Mom's "Red Noodles" and Other Nonsense

Growing Up with a Preacher Man

Rev. William "Lester" Howard (1929-2021)
Mary Eulalie McLean Howard (1933-2021)

Mom's "Red Noodles" and Other Nonsense
____________________

by Carolyn Ann Howard
This post was updated December 31, 2022

My mother hated to cook, and she didn't keep it a secret from anyone, either. For evening dinner, we had a seemingly rotating schedule of Kentucky Fried Chicken, Banquet Entrees, meatloaf, vegetable soup, ham and beans, and pot roast. They were always delicious, even if she did hate making them. Mom also hated Sundays. Everything about Sundays. Is it because she was married to a pastor? I'm not sure what it was about Sunday that she couldn't stand, but, after she started to work at the Monticello Day Care Center, she decided she was never again going to cook a Sunday evening meal. One Sunday evening, however, Mom cooked up a mess of macaroni, to which she added salt, butter and tomato sauce. It was delicious.

I quickly learned how to do this on my own, and I believe that was the final death knell for Sunday evening dinner. I'm not sure when I began doing a lot of my own cooking, but I was 11 years old when I started counting calories. I was an overweight child. My mom made fun of me for it yet continued to buy sugary sweets. We never suffered from not having a doughnut in the house. I started counting calories and working out in 6th grade, and it worked. I lost the weight. But eating right? No, not until much later in life. Mom didn't keep vegetables in the house aside from canned corn, green beans, peas, and carrots.

Funny how things are handed down from mother to daughter when you think about it, especially, I think, after your mom has passed. I made macaroni and tomato sauce for myself many times as a child and as an adult. And then, when my daughter was born, I started making them for her. In fact, it was she who coined the term "red noodles." Why we didn't call it "red macaroni," I don't know, except it doesn't roll off the tongue the way red noodles does. When my daughter was little, mom's red noodle recipe morphed into those little pasta wagon wheels or whatever pasta her granddaughter wanted that day.

Something else I learned, not from my mom but from the day care center cook, was "butter bread." This was two slices of white bread with margarine spread evenly from crust to crust on one of the slices. Then put on the other slice to make a sandwich and cut into quarters. My daughter called it "butter bread," another staple of my childhood and hers. Its okay, though. She has grown up to become a healthy veg-heavy private chef. The butter bread didn't do any lasting damage.

When I was growing up, we didn't have a microwave oven, as they hadn't been invented yet, but I loved TV dinners. The food was contained in an aluminum rectangle with dividers to keep everything separated, wrapped with foil on top. To heat the food, it had to be put into the oven. I eventually learned to make mashed potatoes for myself from a box and Banquet Foods came up with "boiling bags." Their Salisbury steak or turkey with dressing were packaged in plastic bags. The instructions were to drop the bag into boiling water for about 5 minutes. Couple that with boxed mashed potatoes and boom! Instant TV dinner! No vegetables needed! My pocket calorie counting book didn't come with nutrition info, by the way, just calorie information.

Something else I learned to do as a child, and I have no idea how, but perhaps from the Betty Crocker cookbook my mom had. I loved chipped corn beef on toast. And so I would make that for dinner sometimes - or lunch. Both my parents worked and I had to fend for myself quite a lot. After Food Network came onto the scene, I learned that what I was making was a roux. Fancy!

That's the thing about the Betty Crocker cookbook and the cooking shows on TV in the 1960s. They assumed you had already learned the basics of cooking from your mother. I hadn't. That I learned to make a roux as a child still boggles my mind to this day. I have also learned from that basic roux, I can make gravy and bechamel for mac-n-cheese! 

When I married my first husband, I decided I was going to cook every meal every day. As an example of my poor cooking, I would put pork chops covered in flour into cold oil. Then I would put a lid on the pan and slowly heat everything up until the "juices ran clear." The flour never stuck to the meat, and I am positive that they were awful. But my husband and I would eat everything I made.  Oh, he made fun of me mercilessly in front of his family, but he never complained at home. This was in the 1980s, and we still didn't have Food Network. I didn't realize that I just needed to learn some basics. Now I know how to properly dredge meat and that it needs to be put it into hot oil and no lid!!!

