Hugs!

At St. Paul's Methodist Church in Clarksdale, MS, there are those among us who are without family, elderly or just plain hungry for the human touch. It all started with one grouchy old man. Months ago, I was greeting when he came in looking like he ate sour grapes for breakfast. Hmm. How long had it been since anyone touched him? I grabbed him in a bear hug. He burst into a mile-wide smile and hasn't missed a Sunday or a hug since.

A retired school teacher said, "I hugged my students. Hugs are nourishing, a balm to the soul."
Animals like to be hugged on, too. Plants grow better when they receive love.

Hug an old friend. Make a new friend and hug.

2019 Red Convertible Travel Series

The Lord works at Kroger's in Horn Lake, MS

     We lost our Clarksdale, MS Kroger in March (Declining revenues).😦 My friend and I were excited😃😁 to finally locate one @ DeSoto Crossing, 7251 Interstate Blvd, Horn Lake, MS. 662-349-8334.
   
     An elderly lady was plodding flat-footed pushing her half-full cart. (I hoped she wasn't driving.) The angle to the street was ribbed and looked too steep. She showed no sign of stopping.😱 Might she lose control of the cart, be drug by it, or face planted on the concrete? Not on my watch! I rushed to her with raised hands. "Wait! Wait right there. I'll take it to the curb for you." She let go and stood stable. I backed down with my eyes on her. Someone backed up to me. The trunk popped open. An attractive lady took charge of loading the contents into her trunk. The elderly lady started toward the ramp. 😲 😱 "NO!!!" we yelled. She stopped. The driver closed the trunk and helped the lady into the car. I returned the cart to the store.

                                                              

                           Praise the Lord! 

                      People helping People = Peace on Earth

  

                                              💕💝💞💓💗😃💜

©️2018 Red Convertible Travel Series

I'd rather be in France 7/7/17

Ah, splendid view

from a distance

up close

and

from the upper tiers

Wish

I was picnicking 

on the grass

Day break in Mississippi: 20 lb Madchen purrs atop my closed computer. Gave her the "fish-eye." Computer still won't forward, reply or compose. Cuss cat and computer.

Let Schatzie in. Refuses dry food. "Eat it. It cleans your teeth, so they don't fall out." Rebuttal meows. Give him tuna.

JB on the couch with a cigarette. Morning news: large company refuses to hire anyone who smokes. Yeah! That doesn't work here. Make him coffee.

Commercial: Lula says donuts and a bucket of Church's Chicken are one remedy for stress. I need a donut. Maybe several. Chicken later.

Clean up body and attitude. Smear face with Origins Active Charcoal Mask to clear pores. Lie down. Compose self. Go deep. Find my center. Ahhh

A comfortable 73 degrees. Dewy in and out: typical semi-tropical Southern morning. No mosquitoes . . . yet. No need to move fast. Swerve to miss street lump: lost pillow. Muster gratitude we aren't flooded and it isn't snowing.

Donut Shop on #61: Raspberry filled for JB, chocolate filled for me, and a short Cappuccino.

Retrace route. Donut scent tickles nose and taste buds. Tempted to pull over and eat both. Spot tall, shaded garden tomatoes on the vine. Market hopefuls. Temperature rose three degrees, headed to high nineties with Ozone warning.

Give Johnny his donut. Nibble and sip at my French table by the kitchen window. Open plantation blinds a sliver. Filtered sunlight decorates and dances on my table. Parisian sidewalk cafe, sans swooping-in purse snatchers. Ah, accordion music, and a Citron, "Get out of my way!" horn. French girl giving the waiter "Merci!" for a bottle of water. Aaahhh.

Stroll along the Seine. Sidestep doggy-do. Artists out early for the light. Appreciate their work. Tell them so. Love French Berets. Ride the subway to the Louvre. Underground wall art, not graffiti. Spending the day at the Louvre. I miss you Ms. Mona Lisa.

