Week before last we held a Baptism at Douglas Mill Baptist Church. It was the first Baptism to which I've been witness since returning to my home Church. Actually, just walking in the front door door is forever a source of amazement to me. It is so very different from the Church of my childhood that it boggles my mind.
I spent every summer with my Grandparents, Dwight and Nancy Douglas, from a small child into my teens. I was a Summer Baptist, you understand. A Catholic girl when at home with my parents, a Baptist girl when with the elders during the summertime. The Douglas Mill of my childhood had broad planked wooden floors and hard backed pews, burned oil in a big old oil burner for warmth in winter and wooden window sticks for air conditioning to cool you in the summer...oh and those wonderful Miller Rivers Funeral Home fans on a stick for constant movement of said air. The pulpit was a simple wooden stand to hold Preacher Entzminger or Preacher Giffen's Bible, a simple wooden chair to rest in during singing. We had Deacons but they took up the offering and as far as I can remember never sat either side of the Preacher during the Sermon.
So, last Sunday I was witness to a Baptism that took place in the Baptismal water that is directly behind the Pulpit. Preacher Wayne had accepted that Harley and Will knew their hearts and had accepted Christ as their Savior and proceeded to make their knowledge Word. I watched them along with other family members as these two young people made their way into the water and Preacher Wayne took care of the rest. I couldn't help but remember the days when Baptisms only took place in late Spring and Summer. The entire congregation would walk down to Douglas Mill Pond and the Preacher would take the person down into the pond water to baptize them. In my mind I see them dressed in white sheets, but I'm sure it was Baptismal robes only worn for this special occasion. I can hear the singing as we walked down to the pond, the voices rising with pure joy as we went, I AM A POOR WAYFARING STRANGER.... listen to Trace Adkins bring it home...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EXX0S9P1SUo&playnext=1&list=PL68A5F68E91A00717
So, now in our little church by the roadside (where everyone is someone) we have stained glass in the place of plain window glass, the carpet is appropriately red, the pews offer comfort rather than rigidity and the Pulpit is still plain but oddly lovely. There are three chairs behind the Pulpit, one for the Preacher and one each for the Deacons, though I've never seen a Deacon sit there. We have central air and heat and no longer can you raise a window to get a breeze. But that's okay, there are ceiling fans to keep that air moving. But still, I missed my little Miller Rivers Funeral Home fan of long ago. My grandparents and Uncle Gary and Aunt Edith (Douglas) would be so pleased to see the changes that a constant congregational offering has wrought. It's such a lovely little Church that anyone would be happy to attend the Services. But I can still see the original rough draft and can smell the honeysuckle scent that came through the upraised windows, held open with simple wooden sticks. I can see my grandmother on the second pew, fanning a grandbaby with that little fan. I can feel the texture of the religious tracts she kept in her Bible, the ones we would read when the Preacher's sermon became to long and complicated to keep our attention. My favorite was always the one about the man who wept because he had no shoes till he saw the man who had no feet. Yes, our little Church is lovely, but my memories of how she was are precious to me. Nostalgia causes lumps in throats and hitches in hearts. I wouldn't trade the way Douglas Mill Baptist Church is today for that church of long ago, but the memories, I wouldn't take a million dollars for a one of them.
Monday, April 25, 2011
Thursday, April 21, 2011
Daddy and the Lady Banks Rose
We moved back to Chesterfield County in 1989 after Mac retired from the Navy. I had told him that since I had followed him all over the world for so many years, it was time for him to follow me, and that I was going to Chesterfield. Like any sensible man, he followed. My parents were happy that we were settling nearby and that they would get to be closer to their grandsons.
Mama, who was a master gardener in all but degree, was eager to share her plant knowledge with Mac and me. She took us all over their massive yard pointing out the beds of roses, the scattering of daffodils in the woods and in particular the Lady Banks Rose that was growing up the side of the garage. She had planted it as a stripling about 12 inches high and had pampered it and babied it for six years. Now in January, she was anxious to show us how she had placed brackets on the garage to secure it to so that it was 15 or so feet up and then swagging down. She told us the blooms this year would be spectacular and it would occur around Easter. I shared in her excitement and everytime I went to visit was greeted by the site of the bare limbed Lady Banks. I would go over and examine it for signs of first leaf.
Okay, now Daddy had a pair of loppers that he used to trim the trees to keep their branches from assaulting him when he was riding the mower or driving the car down the drive. He loved those loppers. They weren't much to look at as loppers go, but they were kept lovingly oiled and ready for action on a hook on the wall inside the garage.
Weekends starting in early spring were dedicated to neatening up flower beds, opening garden plots out back for the veggies that Mama grew with pride and aplomb and general yard work and weeding was carried out. Our younger son Michael enjoyed spending weekends at his "sweet little Grandma's". He didn't mind helping out there, though I couldn't get him to turn his hand in the yard at home. I would go to pick him up and take the chance to admire the Lady Banks and ooh and ahh over the new leaves it was putting on. It really was going to be glorious this year, I could tell. So one warm Saturday morning, I took Michael to spend the day at Grandma's. Daddy was out and about, no suit and tie but dressed in his yard work gear, a well worn pair of khaki shorts an old plaid shirt and faded green hat on his head. Oh, and loppers in hand. He had trimmed the magnolia tree limbs and was clearing the circle of dead branches and weeds that Mama and the kids had pulled. He waved at me as I dropped Michael off. I glanced at the beauty of the Lady Banks and dreamed of having one like it one day.
So it's about 4:30 that afternoon when the phone rings. On the other end, Michael is breathless with something akin to fear. "Mom, you've got to come here quick, Grandma is going to kill Grandpa!"
Okay, now having heard Mama threaten to kill Daddy at least 100 times a year for most of my life, I'm not getting so excited over this piece of news. Stifling a yawn, I ask him casually "so, what did Grandpa do this time?" A tremble
was in voice, he couldn't hide it. "He lopped off Grandma's Lady Banks." I sat straight up, rigid with anger of my own.
"Go tell Grandma to hold on I'm on my way."
"So you're gonna stop her?" he wanted to know.
"Oh no, I'm going to help her!" I told him, a deadly calm in my voice. I heard him yelling "run Grandpa run!"
Okay, so we didn't kill him. But Mama took his loppers away. He was not allowed to use them without strict supervision and only when Mama saw the need of them. Funny, but she didn't feel the need of their use for many years after that...
oh and ps:
yes, I do have a Lady Banks Rose, she is 10 feet high and no one but no goes near her with anything sharper than a camera lens.
Mama, who was a master gardener in all but degree, was eager to share her plant knowledge with Mac and me. She took us all over their massive yard pointing out the beds of roses, the scattering of daffodils in the woods and in particular the Lady Banks Rose that was growing up the side of the garage. She had planted it as a stripling about 12 inches high and had pampered it and babied it for six years. Now in January, she was anxious to show us how she had placed brackets on the garage to secure it to so that it was 15 or so feet up and then swagging down. She told us the blooms this year would be spectacular and it would occur around Easter. I shared in her excitement and everytime I went to visit was greeted by the site of the bare limbed Lady Banks. I would go over and examine it for signs of first leaf.
Okay, now Daddy had a pair of loppers that he used to trim the trees to keep their branches from assaulting him when he was riding the mower or driving the car down the drive. He loved those loppers. They weren't much to look at as loppers go, but they were kept lovingly oiled and ready for action on a hook on the wall inside the garage.
