All about remembering ... something

I had a nice phone chat this week with a reader who was in the middle of making apple butter using a recipe that was in this column three or four years ago.

She had lost the recipe and was trying to follow it from memory. She asked if the recipe called for any spices. I wondered if she realized she was seeking information from someone whose own memory lapses are legendary.

I told her to add cinnamon. After she hung up, I wondered if she remembered the sugar, vinegar and salt. So, in case you want to make the best apple butter ever, here is the recipe again:

Wash, quarter and core a lot of apples (no peeling necessary). Put enough of the prepared apples to fill a Crock Pot into a large mixing bowl. Mix the apples well with 4 cups of sugar, 1/4 cup of vinegar and 1 1/2 teaspoons of salt. Put the apples into the Crock Pot. Turn the Crock Pot on high. Let the apples cook until they are dark brown. This may take hours. A good way to do this is to turn the Crock Pot on before you go to bed. The apples should be about ready when you get up the next morning. Push the apples through a colander. Add 1 teaspoon of cinnamon. Return the apples to the Crock Pot and cook for another hour or so. Put in jars while hot. Use the old-fashioned paraffin method to seal the jars. Read the paraffin box for directions.

This recipe, by the way, is adapted from a recipe book put out by a group of Methodist women (my wife's mother, aunts and others) in Sweet Springs, Mo., more than 50 years ago. It has proved to be reliable and delicious. Enjoy.

Speaking of memory lapses: Let me tell you about the new friends I met this week. They are the members of the Optimist club that meets at noon Wednesdays at Delmonico's in Jackson. I know they are my friends, because they were super-nice to me when I spoke to the club.

One of the club's members, Jodi Thompson, had arranged weeks ago for me to speak. I had the date on my calendar. Jodi even called last week to remind me.

At 20 minutes past noon Wednesday, my cell phone rang. It was Jodi. She wondered where I was. Obviously, I wasn't at Delmonico's. I made it from Cape Girardeau to Jackson in under 15 minutes without being stopped by the police.

I'm glad I did. This is a wonderful group of women. Once again, I apologize. And thanks for a great time during my visit.

Now that these Optimists are my friends, they'll know better than to trust my memory from now on. After all, no one else does.

Yes, I know I promised never to write again about daylight-saving time. I just can't help myself.

Saturday night, those of us who remember will dutifully set our clocks back, which means we get to snooze an extra hour Sunday morning. Those of us who forget will show up for church an hour early, which will be a jolt for just about any minister.

What I hate most about losing daylight-saving time is knowing that when I go home from work Monday, the clock will say it's afternoon but the darkness will say it's night.

I hate that.

My wife's Aunt Della and Uncle Alf never changed their clocks. They insisted it was both foolish and dangerous to fiddle with God's time. I think they knew what they were talking about.

The response to my short novel (published last week as my column) about the vacation adventure my wife and I enjoyed recently in Oregon has been nothing short of overwhelming. Thank you to everyone who has mentioned it.

I must say my wife feels a little exposed now that everyone knows about her newfound and well-deserved reputation as a daredevil.

I continue to be cautious. Who knows when she'll want to drag race up North Henderson Street on the way to work some morning?

R. Joe Sullivan is the editor of the Southeast Missourian.