Winter White

Snow coming down in fleece blankets;
Pines and hemlocks frosted in white.
Buster is huddled on blankets,
As if were already night.

The squirrels must have hidden in their
Nests filled with our sunflower seeds.
Bird feeder’s guaranteed squirrel proof --
A warning the rodents do not heed.

Finches feeding in our branches
Stopped eating when the snow began.
Being outside in this weather
Isn’t fit for beast or for man.

Gypsy in Pyrenees heaven,
Covered in snow white as her coat.
The cat is not having much fun;
It is good that dogs cannot gloat.

The driveway was graveled today;
We’re lucky the good weather held.
The mud will only get worse as
The snow blanket begins to melt.

Richard made deliveries of soup,
Thinking the roads would be okay.
He arrived home very impressed
How much snow fall had come to stay.

Oh, winter! It’s surely winter
On our mountain in Tennessee.
As we peer out the windows we
Have no place we would rather be.

What, Me Worry?

I’m not really complaining, I just saying…

Josie’s right; one of the worst things about getting older is how much time we have to spend seeing doctors. Now, it’s not that I have anything against doctors; some of our best friends are medical practitioners. It’s just that all this focus on our bodies leaves little time to develop our souls.

It doesn’t help that all of our doctors are over an hour’s drive each way. We do try to make it more pleasant by stopping for a meal either on the way there or the way back. Sometimes, we do a little shopping, and we’re considering taking in a movie on our next medical excursion.

We had a pleasant enough visit with the primary care doctor that we visited, but we know that good bedside manner doesn’t always translate to competent care. I hope that we won’t have a need to find out how competent he is anytime soon, but we do have someone to call next time we’re in need.

This should have been very calming news, so why did I end up at my cardiologist the next day with high blood pressure? I just had my annual visit with my gynecologist less than a week before, and my blood pressure was normal.

Could it have been all the thoughts of New Orleans that put me into such a state? Or did I really get that excited over the pressure cooker soup project? Maybe it was the anticipation of Richard’s first foray into bread making…
Whatever it was, it changed our rhythm for the day. Rather than cocooning with Jack’s stories, we were once again running the roads.

The cardiology triage nurse and nurse practitioner were both very cautious, which I certainly appreciate. In making the decision to bring me in, they took into account the length of time since my last appointment, the winter weather heading into our area, the length of time it takes us to make the drive, and the proximity of my call to the week-end.

Now, I’m officially an old person. I’m on beta blockers for a racing heart and blood pressure regulator to keep me from feeling like a pressure cooker about to explode. And I have to take another road trip to the cardiologist’s office in another week.

Richard is insisting that I take it easy until my blood pressure medication kicks in. This won’t be difficult to do if we get iced in again. All of this medical muck and winter storm mud is certainly slowing my life down. I can either keep straining at the bit or go with the flow. God certainly has His ways of showing me whose boss.

He even sent our firewood provider to make sure we had enough firewood for the coming storm the night before my blood pressure episode. With a pot full of soup, an oven full of bread, and a fire in the fireplace, what’s to worry about?

Beef, Barley, and Bread

If this isn’t soup weather coming on, I don’t know what is. My favorite winter soup to make is beef and barley, so rich with beef, so creamy with barley, so healthy with all the vegetables included in the mix. Time to take out the pressure cooker.

There’s nothing like a pressure cooker for tenderizing beef. My mother could get dinner for eleven on the table in less than an hour with the use of a pressure cooker. This was very important, since my mother was what my daddy called a social butterfly. We always ate supper at six, so if she flew in at five, she could still serve dinner promptly with her Presto.

Richard had a pressure cooker when I met him. This pleased and surprised me; how many single men know what to do with such a pot? That pot bailed me out of more than one tight spot, like the New Year’s Day that seventy-five people came to our open house and stayed all day. Twice, I ran out of black-eyed peas and cabbage, the traditional fare for New Year’s Day in New Orleans (The peas for luck, and the cabbage for money). Neither time was noticed, as I saved the day with the help of friends in the kitchen and my Presto.