Along The Champs-Elysee: Catch a hint of an exotic fragrance. Stick my wrist out for a sample. Clerk, "Chanel No. 5, of course." To die for.

8 am CST. Begin work sans jet lag. Try to write complete sentences. First take a stroll through "Monet's Garden," my happiest place on earth.

Feeling inspired. Write a few.

Mid-morning break. Read a little of Janet Evanovich's "Smokin' Seventeen." Stephanie Plum, I can't make up my mind whether it should be you and Morelli, or you and Ranger.

Get serious. Write!

Microsoft ClipArt Photo
©Copy 2017  Red Convertible Travel Series

How to Tree a Boat

“Do you want to go fishing?” man-of-the-house asks.

Not really. I can do without a gazillion mosquitoes and humidity so thick it soaks through my everything. Welcome to the Deep South. I groan and try to think of an acceptable excuse: I’m sick; I have a deadline; I have someplace to go. Guilt overrides. You should spend time together. What if this is your last day? But I’m a Lucille Ball-type klutz.

To say I am not water savvy is an understatement. Our last jaunt, I tilted the boat within a fraction of dumping us into DeSoto Lake. I didn't hand him the right gear. I couldn't get over the seats without stumbling. And the list goes on. I was so inept I earned, “The most failures” award.

He keeps trying. “Bring your book. I’ll put in a lawn chair for you. Buckshot, let’s go." The guys are off to the truck. Buckshot follows two steps behind at the exact same pace. He’ll even wait to eat when he does, no matter how late in the day it is. They give and receive love and loyalty.

I did what I did not want to do. I got into the truck with that something-dreadful-will-happen-feeling. Buckshot rode shotgun while I clutched my coveted bag of mosquito repellent, reading material, paper, and pens. I prayed we had a sufficient balance in our “prayed ahead” account.

Scene 2: At a bar pit, small lake, the man-of-the-house says, “Mules were the muscle used to haul the earth out to build the dam. The MS River gladly filled it in."

There's green algae inches thick on the water. He backs the boat trailer into the lake, but the boat won’t float off. The rear wheels of the truck are submerged a good 18”. He wades in over his knees and shoves. The boat moves enough to float. “Don’t let it get away."

My stomach is traveling to my throat. My mouth is dry. I'm sweating bullets.

The 16 year-old Bravada eases up the bank. The stern turns toward the bank. I am powerless. "STOP!!!!” He can't hear me over the engine. The trailer wheel catches the boat and shoves it up on the bank. It will take two men to extract it from the trees and launch it.

My gut was right. We weren't prayed up.

He thinks he’s home free, gets out, and sees the damage. He turns his back on the situation and does a perfect and sincere Philo Bedo imitation, "Why me Lord."

Upset beyond words, he glares at me. “Why didn't you let go of the rope? I could have waded out and caught it.”

©2014 Red Convertible Travel Series

Biloxi, MS, Post Hurricane Katrina and Jan '14 snow and ice

It was our first trip to the coast since Katrina. 

Mother Nature brought everything to a halt again
January '14
when she delivered snow and ice
that lingers.

The Gulf is still the Gulf.
Gulls and pigeons are still gulls and pigeons.

that feast on day-old bread.

Post Katrina:

Sculptures of birds and marine life
were created from the

remains of live oak trees along I90
by
chainsaw artists Dayton Scoggins and Marlin Miller

I was moved to tears.

Out of unimaginable devastation beauty arose,

proof 

there are blessings

in the worst

situations.

Go to biloxi.ms.us
find what's "Free"
for pics of the sculptures
and
info on the area.
There's lots to see and do.

2014 Red Convertible Travel Series

Going home, coming home

Windows down, I inhaled the familiar scent of Nebraska soil. It will always be home. The rolling hills. Less humidity. Friendly faces. Warm welcomes. Hugs and back scratches. Visiting school and spending time with my young friends and their families. Watching baby squirrels play in my sister's tall trees. Filling my trunk with books to give away. Cooking with my sister and laughing lots. She made a cream cheese cake that didn't make it to the picnic. I made Southern cheese grits with shrimp they loved. I must return often; it fuels my soul.

