Some Like Hot Tamales

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In the town of Normal, Pennsylvania, there’s a little church at the corner of Wilson and Elm. The Winslow family are cornerstone members of the church. Del Winslow sings in the choir, Karen Winslow teaches the Guppies pre-school Sunday school class, and their daughter Carrie recently married her husband Carlos in the church.

Every Christmas since she and Del were first married Karen has made a special meal for the family – standing rib roast and rhubarb pie. But this year that tradition was threatened when Karen was diagnosed with leukemia. She had been in the hospital for a month for chemotherapy and wasn’t scheduled to be released until Christmas Eve.

That month was rough on Del. The holiday season was always a busy time of year, of course, and with his wife in the hospital Del had to add a considerable amount of housework to his usual chores. Then there were the hours he spent each day by Karen’s bedside and more hours on the phone arguing with an uncooperative insurance company…not to mention the emotional toll. As Christmas approached Del was nearly as exhausted as Karen.

The entire Winslow family was gathered in Karen’s hospital room playing a game of Hearts on a Sunday afternoon when the subject of Christmas dinner came up.

“I’m so glad you’ll be home for Christmas, Mom,” Carrie said as she returned from the bathroom. Carrie was seven months pregnant and it seemed like she was always either coming or going from the bathroom.

“Yeah,” Dell added, “It’ll be nice to have the whole family around our dining table again enjoying your famous rib roast.”

The room got quiet. “I don’t think I’m going to be well enough to make dinner this year, dear,” Karen said.

“Oh,” Del replied, his face reddening. “No, of course not. Well, maybe Carrie and I can do it then.”

Karen laughed. Del’s occasional ventures into the kitchen usually proved disastrous and had even summoned the fire department on two occasions. And Carrie had given up trying to cook anything that didn’t come from a can or a take-out container long ago.

“What if I made dinner,” Carlos said. It was not a crazy idea. He had cooked regularly for Carrie and himself before they were forced to move in with Del and Karen after the younger couple were both laid off.

“Do you know how to make a standing rib roast?” Del asked hopefully.

“No,” Carlos replied, “but my family has a traditional Christmas dinner as well. Tamales.”

“Tamales,” Del repeated. It didn’t sound very Christmas-y to him.

“It’s actually the custom in Mexico,” Carlos explained. “At Christmas time the women of the family spend several days sitting around making tamales and talking. My family continued the tradition when I was growing up in Cincinnati and I often helped. It’s easy. We can make them together.”

“That’s a great idea!” Carrie exclaimed. “You’re part of our family now. This will be an opportunity to combine our traditions.”

Del sat quietly. He knew Karen couldn’t cook a big dinner her first day out of the hospital. He certainly didn’t want to stress her out in her fragile condition. But his tradition was standing rib roast and rhubarb pie and with everything going on he really craved something traditional. He didn’t think Tamales were going to cut it.

It was an especially joyous Christmas Eve morning when Del brought Karen home from the hospital. Carlos and Carrie had decorated the living room with a “welcome home” banner and bouquets of flowers. And Carlos had prepared the kitchen and dining room table for a tamale making assembly line.

Karen was delighted. She watched eagerly as Carlos explained the process. First, they would cook the filling. Carlos had purchased a variety of meats and spices. He and Carrie thought it would be fun to experiment so they included many non-traditional ingredients such as hoison sauce for Asian flavored tamales.

Once the fillings were ready they would spread Masa on cornhusks, put the filling into it, and fold the tamale. They would then steam the tamales on Christmas day just before eating.

“This looks fun,” Karen said. “Let’s get started!”

“You guys enjoy,” Del said. “I’m a little tired. I think I’m just going to read a book.”

“But Daddy,” Carrie pleaded, “It’s supposed to be a family activity.”

“If he doesn’t want to participate he doesn’t have to,” Karen said. “Go read your book, Sweetie. You’ve been doing a lot for us lately. You deserve some time to yourself.”

Del settled into his recliner in the living room with the latest spy novel he’d gotten from the library while Carrie and Carlos set about cooking the meat. Karen mostly sat on a stool and observed, just happy to be back in her own kitchen.