I didn't inherit my mother's gifts for art. She was very good with colors, I'm not. She was so talented in painting things; decorative art is what she called it. I can draw a stick figure pretty good. She knew exactly what items of clothing go together. I'm better at it now. I inherited very few of Mom's good qualities, but my daughter inherited them all. She can paint and draw and do all the things my Mom was talented with doing. She's fabulous with hair and make-up and clothes, just like my mom. She’s also great at sewing, again, just like Mom. But unlike Mom, my daughter loves to cook. She can make the most complicated dishes. She can Guy's Grocery Games anything that's in the kitchen. She can make pasta and biscuits and cornbread from scratch, from memory, and without measuring anything, and they are all to die for. She can get anyone to eat their vegetables.  And something else she's good at, too. She can make red noodles.

© 2022 by December Moonlight Publishing, LLC

Things My Mom Lost

Growing Up with a Preacher Man

Rev. William "Lester" Howard (1929-2021)
Mary Eulalie McLean Howard (1933-2021)

Things My Mom Lost
____________________

by Carolyn Ann Howard

We all lose things. 

Yesterday at church, at the noon service for Maundy Thursday, I wanted to look nice. I put on my diamond earrings that my husband gave me, my circle heart necklace, and my wedding rings. My skin is so sensitive, I can only wear my wedding rings sparingly, unfortunately. Then, I saw Mom's tennis bracelet that I got from her after she died. I saw it, put it on, and went to church. Funny, too, I kept looking at it kept thinking how neat it was to be wearing a part of my mom at the service.

After church, I had a post-op appointment with the surgeon and then home. Once home, I went to the bathroom to get ready for bed, since I was done for the day, and I love my PJs! I took the necklace off, the rings, the earrings - ouchy wouchy - even really good earrings make my ears red after a little while. And then, the bracelet. But the bracelet wasn't there. I looked in the closet where I keep my jewelry. Not there. I went outside to look in my Jeep Compass. Not there. I called the church. Not there. I called the surgeon's office. Not there. The bracelet was gone; I had lost it. And then I thought, well... that figures.

Growing up, I was always losing things that belonged to Mom. In 7th grade, my mom finally let me get my ears pierced. After, I asked Mom if I could wear her beautiful earrings to school and, totally unlike her, she said yes. I promised her I would take good care of them, and that I wouldn't lose them. You guessed it. I lost them. In hindsight, I wish she would've said that I should just wear them to church and then take them off afterward. And that's what I should've done yesterday. But I forgot about the bracelet after our beautiful Maundy Thursday service was over.

When I was in 2nd grade at Woodlawn Elementary in Monticello, Indiana, I wore one of my mom's gorgeous scarves to school.  It was a particularly windy day, and Betty Maxwell and I were together on the playground, using our scarves as kites. The wind hit my mom's scarf just right, and it went soaring away. I mean, it flew away like it was fleeing the doomsday machine.

Mom lost her childhood home to the 1937 flood of the Ohio River in Scuffletown, Kentucky. Her Uncle John Pfingston was her rescuer that night. Thank God for Uncle John Pfingston. He saved everyone who lived in Scuffletown using his ferry.  After that, mom moved with her family just across the river to rural Newburgh, Indiana, close to Cypress Beach and Vanada Station. Click on photos to enlarge

Uncle John Pfingston's Ferry
Around 1937
Carolyn Ann Howard Family Collection

She went to high school at Yankeetown, and then her school burned down, so she lost that, because they didn't rebuild. After the fire, they bussed the Yankeetown kids to Pioneer School in Boonville, Indiana. Mom never got over her school burning down. Even after dementia began to set in, she would often tell the story of her school burning down.

