Trouble in Paradise Revisited

My sister Toni and her husband Tim celebrated their 35th wedding anniversary this weekend and took a trip to St. Augustine, Florida in celebration. It brought to mind a few years ago when they still had a young son at home (who I now in college) and needed a babysitter for the weekend. I have Toni to thank for saving this piece I wrote about that delightful experience. So, here goes.

It has been a long time I have cohabited with an 8 year old boy. Even when I did my boys did not talk to me all that much. Figuring that this was why they had friends, there was only parental communication between us. You know the drill, I gave orders they patently ignored. I would find myself giving the same order over a short period of time until it was ultimately obeyed. It was a war of wills between us, a war I usually won.

My sister Toni and brother in law Tim had a business meeting to attend in Boone. NC this particular weekend (or at least that was what I was told) and they figured my father would benefit from the company of his grandson for several days. He arrived on Saturday. It is now Monday and he is not with his grandfather, he is with us. My father, who likes the pleasant buzz of familial activity, likes it from behind his closed bedroom door. He was worried that Alex would fall in the pool and drown, that one of the dogs would bite him in his over exuberance or that he could not escape the endless chatter of said child. It turns out he didn't need to be the one worrying about any of those things. He simply took to his bed and called for back up.

So here I am with a very precocious 8 year old boy whose favorite activity is talking. He talks very well. If I could find one thing in common with a small boy this would be an outstanding situation. I like to talk, too. But as I have mentioned, my boys did not do much talking to me. I had no interest in Batman then and I find I have even less interest in him now. I am perfectly content on my day off to play in my garden until it gets to hot and then move my playtime to the computer. I have enough competition for computer time with Mac, and now I find this little person staying with us also likes the computer.

I also learned this little person is a picky eater. He doesn't much like vegetables of any color. He explained to me that his parental units were teaching him to eat vegetables, a lesson he should have learned in infancy, but he is a slow starter in that area. (I have to remember to tell the parental units they may have procrastinated to long on this one.) I found that the one vegetable he will eat is corn and then only on the cob or creamed. He likes chicken. I of course fixed Roast beef. He likes yellow rice, not white. Two guesses what color the rice was and the first one doesn't count. He will eat tomatoes if they're in spaghetti.

I had them sliced. Raw. When he saw the okra he very politely turned up his nose. This was after he had very cleverly asked what that green slimy stuff I was slicing was and if it was a vegetable. I should have told him it was a fruit and maybe he would have at least tried it.

Supper being a dismal failure, he continued his pursuit of the cat children. They, being of sound mind and good sense, hid from him. Duffy had long since pleaded guilty to a charge of child endangerment and was sentenced to the back yard.

The phone rang while I was cooking. Joyce wanted to know if I wanted to come in and work third shift for an officer who had called in sick. The answer was a resounding yes...I did want to but I simply could not. Mac, who had had even less experience with 8 year old boys than I have, would never have understood. I feared he would run off to Daddy's and lock himself in with him.

Toni called a little bit ago. She asked how it was going. I lied. I told her all was going well...great in fact. I told her if I was a bit sharp it was because I was in pain. My shoulder and neck had been been giving me a fit for about three days. I told her it wasn't that I didn't want to talk to Alex, I didn't want to talk to Mac either. In fact I wished that everyone would leave me to my own devices and let me suffer in peace. Alex came to speak with his mother and wanted to know when they were coming to pick him up. He said he thought he was making Aunt Sandi nervous. I suspect Toni now knows all is not well in paradise.

And  now our Alex has reached his majority...he his now 21...a college student with a bright future in front of him because he loves to talk... now I wonder which side of the family he gets that from...Happy Birthday darling boy...we love you...