Old Fashioned Cream Cake

I yellow cake mix
1 large egg or 2 smaller ones
1 stick of soft butter
   Mix and pat into a 9x13 pan or dish

Mix together:
3 eggs
3 1/2 cups powdered sugar
8 ounces cream cheese
1 teaspoon vanilla or almond flavoring
Spread over cake mixture in the pan

Bake 350 degrees, if a metal pan, 325 if glass, 30 to 40 minutes  The top should be slightly brown.
See how fast it disappears for you.

On my return to MS, I stopped in Nebraska City at the truck stop on I29  and sat at the counter for faster service. A breakfast burrito was delivered to the man on my far right. I only noticed because he was upset about the sliced black olives on top and refused to eat any of it.  Since I do not have "olive anxiety", I offered to take them. He relaxed and ate his burrito. I enjoyed my olive topped omelet while he talked and talked. Among his other problems, he hated boiled yellow squash, too, after having to eat it three times a day at the babysitters. The poor guy is a hostage of his negative feelings.

I took a side trip to visit friends at Mt Vernon, MO. Moore, OK, had already been demolished. We were in a new tornado warning and took refuge in a friend's basement. When Joplin, MO was destroyed by a tornado, x-rays from their hospital blew more than 30 miles into this Mt. Vernon yard. Our evening was uneventful. Thank God! As they say in the South, "You must have been prayed up."

Tornado warnings continued through Tuesday keeping me in Mt. Vernon an extra day. No problem! If you like fresh ground coffee, go to Keen Bean. Enjoy their pastries, sandwiches, soups and cold drinks, too  Eighth-grader Skylar and I made the cream-cheese cake that did not make it through the day, either. He made the chocolate and oatmeal boiled cookies, monkey bread and Alfredo. His little sister, Adalyn showed us all up by winning numerous games of UNO. Tawnya Krempges is near becoming a National Sales Director for Mary Kay. Go Tawnya! I love MK"s new "TimeWise Repair Volu-Firm". My face feels firmer in just a few days. What will months do? Contact me here or on facebook if you're interested in trying it.

New routes can be interesting, challenging, or just plain dull. In pre-dawn and light fog, I discovered Arkansas has mountains on its west side with high-off-the-ground bridges connecting them. It reminded me of driving in Belgium. I hugged the left lane here, too.

Mississippi greeted me with humidity that slows my steps, proof of mice in the house and two cats doing nothing about it.  I would prefer not to use poison. If you know of a saint who drives out mice, I'd appreciate the info.

2013 Red Convertible Travel Series

Oscar Mayer Angus Beef Franks & Red Neck Toaster

I know weines. The original Wahoo, NE, weiners were cherished and shipped all over the world. The casings were a thin gut and tender. The meat was seasoned just right. They were great in a bun, sliced and fried with potatoes, chopped into scrambled eggs and eaten cold. When the owners sold out, the new casings were tough, and the meat recipe wasn't the same. 

Preparing for Mississippi's hunting season, I scoured the Kroeger hotdog section and was surprised to find Oscar Mayer's "SELECTS ANGUS BUN LENGTH SMOKED UNCURED ANGUS BEEF FRANKS". We're talking "PREMIUM ANGUS". A high quality of beef makes me think they want us to have the World's Best Hotdog! Get this: THERE ARE NO NITRATES OR NITRITES, except those occurring naturally in celery juice. There are NO ARTIFICIAL FLAVORS, COLORS, FILLERS OR BY-PRODUCTS. This is The Holy Grail of Hotdogs!

