Monday, December 28, 2009

Daring the Darkness

What part of “Get here before dark.” don’t they understand? We tell them about how to drive the hairpin turns without causing everyone in the car to grab a barf bag. We tell them about having no mobile phone service once they get off the main highways. We tell them that our house is not on many GPS devices. We tell them that we live in the forest, and that Smoky the Bear doesn’t have a phone that they can use to call us if they get lost. But, do they listen?

Bill was scheduled to arrive at three, with plenty of time before dark descended. He had a three hour drive from Camille’s house. No problem; except, as he left Camille’s house, he pointed his car away from our direction to visit our older sister and our mother, who was visiting this sister. He ended up leaving Suzanne’s house an hour before he had anticipated arriving here.

I tried not to panic as the sun began going down, but it didn’t keep me from pacing. I vacuumed the RV, and swept the porch. I put the pot roast in a serving bowl. I set the table. And I paced, peering out the window for signs of Bill every time Gypsy began to bark.

By the time Bill drove into our driveway, it was dark – very dark. Supper had been ready for over an hour; thank goodness it was pot roast, which can hardly be overcooked. It’s bad enough driving around the forest in the dark alone, but Bill also had his daughter, Ingrid, and twenty-two month old grandson, Robbie, with him. I envisioned one cranky baby after all the hours underway, but Robbie bounced out of Bill’s car, happy as can be.

As we settled down to supper, Bill entertained us with stories of Robbie’s exploits and other of his travel adventures. He’s quite an accomplished raconteur. Ingrid could hardly get a word in edgewise, even though she is also very entertaining. After dinner, we offered to share some of the goodies that Mary and Ruby graced us with for Christmas, along with some of my homemade fruitcake. Bill chose the fruitcake, so I guess Rachel isn’t the only person, other than myself, who actually eats that Christmas delicacy.

Then it was time for opening presents in front of the fire. Robbie entertained himself with several books that he’d brought from home and a couple of glow sticks. What a delightful child! Ingrid is such an attentive and relaxed mom, we could actually converse all evening. The fact that Robbie adores his paw- paw also doesn’t hurt. By ten, Bill was ready to call it a night, so we led him to his cabin.

The road up was very steep, but we made it with tires spinning and spitting gravel. By the time we kissed Ingrid goodnight, her already big eyes were like saucers. “I don’t think I like all this woodsy. I’ll have to keep Robbie inside because he might fall off the side of the mountain,” she said. I promised her that, if she wasn’t comfortable in the cabin, we had space for her at our house in the holler – and at least four acres of flat land for Robbie to run.

Sunday, December 27, 2009

Getting Ready for Guests

We worked hard all day, and got a lot done. Cassie came over and helped me clean. She even helped me sort the papers piled on my desk. As a morale boost for me, we put our illuminated village scene on the top of our kitchen cabinets.

Cassie was masterful at tiptoeing across the counter tops and placement of each porcelain piece. Now, Santa is sledding down a snow-covered hill, and the milk man is delivering his goods; the school bus stands ready to pick up the children as the snow plow clears the roads. And all the miniature houses and businesses are aglow with lights in their windows. We were quite pleased with ourselves as we stood back and admired our work.

After completing the village, Cassie was still game for more assignable tasks. We got the bows and labels on the remaining gifts, and placed them under the tree. Meanwhile, Richard went to Mamie’s.

Mamie has offered to let us use her garage apartment for overflow guests, so we agreed to get it ready -- preparing for the event that we have to take Mamie up on her offer. Armed with every manner of cleaning supply, Richard went forth to prepare the way. What busy bees we all were.

Six hours of Cassie’s help, and I can’t even believe that all the gifts are now wrapped. There were over one hundred this year. I can actually see the kitchen floor. There’s no wrapping paper or ribbon strewn across the room, and all the remnants of roasted pecans, macaroons, bourbon balls and various jams have been scrubbed off the linoleum. Our home is, once again, habitable, for the first time in over a month.

I found our manger scene, and Baby Jesus rests in his bed of straw. The angel is now heralding Jesus’ birth from the top of our Christmas tree. Richard returned from Mamie’s and is in the kitchen, preparing one of his sumptuous salads. I’ll make mashed potatoes from Richard and Mamie’s passel of home-grown spuds. With the addition of some of the simply delicious mixed greens from our freezer, Richard and I will have a feast, the last alone until our guests depart.

I must remember to call our air evacuation organization to make sure that all people here are allowed air evac’s emergency care. Living in the forest, we have to plan ahead. My brother is due tomorrow with his daughter and toddler grandson. I think we’ve gotten as ready as we need to be. The next day, the parade of people begins. Can anyone ever be ready for that?

At last count, we’re expecting fourteen adults, if you consider eighteen-year-olds adults, and nine children, ranging in age from less-than-two to fifteen (or eighteen)-years-of-age. There will also be five dogs, ranging in weight from less-than-ten pounds to ninety-six pounds. We hope a good time will be had by all, including our four-legged guests.

Saturday, December 26, 2009

Magical Morning

A perfect pear for Christmas breakfast,
With warm pastries from Tellico Grains.
Skies are clearing; creeks are running high
After last night’s strong winds and hard rains.

A cozy wood fire in the fireplace
To start our holiday morning right.
The power came back on at our house
With it, our many colorful lights.

Jesus was not yet in the manger;
I’m still looking for our manger scene.
But our Nativity ornament,
We have displayed on our tree of green.

Ornaments are hanging on our tree,
With the popcorn string that’s wound around.
Carols are playing on the TV;
Creating joyous holiday sounds.

We’ll lunch with our children and our grands;
Last trip this year with Santa’s red sleigh.
Then back to the holler and to bed,
To rest before our guests come to stay.

Friday, December 25, 2009

Christmas Crunch

The gifts are all wrapped, except for the bows.
I’ve set all the ornaments out in neat rows.
The boxes are stowed for the next year’s gifts
I’m thinking that I could use a few fifths.

But we still have much more to do
We are having company -- more than a few
Nieces and nephews and kids and grands
I really could use several more hands.

There are groceries to buy; toilets to clean;
Our first Holler Holiday must be a big scene.
I’ve hired little Cassie to come over and help
She has impressed me as the perfect elf.

The house is dark; electricity has failed.
Thank goodness, most of our gifts were mailed.
We’ll wait until morning to complete our tree
Our first Christmas morning -- just my Santa and me.

MERRY CHRISTMAS! And to all a good night.

Thursday, December 24, 2009

Ode to Perfect Pears and Singing of Cinnamon Rolls

Ode to Perfect Pears
(To the tune of: It Came Upon a Midnight Clear)

They came upon a day so clear, those glorious pears of gold;
From angels living on the earth to touch our holler so cold.
Pears on the earth, good food for all, from Harry and David’s they’re sent.
Then we begin to anticipate the perfect pear tasting moment.

For lo the days, they pass so slow, as on the pears we wait.
When with a tender gentle touch we know this time is great.
And, with a friend, we taste the pear, juice dribbling down our chins.
Our grateful hearts give thanks to God and to our generous friends


Singing of Cinnamon Rolls
(To the tune of: Carolina in the Morning)

Nothing could be finer
Than Josie’s homemade designer
Sweet Cinn-a-mon rolls.

Dunk ‘em in my coffee
It feels just like a party
Those cinn-a-mon rolls.



It’s true – I have an obsession with food. I love to touch it, taste it, cook it, can it, smell it, and serve it. I know I should be five hundred and fifty pounds. I guess I’m just blessed with good metabolism.

I had another wonderful day preparing for Christmas. I began with baking fruitcakes. You can laugh if you want to about there only being only one fruitcake ever made that’s passed on from generation to generation as a doorstop. But, since Rachel loves my fruitcake, all our visitors will have the opportunity to taste it.

I do have to confess that the first time I fed Rachel’s then boyfriend, now her husband, Larry, my fruitcake, he threw it off the second story deck to keep from eating it. No one is forced to try my fruitcake, but everyone should be aware that it’s quite well-marinated in sherry and brandy. It might be worth a try.

While the fruitcakes were baking, I got a call from my newest soul sister, Julia, that I met on retreat in October with long-time soul sister Gayle. She has decided that, rather than accept our Christmas holiday invitation to visit, she’ll come in the spring when the mountains are in bloom. Her call and the anticipation of her visit are both special Christmas gifts to me.

Even though Richard is still recuperating from the flu, he managed to wrap a couple of gifts and put together our new Christmas tree. There are no ornaments on it, yet. But at least it came with pre-installed lights. It now stands proudly aglow in our front window.

I did finish sewing Sarah’s gift; it awaits Josie’s artistry to complete it, and then Richard can do his exquisite wrap job. I lined up cute, energetic Cassie to help me clean on the day after Christmas. It may not yet be Christmas, but at our house in the holler: All is calm, all is bright (though still messy).

Wednesday, December 23, 2009

What a Lovely Way to Spend a Day!

I’m working on a Christmas sewing project for Sarah, and Josie agreed to assist me with it. I walked into their home greeted by the heavenly scent of fresh cinnamon rolls, which Josie was in the process of baking. Can a home get more welcoming than that?

I presented Adam with a perfect pear for him to tend until it ripens. Even though I included an instruction manual for care of his pear, he suggested that Richard should make house calls to assist with what Josie refers to as “proper pear preparation.” Richard has his own pears to hatch, a skill that he should have, since he grew up on a chicken breeding farm. Unlike eggs, thank goodness, we don’t have to turn the pears; just watch and wait.

Josie and Adam have an absolutely glorious studio that serves as her craft center and his office. With windows on three sides, light pours into the space which is completely covered in pine: pine floors, pine walls, pine cupboards. The whole room glows with warm shades of gold.

Adam made café au lait with real Café du Monde coffee and chickory. As we sipped our coffee, Josie was back and forth from her cutting table to her computer to her cozy kitchen; at the same time, working on my sewing project. Within an hour, she had figured out the solution to my problem, baked several pans of cinnamon rolls, three loaves of challah, and a loaf of cinnamon bread. Talk about multi-tasking! Adam couldn’t take it any more, so he left to retrieve lunch.