Aunt Sandi and Uncle Mac

Sorry...Wrong Number

It was late one evening in Beaconsfield, England (the county of Bucks) and we had just retired for the evening.  I had my book in hand and Mac had brought up the Daily Mail.  He always read the paper in bed at night since he had to leave so early to "go up to town" to work.  "Up to town" was London, and it was an hour long train ride every day.  Both ways.  We had only been living in England for three months and I was still suffering from Jet Lag.  (I capitalize it because I am certain it must be the actual name for an actual disease.)  I don't think I overcame the symptoms of said disease for at least a year.  I found myself yawning at odd times during the day and wanting to curl up on the divan like a cat...why you may ask?  Because I simply was not resting well.  On this particular night, the phone was ringing.  Now, imagine watching a lovely British show on PBS and hearing the phone ring that peculiar "bringgggg brinnggg...bringgggg bringgg."  It still caused me to catch my breath every time I heard it in my own home.  There was something so foreign in the burr of the ring that you don't hear in our phones .  Of course now you hear everything from bagpipes to Ding Dong the Witch is Dead"  but that is now and I'm talking about then...1980.  Anyway, the phone was doing that thing that it does when it actually DEMANDS that you answer it.  Now, we only had one phone in the house, it was on the foyer table at the front door.  It had a lovely long cord so that if I wanted to carry on a conversation of any length it would easily travel into the lounge by the fire.  So the phone is ringing and Mac says, "now who  is that at this hour?"  I gave him the sideways look and told him the crystal ball was downstairs with the phone, but I'd certainly consult one or both of them to see who it might be.  I answered the phone in the accepted way by saying the phone number...Beaconsfield 4650.  A voice from the other end asked to speak to John.  I told him that I felt he may have the wrong number and he asks "are you American?"  I assured him that his wrong number was actually ringing in the UK and not the USA and he began to tell me about his dearest Aunt who was now living in Buffalo New York and asking me if I knew what it was like there.  We had a very nice conversation that lasted about forty five minutes.  I went back upstairs and climbed into bed and Mac roused himself enough to ask who had been calling.  He didn't bat an eye when I told him it had been a wrong number. 

Now, why this old story has come up is because something happened the other day that brought it to mind immediately.  Monday we were going into Hartsville and I called my friend Cathie from my cell phone to hers to see if she wanted to ride along.  The phone rang once then went to voice mail.  I left a quick message about why I was calling and thought no more about it.  I tried to call her again on Wednesday to firm up plans to go to the Smokehouse on Wednesday and the same thing, straight to voice mail.  Wednesday afternoon Cathie called me and asked if we were still on for dinner.  I assured her we were and would pick her up at 5:30.  So we're on the road and I told her about the calls going to voicemail and she said she had checked and that it didn't show my calls.  I  took out my phone and flipped it open and dialed her number and the same thing...but the phone in her hand didn't ring.  I hung up then opened it and called out the number that I had entered.  It was off by one number.  We laughed over the mistake and then suddenly my phone rang.  I answered and a lady said "you know you've called me several times this week and I just couldn't figure out who you are."  I explained to her that I had entered the wrong number in my phone and apologized for the bother.  She laughed and said, "well I was just going to say if you still want to go to WalMart's, I wouldn't mind."   Too bad she lives 193 miles away.  But I'll keep her number, her name is Gillian and she sounds a treat.  I make more friends this way...

A Giveaway!!

Gill, That British Woman, is having a giveaway at her place and it's easy to join the fun~!  Head on over and enjoy the read, while you're there!
Here's how
http://thatbritishwoman.blogspot.com/2012/02/giveaway.html

Babysitting the Big Kids

Babysitting for the big kids.

I know that most people go onto Face book for the interaction with friends, the games and the (let's face it) gossip, but I have a whole different reason for falling into the Face book trap.  If not for Face book I'd not have one danged clue as to what my kids are up to.  Okay, so they're not exactly kids, they are well north of 20 and I've not paid a babysitter in years.  But I still like to know what is going on in their lives.  I don't want to be the last one to know that in the interest of health older son Wallace was entered in the Marine Mud Run last year.  I wish I could show you the picture of his new lean self covered in mud and it wasn't a beauty treatment. Oh, wait...I can!   Or that baby son Michael had changed jobs and was now working not to far away from our home, but a fair trip from his own home.  I haven't worked for the Sheriff in over 10 years so no longer have my brothers in khaki  or grey to keep me posted on their comings and goings.  (One of my favorite troopers once  labeled Michael the Road Warrior and then proceeded to give me details.  I don't care for details.  They keep me up nights.)

So anyway, the babies are no longer in need of babysitting, the teens are no longer in need of a shadow but I find that I no longer have a clue what is going on with them without Face book.  For instance...last week I went onto older son's page and saw a picture  of him that looked suspiciously like being seated in an airplane seat.  So, I asked him in the comment section "are you on an airplane?"  Hmmmm....seems  Sara (my Daughter((in-law)) was chosen to be a contestant on Jeopardy (May 28th is when the show airs) but did I get even a clue that they were leaving for LA?  Yeah, right.  Face book knew...mom was in the dark...
Son Michael bought a new car not to far back.  The old truck was beating him to death on the trip from Florence to Cheraw, and I found out when?  Yep, there he was on Face book standing next to his new ride.   So,  what do I have to do to get my kids to talk to me?  I don't nag them to call, but a call every so often would be nice.  Till then, I guess Face book will be my information highway and my babysitter of choice.

