Where have I been for the last two months you ask: Building memories with my precious little Annabelle. I'll begin with the current and work down as I have a chance to post them. I've written down some dates, but haven't worked on the pictures yet. You get unedited mistakes and all because as you can see I've been pretty long-winded on this one.
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
Today would have been my parent’s 81st wedding anniversary. Yes, I stand corrected by my daughter. How do I remember the number of years? Simple…I was very, very pregnant with my baby daughter 31 years ago when they celebrated their 50th wedding anniversary. We celebrated their special anniversary by giving them a party and inviting their friends and neighbors. The party was at our local little community church the four children had grown up in and my father’s family had chartered. It was a very, very hot day for this already suffering pregnant woman who had chosen to wear the only dressy dress she had available to her. (Long sleeves, long dress, and silky, clingy to my bulging body. But my soon to be daughter (six weeks away from delivery) was there whether she knew it or not! I just add her age to 50 and know how long they would have been married.
To add to the misery my father-in-law had been and was in the hospital suffering from a heart attack. We had made many trips 2 ½ hours drive away on the week end and this would be the first we missed for maybe 4-6 weeks. I had been restricted from long drives on the road until after my delivery and the prior week end was to have been the last time I traveled to see them. Sadly, he would pass away the Friday following my parent’s anniversary.
About six weeks to two months earlier my sister-in-law had passed away. My mother-in-law and father-in-law had both come up for the funeral. Things moved fast in a very short time.
Earlier in April my only sister-in-law had passed away at a very young age of around 38 of a blood clot to the heart/lungs. She was a wonderful sister-in-law and I felt as though she was my sister, too. She taught me so much, or she tried to. She was fun and she and I could find lots of things to get into and relate to. She helped me make my first meal of hamburgers the summer my first niece was born. She took me to my first movie (a drive in showing ‘The birth of twins’, yuck!. My brother just happened to work at the drive-in to support his young family while putting himself through college and we were able to get into the movies free, I’m sure.
After Granddaddy and I married we still maintained our relationship with them and spent a few week-ends with them. Anytime she got a new gadget or appliance, she made it look like so much fun to use, and easy, too, that Granddaddy knew he would be looking for one in the stores for me later that week. I had to have the exact same Kenmore blender she had because she could make the best coleslaw in hers. Mine didn't quite turn out the same. The cookie maker that made the best spritz cookies was just for me. I could go on and on at the money she costs us during my early marriage.
My sister-in-law had a built-in sense of anything domestic. Too bad more of that didn’t rub off on me. She taught herself how to decorate the most beautiful cakes, probably long before Wilton started offering cake decorating classes. I had to pay for two courses with my best friend to learn how to make and decorate cakes that didn't look nearly as pretty as hers. I remember being in awe at the lovely cake covered with her very first perfectly sculpted home-made roses made from frosting that she brought for either my Daddy’s or my Mother’s Father/Mother Day celebration. She was very young when she came into our family, still in college, and it was such a shock and a very big loss when she passed away, way too soon, in April.
I have always said the ending of 1977 and the first 7 months of 1978 were the worst years of our marriage or even my life that I had ever lived through with all the tragedies we had gone through. They just didn’t seem to end. But the sorrows we had suffered were finally replaced with one of the biggest and best blessings we have ever had…we got the beautiful little girl we had so hoped and prayed for and our little girl was here, safe and sound. She was the very best thing to come out of 1978.
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
Now on to sharing some of the good things that came out of the year 2006…Annabelle!
We had our fairly regular routine of time with Annabelle, today. Her Mom has lots of meetings to go to especially during the summer so we get to spend time with Annabelle and since this was Wednesday we went to her house. We weren’t sure if we would eat fish with her today because my sister and my brother-in-law had other obligations to fulfill and didn’t know if the would finish in time to eat fish. But they did and we did. But first we had to convince Annabelle she really wanted to eat out today. We had to finish dressing in a hurry. There was hair to comb, shoes to find and put on, sippy cups to fill, bathroom runs to make and lots of other things to do, but she had decided she didn’t want to go out to eat today after all. Mommy says she has gotten to the point she doesn’t want to go anywhere anymore. Just likes to stay home and this was another one of those days. When I reminded her we needed to go out to eat she said she didn’t want to go out to eat and ran over to her left-over breakfast I had moved over to her high chair and out of the way. She had something to eat. She didn’t need to go out. I finally had to get strong with her and made her help me get finished. She settled down but not without giving me a bit of trouble.
Earlier in the week I had bought some cute little flower shaped silicone cupcake holders and I just knew Annabelle would love to use them to eat her food from. They came in a set of 12 for $10 from Wilton and I got them at Joann’s using a 40% off coupon, so I got them for only $6.00. There were six yellow ones and six pink ones. My choice would have been to have gotten them all in purple since that is her very favorite color for now, but I had to settle for what I could fine.
She found them on Monday before I had a chance to wash them and she did love them as I knew she would. I know my granddaughter, at least at the moment. I told her what they were for and that we would use them when we ate out or went on a picnic.
I had packed them in the car because I wasn’t sure if it would be a picnic or eat out day. So, I pulled them out at lunch and we divided her meal into those darling little cupcake holders! We used four of them because we just didn’t have a lot of room at the table because we were too late to get our usual favorite spot.
We put her favorite item of cooked broccoli in one, shrimp in another one, coleslaw in still another one and her fried okra in the remaining one. We didn’t have room for her hushpuppy. It drained off some of its grease on a napkin on the side. She chowed down on her food, so much so that she finished off most of my broccoli, as well as hers.