When fellow crafter, Jenny, arrived Josie pulled out boxes of fabric swatches for Jenny to peruse. I had met Jenny on several occasions, and had purchased one of her lovely carved signs for Gayle’s garden. As we chatted, Jenny shared with me that her deceased psychologist husband had written a book on personal spirituality, one of my favorite topics. She’s looking for an agent to help sell her copies of the book. I’m looking forward reading his work, with the hope that I’ll be interested in representing it.

As we moved on to other topics, Josie pulled out several purses she’s making, along with the buttons that she’s made to adorn them. While we chatted, Josie sanded and polished her buttons. Adam was due back with lunch, so I took my leave. I still haven’t put up the first Christmas decoration, and we’re supposed to have rain for the rest of the week.

Before I left, Josie gifted me with a pan of cinnamon rolls. She and Jenny were going to work until two, when Josie goes down for her nap. When she rises, she’s onto even more creative projects. She’s an exceptional nature photographer, in addition to her culinary, seamstress, clay work, and quilting talents. Now wonder she needs a daily nap!

I got the porch lights and garland up. There’s hope for a tree before Christmas, if I can just finish Sarah’s gift…

Tuesday, December 22, 2009

Perfect Pears

Forget about partridges in pear trees.

On this day of Christmas
Our good friends sent to me
(also addressed, for some unknown reason, to Mr. and Mrs. Warren)
Perfect pears
In Harry and David
Padded packing boxes.

Richard and I were napping when we heard the postman’s horn. As I rose from the bed, it occurred to me that the postman may have been here to deliver the pears promised by the Sterlings. If this was the case, I knew I had to hurry to the porch to retrieve them before Gypsy adopted the box.

Gypsy has a habit of retrieving anything thrown on our driveway or left on our porch bench. We’ve found important Fed-Exed documents in several of her special hiding places. The advertising newspaper she treats as her weekly dog toy gift, she carries to her lair for her reading pleasure. We would have been sorely distressed if she carried off our pears, especially since human food gives her the runs. What a waste of a precious natural resource that would have been, especially since we can’t use dog poop as garden gold.

We were told before we adopted our Great Pyrenees from the shelter that she wandered and stole things; we, therefore, named her Gypsy. What we didn’t know is the wide variety of things she’d bring to her various lairs. We’ve had to collect from her dead and dying squirrels, birds and moles; huge dead limbs off our various trees; garden and other work gloves – she has a special fondness for leather – anything made of plastic, particularly old milk jugs; and snow boots and shoes left on the porch to dry. We just couldn’t give her a chance at our perfect pears!

I ran to the window, and threw up the sash. (Actually it was the door, and I opened it.)
There on the bench, what should appear?
But two Harry and David boxes,
And,thank God, there were no deer
(munching on our pears).

I tenderly lifted the boxes, and with great reverence, carried them to the kitchen and placed them on the table. I went to take my shower, the whole time drooling as I envisioned my first bite of the first perfect pear of the season. Should I enjoy it alone or with cottage cheese, or maybe a bit of both? How many pears would I share with Richard, and did the Christmas spirit dictate that I share them with anyone else? I could, virtually, taste those pears as I pulled on my t-shirt and headed to the kitchen.

As I entered the kitchen, there stood Richard with a box cutter in his hand, looking so forlorn. He began sadly shaking his head. “They’re not ripe.” He exclaimed. “They came packed with instructions for ripening them.” I carefully removed each pear and tested each as prescribed by the instructions. Not a ripe one in the bunch.

Richard says that pears have only a fifteen minute window between being so hard you can’t eat them and the time they turn to compost. We intend to keep watch over them until each one is ready, so as not to miss a morsel. We’re debating who will take first watch after midnight.

Monday, December 21, 2009

God’s Sugar Shaker

Driving home was quite a delight.
God had a sugar shaker out last night.
The trees were all dusted with wisps of white.
The mountain tops glistening were a beautiful sight;
Their snow-covered peaks all clean and bright.

As I rounded each curve, my heart fairly took flight;
I’ll make it home before the fading of light.

My soul mate will greet me,and we just might
Share a toast, and a light supper bite.
The fire in our hearth that we’ll ignite,
As the glistening becomes soft moonlight,
Will complete our feeling that all is right.

Knowing that there’s nothing to warrant fright,
We’ll wish each other a peaceful goodnight.

Sunday, December 20, 2009

Simply Sensational

Rachel’s a primary school teacher, and she’s always researching her environment and how it works. She loves learning from her girls who are both in gifted classes. In addition to the math discussions with Rebecca, I was party to a science and technology debate between Rachel and sixth-grade Sarah – this with my morning coffee.

Larry’s viewing of an educational program about water usage in Nevada sparked Rachel’s questions about whether hydrogen-powered automobiles will be ultimately good or bad for our water ecology. She suggested to Sarah that this would be a good question for Sarah’s science teacher. As usual, Sarah began to search her existing data base in her brain for the answer, providing a running commentary on what she found there. I learned all kinds of things about water and run-off and separation of hydrogen and oxygen, but I’m still curious about the answers that real scientists have come up with, thus far. I can’t wait to pose Rachel’s question to Richard, my own Mr. Wizard.

I was amazed at how relaxed their family seemed in light of the hoards descending on them in just a few hours. At a certain point, Rachel declared it time to work, and we all sprang into action, with Rachel as officer and the rest of us enlisted. It was such a pleasure to see Rachel’s family working as a well-oiled machine getting ready for their Christmas party. They’ve done this party for eight years now; everyone seems to know their party role.

There’s file gumbo, jambalaya, and meatballs in the steam table. At least eight varieties of homemade cookies, and smoked salmon with all the fixins’ are displayed with Rachel’s to-die-for crab dip, sundried tomato/basil/cream cheese and cranberry/pecan/ cream cheese spreads with a half dozen types of crackers. The scent of homemade spiced cider was wafting through the house.

Even last minute touches like lighting the candles on the front steps, and getting the fires lit in the indoor and outdoor fireplaces were done on cue. Larry began the slide show of this year’s family photos on their TV. When the guests start arriving, the family members were all in their places: the girls in their respective rooms, ready to entertain their age group children; Rachel in the kitchen ready to dip cider; Larry on the deck, ready to dispense cold beverages. It’s showtime!

Saturday, December 19, 2009

Cooking and Cuddling

I drove through cold rain all the way to Atlanta, but it was well worth the trip. Fifteen-year-old Rebecca had aced her classes and was able to opt out of several final exams, so she had me pick her up from school before lunch. We picked up country cooking and took it to Rachel’s school. I got to observe Rachel with her class while enjoying Rachel’s daughter’s company.

As we ate, Rachel and Rebecca discussed complicated math constructs with great gusto. I loved listening to my girls chatting about math when so many women I know can only manage discussions about outfits and home décor – not that I was really familiar with what they discussed, mind you. I just like listening to brainiacs.
Rebecca is generally so busy with her fast track to success, that I hardly ever see her. She’s taking International Baccalaureate Classes, which require endless hours of study; is active in her church; plays soccer; and runs cross-country. There’s not much time left for cuddling or cooking with Granny.

Even though Rachel is a wonderful cook, Rebecca has little interest in kitchen capers. I worry endlessly that, when she goes to college, she won’t know how to cook anything nutritious to feed herself, other than Easy Mac and chicken parmesan. Last time we were at her home with a little leisure time, I took it upon myself to teach her to make lasagna. We got a good laugh out of distracting each other so much that I layered it wrong. She said, “Great Granny; you finally get to teach me to cook something, and you teach me the wrong way. Good job!” To which I replied, “I guess we’ll just have to plan another lasagna lesson.” Always trying to work those angles…

It was a special treat to be able to have Rebecca all to myself for a full afternoon. We decorated and baked Christmas cookies, giggling like little girls over our anorexic angels and corpulent candy canes. She wanted to get her gift buying for her sister, Sarah, and her mama out of the way while they were otherwise occupied. We ran and road through the rain to get to Target, where Rebecca succeeded in completing her shopping and tried on a sweater that was perfect for her. It was fun to watch her weigh the pros and cons of the sweater purchase, which she ultimately decided against.

After a stop at Publix for mini chocolate chips, we returned to Rachel’s house where Rachel was waiting to put the kibosh on our cookie icing plans. We had to content ourselves with turning the peanut butter cookie dough into chocolate chips held together with a bit of peanut butter cookie dough. Our first batch looked like soccer balls, but they got better after Rachel got involved.

Meanwhile, Sarah helped put the finishing touches on holiday décor after she and I played a little Wii; and Rachel and I worked on completing her chicken and sausage gumbo.

What a lovely day it turned out to be, even with the wet winter weather.

Friday, December 18, 2009

Life’s Strife

We’re jammed up and jelly tight.
I will be able to sleep tonight.
We’ve got lots of jams for you:
Blackberry, blueberry, black and blue.

Richard cleaned my mess for me;
We hope you can plainly see --
Richard and I are a team,
Even though we’re not everyone’s dream.

We are just happy to be alive --
Waiting for guests to arrive.
We hope our outlook on life
Will help soothe some of your daily strife.

Thursday, December 17, 2009

Countdown to Christmas

Who needs Craigslist when we have a blog? Within hours of my blog post, a faithful follower requested the rocker. Because the request came from just down the road, Richard lost no time in loading up the chair for delivery. Bob’s chair is now where Roger’s chair used to be, neither as comfortable nor cute, but the kids can’t pick it apart like they’ve been doing the wicker.

Blueberry jam made it into jars, and the blackberries are ready for crushing, having spit juice all over the stove through the release valve on our pressure cooker. Macaroons are made. After one more batch of roasted pecans, I’ll close the kitchen – until next week.

The sleigh is now loaded with catering equipment that Rachel wants to borrow for her Christmas open house. As soon as I get the gifts ready to take, I’m heading south to help Rachel get ready. Richard will have a break from me, but Mamie is borrowing him to help spruce up her guest apartment. He’s glad to do this because we just never know when we may need the overflow housing.

Our Christmas tree has made it in the door, but it still sits in its box on the floor. It’ll just have to wait until we get back from Atlanta. I have yet to buy gifts for Scott’s kids, but maybe I’ll do this with Rachel and her girls before heading back to our holler. And, if not, there’s still the day after Christmas before Brother Bill arrives.

