Yummy apple muffin goodness

This recipe was taken out of one of my favorite cookbooks. The "Better Homes and Gardens Cook Book" from 1953. The muffin has a great crumbly outside with the typical muffin inside.

Apple Muffins

2 c. sifted enriched flour
4 t. baking powder
3/4 t. salt
3/4 t. cinnamon (I used 1 t.)
1/4 t. nutmeg
1/4 c. sugar
1 beaten egg
1 c. milk
1/3 c. melted shortening
3/4 c. chopped apple (about a half of an average apple, I shredded it on a cheese shredder)

oven 400 degrees

Sift dry ingredients. Combine egg, mild, and shortening. Make a well in dry ingredients add liquid all at once; stir till mixed, (the batter will be rather thick). Add apples; fill greased muffin pans 2/3 full; bake in hot oven (400 degrees) for 20 minutes. Makes 12.

Love is not love.

Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments.
Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove:
O no! it is an ever-fixed mark
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wandering bark,
Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.
Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle's compass come:
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
If this be error and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever love

The Lady's Poems

I am going to start a new blog!!!!!!! I have found a new love for poetry, and so I am going to be blogging some of my favorites. The address is www.theladyspoems.blogspot.com . I hope you will drop by for a visit.
Love,
Denielle

He didn't just write Sherlock Holmes

A HUNTING MORNING Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
Put the saddle on the mare,
For the wet winds blow;
There's winter in the air,
And autumn all below.
For the red leaves are flying
And the red bracken dying,
And the red fox lying
Where the oziers grow.

Put the bridle on the mare,
For my blood runs chill;
And my heart, it is there,
On the heather-tufted hill,
With the gray skies o'er us,
And the long-drawn chorus
Of a running pack before us
From the find to the kill.

Then lead round the mare,
For it's time that we began,
And away with thought and care,
Save to live and be a man,
While the keen air is blowing,
And the huntsman holloing,
And the black mare going
As the black mare can.

Love is not love Which alters when alteration finds.......

A poem found in Jane Austen's book Sense and Sensibility.

Sonnet 116
William Shakespeare

Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove:
O, no! it is an ever-fixed mark,
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wandering bark,
Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.
Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle's compass come;
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
If this be error and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved.