Jewels

 

 

Friends are the jewelry that adorn us. They add color, vibrancy, and sparkle.

As we go through life, we gain friends, retain friends, and unfortunately lose them. Sadly, over the last four years in this country we've expanded the number of ways in which we lose friends. Politics doesn't only make for strange bedfellows, but for wide divides, amplifying some pretty consequential differences.

Today I'm talking about two friendships, and about two diametrically opposed states of loss. I hope that when I've got this out, put this jumble of feelings into concrete sentences, I can begin to come to terms with what's been haunting me for almost two months now. 

 

Because I'm also talking about the ultimate loss, death.

At the beginning of this year I had two friends I no longer have. I met them both at almost the same time, back in the very beginning of 2013. They both found me through the blogging challenges I run. We grew our connection through the blogging community created as a result of those challenges. Both friends participated regularly over the past 7 years. And the community, a safe place to share, built our trust and connection.

 

One of these women wrote a very right wing blog post back in June. She told me that she knew her stance wouldn't be popular with our group, but that everyone has the right to say what they think. I agree. But apparently to her, "everybody" meant only her. She was hurt by her blog comments from our group expressing opposing viewpoints. She told me privately that she was sure I wanted her to leave the group, that she no longer felt welcome in the group. I supported her, told her that I didn't want her to leave, and that she has every right to express her political and social position on her own blog. 

 

She also expressed a desire to participate in an upcoming group post but thought she wouldn't be well received. I told her she was as welcome as always (she did end up signing up, then didn't honor her word by not participating). It declined from there, she got passive/aggressive taking down graphics I'd spent a lot of time and effort making for her without saying anything to me, I backed off in order to keep from saying anything I couldn't take back, she told me I wasn't her friend and she wanted nothing else to do with me or our writing group.

That situation is resolved. I have no regrets, feel no remorse. I offered support, it was rejected, and I have no problem living with her decision.

But the other loss, that loss is none of the above. There is regret. There is remorse. There is guilt.

And it was a candy cane, of all things, that brought it to the surface, what I'd been tamping down, avoiding, for months now. I guess the candy cane was the trigger because Christmas was important to Jules, she was deeply religious and was even semi-raised by a chosen mom (it's very complicated) who was a former nun. So, at this Christmas time, I finally need to talk about Jules.

 

Candy Cane Cake

   

As I said, I met Jules via blogging 7 years ago. I encouraged her participation in our writing challenges and she joyfully joined in most of them. Through the group and then through private messages we got to know each other better.

But Jules had problems. That's an understatement. She was a mess, physically. I don't even know where to start, from Crohn's and a myriad of autoimmune conditions to benign growths on her brain to throwing blood clots to, well, you name it. She was constantly seeing doctors and oncologists, was a medical enigma, they were forever just trying to keep her in a state of stability. 

She started having me edit some of her posts, remind her of deadlines, and she made me an administrator on her blog. As time went by she got more comfortable with the group and shared some very personal and difficult truths. With her permission, I wrote a blog post about it called Silent No More. She wrote a companion piece, which I edited for her. I went into her blog dashboard yesterday searching for it, but she'd deleted it. She didn't want anyone's feelings hurt, which is so Jules.

 

I don't know when she began sending me private messages at all hours of the night, but we'd talk for hours. Trying to follow her line of thought could be exhausting. I'm sure it was because of the tumors and the meds, but she'd start conversations assuming things she's actually never told me, relay a conversation with a former father in law (in name only, it turns out) I never knew she had. She'd talk about people I'd never heard of, and she'd make definitive decisions that, the next time I talked to her, not only had she not followed through with, but she seemed to know nothing about. She'd talk about new medical decisions or conditions, parenting struggles, Chad, Andrea, Whit, Kateri, Molly, her mom, her "mum", her landlord, knowing her father was fading, and then her feelings when he died. I talked with her through it all, Jules was an unwaveringly kind, moral, honorable and honest person and I cared about her so much. But honestly, it was emotionally draining.

She'd told me over and over again that she would die young but with every setback over all of those years that she overcame, it just stopped registering.

