"Life is just a short walk from the cradle to the grave, and it sure behooves us to be kind to one another along the way" - Alice Childress 

It was one of those questions that begin, “Do you remember when …?”

As I mentioned in a recent issue, I had a brief visit last month with college friends, Warren and Anne Miller (see photo), whom I had last seen in 1979. There were quite a few such questions in that conversation, but one really stuck with me.

Anne asked, “Do you remember when we visited you at your parents’ home in Central Oregon?” To be honest, I did not, and even after being reminded, I still have only the vaguest of memories. It must have been the summer of 1974. Anne and Warren were traveling through the Pacific Northwest with Anne’s sister, Judy, and Judy’s husband, Dennis. (All four of them had been fellow students of mine at Milligan College.) Dennis was also from Oregon and was showing the rest of them – Midwesterners all – the sights.

When they made a brief stop at the Howdens, my mother served them banana brownies. My friends liked them, and Anne asked for the recipe. As I said, I hardly remember the visit, much less the brownies. But over the years, I learned, both Anne and Judy have continued using the recipe.

Fast-forward to 2021. Judy and Dennis spent much of their lives as foreign missionaries. Now retired and living back in the U.S., they were asked this year by the mission board with which they served to fill in for several months in Egypt, while another missionary family was on leave. While they were in Egypt, Anne got a text message from Judy: “Could you send the recipe for Mrs. Howden’s banana brownies?” So, Anne told me, my mother’s brownies made their way all the way to Egypt! (In a subsequent email, Anne added, “Judy has several African ‘daughters’ who love them.”)

I am sure my mother never thought, when she shared her recipe in 1974, that her brownies would travel to Africa or be served in Egypt nearly fifty years later! But every action we take, every kindness we show to another person, has ripple effects far beyond what we might ever imagine.

One day last week, my friend, Lillie, called and asked for my Calabacita recipe. The call from the New Orleans area wasn’t such a surprise, but actually it was her daughter, Valerie, who was asking for the recipe. The two women were in the kitchen cooking together, since Lillie’s home in Metairie is unlivable (thanks to Hurricane Ida) and she is staying with Valerie and her family until the damage can be repaired.

What’s really weird is that Lillie’s memories of my Calabacita go back six decades (long before Valerie was born), to when Lillie spent our high school summers with me in Texas. Those were the years I was learning to cook, mimicking my family’s kitchen toil. Since they didn’t use recipes, neither did I. My favorite dishes were those I watched my Uncle Tommy make. He was a cowboy on the South Texas King Ranch and he learned to cook from the vaqueros out on the cattle range. None of them had recipes.

That was the origin of Calabacita as I know it. I have constructed several recipes for posterity, but heaven only knows where they are. I’ll try once again – and print the recipe below – for you. If Calabacita is good enough to etch a memory enduring 60-something years, it’s worth putting the recipe down on paper – again! Jalapeno cornbread is a perfect add-on. Enjoy!

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