Introduction

"While it's well known that food and stories make for a great combination, Muffins & Mayhem takes their relationship to a whole new level. Brimming over with the stuff of life, this is a book to curl up with and devour." ?JOEL BEN IZZY, storyteller and author of The Beggar King and The Secret of Happiness

Suzanne Beecher's happy, loving voice has brought more than 350,000 people to her online book club at DearReader.com, where her daily column offers her candid, thought-provoking reflections on life, inspiring countless readers to look at their "ordinary" lives in a new way. By turns funny and poignant, Suzanne is the reassuring friend across the kitchen table with a refreshing, jaunty attitude about life, even in the face of whatever difficulties it may bring.

Suzanne has had her own share of troubles to overcome. Left home alone at an early age, she struggled with difficult and distant parents, dealt with heartbreak, became a hard-working single mom, and overcame two substance addictions and a physical impairment. But along the way, she found comfort in baking and sharing food with her friends and family. She learned to take the good with the bad, and her life is now inspiring proof that faith and persistence are the keys to success.

This beautifully written celebration of food, friends, and family will nourish Suzanne's numerous fans and those who have yet to discover her simple, homespun magic.

Editorial Review

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Excerpt

Almost every week my parents and I would go to Grandma and Grandpa Hale's house for Sunday dinner. Grandma Hale was the shutterbug in the family and I was always ready to pose.

I used to think I didn't have anything to say about my childhood. For the life of me, except for the bad complaining stuff, I couldn't remember a thing I did with my parents as a kid. Since I didn't want to lug those stories around with me the rest of my life, my mind would always go blank whenever some­body started talking about their warm and fuzzy childhood experiences.

"I remember when," somebody would begin . . . and from those three words would flow a precious childhood memory about the time they got caught sneaking in the back door of the movie theater, and they'd recite in vivid Technicolor every single detail, right down to what they were wear­ing when the manager called their parents to come and get them. I hated those people who told their cute little "I remember when" stories. Okay, I know I'm not supposed to say I hate anyone, so let's just say I was con­sumed with envy, jealousy, and disdain.

How did these people do it? How could they remember all of these things? And what the heck was wrong with me, that I couldn't?

So I took a quick inventory and discovered my one-dimensional child­hood consisted of these four scintillatingly dramatic "stories":

1.I was born in Madison, Wisconsin. We didn't live there—we lived seventy-five miles away, in the small town of Cuba City, population 2,000—but my mother became very ill in the last six weeks of her pregnancy, so the doctor sent her to the big-city Madison hospital.

2.My parents and I lived in a trailer for a while—just long enough to save up money for a down payment on a house.

3.I had a green dress with a scratchy cancan slip underneath it. I think this was in the fourth grade.

4.When I was in eighth grade, the first round school building in the county (maybe even the state) was built in Cuba City. In the middle of the school year, we all packed up the stuff in our old desks and walked in a single-file pilgrimage from the old rectangular school building to the new round one.

The End

That's the short, happy childhood of Suzanne Beecher in 157 words, plain and simple. And boring, even to me.

So I accepted my fate as an adult deprived of a childhood. Or at the very least an adult deprived of those warm and fuzzy memories I should have been able to tap into when I wanted to go back home in my mind. But then it oc­curred to me that I'd always been ambivalent about going home anyway­— not only in my mind, but in my car, too. At least it seemed that way. Whenever I planned a trip to see my parents, I'd get sick. I'm not kidding! Two or three days before I was supposed to leave, an illness would consume me: wheezing, sneezing, that all-over crummy feeling. Nothing serious, a twenty-four-hour virus sort of thing—but just enough "miserable" so I'd have to cancel my trip. My recovery period was amazing. And eventually I realized there was a pattern: As soon as the "magic hour" had passed, and it was too late to go, no hope of getting back home in time for a weekend visit, I was cured.

So I asked myself: Really, what's the big deal? Who cares if I can't remember any cute childhood stories—didn't want to go back to measly podunk Cuba City, anyway. It was a stupid town, one of those blink-and­you'll-miss-it dots on the map. Cuba City meant nothing to me. My life is all about what happens to me now. Right?