 

I heard about Jules' death last month from Penni (the daughter of her "mum Rosemary"), posting to Jules' FB page. Even while both in shock and grappling with a stabbing sympathy for Chad, Andrea, Molly, and her daughter Whit, the guilt set in immediately. 

 

We'd lost touch. Not completely, but the late night personal conversations had become few and far between. She got a job and stopped blogging, spent more time on her FB page communicating en masse than individually. 

 

Some of the last few private conversations are now quite painful to read. Some of the bits and pieces:

 

Jules: "I miss you. I've just been barely surviving these days."

Me: "Hang in there, it'll get better. It always does."

Jules: "I absolutely agree. I know in the end it will be okay."

and a piece of a conversation as the reality of the pandemic set in:

Jules: "I cannot wait for us to all be safe again. I need us to be safe. I said Trump would kill us all I genuinely wanted him to prove me wrong. I love you. Stay safe."

and from one of our last private talks:

Jules: "I trust God. I really do. But sometimes I feel like he's filming candid camera."

 

I didn't feel badly about the dwindling of individual conversations because we did still stay in touch. I actually, in a way, felt relieved. 

 

That insensitivity is where the seeds of regret, remorse, and guilt lie. What I wouldn't give to be able to have more middle of the night conversations. Even the ones where I was completely lost, had no idea what we were talking about.

 

I continue to struggle with the guilt, probably always will. But I am fortunate enough to have had those conversations, they are the reason I know that Jules' 37 years were well spent. I know, for instance, that she could barely walk, but participated in charitable marathons, no matter how long it took her. Jules had ongoing issues with food and digestion, but volunteered regularly at her local food bank. She was dealt an unimaginable hand physically, but she always expressed gratitude. She often had severe issues with memory, but it didn't stop her from remembering to tell me she loved me.

 

Jules had a name for herself, the one she used as her twitter handle. She called herself Broken Jules. And she was, in so many ways, broken. 

 

Yet in infinitely more meaningful ways, she was, like all jewels, most perfectly formed.

 

Candy Cane Cake

                                                         ©www.BakingInATornado.com

Printable Recipe

Ingredients:

6 TBSP canola oil

4 TBSP butter

1 1/2 cups sugar

3 eggs

1 cup milk

1 1/2 tsp peppermint extract

2 1/2 cups flour

1/2 tsp salt

2 tsp baking powder

1/3 cup finely crushed candy canes (or peppermint hard candies)

1 can (12 oz) vanilla marshmallow frosting

1/2 tsp peppermint extract

1/3 cup finely crushed candy canes (or peppermint hard candies), divided 

 

OPT: peppermint hard candies for decoration

Directions:

*Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Grease and flour a 9 X 13 baking pan.

*Beat the canola oil, butter, and sugar until smooth. Beat in the eggs, then the milk and 1 1/2 tsp of peppermint extract.
*Add the flour, salt, baking powder and 1/3 cup of the crushed candy canes. Spread evenly into the baking pan.

*Bake for 25 to 35 minutes or until the center springs back to the touch. Cool completely.

*Mix the frosting with the remaining peppermint extract and about 1/4 cup of the crushed candy canes. Spread over the cake. Sprinkle with the remaining crushed candy canes.

*OPT: decorate with peppermint hard candies.

 

More Baking, Less Quaking: Use Your Words

 

Today’s post is a monthly writing challenge. If you’re new here, this is how it works: participating bloggers picked 4 – 6 words or short phrases for someone else to craft into a post. All words must be used at least once. All of the posts will be unique as each writer has received their own set of words. That’s the challenge, here’s a fun twist; no one who’s participating knows who got their words and in what direction the recipient will take them. Until now.

At the end of this post you’ll find links to the other blogs featuring this challenge. Check them all out, see what words they got and how they used them.
I'm using:  purpose ~ get a grip ~ compound ~ perimeter ~ rescue ~ track
They were submitted by Tamara of Part-time Working Hockey Mom.

 I bake. A lot. Perhaps you know that. I started this blog, in fact, because I was sharing food pics on FB and people were asking for recipes. I have to admit that although that was what got me thinking about starting a blog, it was the push from a few friends, and my own agenda, that pushed me to jump off this particular cliff.  

