by Ritter Ames
1 bag of Nestle’s Chunks semi-sweet pieces. (I’ve tried other chocolate additions, but I think this size—even with the chocolate in chunks so there are fewer pieces—are better than more pieces that are smaller throughout the cookie.
Preheat oven to 350˚F.
Beat sugar, peanut butter, and margarine until creamy. Add eggs, baking soda, and vanilla, mix well. Blend in oats and chocolate chunks.
Drop by tablespoons onto cookie sheet sprayed with cooking spray like Pam (original recipe said to use ungreased, but chunks will make it stick).
Bake 10 to 12 minutes. Let stand 5 minutes before removing to racks to cool. Makes 2 dozen 4-inch cookies.
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JANE MCKENZIE’S CRANBERRY, COCONUT, AND CHOCOLATE TRAIL MIX RECIPE
This recipe does have nuts, but you can offer a nut-free variety by substituting more dried fruit and adding grains to the mixture
INGREDIENTS
1 cup cashews
1 cup to 2 cups almonds
1 cup sunflower seeds
1 cup granola and/or oats
1 to 1-1/2 cups Dried Cranberries (or dried cherries can be substituted)
1 cup banana chips
1 cup coconut flakes
1 cup chocolate chips (or M&Ms)
PREPARATION INSTRUCTIONS
Slow roast all of the fresh fruit and nut ingredients in a 200-degree oven for several hours, turning regularly with a spoon or spatula, so all reach a dried state that’s best for preservation and on-the-go eating. For the bananas, if you start with fresh instead of premade chips, slice your banana into about one-half slices.
Mix all ingredients together in a bowl and let completely cool.
Package in easy-to-go containers or Ziploc bags.
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This recipe is terrific for hikes and road trips, and I’ve found the best (and family favorite) trail mix recipes uses a combination of sweet and savory tastes through a mix of nuts, seeds, grains, dried fruit. Mix and match for your family’s tastes to add a healthy alternative.
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If you liked the Organized Mysteries series, take a look at this excerpt from the new Frugal Lissa Mysteries series coming later in the year. The first book in the series, Frugal Lissa Finds a Body, is set to arrive at booksellers in late summer. It will be available early release in all ebook formats. Let me know what you think about the excerpt below.
Excerpt of Frugal Lissa Finds a Body
CHAPTER ONE
“WELCOME TO THE NEIGHBORHOOD.” I pushed the lemon Bundt cake toward the graying man in the doorway as I tried—and failed—to stop staring at his bushy eyebrows. It looked like a caterpillar tête-à-tête on his forehead. “I'm Melissa Eller, but everyone just calls me Lissa. I live in the noisy two-story across the street.”
“Noisy?” The caterpillars wobbled upward.
“I have two young sons.” I shrugged. “I may as well start apologizing now.”
Gorgeous Abby, my best friend despite the pulled-together look she always wore without effort—today in a DKNY silk t-shirt and black peplum slacks she snagged the last time we shopped at the outlet store because they fit her but not post-pregnancy me—stepped up and held out a hand to shake his. “Abby Newman. I don't live in the neighborhood, but I'm a family friend so I'm here a lot. Don't mind Lissa. She tends to worry too much.”
“Worry?” The caterpillars shifted close together again.
“About the boys and their antics,” Abby added. “They're actually very sweet.”
He took the cake from my hands, and said, “We're the Harpers, John and Jane.”
I attempted my own handshake, but he kept a firm hold on each side of the cake plate. Apparently the floral-print J. Jill shirred tee I’d grabbed on that same outlet trip, the one I thought made me look trustworthy and friendly, wasn’t doing its job. His gaze darted to someplace over my left shoulder instead of meeting my smile.
“The wife is still unpacking, you know.” He kept watch over the landscape behind us as he spoke. “We have a lot to do.”
“Absolutely,” I said a little too brightly, and shoved my hands into my jeans pockets. “Been there, done that. Not a lot of fun. We just wanted to come by and let you know if you need anything you only need to ask.”
