The Best Biscotti Ever

I came home to a lovely surprise from Eda and Richard. It seems that my reminder to Eda that she promised to teach me how to make her best-ever biscotti prompted her to invite Richard to her kitchen to create a coming home surprise for me. I’m now munching daily on cranberry-almond biscotti that’s truly incredible.

Eda has gifted me with the recipe, but I wanted to learn the tricks of the trade from the master (or mistress, as the case may be.) Eda’s had ninety years of bisotti baking experience, assuming she was exposed to her mother or grandmother’s baking of biscotti as a baby. Now, however, I think I’ll just let Richard be the master baker, as baking is detail oriented, and I like to wing things.

Not only do I have a bounty of biscotti, I also have an orchid in bloom. This orchid plant was a gift from Rachel’s family four birthdays ago. I’ve never had an orchid re-bloom even once, and this one is on its fourth show. Maybe it’s the love they put into the gift that keeps it in copious colorful bloom.

There are some signs of spring in our front yard; the daffodils are beginning to bloom, and the hyacinths are never far behind them. I must make it to Jack’s soon, as I’ve heard from several sources that his banks are bursting with blooming daffodils. Jack’s yard in bloom must be the most photographed cabin-scape in Coker Creek.
Mamie and I had a nice visit with cup of spiced cider and her favorite snack of cheese and crackers. We saw each other again at the Coker Creek Heritage Group meeting and pot luck supper. I hadn’t seen Mamie in over a month, so it was nice to get two doses of her in a day.

I brought a chocolate-filled king cake to the supper, which had been in the freezer since my return from the Mardi Gras trip. Along with the cake, I brought Mardi Gras beads for everyone. This seemed appropriate, considering the fact that the evening’s speaker was the director of our county arts council. I also brought the incredible embroidery pieces from Africa and the quilted potholder from Tutwiler Quilters in the Mississippi Delta that I purchased at Womenspeak. I thought that the programs using the arts to build economic security that these represent could be replicated in Appalachia.

Betty overheard me talking about the joys of my travels and suggested that I don’t like Coker Creek. It was time to explain that I’m just not ready for the extreme quiet of this ice-bound heaven quite yet. And besides, like Betty, I have grandchildren down south.

We’re due for a second day straight of sunshine and springtime temperatures. It would be wise to spend some time soaking up the sun because rain is returning tomorrow. Richard spent the full afternoon and evening doing outside chores. He stayed in Coker Creek most of the winter, so he’s really into seizing the springtime.

My Hold on Here

I’m so excited! A professional journalist friend, the editor for Jack’s book, Susan scored tickets for the two of us, plus her magical mother and delightful daughter to all go hear Maya Angelou speak in Louisville in April. As a writer, I’m on cloud nine that I’m receiving these opportunities to hear such very accomplished writers speak. First, at Womenspeak 2010 and now Maya Angelou! I’d much rather meet good writers than just about any other “celebrities.” Actually, I do have a well-known weakness for artists of many genres.

I’m missing the Tennessee Williams/ New Orleans Literary Festival in one week. (I’ve gotta see Richard and My Mountain Mama Mamie, and check in with Jack sometime.) But next year, I hope to be in that New Orleans number. It’s been twenty years since I attended, but I still remember the thrill of having actress Anne Bancroft critique a piece that I wrote and read.

Jack is slowly amassing enough finished work for his second book. Mountaintop Mary stands at the ready to scan that body of work in preparation for final edits. Meanwhile, I’m working on getting all my recipes in order to publish my blog as a cookbook. I have a freelance editor, another Sue – Suzanne this time -- working diligently to get the entries in some semblance of order.

As good practice for writing my recipes, I’m participating in a local cookbook project. Coker Creek Elementary is putting together a cookbook as a joint project fundraising effort with the Coker Creek Heritage Group. It’s always fun to see my name in print, even if it is in someone else’s book. I’ve submitted a few recipes, but I know they could use more from local cooks.

My hopes for a Coker Creek Creations’ Appalachian Arts booth at the Jazz Fest have been dashed by a member of their board. Maybe it’s time to research mountain craft shows with my baby sis and soon-to-be business manager. That is, as soon as she returns from her latest trip to New Orleans.

I’ll try very hard to stay put in Tennessee until my trip to see Maya Angelou in mid-April, but if that snow starts to blow, I may have to go. The next trip may be a short one to Dalton, Georgia to meet with the mother of slain police captain and drug interdiction specialist Robbie Bishop. This would (I hope) be a welcome change for Richard – having his wife home in the holler after a day trip for business, rather than every meeting meaning a month away.

I’ve decided, after much cogitation on the subject, that the reason being snowed-in freaks me out so badly is that it feels too much like what I picture as heaven: so soft, so silent – you know like the Christmas carol lyrics “All is calm; all is bright.” I think I want to be in heaven eventually, but I’m certainly not now ready to release my hold on here.