After they finished cooking the fillings they moved to the dining room table for the assembly process. They talked and laughed and listened to Christmas carols on the radio as they made their tamales with all the creative seasonings they could think of.

About ten minutes into the process Del passed through. “Just getting something to drink,” he said. He filled a glass of water in the kitchen and then stopped to observe for a few minutes.

“That’s a lot of tamale stuff you’ve got there. It’s going to take you hours to make them all.”

“That’s part of the fun,” Carlos said. “You want to try a couple?”

“No, no. I’m enjoying my book,” Del replied and returned to the living room.

A bit later a roar of laughter erupted from the dining room. Del popped in again.

“What’s so funny?” he asked.

“Carlos was just telling us a story about when he got a fishing pole for Christmas and hooked his own ear the first time he used it,” Carrie explained.

“Sounds hilarious,” Del said.

“Did you finish your book?” Karen asked.

“No, just taking a bathroom break.”

About ten minutes later he poked his head in a third time. “How’s it going,” he asked.

“I keep tearing the husks,” Carrie grumbled as she tried to carefully fold a tamale filled with shredded beef and marinara sauce.

“Maybe it would help if you used a little less filling,” Del suggested.

“They’re just so fragile,” Carrie said.

“Let me try one.” Del sat down. Carlos demonstrated the process for him. Del picked up a husk, spread the Masa on it, plopped in a little shredded chicken with honey mustard and a sprinkling of cayenne pepper and folded it up.

“Nicely done,” Carlos said. Carrie made a face at him.

Del grabbed another husk.

“I thought you wanted to read your book,” Carrie muttered.

“If you want to get all these assembled before Christmas Eve service at church I think I better help,” Del replied.

He made a barbecue pork tamale next, singing along with “Christmas Blues” playing on the radio. Karen watched him with a little smile.

Two hours later the four of them surveyed the mass of tamales they’d made. They were grouped into a dozen bowls by filling. It wasn’t quite enough to feed an army but it might have satisfied a small platoon.

“We’ll never eat all that,” Del said.

“I’m sure they’ll be put to good use,” Carlos replied.

That use became apparent the next day when visitor after visitor stopped by to welcome Karen home. Each was given a couple of hot tamales. Most asked for seconds.

During a quiet moment in the middle of the afternoon Karen sidled up to Del and took his hand. “I know tamales aren’t our tradition,” she said. “But I think we have to get used to the idea that things are changing for our family. Next Christmas there’s going to be a little baby dining with us.”

“I know I wasn’t on the tamale band wagon at first,” Del said, “But I’m beginning to see the advantages of that custom.”

Then the doorbell rang. It was Ralph and Tammy Billings. Tammy brought a gift – a homemade rhubarb pie.

“How did you know?” Del asked, delighted.

“A little birdie,” Tammy replied. Then Carlos handed Tammy a large bag of tamales that he had set aside earlier.

“Your son-in-law is a very thoughtful young man,” Tammy told Del.

“Yes he is,” Del said. He slid his arm around Karen. This was very possibly the best Christmas of his life, Del decided.

Want to make your own unusual tamales? Check out http://www.douglasjeboch.com/Tamales.htm for recipes and ideas.

And watch for a special Christmas Day Little Church story next! Happy Holidays!!

A Tale of Two Hospital Visits

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In the town of Normal, Pennsylvania, there’s a little church at the corner of Wilson and Elm. Karen Winslow, the sixty-two year-old Sunday school teacher for the Guppies pre-school class, recently checked into the hospital for a month long stay.

Karen had been diagnosed with leukemia. The first stage of treatment for her type of leukemia was an intense bout of chemotherapy. The chemo took seven days to administer and then three more weeks to recover from.

On the second day of Karen’s treatment, Senior Pastor Henry O’Donnell and new young Associate Pastor Michelle Tellum came to the hospital for a visit. Michelle was nervous. She had not done many hospital visits and they made her uncomfortable. On the drive over Henry gently reassured her. “Just follow my lead,” he said.