During hunting season, our four-foot wide fire pit burns wood nonstop. Hunters stop at any hour to update the wild hog kill, bucks and does taken, have a drink and tell lies. They might have a bowl of fresh neckbone stew cooked with a variety of vegetables, smoked sausage sections cooked on the grill, or hotdogs. They are a resourceful bunch heating hotdogs on a stretched out clothes hanger. But I was lost when it came to warming the buns. The guys threw a long branch over the pit. One of the men opened a hotdog bun and rested it around a small branch. Voila! It toasted. From a four-year old to grandpas, the hotdogs were a hit. Thank you Oscar Mayer!  Visit them at oscarmayer.com

2012 Red Convertible Travel Series

Shack Up Inn, Clarksdale, MS

The August 8th Clarksdale Press Register featured an article about our hometown. TripAdvisor, Newton, Mass, the world's largest travel site, stated their editor's top ten quirkiest U.S. properties. #5 is Shack Up Inn, Clarksdale, MS.

Come spend your time and money with us, people from around the world do. Nightly rates average $65. Shack Up Inn boasts, "The Ritz we ain't." The shacks provide "a laid-back and rustic setting. Each shack offers a touch of comfort while maintaining the authenticity of the former Hopson Plantation, located near (in) the Missippi Delta - and travelers can soak up the site's history as they walk among sharecropper shacks, the original cotton gin and seed houses located on the property. 'The rooms may not have a high-def TV, but they do have vintage musical instruments and more character than I could accumulate in a lifetime,' said one TripAdvisor traveler."

Back in the day, the shacks were also called shotgun houses: From the front door to the back there were no walls, rooms were to the side. The day laborers who "lived" there did not have running water or a bathroom. After all day in the cotton fields in sweltering heat and high humidity, A/C would have been nice, but it wasn't an option, either.

In the late 40's, the first-ever mechanical cotton picker was brought to Hopson Plantation. There was a lot of head-scratching and number crunching. It was a noisy contraption, but . . . if it worked . . . , it could replace the costs of human labor. It did and it did. Today, you can see, touch and have your picture taken by that first cotton picker setting out by the gin at Hopson's.

2012 Red Convertible Travel Series

The end of our family's presence.

In l872 our Williamson great-grandparents and their  family homesteaded in Saunders County. There were no trees. Nebraska's land was virgin prairie with grasses six feet tall. Children got lost in it. Pioneers who buried their treasures overnight, couldn't always find them in the morning, but they persevered carving out homes and lives. Great Grandmother, Charity Williamson, was a mid-wife. In the only picture we have of them, she and her husband, George Washington Williamson, looked jolly. One story was passed down about her. Some kid had his ear almost cut off. She held it in place until it healed with the lining in an eggshell.

The land was harsh, unforgiving. Grandma Mae Simmons Williamson was from Lynn, Kansas. She remembered being frightened by Indians coming to their home. She and her brothers hid under the bed. Her mother gave the Indians bread and whatever else she had.

As a grown woman, Grandma had a fear of iron bridges. If we didn't put her in the middle seat, she'd get out and walk across the Platte River bridge.

Both sides of our father's Swedish ancestors homesteaded in Saunders County, too. His mother, Ann, is my namesake, and I look like her. She died when he was eighteen months old.

I moved to Mississippi with the pioneering spirits of my grandmother's Mae and Ann. When my sister moves to Virginia, it will end our family's 150 years presence in Saunders County. It makes me sad. I miss the cemetery. I can call and talk to everybody else. My  Nebraska friends are my anchors to my roots.

2012 Red Convertible Travel Series

Yazoo Pass Bistro @ 207 Yazoo Ave

Home alone, I didn't eat highly nutritious, microwaveable macaroni and cheese, I investigated Clarksdale's new downtown restaurant, Yazoo Pass.

Housed in a former retail store, the entire front is glass. Diners are welcomed to comfortable booths, tables and chairs, and a long, sturdy, raised table that can seat fourteen with stools. At noon it filled up fast with a mixed-age crowd.

I bought the last piece of Quiche Lorraine. Perfect! And I told the Manager so.

They serve soups, salads and sandwiches from 7 AM until 9 PM. I had the small salad and liked that the veggies were chopped small. Kids from 1-100 enjoyed the top-your-own, $.45 an ounce frozen yogurt with a variety of nuts, crumbled cookies, candies, sprinkles and syrups. I had chocolate with Oreo bits and slivered almonds. Yum!