On the way over she had told Granddaddy exactly what she wanted for lunch: Broccoli with butter (so she could stick the broccoli into the butter like they were trees growing out of the butter) coleslaw, okra, shrimp, not macaroni and cheese, hushpuppy, and water. She tells us exactly what she wants each week and usually it’s pretty much the same as above. But it’s fun to listen to her ‘order’ though we know what it’s going to be.
After finishing her meal we headed back home. If you know Annabelle you know she moves at her own pace. She doesn’t let your time constraints affect her schedule. Somehow we were foolish enough to leave the Sunday paper in the backseat beside her. Lucky for us she didn’t see it when we were running late earlier. But she did see it this time. And the particular section she found was covering summer places to enjoy the water around the area. It took a bit of persuading but we finally got her in the car seat and buckled in.
She didn’t stop by casting the newspaper aside. No, she had to ‘read’ the paper all by herself. She examined every inch of the pictures on the page. She reminded me of the days when her oldest cousin always examined pictures on his presents and books, etc. when he was very, very young. She was just too cute not to take pictures of her. I hope my pictures came out, but I had to stop taking them because the camera showed a card error, so I may not have gotten them. (I found out my camera didn’t take but 2 pictures and it really didn’t take those two, so I’ve missed all those great shots of her being her natural self. It just makes me sick. I had taken quite a few of them and it looks like some of them would have been on there. And after Granddaddy reformatted the card and everything was erased he decided I should reset the date on it. I know little about whichever camera I’m using and having switched from the first camera we had to the second camera didn’t help. While I was fiddling with it I happened to come across a picture of my oldest grandson and me when he was just a wee tiny little fellow. How it survived all the previous reformatting we’ll never know, but it was there. Granddaddy swore up and down that it wasn’t possible until he saw it for himself. We just don’t know how to get that one little picture off the camera. I would love to have it so I can see how long ago it was. I’m wondering now if it wasn’t some that were stored on the camera itself and not the card!) Back to my original story…She was engrossed in her newspaper almost all the way home. Finally, she handed me the paper and said, “Read this to me, Grandmomma.” And after reading under one picture she wanted to continue to the next until we had read the page again and read it all. I didn’t mention that when she first picked up the newspaper with the water/beach pictures she found a Joann’s page. Being her grandmother’s grandchild she is she asked if she could put it with her paper and carry it home with her. You can’t start them too young on that crafty stuff!
Later in the night her Mom asked why I had left the newspaper at their house. Because it was her paper and she had really enjoyed reading her paper on the way home.
Since she had slept a little later this morning I knew my dreams of her naptime were just that…dreams…and I was so right. I had gone to bed so late and gotten up early for the last few days and I found it very difficult to stay awake. I suggested we both take a nap. She was having none of that. I laid down on the floor and closed my eyes and a busy little body would fall on top of me and pound me In the chest. “Don’t go to seep, Grandmomma, Wake up, Grandmomma,” so many times I finally gave it up and we played “Let’s go shopping, Grandmomma!” We sorted our goods into sections: food, toys, jewelry, etc. and then went shopping, only to have her finally knock her shopping bag off onto the floor…kerplunk, where it stayed until the day was almost over.
At one point she decided she wanted to put her sippy cup filled with her water/apple juice over in her shopping cart. I knew we would forget where we put it. At least I would forget. I suggested we move it from the cart because we would forget. She looked at me and said, “Nooo, I say, ‘Where are you, apple juice? And it will say ‘I right here, Dannabelle!” This was her logic for finding it. And as she was imitating her talking apple juice that cute little hand was just a moving as though her juice was holding up its hand telling her where it was. And this was all said in Annabelle’s precious little sing-song voice with much animation added.
At some point in the day Annabelle thought it would be a good idea to bake a puppy dog cake. She had found her two ended spatula I had bought her earlier to use with her cooking utensils. She left the room to find the puppy dog cake we would decorate. This was a little pull toy doggy that Aunt Kate, Uncle Ken and the boys had given to her when she was younger. She has loved that puppy and loves pulling him around the floor, but today he would become a puppy dog cake. She handed him to me and said, “You decorate the puppy dog cake, Grandmomma.” And I did. I spread plenty of white frosting on his body with that spatula. I added black for his eyes and she pointed out I need to add blue for his collar until finally I thought I had finished decorating him. But, alas, I had missed a few spots here and there and had to add the frosting to the missed spots until he was perfect to both of us. Until she holds up her hand and says, "Wait…wait Grandmomma, I haven’t baked him, yet!" She had to bake him in her oven and I had to frost him all over again, but he turned into a beautiful, delicious tasting puppy dog cake.
Conversation between Annabelle and Daddy at dinner:
Annabelle: “Daddy, where’s Mommy? Is she stuck in twaffik?”
Daddy after recovering from his shock: “Yes Sweetie, she is stuck in traffic.”
Annabelle as she twists and turns that cute little silly face around in front of Daddy: “But you didn’t get stuck in twaffik, Daddy!”
Daddy: “No, Sweetheart, I didn’t.”
Annabelle, after a moment of thought: “You need to fix doze twaffik lights, Daddy!”
There were two things going on in that little mind. First of all she was remembering what Grandmomma had told her earlier on the way to eat. We had gotten stuck behind a malfunctioning traffic light and it seemed to never want to change. Once it did change, it was a very, very short turn signal and it seemed we might have to sit for another long period of time behind that same light. Grandmomma made the comment that the next time she was with Mommy or Daddy and the light turned red she should say to them, “Daddy needs to fix that light!”
So since Mommy was apparently late due to being caught up in traffic it must have been Daddy’s fault because she couldn’t get through those badly mistimed traffic lights between Mommy’s office and home.
Daddy was a bit puzzled where all this came from. It didn’t take him long to figure out Grandmomma was somehow connected. After all, she gets blamed for quite a bit.