On Dasher, on Dancer, on Prancer, on Vixen…

Wednesday, December 16, 2009

Christmas Chaos

I just couldn’t take it! Our house is such a mess that I want to move out. Adam suggested that we go over to their house and, when they arrive, just hand our house key over to our guests. Let them figure it out. This is very tempting, but we’d surely lose our friendship with Josie and Adam. Messes seem to follow us around. We never met a job that we couldn’t complicate.

What kind of fool does one have to be to continue making jams in a kitchen with a table jacked up on cinder blocks to serve as a gift wrapping station? And why would one go to Wal-Mart at this "most wonderful time of the year?” My excuse for accompanying Richard to shop was that “we” needed to choose a tree, “we” in this case meaning me. I really went to escape the mess – get a little perspective on the world outside our whirlwind. There really are still parts of the world where people can find a place to sit without first removing ten boxes and a bag of bows.

Here we are, back to wading through big boxes and precious papers, Jelly Bellies and jam jars with no place to put our Christmas gifts, let alone our Christmas tree -- which we did finally buy. Let’s just say, if we were movie directors, we’d turn every made-for-TV movie into The Ten Commandments. But, we’d also have a few elves helping in the production – if we were movie directors.

To add to all this confusion, I had some new furniture delivered – new being a relative term, meaning new to us. When Camille was in town, we went to the Tellico Emporium, just to browse. I came upon two perfect pieces, and just had to have them. The artist/proprietress, Carol Baldwin, re-imagines old pieces of furniture by painting whimsical designs on them. I had been searching for “just the right piece” for our guest room/writer’s nook. Carol had painted a pastoral scene on the front of a drop leaf desk that is in perfect proportion to our tiny room. We now have a pristine place to put a pen to paper or to connect a computer while one writes the next "great American novel."

Also on display at the Emporium Annex was an oak rocker on consignment that had been owned by Bob Hardin, Coker Creek’s famous knife maker and leather worker -- who used to make buckskins for Fess Parker. The rocker, too, was a “must have.” Camille was supposed to take our old wicker rocker, but thought better of it before she headed home. Do we really need three rocking chairs in a thirteen hundred square foot house, even if we could fit them inside?

Richard keeps bringing up a service that city slickers use to get rid of unwanted stuff, where they advertise free merchandise and put it on the curb. “Presto!” -- people come to take it away. You think he’s trying to give me a hint that something has to go? I just hope it’s not his wife…

Tuesday, December 15, 2009

Making More Goodies

Got all jammed up
When I ran out of jams.
What do we have
To send to our fans --
For this Christmas?

We have plenty
Of our fine bourbon balls.
This may cause some
Of our friends to fall --
Off the wagon.

The macaroons --
I can make plenty more,
When my Richard
Returns from the store --
With groceries.

Blackberries and
The blueberries I froze,
I will defrost,
Because Heaven knows
We need more jams.

After Richard
Has the packages wrapped,
Into the sleigh
The gifts are all stacked
For the mailing.

We finally
May put up the lights.
Did the gutters
Hard freeze overnight?
We can hope not.

Our holiday
Home is such a wreck
To look at it
You’d never suspect
We’ll get finished

In time for our
Nieces, my brothers,
And our nephews,
Grandkids and others.
But we’re on it…

Monday, December 14, 2009

A Palace of Pine

Let me live in a house by the side of the road,
Where the race of men go by —
The men who are good and the men who are bad,
As good and as bad as I.

I would not sit in the scorner’s seat,
Or hurl the cynic’s ban —
Let me live in a house by the side of the road
And be a friend to man.
--Poem: The House by the Side of the Road by Sam Walter Foss

This seems to be the way of life for many up here, people with generous spirits and open hearts and homes. Mamie sells eggs to draw people to her house. Jack will stop anything he’s doing to set on the porch with all who call on him. Deborah and Charlie entertain hundreds of guests every month, and still have time to offer a rocker on their porch to any who may stop by. Josie and Adam draw friends like honey draws flies.

Neither Josie nor Adam will ever get old because they both have endless curiosity about everything around them. Adam loves to collect stories of people’s adventures and share stories of his own actions in the military and his new life as a cop. Josie loves to share her artistic adventures with whoever wishes to partake. I recently accompanied Josie to a meeting where at least three of the attendees were wearing items of wearable art created by Josie Mott.

Josie and her jeep can be spotted all over the back roads of our neck of the woods. She has a keen eye for photography, creates fabulous textile art, and still makes time to keep a clean cabin and make delicious winter soups.

Adam is always involved in something in the community, such as playing McGruff for the Coker Creek School’s drug awareness and safety program, or riding with police officers assigned to Christmas duty -- just to act as morale officer to them. How lucky we are to have been chosen as their friends.

We were invited to join them for the Christmas Cantata at their church, with a light supper at their home to precede the trip. Josie outdid herself with the vegetable beef soup. I’d be hard pressed to name a vegetable that she didn’t have in that pot. She also served homemade cornbread and melt-in-your-mouth biscuits, accompanied by chunky apple-pear sauce she had whipped up. All of this was served in the surroundings of their pine palace on the side of the road.

Richard and I passed on the Christmas Cantata because we don’t know how to behave in holy places. He gets me giggling, and then all eyes are on me. I’m already in danger of being burned at the stake, so I don’t want to take any chances.

Sunday, December 13, 2009

Bluegrass Bacchanal

The Bluegrass band was really swinging ,
In the Coker Creek Saloon.
Mr. Bluegrass, he was a-singing,
In the Coker Creek Saloon.

Lots of gifts and lots of food,
In the Coker Creek Saloon.
Everything was looking good,
In the Coker Creek Saloon.

Yankee gift swap then ensued,
In the Coker Creek Saloon.
With lustful eyes we were imbued,
In the Coker Creek Saloon.

A lot of fur began to fly,
In the Coker Creek Saloon.
For better presents we did try,
In the Coker Creek Saloon.

Cassie was our precious elf,
In the Coker Creek Saloon.
Without thought for herself,
In the Coker Creek Saloon.

She ran gifts from table to table,
In the Coker Creek Saloon.
She proved that she was very able,
In the Coker Creek Saloon.

For everyone there was a gift,
In the Coker Creek Saloon.
Hope the swaps didn’t cause a rift,
In the Coker Creek Saloon.

It was time for us to chew the fat,
In the Coker Creek Saloon.
There were even little chocolate rats,
In the Coker Creek Saloon.

Charlie and Deborah outdid themselves,
In the Coker Creek Saloon.
They could use a few more elves,
In the Coker Creek Saloon.

Saturday, December 12, 2009

Holiday Helpers

I am so ready to for our Christmas decorations to be up. Not only do we not have a tree yet, we haven’t even decided whether we’ll have a real or artificial version of fir – or spruce, or pine. We’ve always had a real tree, with Frazier Fir being my favorite. I actually love the staying power of the tree, but I'd probably buy it anyway just for its alliterative name.

When we lived in New Orleans, we had a two-story cathedral ceiling in our great room, so we bought a fourteen-foot fir for our first Christmas as a couple. Richard engineered a special stand out of half-inch marine plywood complete with coated cables and turnbuckles for tightening as we positioned the green giant. When we chose the tree, I hadn’t calculated that the width of the bottom boughs would expand with the height.

This tree was massive. The angel overlooked the second-story balcony, and the branches filled a seven-foot diameter in a room that was twenty feet wide. We had to move most furniture out of our great room, and still we had barely any room for visiting with our revolving door of holiday guests. After taking a week to decorate this behemoth, I decided to have help with our next tree.

The second year, we had a tree decorating open house that spanned a two-day week-end. Everyone who came through our beautiful double doors, with Christmas wreaths and brass horns on both, was required to place at least one ornament on the tree and have at least one beverage before leaving our holiday home. There were Christmas ornaments laid out on all tables and countertops, along with a full buffet feast. Richard had even made a special countertop insert for our kitchen bay window to increase our buffet space.

Children of all ages were lined up on the stairs and every available bit of space. There were hundreds of Christmas carols stacked in our new five-disk CD changer which we’d bought especially for this occasion. Parents were helping their children choose and secure the ornaments to the tree, and everyone was glowing with good cheer --and possibly a bit of booze -- when…

Richard’s partner, Thor, leaned into the tree holding his small son aloft. Somehow, the child zigged when Thor zagged and Michael fell into the center of the tree. In most households this would have been a disaster, but Richard’s fifty-pound tree stand saved the day. Thor retrieved Michael, and the people partied on. This tree stand could hold any tree we threw at it. It could survive anything, including hurricane force winds, if need be. But it didn’t survive Hurricane Katrina's storm surge, and neither did our waterfront home which also had a cathdral ceiling, but only one-story tall.

We, once again, have a cathedral ceiling, but this living room is not much wider than our first tree, so our tree won't have much majesty no matter the type. Our outdoor lights are laying on the floor waiting for our gutters to thaw so that we can clean them while securing the lights. Our village scene is still in storage.

When I was a child, my mother wouldn’t allow us to decorate, or even purchase a tree, until Christmas Eve. She said that this was when the trees burst into bloom with joy over the birth of Jesus, so we followed suit. Of course, the pickin’s were slim on tree choices by this time – but the trees were probably also very cheap. My mother was great at reframing our poverty in religious terms.

Maybe we should get a two-dollar tree on Christmas Eve and have everyone in the holler help decorate our house.

Friday, December 11, 2009

Maintenance and Merriment

Richard is fond of reminding people who complain about getting old that getting old beats the alternative. This is only true if we make it so. It’s easy for me because I was never proper in the first place, but for the good girls it’s gotta be tough.

So-very-serious Richard has a policy of adding something fun to all of aversive activities. When he used to be on call for days at a time with little sleep, and no time for fun, he’d do simple, quick things to treat himself – like buy a lottery ticket convincing himself that this would be his last week-end to work. Or, he’d buy himself some Honey Buns for a treat. Both these activities were done while accomplishing something necessary, like stopping for fuel. Now, Richard’s doctor has told him he has to kick the Honey Bun habit to get his triglycerides in check. Since sweets are his cure for stress, he may have to divorce me to succeed in this endeavor – but I hope not.