Weekends starting in early spring were dedicated to neatening up flower beds, opening garden plots out back for the veggies that Mama grew with pride and aplomb and general yard work and weeding was carried out. Our younger son Michael enjoyed spending weekends at his "sweet little Grandma's". He didn't mind helping out there, though I couldn't get him to turn his hand in the yard at home. I would go to pick him up and take the chance to admire the Lady Banks and ooh and ahh over the new leaves it was putting on. It really was going to be glorious this year, I could tell. So one warm Saturday morning, I took Michael to spend the day at Grandma's. Daddy was out and about, no suit and tie but dressed in his yard work gear, a well worn pair of khaki shorts an old plaid shirt and faded green hat on his head. Oh, and loppers in hand. He had trimmed the magnolia tree limbs and was clearing the circle of dead branches and weeds that Mama and the kids had pulled. He waved at me as I dropped Michael off. I glanced at the beauty of the Lady Banks and dreamed of having one like it one day.
So it's about 4:30 that afternoon when the phone rings. On the other end, Michael is breathless with something akin to fear. "Mom, you've got to come here quick, Grandma is going to kill Grandpa!"
Okay, now having heard Mama threaten to kill Daddy at least 100 times a year for most of my life, I'm not getting so excited over this piece of news. Stifling a yawn, I ask him casually "so, what did Grandpa do this time?" A tremble
was in voice, he couldn't hide it. "He lopped off Grandma's Lady Banks." I sat straight up, rigid with anger of my own.
"Go tell Grandma to hold on I'm on my way."
"So you're gonna stop her?" he wanted to know.
"Oh no, I'm going to help her!" I told him, a deadly calm in my voice. I heard him yelling "run Grandpa run!"
Okay, so we didn't kill him. But Mama took his loppers away. He was not allowed to use them without strict supervision and only when Mama saw the need of them. Funny, but she didn't feel the need of their use for many years after that...
oh and ps:
yes, I do have a Lady Banks Rose, she is 10 feet high and no one but no goes near her with anything sharper than a camera lens.
Monday, April 11, 2011
Dudley Cock of the Walk
Dudley's tail feathers have grown in so thick and luscious in irridescent colors of green and purple that I feel sure he has a guardian angel in the late Mr Will Eddins. Mr Will raised some of the most beautiful roosters ever seen. And not for any reason other than the sure joy of their beauty. Our old boy never leaves the place, he's cock of the walk and sings all day long. He greets the sun before the sun even thinks about coming up, he hits the hay before Mr Sun says good night. I put out cat food twice a day and Dudley always races me to the food bowl, he and his favorite kitten, SuzieQ. Yes, he has a favorite kitten. The little black ball of fluff often gets her catnap next to Dudley out in the garden where he has scoouched out a warm nest of dirt. The cats are all very protective of their big odd brother. I've seen them gather around him, circling the wagons as it were, if they felt he might be in danger. I've never seen anything like it before, nor do I expect to see anything like it again. Sometimes I think God scatters little jokes amongst our lives to lighten us up. After all, I can't take anything to seriously as long as Dudley has his flock of cats.
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
Earthquakes and local disasters
I woke up this morning wearing a blanket of cats. JJ and Hound were wrapped around my head and Pyewackit and Caroline were clinging to my feet. BatGirl had long since gone outside but I could hear her mourning her lack of thumbs to get the back door open to get in, so I got up. I turned on the coffee pot (if you can legitimately call the Keurig machine a coffee pot) grabbed my cup and shooed the furrbies away all the while letting the yowling swearing BatGirl in. I plopped some cat chow in their bowl and demanded they leave me alone. Turning on the tv to catch the early news, I sat down with my coffee and had to swat the crazy cats off me yet again. Mac was getting up, and I heard him telling JJ to get off his feet and leave him alone. "What in the world is wrong with this kitten?" he was asking as he put his cup under the deliverer of wonderful brew. "Couldn't say, they have been very clingy even before I got up. I thought I had an electric blanket on my head, " I told him. The news came up and we sipped and watched.
Charlotte had their normal 2 or three shootings, the usual fire or three, the normal amount of burglaries and even mentioned an earthquake in Chesterfield County. WHAT?! Seems an earthquake of 2.9 hit our county this morning, causing a bit of a shake up, but nothing thank God of the sort that has hit Japan. But still, we don't get earthquakes very often. It's why we don't live in California, after all. We don't want to live where the house shakes and walls tilt and books fly off shelves. So now I know why the cats were so spooked. They were not trying to protect us, I am sure...they wanted to know why we were not up and fleeing the scene. I'm surprised I didn't find packed luggage by the door. Of course there would only be Temptations Cat Snacks and Cat Chow inside...but still. They're pretty smart these furrbies of ours.
Understandably, I wasn't surprised to hear my home county mentioned on national news. Unfortunately it's beginning to be a pretty common occurance. Chesterfield County has been undergoing a barrage of bad press because of some horrendous happenings at our Animal Shelter (tongue in cheek on calling it a shelter) and I will be writing more on the horrible things we have uncovered when SLED is finished with it's investigation of the Sheriff's Office and the officers involved in what can only be called a crime in anyone's book. I want to be able to write without crying. Well, that's all for now, I'm headed out to plant flowers and enjoy this early summer weather. I'm beginning to think there may be something to this 2012 thing since it's only March and we've already had several days of 80+ weather and expect it to hit 84 today. All in all, it's been a pretty exhausting month one way or the other. Hope your day is a good one.
Charlotte had their normal 2 or three shootings, the usual fire or three, the normal amount of burglaries and even mentioned an earthquake in Chesterfield County. WHAT?! Seems an earthquake of 2.9 hit our county this morning, causing a bit of a shake up, but nothing thank God of the sort that has hit Japan. But still, we don't get earthquakes very often. It's why we don't live in California, after all. We don't want to live where the house shakes and walls tilt and books fly off shelves. So now I know why the cats were so spooked. They were not trying to protect us, I am sure...they wanted to know why we were not up and fleeing the scene. I'm surprised I didn't find packed luggage by the door. Of course there would only be Temptations Cat Snacks and Cat Chow inside...but still. They're pretty smart these furrbies of ours.
Understandably, I wasn't surprised to hear my home county mentioned on national news. Unfortunately it's beginning to be a pretty common occurance. Chesterfield County has been undergoing a barrage of bad press because of some horrendous happenings at our Animal Shelter (tongue in cheek on calling it a shelter) and I will be writing more on the horrible things we have uncovered when SLED is finished with it's investigation of the Sheriff's Office and the officers involved in what can only be called a crime in anyone's book. I want to be able to write without crying. Well, that's all for now, I'm headed out to plant flowers and enjoy this early summer weather. I'm beginning to think there may be something to this 2012 thing since it's only March and we've already had several days of 80+ weather and expect it to hit 84 today. All in all, it's been a pretty exhausting month one way or the other. Hope your day is a good one.