They arrived to find Karen’s daughter Carrie sitting by the bed. Carrie was seven months pregnant and really starting to show. She was making an effort to be cheerful for her mom, but Henry could tell she was worried. And no wonder – Karen looked worn and exhausted, a dramatic change from only a few days before.

The four sat and made small talk for a while, though Michelle did very little talking. She sat next to the heart monitor smiling and nodding stiffly.

“Who’s going to teach the Guppies class this Sunday?” Karen eventually asked.

Henry glanced at Michelle. “Well,” he said, “we’re not sure yet. But don’t you worry about that. We’ll find someone.”

“Can I do it?” Carrie asked. “I think it might be good practice for when this one arrives.” She rubbed the bulge at her belly.

Henry thought the Guppies, particularly four year-old Mary Boyer, would be more likely to terrify Carrie about the prospect of motherhood than offer any useful experience. But he kept that thought to himself since he really needed a substitute. “We’d love to have you,” he said.

After a few more minutes, Karen informed them she was getting tired.

“Let’s pray and then we’ll leave you alone,” Henry replied.

They all stood around the bed, joined hands and bowed their heads. “Dear Lord,” Henry began…

And was interrupted by a loud alarm from the heart monitor. Michelle shrieked. Carrie shrieked. Even Henry shrieked, though he’d later deny it.

Karen opened one eye and looked at them. “What?” she asked. “I’m fine.”

A nurse dashed in and quickly solved the problem. Michelle had accidentally pulled a cord out with her foot. “You thought I was dead, didn’t you?” Karen asked Michelle. Michelle didn’t respond, but blushed cherry red as Karen guffawed at the mistake.

After things had quieted down, Henry finished the prayer. “Stay strong,” he told Karen. “And Carrie, we’ll see you Sunday in the Guppies’ room.”

Normally Henry’s concern about Carrie teaching the Guppies would have been well founded. But Carrie discovered the youngsters were as worried as she was by what was happening to their beloved Mrs. Winslow. They didn’t really understand things like bone marrow and radiation and even the word “cancer,” but they did understand that Mrs. Winslow was very sick.

Surveying the quiet, concerned little faces, Carrie had the excellent idea for the class to spend the hour making “Get Well” cards for their teacher.

“Be sure to tell Mrs. Winslow how much you miss her,” Carrie instructed as she handed out art supplies. “And make your cards really, really happy with lots of bright decorations to cheer her up.”

The effect of the project on the children’s attitudes was so positive that Carrie didn’t regret the idea even when Mary Boyer accidentally spilled gold and purple glitter paint on Carrie’s Prada handbag. In fact, it taught her an important lesson for her impending motherhood: young children and high fashion don’t mix.

Supervising the project raised Carrie’s spirits as well. And after some discussion, she convinced Pastor O’Donnell to let the class deliver the cards to Karen in person the following Sunday – with their parents’ permission of course. She had seen how much having visitors cheered her mother up.

A week later the Guppies gathered in a small knot at the door to Karen’s hospital room clutching their construction paper cards in carefully scrubbed hands, paper masks over their mouths. Karen was very susceptible to infection at this point in her treatment.

“Hello, Kids!” Karen beamed with a wide grin. The kids didn’t respond. Mrs. Winslow looked thin and pale, and there were dark rings under her eyes. She had wrapped a bright scarf around her head to cover the patches of lost hair, but even so her appearance frightened the youngsters.

Karen tried again, summoning as much energy as she could to increase the enthusiasm in her voice. “It’s so good to see you!”

Carrie stepped in, “Kids, who would like to give Mrs. Winslow their card first?” There was a long pause. “How ‘bout you, Sierra?”

Little Sierra Smith bravely stepped forward. Karen took the bright red card and fussed over every detail. As she did Sierra visibly relaxed. And as Sierra relaxed, the other kids started to relax as well.

One by one they came up to the hospital bed to show Mrs. Winslow their cards. And Karen fawned over each one.

Finally there was only one little girl left – Mary Boyer. “Do you want to give Mrs. Winslow your card?” Carrie asked her.