Annabelle has such a tremendous memory! It’s really hard to believe things she can remember from a while back and some from times when she wasn’t as vocal as she is now.
Showing posts with label Heritage. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Heritage. Show all posts
Friday, June 12, 2009
Sunday, June 22, 2008
My Daddy's honesty
This is a newspaper article I came across today. This reflects the honesty of the man who raised four children and the example he was in our lives.
I hope you are able to read this. It was tattered and torn from use of sitting at my parents house, but I covered it with laminating in an attempt to preserve it. I thought someday the grandkids might be interested in seeing it.
The newspaper article was published March 28, 1962 and it had been 14 years prior when my Daddy had clerked in a grocery store. A gentleman came in for some groceries, Daddy had served him and some how the man had forgotten to get his change back from Daddy. Daddy had wrapped the money in a paper, put it in his wallet thinking he would see the man soon. It was 14 years later they ran up on each other in the Veterinarian's office. Daddy pulled his wallet out and gave him the change. According to the paper the money had already turned dark from being in his wallet.
The man was so impressed with my Daddy's honesty he went immediately to the newspaper and reported it so they could publish it in the paper. I don't think he had even remembered he had left without his change.
That's the article condensed in case you can't read it. Just a bit of family history for the wee folks who never got to know their Great-Granddaddy or maybe great-great.
Let's see, that happened 60 years ago he made the change. I think if you double click on the article it will enlarge for you to ready more easily.
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
Ten absolutely, totally useless, #5
I was born the child of a trail blazer. I was the final child of a forty-two year old woman back in the days when it wasn’t cool to be a mother at forty-two years old. That would make me what my siblings all referred to as the ‘baby of the family’, like it was some place of high honor, like I was a Princess… or something. Many times I would have gladly swapped places with either of them. It was a lonely position most times. My oldest brother was already fifteen years old when I was born, my sister was almost 11 and my nearest in age brother was already six, by one day.
Just to keep them in line, I was known to assure my three older siblings that after my parents had each of them they knew they could do far better and after three dismal tries and failures, they finally had me. They knew perfection when they had found it and decided to stop with me.
After I was a grown woman, I remember my mother telling me about the times my daddy’s mother would criticize her for having four children. (This was long after my Grandmother's death and maybe years after I married.) My grandmother seemed to think it was such a ‘sin’ or ‘shame’ at the very least for my Mama and Daddy to have ‘ so many children'. None of his other siblings had that many children. It really irritated my Mama for them to have this conversation and I can’t blame her.
Here was my grandmother’s count when she mentioned the other siblings. (1) One of her daughters had only one child, (2) another daughter had two children she had lost at their birth, (3) the other daughter had two children, but had lost her daughter at a very young age. (4) One of her sons had no children,(5) another one only had one child at the time, but would later have a second child, and (6) another son had only one child but (7) my mom and dad had dared to have four children.
Now math has never been my best skill, but if I’ve counted right, that means that my grandmother and my granddaddy had seven, yes, seven kids. And she dared criticize my mother for having four? So, she had three more than my Mama. I wonder which ones she would have given up if she had had her time to go over?
I don’t think my Mama would have given up a single one of us…well, not most days, anyway. No, I don’t think…I know… she wouldn’t have given one of us up. Good for you Mama, for getting upset with a nosy old mother-in-law, even if she was my Grandmother.
Maybe I sensed how she felt, and that’s the reason I never felt as close to her as I should have. I guess I kinda took her comments personally, since I was the one who was the tail-end of that family that my Grandmother apparently didn't think they should have had.
And, good for you, too, Mama, for recognizing perfection, although there were plenty of times when I really wished I hadn’t been so perfect. Then you may have felt compelled to have another sibling close to my age for me to grow up with. But you were pushing the age limit, weren’t you?
Just to keep them in line, I was known to assure my three older siblings that after my parents had each of them they knew they could do far better and after three dismal tries and failures, they finally had me. They knew perfection when they had found it and decided to stop with me.
After I was a grown woman, I remember my mother telling me about the times my daddy’s mother would criticize her for having four children. (This was long after my Grandmother's death and maybe years after I married.) My grandmother seemed to think it was such a ‘sin’ or ‘shame’ at the very least for my Mama and Daddy to have ‘ so many children'. None of his other siblings had that many children. It really irritated my Mama for them to have this conversation and I can’t blame her.
Here was my grandmother’s count when she mentioned the other siblings. (1) One of her daughters had only one child, (2) another daughter had two children she had lost at their birth, (3) the other daughter had two children, but had lost her daughter at a very young age. (4) One of her sons had no children,(5) another one only had one child at the time, but would later have a second child, and (6) another son had only one child but (7) my mom and dad had dared to have four children.
Now math has never been my best skill, but if I’ve counted right, that means that my grandmother and my granddaddy had seven, yes, seven kids. And she dared criticize my mother for having four? So, she had three more than my Mama. I wonder which ones she would have given up if she had had her time to go over?
I don’t think my Mama would have given up a single one of us…well, not most days, anyway. No, I don’t think…I know… she wouldn’t have given one of us up. Good for you Mama, for getting upset with a nosy old mother-in-law, even if she was my Grandmother.
Maybe I sensed how she felt, and that’s the reason I never felt as close to her as I should have. I guess I kinda took her comments personally, since I was the one who was the tail-end of that family that my Grandmother apparently didn't think they should have had.
And, good for you, too, Mama, for recognizing perfection, although there were plenty of times when I really wished I hadn’t been so perfect. Then you may have felt compelled to have another sibling close to my age for me to grow up with. But you were pushing the age limit, weren’t you?