Mom's Senior Photo
1951, Boonville, IN
Carolyn Ann Howard Family Collection

After Mom married Dad, she lost her name. She loved her name, Mary McLean. She hated being Mary Howard. Today women just hang onto their maiden name if they want. Not so in the 1950s, especially in the religious family she married into. Mom's brother had married Mary Lott, who became Mary McLean. Mom always resented this, feeling as if her sister-in-law had somehow stolen her name.

Mom (L) with her brothers and sister
Carolyn Ann Howard Family Collection

In 1963, I moved with my family to Monticello, Indiana, where we would live until 1977. We built quite a life at Monticello. My mother was the director of the highly reputable Monticello Day Care Center. Fourteen years later, my father got this itch to move to Evansville. An opening came up at a church, and he jumped at the chance, moving us to Evansville. Mom lost everything. She lost her friends, her job, her high station in life, her big house. She lost it all. Once to Evansville, she pivoted and became a successful artist, but she never recovered from the move, often speaking of Monticello with tears in her eyes.

Mom in her art studio about 1995
Taken by Ruth Kretchmar (1927-2011)
Carolyn Ann Howard Family Collection

Once her granddaughter was born, my mom soon began to teach her to sew. Together, they sewed a beautiful blanket. My mother loved that blanket, so Stephanie gave it to her. When Mom started talking about wanting to die somewhere around 2002, it got her into trouble. She also couldn't stop talking about the miscarriage she had in or around 1958. She would literally weep over this baby. She also couldn't stop talking about a family member who had been Catholic, who had married into the McLean family, and the McLean family shunned her for her Catholicism - I believe it might have been her paternal grandmother. My mother ended up in a mental ward at a hospital, and my father let her take the blanket that she and Stephanie had made together. You know the rest of the story. She lost the blanket. She came out of the mental ward, after shock treatment, not talking about her miscarriage or her family member. She was so angry about the blanket. She demanded that Stephanie make her a new one. And I told her, "Mom, I don't think she can, because I don't think she knows how to by herself."

And lastly, in the nursing home, just a few years before she died, my dad became obsessed with Mom wearing her wedding rings. Mom had lost so much weight, her rings didn't fit anymore. So Dad hired a jeweler from Boonville to come into the nursing home and measure her finger. Then the jeweler took the rings and resized them and cleaned them. Dad was so happy that Mom was going to wear her rings again, even though I warned him time and again that this was not a good idea. Dad rarely listened to me. He was hell bent on her wearing her wedding rings. She didn't wear them for very long until they were gone. We don't know what happened to them, but I was very careful not to be accusatory. My father, not so much.

Mom at Newburgh Healthcare about 2020
Carolyn Ann Howard Family Collection

I'm not big into jewelry and never have been. My skin didn't used to be so sensitive, so that's not it. I think it's because I lost those earrings way back in 7th grade. I have always been so afraid of losing jewelry. But, I am going to buy another tennis bracelet to honor the memory of my mother. It probably won't look like the one I lost yesterday, but it's going to have a good clasp so that I don't lose it. And I'm only going to wear it to church.

© 2022 by December Moonlight Publishing, LLC

Mary Ann Poore Dean (1902-1987)

 Growing Up with a Preacher Man

Rev. William "Lester" Howard (1929-2021)
Mary Eulalie McLean Howard (1933-2021)

Mary Ann Poore Dean (1902-1987)
____________________

by Carolyn Ann Howard

I'm not sure how my mother decided which myriad of older church members I was going to stay with on their date nights, but fortunately, Mary Dean was one of those church members. She lived very close to our house on Beach Drive on Pine Lane in Monticello, Indiana. Her house was newer than ours, ranch style. And I loved her bathroom! She had a shower in tub with glass shower doors that I thought were beautiful. This is probably why when I moved into my first home, I had my first husband install them. MISTAKE! Do not put glass shower doors on your tub! They are so difficult to clean. Also in her bathroom was a vanity chair. It was all so fancy.