The caterpillars gave each other a bit of distance as some tension left his face and voice, and he almost looked at my face. “I'll let my wife know. Appreciate it.”
I took a step back and nearly fell down the stoop. Abby grabbed my arm and saved me from an ungraceful fall.
“We'll be going,” Abby said. “Nice to meet you.”
“Yes. Be looking for you,” he said.
More likely he’d be looking out for us and running the other way. Not trusting myself to answer and just make it worse, I waved and kept flashing what I knew was my idiotic grin.
We crossed the street with me slightly behind Abby. The soft highlights in her shoulder-length chestnut hair made me wonder what a salon could do to help the sadly overlong cut I’d recently given up on in favor of simply putting mine into a thick toffee-colored side-braid every day. I was frowning at the ragged tail below the rubber band that hung a bit below my collar bone, so almost missed when Abby said, “Remember, you only get what you expect out of life.”
“What? How did you know what I was thinking?”
She laughed. “Lissa, you’re an open book.”
We hit my front yard, and she reached over and gave me a one-armed hug and reprimanded, “Don't expect people to be annoyed at your children and they won't be.”
Okay, so she didn’t mean my hair and wasn’t a mind-reader. Thank goodness. There were some secrets I kept even from Abby.
“Fat chance of that. You haven't heard the complaints through the years.”
“They're just rambunctious boys.”
Abby skipped up the steps ahead of me to push open the front door, then gasped and leaned against the wooden frame. I kept walking, dazed as I surveyed the carnage. We'd only been gone for five minutes. I swear, only five minutes. The boys were under orders to start cleaning their room. As we left, we’d heard them thundering up the stairs, and our golden retriever, Honey, galloped right behind them. We had actually chuckled over the booming noise. I never expected the complete chaos now enveloping the living room, but it did prove the point I'd been making only moments before.
Apparently, the boys didn't believe me when I told them earlier in the week that they couldn't fly by attaching their Batman capes to the ceiling fan. Said ceiling fan, denuded of two blades, currently wobbled valiantly in a drunken rotation above our heads. A chair and one end table were knocked over, and I presumed staked a claim to where each of the boys landed. Wood slivers littered the durable gray carpet, as well as what I took to be fallout from the tops of the fan blades. I admit it, I don’t dust my ceiling fans often enough. Maybe the mini-dust bunnies helped cushion their fall.
Abby continued making gasp-like sounds. I looked for blood. I found the blades, but not my two sons.
“Boys! Front and center!”
Wide-eyed faces topped by tousled brunette hair popped up between second floor banisters, with Honey padding in close to anchor the far end. Thin sunlight streaked through the upstairs sidelight and washed over the boys to give each a glowing halo. Like that was going to help anything. I pointed to my feet. “Down here. Now!”
Longest trek downstairs I'd ever witnessed. Even the dog moved in slow motion. Every head down. All eyes focused on the stairs.
I didn't see any bruises, but a torn cape came to light behind one chair when Jamey, the oldest, let his gaze stray in that direction.
“Take a tumble, did we?”
The boys nodded.
“Anyone hurt?”
My five-year-old Mac, short for Mackenzie, my maiden name, rubbed his elbow. Both boys gave me a negative head shake. I figured it would be enough to watch for limps, but just in case I ran a hand over each head to feel for lu
mps. A second later I checked the dog, too. She didn’t yelp, so I figured she’d been smart enough to stay out of the way of the flying siblings.
“Going to do it again?” I asked my Batboys.
They shook their heads once more, eyes still cast downward.
“How in the world did you even get up there?”
“I boosted Mac onto the book case, then we both climbed up it and jumped.”
My heart quit beating a moment when I thought about the possibly of their pulling the heavy bookcase and books on top of them. “Boys, the bookcase is not a ladder. Don’t ever do that again.”
“Okay,” Jamey said. Mac shrugged. That didn’t bode well. What else would they think of trying before I had a chance to squelch the idea. Good heavens. I changed tactics and knelt down to give each boy a hug. “You two can’t scare me this way. Wild flying maneuvers and scaling tall furniture can mean bigger accidents than what you had today. You’d break my heart if either of you got seriously hurt.”