 

I had teenagers at the time. No need to pity me now, I survived it (with a whole lot of grey in my hair but I'm still breathing, so there's that). But this blog and the distraction it provided is without a doubt part of what rescued me. Through humor and creativity, I was able to get a grip on some pretty stressful times. Yes, by just avoiding them, at least for a part of the day, but it mattered. A lot. The writing, running of challenges, graphics creating, recipe developing, picture taking and editing served its purpose, distraction, just allowing my mind to be somewhere else for a chunk of the day.

Distraction is something most of us do in some way or another, it's about self-preservation. But this is especially true for those like me who have an extreme level of anxiety running through our family trees. There always has to be a way to either release or escape the stress on a regular basis. Like when College Boy lights my car on fire, or PurDude falls out a window at his frat and breaks a leg. You know, those kinds of kid-induced stresses.

There are those who run. Not as in away, as in a circle around a track over and over again. Truth is, exercise does get those endorphin levels up, helping alleviate stress. When the boys were little, I had a double stroller and I'd walk/run them 4 miles a day through the neighborhood. We'd talk and sing and, in fact, that's how they learned their phone number. At a very young age, I made a song of the number (no, it's not 867-5309, didn't even use that song) and we'd sing it over and over so if they were ever in a situation where they needed help, they could tell an adult how to get hold of their mom.

So although I could do a 4 mile walk/run, once they had broken the second double stroller I'd bought, forcing me to admit they were just too big for that situation, I stopped going. First, I couldn't leave them at home and second, I needed the talking and the songs to keep me going. It just wasn't the same alone. And there are no mountain trails here, nor beaches to walk {{sigh}}.

Next I turned to reading. It was, and remains, a love of mine. If you knew me at all back then IRL, you know I'm skipping over my shopping phase and jumping right over to reading here. Yes, I admit it. My name is Karen and I'm a shopaholic. In my defense, we'd sold our house and bought a much bigger one. The single guy who bought our last house also bought most of the furniture from me. So really, compound interest be damned, I could either shop or we could sleep on the floor. Of course this doesn't explain the decorations and tchotchkes and all, but I could say I was just creating a pretty environment for the family. The fact that the family could care less about pretty was not even on the perimeter of my thought process back then. But the reality of the situation is that despite how much I enjoyed this distraction, once the house was furnished and decorated, it was done (although many years later my youngest son got his first apartment which I furnished and decorated in one rather exhausting weekend. It was fun though, you can read about it and see the pictures here: Home with an H.

So on to reading which, although it was a good escape, didn't allow me to be creative at all. I needed more than just books (yes, I can see some of my avid reader friends shake their heads at this blaspheme, trying to figure out what more than books a person might need). Finishing a book is not the accomplishment that creating a recipe and seeing the boys' eyes light up (well, and all those of all the other kids who started coincidentally stopping by at snack time).

Pear and Apple Galette

My mom bakes. In fact, at any family event she was always asked to bring dessert. Or multiple desserts. And she never disappointed. So maybe along with that anxiety, there's also a baking gene somewhere in my DNA. I'm nowhere near as good, but it sure did serve multiple purposes as the boys were growing up. And really brought so many people into my life through this blog. I am eternally grateful. 

 

These days I'm a semi-empty-nester. Actually, a revolving-door-er. They come and go and although I'd love to have my younger son closer, I do appreciate that when he's here, it's for chunks of time during which I get to see him living in his childhood room, something that makes me infinitely happy. Other than when the boys are around, recipe development and interpretation has taken on a whole new purpose. With Hubs' gallbladder acting up, I've had to learn to shop and cook and bake completely differently. Functionally, at a time when I thought I'd be cooking and baking less, he's provided me with the challenge necessary to keep me blogging through the anxiety and aggravation and sky high stress of the trump debacle and the coronavirus. Don't tell Hubs, but as unhappy as he is with that gallbladder, I'm thinking I owe that particular bile storing organ a debt of gratitude.