Life here on Planet Jefferson

We love living out in the country.  It's not just the quiet, it's the neighbors and the woods, the songbirds and the wildlife.  Granted I am not to keen about going walkabout at night anymore.   The woods are close and dark and deep.  At night I hear what I swear are coyotes.  If they aren't then our neighbors have some good dog impressionists.  I'm not so wild about getting up to highway 151 and having to dodge the hunters standing along side the road, shotguns laid across arms waiting for the dogs to chase the game out onto the road to them.  No, I'm not fond of that at all.  But all in all, we are far enough away from the road to enjoy our own gathering of the wild and free.  We put out corn to feed the deer and the doves, the squirrels and the rooster.   Yes, I said rooster.  Dudley and a small herd of guineas (I know, guineas come in flocks, but these came in a herd, I promise you,) showed up one warm spring day two years ago.  Now, Dudley once belonged to the neighbors on the other side of the woods, he and his guinea friends.  They came to us when a drove of dogs killed off the rest of their flock.  They traveled through our woods and begged for sanctuary.  Sanctuary they received.  The beautiful red rooster had no tail feathers left, he was lucky to escape with his head on his shoulders.  He was greeted by the cats and they protect him as she sleeps on the porch rail or on the glider.  When he sleeps on the glider, they gather around him to keep him warm, sleeping with him.  The guineas live in the plum thicket.  We had 13 when they first arrived, and sadly we are now down to 4.
I used to wonder what was happening to them.  I worried that dogs were making off with dinner right under our noses, but I don't think that is the case.  We have spoiled them so that every morning when we take the dogs out for their morning constitutional they run to the shed waiting on us to throw out their seed.  They will even gather at the porch steps if they think we have dalllied to long inside.  I started throwing them cold cornbread to the point that now I bake it even when we don't want any.  But getting back to the shrinking herd...they come to the koi pond, claiming it as their watering hole and just make themselves at home in general.  Now if they're at the pond and I'm trying to drive around to park, they come rushing out to greet the truck.   They rush the truck and refuse to move til I get out and shoo them away.  I used to hear my grandmother say that chickens would drown from looking up at the sky to see what that wet stuff we call rain might be.  Was she worried about their sensitivity or what?  When I see that these creatures won't even get out of the way of a truck, I have to say it...guineas are stupid.  I can't figure why they are smart enough to know where the feed comes from, yet not smart enough to get out of traffic...so we're down to Dudley (who most certainly is smart enough to stay out of the truck's way) and four guineas.  I love those stupid birds.  Think I'll go make them a hoecake of cornbread.

Attn: SMARTHOMEPLANET.COM

Attn: smartplanethome.com

Ref: The Original Personal Pie Maker

Okay, so the mini pie baker that I ordered from Cook.com arrived yesterday. I spent this morning sipping coffee made by my Keurig coffee maker and munching on a doughnut from my mini doughnut baker. All in all a pretty fair morning between me and my gadgets. I was reading the hand book on the pie baker and discovered something fairly important...you don't even have to be fairly bright to figure out THAT the recipes in this handy dandy little hand book simply won't fly. Okay so I understand not to touch the hot plates because they are (duh) hot. I learned that at an early age, you know, more than fifty years ago. I understand that not all people who order this product are the sharpest knife in the drawer, so I understand the safety issues, okay? I also agree that you really shouldn't immerse the unit into water in order to clean it. Again, "duh". I am pretty sure I know not to use it while otherwise occupied (like say going to the grocers in the next town to buy the pie filling that might work in this thing...explanation following:)

I have read each and every recipe in my handbook provided by your company. I read them two or three times, in fact. I kept looking for the part where you actually cook the filling. I mean really people...just as it is important to tell some folks not to touch the hot plates or immerse in water or go off and leave the thing plugged in while you are in the next town over, it is equally important to tell the self same folk that pie fillings are to be cooked. I kept waiting to see the instructions to mix and put in pan and cook til thickened, then cool ... you know, every canned pie filling (fruit anyway) has one thing in common.  It has been cooked...but I could read this handbook from now till doomsday and I would never see those instructions...and since when would I freeze a pumpkin pie before eating?   It actually says this:  1. In a bowl mix combine all pie filling ingredients and mix until well blended.  2.  place baked pies in the freezer and allow to harden prior to eating.  Who writes these manuals? And more importantly, what country are they written in? I should pay more attention to where the things I buy come from, so I have only myself to blame. I only bring this to your attention because I am bringing it to my readers' attention at the same time. My readers are blogging friends and subscribers to The Cheraw Chronicle Newspaper, (a weekly paper in our county for many years for whom I am a columnist)...and all of them are smart enough to know that you would need to cook pie filling before putting it into the raw pie rounds as this calls for. And since pumpkin pie shouldn't be consumed frozen they disregard that bit of info immediately. I, in fact, believe that any or all of them could improve on your lousy little handbook in about five minutes...so, what I found from the handbook provided me with a good laugh and the instinct to throw it directly into the garbage...the handbook, not the pie maker...I'll reserve that option for after I've actually used it. Come to think of it, the only thing I'd keep the handbook for would be a coaster for my coffee cup...the coffee made by my Keurig...and my blog address is http://sandimcbride.blogspot.com/

