A Meal of Memories

I made a most marvelous breakfast
With little bits of leftovers
A piece of grilled chicken from
The lunch I’d taken to Rachel
Only to find that she’d already
Eaten a school lunch meal.

I added a pile of beef brisket
From the Mexican birthday dinner
With my Rachel and her Sweet Sarah,
And then squash, onions and peppers
That Richard had enjoyed for a supper,
And a bit of pimento cheese spread
That was threatening to go to waste.

After beating up a bunch of eggs
Produced by Mamie’s chickens
I poured them over the remnants
Of several remembered repasts.
This became a nice frittata --
Really a meal of memories.

Hair Affairs

Rebecca read while I cooked her breakfast; there were just the two of us in her house. I hardly ever get to see Rebecca at repose, so this was quite a treat for me, just enjoying the sight of her, my oldest grandchild. After dropping her at school, I drove to Tennessee and Richard, who was waiting for a ride from the repair shop where his beloved Bronco II is having a bit of work done.

My pick-ups included a visit to the vet to retrieve Gypsy. Every year at this time, we get her groomed for the summer. This requires cutting her eight-inch coat down to less than an inch, except for her beautiful white plume of a tail and her cottony top knot. This is how she looked when we first saw her, so it brings back adoption memories for all of us.

Imagine my surprise when Richard walked out with a dog that looked like a big-headed whippet! Gypsy had no hair anywhere; she was shaved down to the skin from her former top knot to her tail. Richard is right; she’s definitely not fat. She’s just a big-boned girl.

It brought back memories of when my mama used to cut my hair, forgetting that on curly hair you can’t cut bangs exactly the length you want them to be. What you envision and what the finished haircut look like are entirely different things. The wet bangs that barely touched my eyebrows when they were first cut became a slight fringe below my hairline as they dried.

It was small consolation to a six-year-old that the hair would grow back, but my bangs did grow. I keep reminding myself of this lesson as I grieve over Gypsy’s lack of hair anywhere -- not even a fringe of bangs over her big brown eyes. What was the groomer thinking?

This put me in mind of the time that Rachel went to her daddy’s house for his visitation week-end and returned as a stranger. There was a knock on the door; when I answered, there stood an adorable little blonde boy, about six-years-old. Who was this child calling me Mama and dressed in Rachel’s clothing? Oh my! It was my beautiful daughter who had struggled to grow hair that her grandpa didn’t say about, “I’ve seen better hair on salt meat.” I tried not to react so as not to make Rachel believe that she wasn’t still beautiful, but I can tell you, I was one mad mom.

Of course, I knew that her hair would grow back; meanwhile, people kept mistaking her for a beautiful boy. This led to drastic measures. My sister who was married to a Hispanic man had had her infant daughter’s ears pierced. I had been afraid of injury to Rachel’s ears when she was an infant, but I figured that my ever- cautious little doll could manage the piercings at the age of six. I had monogram earrings made for her, and off to the piercer we went.
I wonder if they make earrings for Great Pyrenees puppies.

Salivating for Summer

I was treated to three quarters of an hour with Rachel and her third grade students. Rachel has had the same students for two years now, and is grieving over losing them next year. She did admit that she thinks changing teachers may be in their best interest since they are beginning to act like her own children – not bad, but a little mouthy – which some adults may frown on. Since Rachel’s birthday is on the last day that these children will have school this year, and I won’t be in Atlanta on that day, I brought brownies and we all celebrated Rachel’s birthday together. What a joy it is to see Rachel in her child-filled environments!

I planned to take Rachel’s family out to an early birthday dinner, but it ended up being just me, Rachel and Sarah. Larry was getting new tires and Rebecca was studying for finals. As Rachel says, if we wait for all members of her busy family to do things together, we may never get to do anything. We had a lovely time at dinner, but the real fun began when we got home.

I had bought Rachel a cute exercise outfit, which her girls insisted that she try on. Rachel has always been one of the least vain women I know, so there was no way that she would think of seriously modeling any item of clothing. She came out of her room doing some kind of combination dance/ exercise number that was quite hilarious to watch with her bouncing, bending, and stretching all over the kitchen and dining rooms. Larry was quite embarrassed with all the talk centered on whether or not built-in sports bras are actually supportive.

I now sit here being serenaded by Sarah on the piano. She won’t be having a recital this year; she’ll perform a jazz rendition of Amazing Grace at church instead. I love hearing child-produced music playing in a home. Rachel wanted Sarah to pursue her music for the sheer joy of being able to produce these lovely sounds. It seems to be working. Many times, when Sarah has a free moment, she sits at the piano and plays. Sarah and her cousin Nick are also saxophone students; I hope this will equate to saxophone serenades for me this summer. And maybe Miya can do a dance number while Sarah and Nick play.

Summer on the water in Louisiana used to be filled with kids wet from swimming, crabbing, and boating in Lake Pontchartrain. Granny Camp In the mountains has its own set of adventures. We haven’t gotten them all planned yet, but Mountaintop Mary, Josie, and Gold Digger Bill have signed on for some activities.

I wonder if Eda will teach them to bake biscotti or those waffle cookies that she does so nicely. I know Mamie’s garden and gathering eggs will entertain them, and Jack’s knowledge of the surrounding woods and wildlife is sure to be a hit. Come on summer!

Daisies to Dandelions

First there were dandelions; now there are daisies
Honeysuckle, goldenrod, yellow buttercup.
They dot the land along the highways and byways,
And have much of the pasture grasses covered up.

Blackberry brambles are a riot of white blooms;
The rains have made them especially prolific.
The big juicy berries should be coming on soon
For cobblers and jams that will be so terrific.