The mermaids took our magic pot, along with everything else in Hurricane Katrina. That was okay with me, as long as we lived in an RV, but not so much after settling in Tennessee Mountain Home. Our chef friend Holly came to the rescue for our first Coker Creek Christmas. She didn’t even have a pressure cooker of her own, but she knew how much mine had meant to me. She gifted us with our current cooker, and has since become a fan of the Presto method of meat preparation. When Holly and I spent too much time getting our hair cut and shopping last week-end, her pressure cooker and her husband Don saved the day, and her short ribs.

I love the soothing sound of the pressure valve rocking while my beef becomes fork tender, and the onions, barley and garlic become silky and soft. As supper time draws closer, I add Richard’s perfectly diced carrots and celery and a bit of Worcestershire sauce. When the vegetables are just tender, a bit of salt and black pepper seal the deal. With a nice bread, supper is served.

I had been considering purchasing a bread machine for Richard, especially since I found out that our cooking-challenged friend Chuck had taken to making bread with a machine. I’ve been hesitant to give up the kitchen space for a machine that Richard may not use, so it’s wonderful that Mountaintop Mary lent us her bread maker. We have the flour and the yeast…

I can’t wait to have the combined scents of beef and barley soup and fresh yeast bread wafting through the house as I sit at the computer with Jack’s latest tales.

Super Bowl Saints

New Orleans will rise again! Not only did my home city win a slot in the Super Bowl, my son won a chance to purchase two tickets to the game. He’s giving his lottery slots to his dad who has been waiting for this moment from the first time the Saints ran onto the field. Many said that the Saints would go to the Super Bowl when Hell froze over. Maybe it’s because of global warming, but Hell has frozen over.

We’re not football fans, but we are definitely fans of New Orleans. Anything that can give help restore the spirit of “the city that care forgot” to the Crescent City has to be a good thing. Win or lose, New Orleans beloved team finally made it to the big time. This year, the week after the Super Bowl is Mardi Gras. I suspect that New Orleanians will party straight through from one event to the other.

I may have to roll down south myself just to soak up some of that attitude. It would be nice to experience some of the South Louisiana version of survival skills; no matter what happens, “Let the good times roll.”

While in the New Orleans area, I’d also be soaking up some of that good Cajun, Creole, Italian, Indian, Greek, and Soul food found in the neighborhood restaurants and homes all over town. My granddaughter has a birthday, and my aunt wants me to work with her on a Cajun cookbook, so I have plenty of reasons to head south.

Since it’s doubtful the Richard will want o accompany me, my big sticking point is his emergency care in my absence. Richard is simply incapable of making a big deal of himself, no matter how special he is, medically or otherwise. If only we could train Gypsy to act more like Lassie and run for help whenever her master is in trouble.

Meanwhile, we’re making progress. Our house is flagged with 911 as having a heart transplant patient. EMS has guided me in what to put on Richard’s medical dog tag, which Richard has agreed to wear -- after Adam’s insistence. Mary and Don have edited Richard’s medical records, so the most critical points are on top. We’re going to interview a local primary care doctor, and we have a subscription to a medical air lift program. I’ve tried to convince Richard to wear an “I’ve fallen and I can’t get up.” button, but that’s where he draws the line. I guess he he’s not ready to feel old just yet.

Whenever Richard gets testy about all this special attention, I offer him the alternative of being with me 24/7 three hundred, sixty five and one quarter days a year. He’s quick to reply to that offer, and not in a positive manner. At least he could pretend he wants me around all the time, but as we know, he never learned to play the dating game.

I hear New Orleans calling my name…

My Benevolent Benefactor

Sometimes I just have to remind myself how truly blessed I am. I know that all good things come from God, but they generally come to me through the people in my life. For forty-six years, Richard worked without help from a wife. He saved his money, and kept hoping someone would notice him.

My best friend from high school worked with Richard and thought he was a lot of fun. She decided it was time to find him a wife. After a few false starts, she introduced him to me so I could teach him what mistakes he was making in the dating game. I never did teach him how to play the game because I kept him for myself.