I prodded Richard into setting up his post-transplant care in Atlanta because I wanted to be able to visit with Rachel’s family whenever we went through Marietta on our way to and from Emory and the VA. Knoxville is a bit closer, but we don’t have people there; and my sense of fun is all about our people. Rachel’s family is now much too busy for much family time, other than the four in their nuclear family, but we still have Holly and Don – and sometimes Roger. So, we overnight at Holly’s and, with the money we don’t spend on lodging, have dinner on the town.

It’s exciting to me to see that Atlanta has become a food town. When I lived there for ten years in the eighties, it was all white bread WASP food. Steak was about the most exotic thing you could get at a restaurant. Now there are ethnic restaurants on every street.

Because Holly’s a chef, we usually ask her to pick our pleasure. On this trip, we were celebrating her birthday, so we really wanted it to be special. Holly loves short ribs, and had heard that there were good ones in a trendy restaurant in a relatively new dining area. I called and booked a table, being very careful to explain that Holly is the governor’s chef and that this was her birthday celebration. Holly even asked for the restaurant chef upon our arrival.

The short ribs were outstanding, and Holly’s mussels were very good; but we won’t be back. Absolutely no mention was made of her birthday or her status. The chef didn’t acknowledge Holly in any way, and the service was rushed so much that Holly didn’t finish her appetizer before her entrée arrived. Even though I had been assured that this would be a quiet night at the restaurant, the noise level was quite high. Since Richard’s voice doesn’t carry past his nose, this precluded conversation.

Richard, Holly, Don, and I are all excellent cooks. We can create magic in the kitchen for very little money. We pay a premium for ambiance and service. I think, for our next visit, we’ll hire Holly’s housekeeper to clean up after us, and cook in Holly’s home kitchen. At least we’ll get to really relax; and we’ll be able to converse in the quiet of her home.

Thursday, December 10, 2009

Richard's Heart and Holly

Yesterday we packed and drove --
Atlanta and the clinic at Emory
This time,
For Richard's heart to be checked
And to create Holly birthday memories.

Wednesday, December 9, 2009

Brother Bill

My brother Bill is coming to stay
During our open house Holler Holiday,
Along with his daughter and her baby boy.
Anticipation has me quaking with joy.

Bill’s an explorer of the first magnitude
He used to walk miles for a bit of my food
He had planned to stay in Tellico Plains
But I convinced him, Coker Creek is more sane.

He and his babies can walk back and forth
For food, and bonfires, and fun, of course
I was afraid if they stayed off the mountain top
Iced over roads would, to our fun, put a stop.

Our nephews and nieces, babies, and brothers,
Children and spouses, grandkids and their mothers,
How much delight can two weeks bring?
Makes my old body want to stand up and sing.

Tuesday, December 8, 2009

Cute Little Camille

We just had to get greedy and stay up too late talking. Camille could barely be beautiful, much less lilting, after so little sleep. None-the-less, I dragged her to Coker Creek Gallery, Seven Sister’s Honey Acres, and Mamie’s house. I had intended to take her up the Cherohala Skyway, but my mountain mama Mamie suggested that it was time to put my baby sis down for a nap before her long drive home. Much as I hated to miss a minute of Camille’s company, I deferred to Mamie’s mothering sense. I never had any mothering sense, so I thought it was a good idea to take advice from a master mom.

Before we left Mamie’s we packed up some of her fresh eggs for Camille to take home. We also checked out Mamie’s guest quarters for my brother Bill’s holiday visit with his daughter and toddler grandson. Lastly, Mamie presented me with a beautifully done log cabin quilt. She said that she noticed that Richard and I had big beds at our house, so she wanted us to have the quilt she’d bought from a friend.

I re-stoked the fire and answered my emails while Camille crashed. I was excited that, after less than an hour, she was refreshed enough to take a ride to Bald River Falls with me and join me for lunch on the Tellico River at Kat’s Deli.

Camille and I weren’t close as children, neither in years nor in interests. With her being six years my junior, I considered her a baby. And the fact that she was so attached to Mama just added fuel to this fire. She was a solemn, thoughtful child, not easily amused by the antics of her older siblings. In fact, she seemed downright suspicious of us. (The fact that our sister Denice and I used to bring Camiile to tears by convincing her that I was dead probably didn’t help the trust level of our relationship.) The more we clowned for her benefit, the less amused she appeared. I decided that she was not only a baby, she was a boring baby.

Now, here we were, as middle-aged mamas with grown-up kids, sledding down the hills of the holler and generally acting like fresh-faced fools. We’ve been accused forever of being much alike, but we could never see it. Now that her aging has compelled her to go blonde, as I have always been (mostly with the help of Miss Clairol), we are beginning to celebrate the similarities. Her sense of adventure greatly exceeds mine, as does her education and common sense. We are both wild about the arts, as so many of our siblings were artists. And, most importantly, we both love a good laugh.

Camille’s husband, David, is a talented painter, cook, and musician. I’m attempting to get Camille involved in my publishing and art promotions business. I don’t want her to quit her day job, but it would be wonderful to have a business excuse to have the pleasure of Camille’s company on a regular basis -- if we can survive the excitement.

Monday, December 7, 2009

Happiness Hangover

It was great that Camille came to play
But I had to sleep half the day
To recuperate from all our fun
There are many jobs still to be done.

Mail to sort and bills to pay
String the lights for the holiday
Gifts to wrap and cookies to bake
Ice to scrape and leaves to rake.

Garland, glitter, village scene
Bows to tie and floors to clean
Time for a break in front of the fire
Making this list has made me tired.

Sunday, December 6, 2009

A World of Whimsy

We woke to the sight of snow. I put on a pot of coffee, and built a blazing fire, hoping to surprise Camille with the feel of Christmas morning. But just like a little girl, she had jumped out of bed and looked out the window to check for snow as soon as she opened her big brown eyes. What a glorious winter world was waiting!

Camille was itching to hit the slopes with her saucer sleds. As I made breakfast and finished baking twelve dozen coconut macaroons for the Tellico Plains Candlelight Walk Cookie Caper, Camille put on her snow boots, grabbed a cup of cocoa, and scouted our property for the perfect pitch of property for sledding. If she’d asked, I’d already had grandkids sledding here; and there’s nothing like grandkids for finding the magic in life.

When we bought our house in the holler, there was a piece of property between us and our nearest neighbor that was just a fallow pasture. It wasn’t for sale, but I set my mind on having it simply because our creeks ran through it and I didn’t want to take the chance that someone would build so close to us on “our” creek. I hunted down the absentee owner and paid a premium for the land, but we kept the acreage intact. Now I know what we needed it for; this land is our sledding slope.

Camille and I found that it has perfect pitch for getting a good glide going. And it ends in a flat piece of pasture perfect for slowing your sled before crashing into the creek. We played and posed for photos until our old bones froze, then we got ready for a sightseeing and shopping adventure.

I showed Camille the rock Christmas village scene painted by a local artist named Hanson, which we agreed is one of the most original uses for rocks we’d ever seen. When I told her where I got it, we decided to make our first stop was the wonderful Coker Creek Welcome Center and Heritage gift shop. Here Camille fell in love with flapper-style knit hats, and bought one for herself and several for her version of Santa’s sleigh.

Camille is a fool for “cute,” so she absolutely adored the little town of Tellico Plains, Tennessee. We dropped off our cookies and spent several hours strolling through the shops, checking out artwork, antiques, books, and bakeries. I, who hate to shop, found furniture that will be perfect for our little house in the holler. I’ll substitute an oak rocker for the more delicate wicker rocker that is more in keeping with Camille’s tastes. Since Richard’s mantra is “Waste not, want not,” he’ll be thrilled that Camille requested the old ragged rocker. Camille and I will now have the sisterhood of the traveling chair.

Jack and Richard squired Camille around the square as I sat at the book signing table with Jack’s book. Everybody who saw Camille in her fabulous flapper hat asked about its origin. The Coker Creek Welcome Center should pay Camille for being such a darling model. She even had one local man follow her around flirting.

We ended the evening with a chat in front of our home fire, plotting future adventures.

Saturday, December 5, 2009

Toys For Boys

Went to Sam's Club to reload the sleigh
With presents for the Christmas holiday
Lots of toys for lots of boys
Hoping to increase the joys
Of our first Holidays in the Holler.

Then trying to hurry to beat the snow
As back to the holler I had to go
Behind a big slow trailer truck
I found that it was just my luck
We went only twenty miles per hour.

Arriving home in dimming light
I came upon such welcoming sights
A roaring fire was on the grate
As Richard and my sister did wait
For a cozy visit and hot supper.

Friday, December 4, 2009

Oodles of Onions

What’s to say
About a day
Spent on
Oodles of onions
And a pot of beef stew?

Thursday, December 3, 2009

Pickin’ Chicken

Rachel put such a vat of frozen thigh quarters into my roaster overnight, that they still weren’t completely cooked when we got up in the morning. I cranked up the heat to git ‘er done, reminding myself that I wanted to turn it off to cool before taking Sarah to school. Well, they still weren’t falling-off-the-bone tender when it was time to head out, so I figured on setting them to simmer while I was gone.

Meanwhile, I had called Holly at the governor’s mansion kitchen to see if I could drop by for a short visit, and I had contacted the flooded Atlanta family to arrange a drop of clothing that Terry Sue’s family had donated at Briton’s wedding. I dropped Sarah off, and headed over to Wal-Mart to purchase a microwave oven to add to Terry Sue’s donation.

On the way over, I began having one of those panicky moments when you’re on the way out of town and can’t remember if you unplugged the iron. Of course people, with new irons no longer have that worry, but we used to worry about coming home to a pile of cinders instead of our cinder block homes. Did I remember to set the roaster to simmer? Back to Rachel’s in the pouring rain to check on the chicken...

By the time I got to the mansion, Holly was adding the finishing touches to the gingerbread house that will adorn the dining room during the Christmas mansion tours. How absolutely precious! Last year, Holly created a replica of the mansion in gingerbread , which was stunning. This year, she really outdid herself with a Hansel and Gretel motif. This house is decorated inside and out, complete with the witch, the oven, Gretel, and Hansel -- in a cage of pretzel sticks. Her finishing touch is a little licorice dog in a puddle of yellow snow out side the house. Too cute!