But then Mrs. Creswick died. She was my girlfriend's mother. Everyone called her Purse, but I never used her nickname, or her real name, Priscilla. It seemed more respectful to address her as Mrs. Creswick.

When I heard the news that Mrs. Creswick had died, I realized I'd lost something precious from my past. Every kid needs a role model, and although I hadn't realized it at the time, Mrs. Creswick was one of mine.

I loved going to Mrs. Creswick's house because she made me feel spe­cial. She always made sure there was cottage cheese and those little cherry tomatoes in the refrigerator because she knew I loved them. Course I don't really know for sure—I was just a kid. Maybe she always had cottage cheese and tomatoes in the fridge—but she knew they were my favorite, so she'd set a plate in front of me every time I visited.

Mrs. Creswick was a great cook, and there was love in her kitchen. Whenever I got the chance, I liked to watch her make dinner. One after­noon she even taught me how to make her famous Frosted Meat Loaf. When I asked for a copy of the recipe, she helped me write it down on one of her recipe cards, along with personal tips on how not to burn the meat loaf when it was time to put it under the broiler. I still have the faded Frosted Meat Loaf recipe card today.

It was important for me to let someone know how special Mrs. Creswick had been to me. So I called her husband and my old girlfriend, gave them my condolences, and shared my childhood memory of the Frosted Meat Loaf. Then I dug out my old recipe card and started cooking. Mrs. Cres­wick would have been proud of me, because her Frosted Meat Loaf came out of the broiler just right.

Years ago I'm sure Mrs. Creswick thought she was simply giving me a recipe for meat loaf, and for a long time that's what I thought, too. But suddenly it was all so clear—the things that make me what I am today, the things I really like about myself, they all came from growing up in Cuba City. Remember the girl who was ambivalent about going home? Mrs. Creswick's meat loaf finally showed her the way.

So if a plate of cherry tomatoes and cottage cheese, and a Frosted Meat Loaf recipe could leave such a big impression on my heart, maybe there were other little things in my life that I was overlooking?

I'm a daily columnist who writes about life, and after I wrote the story about Mrs. Creswick's Meat Loaf the tone of my columns changed. I guess what really happened is I wasn't afraid to open my heart and let readers see the real me. Now I freely write about the feelings I wrestle with every day—my father's final farewell apology, embarrassing moments like the day I was trying to make a big impression but suddenly realized a lint roller was stuck to my behind, trapping Mighty Roach in the middle of the night, and how I couldn't get back in the groove after my mother died even though we'd never been close.

When I opened up my heart to readers, they opened up their hearts to me. Hundreds of people email every day and tell me their stories. In fact one woman's email, another Priscilla, inspired me to write this book...

Dear Suzanne,

I have been following your Dear Reader column for several years now. I am so grateful you are willing to share with your readers a glimpse of your life, whether it's happy or sad.

Let me introduce myself': I am a 43-year-old mother of three children ages 8, 10, and 11. I have been diagnosed with late-stage metastasized lung cancer.

Knowing that I won't have the privilege of walking my three young children through their tough teenage years and adulthood, I want to prepare a scrapbook for each of them to fall back on when they are down and have no one else to turn to. When I was reading your column about the "writing inspiration" folder you keep, it strikes me to the core—that's exactly what I want to prepare for my kids. Something to inspire them to be the best person they possibly can, and to pick their spirits up on a rainy day when things feel out of control and they need to get themselves grounded again.

It will be greatly appreciated if you can share some pointers with me as to where to find these inspiring books, articles, quotes, etc. Thank you for your time!

Yours sincerely,

Priscilla

And my reply . . .

Dear Priscilla,

It's always a pleasure to hear from a reader, especially someone who has been reading with me for such a long time.

Some of the most precious things I own are the photo albums and recipe box that my Grandma Hale passed on to me. Whenever I thumb through the albums, or I'm following the recipe on one of Grandma's recipe cards, I feel like she's standing right beside me in the kitchen. Its such a comfort, and the memories come flooding in.

Making scrapbooks or journals you can leave for your children is a wonderful, loving thing to do. They are going to miss you, and you're right, there are going to be sad times in their lives when no one else but their mother could comfort them.

