Rolls: 1 cup mashed potatoes from 2 medium potatoes 1 cup reserved potato water 3/4 cup butter 3/4 cup sugar 2 teaspoons salt 1 cup hot water 2 envelopes Fleischmann's Active Dry Yeast 1/2 cup warm water (100 to 110 F) 2 eggs 8 1/2 to 9 1/2 cups flour
Filling: 1/2 cup butter, softened 1 cup sugar 1 1/2 tablespoons Tones or Spice Islands Ground Cinnamon
Icing: 3 cups powdered sugar 6 tablespoons butter, softened 1 teaspoon Tones or Spice Islands Pure Vanilla Extract 5 to 6 tablespoons milk
Combine potatoes, potato water, butter, sugar, salt and hot water in large mixer bowl.Stir until butter melts; set aside and let cool.Combine yeast and 1/2 cup warm water in small bowl.Add eggs, 2 cups flour and yeast mixture to potato mixture.Continue adding flour, 1 cup at a time until soft dough forms.
Knead on a lightly floured surface until smooth and elastic (about 4 to 6 minutes), OR knead with electric mixer using dough hook.Place in a greased bowl, turning to coat.Cover and let rise in a warm, draft free place about 1 hour, until doubled.
Punch dough down; divide in half.Roll one portion of dough on a lightly floured surface to a 12 x 18-inch rectangle.Spread with half the butter.Combine sugar and cinnamon; sprinkle half of the mixture over surface.Roll up tightly, sealing edges.Cut into 12 slices.Place in greased 13 x 9-inch pan.
Repeat with remaining dough.Cover and let rise 30 to 45 minutes.
Bake in preheated 350°F oven for 25 to 30 minutes. Cool for 15 minutes.Combine icing ingredients and drizzle over rolls.
Van and Bonnie, sports reporter Mark Allen and engineer John Sellers spent two days aboard the USS Harry S Truman aircraft carrier, broadcasting in Des Moines.
On this page, you can see hundreds of photos from the experience, as well as several minutes of exclusive video footage. While none of the images will truly capture the full range of emotions during this journey, we hope you enjoy this multimedia presentation.
Thanks to the Iowa Egg Council for sponsoring such an adventure!
By Victor Buono -- read by Van Harden on WHO Radio
Dear World: I bequeath to you today one little girl…in a crispy
dress…with two blue eyes…and a happy laugh that ripples all day
long…and a flash of light blond hair that bounces in the sunlight when
she runs. I trust you will treat her well.
She’s
slipping out of the backyard of my heart this morning…and skipping off
down the street to her first day of school. And never again will she be
completely mine. Prim and proud she’ll wave her young and independent
hand this morning and say “Goodbye” and walk with little lady steps to
the schoolhouse.
Now she’ll learn to stand in lines…and wait by
the alphabet for her name to be called. She’ll learn to tune her ears
for the sounds of school-bells…and deadlines…and she’ll learn to
giggle…and gossip…and look at the ceiling in a disinterested way when
the little boy across the aisle sticks out his tongue at her. And, now
she’ll learn to be jealous. And now she’ll learn how it is to feel hurt
inside. And now she’ll learn how not to cry.
No longer will she
have time to sit on the front porch steps on a summer day and watch an
ant scurry across the crack in the sidewalk. Nor will she have time to
pop out of bed with the dawn to kiss lilac blossoms in the morning dew.
No, now she will worry about the important things…like grades and which
dress to wear and who’s best friend is whose. And the magic of books
and learning will replace the magic of her blocks and dolls. And she’ll
find new heroes.
For five full years now I’ve been her sage and
Santa Claus and pal and playmate and father and friend. Now she’ll
learn to share her worship with her teachers…which is only right. But,
no longer will I be the smartest, greatest man in the whole world.
Today when that school bell rings for the first time…she’ll learn what
it means to be a member of the group…with all its privileges and its
disadvantages too.
She’ll learn in time that proper young ladies
do not laugh out loud…or kiss dogs…or keep frogs in pickle jars in
bedrooms…or even watch ants scurry across cracks in sidewalks in the
summer.
Today she’ll learn for the first time that all who smile
at her are not her friends. And I’ll stand on the front porch and watch
her start out on the long, lonely journey to becoming a woman.
So,
world, I bequeath to you one little girl…in a crispy dress…with two
blue eyes…and a happy laugh that ripples all day long…and a flash of
light blonde hair that bounces in the sunlight when she runs. I trust
you’ll treat her well.
Now the hardest part of being a parent… I have to let her go”
Well, Lord, we made it. It’s high school graduation time, and you and she
are I are still alive and on speaking terms. Amazing!