The seeds that we have planted should sprout any day,
Then the weeding and staking are sure to begin.
While the sun is shining, we are not making hay,
But we are looking forward to crops we'll bring in.

Raise your voices and sign praises for the seasons
Of growing, though they may seem to be very short.
They help us stay tuned to our Mother Earth’s reasons;
In this, we are blessed that we can play a small part.

Class Is Cancelled Crisis

We had planned to teach a couples’ cooking class, but only two reservations were made. This led to cancellation of the class, which we thought was a simple procedure of returning the two checks that secured the reservations – until Ivy called from the welcome center.

Richard answered the phone, and I heard him say, “I’d better let you talk to her.” “Hi, Ivy,” I said. “We’re at the welcome center,” she replied. Was this supposed to mean something to me? The welcome center has nothing to do with any classes, except to advertise them. I tentatively mumbled, “Okay?” “I knew I should have called before we drove up here,” Ivy lamented. “Are you still having the class?”

Oh, that’s what this is all about -- the cooking class! The Ruritan Club, where we were supposed to conduct the class, was locked up tight – and there is no phone there. There is also no cell phone service on our mountain; that’s why Ivy was calling from the welcome center. As I explained to Ivy that we had only received two checks and canceled the class, she queried me about the check that she had sent a month before. What check?

Now I was more confused than ever. Meanwhile, her husband, Hugo, was prompting her in the background to have me “whip something up” for them. I had just placed two carrot cakes in the oven for sending to relatives for their birthdays, but that didn’t qualify for dinner or that night’s dessert.

I was in my usual state of no foundation garments; Richard was in a raggedy t-shirt, and the kitchen floor really needed sweeping to rid it of all the wet leaves that had been tracked in with the storm. I laughed and assured Ivy that I’d let her know when we rescheduled to he cooking class.

As soon as I hung up the phone, I had second thoughts. We like Ivy, even though we’ve had limited exposure to her, mostly through Scrabble nights at the Tellico bookstore she manages. I thought it might be nice to get to know her better, and to make her husband’s acquaintance on a couple-to-couple basis. I called back and invited them over.

We threw on a bit of better clothing, performed a lick-and-a-promise sweeping of the kitchen, whipped up an Italian olive salad and Feta appetizer – and it was show time.

I had some garlic mashed potatoes and some mashed butternut squash leftover from a previous meal. Richard had prepared and frozen several portions of his leeks, peppers, fennel, and ginger salmon topping, which we combined with a nice salmon filet from the freezer. We now had the main course and sides. Richard rose to the occasion with one of his wonderful salads, which Hugo declared to be the best salad he’d ever had. We finished with bread pudding that I had also had leftover and frozen.

Ivy and Hugo got an abbreviated private lesson in couples’ cooperative cooking; we had a wonderful supper, and we seem to have made new friends.

Head for the Hills

The thunder storms boomed; our poor dog ran away,
Last seen -- a white blur heading over the hill.
We do have shelters under which she could stay,
But when the storms strike, she can’t seem to be still.

With creeks running over and trees thrown around
We feel rather safe in our wooden shelter.
We throw open the windows to enjoy sounds
Of the fierce storm throwing things helter-skelter.

We found our dog huddled under a tractor;
She knows something about shelter we do not
Could tractors being made of iron be a factor?
We thought that our work shed was such a safe spot.

Maybe our puppy accepts something we fight
Should we be seeking another place to sleep?
Our hillside root cellar – would it be just right?
As the storms raged, we would hear nary a peep.

I can see us now, on our cots between cans
Of pickled beets, beans, tomatoes and what not.
This could maybe seem like a workable plan
If only there was space for a chamber pot.

Don't Take Leisure Time Lightly

Summer vacation is only a week away, and I’m all aflutter. Rachel had Friday off due to a doctor’s appointment and Sarah stayed home sick, so I got a jump on summer by going to Rachel’s house this week-end. This facilitated just a bit of practice snuggle and leisure time spent with the grandgirls and their mom as they slide into home plate of the end of the school year.

While at Rachel’s, I finished a book that my niece Nikki sent me called Life Is a Verb. It is about living intentionally, as if you may be dead in thirty-seven days. The overarching message is that we must be more careful to cultivate and share the parts of us we want to leave behind when we go. Twenty-one years ago, when I was going through some very serious life changes that caused me to feel completely out of control my destiny, I was exposed to a similar philosophy in a series of audio cassettes that posited the question,”How would you spend your time if you knew that you only had six more months to live?”

Twenty-one years ago, I knew that if I was in that position, I’d want to quit my job, take my children out of school and spend my last six months celebrating life with them as we traveled the world together. Unfortunately, this doesn’t work in reality, as my children have people in their lives other than me. Even if I was dying, my children would still want to see their people.

I seem to always be living as if I only have a few weeks left to live, hence my wanderlust. I’ve always been greedy for time with the people who mean the most to me. I hunger for all the dynamic energy that surrounds the still growing, still discovering young people in my life. Now that my children are grown, I have to fight the same impulse to smother my grandchildren. They change so rapidly, I fell like they become different people between each set of visits.

I have always lived for week-ends and summer vacations, when there’s more time to simply be together. This is when I really get to know my people. Those early morning hours in our pajamas are the most precious times of all -- the reconnecting after a night of separation and sleep and the easing into the new day’s activities. I also love the bedtime rituals, especially when the children want to have a story read or a back rub or a special song before closing their eyes for the evenings escape into dreamland.

One has to practice relaxation skills when most of one’s life is lived in overdrive, as Rachel’s family's is. I’ll be going back to Atlanta for Rebecca’s sweet sixteen party next week-end, so we’ll get in a little more practice. All of this is building up to a summer promising lots of leisure, love and laughter with Scott’s brood, Rachel’s family and various other members of our extensive tribe.