Pictures in a scrapbook with a caption underneath about why this was your favorite, or something about the day the photo was taken—your kids would love the photos. And when you make a list of books that have made a difference in your life, you could explain the reason why.

But Priscilla, I think the most important thing you can tell your children is what you are thinking, or were thinking. Write down what you were thinking on your first date (it doesn't have to be fancy), how it took you hours, maybe days, to figure out what to wear. How awkward your first kiss was. Tell them about the day you flunked your algebra test, how you worried that you might not make it into college, or why you felt you didn't need to go. Why you decided to say yes and get married. How did you meet their father? On days when you feel like a loser, what do you do to get yourself grounded again?

Create recipe boxes for your children and include your favorite recipes and stories. Leave your children a handwritten copy of the recipes for your very best meals, the cake or casserole that people always rave about. Write down on a recipe card the things from your life you'd like to pass along to them—recipes for their lives: how to make an impression on someone (give them an example of something you did), when it's okay to tell a fib and then tell them one of your little white lies. What's the best gift anyone ever gave to you? What were the things that really scared you in life? How did you feel when they were born, when you were diagnosed with lung cancer and you realized the outcome?

My mother died from lung cancer a year and a half ago. My son said that he asked my mother if she was afraid to die. She told him no, that she didn't think it would be quite this soon, but that she wasn't afraid. That statement has brought my son so much comfort. I know, because he's mentioned it to me several times.

There are things I wish I had asked my mother, and most of them begin with "How did you feel about . . . ?"

Don't weigh yourself down with the need to write fancy, just simply write. Pretend your kids are sitting in front of you and start talking. I can picture you leaving each one of your children a recipe box filled with recipes for cooking and recipes for their lives, written on 3 x 5 index cards.

Priscilla, I wish I could say something to make everything better. I'm so sorry. There is a quote I say out loud to myself when it feels like my world is falling apart and I need to get grounded. It always brings me at least a moment's respite. I'm saying it out loud for you today.

``If I knew the way, Priscilla, I'd take you home."

Priscilla did make recipe boxes for her children. Unknowingly, she left a gift behind for me, too. I didn't realize it until I wrote back to Priscilla, but for years I'd been creating my own recipe box, and the stories I discovered in it inspired me to write this book.

I've picked out some of my favorite dishes and recipes from my life—the stories that help keep me grounded in this unpredictable world, like Mrs. Creswick's Meat Loaf. Stories that remind me I'm okay, just the way I am.

Recipes are meant to be exchanged, so please share my book with your friends—and substitutions are allowed. Maybe there's a Mrs. Creswick hidden away in your heart, filed away in your own recipe box? My hope is by the time you're finished reading the recipes from my life, you'll be reliving some of your own, and if you're still looking, I hope you find that missing ingredient. view abbreviated excerpt only...

Discussion Questions

From the Author:

1. In “Pretending My Way to Success,” Suzanne writes, “ . . . when you have to convince people you’re in charge, it doesn’t work” (page 46). Her solution was to change the way she dressed in order to change the way others perceived her. The result was an inner self-confidence that eventually led her to shed the “power suit” without losing any authority. Do you agree with Suzanne’s belief that clothes can, in a sense, make the person? Have you ever had a similar experience where your outward appearance caused an inner metamorphosis?

2. In chapter one, Suzanne writes about her mother’s “truths” and quirks and how, despite her best efforts, every now and then when she looks in the mirror she sees her mother looking back. Is adopting some of our parents’ idiosyncrasies inevitable? Why or why not?

3. From failed marriages to unsuccessful business ventures, Suzanne journeys through many “live and learn” experiences. Even situations such as her restaurant folding ultimately lead to personal growth and insight. Would you consider her unsuccessful endeavors failures? Why or why not? How do you define failure? Did any of Suzanne ’s stories make you reconsider the value of some of the failures in your own life?

4. There’s an old adage: “Dance like no one’s watching and sing like no one’s listening.” In the story about Suzanne’s hotel room performance of Irene Cara’s “Flashdance (What a Feeling),” she does just that—except she accidentally winds up with an audience. Have you ever experienced a similar situation? Was it comical like Suzanne’s, or more embarrassing?

