star
Or feeding orphans in Myanmar
Anywhere and everywhere you are
Whatever you do it all matters
So do what you do and don’t ever forget to

Do everything you do to the glory of the One who made you
‘Cause He made you to do
Every little thing that you do to bring a smile to His face
And tell the story of grace as you do
Everything you do to the glory of the One who made you
‘Cause He made you to do
Every little thing that you do to bring a smile to His face
And tell the story of grace with every move that you make
And every little thing you do

Ooh ooooh oooooh
Every little thing you do

by Steven Curtis Chapman

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We still have time to make our lives tell the story of His grace!

Arranging a bowl of flowers in the morning can give a sense of quiet in a crowded day — like writing a poem or saying a prayer.

Anne Morrow Lindbergh

Arranging thousands of flowers for a huge wedding for five days straight and into the wee hours of the mornings can give an utter sense of lunacy to a quiet life — like taut nerves close to snapping and the eyes rolling back in the head.

Julie B.

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Sara is a floral designer in a local downtown flower shop, and she loves her job. Once or twice she has been asked by friends if she could do their wedding flowers on her own, and she has agreed. She has done these weddings as favors, and because she isn’t set up like a flower shop (and doesn’t want to be), the logistics became a little challenging. The outcomes have always been beautiful, though, with happy brides and families.

Last week was the third wedding Sara has done by herself, and it was an enterprise of mammoth proportions because of the size of the flower order. Trish, the lovely bride, ordered twenty-one large table arrangements, yards of lush bay leaf garlands hung everywhere, a huge memorial arrangement for one of the deceased parents, along with the multiple corsages, bouquets and boutonnieres.

A truck from Minneapolis arrived at our house early in the morning, twice last week. Our garage became Sara’s floral workshop. Our kitchen became the storage area for completed arrangements. The refrigerator in our guest room became the place where corsages and smaller pieces where gingerly stored.

You can click on the photos to enlarge them if you like. Sara was ready for the first shipment with bins full of water in the front yard — thankfully it was a beautiful day. It took her most of the day to clean and prepare the flowers. Some flowers had to be stripped of leaves, some had to be placed in very cold water. Some had to have bleach added to the water, some had to have damp paper towels draped delicately over their blooms. Some flowers had to have their stems cut and boiling water poured at the cuts, others had to be softly sung to and caressed every three to four hours. It was a daunting job.

Michael helped her unpack boxes of flowers from this first delivery. Right about this point I started worrying about how these flowers were going to stay fresh from Tuesday morning until the Saturday evening wedding, with hot weather forecasted, and no huge florist’s cooler on the premises. Moms are good for that kind of thing and I was more than happy to do it for Sara. I didn’t want her worrying one little bit.

Flowers, flowers, everywhere.

Amaryllis hanging out in the corner of their blue bin.

Doesn’t she look calm and cheerful, considering that the next almost five days are going to test her endurance like nothing she’s ever experienced? Keep in mind that aside from doing this wedding, Sara works at her day job, and is also going to college, taking some kind of class about atoms and cytoplasm and something weird called the periodic table of elements. 🙂

Roses!

Soon some of the bins had to be moved inside to the laundry room because the temperature outside started to climb.

I think this picture was taken on Thursday — of several table arrangements sitting on one of our kitchen counters, along with other flowers being stored in bowls and pitchers, waiting their turns for glory and infamy. We pulled the shades down and cranked up the air conditioning to keep things as cool as possible.

What, you don’t keep several rectangular table arrangements on your kitchen counters?

They’re all close together so it’s hard to see, but I believe there are six completed floral arrangements sitting here.

On Friday night God sent an angel in human form named Corie to help Sara with whatever still needed doing. What a blessing her unannounced appearance was!

I believe the photo below was taken early Saturday morning. Sara had stayed up until 2:30 a.m. to get the rest of the table arrangements done. I liked storing them on our stove, because that meant I didn’t have to cook! Yeah! Out to dinner ’cause there are flowers on the stove! Next time you don’t feel like cooking you might try this tactic too.

Below, Sara is working on the bride’s gorgeous bouquet — a bouquet she carried in the crook of her arm, to the side, rather than in her hand.