I only resort to this because I've tried clicking on the Contact Us bar as shown on your site and it simply brings me back to the Google screen...just hoping this email address of info@smartplanethome.com works...I won't hold my breath. I'll just have another cup of coffee and a doughnut.

Dear Santa, May I have a Word?

So if you recall, last week I was talking about the big book of computer info called "The Complete Book of Computer for the Complete Idiot."  And as you recall it's main use is as a door stop.  A $69.99 door stop.  Well, after I had learned what I needed from it, I sort of wore out my EMachine.  Everyone was after me to get a laptop.  I am not sure what I had against it, but I was not a happy camper with a laptop.  I wanted what I was accustomed to, that tall tower and big a** monitor that took a special computer desk to sustain its' weight.  So in 2008 Santa did the unthinkable.  He brought me a laptop and I sort of pouted about it.  Okay, so I just out and out refused to even try it for the first week it took up residence.  Then, when the EMachine refused to cooperate at all, I opened the laptop and began to try it out.  I hated the little pad that replaced the mouse and Mac heard me all the way down in the garden..."I HATE THIS THING!!"
It's a lucky girl I am, because Mac knows a good bit about computers, he's built his fair share, including all the ones we have used.  He built my EMachine.  He came in and went into his office and came back with a mouse.  He plugged it into the USB port (now I have to be honest and tell you that I had written down UBS till Mac corrected me...it stands for Universal Serial Bus).  The computer picked it up as new hardware and installed it.  I hesitantly approached the computer, and placing fingers on keyboard, began to type.  I used the mouse for the things the mouse has to do and was in love.  Oh yes, I love my laptop.  I was on that laptop hours at a time.  By the end of it, I had written a book, and had it published. Also, I was not the only one who loved that laptop...Sonny our Russian Blue loved it too.  When I wasn't on it, I'm afraid he was.    And then something awful happened.  Sonny and I loved my laptop so much that we actually loved it to death.  Yes, we killed my laptop.  I don't know how we killed it, but suffice it to say that it became overheated and decided to blow itself up.  Sigh.  I handed it over to son Michael who had it for several weeks.  "Exactly what did you do to it," he finally asked.  That was when he returned it to me as being a hopeless case.  I think it should be purrfectly clear that Sonny has denied all culpability in this.  He claims he was in his cola box, and has the proof.   So right now I am using Mac's laptop and he has ordered me to keep it closed and turned off and Sonny's presence is not needed upon the case.  Poor Sonny. 

So, this is going to be my letter to Santa.  I'm sure he reads the Chronicle...after all, he has letters to him published in it every year.  So here goes...Dear Santa, all I want for Christmas is a new laptop with cat repellent implied...I've been pretty good all year if you don't count the mornings and evenings...thanking you in advance...Sandi  So, what do you think?  I'll let you know if he agrees that a new laptop is in my future.  Cross your fingers for me, will you?

Mother-in-Law (mother-in-lawwwww...)