Thankfully, there was no further flooding in the area of my flooded family, so I was able to deliver the donations. The chicken was done when I returned from my appointed wet rounds. I spent the afternoon in Rachel’s dry, cozy kitchen alternating writing and pickin’ the chicken.

Wednesday, December 2, 2009

Not Newsworthy

The newspaper that covered Mamie’s party agreed to publish a story I had written about Mamie for my blog and give me a byline. This was exciting to me -- until I received a copy of the paper. I had promised to send the story on to the Buzz as soon as I got home from Mamie’s party, but I went to lie down before Bluegrass, completely forgetting my promise. As my mind wandered in that twilight state just before sleep, it came into sharp focus on the fact that all newspapers work on deadlines, and time was wasting on the Mamie story.

I jumped from the bed, booted up my computer, opened my email program, searched my blog entries for the title, attached the file, and hit “send.” Feeling greatly relieved that I had accomplished that task, I went back to bed. I had written the story in early October, and had failed to re-edit the story before emailing it. The day it was published, Betty emailed me a copy of the paper. There it was on the front page, next to the photo and story about Mamie’s birthday party provided by the journalists at the newspaper – my byline on Mamie’s biography.

According to my piece, Mamie’s deceased son Junior is still active in the Ruritans, and the Autumn Gold Festival which is held the second week-end of October hasn’t yet happened for this calendar year. I hope this oversight on my part doesn’t inflict pain on the family or grief on the Buzz. If I hadn’t asked for a byline nobody would know it was my mistake, but I had to get greedy. Another case of “The hurrier I go, the behinder I get.” So much for my fantasy career as a newspaper columnist.

I did stop by Mamie’s to apologize before I left for Atlanta. She hadn’t yet seen the Buzz that featured her, but she didn’t seem upset with my confession. In fact, we spent most of our time laughing together. She showed me a write-up that Charlie and had brought to her birthday party. He spoke of Mamie’s generosity when he first moved to the mountain. It seems that he was on his way to Florida to pick up his belongings, and needed to establish a post office box before leaving. He had no time to stop by with the rent, so Mamie fronted him the money out of her pocket until he could return -- this for a man she never met. Charlie said that, in part because of Mamie, he believes that Coker Creek may not be Heaven, but it has the same zip code.

Maybe the reason God has granted Mamie so many years on earth is that she’s really a medicine woman with her huge doses of trust, forgiveness and fun. And he wants her to pass on all of her healing goodness before He takes her home.

Tuesday, December 1, 2009

Richard’s Reprieve

Have you ever analyzed how much time you spend digging out of the day before? It took me a whole day to clean the kitchen, unpack our suitcases, wash last week’s laundry, and stow the catering equipment. And this was with Richard’s assistance.

I know I’m a spoiled brat, but Richard doesn’t believe it. When I woke up grumbling about how much chaos I had created getting ready for our various events of the past week, he said, “Don’t worry about it. I get to cleaning after breakfast.” “Don’t worry; I’ll take care of it,” is Richard’s response to most of my I Love Lucy ideas. Who knew that a man, especially one as careful and shy as Richard, could play so many parts in my Lucy/Ethel act?

I’ve decide to give him a reprieve from honey-dos while I’m at Rachel’s house, and a relatively orderly house to relax in. It will only be for less than four days, and I think he can use some “him” time without having to wash his own underwear. What a wife, huh?

When we lived in New Orleans, Rachel would called periodically to say that she thought I should come see her for a week in Atlanta because Richard needed a break from me. As Richard has admitted, I’m like hot sauce. And a little hot sauce goes a long way. It’s not like we don’t have to kick Christmas preparation into high gear immediately upon my return. We still have twenty-plus presents to assemble and wrap. And there’s lots of cooking to be done for the revolving door of friends and family we expect in the two weeks between Christmas and the end of the New Year’s Day week-end.

I’ll spend the remainder of the week baking artichoke brownies, rolling bourbon balls and pickin’ chicken – and laughing with Rachel and her two of my three grandgirls. Laughter sure puts the lustre on life, and it’s the only way to keep up the energy to live a life so full of passion.

Time to load up the sleigh with cookware that Rachel wants to borrow. Have food processor, will travel.

Monday, November 30, 2009

Mamie Murphy Day

The party was even better than I hoped it would be. Leal and I went to the Ruritan hall at eleven to finish setting up. Within thirty minutes, there was a caravan of caring family members bringing offerings of food, drinks, ice and service ware. I could have provided nothing but decorations and the party would have been a smashing success. Somewhere between one hundred five and one hundred fifty people came to celebrate Mamie’s ninetieth birthday. The mayor and the media showed, which one can never count on because it has to be a slow news day to show up all the way in Coker Creek for an old lady’s birthday bash.

How Mamie was surprised is beyond my imagining. All of Coker Creek had been informed, and it was even announced at the church services. Maybe Mamie being hard-of-hearing has its good points. When Mamie’s daughter Jean opened the door for her, Mamie stood there like a deer caught in headlights. Several of us were afraid we’d given her a heart attack. And then she smiled, her twinkly little blue-eyed Irish smile.

I had come to the hall armed with Mamie’s Women’s Study Bible, and a couple of verses marked about women that I felt would be appropriate for Mamie. I showed the verses to Wanda, and was surprised when she questioned the translation that I was using. After checking to make sure she was comfortable with the translation, and being assured that one of Mamie’s granddaughters had given Mamie the Bible, she read through my marked verses, obviously not quite satisfied with them. I suggested that the proverb about the good wife who rises before dawn might also be good, but Wanda pointed out that the verse felt too funereal.

Mamie seems to be comfortable with her preacher preaching from different denominational pulpits because, as she says, “It’s all the same Bible.” But, being raised Roman Catholic, I guess I’ve been exposed to more of the verses about women – as Roman Catholics seriously revere Mary as the mother of Jesus. Wanda and I finally agreed that Wanda could choose whatever verses she found fitting.

Wanda who is not only Mamie’s niece-in-law, but also Coker Creek’s songbird of the south led us in singing “Happy Birthday” as Mamie entered the room with Junior’s son Travis and his daughter Brook. She then read from Mamie’s Bible, introduced the mayor, and asked Mamie’s preacher to lead us in prayer. I wanted a female family member to lead the prayer, but since the preacher was there, Wanda wanted to offer him a place on the program. I sat and basked in the glow of Mamie’s mammoth family celebrating my adopted Mountain Mama.

Halfway through the afternoon, Richard reminded me that I have twenty-four event-free hours before I begin helping Rachel cook for her family’s annual Christmas open house. I offered to do the cooking at our house in the holler, but Rachel insisted on my coming to her kitchen in Atlanta. This is probably, in large part, because Rachel’s husband, Larry, will be on a business trip next week. She has cautioned me that I’m not to bring down any food from our fridge or freezer. I’m afraid that, without the proper ballast, the van may have trouble holding the road on the way down the mountain. We’ll see how that goes.

Sunday, November 29, 2009

“Day After” Doldrums

Deviled eggs -- I forgot about Michelle’s deviled eggs at the Big Fat Family Feast. I think I was in denial because I probably consumed a dozen of them.  And Rachel’s simply superb stuffed mushrooms --  I know I ate at least four. It usually takes three days for me to process the events (and the foods) of a week of visiting relatives, but I don’t have time to take to my bed right now.

I expected to attend Mamie’s birthday party, but I didn’t expect to cater it. Mamie’s older son Junior would surely have thrown a birthday bash for his mama’s ninetieth. Then he died. His wife, Greta, his kids, Travis and Brook, and his grandkids are still reeling from the loss of Junior, as is most of Coker Creek. If there’s one thing I know how to do it’s “wing it.”  So I elected myself to organize the “do” – from six hundred miles away – with people I hardly know.  What was I thinking?

I have to help Richard cook for Charlie and Deborah’s Bluegrass night, and I have to decorate the Ruritan hall for Mamie’s ninetieth birthday party. Where’s Elaine when I need to arrange flowers and greenery. Where’s Terry Sue when I need to make ribbons and garland? At least I have Richard in residence to help me cook and carry.

We have no idea who plans to attend or what they plan to bring. Everybody is just coming off of Thanksgiving travel, cooking and feasting. Who really needs another event, or more food -- especially with Christmas less than a month away? But Mamie is my mountain mama, so I want to celebrate that she’s still alive and kickin’. A party will be had – Coker Creek Cajun style.

Judy and Deborah have promised to bring beverages. Mamie’s niece-in-law Wanda has committed to sing. Mamie’s great-grand daughter Brook has sent out invitations and organized the extended family’s participation. Junior’s son Travis is arranging to get Mamie there.  Mamie’s friend Mary Jane has alerted the Ruritan members and arranged to have the mayor declare it “Mamie Murphy Day.”  Leal from Coker Creek Village has informed the area churches and helped me plan the menu.  Jack’s friend, Mark, from the Monroe County Buzz has promised to cover the event.  And what an event it will, hopefully, be.

Charlie and Deborah are having their Bluegrass gathering the night before Mamie’s “do”, so there’s dinner and dessert to prepare for that event. While I set up the tables and chairs for Mamie’s party at the Ruritan hall, Richard peeled and cooked butternut squash; seasoned, browned and sliced pork tenderloin; and made a batch of spiced cranberry sauce. During my short visit home between the Ruritan hall and Charlie and Deborah’s house, all I had to do was arrange the butternut squash base with a crown of pork slices, surrounded by jewels of cranberry and a center of ginger-cran-pear chutney to create a dish fit for a queen. This was a trial batch of the same meal I planned to honor Mamie, our Queen for a Day.

With some squares of carrot cake and our chafing dish, we made it to Bluegrass, but I didn’t even make it to dinner before I had Richard deliver me to my bed. I still have a full “Mamie Murphy Day” symphony to survive.