Monday, March 21, 2011
My Love Hate relationship with Facebook
Everyone was doing it. I heard so many stories about the fantastic features of Facebook, I began to believe the hype. Bloggers were abandoning their blogs for the convenience of it. They were throwing away their marvelous stories to keep up with people they once knew, barely knew, thought they knew or regretted they knew. Heck, some of them they never knew. What's worse some of these new old friends knew things best left forgotten. Quite a few of them were losing their jobs, finding out that free speech isn't quite as free if you are out there talking trash about your employers worker bees. So why, I wanted to know, was everyone so lady gaga over this site. Okay, admitting my folly, I fell into the pool along with the rest, hoping I wouldn't drown, dog paddling like hell just trying to keep my head above water.
After signing up on Facebook, at the urging of blogging friends and family, I had over 90 friends the first day. Mac came along and looked at my screen and asked when I had signed up. "Today, " I admitted "And I haven't even done a lot with it yet." He shook his head and asking of no one in particular, " and how do you get 90 friends in one day of doing not a lot?" I had to admit I didn't know. I mean, yes, I knew a goodly number of these people that I had friended. Most of course were people who read my blog. Some were family. Others were friends of friends who because I knew their friend thought they might like to be my friend. Yes, I was confused too.
Of friends on Facebook, the most unforgiving are family. They will "unfriend" you the moment you disagree with anything they say about anyone also in your family. They are allowed to call your sister (their mother) any number of foul things, and if you try in the least to raise a hand of discipline, (via Facebook wall postings) Bob's your Uncle, you're unfriended! Many of my younger family members apparently missed out on the "airing your dirty laundry" lesson given by my Grandmother, Nancy Douglas. She always preached to us that if we made mistakes in life, they were a family matter and not to be aired in public like so much dirty laundry. Well, I have noticed a lot of dirty laundry wafting in the Facebook breezes. And I wish they would stop it. I have signed off the site twice now, and feeling the urge to sign off once more. I just have one bone to pick with a certain someone about they way they are talking about someone I happen to love dearly. If they don't like it, they can unfriend me. Please.
After signing up on Facebook, at the urging of blogging friends and family, I had over 90 friends the first day. Mac came along and looked at my screen and asked when I had signed up. "Today, " I admitted "And I haven't even done a lot with it yet." He shook his head and asking of no one in particular, " and how do you get 90 friends in one day of doing not a lot?" I had to admit I didn't know. I mean, yes, I knew a goodly number of these people that I had friended. Most of course were people who read my blog. Some were family. Others were friends of friends who because I knew their friend thought they might like to be my friend. Yes, I was confused too.
Of friends on Facebook, the most unforgiving are family. They will "unfriend" you the moment you disagree with anything they say about anyone also in your family. They are allowed to call your sister (their mother) any number of foul things, and if you try in the least to raise a hand of discipline, (via Facebook wall postings) Bob's your Uncle, you're unfriended! Many of my younger family members apparently missed out on the "airing your dirty laundry" lesson given by my Grandmother, Nancy Douglas. She always preached to us that if we made mistakes in life, they were a family matter and not to be aired in public like so much dirty laundry. Well, I have noticed a lot of dirty laundry wafting in the Facebook breezes. And I wish they would stop it. I have signed off the site twice now, and feeling the urge to sign off once more. I just have one bone to pick with a certain someone about they way they are talking about someone I happen to love dearly. If they don't like it, they can unfriend me. Please.
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
Where is that lying little rodent hiding now?
Well I'm over my first flu illness in more years than I care to count. Something went wrong after I retired. My body started working against me. Where before I was like super woman, never getting sick, injuries healing in record time , working twelve hour shifts then coming home to work four more inside and out without batting an eye, to this. (I can hear Peggy Lee singing "I am woman, W O M A N" in the background.) I refuse to let the weather changes make an invalid or a hostage of my spirit, whatever it may do to my body. While my body may cringe at the thought of rain, my spirit knows we need to break the drought that has taken hold of our state. We've started the planting and come wind (OMG the wind!) hell or high water, we're going to get some veggies out of this ground! The peas have popped up, the garlic is doing well and the tomato plants are showing off their little green leaves . I have a feeling that lying little rodent Pauxatauny Phil may be a liar, but we have a heater in the green house, so raspberry to you dear Phil.
This has been the coldest and roughest winter in many of our memories, I'm sure. We had more snow than usual, so much in fact that the only state left snowless was Hawaii. I normally love snow. But I love the magical snow, you know, here today gone tomorrow. Not this here today gone next month stuff with which we've beendamned blessed. Our peach trees, plum trees and pear trees are all blooming, the apple tree is holding tight buds, and we've had 32 degree temps three days this week. Luckily the low temps don't last long, so I think we may be alright. I can only hope and pray that we stay above 32 til Spring finally arrives for real. It's a scary thought, but that Mayan Calendar thing might be on to something!
This has been the coldest and roughest winter in many of our memories, I'm sure. We had more snow than usual, so much in fact that the only state left snowless was Hawaii. I normally love snow. But I love the magical snow, you know, here today gone tomorrow. Not this here today gone next month stuff with which we've been
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
And the flu has gone all Egypt on my ass
I'm sick. Funny, I got the flu shot when everyone was haranguing me over its benefits. Yet, here I am. Temp this morning 101. Better than the last three days orf 103, but still. I'm sick. Mac spent a night in the hospital for rapid (excess of 180) heartbeat again. We spent two full days and a night there with the sick and afflicted all around us. He took his flu shot, too. He's not sick. Yet. However our son Wallace and I are. Sick that is. We have Mac mostly straightened out and on blood thinners (he's doing lovenox right now, or at least I give him the injections twice a day for a week. I crawl off my death bed and warn him I'm to weak to chase him down. He hates needles. He sees I'm sick. He behaves.
I'm sick. I'm sure I got it at the hospital and wonder to whom I would complain about it. It appears I have no recourse but to lie on the couch and attempt to recover. Today is not as bad as Friday was. Friday night was awful. I spent more time in the bathroom than in bed for two days. I did everything at a crawl. Still do. It's taken me 2 hours to write this.
I'm sick. I'm sure I got it at the hospital and wonder to whom I would complain about it. It appears I have no recourse but to lie on the couch and attempt to recover. Today is not as bad as Friday was. Friday night was awful. I spent more time in the bathroom than in bed for two days. I did everything at a crawl. Still do. It's taken me 2 hours to write this.
Yes, the flu has gone all Egypt on my ass, I'll be glad when the revolution is over.
Thursday, January 20, 2011
Temper Temper!
The header is my new one for the winter. This is what it looked like for nearly 2 weeks. There was ten inches of snow then three or four inches of ice on top of that and when I looked out the back door I knew we weren't going anywhere. Not anytime soon. Or as my Bubbles (Violet Loxley) would say, if the snow is shiny, it will hurt your hiney.
So we've sort of been stuck in here together for days, getting on each others nerves. War broke out once or twice, but luckily older son was iced in with us and acted as referee. It could have gotten bad, but at least we never lost power. That in itself was a blessing from heaven. We had to go rake snow off the satellite a couple of times but other than that, we kept each other entertained with tales of who had cabin fever to the nth degree, me or him.
Funny how much I love snow. I mean I love our kind of snow, the here today gone tomorrow kind of snow. Then we got Jersey Snow. The snow that is here today and here tomorrow and still here in April. Yes, I've lived through snow where Evil Sister and I had to hack a path from her back door to mine so we could play hours of Scrabble. That was called keeping ourselves sane. And the kids never missed a day of school. The snow was half way up the picture window and they had school. Chesterfield County in 1987 had 1 inch and the school was closed for days. The boys really hated that. A lot.