Once I wanted to be the best mother, ever.  I'm not sure if I ever quite attained the lofty level of BME, but it sure wasn't for want of trying.  I learned the differences between what they wanted, what they needed and what they just absolutely had to have no matter the sacrifice.  Okay, so the last thing didn't rear it's ugly head quite as often as they insisted on it, but I did eventually level the playing field and work through the problems.  When they were little, it was much easier.  I could simply tell them no or get the object of their affection on the qt and surprise them.  As they got older, that became harder to do.  Just this weekend we were looking at some pictures of them at the age of 8 and 9 just after Santa had made his stop.  It showed the boys with their creatures of selection (transformer creatures of the day) and Wallace says, "oh yeah, I remember those...I was poking around in your closet to see what I could find and there they were...I hated I had done it, there were no surprises."  I never knew that.  It cured him of snooping, I think, but it sort of messed that Christmas up for him.  As they attained teen hood, it was so much harder to do what was best for them and harder to say no.  Since I was a LEO with the Sheriff's Department, I knew every cop in every department in every town including the Highway Patrol.  They couldn't get away with anything that I didn't hear about...eventually.  One of the SCHP patrolmen  had a nickname for Michael...Road Warrior.   He slipped up and called him that when he didn't know I was anywhere around.  I got the story of how he came to get the nickname...two stops in as many nights by the same trooper...and no consequences.  I can't say I agreed with it and told him so.  Of course I had to confront Michael with it as soon as we were both home at the same time...and it slowed his little Chevy down for a time.  Wallace had already taken care of his own speed problem by nearly losing control of his , just trying to see how fast the Trans Am would go.  I learned of this after he was married the first time.  I wished he'd kept it to himself.  Being a semi-believer in the string theory, I sometimes wondered what had happened to them in those alternate lives the true string theory believers often speak of.

So, I wanted to be best mother ever...not quite there...and now trying attain BMilE or Best Mother in law Ever status.  It's an uphill climb.  My son Michael is married to the lovely Anna and they have our only grandchild, Arianna...I do not poke my nose in their business even when they invite it.  I never liked either my parents or Mac's trying to mind our business and I promised myself that I would not do it to them.  When it comes to holidays,  I remember how often I wished I could be with my family during Thanksgiving and Christmas, but usually we were to far away to be with either.  We spent two Thanksgiving's with his family because he was a Navy Recruiter in their home town and we were there.  We spent two with my family because we were in Charleston which isn't far from my family.  It all worked out.  But I remember how I felt as a daughter and I realize that my daughters-in-law must feel the same way.  Therefore, we have Thanksgiving on Saturday so we can all be together.  It's a compromise, but one which I am willing to make.  My older son Wallace presented us with our future daughter -in-law over this holiday season.   We were quite pleased with his choice.  She seemed pleased with our situation of Thanksgiving on Saturday and we all had a great time, especially Arianna (who was looking forward to having a new Aunt in the family...though she is not so sure she wants any cousins any time soon...she's sort of used to being the ONLY grandchild.)

So, I'm going to be a Mother-In-Law again and I couldn't be any happier...I just hope that this song doesn't end up as ring tone for either of my girls!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F2mujNA7CRk

Over the River and Through the Woods

Over the River and Through the Woods
If you ask, most people would probably say that Christmas is their favorite holiday of all.  Not me, though.  Thanksgiving has always been my favorite and I know it is because of my Grandmother.  We all adored Mammy. She could do no wrong in our eyes.  Her approval was all we craved and her understanding was all we wanted.  No matter where we were living when we were children, Mama always made sure that we were in Chesterfield at Mammy and Daddy Dwight's house for Thanksgiving.  We would drive all day and half the night, roll out of that car and race to the screen porch where we would be gathered up in the loving arms of our Grandmother.  She would quickly hustle us off to bed upstairs with blankets warmed by the little pot bellied stove in the kitchen.  It was the most marvelous feeling in the world to snuggle down in one of the big old double beds upstairs, toasty warm under the covers, but our noses would be chilled by the artic like cold of the unheated bedroom we loved. 
The next morning all the cousins would arrive to hugs from their Aunt Deferris and Uncle Mike and we'd race around outside and play like there was no tomorrow. Inside the Aunts and Mammy would be catching up on all the news, the Uncles would be talking about world events and President Eisenhower...I think Daddy Dwight was always secretly proud that he and the great man shared a first name.  After a full day of catching up, the adults planned the next day's big meal.  The turkey was sitting stuffed and ready on the freezer on the screened porch.  His day in the oven would come early.  The shelves were lined with Pecan pies, caramel cakes, fruit cakes and a 12 layer cake that defied gravity by remaining upright.  Once again, the baths would be had, the blankets warmed and we were bundled off to bed to dream of the coming feast. 
We heard the business of the day long before we beheld it with our very own eyes.  I could hear the rustling of aprons on dress skirts, hear the pans clanking against the oven racks as the tom turkey was slid into its depths. The water was running into the sink to begin the seemingly never ending washing up of pans and utensils.  We would lie in bed listening to Mammy and Mama while they talked and compared recipes.  Their laughter was pure music, the melodic notes climbing up the stairs and around the corner then race to the bed where we lay, warming us with the sound.  Soon we would all be up, the rest of the family would arrive and the Aunts would lay the tables...one for the adults and then the children's table.  I always thought how exciting it would be to eat with the adults in the dining room, the conversation washing over me like honey.. .  But today I would give anything to go back to the childrens table with the cousins who were like sisers and brothers, to the laughter that filled those two rooms to the rafters.   I would love to see again the cranberry colored plates and the stemmed glassware sitting on pristene white starched tablecloths, the silver very properly placed by each plate.  But most of all, I'd love to feel my grandmother's arms around me again.  Now that would truly be a Thanksgiving to remember.