Friday, February 15, 2008
Ten absolutely, totally useless things #1
you probably do not know about me, nor would you particularly care to know, but since it’s my blog and my Granddaughter I’m keeping this blog for, in no particular order, here we go:
Notice: since this will obviously take up more of my valuable real estate than I had anticipated, I will break this down into one a day. So stay tuned for each days listing.
1. As a young girl throughout high school I wrote for the local newspaper in my home town. (Hey, it was and still is the only newspaper in the county, and that was a pretty big thing, so don’t laugh!) I was the best little gossip columnist you ever saw. My aunt, who also loved to talk even more than me, if that’s possible, also wrote for the newspaper for many years and she was my great encouragement for submitting news. Perhaps she thought the competition between the two of us talking would be thwarted if I could put my words on paper and not in real conversation. I would have time for listening. It didn’t help a lot; I still loved to talk. But it was a valiant effort on her part.
Notice: since this will obviously take up more of my valuable real estate than I had anticipated, I will break this down into one a day. So stay tuned for each days listing.
1. As a young girl throughout high school I wrote for the local newspaper in my home town. (Hey, it was and still is the only newspaper in the county, and that was a pretty big thing, so don’t laugh!) I was the best little gossip columnist you ever saw. My aunt, who also loved to talk even more than me, if that’s possible, also wrote for the newspaper for many years and she was my great encouragement for submitting news. Perhaps she thought the competition between the two of us talking would be thwarted if I could put my words on paper and not in real conversation. I would have time for listening. It didn’t help a lot; I still loved to talk. But it was a valiant effort on her part.
Saturday, January 12, 2008
Tuesday, December 25, 2007 - The best Christmas present ever!!!
This particular blog and date deserves a separate entry from my regular Christmas Day Blog. Not that the entire day wasn’t special. It was. But because this is about a very special gift I got on Christmas Day from a very good friend.
We swap gifts at Christmas with our friends in Florida. She has always been the best gift shopper and always knows just exactly what you would like for Christmas. I fall short by far, but her creativity is the best in the world, in my opinion.
Our Christmas presents from them arrived in the mail a few weeks before Christmas with an e-mail telling us to look for the package, but unless I wanted my surprise to be spoiled, I shouldn’t open it until Christmas.
Christmas morning I opened the box and inside was a framed picture and a letter from her. I decided I would not look too closely at the picture, and I would read the letter after seeing what was in the box because I knew the surprise would be gone if I read the letter.
Inside the box was the most precious tea set anybody could hope to own. There were three saucers, three small plates and two cups in pastel colors. Not plastic, but the kind that were made of glass as in long time ago, nice tea sets every little girl dreams of having.
The picture was made in 1943 and was a picture of my friend, her sister and a friend of theirs all sitting at a little table with the tea set on the table. (And the table was set using a cute little child-sized tablecloth.) They were having a tea party with some of the dishes she had given me. She pointed out they were in the Sunday navy taffeta dresses , dressed for tea! Her mother had taken the picture and had documented the date on the picture, which made it even more special to me.
During the summer her mother and the two little girls would go to a rented cottage at a beach at Ocean Grove, Massachusetts where they would stay the entire summer. Their father and her Grandpa would come from the city to join them on the weekends. (What more fun could there be than to be able to afford to spend the entire summer at the beach?) She said they swam, dug clams, picked blueberries, played games and had their tea parties. (The cottage they stayed in during those summers was blown away in the hurricane of 1954.) She doesn’t know why her mother packed the tea set up that particular summer and brought it along, but she had the picture documenting the time they used it there. My friend doesn’t remember when they first got the tea set, whether it had been the Christmas before or if they had it longer.
She had heard me mention earlier that I had bought some dessert dishes that went with my Butterfly Meadow dishes from Lenox that my daughter had given me years ago when that pattern first came out. I told my friend I was planning to make those dishes special for the Little Princess and she and I would use them for our tea parties and eat from them when she came to visit after she was older. She said she had decided them she would give me that tea set for Christmas! Later she would read on this blog site that I had recently bought a little Fisher-Price tea set for Little Princess to use at her house and mine. I think she thought that might diminish the surprise or fun of giving me those dishes. I think I had already received them in the mail from her before I posted that blog. I sure am glad because I would have hated her deciding I didn’t really need the tea set from her past just because of a little plastic tea set. Never in million years would I choose plastic over those beautiful dishes she sent me!
Someday when The Little Princess can understand the concept of not knocking the dishes all over the floor, she and I can pull out the set and play with it. Maybe. Maybe not! Those dishes have at least close to 65 years on them. Maybe I’ll just keep them in a safe place and show them to her all along and tell her where they came from, show her the picture and read my friend’s special letter, and let her know someday she might inherit them. If she’s lucky.
In her closing paragraph my friend told me why she had given me the dishes and said, “I hope you will enjoy them and maybe you will think of me when (the Little Princess) comes to tea.” Oh, that goes without saying! I’ll make sure The Little Princess knows the history.
My daughter asked me if I was going to be sure to keep the letter and picture with the tea set. She had to ask? She knew the answer. She was just trying to make sure I understood the importance of keeping it all together. Of course I do.
How many times do you have a friend who would give you something that valuable? A part of her very own childhood. I, myself, am quite a bit more selfish, I think!
Thanks, my friend. That’s got to be the best Christmas present I can ever remember getting!
We swap gifts at Christmas with our friends in Florida. She has always been the best gift shopper and always knows just exactly what you would like for Christmas. I fall short by far, but her creativity is the best in the world, in my opinion.
Our Christmas presents from them arrived in the mail a few weeks before Christmas with an e-mail telling us to look for the package, but unless I wanted my surprise to be spoiled, I shouldn’t open it until Christmas.