More table arrangements…

I knew I would find a good use for this treadmill I bought! Look at how perfectly those table arrangements fit! I wonder if my two feet would fit on this. I should give it a try sometime.

I was too tired to go to the wedding after watching Sara exhaust herself for five days doing flowers, so I don’t have any wedding photos. I was told it was exquisitely beautiful though, and that the flowers helped make it so. If anyone sends me a photo or two from the wedding, I’ll post it here later.

Sara was so thankful that the bride and groom and their families were happy with her creative work, and after we transported all the arrangements and bouquets to the church on Saturday morning (three vehicles full), her relief and happiness were a joy to see.

Now my kitchen counters, stove, laundry room and fridge are flower-free, so I guess that means I have to go cook something. Does anyone have any good recipes?

Sigh,

“The difference between mercy and grace? Mercy gave the prodigal son a second chance. Grace gave him a feast.”

Max Lucado

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I love that in Murillo’s painting above, the little dog is so happy to see the prodigal son return home…even if the brother is not.

Dogs are instruments of God’s grace too, you know,

I love September. It just might be my favorite month, followed closely by October. I love the cooler, crisper air, the slow color change of the trees, the smell of soup simmering and bread baking, the need for sweaters and socks. And I love September because it means the beginning of Community Bible Study again. I’ve been going to Community Bible Study for fourteen years now, and I pray that I will be attending until my dying day. I could probably change churches without too much folderol, but I don’t think I could ever stop going to CBS.

Do you go to CBS? If not, I think this is the year you should! 

If you live in the United States and would like to see if there’s a class meeting near you, click here.

If you live in Europe, Asia, Latin America or Africa, click here to see if there’s a CBS class near you.

Here’s a little quiz to determine if you’re the kind of person who might enjoy going to Community Bible Study:

(If you answer any of the following questions yes, make a mental note of it – you don’t have to count how many yes answers you give, just whether or not you say yes to any of the following statements.)

I am a Christian
I am not a Christian, but believe in God.
I’m not sure I believe in God at all.
I am politically liberal.
I am politically conservative.
I hate politics.
I am very shy.
I hate groups.
I love getting to know new people.
I don’t own a Bible.
I graduated from Bible College.
I have mobility issues and need help moving around.
I am a young mother with children.
I have no money.
I think I might like Jesus, but am not so sure about Christians.
I haven’t been to church in years.
I don’t like church.
I feel like I don’t fit in anywhere.
I have many questions about religion.
I was raised Catholic.
I am a middle-aged man.
I hate being hit over the head with religion.
I have no friends.
I don’t have much time during the week.
I would like to know more about the Bible.
I wonder why God lets all these things happen if He’s a God of love.
I don’t like to do homework.
I love to study and do homework.
My kids are getting on my nerves and I know they need something.
I have questions but no answers.
I used to go to a Baptist church.
I am newly married and am finding life very hard.
I can’t get my act together.
The other Bible studies I’ve done haven’t challenged me.
I don’t like any social pressure.
I’m a stutterer.
I feel spiritually dry.
I would like to feel God’s presence.
I don’t like churches with long, drawn-out worship.
I go to a traditional church.
I dislike traditional churches and prefer non-denominational ones.
I believe communion is a remembrance only.
I believe communion contains the very presence of Christ.
I have never taken communion.
I’m not sure why the Bible is so important.
I don’t like traditional churches.
I believe in the gifts of the Holy Spirit.
I believe those who believe in the gifts of the Holy Spirit are a little weird.
I don’t even know what the Holy Spirit’s gifts are.
I think I might feel uncomfortable in a Bible study.
I would like to be noticed.
I would like to fade into the woodwork.
My mother went to CBS and I’m not sure it would be relevant for me.
I work during the day.
It doesn’t sound fun to read the Bible and answer a bunch of questions.
I’m in prison.
I’m a homeschooler.
I’m a with-it person and don’t really want a stodgy sort of gathering.
I rarely feel respected.
I believe in God, but don’t want to get all whacked out about it.
I can’t fit one more thing into my schedule.
I need help with my relationships.
I need more stability in my life.
I am not very with-it and don’t like a lot of newfangled things.
I am tired.
I need some encouragement.
I want to feel like something I’m doing really makes a difference.
I need to do something that benefits my family as well as myself.
I need….
I need…
I need……something. And I’m not sure what it is.