The recipe for Pumpkin Dump Cake...easy peasy...

1 (18.25 ounce) Betty Crocker Supermoist yellow cake mix
1 (20 ounce) can pure pumpkin
1 (12 ounce) can evaporated milk
3 whole eggs
1 cup white sugar
3 teaspoons cinnamon
3/4 cup butter, melted
Directions
1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees and grease a 9x13 baking dish.
2. In a large bowl, mix pumpkin, milk, eggs, sugar, and cinnamon until well blended. Spread pumpkin mixture in prepared baking dish.
3. Sprinkle cake mix evenly on top of the batter. Pour melted butter over the top of the cake mix. Bake 50 minutes.
4. Cool. Top with whipped cream or ice cream.
I use sugar substitutes like Splenda and sugar free kool whip as a topping...great for the dieters and the diabetic members of our family....
Happy Thanksgiving to all!!

Family Reunions

Family Reunions

Here in the South (you'll notice that the South is capitalized due to her importance) while we may not have a monopoly on Family Reunions, we certainly make a big deal of them.  I've often thought it was because of all the Scots/Irish bloodlines in our history that makes it so important.  Our family clans feel the need to get together and touch base on what everyone is doing, who they've married (thus bringing in new blood into the clan) and to ramble through the Family Cemetary to speak to all our forefathers and foremothers, let them know we're still here and they still matter.  I've had a fascination with our family cemetary since I've had recallable memory. WHen I was a child I liked nothing better than to ramble through the graves and listen as my Grandmother told me the history of those who rested here. 
 This past October 15th, not only did Mac and I celebrate our 43rd wedding annivesary, we attended the Douglas Family Reunion along with younger son Michael and wife Anna.  Most importantly, our Grand Daughter, Arianna, was attending her first ever reunion of our family.  Dinner, which is always wonderful and no one goes away hungry from these things, was followed by the adult family members recalling reunions past at Big Granny Douglas's wonderful home on Douglas Ranch Road.  We've held them at the Church for a number of years now, but they always included the trek to the Douglas Family Cemetary even back then.  I saw that Arianna and some of the younger cousins had made their way to the cemetary, so I joined them.  Arianna was standing at her Grandmother Grace's (Douglas Valverde) gravesite and asked who else she was related to (and who now resided )in this wooded glen.  I pointed out her Great and Great Great Grandparents, her great great Aunts and Uncles, cousins and all the other relatives she would never know except by the stories we could tell her.  I've never found our family cemetary to be spooky in the least.  It's simply a place where the sleeping lie in another dimension, listening for voices in another room.  I look forward to seeing all the family members as they take their younger generations through and point out who lies where and share memories of their own past with these family members of yesterday.  Yes, we certainly make a big deal of our Family Reunions...and it's not always about the food.

Veterans Salute

They say that the newspapers of the world will soon be a thing of the past, that with the internet news so available to breaking news there will be no need for the printed page.  You have Kindle to read books, no smell of ink and tree to feed your senses.  But The Cheraw Chronicle and Chesterfield Advertiser will continue to do what they do best...bring you news of today and yesterday and yesteryear...one thing they do well is honor our Veterans.  For all of you who aren't really sure when we began this holiday, here is a short blurb on the why and wherefore.
 
Veterans Day is an annual United States holiday honoring military veterans. It is a federal holiday that is observed on November 11. It is also celebrated as Armistice Day or Remembrance Day in other parts of the world and falls on November 11, the anniversary of the signing of the Armistice that ended World War I. (Major hostilities of World War I were formally ended at the 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month of 1918 with the German signing of the Armistice.) Courtesy of my History Teacher Mr. Phil Chewning.
Look at some of the pictures that we have here honoring the Veterans of Chesterfield County.  Most of them served during a time of war...WWI, WW II, Korea, Vietnam, and both of the Middle East conflicts one over one still going on.  Most of them were mere children when they entered the service of our country.  They were as young as fifteen some of them.  Or they were seventeen like my husband Mac.  I remember my grandmother making the statement that it is always the young who rise up to protect the country of old men and women.  Never is that more evident than today.  The pictures of those so young that we have lost recently make me want to weep.  At a time in their lives when they should be playing football, going to college, dancing the night away or just living their lives without worry of gunfire or explosion, instead we are bombarded with the news of the dead and injured.  So, this is not a day for sales or merriment but a time of celebration, celebration of the unselfish men and women who gladly serve our nation and in turn, us.  Thank you, all you brave young men and women, those who are now no longer young those who are no longer with us and those who will show up at the recruiters offices and offer their services and their lives to protect the this land we love.  Thank you!!!