Mary chewed her lip under the paper mask, considering. Finally she nodded once quickly and stepped up to the bed. Karen took the card from her and commented on the deft arrangement of star stickers, the elaborate drawings of what appeared to be penguins, and the liberal use of gold and purple glitter. The whole time Mary stood stoically at attention.

Finally, Karen asked, “Is everything all right, Mary?”

Mary considered her response. Then blurted out, “This sucks, Mrs. Winslow.”

“Mary!” Carrie exclaimed, chagrined. But Karen just laughed.

“Yeah,” Karen said. “I agree. It does suck.”

Then Mary suddenly reached her hands up across Karen’s abdomen and buried her face in Karen’s side. It was as close to a hug as Mary could manage given her short stature and the height of the hospital bed. Karen wrapped an arm around Mary’s shoulders and hugged back.

Carrie stepped forward. “Remember what I said about Mrs. Winslow being fragile right now.”

“It’s alright,” Karen said quickly. Mary lifted her head. Her eyes were damp.

“Thank you, Mary,” Karen said softly. “Your visit really cheered me up. And don’t worry. I’ll be back to teach class again in no time. Until then, you be good for Carrie.”

“I promise,” Mary said.

Just then the nurse appeared with a tray holding Karen’s lunch. As she set it on a stand beside the bed, Mary’s eyes tracked a bowl in the upper left corner.

“You get chocolate pudding?” Mary said.

“I get some kind of pudding pretty much every day,” Karen told her.

“Wow,” Mary whispered.

She gave Karen one last squeeze and rejoined her classmates. As Carrie was herding them out the door Karen called to her. “Thank you, Carrie. This was just what I needed.”

Carrie smiled. She had not seen her mother looking this strong in days. She took Mary’s hand and led the kids out.

“I wish I got pudding every day,” Mary said. “Mrs. Winslow sure is lucky.”

“She sure is,” Carrie agreed.

No Tea and Sympathy

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In the town of Normal, Pennsylvania, there’s a little church at the corner of Wilson and Elm. Last Wednesday the church’s Senior Pastor, Henry O’Donnell, woke up with a nasty cold. He lay in bed for an hour coughing and sniffling and debating whether he could make it through a day of work.

He decided he could not.

He waited until just after nine when church secretary Tammy Billings would be in the office and called in. “I’m sick,” he told her. “I’m going to stay home.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Tammy said sympathetically. “What do you want to do about the apportionment paperwork? It’s due today.”

Henry moaned. He had been putting off the chore for weeks. Paperwork was the least favorite part of his job. And any paperwork relating to finance was the worst – especially this year when church income had fallen significantly. But turning the paperwork in to the district office late would only mean more headaches down the line.

“Okay,” Henry finally said. “I’ll come in and do it. But then I’m going straight back home.”

Henry dragged himself out of bed and pulled on sweats and a baseball cap. “Why does this stuff always happen to me?” he said to no one in particular.

“Good morning,” Tammy said brightly when Henry stomped into the office an hour later.

“Wish it were,” he grunted.

“Karen Winslow called,” Tammy replied, holding out a message slip.

“I’ll call her back tomorrow. As soon as I finish the apportionment paperwork I’m outta here. So please don’t bother me with anything that isn’t absolutely urgent. And why is it so cold in here anyway?”

“The heat’s on the fritz again,” Tammy told him. “The repairman’s coming to fix it tomorrow.”

“That’s just great,” O’Donnell muttered and lumbered into his office.

“You know he’s going to say we need to replace the furnace,” Tammy called after.

“Yeah,” O’Donnell replied. “We’ll do that as soon as someone dies and leaves ten thousand dollars to the church.”

Henry sat in his office coughing and sneezing loudly and with some regularity. Despite his best efforts, Tammy seemed oblivious to his agony.

After about fifteen minutes he trudged back out to the front office. Normally he drank coffee in the morning, but his throat was killing him. He opened the box of tea bags that was by the coffee maker and microwave on a credenza across from Tammy’s desk.

The box was empty.

He turned to Tammy. “We’re out of tea bags.”

“Oh, sorry,” she said. “I used the last one.”