Here are links to all the other Use Your Words posts:

Wandering Web Designer
On the Border 

Climaxed 

The Crazy Mama Llama 

Part-time Working Hockey Mom 

Pear and Apple Galette

                                               ©www.BakingInATornado.com

Printable Recipe

Ingredients:

1 refrigerated pie crust (half of a 2-crust package)

1 apple of your choice (I prefer Braeburn or Honeycrisp)

1 ripe Bartlett pear

1/4 cup apricot jam

3 TBSP apricot brandy (can substitute orange juice)

2 TBSP brown sugar

1 tsp cinnamon

1/3 cup chopped walnuts

OPT: whipped cream or vanilla ice cream for serving

Directions:
*Preheat oven to 375 degrees. Roll out the pie crust on a piece of parchment paper so it's about 12 inches in diameter. Move the crust, on the parchment paper, to a baking sheet.

*Whisk together the apricot jam, apricot brandy (or orange juice), brown sugar, and cinnamon. Using a pastry brush, paint about half of this mixture onto the crust.

*Peel, core and slice the apple into thin pieces (approximately 24 slices). Core and slice (you can peel also if you prefer) the pear into thin pieces (approximately 16 slices). Fan out the fruit, alternating between pear and apple slices (it'll work out to about 2 apple slices, the 1 pear slice then 1 apple slice then 1 pear and repeat) in a circle about 1 inch from the edges, then fan the remaining slices around the center to cover the crust. The center slices will overlap some with the edge slices).

*Fold the 1 inch edges over the fruit. Bake for 25 minutes. Remove from the oven but leave the oven on. Drizzle with the remaining apricot jam mixture, sprinkle with the walnuts and bake for another 15 minutes. Serve warm.

 

 

Ideal Inspiration

                    

I don't write blog award posts any more because . . . well . . . 56.                           

 

But on the occasion of my nomination for a 57th award, I've decided that at this moment in time, I have something to say about it. About ideal inspiration, past and present. In this current climate, I think it's appropriate, urgent even, that we acknowledge each other, put voice to what encourages us, sustains us.

Although I don't write a post each time I receive an award, it's not that I don't appreciate every one of these awards, I do. As I said in my 3rd award post "most of my friends know how I feel about Blog Awards. I love them. They're similar to a virtual hug, given by people who know how challenging blogging can be. That means a lot." I felt that way then and I still feel that way now.

But here's my history with blogging awards:

Just a few months after I started blogging, I was honored with my first, a Liebster Blog Award from my very first blogging friend Michele, of Follow Me Home. I gladly accepted and wrote the post. Two weeks later I wrote Really, 11 Things about Me, Too? Liebster Award, Take 2, Final Take after receiving 3 more awards, stating this would be my last post of this type, as there are only so many similar posts you can write. I updated this post every time a new honor was bestowed upon me over the next 8 months, mentioning all new awards and linking to the blogger to whom I owed thanks.

Then a whole new group of awards came my way and I wrote yet another acceptance post called A Whole New Crop. Awards received after that were added to this post, which I updated close to 20 times.

I did eventually write a few more, including the Triumph Trophy. A friend, Kristi, left me a blog comment on one of the award posts saying "You should also get an I Didn't Kill My Teenager Award today as well." Yes, I should. And so should many others, so Kristi and I developed our own reward, The Triumph Trophy, and started passing it around.

That was pretty much the last one, I was done, after all, 56 is a pretty big number. So is 57, right? So why am I writing this one? 

Because now.

A few months ago I initiated a multi-blogger post to celebrate National Pink Day. I considered it the perfect opportunity to acknowledge, as I said at the time, my fellow humans of the female persuasion for stepping up to the plate during this Covid-19 nightmare.

Ideal Inspiration:

Ideal connotes excellence, perfection. Inspiration is not just about motivation, but evoking enthusiasm. Just as National Pink Day inspired me to honor women in general, this award inspires me to recognize a subset of them, bloggers, and all we have done and continue to do to reach out to each other, to support each other, and to inspire each other. Especially now.

For the rules (which I always, always bend, btw):
Rule #1. Thank and link to the person who nominated you.
~ Thank you, Mimi of Messymimi's Meanderings, for the honor and for your friendship. 

Rule #2. Display the award (see above) and link to the creator.
~ The Ideal Inspiration Blogger Award was created by Rising Star of It's All About Inspiration.


Rule #3. Answer your nominator's questions:

Q: Who is your favorite writer and what is that person's best book in your opinion?
A: All of my friends' blogs are my absolute favorite reads.