So here we are, with Jersey Snow, and high winds on top of that. Mac had a colonoscopy scheduled for last Friday, but we couldn't get out to get the solution and tab he had to take. So, it's was rescheduled for tomorrow.
I looked forward to getting out of here on my own Monday. I dressed in my best wool slacks with my cashmere sweater, the beautiful shawl my sister Toni gave me and my fur hat. I looked pretty good, if I do say so myself ,it made my spirits hum. Put on my lipstick, grabbed my bag and hit the porch. Slid three feet to the gate, looking to be sure no one saw me, straighted my hat and walked gingerly to the truck. I was in such good humor!
Now, we have had one insurance company for years, Tricare...most of the meds are mail order, but we get things like this from CVS and have never ever had a problem. I waltzed into CVS Pharmacy, handed over the prescription and went to wander around the store while they filled it. I heard someone calling my name, and got over to the counter as quickly as I could. The lady behind the counter told me that the insurance company had declined to pay because we had other insurance. I asked what DOB she had used. It was the right one. I asked if it was Tricare. It was. She said she would call them to see what might be the problem.
So, she gets someone on the line and begins to explain that the prescription was being turned down for payment and that the customer claimed no other insurance. She was nodding and rolling her eyes and she looked at me and asked if I would like to talk to her. I narrowed my eyes and held out my hand for the phone.
"Now, just what seems to be the problem here?" I asked her.
"Well, " she says, "it appears that you have another insurance that should cover this, madam, and you should use that one before trying to make the government pay."
Remember the little girl in The Exorcist, the one whose head spun around and she began to spit green soup? Well, no, I didn't do all of that, but I did choose my words carefully. "Now, you listen to me, I don't know where you are, but I can assure you that where ever you are, my husband spent a lot of time keeping you safe. It's a pity that a man can put thirty years in the Navy and then you make a statement like that! My husband's time in service has more than paid for any medication or medical treatment that this government, such as it is, provides. We only have the insurance that we have had for the past 21 years the one that you are trying to represent. I suggest you fix this error and quickly. And DON'T CALL ME MADAM!" I handed the phone back to the lady behind the Pharmacy counter. She was smiling from ear to ear. She kept saying "yes, yes, of course. No the customer is still here, we'll take care of it right now."
She hung up as I was straightening my hat again and looked out at me and told me that they had taken the red flag off the account and the order would be filled. Then she started laughing outright.
So we've sort of been stuck in here together for days, getting on each others nerves. War broke out once or twice, but luckily older son was iced in with us and acted as referee. It could have gotten bad, but at least we never lost power. That in itself was a blessing from heaven. We had to go rake snow off the satellite a couple of times but other than that, we kept each other entertained with tales of who had cabin fever to the nth degree, me or him.
Funny how much I love snow. I mean I love our kind of snow, the here today gone tomorrow kind of snow. Then we got Jersey Snow. The snow that is here today and here tomorrow and still here in April. Yes, I've lived through snow where Evil Sister and I had to hack a path from her back door to mine so we could play hours of Scrabble. That was called keeping ourselves sane. And the kids never missed a day of school. The snow was half way up the picture window and they had school. Chesterfield County in 1987 had 1 inch and the school was closed for days. The boys really hated that. A lot.
So here we are, with Jersey Snow, and high winds on top of that. Mac had a colonoscopy scheduled for last Friday, but we couldn't get out to get the solution and tab he had to take. So, it's was rescheduled for tomorrow.
I looked forward to getting out of here on my own Monday. I dressed in my best wool slacks with my cashmere sweater, the beautiful shawl my sister Toni gave me and my fur hat. I looked pretty good, if I do say so myself ,it made my spirits hum. Put on my lipstick, grabbed my bag and hit the porch. Slid three feet to the gate, looking to be sure no one saw me, straighted my hat and walked gingerly to the truck. I was in such good humor!
Now, we have had one insurance company for years, Tricare...most of the meds are mail order, but we get things like this from CVS and have never ever had a problem. I waltzed into CVS Pharmacy, handed over the prescription and went to wander around the store while they filled it. I heard someone calling my name, and got over to the counter as quickly as I could. The lady behind the counter told me that the insurance company had declined to pay because we had other insurance. I asked what DOB she had used. It was the right one. I asked if it was Tricare. It was. She said she would call them to see what might be the problem.
So, she gets someone on the line and begins to explain that the prescription was being turned down for payment and that the customer claimed no other insurance. She was nodding and rolling her eyes and she looked at me and asked if I would like to talk to her. I narrowed my eyes and held out my hand for the phone.
"Now, just what seems to be the problem here?" I asked her.
"Well, " she says, "it appears that you have another insurance that should cover this, madam, and you should use that one before trying to make the government pay."
Remember the little girl in The Exorcist, the one whose head spun around and she began to spit green soup? Well, no, I didn't do all of that, but I did choose my words carefully. "Now, you listen to me, I don't know where you are, but I can assure you that where ever you are, my husband spent a lot of time keeping you safe. It's a pity that a man can put thirty years in the Navy and then you make a statement like that! My husband's time in service has more than paid for any medication or medical treatment that this government, such as it is, provides. We only have the insurance that we have had for the past 21 years the one that you are trying to represent. I suggest you fix this error and quickly. And DON'T CALL ME MADAM!" I handed the phone back to the lady behind the Pharmacy counter. She was smiling from ear to ear. She kept saying "yes, yes, of course. No the customer is still here, we'll take care of it right now."
She hung up as I was straightening my hat again and looked out at me and told me that they had taken the red flag off the account and the order would be filled. Then she started laughing outright.
"Mrs. McBride, I don't know when I've enjoyed a conversation with an insurance company more. And might I say, you looked quite elegant up there on your high horse!" I started to laugh with her, and told her I might need some help getting down from it to insure I didn't do myself an injury. I don't know when I've enjoyed losing my temper more!
Monday, January 10, 2011
The Pie Chart
As I know a lot of you are aware, I recently celebrated a birthday (on the 7th as it happens). When I got up that morning I felt rested and energetic enough to take the wild tail girlie (a mix of some ungodly breeds of dogs who are apparently site hounds and Heinz 57 doesn't even begin to cover it) for a walk in the early morning dew. I felt 20 something. I may walk with a limp, but my spirit is free of any such affliction. So we walked down through the woods and up the other side and she picked up the scents of rabbits and squirrels, deer and maybe a lynx or two...and dragged me through brambles and wild berry bushes, around pines and between two cedars growing together. When I finally made it back to the front porch, I was a bit winded but other than that in fine fettle. But I felt about 30 something. I unhooked Chase's leash (she is aptly named, believe me) when we got inside and gave her the expected treat. Faux bacon is her treat of choice barring a little ginger mailman with dog safe ingredients baked inside. I looked over at the Keurig and drooled. My very favorite Christmas present, it offers me any blend of wonderful coffees, Doughnut Shop, Kona, Black Silk, French Vanilla...you name it. So I went over to this little gem and putting my cup beneath it's spout, lifted the coffee tub holder and placed my coffee of choice in the slotted area. Black Silk by Folgers. Oh my. Pulled down the handle and saw the red flashing light which read "add water". Cursed the last person to make a cup and not check the water reservoir, and then drew up water from the Brita filter contraption that is attached to my faucet. By this time I had run swiftly through my 30's and the 40's were almost in my rear view mirror. It was only 7:30 in the morning. I brewed myself a cup of coffee without offering anyone else a cup, sat on the sofa with one leg tucked under me and watched the news of the morning and night before all the while letting that cup of coffee wash 10 years off my attitude. Ah, pleasure, just pure coffee addiction pleasure.I had decided that this was the birthday I would ignore. After all, no one but me much ever remembered it anyway. I decided years ago that it was no big deal that Mac could never remember when my birthday was or even when our Anniversary falls, so deciding that since I'd already hit the big 60, no need to worry about such trite things as birthdays anymore. Then the Face book greetings started pouring in and I discovered that I really did care after all. It was pleasing to see all those lovely comments, even from people who have known me 30+ years. And a few who have known me 50+ whom I thought I'd offended years ago had found my face book page and made mention of the day. When I saw all that, I felt 20 again. Okay, so the afternoon approached quickly and we were trying to decide whether to run out to Roger's Smokehouse Restaurant for dinner or wait and take in breakfast with him the next morning. I chose breakfast, because the 50's had slipped by me somehow and I was really too tired to think about doing much more than grabbing a hot bath and flannel Jammie's and warm socks and reading the book (The Little Stranger by Sarah Waters) I'd started just after Christmas.