Christmas morning I opened the box and inside was a framed picture and a letter from her. I decided I would not look too closely at the picture, and I would read the letter after seeing what was in the box because I knew the surprise would be gone if I read the letter.
Inside the box was the most precious tea set anybody could hope to own. There were three saucers, three small plates and two cups in pastel colors. Not plastic, but the kind that were made of glass as in long time ago, nice tea sets every little girl dreams of having.
The picture was made in 1943 and was a picture of my friend, her sister and a friend of theirs all sitting at a little table with the tea set on the table. (And the table was set using a cute little child-sized tablecloth.) They were having a tea party with some of the dishes she had given me. She pointed out they were in the Sunday navy taffeta dresses , dressed for tea! Her mother had taken the picture and had documented the date on the picture, which made it even more special to me.
During the summer her mother and the two little girls would go to a rented cottage at a beach at Ocean Grove, Massachusetts where they would stay the entire summer. Their father and her Grandpa would come from the city to join them on the weekends. (What more fun could there be than to be able to afford to spend the entire summer at the beach?) She said they swam, dug clams, picked blueberries, played games and had their tea parties. (The cottage they stayed in during those summers was blown away in the hurricane of 1954.) She doesn’t know why her mother packed the tea set up that particular summer and brought it along, but she had the picture documenting the time they used it there. My friend doesn’t remember when they first got the tea set, whether it had been the Christmas before or if they had it longer.
She had heard me mention earlier that I had bought some dessert dishes that went with my Butterfly Meadow dishes from Lenox that my daughter had given me years ago when that pattern first came out. I told my friend I was planning to make those dishes special for the Little Princess and she and I would use them for our tea parties and eat from them when she came to visit after she was older. She said she had decided them she would give me that tea set for Christmas! Later she would read on this blog site that I had recently bought a little Fisher-Price tea set for Little Princess to use at her house and mine. I think she thought that might diminish the surprise or fun of giving me those dishes. I think I had already received them in the mail from her before I posted that blog. I sure am glad because I would have hated her deciding I didn’t really need the tea set from her past just because of a little plastic tea set. Never in million years would I choose plastic over those beautiful dishes she sent me!
Someday when The Little Princess can understand the concept of not knocking the dishes all over the floor, she and I can pull out the set and play with it. Maybe. Maybe not! Those dishes have at least close to 65 years on them. Maybe I’ll just keep them in a safe place and show them to her all along and tell her where they came from, show her the picture and read my friend’s special letter, and let her know someday she might inherit them. If she’s lucky.
In her closing paragraph my friend told me why she had given me the dishes and said, “I hope you will enjoy them and maybe you will think of me when (the Little Princess) comes to tea.” Oh, that goes without saying! I’ll make sure The Little Princess knows the history.
My daughter asked me if I was going to be sure to keep the letter and picture with the tea set. She had to ask? She knew the answer. She was just trying to make sure I understood the importance of keeping it all together. Of course I do.
How many times do you have a friend who would give you something that valuable? A part of her very own childhood. I, myself, am quite a bit more selfish, I think!
Thanks, my friend. That’s got to be the best Christmas present I can ever remember getting!
Tuesday, December 4, 2007
Bubble Cake, Fried Corn, Salmon and No City Bacon
I was sitting here reading on the internet,recipes that people were planning to use for their Christmas morning menu, and noticed several people had mentioned they always made Bubble Bread,otherwise known as Monkey Bread. It’s a cinnamon-type recipe made with the bread, usually biscuit dough as I recall, pinched off into balls and stacked into a Bundt-type pan and sprinkled generously or maybe rolled generously in cinnamon sugar and margarine/butter and stacked around the Bundt pan. I’ve made it a few times just as a snack and not particularly at Christmas.
Anyway, the mention of Bubble Bread brought to mind a childhood treat we enjoyed very rarely, but occasionally. It was something my mother always called Bubble Cake. To those who don’t remember or know what Bubble Cake was/is…it was what is commonly known as Rice Krispy Treats. It was made with Rice Krispy Cereal, butter,and Marshmallows. Just a gussied up name my Mama chose for it.
It has always tasted and sounded better called “Bubble Cake”. And maybe it tasted so good because we rarely had it.
We also very rarely ever had city-type bacon. Ours was always the streak-o-lean type hog meat that was cut mostly in large chunks and used to season our fresh boiled vegetables, or if sliced in thinner slices, but not as thin as that good old hickory smoked city bacon, it was used mostly when Mama fried it down to use in our fried corn. It always had a hard rind to it after she fried it. That was my favorite part of the country streak-o-lean or fatback if it was mostly fat. Really, I guess she used the fat back for the boiled vegetables and the streak-o-lean for frying.
And remembering that fried corn she used to make…she would make corn fritters and fry them for us for our meals, mostly on Sundays and especially when the preacher came, I guess. I never learned to perfect her corn fritters. That,and Mama’s fried salmon patties. Nobody could make a better dish of either than she could. She would use what she called then, a box of salmon, which was the large, tall can, add homemade biscuit crumbled up, salt, pepper, I’m not sure she used egg, like I do, and that box of salmon would feed a big, hungry family. She could stretch that out into so many patties, and they were delicious every time. She would get her grease, lard of course, just hot enough and fry those things until they were a pretty brown on both sides, and that was some good eating. I seldom am able to get more than ten patties out of a can. She had a knack for expanding that food, I guess.
Hmm, maybe she stretched hers further because she didn't pick through the salmon and remove all that ugly black stuff and all those bones. We ate it all. Those bones were good for our little bones. Good calcium.
Those salmon patties were another thing we had very seldom. For some reason I want to say they cost about ten cents a can at that time. Daddy was working in a grocery store and would pick up some occasionally.