As far as books go, I'm an avid reader but mostly read for amusement. My genre of choice is mystery and as a subset of that category, I gravitate towards a humorous mystery, or one in which the protagonist is a chef or baker.

Apple Cinnamon Ring

I read light books predominately but not exclusively. This past winter, for instance, I read the entire Mueller Report, and even wrote a blog post, Book Review: The Mueller Report.

Q: Are you more inspired to write by what you hear in conversation, what you see, or what you read?
A: I have developed and administer 8 monthly multi-blogger writing challenges. The participation in these challenges provide the vast majority of my inspiration. As for the rest of my blog calendar, I have learned to view everything I hear, see, and read as possible fodder for a blog post.

Q: When are you at your best, mornings or evenings?
A: Evenings. Don't talk to me before my coffee. Or my shower. Or the clock hitting the noon hour, for that matter.

Q: What is your favorite thing about blogging?
A: The people, the connections, the friendships and fierce support.

Q: What is one cuisine you have never tried but want to?
A: Authentic. 
Yes, I know that's not a cuisine. Through my travels I've had the local cuisine in Israel, Hong Kong, Indonesia, Taiwan, England, Venezuela, Mexico, Canada, Korea, St. Lucia, and many of the United States including Hawaii. So although I've had French food, I've yet to try it in France. I've had Italian food but not in Italy, and enjoy Greek food but would love to try it in Greece.

Rule #4. Nominate up to 9 other bloggers and ask them 5 new questions.
~ Here's where I'm bending the rules. There is no way for me to choose, among current bloggers, which provide me with ideal inspiration more than others. You all do, in one way or another, at one time or another. If I'm the friend that I hope I am, you know who you are and you know how I feel about you. My heartfelt thanks for being in my life and making my blogging world a better place.

So . . . I'm going to nominate 9 bloggers but ask no questions (oops). These are mostly women in my original blogging tribe, back in the day, who are no longer (or very rarely) blogging. They may have moved on from the blogging community, but the friendship, the support, the late night laughs, the inspiration, it's all still with me. They continue to hold my heart and my admiration:

Michele of Follow Me Home
Ashley of Sorry Kid, Your Mom Doesn't Play Well With Others 
Bonnie of A Little Unhinged
Rhiannon of Happy Little Feet
Melissa of Home on Deranged
Stacy of Stacy Sews and Schools
Erin of Searching for Sanity
Vicky of The Greek Housewife
Jenn of My Daily Jenn-ism

I ❤and miss you all.

Apple Cinnamon Ring

                                                                       ©www.BakingInATornado.com

Printable Recipe

Ingredients:
2 apples
3 TBSP melted butter
2/3 cup brown sugar
1/2 tsp cinnamon
1 tube refrigerated biscuits (8 count)

Directions:
*Grease a bundt pan with non-stick spray. Preheat oven to 400 degrees.
*Core, peel, and slice the apples to about 1/4 inch thickness. Fan over the bottom of the pan.
*Whisk together the melted butter, brown sugar and cinnamon. Set aside about 2 TBSP of this mixture.
*Drizzle about 1/2 of the remaining mixture onto the apples.
*Open the tube of biscuits. Take the top approximately half of the layers of each biscuit off and add into the pan over the apples.
*Drizzle with the other 1/2 of the butter mixture and gently spread around. Top with the remaining bottom halves of the biscuits, and drizzle with the 2 TBSP of the butter mixture you'd set aside.
*Bake for 20 minutes. Allow to sit for 10 minutes before running a knife around the edges and inverting onto a plate.

Be My Guest: Opposites Really Do Attract

Today I've decided to give you all, my beloved readers, a bit of a break. You can thank me later (OR you can thank me by stopping by again on Friday when I'll be publishing another post. Yeah, do that second one).

It's been a while since I bribed, persuaded, cajoled, wheedled, coaxed (you get the idea) someone to write a guest post for my blog. 

Seems I'd been doing it all wrong. Instead of twisting someone's arm (College Boy, I'm looking at you), I should have been taking another approach. Entice, that's the ticket. With a little quid pro quo (a term I can now use since everyone in this country knows what that means). 