It was while I was preparing a quick supper of grits eggs and toast that it happened. I had taken down the grit pot (all Southern cooks know that once you have found the perfect grit pot, nothing but grits ever gets cooked in it) and put the water on to boil. I started looking for the lid to it (or led as I remember my Great Grandmother calling it). I looked on the counter, no lid. I looked in the pantry, no lid. I knew I'd just had the dingdanged thing so where could it have gone? I spent a good thirty minutes looking for the blamed thing. My mother always said that I was so high strung I could thread a sewing machine needle with it running. I let things get to me sometimes. Finally I just turned off the water and we had turkey sandwiches for supper. It really bothered me that I had misplaced the lid, and now I felt my 60+ years. After supper I went over to the kitchen table and picked up the book I'd been reading. And there it lay in shameless glory, the lid to the grit pot. Right then I remembered the cute thing that a friend had sent to me as a birthday joke and realized the truth of it. I spend way to much time these days looking for things that are always in the last place I look when I am no longer looking. Being highstrung may have few advantages, but at least I can laugh at myself when the search is over!
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
Of Cabbages and Kings and Hospital Things
Okay, you all know Mac and how into his gardening he is, right? You know we're early risers and out and about checking on the collards, broccoli, cauliflower and cabbages. We even pulled a collard on Sunday and ate him right up with squash and field peas and cornbread. Unless you're from the South you probably don't know collards from succotash, but it's very similar to kale. Just better. So Mac planted these lovely plants from seed in August and babied and pampered them and we've watched them grow into these lovely huge leafy beasties. I was out there wandering amongst the beasties and choosing the one to "kill" for Thanksgiving. Mac, who is King of the garden, caught me fondling the large leafy beauty that was going to grace my cook pot. I had told him that since we'd had two frosts, I saw no reason to wait for Thanksgiving to have our first taste of heaven. I'd cook this lovely right up and we'd freeze what was left for Thanksgiving dinner. He fell for it hook line and garden shears.
Yesterday Mac did nothing of his normal routine. He got up early, sure. But he didn't go out to check the garden or the trees, he didn't shuck corn for the guinea hens. He said he didn't feel all that well and wrapped up in fleece blanket, lay back in his chair. I took his temperature, it was 97.4. He didn't have much of an appetite, in fact ate nothing all day, just nibbled. He had one cup of coffee and the rest of the day drank lemonade. I was concerned about him but whenever I asked how he was, he would only say that he felt some better. At 9:30 he announced he thought he would go to bed. At 10, I followed. At 2 a.m. I felt him get up and sit on the edge of the bed. I asked him if he was okay. He asked for his nitro spray and I got it for him. By 2:30 a.m. I had called 911 and gotten an ambulance on the way. When he had gotten up to get a drink, he collapsed into unconsciousness on the living room floor. I could not bring him around as hard as I tried. After 911 I called for my son Wallace to come help me. He finally came around but had no idea what had happened to him. Wallace let the squad members in and within a few minutes they were on the way to the hospital with him. Wallace, seeing I was in no shape to drive took over those duties. We made it to the ER seconds behind the ambulance. While on the road he had been given two medications to bring his heart rate down from the 200+ beats per minute. Having gotten him converted, he was awake and fully responsive by the time they let us back with him. But suddenly, while the nurse was checking his vitals, he went into a full blown seizure that I knew was serious because she lost her calm and began yelling "I need help in here guys, send me a Doctor stat". His face was grey, his eyes were wide open with pleading and his entire body was stretched out as if some unseen forces were trying to pull him apart. To say that Wallace and I were now in a state of panic is an understatement. I was begging God to help and telling Mac at the same time, we're here we're here.
Okay, this is where we were on November 18th, 2010. Funny, it doesn't seem to have been that long ago. I was sitting by his hospital bed after several harrowing hours in the ER and found I couldn't concentrate enough on anything but him. Wallace had brought me my laptop after he made a flying visit to the house to bring me clothes other than my night clothes. I sat in the world's most uncomfortable recliner, laptop in front of me and determined to make some sense of the past few hours. I failed miserably. He moved, I stopped. He groaned, I stopped. He called my name, I froze. So, putting the usually comforting laptop away and any idea of expressing my feelings about what was going on, I concentrated on his condition. The Cardiologist came in and expressed complete puzzlement over what might have occurred but offered any manner of tests that might offer an answer. By this time the children and grandchild and minister had arrived and Mac was converting to his John Wayne persona. "I'm fine, nothing going on here, I have work to get back to, leave me alone blah blah blah". The blah blah blah is where I quit listening to him and turned to the doctor and asked about the importance of having yet another catherazation even when he had passed a stress test with flying colors not three months previously. "If he were a family member of mine, he wouldn't leave here without it" pretty much sewed it up for me. Meanwhile, Mac was busy pulling the stitches out of my resolve. Finally I looked at the drawn faces around me, my older son in particular (he had been in the ER with me at the time of the unexplained seizure and near death experience, after all. "I need some help here, guys, " I demanded of them. Wallace looked at his father, his face pale his voice determined. "Dad, you don't understand, I thought we were watching you die." That did it. Mac simply laid back and gave in to our demands.