Saturday, November 28, 2009

One Big Fat Family Feast

Individual members of our family are generally not fat, but boy is the size of our family ever fat and getting fatter -- as are our family feasts. It all started with Scott and Buffy offering their home for Thanksgiving because Elaine and Bub are still recuperating from Briton and Jeanne's wedding less than two weeks ago. Elaine has been working non-stop since arriving back in the New Orleans area. Rachel's family drove dpwn from Atlanta and stayed the week with Elaine and Bub.


We drove down with foods from our produce-packed freezer and pantry. These included pickled beets and okra, ginger-cran-pear chutney, spiced pecans, butternut squash, potatoes for oyster dressing, corn, bell peppers, canned tomatoes, pumpkin, smothered okra, and what I thought was a bag of turnip greens, and a bag of cooked giblet mix for making giblet dressing. I also brought some of my loose pepper jelly to pour over cream cheese and serve with crackers.

I had little cooking to do, so I spent much of the week visiting with kids and grandkids, my niece Nikki and her daughter Corinne, and my Godchild Gary. Miya and I made bows for lots of loot on Santa's sleigh. That bag of greens -- turns out it was actually basil, so it didn't make it to the buffet table, but I did make Bub's favorite oyster dressing and some turkey gravythe day of...

Buffy's mother and dad drove in with their RV refrigerator packed. Their offerings included Ann's southern-style potato salad -- the kind I love with as much egg as potato, a huge pan of cornbread dressing, and everything but their kitchen sink for making Dewey's should-be-famous chicken gumbo and rice -- and another bag of poatoes for mashing. Buffy kept Richard busy painting her newly remodeled hallway and helping her clean and set up tables and chairs. Scott spent several days running back and forth to various stores for party supplies -- and staying out of Buffy's way..

Bub glazed and cooked a ham, while Rachel produced pumpkin bread, the best stuffed mushrooms I ever put in my mouth, the requested-by-Sarah saffron rice, and mac and cheese.

Scott's best friend and neighbor Sam smoked a turkey and a ham while Scott got geared up to fry a turkey and roast another for his sister who is a traditionalist. Bub decided that he wanted a full fried turkey to take home to his baby boy who was working. At this point, we were up to two hams and four twenty-plus pound birds; but Bub insisted that Scott get another that could be fried last minute -- just in case.

Sam's sister-in-law baked bread, but we also had store-bought becauseRebecca is partial to Parker House  rolls. Briton arrived with deer chimichamgas that he not only cooked -- he shot the deer. I've never had deer that I enjoyed before, but these were some of the best chimichangas that ever passed my lips.

Just when we didn't think we could fit another dish in the house, Sam's wife Michelle rolls in from three blocks away pushing her kitchen island laden with pies: pecan, pumkin, and chocolate -- and an extra-large casserole of candied yams.

Scott's cradle mate Kathleen stopped by, as did another of my nieces, Melanie, with her two-year-old and eight-month-old baby boys. Elaine road in with her daughter Gloria and Gloria's boyfriend. Michelle's brother and his family were visiting from Arkansas. Even Buffy's ninety-two-year-old great uncle made an appearance on the arm of his daughter, with his granddaughter carrying his great granddaughter.

Rachel summed up the family feast, spreading her arms to include the whole event, with, "I just love being back in this part of the country for a holiday." After we finished feasting, each guest left with enough food to feed their families for a week. We all agreed that it was obscene the amount of food we had, but we can't wait to do it again.

Wednesday, November 25, 2009

A Day of Delight

Here it is late November, and Elaine's flower beds are in  full bloom at her home on Lake Pontchartrain. I was lucky enough to be left at Elaine and Bub's when Rachel, Rebecca, Scott, Buffy, and Bub went grocery shopping for Thanksgiving fixings. This gave me a full afternoon in one of my favorite places on earth with three of my grandchildren, Nicholas, Sarah and Miya.

Nick and Sarah began by serenading me with saxaphone music, as they're currently both studying the same instrument. Sarah then played tunes on Elaine's piano and began tutoring Miya in music reading. This was before Sarah and Miya decided to go peddle boating, leaving me and Nick to enjoy the cool salt air breezes from the swing on the dock.

While I stayed to watch the girls, Nicholas went in and made himself a grilled cheese sandwich. While he was gone, Sarah and Miya managed to foul the propellor so badly I needed to affect a rescue. Watching me attempt to throw the rescue ring got lots of laughs from my granddaughters.
Upon Nick's return to the boat dock, he discovered that I was in the process of rescuing Sarah and Miya, and decided to offer his assistance. The next thing I knew, Nick was chasing Bub's white German Shepherd puppy around the yard, throwing shoes and yelling at the puppy for eating his sandwich off the plate that Nick had left on the table. I managed to get the girls, but had to abandon the boat until help arrived. I made Nick another grilled cheese sandwich. He ate, watched a bit of TV and fell asleep.

While Nick slept, his cousin Sarah decided to enlist her cousin Miya in a project of squeezing all of Bub's oranges into fresh-squeezed orange juice. Since we could find no juice squeezer, we improvised with an overturned ribbed cocktail glass in a glass bowl. The girls had great fun with this, but it must have tired Miya, as she curled up in my lap for me to rock her and sing to her. She promptly fell asleep in my arms, at which time Sarah continued her piano serenade. I felt like I'd died and gone to heaven.

Upon her return, Rebecca went with me to retreive the peddle boat. She detangled the line from the prop while I held the boat up. I enjoyed sharing with Rebecca wonderful memories of our years at Richard's and my house on the lake as we peddled together back to Bub's dock.

At the end of the day, I was able to begin the Thanksgiving Feast food preparations with Rachel and Buffy. My days don't get more delightful than this.

Tuesday, November 24, 2009

Scott's Spa

Food, glorious food. We got to Scott and Buffy's house, and the first thing Buffy did is show me the leftovers that they saved for me: smoked redfish dip, grilled redfish, sushi-grade tuna, and kickin' chicken salad. She had also cooked a huge pot of her Buffy's Best Butterbeans and put them in the freezer. Yum! What an orgy of fabulous flavors.

We went shopping for Thanksgiving table cloths and turkeys while Richard prepared Scott's hallway for painting. We purchased three twenty-plus pound birds. On the way back to Scott's, I checked in with my niece Melanie, who lives down the street from Scott with her husband and two baby boys. She asked me if I wanted her to bring her turkey to Thanksgiving dinner. Four turkeys, one ham, chicken gumbo, potaoto salad, and two pans of dressing are only the beginning of what we'll feast on come Thursday.

Rachel's family is heading down from Atlanta for the festivities. We're expecting over thirty people, so we're busy relaxing in Scott's hot tub to work up the energy for more food and house preparation.

Monday, November 23, 2009

Rockin' and Rollin'

Adam emailed me that he hopes Richard and I are rockin'. We're rockin' and rollin', but mostly rollin' -- from one friend and place to another. Of course, the van is rockin' more than we'd like on the extremely uneven streets of New Orleans and vicinity. Movin' on to Mississippi.

Sunday, November 22, 2009

Home Is Where the Happy Is

Some days happy is just bursting all around us, waiting to be scooped up and carried around. Some places exude that kind of happiness. Pat and Will’s house is a happy house. They live by the philosophy of “Peace to all who enter here.” Now, that doesn’t mean that we don’t have some spirited conversations, seeing as I lean toward the libertarian in my politics and they lean far far away from the left. I also adhere to no specific religious practices, where they are very devout Roman Catholics. We’re such good friends that we’re actually interested in each other’s views.

Every room in Pat’s home is ringed with large windows letting in views of God’s creation. In front there are flower beds lovingly tended by Will. On one side is a rose garden, on the other fences full of flowering vines like in the secret courtyards of the French Quarter. Both the living room and the dining room open onto a patio through French doors that can be thrown open to the natural environment of a contemplation garden on the banks of a lagoon where egrets frequently are sighted catching their dinner and the rays of the sun.

Inside is a sanctuary. As we entered after a day of travel, we were greeted by the beautiful melodies, played by Pat, emanating from the grand piano. When Pat is not at the keyboard, she and Will quite often have classical music wafting through the speaker system. There are inspirational reading materials all through the house, and both Pat and Will are happy to interrupt anything they are doing to sit and chat for a bit.

I’ve never known how Pat achieves this, but her house is always in order. For me, order is necessary to my sense of serenity. It never mattered whether I showed up unannounced or with several weeks notice, the feeling of open arms welcome was always the same. I have always loved coming to Pat’s house, and I secretly grieve every time Pat and Will talk about moving. Moving has been especially tempting to them since Hurricane Katrina, as they’ve had to see so many of their family and friends relocate.

I feel like I’ve been in the world’s best bed and breakfast sipping wine, looking at the natural beauty, and discussing our philosophical views. I could stay here forever, but we have many places to go, people to see and things to do before going to Mississippi. I do love life in New Orleans.

Saturday, November 21, 2009

Slugs in a Sleigh

No matter how you slice it, twelve hours enroute to anywhere is a long ride. We prefer the drive from our house to New Orleans to the drive from our house to the Gulf Coast of Mississippi. The topography of eastern Tennessee is much more interesting than the flatlands of Georgia and Alabama, and the hills surrounding Chattanooga are full of hardwoods, now in their last throes of fall.

We typically start this journey with a ride along the Ocoee, but this has been precluded by a rockslide from the hillside to the highway. This decreased the scenic factor and increased the time factor for an already long one-day trip of six hundred miles. Not surprisingly, Richard does have a protocol for our long drives, trading off driving every hundred miles. This keeps us from falling asleep, except for our butts and lower extremities.

Now, my brain is another problem; the slower my body moves the more hyper my brain becomes. After a while of running free, my brain sets up a pinball machine in my head, bouncing random ideas from one synapse to another. In my usual perpetual motion mode, I can guide the brain balls by bumping the body machine every so often. It’s hard to focus when the nearest goal is hundreds of miles and thousands of minutes away. I come up with some of my most exiting adventures this way. By the time we reached our destination, I needed a nap to recuperate from being a slug.

But a nap was not in the cards. Our first stop was to load Elaine’s freezer with food from Mamie’s garden to share at Thanksgiving. Then, it was across Lake Pontchartrain and the Mississippi River to Pat and Will’s house on the far side of New Orleans, where they were taking us to English Turn Golf and Country Club for Friday’s fish feast. I felt strange entering the club at night without a bunch of boxes.