I remember specifically one time when we went to visit some of my Mother’s out of town relatives and we skipped church that Sunday. We never did that, so this was something I really remembered. Mama had made a pan of hot biscuits before we left home and had packed those salmon patties in for a picnic somewhere along the way. I don’t remember that much about anything else that day except standing outside the car and eating those biscuits and salmon for lunch. Yummmmy.
Anyway, the mention of Bubble Bread brought to mind a childhood treat we enjoyed very rarely, but occasionally. It was something my mother always called Bubble Cake. To those who don’t remember or know what Bubble Cake was/is…it was what is commonly known as Rice Krispy Treats. It was made with Rice Krispy Cereal, butter,and Marshmallows. Just a gussied up name my Mama chose for it.
It has always tasted and sounded better called “Bubble Cake”. And maybe it tasted so good because we rarely had it.
We also very rarely ever had city-type bacon. Ours was always the streak-o-lean type hog meat that was cut mostly in large chunks and used to season our fresh boiled vegetables, or if sliced in thinner slices, but not as thin as that good old hickory smoked city bacon, it was used mostly when Mama fried it down to use in our fried corn. It always had a hard rind to it after she fried it. That was my favorite part of the country streak-o-lean or fatback if it was mostly fat. Really, I guess she used the fat back for the boiled vegetables and the streak-o-lean for frying.
And remembering that fried corn she used to make…she would make corn fritters and fry them for us for our meals, mostly on Sundays and especially when the preacher came, I guess. I never learned to perfect her corn fritters. That,and Mama’s fried salmon patties. Nobody could make a better dish of either than she could. She would use what she called then, a box of salmon, which was the large, tall can, add homemade biscuit crumbled up, salt, pepper, I’m not sure she used egg, like I do, and that box of salmon would feed a big, hungry family. She could stretch that out into so many patties, and they were delicious every time. She would get her grease, lard of course, just hot enough and fry those things until they were a pretty brown on both sides, and that was some good eating. I seldom am able to get more than ten patties out of a can. She had a knack for expanding that food, I guess.
Hmm, maybe she stretched hers further because she didn't pick through the salmon and remove all that ugly black stuff and all those bones. We ate it all. Those bones were good for our little bones. Good calcium.
Those salmon patties were another thing we had very seldom. For some reason I want to say they cost about ten cents a can at that time. Daddy was working in a grocery store and would pick up some occasionally.
I remember specifically one time when we went to visit some of my Mother’s out of town relatives and we skipped church that Sunday. We never did that, so this was something I really remembered. Mama had made a pan of hot biscuits before we left home and had packed those salmon patties in for a picnic somewhere along the way. I don’t remember that much about anything else that day except standing outside the car and eating those biscuits and salmon for lunch. Yummmmy.
Just remembering something funny my aunt told me one day about an experience her mother had….
Monday, December 3, 2007
Back in the olden days, we all went to church at the same little country church, so I could relate to this story told by my aunt, although I’m sure it happened years before I was born.
It was always a common thing in the country just in casual conversation after the church service was over for the men folks to invite thus and so to come back to their house for dinner. I’m sure they gave little thought to whether their wives had enough prepared for company or just their families, but they still made it a habit each week. It all goes back to those days when you were leaving somebody and said, “Ya’ll come go home with us!” type of thing, most likely. Southerners could get themselves in a heap a trouble with those words. At least they could get their wives in a lot of trouble.
Well, one Sunday my(Great)Uncle Ben invited one of the church members and his family, who was also related in some way, shape or form, back to his house for dinner. Now Uncle Ben already had a houseful of liddle young’uns himself and here he goes inviting another family who also had a houseful of liddle ‘uns. For some reason, I’m pretty sure they gladly accepted his invitation.
Well, his wife didn’t exactly plan a meal for that many people that day, so she had to come up with something quick to feed that crowd. (Wonder what that conversation was like going home from church that day!?!?!)
So, Aunt Maudie decided she would pull out a box of salmon to help add to her meal. As soon as she saw the box of salmon come out, the invited lady guest made the comment, “Well, Aunt Maudie, I could a gone home and had salmon for lunch!”
I’m sure Aunt Maudie was very gracious in accepting the comments. Although she died when I was quite young, I still do remember her, and she was a very sweet, gentle soul, and I’m sure she remained quite polite to her very rude company.
Wow, how much I would have loved to have been invited for that meal at her house that day. I know, I probably wasn’t born yet!
Come to think about it, we must have been a raucous brood of four kids. I don’t remember but maybe once or twice being invited out to a meal away from home! Or maybe everybody was just busy entertaining those who had a whole gang of kids. We were a pretty small family when you compared us to some in the community, I guess.
I could share with you my own experience with ungrateful house guests, but that’s another story for another day. Eventually it becomes difficult to be nice, believe me!
And just in case you’re wondering, the aunt who relayed this story to me was really my cousin before she became my aunt…She married my Mother’s brother. So, no, there wasn’t any inbreeding here. Just to set the record straight!
Back in the olden days, we all went to church at the same little country church, so I could relate to this story told by my aunt, although I’m sure it happened years before I was born.
It was always a common thing in the country just in casual conversation after the church service was over for the men folks to invite thus and so to come back to their house for dinner. I’m sure they gave little thought to whether their wives had enough prepared for company or just their families, but they still made it a habit each week. It all goes back to those days when you were leaving somebody and said, “Ya’ll come go home with us!” type of thing, most likely. Southerners could get themselves in a heap a trouble with those words. At least they could get their wives in a lot of trouble.