Yesterday Mac did nothing of his normal routine. He got up early, sure. But he didn't go out to check the garden or the trees, he didn't shuck corn for the guinea hens. He said he didn't feel all that well and wrapped up in fleece blanket, lay back in his chair. I took his temperature, it was 97.4. He didn't have much of an appetite, in fact ate nothing all day, just nibbled. He had one cup of coffee and the rest of the day drank lemonade. I was concerned about him but whenever I asked how he was, he would only say that he felt some better. At 9:30 he announced he thought he would go to bed. At 10, I followed. At 2 a.m. I felt him get up and sit on the edge of the bed. I asked him if he was okay. He asked for his nitro spray and I got it for him. By 2:30 a.m. I had called 911 and gotten an ambulance on the way. When he had gotten up to get a drink, he collapsed into unconsciousness on the living room floor. I could not bring him around as hard as I tried. After 911 I called for my son Wallace to come help me. He finally came around but had no idea what had happened to him. Wallace let the squad members in and within a few minutes they were on the way to the hospital with him. Wallace, seeing I was in no shape to drive took over those duties. We made it to the ER seconds behind the ambulance. While on the road he had been given two medications to bring his heart rate down from the 200+ beats per minute. Having gotten him converted, he was awake and fully responsive by the time they let us back with him. But suddenly, while the nurse was checking his vitals, he went into a full blown seizure that I knew was serious because she lost her calm and began yelling "I need help in here guys, send me a Doctor stat". His face was grey, his eyes were wide open with pleading and his entire body was stretched out as if some unseen forces were trying to pull him apart. To say that Wallace and I were now in a state of panic is an understatement. I was begging God to help and telling Mac at the same time, we're here we're here.
Okay, this is where we were on November 18th, 2010. Funny, it doesn't seem to have been that long ago. I was sitting by his hospital bed after several harrowing hours in the ER and found I couldn't concentrate enough on anything but him. Wallace had brought me my laptop after he made a flying visit to the house to bring me clothes other than my night clothes. I sat in the world's most uncomfortable recliner, laptop in front of me and determined to make some sense of the past few hours. I failed miserably. He moved, I stopped. He groaned, I stopped. He called my name, I froze. So, putting the usually comforting laptop away and any idea of expressing my feelings about what was going on, I concentrated on his condition. The Cardiologist came in and expressed complete puzzlement over what might have occurred but offered any manner of tests that might offer an answer. By this time the children and grandchild and minister had arrived and Mac was converting to his John Wayne persona. "I'm fine, nothing going on here, I have work to get back to, leave me alone blah blah blah". The blah blah blah is where I quit listening to him and turned to the doctor and asked about the importance of having yet another catherazation even when he had passed a stress test with flying colors not three months previously. "If he were a family member of mine, he wouldn't leave here without it" pretty much sewed it up for me. Meanwhile, Mac was busy pulling the stitches out of my resolve. Finally I looked at the drawn faces around me, my older son in particular (he had been in the ER with me at the time of the unexplained seizure and near death experience, after all. "I need some help here, guys, " I demanded of them. Wallace looked at his father, his face pale his voice determined. "Dad, you don't understand, I thought we were watching you die." That did it. Mac simply laid back and gave in to our demands.
Where we stand now. The catherazion found a previously thought closed graft wide open and flowing blood like a champ. Why his heart rate went to over 200 we may never know, but he has had one episode of rapid heart rate since we returned home. He will have to wear a heart monitor for several weeks to keep track of any episodes we aren't aware of. The mystery may never be solved. But here's the thing...I have been hesitant to write of this episode because so many of my friends have experienced some devastating events that make mine pale in comparison. I have said so many prayers for them and their loved ones in the past few months, that I had put God on speed dial. I think in particular of Anya who recently lost a similar battle for her dear husband's life. I think I was suffering from survivor's guilt. I didn't want to share and yet I needed to share. I didn't want my friends who have been through such similar things and had a quite different outcome to think I was insensitive to their recent losses. But, here I am, 2011 and making another resolve to get out there and visit my friends and continue to keep on keeping on. After all, that's what life is all about, isn't it?
Monday, November 8, 2010
And Dudley Comes Home to Roost
One day this past summer I was awakened by the sounds of a rooster crowing. Okay, so living in the country as we do, we often heard this rooster crowing of a morning, but this time it sounded as if it were actually under our window singing its head off. It was a happy rooster, happy to have a voice, happy to flap it's wings, happy to be alive. As we discovered later that same day , it's gladness was the latter more than the former. Our neighbors, Tara and Sam (he's Greek, so can't pronounce the last name much less spell it, therefore I won't trouble you with the minor details) have a farm complete with horses and cows, chickens and at one time even a goat, etc...and once they had plenty of barnyard cats too, but seems they've all migrated our way. So, as I've rambled way off the subject here,we'll get back to the rooster crowing beneath my window. Well, since he was sitting on the porch railing greeting the sun and the new day with a fervor I've hardly ever heard before, I had to get up and pull back the curtain to check. And yes, there he was. A beauty of a rooster, all luscious reds and bark browns, blacks of several different depths and he had an attitude. Later that day we discovered that he also had a number of tail feathers missing from his considerable plume. I asked Tara that evening if she was missing a member of their menagerie. Seems she was missing quite a few. Her doberman had gotten loose and gone on a chicken killing spree that defies description. The rooster of the flock was lucky to escape with the few tail feathers he had left attached to his backside. He had made a hasty departure through the woods to seek asylum(looney bin?) with us. I'm not sure if he figured the myriad cats were a protection from or a distraction for the dog. But he made it safely here, and here he stays.
Now, I know having a rooster in residence isn't much of a big deal for a lot of people. It's not much of a big deal for us either since luckily we have plenty of corn and seed on hand to feed the squirrels guineas and song birds. But the oddest thing of all is the rooster much prefers cat food. And he prefers to eat the cat food out of the cat food dishes. And he prefers to eat it with the cats. The first time I saw Dudley (as we have since named him) eating with the cats I could only stand and watch. That he tolerated the cats was not what amazed me. That they tolerated him as a dinner companion rather than dinner...now that really got my attention. The first time he raced me to the food dish (starting at a dead run from 1/2 an acre away, he beat me handily) made me laugh out loud. I've never seen a rooster running with cats before. Away from them, yes, with them no. This has been going on for months now. I think it's safe to say that Tara and Sam no longer have a rooster. Their Guineas (hens) claimed us as family at roughly the same time. The guineas only capture Dudley's attention once in a while at which time he will condescend to eat a morsal or two of corn with them. But mostly, he likes the cats.
Now, I know having a rooster in residence isn't much of a big deal for a lot of people. It's not much of a big deal for us either since luckily we have plenty of corn and seed on hand to feed the squirrels guineas and song birds. But the oddest thing of all is the rooster much prefers cat food. And he prefers to eat the cat food out of the cat food dishes. And he prefers to eat it with the cats. The first time I saw Dudley (as we have since named him) eating with the cats I could only stand and watch. That he tolerated the cats was not what amazed me. That they tolerated him as a dinner companion rather than dinner...now that really got my attention. The first time he raced me to the food dish (starting at a dead run from 1/2 an acre away, he beat me handily) made me laugh out loud. I've never seen a rooster running with cats before. Away from them, yes, with them no. This has been going on for months now. I think it's safe to say that Tara and Sam no longer have a rooster. Their Guineas (hens) claimed us as family at roughly the same time. The guineas only capture Dudley's attention once in a while at which time he will condescend to eat a morsal or two of corn with them. But mostly, he likes the cats.
Now that fall is upon us Dudley goes to roost on the porch railing at around 5 pm each evening. He prefers it if we will kindly not be banging in out of the front door from 5 on. He needs his rest. He begins his sympony to dawn somewhere roughly between 3 am and 0dark30. I've asked Craig, our neighbor on the other side to stop referencing dumplings whenever he sees Dudley. It's giving him a complex.