My Man and My Plan

I finally got back to my man! After a nice nap, I got busy building my new Party for Positive Progress organizations, also known as the One Million Matriarchs (OMM) and the Mostly Righteous Men of the Matriarchs (MR MOM). Both of these organizations exist to promote peace through activism for non-violent conflict resolution. This was in response to the request by Dr. Jean Shinoda Bolen that Womenspeak2010 attendees assist her in pressing the UN to create international law making it a crime (on an international basis) to rape women and children, and to include women in UN policy setting. How could I not sign on?

Without going into dramatic detail, I thought I could get everyone up to speed by giving you the link to Dr.Bolen’s website that contains a link to her work with the UN and a UN petition, http://www.jeanshinodabolen.com.

With me being such a party animal, I thought it would be best to form a group that could party for this cause. If there's enough interest, my first mission will be to New Orleans for the Jazz Fest. I believe I can secure the same unfurnished apartment that we used for Mardi Gras, which ended us up on the front page of the New Orleans Newspaper, The Times Picayune. We were very comfortable with my cooking, camping chairs and air mattresses (although the noise level in the location at the corner of Canal Street and the French Quarter required heavy-duty ear plugs for sleeping). This apartment is located very conveniently to the Fairgrounds site of the Jazz Fest.

My favorite tent at the New Orleans Jazz Fest has always been the Gospel Tent, not only because of the marvelous music, but because it’s in the shade. The food at the fest is beyond compare, from crawfish bread to bread pudding to beignets. Music and arts from Congo Square feature original paintings, sculpture, clothing, jewelry, musical instruments, and an array of handcrafted artworks.

Contemporary Crafts</i>, is a nationally recognized showcase of alluring handcrafted clothing, beautiful leather goods and handblown glass, along with a brilliant array of paintings, photographs, sculptures and irresistible jewelry.

In the Louisiana Marketplace, the state’s finest traditional and contemporary artists display and sell hand-colored photographs, pine needle baskets, whimsical jewelry, and other creations that evoke the state’s unique cultural history.

LOUISIANA FOLKLIFE VILLAGE Like its signature dish, gumbo, Louisiana is a spicy stew comprised of many distinctive elements — African American, Cajun, Native American, Isleño and practically everything in between. To experience this unique culture firsthand, visit the Louisiana Folklife Village and discover many of the state’s generations-old traditions.

Here you can see musicians meticulously handcraft accordions and guitars, and papier mâché artists create whimsical sculptures for Mardi Gras floats. Watch as an Isleño woodcarver transforms indigenous cypress into lifelike reproductions of Louisiana waterfowl right before your eyes. These are only a few of the traditions featured in the Louisiana Folklife Tent that bear witness to our state's unique cultural history. –From the website http://www.nojazzfest.com.

I think I could also make this a mission to promote Appalachian Arts (especially those from Coker Creek) if I can secure a booth at the Jazz Fest. Wouldn’t it be wonderful to sell Jack’s book and other Coker Creek Creations at such a well-attended venue?

A Day of Driving

With a day of driving there’s little to say,
Unless excitement happens on the way.
When behind the wheel, excitement’s bad;
This was the least eventful trip that I’ve had

I got to Rachel’s, making good time,
Where she gave a Sarah Boynton book of rhyme.
She fed me chili and we had a chat.
As usual, my bed was off limits to their cat.

Sarah practiced piano while her sister complained.
My enthusiasm for the conference was poorly contained.
I got downright giddy as I showed them my buys
Of pieces of needle art that are quite the prize.

My children both think its good I’m going home;
They feel I need some time on my own.
Richard is soothing, that is quite true
And I have much work still left to do.

"My Boys" Michelle and Buffy

I’m making my way back to my honey in the holler, but first a stop by my boy and his Buffy at the beach. I did have to backtrack over an hour to get back to the beach, but it was certainly worth the effort. I not only got to see my boy and his Buffy, I got to see all of “my boys.” I like to call Michelle’s husband Sam and Melanie’s husband James my sons. And I tell the three Yardy boys that I always wanted five sons, so I’m adopting them and Melanie’s two babies as “my boys.”

James, who has been cooking professionally since he was fourteen, has been offering to cook for me for well over a year. With his work schedule, Melanie’s school schedule, and them having two boys under the age of two, it hasn’t been easy to coordinate the effort. Sam and Michelle picked the three older boys up to go to Cole’s baseball game. Scott, Buffy, and I were sitting by the poolside discussing the option of taking advantage of the unheard of event of the three of us being alone for the evening by going to a restaurant for a meal.

Just then Melanie called to see where I was. She and her family wanted to drop by to see us. I jumped at the chance to offer James up as the evening’s chef du jour. It must have been all that new "woman power" I picked up at the conference that made me volunteer James.

James agreed, and said that they’d be over as soon as he could collect a few of his supplies. Next thing I knew, James was proudly walking in the door with a portable deep-fryer and several bags of groceries, including two quarts of half and half. I knew that meal requiring that much cream had to be worth waiting for.

I grabbed Gabe and Mel held onto Harold while James performed his kitchen magic, with Buffy acting as his sous chef. Sam, Michelle and their boys headed back upon hearing that James was preparing our dinner. It was quite a sight, big brown James and beautiful blonde Buffy flying around the kitchen. My-oh-my, what a feast came out of that kitchen!