Because of Richard’s hard work, we have a very comfortable life. I woke up in a soft, warm bed this morning, even though the outside temperature is in the twenties. I’ll luxuriate in warm water caressing my skin as I shower. My transportation to wherever I want to go has safe brakes and tires, and Richard just had the oil changed. When I purchase food, fuel or clothing, I never have to worry about paying the bill when it comes.

We take joy in helping the young families with an occasional gift of cash, which was earned and saved by Richard. When I invite more people to eat at our table than our house can handle, Richard is the benevolent benefactor. I may have a computer, the internet, and a telephone without Richard’s generosity, but I sure wouldn’t have the time or energy to write after all day on my feet in some restaurant or catering kitchen.

I’m not yet old enough for tax-payer funded healthcare, or social security, but I am in the fortunate few that don’t have to labor all day outside the house to pay for health insurance or my living expenses. I’m cradled by the quiet all day and night because we don’t have to live in a hub of commerce in order to find meaningful work. I don’t have to lug laundry to town to find a washer and dryer. As I sit in my pajamas in front of a fire, I can be back and forth to the kitchen cooking and cleaning my clothes.

We hear about artists who had patrons to keep their bodies and souls together as they created. I couldn’t have published Jack’s book without Richard’s backing, and now we’re embarking on Jack’s second title.

Richard may ride around in an old Bronco II instead of on a white horse, but he sure saves me from a much more mundane life. And Elaine was right; he is wise and witty. Is it any wonder that I go ballistic when I fear for Richard’s life?

What more could a woman want? It’s amazing to me that I can still be cranky.

Praising the Process

All the way home in the deluge, I could see streams and lakes in the forest that I had never noticed before. In the dead of winter, the lines of sight aren’t obscured by the dense foliage of spring and summer, and without the glare from the sun, a whole new world is opened up to me. It’s a constant reminder that paradise is ever evolving right before our eyes. I was happy to be going home to the holler where there’s a natural rhythm of nature instead of the hustle and bustle of gotta go.

Living in this secluded hamlet in the forest, I’ve realized that we have a new frontier here. Because we’re so isolated from the hubs of commerce and communication, we draw together as neighbors. We have to depend on each other because we may be cut off from the outside world by ice or downed trees without prior notice. “Be prepared” is the Boy Scout motto; it’s a good guide for living in rural America.

Another idea I’m fond of is the Girl Scout goal to leave every place better than you found it. The wonderful thing about living in the lap of nature is how often simply doing no harm allows Mother Earth to continue making herself better than we found her. It takes a lot of pressure off of me in terms of landscape maintenance.
The people who have made this their home for many generations have a lot to teach us about neighborliness and community cooperation. They also have a lot of survival skills to impart to us, if we take the time to watch and listen.

What if our city water systems ran dry or someone poisoned our large water supplies. Mother Nature’s bosom gushes with fresh spring water, waiting to be dipped and carried as Jack does for his drinking water. Water for washing ourselves literally falls from the skies; Jack collects this in rain barrels.

My Cajun grandparents had a cistern for collecting rain water. This provided all their water for drinking, bathing, cooking -- and when they got an indoor potty – flushing. Of course, Grandma had very strict rules about when you could flush, as the cistern was dependent on rainfall to fill it. Maybe we’d have less resistant bacteria in our systems if we consumed more water straight from the hand of God.

Trees have to be felled, cut, and split to feed the fires in Jack’s stoves. I appreciate a heated home more when I see the effort it takes for Jack and his brother Charles put into keeping his home warm. I appreciate my food more knowing that Richard, Mamie, Junior, and I worked together to prepare the soil, plant the seeds, harvest the crops, and cook, can, and freeze the bounty of the earth’s sun, soil, and rain.

I appreciate Charlie and Deborah’s and Mary and Don’s beautiful homes more knowing that Charlie and Don cut down the trees and mill the boards before they build. I love that Don is cutting the stones found on he and Mary’s mountaintop to create his fireplace façade. Maybe if we can learn to appreciate the process, we can keep part of the earth safe for future generations.

Melt-In-My-Mouth Therapy

Jazz with grandgirls and daughter,
Melt-in-our-mouths braised short ribs,
Apple tart, the chef’s ice cream
With Holly, Don, and their friends.
This is winter therapy --
The best of mid-season dreams.