Brown Cookies for Christmas

My Grandma Storms passed down a Christmas recipe to me, creatively called "Brown Cookies."

While the name is as plain as can be, these rolled, cut-out, molasses cookies were a delicious and cherished part of our family Christmas.

They were thin, crispy, and cut into hearts, circles and stars. She would store them in layers separated by wax paper in old metal tins. Their only adornment was one candy red hot in the center. They were brown...and delicious.

My Grandma was a stern, Christian, German woman. Elsie was a single one-room schoolhouse teacher for many years, until she met and married my grandpa, Phil, and had two sons: Neil (my dad) and Ken. They lived in a two-story house in Moline, Illinois, just on the edge of the Mississippi River.

My grandpa died when I was fairly young, so most of my Christmas memories involve my grandma as a fiercely, independent widow. She orchestrated our pre-dinner rituals like she was teaching a class. Each of us was told to read a verse of Scripture, then my dad would play a carol on the upright piano, and we would sing. She would then serve her Christmas dinner buffet style - and usually (after a moment or two of pondering), Grandma would declare that "This year, the men should go first."

My favorite part of our celebration came after our dinner of mandarin orange jello salad and baked corn casserole. The women would wash and dry her fiesta ware and clear the table. As coffee bubbled in the percolator, out came the antique looking bingo cards, and we would engage in a rowdy game of take-away bingo.

My grandma would wrap prizes in tin foil, and, somehow, my Uncle Ken always ended up with the onion. A few of us claimed the quarters, and maybe a pack of gum. My Grandma was a stickler for rules, and she would watch us like a hawk to prevent cheating. Then she would pour each grandchild some chocolate milk and mix it halfway with white milk (otherwise, she'd explain it is much too chocolatey).

That was when she'd break out her treasured Brown Cookies.

Grandma Storms' Brown Cookies

Cream: 1 cup sugar, 1 cup spry (margarine or Crisco). Add: 1 cup molasses, 2 tsp baking soda dissolved in 2 tbsp of warm water).

Sift: 2 cups flour, 1tsp cinnamon, 1/2 tsp ginger, 1/2 tsp salt.

Add dry ingredients to the first mixture. Add enough additional flour (3-4 cups) to make a stiff dough.

Roll out very thin and cut in shapes.

Bake at 350 degrees for 8-10 minutes.

Mary McLeod Bethune: She Has Given Her Best

I first heard about Mary McLeod Bethune when I was a student at Moody Bible Institute. She was an early graduate of my college - and an African American woman. I knew she had gone on to become one of the greatest women in our country. She was so well known that she earned the status of being featured on our postage stamps. But I didn't really know much about her. As I researched Mary McLeod Bethune for my book, When Others Shuddered: Eight Women Who Refused to Give Up . I learned a bit more about her remarkable life: She was the 15th of 17 children, born to former slaves. From an early age, she hungered for education. She graduated from Moody Bible Institute with a desire for missionary service to Africa - an opportunity she was denied because of her race. Undeterred, she started a school for African American girls in Daytona Beach, Florida, that went on to become Bethune Cookman University. She was asked to work with Franklin D. Roosevelt and led many African Am

Pacific Garden Mission: A Bed, A Meal and the Bright Light of Hope

In 1877, a woman named Sarah Dunn Clarke and her newly-wedded husband George started a rescue mission on Chicago’s south side. They were wealthy, but their hearts were broken by the men and women who struggled to survive on the city’s streets. The Pacific Garden Mission is the 2 nd oldest operating rescue mission in the United States. Now located on 14 th St and Canal – just south of Chicago’s loop – they offer shelter to as many as a thousand men and women on any given night. As part of my book research to understand how the work of Sarah Clarke continues today, I visited the mission with my friend Dawn Pulgine. Entering through the side, we felt a bit out of our element. Men, black and white, old and young, clustered near the doorway. Some carried bags of personal belongings. Others were working the desk and security. It was mid-day at the Mission. We were given a tour by one of the “program men” – residents who choose to stay and live at the

Your Roots Are Showing

I'm older. I know that. But, honestly, I still feel pretty young. Well, most days at least Today I received a not-requested senior discount at Einstein Bagels. It appeared as a $1.03 credit on my receipt, along with the cheery explanation. And if other people don't tell me I'm older, my body definitely does. I traveled to and from Chicago last week with my daughter and her friend. Being the self sufficient woman I am, I helped the girls boost their luggage into the airline's overhead bin. Later that day, I felt my mistake. My back has not been happy ever since. I've been putting those sticky heat patches on it, Ben Gay rub, ice, heat wraps, you name it. And still when I turn incorrectly . . . ouch. There are other signs too. I wear glasses now . . . all the time. It started with readers, and then progressed to progressives. And I HAVE to color my hair now. Those pesky roots keep reappearing in an ever-shinier shade of silver. I (briefly) considered embr

Jamie Janosz

Search This Blog