My friend Rena McDaniel was looking for a guest post for one of her three (yes, three) blogs, The Diary of an Alzheimer's Caregiver. I'd written a piece, not about Alzheimer's specifically, but a personal account of my feelings when I lost my dad to the disease. I was happy to let her share it with her readers . . . for a price . . .

Today she's paying up. So lucky you (and lucky me for having such a great friend), I have the honor of sharing what Rena took time out from her busy day week month life to write for Baking In A Tornado.

First I want to thank Rena for taking the time to share her post today. But most of all I want to thank her for her kind words, her unconditional support and her friendship. Be sure to visit her blogs, she offers something for everyone:

Wandering Web Designer

The Blogging 911

The Diary of an Alzheimer's Caregiver

And I'm going to let Rena introduce herself:

I'm Rena and I'm a 50 year old child in an old woman's body. I love to take long road trips, build websites and write stories about my adventures or even the latest trip to the grocery store. I'm a wife of 29 years, a mom and a grandma and I run my own web design/maintain/troubleshooting business. When I'm not creating CSS, or piled up in the passenger seat of our car, you will find me happily playing with my grand kids, reading a book, or wrapped around a cheeseburger!

Opposites Really Do Attract

Karen and I have been friends for a few years now and even though we've never met IRL, she has seen me through some of the most painful lows and celebrated my highest highs. I love her dearly and consider her one of my very best friends BUT we are total opposites!

I absolutely love to cook, which we definitely have in common, but loving to cook and being good at it aren't always the same thing. Love definitely doesn't equal skill.

Karen can open her refrigerator, look at its contents and come up with a 10 course meal that is not only delicious but picture perfect. I can take a well written recipe and mangle it so badly it doesn't even resemble what I was trying to achieve. 

It will either be burned or undercooked. I will have injuries such as burns or cuts. The kitchen usually ends up in disaster just like whatever it is I'm attempting. I actually used to be what I'd consider a good cook, back when I had a gas stove and half a brain.

I threw dinner parties on Sundays and have served upwards of 20 people. Hell, I even cooked all of the food for my very own wedding! That was almost 30 years ago and since then my body and brain have been beaten senselessly. 

Today things like adding and subtracting doesn't come easily for me. Things like ingredients can become so overwhelming that I often just throw in what I think goes . . . mostly it doesn't. My poor sweet husband has suffered through so many bad meals that I'm surprised he doesn't have stomach issues, or asked for a divorce.

I once served my family a bloody turkey on Thanksgiving because I couldn't figure out time vs weight. I also don't understand spices. I love them, buy them all. I'm a sucker for a pretty jar but I often use too much or forget to add them altogether.

I come to Karen's site for guidance, inspiration and even to whine when things go wrong. I have made some of Karen's recipes and they were actually successful. She taught me how to make a cheese sauce that my husband begs for and would eat every single day! I also made her Marinara sauce that was well received, but these days take-out is king at my house!


Got you covered, Rena. Here's a recipe anyone can follow:

Mocha Butterfingers Milkshake 

Mocha Butterfingers Milkshake        

                                                       ©www.BakingInATornado.com

Printable Recipe

Ingredients (per milkshake):

1/3 cup brewed coffee

2 TBSP French vanilla creamer

1 1/2 cups vanilla ice cream
1 TBSP chocolate syrup
1/2 cup finely chopped Butterfingers candies

Directions:

*Mix the creamer into the coffee. Set aside to cool to room temperature.

Place the ice cream, coffee and chocolate syrup in a blender and blend until smooth. 

*Add the chopped Butterfingers and blend again until fully incorporated.

*For a thinner milkshake: blend in up to 1/4 cup of milk, a little at a time.
*For a thicker milkshake: freeze for an hour.

A True Horror Story: Use Your Words

Today’s post is a monthly writing challenge. If you’re new here, this is how it works: participating bloggers picked 4 – 6 words or short phrases for someone else to craft into a post. All words must be used at least once. All of the posts will be unique as each writer has received their own set of words. That’s the challenge, here’s a fun twist; no one who’s participating knows who got their words and in what direction the recipient will take them. Until now.

At the end of this post you’ll find links to the other blogs featuring this challenge. Check them all out, see what words they got and how they used them.
I'm using: glow ~ fall ~ river ~ hit
They were submitted by Jules of The Bergham Chronicles.