Henry eyed the mug sitting by Tammy’s computer. The tag of her tea bag dangled over the rim taunting him. “Are there more in the kitchen,” he asked.

“I think they’re in the storeroom downstairs,” she replied.

Henry watched Tammy clacking away at her keyboard. She showed no signs of volunteering to retrieve another box of tea in the near future. It looked like poor, sick Henry was going to have to do it himself. He coughed particularly violently as he went out.

“You do sound bad,” Tammy called after, not looking up from her computer.

Henry tromped downstairs where he discovered the changing table from the nursery had been moved into the hall and was blocking the storeroom door. He looked around hoping someone would materialize to hear him complain about the discourtesy, but he was alone. He shoved the unwieldy table back into the nursery.

The nursery looked like a disaster area. All the cupboards had been opened and the contents stacked in various piles around the room. Half full boxes cluttered the small table.

When Henry got back to the main office he asked Tammy if she was aware that someone had vandalized the nursery.

“Very funny, pastor,” Tammy said. “Karen started to clean it out on Sunday but then she got really tired. She said she’s been feeling tired a lot lately. Probably has something to do with Carrie and her husband living with them. “

Karen Winslow was a Sunday school teacher at the church. Her daughter Carrie was expecting her first child. It had been a year since the last infant at the church and the nursery had become a depository of odds and ends in that time. Henry had known the chore needed to be done for a while and was glad Karen took it on, but he hated when people didn’t finish what they started.

“How long is she going to leave it like that?” he grumbled.

“I’m sure she’ll finish it up this Sunday.”

“I hope so,” Henry said. “Do you know why she put the changing table in the hall?

“She says we need a new one,” Tammy replied. “That one is pretty beat up.”

“If she wants a new changing table she can donate one,” Henry snapped. He was certain the one in the nursery was fine. It was most likely just a case of first time grandparents wanting the finest luxuries for their little bundle of joy. The church couldn’t afford to buy a new changing table every time somebody had a baby.

Henry put a tea bag into his mug, filled it with water, and stuck it in the little microwave. He hit the start button.

There was a bang and a small shower of sparks. Tammy yelped.

The microwave sat silent, it’s digital display dark. Henry tentatively hit a few buttons. Nothing happened.

“I guess we’re going to need a new microwave,” Tammy said.

Henry started laughing.

“Why is that funny,” Tammy asked.

“Oh, just God’s little practical jokes,” he said. “You’d think if he was going to drag me out of my sick bed to come into the office to do paperwork he’d at least let me have a cup of tea.”

Tammy considered pointing out that his predicament might have less to do with God’s sense of humor than the pastor’s own procrastination. But instead she just suggested he heat some water on the stove in the kitchen.

“Nah, forget it,” Henry replied. “I’m just going to finish the paperwork and go home.”

The phone rang. Henry waited while Tammy answered it. After listening to the caller for a few seconds she covered the mouthpiece and said, “It’s Karen Winslow again.”

Henry sighed. “My throat hurts too much to argue about the changing table today. Take a message.”

Fifteen minutes later Tammy popped into his office. “Brought you something,” she said. She set a steaming mug of tea on his desk.

Henry beamed. “Thank you so much!”

“No problem,” she said. “I wanted a second cup myself.”

The phone rang in the front office and Tammy went to answer it. Henry picked up the mug of tea feeling almost giddy with anticipation. It was too hot to drink yet so he blew on it to cool it down.

Tammy poked her head back into the room. “Del’s on the phone now.”

Del was Karen’s husband. Henry wanted to talk to him even less than he wanted to talk to Karen. “Can’t they take a hint,” Henry asked.

“He insists it’s urgent,” she replied.

“Okay,” Henry grunted and picked up the phone.

“I’m sick and I’m having a really bad day,” Henry said by way of greeting. “This better be important.”

“Karen was diagnosed with leukemia yesterday,” Del said.

Henry closed his eyes. “I’ll be right there,” he replied.

He grabbed his coat and headed for his car. The cup of tea sat forgotten on his desk.

This story line will continue. For more information on leukemia, visit the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society.