Going Home Hungry

Wednesday afternoon Mac and I went to see Daddy and take him some Bojangles chicken for a late lunch.  I rang the bell several times, but got  no answer.  Mac looked in the car port off the garage and told me the car was there.  I got my key out and after a perfunctory knock, I unlocked the dead bolt and entered.  I guess we were about to interrupt his afternoon nap, because there he was, sound asleep!  I turned the tv down and he woke up instantly.  He was surprised to see me standing there and asked if Mac were with me.  I told him that Mac was busy eating figs off the tree, but would be in soon.   Daddy was looking at me intently and then announced that I should eat some of the chicken or go make a sandwich that I was too skinny.  I laughed at that and told him I intended to lose another ten pounds.  That got a reaction!  I yelled for Mac to come in, that Daddy was fussing at me.  We had a nice visit and left him happy and content. 

Yesterday (Friday) Mac and I took a trip to Hartsville for some shopping and ended up at Applebees for dinner.  Now,  we usually eat at the Smokehouse on Friday night but since we weren't going to make it there in time, I decided to have babyback ribs.  Mac got crunchy fried shrimp.  Mac quite enjoyed his shrimp, but the ribs were inedible.  They had been cooked an hour past a fare thee well and had a sauce much to  sweet for human consumption not to  be dessert.  They had such a crowd that trying to get our server's attention was next to impossible. I promise you, we never have that problem at the Smokehouse!  Finally the server mosied over and I told her that the dinner was not what I expected.  She promised to get the manager and left.  Mac had now finished his meal and mine still rested nearly untouched in front of me.  The manager finally came over and took my complaint.  She offered to bring me another serving but I said thanks but no thanks, more of the same usually didn't work well for me.  She offered any other meal.  I told her that since Mac was now finished I would feel foolish eating while he sat and watched.  I had just spent a half hour shoving dried meat morsols around my plate, while he ate.  She offered dessert.  I asked if she had anything sugar free.  Well, of course not.  I told her to just take my meal off the ticket.  She was very nice and kept apologizing for the poor quality of the ribs and assured me she'd just finished (you'll pardon the expression) raking her cooks over the coals.  But the worst of it, even worse than going home hungry from Applebees is this, Daddy will not be happy about his perceived skinny baby not eating.  Maybe he still has some of that chicken left.

Back to Black

I often wonder what happens to talented young people when they hit their twenties.   They've been told all their lives how wonderful they are, their art, their music, their intellect is so far above the norm that they  stand out in the crowd. They not only stand out, they stand head and shoulders above it.   When does that constant idolization of family and then new made fans become not  enough?  It seems that suddenly the more bizarre the behaviour the more outrageous the appearance the less the  talent shines.  I first heard Amy Winehouse several years ago.  I can't remember what she was singing,  it may have been Back to Black or You Sent me Flying...but her smokey jazz voice brought a faraway feel to the heart.  You could listen to her, close  your eyes and imagine yourself in a speak easy of the 30's or or in a front row seat at a high class night club.  If you glanced behind you there would be other patrons dressed to the nines, band box bright.  And through it all, Amy's voice was the tenuous thread keeping you rooted to  the dream.  Hers was not a rock voice, it was mellow and liquid and had she not fallen on drug addiction we would be listening to her long into the century. 
There was another artist I admired, also not a country artist, not a jazz singer...a rock singer like almost no other.  Janice Joplin lived life high and hard from the beginning, it seems.  Of course the one I remember her for the most was Me and Bobby McGee...Janice could belt out a song like no body's business and when she was gone, there was no one like her ever again.   She too was twenty seven years old.  She too couldn't kick the habits of her youth.  She too was missed almost immediately, her record sales going up.  Like Amy's.  Amy's record sales have gone through the roof.  That's because there will be no more, no more smokey throated liquid lyrics sometimes emotional, sometimes slightly vulgar sometimes to vulgar for airplay, but no more all the same.  I wish that the love and adoration of family and fans had been enough.  I hope that lessons of her shattered life will serve as a warning for others in the same position.  Sadly, it won't be.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QpuL7FpDeMA&feature=related

How many pecks in a bushel?