My daughter is 18 years old now; it says so on her birth certificate. Why
doesn’t it say so in my heart? Wasn’t it just last week when they held that
beautiful, squirming, baby girl in front of my eyes in the delivery room?
Kicking and crying, she was whooping it up like a winner in a hog-calling
contest. And I laughed through my tears and said, “She has the lungs of a
singer.” It came to pass she also had the lungs of a screamer, a yowler, and
a complainer, and the undiluted stubbornness of all her ancestors.
The music swells and here comes the slowly moving line of graduation
seniors. There’s my daughter. What’s she doing in this line in those wobbly
and sexy high heels? What happened to the skinned knees and patent leather
Easter shoes and pink satin ribbons in her dark curls? When did the
little-girl ruffles turn into prom dresses and her toothless grin become
such a beautiful smile?
Her long dark hair shines in the shafts of light. Hair! Oh, Lord, the
troubles we’ve had with that hair…the fights, the tears, the hours with the
rollers and curling iron. She has used more time combing her hair than she
ever spent studying. And the money she’s paid for the stuff to put on it and
in it…the abnormal things she made her hair endure. I’m amazed it’s still
holding to her head.
She sees me and smiles. Dear God, you did it up right when you gave her
those deep dimples. There was about a four-year span when I forgot she had
them. Her only expression was a frown, bordered with grumbles. Then one day
I saw her at school and she was smiling, and I remembered with a start that
she still had teeth and dimples!
Oh, Lord, the 18 years you loaned her to me have been so short. She’s so
young and naïve and vulnerable and stubborn and precious, and the time since
her birth has passed too quickly. She isn’t ready, I know she isn’t!
Or is it, perhaps, just that I’m not ready? There’s so much more I want to
say, so much she has yet to learn. I want to wrap her up in a cloak of
protection. But I can’t stand between my child and experiences, or I’ll
cripple her very soul. Oh, Lord, it’s hard to be a parent.
I love my daughter so much, but did I love her enough? After she slipped out
of childhood and ran through the gates of the teen-age years, it was
different. The easy laughter, the spontaneous hugs, the wondrous joy, all
disappeared like a misty rainbow melting away.
It was a though she and I, who had been lovingly allies, became different
defiant enemies. Suddenly, her efforts to cast off parental guidance and
substitute the standard of her peers had cast us unwillingly into an ageless
battle. It was a war I had to win , or she would be the loser.
Those were the years, I realized with sorrow, that softness wouldn’t mold
her; gentle words slid off her back and out of mind. It was lightning bolts
that caught and held her attention.
So I reprimanded and was stern, when I really wanted to laugh with her and
be joyous again. And I flashed her the “black ice stare” to stop her dead in
her tracks, when I yearned to stretch out my arms and hold her close to me.
They are calling her name. She walks tall across the platform in the blue
robe and hat, white tassel swinging. She’s moving off the stage now, diploma
in hand, dimples flashing, eyes sparkling. And suddenly the tears are
blurring my vision, and all I can think of is a pink eyelet baby bonnet and
her first baby shoes.
Yesterday my daughter was a screaming, kicking, newborn they placed in my
waiting arms. Today she is a young women who waves to me from across the
gymnasium, her mind already intent on all her shining tomorrows.
She’s walking away from my leadership, but never away from my love. She’s
moving into her own world and personhood, but never beyond the circle of my
prayers.
Now comes the hardest part of being a parent. I have to let her go, give her
the freedom to try her own ideas. And if she fails, I have to keep my mouth
shut.
Oh, dear Lord, stay close to me. In the next four years you will be my rock
to lean upon, for now comes the real test: She starts college in the fall.
1 16 oz. can of whole tomatoes or 6 of your own home grown tomatoes
6 to 8 white potatoes cut bite size
1 green pepper cut bite size
1 bermuda onion chopped
1 lb. of bacon cut bite size
2 cups of chopped ham cut bite size
1 teaspoon oregano
1 teaspoon parsley
1 teaspoon sweet basil
1/2 to 3/4 tablespoon chili powder or red pepper to taste
Throw in a few bay leaves
Salt and Pepper to taste
Let all this simmer in a
big pot, perhaps a crock pot, for 4 or 5 hours. Water can be added if
you feel it is not producing enough of its own juices. Remember, the
longer it simmers, the better "dew" it will have on it! Happy eating!
Brown beef. Add broth, potatoes, onion, celery, basil and parsley.
Bring to a boil. Reduce heat; cover and simmer 10 to 12 minutes..until
potatoes are tender. In a small skillet, melt butter, add flour, cook
and stir until bubbly. Add to soup; bring to a boil. Cook and stir 2
minutes. Reduce heat, add cheese, milk, salt and pepper. Heat until
cheese melts. Blend in sour cream. EAT!
photos from the carrier
video from the carrier
© 2008