“We’re sorry,” Mac took the lead this time.
“Good. Remember that.” I got back to my feet. “But just being sorry isn’t enough. I want you to remember, so you boys are going to pay for a new ceiling fan with your birthday and Christmas money.”
Jamey had the grace to simply nod. That's what came from being the more mature seven-year-old, I supposed. Mac looked up in horror, then shrugged and gave an agreeable head bob.
“Back upstairs. Room inspection in thirty minutes.”
They ran like I'd set fire to their heels. It would have given me a warm feeling about possibly having their respect, but I knew better. They were hoping if they followed instructions without argument I’d forget about the threat to take away their gift money.
Abby stood quietly beside me.
“Come on in. Ignore the mess. Looks like the boys tried turning the house into the Bat Cave,” I said, moving toward the kitchen so she would follow.
“I expect nothing less from the dynamic duo,” Abby replied and grabbed a banana from the wooden fruit bowl I optimistically kept full to entice the boys.
“Hopefully they'll actually shovel out their room now.”
The shoveling comment was motherly hyperbole, but from the next thumps and scurrying sounds I wondered how much my words rang true.
Abby, ever the optimist and doting pseudo-aunt, said, “Sounds promising.”
I shrugged. “Don't let them hear you say that. They need no encouragement.”
My laptop was open on the table and cycling through the rollercoaster pictures I use as a screensaver. Something about facing potential death anytime I woke up my computer made life seem a little less hectic. Abby knocked the table as she sat down, and the screen that showed my latest blog draft popped up in bright pink, white, and turquoise—my branding colors for the Frugal Lissa Finds blog.
“Anything good come up lately?” she asked, scrolling through my words. “I could use a new purse.” She frowned a minute, then added, “And a new job.”
I’d already had the feeling she was home this weekend for reasons other than to connect with friends and family. Good to know my instincts were on-track, but I needed to trod carefully until I learned the full scope of how things stood.
While my friend always pursued bargains as if it were an Olympic sport, as an associate attorney at a large Dallas firm she could actually afford to pay MSRP on most of what she wanted. I, on the other hand, lived up to the Frugal Lissa moniker I used for my blog because I usually couldn't fit even “seventy-five percent off” designer into our family budget for luxuries in life.
My husband, Derek, who went personally and professionally by Dek Eller because our family was drawn to using nicknames, tended to his position as an award-winning globe-trotting photo journalist by scooping up a double dose of the monthly expense money the last time he came home. I still waited for the reimbursement check from his media conglomerate employer. When we first married, Dek worked for only one newspaper, but every business has spin nowadays. Unfortunately, the spin in any career associated with journalism has spiraled downward for a decade. Dek shifted with the times and signed a contract with a syndicate to stay readily employed without resorting to free agency. So he constantly hung onto his job by networking connections and jaw-dropping photographic successes—but neither was enough to keep our bills paid if I didn’t recycle every copper penny until it was as thin as aluminum foil.
A couple of years ago I started blogging about some of the finds I’d made that kept our budget in the black each month. I also started tweeting new finds I and my subscribers found and reported on each day. After learning how to monetize the blog—through trial and error and the benevolent grace of a neighbor’s high school son who regularly talked geek to my computer and web page—I’ve built a small business that helps other families operating in the same lower-middle-class trench where my family struggles each day.
“Yeah, take a look under ‘accessories finds’ and you’ll see the current coupon codes and deals,” I said, as I grabbed a Post-It Note from the desktop holder and jotted a cryptic note on the refrigerator to remind Dek to turn in his receipts. “Betsey Johnson has a good one now on some of her bags, and one from Coach just went off but if you hurry they may still redeem the offer. A lot of manufacturers do that to keep from ticking off consumers.”
“Thanks. I’ll look. I never catch all the sales and bargains you do. But I am now a devotee to RetailMeNot, and I’ve signed on for JoinHoney and have their extension sitting on my Chrome browser for online purchases.”