Well, one Sunday my(Great)Uncle Ben invited one of the church members and his family, who was also related in some way, shape or form, back to his house for dinner. Now Uncle Ben already had a houseful of liddle young’uns himself and here he goes inviting another family who also had a houseful of liddle ‘uns. For some reason, I’m pretty sure they gladly accepted his invitation.
Well, his wife didn’t exactly plan a meal for that many people that day, so she had to come up with something quick to feed that crowd. (Wonder what that conversation was like going home from church that day!?!?!)
So, Aunt Maudie decided she would pull out a box of salmon to help add to her meal. As soon as she saw the box of salmon come out, the invited lady guest made the comment, “Well, Aunt Maudie, I could a gone home and had salmon for lunch!”
I’m sure Aunt Maudie was very gracious in accepting the comments. Although she died when I was quite young, I still do remember her, and she was a very sweet, gentle soul, and I’m sure she remained quite polite to her very rude company.
Wow, how much I would have loved to have been invited for that meal at her house that day. I know, I probably wasn’t born yet!
Come to think about it, we must have been a raucous brood of four kids. I don’t remember but maybe once or twice being invited out to a meal away from home! Or maybe everybody was just busy entertaining those who had a whole gang of kids. We were a pretty small family when you compared us to some in the community, I guess.
I could share with you my own experience with ungrateful house guests, but that’s another story for another day. Eventually it becomes difficult to be nice, believe me!
And just in case you’re wondering, the aunt who relayed this story to me was really my cousin before she became my aunt…She married my Mother’s brother. So, no, there wasn’t any inbreeding here. Just to set the record straight!
Friday, November 16, 2007
Those were the days of honor and honesty…
Every Wednesday and every Saturday my Daddy would make his usual run into town to do what he called “peddling the milk and butter”. I don't know how many gallons of milk he took in to town each trip, but since we had quite a few cows and that meant excess milk, something had to be done with that milk. We had a refrigerator that stored as much as possible,considering we had a family of four children and our parents.
Daddy had his usual customers on his milk route, and I’m sure there were many more who would loved to have bought milk and butter from him had they had the opportunity. Very rarely did he sell what we called “sweet milk”. That’s what Northerners call “white milk”. Pretty much all his customer data base included buttermilk customers. The milk wasn’t pasteurized because it came straight from the farm and to make sure he didn’t sell something to someone and make them sick, he had very, very limited “sweet milk” customers. That was kept for family consumption.
Sometimes a few gallons of the milk would be stored in the spring down below the big house. That spring would keep the milk ice cold. I don’t remember a lot of that, just some, but I do remember the days of modern things happening at our house when Daddy bought his first Coca Cola machine to store that milk in. Eventually we had two of them.
How does one store milk in a Coca Cola machine, you ask? No, it wasn’t the kind where the little hole twirls around and dispenses your iced cold drink to you. This was a box made for Coca Cola before those fancy individual drink dispensers came along. It was a big rectangle-shaped box that held water. They were usually found in the little country stores.
You filled it half way with water, plugged it in, and eventually the water became ice cold and after a few hours of storing your gallons of milk in it, you would have the most delicious glass of buttermilk in the whole wide world. Add a chunk off a pone of cornbread, and you were doing some fine dining. Better than at the best restaurant in town.
There was no comparing sweet milk to that tart, ice-cold glass of buttermilk, with tiny chunks of real, homemade churned butter still floating in it.
In my opinion the only thing sweet milk was good for was making homemade ice cream. Well, maybe once the heavy cream was whipped it did taste pretty good. But my favorites were the pans of homemade chocolate and vanilla ice cream that awaited us when we arrived home from school.
Back to Daddy’s milk route…he loaded up the car with his gallons of milk and pounds of butter and headed for an all-day trip to town. Occasionally one of us kids would have the opportunity to spend the day with Daddy as he peddled his milk. I like to think of him as starting the modern version of "Take your kid to work Day", although that was everyday of our lives. They always carried us to work with them...straight to the fields.
On Daddy's 'milk days', Mama was left holding down the household chores and field work at home...unless Daddy took one with him. I always looked at these as Daddy’s days of vacation. Mama didn’t have any. The closest thing she could call a vacation was Sundays. That was't much of a vacation. Still the usual morning chores of milking, washing churns and jugs, churning, putting up the milk, cooking etc.,had to be done because cows and kids don’t take a day off. Mama just didn’t have to work in the fields because it was the Sabbath.
Daddy always kept a black book with lines drawn down the center, listing each of his customers, how many gallons of milk he had sold them, how many pounds of butter he had sold and whether or not he had been paid (always in cash, of course) or whether they still owed him ‘X’ number of dollars. Every gallon was accounted for. Every pound of butter was accounted for.
Daddy was an honest man. He was a man held accountable by himself, for himself and his family, for his income. There was a giant calendar Daddy kept hanging in their room. It was a giveaway calendar he had received at the end of the old year, advertising a local fertilizer store in town that he did his farm business with. Every Wednesday and every Saturday, without fail, Daddy would come home and record his sales for the day on that calendar.
Every year at tax time, he would pack up his calendar and whatever other receipts for income and expenses he had and take them into town to have his taxes figured by the local accountant.
Sometimes I wonder how it could have even been worth his time to keep track of those few gallons of milk he sold. That butter and milk my Mama had labored so hard over, put so many hours into, and he had sold for fifty cents a gallon. But it was their livelihood, money they had proudly made, paid their tithe from, and he was not above paying his share of taxes on it.
It was their contribution to society as meager as it was,helping the economy stay alive in the years I remember…the years during the late 40’s, 50’s and early 60’s. They were proud people, my Daddy and my Mama. They were the givers, the contributors, albeit in a small way. They were not takers. There were never free lunches at school for us kids because there was always at least a banana and loaf bread available for our school lunches. Taking welfare never entered their minds, though I’m sure they probably could have qualified. You never would have known it because they were too busy making a living and a life for their family.