5. When describing her own quirky personality, Suzanne quotes Leonard Cohen’s “There’s a crack in everything. That’s how the light gets in.” How do you think Suzanne’s embracing of her individuality and pride in being “a little strange” (page 74) has affected the way she interacts with others? How can embracing one’s uniqueness help overcome life ’s obstacles?

6. An illness or injury can be one of life ’s biggest setbacks. Suzanne experienced such a setback when she was diagnosed with benign essential blepharospasm, a rare, incurable neurological disorder. Determined to overcome her disability, Suzanne learned to love her illness in order to live with it. Do you think her “love the illness” strategy could help others suffering from chronic conditions? Have you ever experienced a similar situation? If so, how did you learn to live with your condition?

7. In talking about the meaning of life, Suzanne writes, “I’ve always thought my job, my purpose here on earth, certainly must be something more dramatic than simply loving and taking care of the people around me. So I’ve strived to be clever, artistic, and talented in business. But . . . I realize I’ve been looking at life all wrong. It’s not complicated, there ’s nothing to prove. My mother was right. It’s really very simple. What’s really important is love.” Do you agree? Why or why not?

8. After her mom passed away, Suzanne discovered a short poem that her grandmother had given to her mother. The poem is just a silly anti-theft ditty written on an index card, but she cherishes the keepsake and makes an index card of her own because, as she says, “Sometimes a little bit of silliness is the recipe I need to get me through the day” (pages 78–79). Of all the values Suzanne carries, why do you think maintaining a sense of humor is so important? Are there any special pick-me-up tokens or rituals in your life that you use to help you through rough patches?

9. One of the book’s main themes is family traditions. Holiday traditions are particularly important to Suzanne, so much so that she has trouble parting with antiquated rituals like buying pecan pies at Christmas. She also recognizes the importance of maintaining traditions now that she ’s responsible for holiday dinners. How important is tradition in your family? Did you experience a similar “passing of the torch” when you became an adult?

10. For a long time Suzanne was ambivalent about going home to visit her parents, even to the point of becoming physically ill. But through Mrs. Creswick’s meat loaf and other recipes and stories from her recipe box, Suzanne discovered a way to go back home. What does going home mean to you? Has it been an easy journey or, like Suzanne, have you had to find a way to give yourself the home you never had when you were growing up?

11. Suzanne recounts the day when she was sitting in Starbucks and a man came over to her table and asked, “Are you a writer” (page 224)? After stumbling through an awkward and embarrassing response, Suzanne realized it was finally time to face her moment of truth. Was she going to accept and acknowledge her writing talent, or let self-doubt continue to steal it away? The words in an old folk song proclaim, “This little light of mine, I’m going to let it shine.” Have you been able to freely acknowledge the talents you’ve been blessed with, or do you hide your light under a bushel?

12. Toward the end of the book, Suzanne writes about having the courage to “deviate from my comfortable routine” in order to discover new opportunities to touch other people’s lives (page 216). So many of her projects required her to trust her instincts and take a chance. For example, when she took it upon herself to essentially create her own job description at Sunny Hill Nursing Home. Have you ever found yourself in situations where you had an opportunity to take similar chances, and how did you react? Do you regret your decision?

Suggestions from the Author:
1. Plan a book club smorgasbord! Have everyone prepare his or her favorite recipe either from the book or from Suzanne’s recipe blog (DearReader.com) and bring it to your book club meeting. Or prepare one of your family’s favorite recipes and share the story behind it.
2. One of the most inspiring experiences Suzanne writes about is her role as volunteer coordinator. Give back to your own community by volunteering in your neighborhood.

3. Visit the author’s website, DearReader.com, and see firsthand how Suzanne’s free online book clubs work!

4. Visit Suzanne’s website MuffinsandMayhem.com, and create a cookbook of recipes and stories with your reading group or family members, or make one for yourself.

Weblinks

»	Publisher's Book Info
»	Muffins and Meyhem Web site
»	Interview with the Author
»	Free Autographed Book Plate
»	Create Your Own Cookbook of Memories
»	Recipe Videos

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