If you answered yes to any of those questions, then Community Bible Study might just be for you.

Nothing has meant more to me in my spiritual life. It’s really hard to explain to someone just how amazing CBS is — I just encourage you to find a class and go.

And it’s a good idea to go four times before making a decision on whether or not it’s for you. Four weeks will give you a better picture of what to expect from the September through May class.

If you think a friend might like to know more about Community Bible study, refer them to this blog post. And here’s the home link — click here: Community Bible Study.

If any of you have attended CBS, would you be so kind to leave a comment and share a bit about what it has meant to you? Your comments might help someone decide if they should attend!

God bless your week!

(The collage will enlarge if you click on it)

…My cup overflows…Surely your goodness and mercy will follow me all the days of my life, and I will dwell in the house of the LORD forever…

Psalm 23:5b-6

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Thank you Lord. Thank you. Thank you…

(From the archives…)

I hope your Easter was a special day touched in some way by the love of friends, family, and God. Easter reminds me that with Jesus there’s always hope, no matter how occasionally hopeless things might seem. Not only did Jesus rise from the dead, but His resurrection power can bring other dead things to life. Dead hearts, dead relationships, dead people – nothing is too difficult for Him.

We went to church where we could hardly find a place to sit, so our family had to sit two here, three here, two here, etc. Then we came home and started the food preparation for our Easter dinner. Later on in the day the grandbabies had a good time searching the big yard for candy-filled eggs.

My son-in-law Chris was in charge of the ham. I’ve always been so ho-hum about ham (that sounds like the title of a book – Ho-hum About Ham) until I try the baked hams that Chris prepares. He rubs some stuff on the ham, puts it in the oven in a roaster for 90 minutes, and then it invariably turns out so scrumptious that I rave about how ham is my new favorite meat. Then in a few days I’m back to being ho-hum about ham, until the next time Chris makes a ham and I’ll be all wound up about it again.

My daughter Sharon made roasted fresh asparagus, which I had never eaten. I could have written an essay entitled Ambivalent About Asparagus, but after tasting this, I have changed my tune on a food once again. Sharon also made spring-like desserts: homemade lemon squares and made-from-scratch carrot cake, the latter of which I am enjoying while typing this blog post.

Sharon and her middle child Mrs. Nisky made their famous Nisky’s Biscuits as well. Nisky’s Biscuits have two ingredients, two, and they are the flakiest, tastiest biscuits ever. Have you ever made delicious biscuits with 1) Self-rising flour and 2) whipping cream? Neither have I. I will be making them soon, however, because Nisky’s Biscuits are easy and yummy.

I made my favorite salad, Panzanella, that’s the most wonderful salad I’ve ever tasted and that is no exaggeration. If you want to make something that everyone will rave about and will require you to have printed copies of the recipe nearby each time you serve it, go to the Food Network’s site and check out The Barefoot Contessa’s recipe for Panzanella.

I also made a staple that I’ve been making for at least twenty-six and a quarter years: Stuffed Baked Potatoes. Many of you probably make your own version of these, but I’ve been surprised lately to hear of enough people who’ve never made these, so I thought I’d share. Stuffed Baked Potatoes are easy and most people think they’re fancy and delectable. I make them at least twice a month – they’re a nice change from regular baked or mashed potatoes.

Sharon took the photos of my Easter journey through Stuffed Baked Potatoland, and I hope you’ll try them and let me know how they turned out for you.

You will need large baking potatoes, cheese (I used colbyjack but you could use cheddar, jack, pepper jack, whatever), blue cheese dressing, parmesan cheese, butter, green onions, and McCormick Salad Supreme.

First, bake your potatoes. I have two ovens, which comes in very handy on holidays. I baked my large baking potatoes in the smaller upper oven (you can see the pizza stone I store there) while the not-so-ho-hum ham was cooking in the larger oven below.