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
The Banana Split Cake
Last time I was here we were on our way to Magnolia Alabama for a family reunion. Mac drove long enough to remember how much he hates Atlanta traffic and happily gave the wheel to Michael, who drives amazingly well for a baby son. When we reached Selma, Alabama I was so glad to be out of a moving vehicle, no matter who was driving, that I could have kissed the pavement. We were there for the Sealy family reunion and very nearly held it at the motel. I think our family had booked the entire bottom floor. It was like a gigantic slumber party, what with walking up and down the halls visiting brothers sisters nieces and nephews, snacking on every imaginable thing that the snack food conglomerates throw at you, plus this one thing that niece Sherry had brought along. She called it a Banana Split Cake. She had made and brought three of them. They were residing in the refrigerator of her motel room and she promised everyone a piece of it even before the Sunday reunion dinner. Mind you, these dishes of heavenly promise measured 13x9 inches long and promised to make our dreams come true. It seems that cake was the topic of conversation every time I saw any of them. Turns out it's a Paula Deen recipe and I knew right away it was going to be winner. Unfortunately it was not a winner that I would be able to share in. Just looking at it had me in danger of going into a month long sugar coma. Sherry began to tell me exactly how it was made and I lost consciousness somewhere around the two cups of confectioners sugar and the two sticks of butter. Yes, I said two sticks of butter. (I did mention it's a Paula Deen recipe?)
So late on Saturday night after Mac had had his third or maybe fourth helping of this incredible cake, I had to warn them that they were in danger of having nothing left for the family reunion dinner. One pan had been consumed and the mob in the corridor were eyeing the refrigerator thru the doorway. I didn't hold out much hope for it's survival. I was right. But then I frequently am.
So we made it home from the reunion which was wonderful. Seeing family members we hadn't seen in years was worth the long trip. Aunt Jeanne looked like a movie star, it was hard to believe she is in her late 70's. Such a great lady and so welcoming and warm to her family.
So when we got home I talked to SIL Betty and she sent me the recipe for the marvel of a cake. I knew I'd probably make it for Thanksgiving but also knew that I'd not be able to taste it, the diabetes would prevent even a smidgen. I tucked it away for another day.
Saturday I went to the grocers and as I was going down the baking aisle came across a new product. It was a sugar free confectioners sugar by Ideal (tr). I read it several times before I could believe my eyes. But yes, sure enough there it was. They even had a sugar free brown sugar. I dug my cell phone out of my purse and called home to get Mac to look up the recipe so I could be sure I had everything I needed. I made the Banana Split Cake on Sunday, after Church. I prepared a bowl of it for afters that night. Angels sang. We wept with joy. No, really, we wept with joy...okay so we didn't weep but we were happy. I'm including the recipe and for those of you who don't care if they go into a sugar coma, just substitute the real thing for all the sugar free stuff. But you won't be sorry if you prepare it exactly as I say. Angels will sing. Weeping will be simulated. You will be happy diners, I promise!
BANANA SPLIT CAKE
Banana Split Cake
Crust:
1 1/2 sticks butter
2 cups graham cracker crumbs
Filling:
2 eggs (I used pasteurized eggs since they are raw)
2 sticks butter
2 cups Ideal Sugar Free Confectioners sugar
4 or 5 bananas, ripe and sliced
1 large can crushed pineapple (sugar free), well drained
2 cartons sugar free Kool Whip
Chopped nuts
Chopped cherries
To make crust: Melt butter; mix with crumbs. Press into a 13 x 9 x 2 inch baking pan. Bake in 350 degree oven for 1about 15 minutes and let cool.
To make filling: Beat the eggs, margarine and powdered (confectioners) sugar together, beating no less than 15 minutes. Filling must be light and fluffy.Spread over crust. Place sliced bananas over filling, then spoon pineapple over bananas. Cover all with Kool Whip, add chopped cherries (maraschino) and sprinkle with chopped walnuts or pecans. Refrigerate til ready to eat.
So late on Saturday night after Mac had had his third or maybe fourth helping of this incredible cake, I had to warn them that they were in danger of having nothing left for the family reunion dinner. One pan had been consumed and the mob in the corridor were eyeing the refrigerator thru the doorway. I didn't hold out much hope for it's survival. I was right. But then I frequently am.
So we made it home from the reunion which was wonderful. Seeing family members we hadn't seen in years was worth the long trip. Aunt Jeanne looked like a movie star, it was hard to believe she is in her late 70's. Such a great lady and so welcoming and warm to her family.
So when we got home I talked to SIL Betty and she sent me the recipe for the marvel of a cake. I knew I'd probably make it for Thanksgiving but also knew that I'd not be able to taste it, the diabetes would prevent even a smidgen. I tucked it away for another day.
Saturday I went to the grocers and as I was going down the baking aisle came across a new product. It was a sugar free confectioners sugar by Ideal (tr). I read it several times before I could believe my eyes. But yes, sure enough there it was. They even had a sugar free brown sugar. I dug my cell phone out of my purse and called home to get Mac to look up the recipe so I could be sure I had everything I needed. I made the Banana Split Cake on Sunday, after Church. I prepared a bowl of it for afters that night. Angels sang. We wept with joy. No, really, we wept with joy...okay so we didn't weep but we were happy. I'm including the recipe and for those of you who don't care if they go into a sugar coma, just substitute the real thing for all the sugar free stuff. But you won't be sorry if you prepare it exactly as I say. Angels will sing. Weeping will be simulated. You will be happy diners, I promise!
BANANA SPLIT CAKE
Banana Split Cake
Crust:
1 1/2 sticks butter
2 cups graham cracker crumbs
Filling:
2 eggs (I used pasteurized eggs since they are raw)
2 sticks butter
2 cups Ideal Sugar Free Confectioners sugar
4 or 5 bananas, ripe and sliced
1 large can crushed pineapple (sugar free), well drained
2 cartons sugar free Kool Whip
Chopped nuts
Chopped cherries
To make crust: Melt butter; mix with crumbs. Press into a 13 x 9 x 2 inch baking pan. Bake in 350 degree oven for 1about 15 minutes and let cool.
To make filling: Beat the eggs, margarine and powdered (confectioners) sugar together, beating no less than 15 minutes. Filling must be light and fluffy.Spread over crust. Place sliced bananas over filling, then spoon pineapple over bananas. Cover all with Kool Whip, add chopped cherries (maraschino) and sprinkle with chopped walnuts or pecans. Refrigerate til ready to eat.
Friday, October 8, 2010
Birthdays and Anniversaries, they're the thing!
So, birthdays and anniversaries seem to be the norm for us this fall. I haven't written about Evil Sister or Good Sister in a long time. Not that Evil Sister isn't any less sassy or Good Sister any less, well, Good...it's just that ES hasn't put any forks through deserving husbands hands lately and GS hasn't had any particularly spooky morgue encounters. They are always worthy of my attention and my computer skills and today both of them are on my mind. Well, lets see where we start. Evil Sister, I wish you and Poor Brother a very happy and blessed 42 Anniversary! It seems like either yesterday or a century ago, doesn't it? How did we manage to stay married to the same and only men all these years? (Mac and I celebrate our 42 on the 15th of this month). I believe it may be the upbringing of stern Grandmothers (how often did we hear "you made your bed, now lie in it?) who counseled that marriage was sacred and not to be taken lightly. Well, you didn't take it lightly and the two of you had your share of ups and downs but far more ups , which may be the answer to life. I hope that the two of you spend the day doing exactly what you want to do, be it celebrating or nothing at all. Congratulations to two very dear and beloved friends.