As I sat at Scott’s back yard bar with Mel, Scott and the boys, James presented me with a plate full of pasta cover with fried catfish, to which he had added a creamy crawfish sauce. It was divinely decadent. I barely made it through my meal before beginning to doze off. I kissed everyone good night, thanked chef James, and entered dreamland with the theme song from the conference, “My Breath” playing in my head.

One Million Matriarchs

It is impossible for me to sleep for more than four hours. It begins with the extreme excitement of the women’s conference. And the stunning sunrise over Mobile Bay happening in panorama outside my twenty-fifth floor bedroom window -- Who could possibly sleep through that?

The most amazing woman has proposed the most amazing concept for my next phase in life, helping to unite women in circles of power for peace. She didn’t exactly ask me to do this; I sort of offered. How could I resist when a dead ringer for a mature Mulan announces that she’s petitioning the UN to create a UNICEF for women, and I have so missed the community activism of my New Orleans days?

I remember when women in the good old USA were blamed for bringing rape upon themselves. And I had to walk away from more than one job, even though I had two children to support, because I had no recourse for sexual harassment on the job. I’ve lost a business, and very nearly lost my freedom because I was forced by a bank to have a man sign for my business loan. When the man tired of me, he gave my business to the bank and told them that I was guilty of an attempt to defraud them in order to extricate himself from a relationship with me. It wasn’t so long ago that women in America were treated as badly as women in Iran and Afghanistan. This is an issue that I can sink my teeth into.

I had thought that my next big project would be to write a book about The Feminine Face of God, but I also found a book by that name at this conference. In writing it, the authors did exactly what I had planned to do, interviewing women of many backgrounds about their incarnation of the Almighty.

I’ve been referred to most of my life as “That God Damned Warrior” and “A Mighty Powerful Woman.” I was recently challenged by one of my granddaughters with the words, “Granny, you have some good ideas. You just need to step up.” This was on the heels of my daughter admonishing me that I need to “be brave” in facing her.

And since I’m always waiting to be burned at the stake when the next witch trials are conducted, I just as well know what I’m going to be burned for: Inciting women to stand in a circle around what we hold most sacred: a peaceful place to love our families and the extended families of our world. After all, aren’t there only six degrees of separation between me and the homeless mother in the on the streets of New Orleans and the veiled Muslim mother in Afghanistan?

I’m beginning the circle of One Million Matriarchs (and their men, I hope) to march on the UN in support of the Fifth World Conference on Women. Please join me. We’ll make quite a pleasing parade.

Women's Work

Chuck gave Gayle a newspaper article advertising an upcoming event in Mobile, Alabama. He thought I might be interested in attending this women’s empowerment week-end less than an hour from Scott’s house, since I was already in the area. How sweet is that, a man who used to leave the room whenever he encountered me is now offering suggestions for getting my matriarchal mojo going?

This Womenspeak2010 conference is only the second one of its kind, ever. There are over six hundred and fifty females, mostly over forty, from all over the world, creating their identities as crones. I’ve never been one to embrace large groups of women unless I had a job, as I quickly bore of the talk of gorgeous grandchildren and horrible husbands. This conference touts itself as a way for women to connect their strengths to exponentially create more harmony across the vest span of creation. How cool would that be?

The organizer is a woman named Paula d’Arcy who has turned the pain of losing her husband and one of her two children simultaneously in an automobile accident into a passion for world peace. If the opening ceremonies were any indication of the grandeur of the vision of her organization, she may indeed be able to change the world. Cirque du Soleil could take a few lessons from this lady.

We were wowed with incredible African dances and drum beats created by choreographer Eleanor Gwynn in North Carolina. Mother and daughter Bronwyn Cooke and Heather James came all the way from Hawaii to inspire us with a plea to be kind to our earth, imparted through a most magnificent hula dance. A prayer for peace was shared with us from the gracious heart of a member of the Mennonite community, Mary Etta James, before Sara Thomsen took our breath away with her singing of the conference theme song “By Breath.”

This song seamlessly segued into a sacred scarf ritual conducted by authors Joyce Rupp and Marcrina Wiedelkehr. Grammy winner Cynthia Wilson gave voice to the grief that facing real life can bring just before dramatist Janette Scott shared the story of the Mama Moses of many slaves, Harriet Tubman. Marie Plauche-Gustin brought life to a simple slip of silk with her interpretive dancer while Cynthia Clawson sang of the river and seeing God.

Palestinian Poet, Ibitisam Barakat, opened our hearts to hear of the horrors of her homeland with humor, poetry, and passion. We were again brought out of our chairs by the power of the E. Gwynn African dancers, only to be lulled before bedtime by the perfect pitch of the only male performer, Craig Hella Johnson. All of this was interspersed with Paula’s pleas for us to unite our breath, blood, bodies, and spirits to recreate our world in peace.

The message Paula wants us to take away from this week-end is that we didn’t attend a conference, we attended our lives, and that we can use our lives to affect change. I can hardly wait to see what she has planned for us today.