While your potatoes are baking, take some green onions and chop them up pretty fine. I used about 4-5 onions. One nice thing about this recipe is that you can just put in as much or as little of everything as you like. Experiment with the flavors and adjust as you go. You’ll see how I did that later. I use the green and the white of the green onions. Some people call them scallions but I never have. Maybe one of you can tell us why they’re called scallions – is it a regional thing? I don’t care as much for that name because it reminds me of the word scallywag, and the word scallywag reminds me of a certain person that I would prefer not to be reminded about when I’m making Stuffed Baked Potatoes.

This next part is important. Have all your ingredients ready in a bowl while your potatoes are baking, because it’s the heat of the baked potatoes that will cause everything to melt together nicely. Below you can see that I tossed in about two heaping cups of grated colbyjack cheese. We were feeding a lot of people on Easter.

Next, I added about 3/4 cup of blue cheese dressing and about 3/4 cup of Parmesan cheese. You could use less or more of either ingredient. I happen to love blue cheese dressing so I put in a lot. Maybe it was even closer to a cup of blue cheese dressing.

If you look closely now, you can see that the first potato is in there (I’ll get to that in a minute) and I also threw in about 3/4 of a stick of butter. This is Easter, so don’t worry about fat grams. You could worry about that the day after Easter. Oh wait – Easter is already past. Well, don’t worry about things anyway.

Now I just started to mash things together a little bit. My potatoes were done baking. I smooshed things around with the fork while my daughter took photos with her very nice camera that she uses on her very nice website for her very nice yarn business.

When the potatoes are done, I take them out one by one, hold them in an oven mitted hand, and gently cut them in half, taking care not to ruin my beautiful oven mitts.

I take a large spoon, and while cradling the hot potato in my mitt (please try not to notice the holes in my mitt) I gently scoop out the very hot potato innards.  I try not to ruin the skin, but sometimes it happens. See how there’s very little left of the innards? Then you can just set these forlorn looking skins on a baking sheet.

And they will look like this. Sort of like sad spudwaifs.

Because I have made this recipe hundreds of times, I can tell by looking if it’s what we’ll like. I could see after smooshing and mashing that for the number of people we were going to feed, we needed to add another handful of cheese. Just stir and mash with a fork until the hot potato innards have melted most of everything, and until you don’t have any clumps of unmashed potato left. If you do, that’s okay though. Potato clods never hurt anyone.

Now you can take your holey mitts off and start to fill the empty potato skins. The mixture will be cooled off enough to use your hands. Grab a few globs of cheesy goodness and press them into the potato skins.

Make sure you delicately lift your little finger as you do it, as a polite Englishwoman would do when sipping her afternoon tea. I’m not sure why this important, but just take my word for it.

When you have enough in a skin, it will look like this:

Not too much – just a little mound of the potato/cheese mixture will do.

You can find this product in the spices aisle at your grocery store. I’ve used it for years for just this one dish, and it adds color, great flavor and interest. It’s supposed to be for salads and pasta and I’ve never used it on either. Just on my Stuffed Baked Potatoes. (When McCormick comes out with a new product called McCormick Stuffed Baked Potato Topping, maybe then I’ll try it on my salads and pasta.)

Here are all the potato halves, stuffed with that delicious cheesy mixture, sprinkled conservatively with the Salad Supreme, and lined up ready to go back into the oven. If you lean to the left politically, then you could be a liberal sprinkler. For the most part I’m a conservative sprinkler.

I then bake them at about 375 or 400 degrees (I can’t remember which) until they get hot all the way through, maybe about fifteen minutes or so. Then about five minutes before I’m ready to serve my Stuffed Baked Potatoes, I turn on the broiler and begin to watch them carefully. I want them to get just a little bit darker and start to bubble. You could let them get browner than this if you like – just keep an eye on them.

Above, I took them out and thought they needed another two minutes under the broiler. Here’s the final result below:

And they are all gone.

These also freeze really well, reheat really well, taste good the next day for leftovers, and some people even like them packed in their lunches.

How do you fix your Stuffed Baked Potatoes?

Sharon and I were talking about all the variations that would be good with these – bacon bits, broccoli, rosemary, and a few other things I can’t remember now. What else would you add to your Stuffed Baked Potatoes?

Let me know if you try them.  Have a wonderful week…