Good Sister was being born about the time we were getting married, and she celebrates her birthday today. GS has had such a turn around in her life these days. Finally in a romance that might just make the grade on the turn around , she has stars in her eyes for the first time in a long time. Even though it is a long distance romance, they see each other as often as their jobs allow and travel permits. Today she will be spending her birthday with us. Well, after work and appointments. I'll be baking her a cake (or brownies...) making a barbecue dinner that she will love and she can relax for a bit since she won't be on call as Coroner this weekend. So, I raise a glass to two of the most important women in my life...Cheers!!!
Good Sister was being born about the time we were getting married, and she celebrates her birthday today. GS has had such a turn around in her life these days. Finally in a romance that might just make the grade on the turn around , she has stars in her eyes for the first time in a long time. Even though it is a long distance romance, they see each other as often as their jobs allow and travel permits. Today she will be spending her birthday with us. Well, after work and appointments. I'll be baking her a cake (or brownies...) making a barbecue dinner that she will love and she can relax for a bit since she won't be on call as Coroner this weekend. So, I raise a glass to two of the most important women in my life...Cheers!!!
Monday, September 27, 2010
Birthday Boys Celebrate in Style
The 1900's are behind us now. Even my darling Arianna, who was born in 1999 is a century away, it seems, So how does a father born in 1916 and a son born in 1971 feel about birthdays these days? Well, apparently they feel pretty darned good! As a gift to two of the most important men in my life, we had a party of sorts at the Smokehouse restaurant. Wanting to thank one of the best cooks in the state for preparing this feast, I looked for (owner) Roger Knight, but he was no where to be found. I had decided that no way could I compete with the spread that Roger lays out on a four day basis, that and the fact that he has a crew to do the clean up. All we had to do was eat and leave. Oh, and pay the tab, No problem, Son Wallace had spent Saturday at the USMC Mud Run in Columbia, South Carolina with three teammates, They completed the run, which was all that really interested them. Apparently 14000 people had shown up for the event and being mowed down by speed was not a problem, either, The mud took care of that . Now Daddy celebrated the day by sleeping in rather than go into the office, mud not being his thing, he elected to stay out of it, You might find this odd but for the fact that he turned 95 years old, still practices medicine and attends to patients on a daily basis, Even Sundays, While we were in the Smokehouse, at least three patients spied him there and corralling him, congratulated him on his longevity, To their credit not one of them offered up symptoms for diagnosis while in his presence, 
So naps and mud runs aside, our day yesterday was filled with laughter and memories and I wouldn't trade one second of it for the world, Somehow, I don't think they would either!
Saturday, September 25, 2010
The Fear of Canning
Yes, I've been missing in action yet again. It seems the summer just drags on and even though this is technically the last day of it, we're still in the nineties. There's been no rain for us in six weeks, but we drag the hose dutifully to the beds and water thoroughly so we get the lovely butter beans, green beans and squash even this late. The collards are planted and promise to do well if the guineas don't kill them first.
This morning we picked butter beans and greenbeans and they will be delicious on our plates for supper. Mac planted six more tomato plants on August 24th in the growtainers and we have tomatoes on them already. Do you think he'll mind if I say I am heartily sick of canning tomatoes?
Our family grew up with Aunt's and Great Aunt's as well as Grandparents lending a hand in the rearing of myriad children in the family circle. They had their own methods of correction and reward, instruction and playtime. One of the Aunt's spent most of the summer canning garden goods, chicken and dumplings, meats and the like. Her favorite was Spaghetti Sauce. For most of the garden goods she used the cold pack canner but for anything containing meats or fish she used the pressure canner. As young as 5 I knew that the sudden screech and the soft explosion meant Aunt Dale was canning Spaghetti Sauce. And that the pressure gauge had passed into the red line. The boy cousins would spend half a day cleaning the ceiling at least three times each summer, Then, one summer Aunt Dale had an idea. She would pay one of us a nickel if we sat in a chair in front of the range and kept an eye on the pressure gauge. We were to yell out if it began to rise from the amount of pressure the canner book indicated. She would run in and turn down the burner the canner was on. We dared not leave it a second to long, and if we did we ran out the kitchen door onto the screen porch screaming for help as we ran. We really wanted that nickel, so we were mostly eagle eyed. Aunt Dale had to many other things going on to watch it herself which is why she had so many catastrophes in the kitchen.
When I became the proud owner of my very own pressure canner, it was in my possession for 2years before I got up the nerve to use it. I had read the instruction booklet at least fifty times. Maybe more. I would tell myself that the next day would be canning day and then chicken out and use the cold pack canner instead. But one day, the first day of my vacation, I took the plunge. I got out the canner, the jars, the book and decided that I would can the bushel of pears that I had been gifted with by a neighbor. I peeled, I seeded, I added citric acid to avoid browning, then I prepared the jars. They had to be hot, so I also had the cold pack canner out to heat them and placed the jar caps and lids in a small pan of boiling water. I located the jar lifter and set to work. I used apple juice as the canning solution in the jars to avoid sugar. I packed the hot jars in the canner, added the water, adjusted the lids and put the top on the canner. 7 jars rested snugly within. After placing the pressure gauge atop the canner, I turned on the burner and put my chair in front of the range so I could take up my post. I had offered the requisite nickel to my sons to do this, but had no takers. They simply laughed and walked away. Mac came in and seeing me sitting in the chair asked me what on earth I was doing. "Avoiding disaster, " I replied, "Our ceiling isn't as high as Aunt Dale's was, I'm afraid the whole affair would go through the roof!" So, if you should ever walk into the kitchen and see me sitting in a chair in front of the stove, you'll know what I'm doing. And believe me when I tell you that this winter it will have been worth every worrisome moment of it. And I'll pay myself a nickel for the privilege.
They've gotten so tall that he's having to extend the rings to accommodate their rapid growth.
Thursday is the first day of fall. This Sunday past I came home from church and started canning the peaches (a bushel of them) and finished the pears. I know that this winter we will be so happy that the pantry if loaded with all the bounty from the garden but I will tell you this: I have yet to use the pressure canner this year. Our family grew up with Aunt's and Great Aunt's as well as Grandparents lending a hand in the rearing of myriad children in the family circle. They had their own methods of correction and reward, instruction and playtime. One of the Aunt's spent most of the summer canning garden goods, chicken and dumplings, meats and the like. Her favorite was Spaghetti Sauce. For most of the garden goods she used the cold pack canner but for anything containing meats or fish she used the pressure canner. As young as 5 I knew that the sudden screech and the soft explosion meant Aunt Dale was canning Spaghetti Sauce. And that the pressure gauge had passed into the red line. The boy cousins would spend half a day cleaning the ceiling at least three times each summer, Then, one summer Aunt Dale had an idea. She would pay one of us a nickel if we sat in a chair in front of the range and kept an eye on the pressure gauge. We were to yell out if it began to rise from the amount of pressure the canner book indicated. She would run in and turn down the burner the canner was on. We dared not leave it a second to long, and if we did we ran out the kitchen door onto the screen porch screaming for help as we ran. We really wanted that nickel, so we were mostly eagle eyed. Aunt Dale had to many other things going on to watch it herself which is why she had so many catastrophes in the kitchen.
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