“Just make sure when you make a decision that you paste the purse details into a search engine before buying, to see what other deals might pop up. I’ve noticed stores like Saks will offer even bigger discounts on things like designer bags than the manufacturers’ sales. And since you’re in Dallas you don’t have to pay to ship.”
My friend frowned, as she scrolled through one of the blog pages. “Maybe I’ll hit the outlet mall next weekend. Might be easier. Wish you could come with me.”
A shopping day at the Dallas outlet mall with Abby sounded like fun, even though she would be doing all of the buying. As I tossed one of the straggly capes into the trash, I changed the subject and said, “Cookie? Don't worry, I made them last night after the boys went to bed.”
We’d had embarrassing moments before when surprise ingredients were the result of my lovely sons “helping me bake.” Nothing lethal, but seriously more imaginative than most adults wanted when they bit into a snack.
Abby shook her head.
“They’re ranger cookies,” I coaxed, knowing her weakness for anything with coconut. Or anything with a name associated with rangers, too. The Texas or forest varieties.
“Thanks, but no.” She walked to the fridge and grabbed us each a can of Diet Coke. My one big weakness in life. “When is Dek coming home?” she asked.
“He's due back the end of next week.” I’d hoped he could be around the house this week, while the boys were on spring break. But since it had taken me until Saturday afternoon before school started up again on Monday to even get them to clean their room, it was probably just as well. I would likely have three blades ripped from the ceiling fan if Dek had been here, too. Sigh... Yes, Jamey and Mac inherited their super hero ideas from their father. “When are you going back to Dallas. Is this a long weekend for you?”
“Nope, I have a Southwest flight booked for tomorrow evening.”
“We barely have time for any fun.” I’d picked her up at the Tulsa airport that morning. Her bag was still in the entry, and her mother had phoned her cell twice to ask when she was coming home. As her cell buzzed again, she withdrew it from the pocket of her slacks and sighed.
“Your mom again?”
“Yes.” She touched the screen. “Hi, Mom.”
I went to the laundry room to give her some privacy. Towels were in a pile on the floor, and sheets to my bed were in the washer. As I pulled the wet bedding out, I gave each piece a
shake before sending it to the dryer, letting any last minute moisture escape. To make everything fluff and dry faster, I tossed in a couple of wool balls I made out of old sweaters the boys outgrew. Then it was time to load towels. My temperature switch on the washer is almost permanently set on cold since ninety-percent of the cost of washing clothes is heating water. To the soap and softener dispensers, I added detergent and vinegar.
“You use vinegar in your wash?”
“Eek!” I squealed. Luckily, I’d already poured the liquid into the machine. “You scared me.”
“Sorry. I made my mom mad quick enough to get off the phone in record time.” She grinned. “What does the vinegar do?”
“A capful of vinegar is a nearly free way to give clothes all the softness of the expensive brand name fabric softeners,” I said. “I also toss recycled balls of aluminum foil in the dryer to reduce static cling.”
“I need to hang around here more. You’d probably save me a fortune if I could pick your brain on a daily basis.”
“Just nickels and dimes, but they all add up. I also hang up all the t-shirts, jeans and sweatshirts to dry, then toss them in for five minutes to fluff all the wrinkles out before they get put away. You can save a lot that way, too.”
There was nothing better than the thought of seeing my best friend more than once a quarter or so, but I knew it was better to keep to the frugal line of discussion. Abby grumbles, and I knew from experience that she has to grumble enough until she makes up her mind on what she really wants. Out of college, she wanted to head to Big D to practice law. Since I’d dropped out of college to globetrot with Dek, I had no say in the matter. So, just because I was back now, and wishing I could see her more often, it didn’t mean I had a right state to my opinion. But I could offer persuasion in a different way.
“How about after you have dinner with your parents, we take over the couch and the big screen and watch chick flicks so the boys will moan and go to bed early?”
“That will send them to bed early?”