                          
I'm from Massachusetts, for those of you who don't already know. Every time I looked at these words, preparing to write my post, all I could see was Fall River, the name of a town in Massachusetts. I couldn't think of those words separately, perhaps because, coincidentally, they were submitted together and in the same order as the name of the town.

Or maybe it's Halloween I have on my mind. Because, it just so happens, that glow and hit work right into the most famous story that comes out of the city of Fall River. Glow, as in ghost. And hit, as in strike.

Fall River is the city where a young girl lived with her sister Emma, father Andrew step-mother Abby and maid Bridget Sullivan. The house where they lived is now suspected of being haunted. As in most haunting stories, it's the scene of a horrible tragedy. But the story starts somewhere else, with a bit of a different cast, some of whom made it to this home, some who did not.

The little girl was born in 1860 to her parents, Andrew and Sarah. They had 3 daughters, Emma, their first, was born in 1851. Their second daughter Alice was born in 1856. By the time their youngest was born (9 years after their first), in the initial tragedy of this story, Alice had died at the age of one from what was then called Dropsy on the Brain but is now known as Hydrocephalus. Just a few short years after the little girl was born, in the second tragedy of this story, their mother died at the age of 39 of uterine congestion (no idea) and spinal disease.

Two years later, dad Andrew remarried a woman named Abby. Emma was 14. Her little sister not quite 5. The family, well off financially, moved to their new home 9 years after Andrew married Abby. It's said that the girls did not like their step-mother, not calling her Mom or even Abby, but "Mrs.", and believing she and her family were conspiring to get Andrew's money.  

In fact, they were so comfortable they had a maid living on the third floor. Bridget, originally from Ireland, was responsible for the dusting, sweeping, laundry and all of the cooking.


On the day of the final tragedy, in 1892, Emma (41 and still living at home) was out of town, and Bridget (who had been living with them for 2 years at this point) was in her room when the younger daughter (not so young any more but at 32 also still living with her parents) cried out. She had found her father dead in the parlor. It's unclear as to whether it was Bridget or the police who then found Abby dead in her room. 

Four months later, the deceased couple's youngest daughter was indicted for their murder. Six months later, with the support of her older sister, she stood trial and was acquitted of the charges in June of 1893. Ordeal over, the sisters sold the family home and, having inherited from their father, purchased another home in Fall River where they lived comfortably for many years.

The family home where the murders occurred is now a bed and breakfast. Where you can sleep in the room where Abby was murdered, and quite possibly see the glow of ghosts late into the night.

Bridget, after being forced to testify but really having nothing of substance to contribute, disappeared after the trial. Rumor had it that she returned, at least temporarily, to Ireland, possibly funded by the sisters. The next we have any inkling of her was 12 years later in 1905 when she married at the age of 35 in Montana (where she had family). It's believed she never again spoke of the sisters or the tragedy. 

And what became of the girls? They lived quite comfortably together in Fall River for many years. This home too may have been comfortable but it also was not a happy home. Although acquitted, the younger sister was thought of as guilty by most of the townspeople and basically shunned by the community. It didn't help that in 1897 she was accused of shoplifting. And in 1905 Emma moved out and, according to legend, never spoke to her sister again. She died in New Hampshire in June of 1927, coincidentally just 9 days after her little sister died in Fall River.

You know who I'm talking about by now, don't you? Heard the story? Perhaps even spoken about it yourself:

Lizzy Borden took an axe,
gave her mother forty whacks. 
When she saw what she had done,
gave her father forty-one. 

Anyone want to go sleep in her bedroom?

PS: I always share a new recipe in my posts, but today I just couldn't pass up sharing one I posted a few years ago, my Raspberry Swirl Halloween Cake. It may not be a new recipe, but I'm technically sharing a recipe so let's not split hairs (so to speak), shall we?
Follow the link to the original post to find the recipe.

Here are links to all the other Use Your Words posts:

On the Border
 The Bergham Chronicles
The Blogging 911
Cognitive Script  
Climaxed

Raspberry Swirl Halloween Cake recipe and printable recipe HERE

                                          ©www.BakingInATornado.com