They didn’t waste valuable time trying to figure out ways to beat the system. They added to the system. They were too busy raising their family. They didn’t have time for pity parties. They had created their children and they would make life happen for them as best they could. They would have been insulted had someone even suggested their children were suffering. Because they weren’t; they were taken care of by their parents. There was always food on our table and clothes on our backs…healthy food and clean clothes…
And as for “paying the IRS”, what did it really accomplish? It instilled a sense of pride in my parents.and it imprinted upon the minds of their little children, consciously or sub-consciously, “You pay your own way in life, you hold yourself accountable, and you are proud of your income, large or small, and it taught over-all honesty.
“Thank you Daddy and Mama for life’s little lessons, whether seen or unseen, appreciated or just taken for granted at the time. You made us who we are.
Daddy had his usual customers on his milk route, and I’m sure there were many more who would loved to have bought milk and butter from him had they had the opportunity. Very rarely did he sell what we called “sweet milk”. That’s what Northerners call “white milk”. Pretty much all his customer data base included buttermilk customers. The milk wasn’t pasteurized because it came straight from the farm and to make sure he didn’t sell something to someone and make them sick, he had very, very limited “sweet milk” customers. That was kept for family consumption.
Sometimes a few gallons of the milk would be stored in the spring down below the big house. That spring would keep the milk ice cold. I don’t remember a lot of that, just some, but I do remember the days of modern things happening at our house when Daddy bought his first Coca Cola machine to store that milk in. Eventually we had two of them.
How does one store milk in a Coca Cola machine, you ask? No, it wasn’t the kind where the little hole twirls around and dispenses your iced cold drink to you. This was a box made for Coca Cola before those fancy individual drink dispensers came along. It was a big rectangle-shaped box that held water. They were usually found in the little country stores.
You filled it half way with water, plugged it in, and eventually the water became ice cold and after a few hours of storing your gallons of milk in it, you would have the most delicious glass of buttermilk in the whole wide world. Add a chunk off a pone of cornbread, and you were doing some fine dining. Better than at the best restaurant in town.
There was no comparing sweet milk to that tart, ice-cold glass of buttermilk, with tiny chunks of real, homemade churned butter still floating in it.
In my opinion the only thing sweet milk was good for was making homemade ice cream. Well, maybe once the heavy cream was whipped it did taste pretty good. But my favorites were the pans of homemade chocolate and vanilla ice cream that awaited us when we arrived home from school.
Back to Daddy’s milk route…he loaded up the car with his gallons of milk and pounds of butter and headed for an all-day trip to town. Occasionally one of us kids would have the opportunity to spend the day with Daddy as he peddled his milk. I like to think of him as starting the modern version of "Take your kid to work Day", although that was everyday of our lives. They always carried us to work with them...straight to the fields.
On Daddy's 'milk days', Mama was left holding down the household chores and field work at home...unless Daddy took one with him. I always looked at these as Daddy’s days of vacation. Mama didn’t have any. The closest thing she could call a vacation was Sundays. That was't much of a vacation. Still the usual morning chores of milking, washing churns and jugs, churning, putting up the milk, cooking etc.,had to be done because cows and kids don’t take a day off. Mama just didn’t have to work in the fields because it was the Sabbath.
Daddy always kept a black book with lines drawn down the center, listing each of his customers, how many gallons of milk he had sold them, how many pounds of butter he had sold and whether or not he had been paid (always in cash, of course) or whether they still owed him ‘X’ number of dollars. Every gallon was accounted for. Every pound of butter was accounted for.
Daddy was an honest man. He was a man held accountable by himself, for himself and his family, for his income. There was a giant calendar Daddy kept hanging in their room. It was a giveaway calendar he had received at the end of the old year, advertising a local fertilizer store in town that he did his farm business with. Every Wednesday and every Saturday, without fail, Daddy would come home and record his sales for the day on that calendar.
Every year at tax time, he would pack up his calendar and whatever other receipts for income and expenses he had and take them into town to have his taxes figured by the local accountant.
Sometimes I wonder how it could have even been worth his time to keep track of those few gallons of milk he sold. That butter and milk my Mama had labored so hard over, put so many hours into, and he had sold for fifty cents a gallon. But it was their livelihood, money they had proudly made, paid their tithe from, and he was not above paying his share of taxes on it.
It was their contribution to society as meager as it was,helping the economy stay alive in the years I remember…the years during the late 40’s, 50’s and early 60’s. They were proud people, my Daddy and my Mama. They were the givers, the contributors, albeit in a small way. They were not takers. There were never free lunches at school for us kids because there was always at least a banana and loaf bread available for our school lunches. Taking welfare never entered their minds, though I’m sure they probably could have qualified. You never would have known it because they were too busy making a living and a life for their family.
They didn’t waste valuable time trying to figure out ways to beat the system. They added to the system. They were too busy raising their family. They didn’t have time for pity parties. They had created their children and they would make life happen for them as best they could. They would have been insulted had someone even suggested their children were suffering. Because they weren’t; they were taken care of by their parents. There was always food on our table and clothes on our backs…healthy food and clean clothes…
And as for “paying the IRS”, what did it really accomplish? It instilled a sense of pride in my parents.and it imprinted upon the minds of their little children, consciously or sub-consciously, “You pay your own way in life, you hold yourself accountable, and you are proud of your income, large or small, and it taught over-all honesty.
“Thank you Daddy and Mama for life’s little lessons, whether seen or unseen, appreciated or just taken for granted at the time. You made us who we are.
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