Last year, Mac said he wasn't going to plant so many tomatoes.  This was after our tomatoes were like zuchini in that we couldn't give them away.  I canned and froze tomatoes and wrapped green ones in newspaper and stored them in the pantry.  We were eating tomatoes at Thanksgiving.  He grows some really great ones in these things he call "growtainers".  They hold two plants each.  He has four of them.  The tomatoes get to be softball and bigger size.  They make great sink sandwiches.  He has the makings for four more of these growtainers out there.  Okay, so that's eight tomato plants already bearing.  But wait!  He has nearly an acre planted in melons, beans,  Armendian melons (a great cucumber), eggplant and peppers...we have strawberries (still putting on fruit) and YES we have TOMATOES.  There are Celebrity,  Mortgage Lifter (three different varieties) and lord knows what else.  He even has some grafting stock to try grafting.  Like we don't have enough already. 
I saw this little marvel  of a gadget on The Price is Right.  It was called a Tomato Press.  Okay, so lots of you already knew about this thing, but I didn't.  So this weekend, I used it for the second time.  I put on a big pan of boiling water and started blanching the baskets and baskets of tomatoes that were sitting on every available space in the kitchen and dining room.  I just plopped the tomatoes, skin and all, into the hopper and started turning the handle.  Out poured lovely tomato sauce.  I put the skin and seed back through and got more juice...I worked for nearly an hour and ended up with ten quarts of lovely tomato for use in sauces of all kinds.  And it made a pretty good juice, too. 
I have just spent the last two hours watering the garden.  I have watered the fruit trees and all the tomatoes, the strawberries and the eggplant. I watered the peppers (bell and HOT) and the flowers even got some attention for a change.  Done with the front, I turned the hose over to Mac and came inside for a cup of coffee!   Mac is down in the big garden watering now.  I went down to take him a cold drink and he was shaking his head.  "What's up?" I asked him.  He looked around at the forty+ tomato plants (including the three he had planted on Saturday) and said "I'm not going to plant so many tomatoes next year."  I nodded wisely, but a mental eye roll was what was going on in my head.  Yep, I've heard that before!

A 4th of July Tribute

I've often found it odd that almost every national holiday on our calendar is accompanied with a blow out sale.  It seems almost obscene to hear the commercials this year while we celebrate our Nation's birthday.  So many have died to protect our liberties and while I find parades and picnics, cookouts and family gatherings to be the very soul of the day, I have to ask.  What is it with the sales?  Today we celebrate our country's birth, her peoples contributions to the safety of others and we mourn the loss of all the men and women who shed their blood for her and for us.  I am including in todays a post an original poem I wrote several years ago.  Also, I am including a link to the song Arlington, by Trace Adkins.  You may not be a country music fan, but only a stone would be unmoved by this...no, on second thought, that stone would weep.  TO listen to it go here: http://www.youtube.com/results?search_query=arlington+trace+adkins&aq=0&oq=Arlington

She buried her son today
by Sandi McBride

She buried her son today,
That is why she sits in the dark with her cloak of grief pulled tightly around her.  That is why her eyes are empty, turned backward toward the past where he still plays , laughs...lives.
She buried her son today.
There is no consolement you can offer her that will lighten that grief and melt that capsule of ice that surrounds her heart and freezes her soul.  She means no disrespect in her failure to acknowledge your carefully chosen words, your outpouring of support.  At the moment she can not bring herself to reach out to you and accept your living warmth...she hugs her pain selfishly to herself separating herself from all but the one who was taken from her forever, the words God and Country an anathema for now.
She buried her son today.
And in her torment wonders had he lived, what great things he may have done to make a name for himself in this world, so that someone other than she remembers his name in years to come.  What beautiful flashing eyed girl would have captured his heart?  (His heart now beating in anther's chest, giving hope to some other woman who sits in some other room daring to smile because maybe, just maybe, her child would live to see another day.)
She buried her son today.
He was not her whole world, but a great portion of her world had revolved around him.  There will never come a day that her thoughts will not turn to memories of his birth, his first steps, his first ballgame, his first love.  She will forever see his sweet smile and clear unclouded eyes.  (Eyes now viewing the wonders of the world while looking out from a strangers face.)
She buried her son today.
And just for a moment marvels that the things she loved about him still live on, beloved Country in the future.  Just not today.  Today she buried her son.that while they could not help her beloved boy maintain life, somewhere out there her darling's heart still beats, his eyes still see.  But her grief lifts just for a moment.  She knows that she will rejoice in his gift to mankind and his