For over ten years, we lived in a neighborhood near English Turn. Pat and I were very involved in volunteer work with an agency that worked to stabilize homeless families, and our major fundraiser was an annual evening auction and dinner held at English Turn. Our long-suffering husbands toted boxes, collected tickets, and listened to endless hours of grief and gossip while we proceeded to spend months of madness and much money to make our auctions a success.

Unbeknown to me, Richard had become enamored of a particular part of the club’s hardwood flooring, and immediately insisted on visiting the exact spot he had so loved. This was the first time we were all together at the club since Katrina. The agency that we had worked so hard for lost its mission in Hurricane Katrina; Richard and I lost our home; and all of New Orleans lost family and friends.

After dinner, we stayed up until midnight talking, but we stayed away from the topic of our losses of home and community. I guess it still hurts too bad.

Friday, November 20, 2009

Even Santa Gets Grumpy

Okay I’ll admit it; I lied. Richard actually wrapped thirty-two picture perfect packages to load onto Santa’s sleigh. And you may not know this, but even Santa gets grumpy – especially when every time he thinks he’s on the last gift I remember someone that I almost forgot. I could use a few elves right about now; they could begin by sweeping the floor.

We’re taking Mamie, Charlie, Deborah, Mountaintop Mary and Don to dinner at Coker Creek Village the night before we head south. Since our trip is a ten-hour ordeal, we plan to leave before dawn; so everything had to be stuffed into the van before dark. With careful balance and placement, we got all the gifts in with room to spare for Mamie to ride over to the village with us. Between the seats, I found room for some of our Irish potatoes and a couple of butternut squash. The ice chest still has to be loaded and put in the van, as do our toiletry bags. If I grease them up really well, they should slide right on in.

Adam emailed me that he thinks our trip with an overloaded sleigh will be a good test of the integrity of our new motor mounts – the ones we’ve already replaced twice. Richard is threatening to put heavy duty shocks on the van and add extra air to the tires.

Mamie’s ninetieth birthday is the Saturday before Thanksgiving, but we won’t be here to help her celebrate. When I asked her some weeks ago about her favorite cake for her birthday, she requested a pie instead of a cake. A year ago, I had given Mamie a slice of a pear and custard pie made from her son Junior’s pears. She declared it the best pie she ever ate. I happened to have one jar of pears left from last year’s harvest in Junior’s yard, so I recreated the pie to present to Mamie when we pick her up.

We’ll also take the last of our leftovers to Mamie. She says that she’s gotten to where she checks her outside egg refrigerator before cooking to see if we left her any supper. To go with her birthday pie, we hope she enjoys the pork with ginger-cran-pear chutney, whipped sweet potatoes and turnip greens as much as we enjoyed them when they were just made.

We’re hoping that all these mini celebrations of her birthday keep Mamie from guessing that we’re giving her a surprise party the Sunday after we return. As far as any of us knows, Mamie is the oldest person in Coker Creek, so we think she deserves a little recognition for simply surviving. We’re organizing the party because Junior, who would have done it, isn’t still physically with us. Mary Jane called to say that the mayor is attending the party to proclaim the day “Mamie Murphy Day.” I think Junior will be smiling about that.

And, I'm pretty sure he'd be laughing at the sight of his little mama stuffed in with all the gifts as Richard goes on about needing new shocks.

Thursday, November 19, 2009

Stuffing Santa’s Sleigh

Richard’s got the kitchen table jacked up like a redneck’s truck. He put it up on cinder blocks so we now look like true trailer trash. I know it’s to save his back from all that bending, but honestly, what will that man do next?

There’s a blizzard of Christmas paper all over the floor. What started out as forty pounds of candy in various bowls and boxes is now down to maybe twenty-five. Roughly half of what was one thousand sheets of tissue paper have been lovingly folded around individual gifts and candies, and carefully stuffed into crannies for cushioning. No box is complete without Jelly Bellies and at least one jar of jam, and everyone on our list expects some Cajun roasted pecans. Richard’s version of the stimulus package is gold-wrapped chocolate money for all.

Santa’s sleigh will soon be pulled up to the back door for loading, beginning with the twenty-five boxes that will go with us on our trip. None of them will get their complementary ribbons until we reach our destination, so our ten rolls of ribbon also have to fit in the van. We must take an ice chest for the frozen bounty from last summer’s garden that will be served at Scott and Buffy’s Thanksgiving in Mississippi. Somewhere, I’ll make room for our clothes.

In case Richard refused to take the trip down south with me, I had an offer to ride down to Mississippi with Rachel, Larry, Rebecca, Sarah, and Cinnamon in their Ford Escape. But their provision was that I couldn’t take an ice chest. When I got to discussing loading our freezer onto Richard’s trailer and towing it behind Larry’s van, Richard reconsidered. He’s coming along for the ride, sharing the driving of Santa’s sleigh with me.

When we arrive back in Tennessee, there’s a surprise birthday party to participate in before we begin decorating our house for the Holidays in the Holler. There will also be more macaroons to bake and barrels of bourbon balls to prepare for the remaining loved ones on our list. Approximately twelve more packages will be created, and prepared for mailing to those we won’t see during the Christmas season. This is in addition to the gifts that we’ll give to relatives and friends coming to see us before the end of the year. At some point, I’ll get around to cleaning our kitchen before heading to Atlanta to assist Rachel with cooking for her Christmas open house.

I’m not sure how to end the growth of our Christmas list. What started out as surprise boxes for immediate family members and their living-in-the-same-house children has grown to include the new households of married members of our ever-increasing family. We may set a personal record this year, topping the list at fifty boxes wrapped by Richard. And then there’s the “little somethings” that we’ll want to give our neighbors and new friends. But Richard won’t have to wrap these; I’ll just stuff them into stockings for personal presentation.

And to think, I once wanted to buy a Miata. What would we do without Santa’s sleigh?

Wednesday, November 18, 2009

Bitten by the Book Bug

My dancing days may be over, not that I ever really knew how to dance. Every bone in my body aches. I’d give anything to be able to read and write all day until my achey-breaky body is better, but Santa’s sleigh is pulling out in two days, and I have to help load it. While batches of macaroons bake, I take aching bones breaks. This is when I make phone calls arranging visits with Louisiana friends and check emails.

My first friend call was to Karen and Mickey. Mickey was one of Richard’s partners, and we’ve so enjoyed their family’s reaction to our Christmas boxes over the years that we’ve continued the tradition of “the box” for over a decade. Two of their children are now adults, but we hope they’ll never outgrow the wonder of Dr. Dick’s Christmas gift.

Karen had me screaming with laughter, as usual, over the trials of motherhood when your husband works seventy hours a week and you have four kids. The latest is that Karen is undergoing rehabilitation therapy post-surgery for a shoulder injury. She recently found out that her ten-year-old daughter’s school has been learning about drug abuse, and that they’re now all praying for Madeline’s mother Karen, who is in “rehab.”

We try to see Louie and Janie when we go to Louisiana. Louie, with Elaine’s help, literally saved Richard’s life when Richard had the “big one.” And Janie brought me deodorant and a hairbrush at the hospital. Could you have a deeper bond than that? Even though Louie is Jewish, we began giving him Christmas macaroons years ago. To say that Louie loves our macaroons is quite the understatement. When I called with the news that the macaroons are on their way to town, Janie jumped at our offer to take them to dinner in New Orleans.

All of this is good news, but the most excitement I felt was about my niece Nikki. We’ve been in an informal book “group” for years, trading books back and forth. Nikki devours books and teachers English to eighth graders. She knows I’ve started publishing a blog and that I published Jack’s book. She’s now planning to start a group writing project with her class. This should reap some publishable stuff. But, even more exciting, Nikki has started writing her own book. As soon as the holidays are over, I know how I’ll be spending my time.

Jack already has enough material for another book. My friend Susan has promised to pick up where she left off on the book she started when we both lived in Louisiana, if I continue the book I started back then. Kathleen is blogging, as is her mother Gayle; I hope these blogs will become books. Sherry has been blogging about her Down’s Syndrome son – a book in the making that I hope to help publish. And now, Nikki is providing me with her prose.

I may never have to look out of the window when the weather gets really dreary. I’ll be too busy staring at my computer screen.

Tuesday, November 17, 2009

Richard's Wrapping Routine

I had planned on having some of our Christmas boxes ready to go when we went to the wedding. But, I still hadn’t made the bourbon balls and Richard hadn’t purchased his Jelly Bellies or chocolate coins. On the way home from the wedding, we completed Richard’s candy collection. Now, I must get back into the Christmas kitchen and complete my cooking.

All the way to back to Tennessee, I had envisioned spending our first day home creating tasty treats as visions of family fun danced in my head. But, first, we had to unearth the packing supplies which we store in an outbuilding several hundred feet from the house. The storage bins are too many and too clumsy to carry, so I wanted Richard to transport them in the van. And this couldn’t be done until everything we took to the wedding was removed from the van.

Everything we took out of the van needed further disposition to make space for spreading out “Santa’s Wrapping Room.” Suitcases were unpacked -- which led to laundry to wash, fold, and hang. Mail needed sorting -- which created a desk full of filing to be finished. The filing was important because we need every flat surface in our house for spreading out our array of gifts purchased throughout the year. I know you might think that I could just put the files in what Terry Sue refers to as a “Houdini” box until Christmas is over. I did that one year, and only found out that I had inadvertently stowed our unpaid electric bill when Richard came home from work to a house without electricity.

We’ve spent a whole day back and have not one bourbon ball or gift box to show for it. This is what Richard refers to as the “infinite regression of steps.”

After the coconut macaroons come out of the oven and the bourbon balls are counted into cans; once the gifts are laid out for choosing; the tissue paper is stacked within reach; the candy and coins are sorted into categories; and the various tapes are laid out -- It’s showtime!

Those who have never received one of Richard’s surprise boxes may think all this preparation is a bit excessive, but it takes a lot of coordination to get somewhere between thirty and fifty boxes created, wrapped, and shipped in time for Christmas – especially the way Richard does it. Each family gets a carefully selected assortment of goodies and gifts. Each small gift is wrapped by Richard in colorful tissue paper, as is each candy and coin. All these small packages are then strategically placed in the proper size box -- and the detail work really begins.