I'm not sure how much I stayed with her, but I remember sitting on her living room floor, playing pick-up sticks with her or typing on her typewriter. I've always loved typing. We didn't watch TV. In hindsight, she may have sat at her kitchen table grading papers. I didn't realize she was a schoolteacher at the elementary school where I attended. She retired in 1968 after the death of her husband, Glen, who was also a schoolteacher. I was 7. Apparently, according to my childhood friend, Linda, Mary continued to substitute teach in the same school system.

She was always kind to me, and she was always gracious when I stayed with her. She had a guest bedroom that was reserved just for me. Outside of the bedroom window, I could see the Burger King lighted sign. I would watch out that window, waiting for the light to switch off. That's how I knew it was 10 pm, which meant it was time to go to sleep. I never had trouble sleeping at her house. I don't remember what it was like to wake up at her house, though. I can imagine that she welcomed the new day and me, perhaps having breakfast ready? I just can't remember.

Once when we were together on a Friday night, we went to a restaurant that had all you can eat fried chicken. I ate all that I could eat and then some. She never shamed me for being too heavy or for eating too much. When we got into her car, I told her I could go back in now and eat some more. She told me that she could, too! I also remember eating with her at a nice restaurant with tables and tablecloths. It may have been Angler's Restaurant.

Mary Dean was born Mary Ann Poore in St. Louis, Missouri. Her parents were Frank and Anna Poore, and she was born in 1902! When I think of the people in my young life being born over 100 years ago is a bit lifechanging! Also thinking of all those wonderful people in my young life, I am finding a gratitude for those women that I've never felt before. When you're young, that's just your normal, right? How I wish I could go back and hug all those wonderful women! I will hug them for sure when we all get to heaven.

Reaching out on Facebook, hoping to find a few pictures since my father threw all my Monticello pictures away, in his dementia. God bless him. I didn't find any pictures, but I did find some comments. She apparently was a stern schoolteacher. She also - I had forgotten - had a birthmark that covered half of face. This was off-putting to some, unfortunately. How brave she must have been.

After remembering the birthmark, I wondered how much it affected her life. I did find at least one picture. Her senior picture. It is heartbreaking. The name of "Poore" at the bottom of her picture indicates her maiden name. Click on photos to enlarge

Mary Ann Dean nee Poore attended Ball State Teachers College and graduated from there with a master's degree in elementary education. Her husband, Glen, also graduated from there. I imagine this is where they met. They settled in Kokomo, Indiana, where they both taught public school. I don't know why they moved to Monticello, but I would think it was because they were offered good jobs there. They lived a modest life, to be sure, but it doesn't seem they wanted for anything. They attended church faithfully.

Death doesn't bother me. It never has. And I wonder if it's because I grew up with it. We had many funerals at the church growing up, and the bodies would be delivered sometimes the day before. And I was there with the bodies, and it was the normal. To that end, when Mrs. Dean's husband, Glen, died in 1968, his embalmed body was delivered to the church. The next day, at the funeral, the only thing I remember was watching Mrs. Dean walk up the church sidewalk to the doors. She was stoic. And it left me wandering, how was she feeling right then?

After Mr. Dean died, Mrs. Dean and my father put their heads together, brainstorming of what to do with the church building during the week. Dad didn't think the church building should ever be empty, except maybe at night - maybe. They settled on starting a day care center. Mrs. Dean volunteered her time every day, every week, and worked to build the day care center. The endeavor was successful, and the day care center served many children over the years. 

You know what makes me so angry at myself is not keeping in touch with these wonderful people. And I'm angry that I didn't rescue my pictures. I thought they were safe in my father's care. When I realized he had thrown the pictures of the day care center away, I became a little more intentional on getting whatever pictures he had left into my possession. I didn't want to upset him by taking what he perceived to be his things.

I did also find a small box of slides that I was able to make into jpegs. In this picture, Mary Dean may be the woman on the right, but I can't blow the photo up close enough to see if that's her birthmark or a blemish in the picture. Many of the slides were in such bad shape with many blemishes.

After the day care was up and running successfully by itself, Mrs. Dean retired and moved back to Kokomo. At the end, she was with her son, David, in Brazos County, Texas.

© 2022 by December Moonlight Publishing, LLC

Building the Church Building in Monticello, IN

Growing Up with a Preacher Man 

Rev. William "Lester" Howard (1929-2021)
Mary Eulalie McLean Howard (1933-2021)

Building the Church Building
____________________

by Carolyn Ann Howard

When we lived in Monticello, I took a lot of pictures. When I first got married, I entrusted those photographs to my parents, who had a much bigger space than I had in my tiny apartment. My pictures ended up in a box with a bunch of other pictures kept in my mother's bottom dresser drawer. I didn't take the pictures to my home when I bought a house, because I thought they were safe in that bottom drawer. They weren't. They're gone now. All gone. I have no idea where they are, and it is a regret. Because one, they were my pictures but two, I should have retrieved them years ago, and I just didn't do it. And now I'm trying to blog about my father's life and have very few pictures to jog my memory.

We moved to Monticello in 1963 and the cornerstone of the church states it was built in 1966, so my father wasted no time in his mission. The church hired an architect to design the church, but it was built largely from sweat equity from the members and by my father. It was a beautiful space, and we were very proud of it, rightly so. The only thing is that they didn't put in air conditioning, because in 1966, it wasn't as hot as it is now. The church had a "whole house" fan and we also had one in our house, next door to the church. During the summer, we would open all the windows and let the whole-house fan run, and it was just fine.

As an aside, it was pretty dark back there, living off the road like we did. So dad put up a dusk-to-dawn light that was visible from the piano room window. That light gave me such comfort. Click on photos to enlarge

The church building itself was beautiful red brick with stained glass windows. The wooden arches in the sanctuary were gorgeous, and the fellowship hall was fitted with portable wall dividers so that it could be converted into Sunday school classrooms. A switch on the wall rang a bell that let everyone know when Sunday school was over. Howard Shine was the ringer of that bell every Sunday without fail. The only thing were those ball lights in the sanctuary. I had nightmares over those things!

The Fellowship Hall
with its dividers

I felt so at home in that building. Not only was my house my home, but the church building was an extension of that home. I remember playing a new Partridge Family album nonstop in the foyer one winter day, when school was out for Christmas. The information booklets that most churches keep for their parishioners to buy/borrow was also on a table inside that foyer. "Good News for Modern Man" and "My Heart, Christ's Home," were two examples.

My father valued privacy/modesty almost above all else, and so the restrooms had a barrier in the hallway to shield their entrance. This was his invention. He had the restrooms put in as far away from the sanctuary as possible, and the nursery was also across from these restrooms. Everything about that building was perfect and perfectly placed. Even though small, we had plenty of room for every activity.

The building always welcomed me and was never judgmental, even when my weight started to creep up, and I started to get bullied at school. I was bullied at the school, but not at the church. As a child, I didn't understand the link between weight and food, and our house was filled with chocolate cereal, donuts, chips, and other unhealthy foods. Additionally, I needed my teeth fixed, which never happened, and I still have trouble pronouncing "s" (even though I had my two front teeth fixed after my first marriage, but they could use a bit more help.) I had to take remedial speech in grade school when what I really needed was just my teeth fixed.

Under my father's ministry and guidance, that building became a home for many of us, though, not just me. And it was BUSY. Many activities went on inside and outside that church building, and we all felt like a family, because we were!

My father certainly had a win with this church. In his later life, he wished he would have stayed in Monticello and retired from there. This would have been good for my mom as well. But we had a wonderful 14 years here and I'll take it!

Pictures are from the Carolyn Ann Howard Family Collection.

© 2022 by December Moonlight Publishing, LLC