Each box is sealed with packing tape into which Richard incorporates a “pull tab” for ease of access. He then chooses the right wrapping paper for each recipient’s tastes and for how the pattern will line up on the box. Using his right angle measuring tool, he measures the box and pattern before making the first cut on the paper. When he’s satisfied that the alignment is good to go, he begins taping – making military perfect creases in each corner and end. The boxes are then given to me to receive a color-coordinated bow and name tag. The box is actually one of the most delightful parts of the wrapped-by-Richard gift experience.

He calls himself the best “white wrapper “ that he knows.

Monday, November 16, 2009

Processing the Passion

Whew! I think I have a hangover – and I don’t mean of the alcohol withdrawal kind. All that emotion in such a short time is enough to make my head and heart explode. One of the best things about retirement is that it gives me the gift of time. Even though Richard didn’t retire until he had his near-death heart attack, I was able to retire as soon as Richard “adopted” me. I stayed busy with volunteer work with family and the community, but I was able to pull back and process whenever I felt the need.

For a while after Hurricane Katrina, I forgot about that need for processing time. After this past year of emotional roller coaster rides, I finally put my passions on hold for a two-week period last summer while I floated on a sea of pure pain. For me, even the pleasures of life can be so intense that they explode my over-full heart. Richard has a friend who used to tell me that she had to take breaks from conversations with me because she would become “over-stimulated.” Elaine has told me that I make people tired. Well, imagine if I make other people emotionally exhausted how I make myself feel.

Elaine and I relaxed together for a couple of days before everyone else descended on her. Richard and I were on call for the next couple of days, in case Elaine needed a back-up band of buddies for her pageant production. She really had everything under control, so we took a break the morning of the wedding to take a trip with Scott and Buffy. Nicholas was playing in the last game of his pee-wee league football season. We jumped at the chance to see him and his sister Miya, with the fairy princess hair. , That night, Rachel’s family joined us on the dance floor, where Sarah twirled in her sparkly party dress, and all the young marrieds did some version of mildly dirty dancing. Elaine, Rosita and I have known each other since we were fourteen. At receptions end, we three couples who call ourselves “los tres amigos y amigas ” toasted the end of the party in Elaine’s room -- as we began planning for Rosita and Eddie’s daughter’s wedding in less than a year.

I had planned to stay in family visit mode for two and a half weeks, which would include a visit to my Aunt Mabel on the bayou to wish her a happy eightieth birthday. Lucky for me, Richard insisted on us taking a mental health break between the big, fat Italian wedding and the big, fat family feast for Thanksgiving at Scott’s house in Mississippi.

All the way home, I let the shimmering bubbles of memories of the five-day trip float across my consciousness and pop into magical memories lodged in my brain. It was a nine-hour trip, but I know I’ll be floating for days. Thank goodness, all I have to do this next five days is prepare Christmas packages for family that we’ll see during Thanksgiving week.

Sunday, November 15, 2009

One Wild Wedding

Elaine kept calling it “A Big Fat Italian Wedding.” Whatever anybody wants to call it, it was fabulously fun. There’s really no similarity between WASP wedding and the South Louisiana version of letting the good times roll. All major events in New Orleans are celebrated with song, dance, food, and laughter – lots of laughter. And we pray – lots of praying. The Saints are losing – Don’t worry about it; have a laugh, and say a prayer. The Saints are winning – Let’s laugh, and say a prayer. You’re sick? – I’ll tell you a funny story to cheer you up, after I pray for you. You’re dead? – I’ll tell everybody something funny about you to cheer them up, and I’ll pray for you and your family.

Elaine refuses to face life any other way. In her professional life, she’s a very serious doctor making life and death decisions every day. She works very hard, and plays even harder. Any event Elaine touches has a special sparkle – some of it from the fresh flower arrangements and flickering candlelight, but most from the imprint of her passion for life, love, and family. And now that Elaine’s children are old enough to help plan the pageants, we’re in for a really wild ride.

No New Orleans party takes food lightly. You don’t go to a tailgate party with just a bunch of chips and dips. Every event calls for a fabulous feast – for all the senses. You must wear your team colors; you must bring your team spirit; and you must bring good food – lots of good food. For Mardi Gras, families cordon off picnic spots days before the parades and station a family member to guard their territory until parade time – many complete with living room sofas. All day people are barbequing to go with the gourmet fare they bring from home.

Wedding receptions are smaller versions of Mardi Gras. Everybody gets in on the act. My Godchild Gary coordinated the music with the DJ to optimize the potential for dancing, and dance we did. Everybody who can walk is expected to dance. Who knew that Elaine’s older brother Tony, a very dour doctor, could line dance?

And the food at both the rehearsal dinner and wedding reception was fit for kings (and queens). In the span of two nights, we feasted on velvety oyster soup, lobster ravioli in seafood Alfredo, lamb chops, and crab cakes followed by cannolis and amaretto panna cotta. The reception food was no less divine. I’ve never been to a wedding buffet with prime filets of beef, béarnaise sauce, and mushroom wine sauce – as much as you wanted to eat. And the wedding cake was not standard almond flavored white – it was carrot cake! This was accompanied by a groom’s cake of half lemon doberge and half chocolate doberge lovingly carried from New Orleans Gambino’s Bakery by some of Elaine’s best friends, Rosita and Eddie, built a special wallboard platform to cradle it on its journey. Did I tell you the food is important?

The wedding was as perfect as a wedding could ever be. The bride was a movie star straight out of the forties movies. The groom was the perfect leading man of dark Italian good looks. The attendants were glowing in their wine-colored strapless gowns. The sunset ceremony under a centuries-old oak tree at water’s edge was personalized, solemn, and meaningful. Then, we moved in for the reception.


We get together and blow off steam, and make marvelous memories that will tide us over through life’s hard work and sorrows. Then we pack away our party clothes and head back to our realities, carrying the glow of fun, food, laughter and longing that has to last us until next time.

I do know what it means to miss New Orleans. We’ll be back for Thanksgiving.

Saturday, November 14, 2009

Modern Marriage

I remember when we used to all assume that marriage meant the same things to everyone, and everyone struggled to play the roles assigned to them in the play. Then, Women’s Lib came along and we admitted that not all men can overhaul a carburetor, and not all women are natural nurturers. We now have women going off to war, and men who are quite comfortable with being “Mr. Mom.”

We discovered something remarkable along the way. Men and women can actually stand toe-to-toe as friends. There are lots of jobs to be done in maintaining a family, and someone has to do each job. It may not work in society at large, but in families, the Marxist doctrine of “from each according to their abilities; to each according to their needs” may be better than pretending that the magic of love solves all problems -- and cleans the bathrooms, to boot.

Life is an adventure, and family life is even more so. We need to hold tight to a buddy’s hand as we go into each dark cave of the unknown. Briton and Jeanne have worked as a couple for years now. They know each others abilities and disabilities. They’ve held each others hands and laughed and cried as they fell down, got back up, dusted each other off, and tried again.

I wish we could help them write a contract addressing everything they will face as a couple, but none of us ever know what life will throw our way. What I do know is that we need to continue being there for them as they progress through life as a family. We need to let them know that we still “have their backs.” And they need to continue to be the best of friends.

I know a lot of people think that the golden rule is a great way to run a relationship. I disagree, especially since some of my friends are as thick as bricks about what I want and need. If we do unto others as we would have them do unto us, I may be getting tickets to the Saints game when I’d really rather a day strolling along the lake.

I don’t expect my server in restaurant to guess what I’m in the mood to eat; why would I expect my friends to do so? Richard is fond of saying, “I’ll give you whatever you want; just tell me what you want.” This goes both ways. In everything we undertake as a team, we assign officer and enlisted status, based on whose project we’re doing. Then the officer has to define very clearly how to achieve the desired goal. Makes me think twice before beginning a project…

The standard marriage vows admonishing women to obey their husbands may need a complete overhaul. How about replacing them with the Albert Camus quote, “Don’t walk in front of me; I may not follow. Don’t walk behind me; I may not lead. Just walk beside me, and be my friend.”

Friday, November 13, 2009

Gift Giving

The bride and groom arrived and Richard and I took the opportunity to present them with their present in private. Briton was going to marry his long-time girlfriend Jeanne, and I wanted to give them a special gift – something with deep meaning. We gathered on the balcony of Briton’s room for the giving of the gifts. Jeanne did seem a bit puzzled went she unwrapped a roll of duct tape, followed by a fifteen-foot length of rope. After the following explanation, she seemed happy to find that there was also wedding money in the bottom of the bag.

Before Elaine married Bubby, I spent a fair amount of time at her house with her four children. One day, while visiting their home, I observed Briton tormenting his toddler brother Gary by putting a strip of duct tape in the baby’s hair. Gary is my godchild, so I’m rather protective of him. I let Briton know that whatever he did to Gary, I’d do to him.

Shortly after this, I agreed to a week-end trip to the beach with Elaine and her kids. First, I was facing an hour in the car with someone else’s kids. Second, I was staying for two days in a cottage with the same four children. The closer the time of departure got, the more jangled my nerves got. The date arrived, and I had found a cure for my case of nerves.

I picked Elaine’s family up in my van, informing the kids that it was my van, so it was my rules. I expected them to behave. I also let them know that I was armed – with rope and duct tape. We proceeded to the beach without incident.

The following morning began with Gary’s blood-curdling scream coming from the children’s room. Peeking into the room, I found Briton on top of his brother. Without any warning, I flew across the room, tied Briton up with my handy rope, and put him in the cottage closet. Elaine and I took the other kids out of the room, leaving Briton alone in the closet. Upon our return, Briton was out of the closet, beaming. “Aunt Yvette,” he said, “That was fun. Do it again.”

It then dawned on me that we were dropping Briton off at school at the end of the week-end. I could just hear him when asked how he spent his week-end. “Well, my aunt took me to a hotel and tied me up.” I’m sure that people have been arrested for less.

Briton is extremely passionate about life, and may sometimes need to be gentled. We hope Jeanne never has to use it, but it’s good for a new bride to have some hope of keeping her husband in line.