Breakfast offers include bagels, croissants or breads with eggs, bacon, natural black forest ham, and or, swiss, cheddar or provolone cheese; an oatmal bar, french toast with pure maple syrup and homemade granola.

There is an espresso bar. Come summer, I want to try their smoothies: strawberry, banana, mango or peach.

The price and quality is comparable to Panera's. I will be a regular. Check it out!

2012 Red Convertible Travel Series

EASTER 2011

The past few weeks my internet, computer and camera have been on the blink. Maybe it was Mercury Retrograde, maybe not. To see the pics with this story, go to my Facebook page: Maeann Jasa.

When the Methodists organized a church at Friars Point, MS in 1836 they had hopes of esatablishing an anchor for their community. Twice the church has been destroyed, once by Union troops during the Civil War and later by a tornado. At the 9 am service Pastor was quick to point out his own faults and remind us that Christ paid the price for us, our job is to believe and live/be like Him.

The Easter bunny had hidden bucketfuls of brilliantly colored eggs for little people to find. While they hunted, I snapped pics for you that are on facebook. In the block south of the church stands The 1850's MINIE BALL HOUSE that bears the mark of Union Navy shelling and was briefly the headquarts of Union General Napoleon Bonaparte. This was before the Levy separated the town from the MS River.

Speaking of the River, it's rising. The National Weather Service River Forecast Center publishes the River stages online. The Mississippi River is expected to crest at Helena, AR May 10th at 49.5' above flood stage. The Levy is about 70' high. Thank God for engineering, or we'd all need houseboats!

Muddy Waters, King of Chicago blues, lived his first 30 years on the Stoval Plantation. The family log house was moved to downtown Clarksdale for exhibit. The placque marks where it stood. Shut your eyes, feel his "blues", smell the greens cooking, hear the cotton wagon mules bray and wipe your sweaty brow.

In the midst of MS's history, this tree caught my eye. If you know what it is and what it's growing, please explain. Imagination can have a field day.

The last picture is of a Quapaw Indian Mound in the Indian Mound subdivision on Farrel Road.

Back home we turned on the hall ceiling fan that sounds like a jet engine and feels like it will suck the paint off the walls. But, the heavy air is moving. Peas, greens and cornbread for lunch.

Oh, no, muddy Madchen slipped in. OUT!!!!!

2011 Red Convertible Travel Series

Me and my shadow ready to roll!

My itchy foot steps on the rail at the Batesville City Center. Where does it go? Where does it come from? Now and then I hear the whistle. Does it take passengers?

When we were kids, we took our peanut butter and jelly sandwiches to the depot in Wahoo and boarded the train for our May school outing. The "Cookie-Pusher" earned its name poking along slow enough for us to explore the countryside. The engine puffed thick black smoke past our window and in it. Stinky. Imaginations ran high. We were Tom and Huck exploring Nebraska by rail. Forget the raft, our water is underground. We had a secret view of the world gravel road travelers didn't. And we had all day to make the trip.

I jumped. "Did you see that?" A lone rabbit zipped along side momentarily.
Sister stretched her neck. "Where?" It was gone.
Mother pointed out, "That's a plum bush." The air smelled flowery. "Jam in the fall," she reminded with a glint in her eye.
Jani leaned over excited, "What bird is that? The one with the yellow?"
Mom stretched to see, "A Meadowlark. Nebraska's state bird."
I pointed out, "There are wild wild violets same as those we picked for our May baskets."
"Girls," Mom called. "There's an elderberry plant. Remember the jelly?"
We nooded remembering how much we loved it. The plant's spread head was green with the beginnings of tiny bursts of flowers. It had all summer to produce berries. We'd wait. Mom's warm-from-the-oven bread, fresh butter and jelly would make our day.

Mom said, "There will always be something new to see and somebody new to visit with."
Really? Jani and I were pretty sure the world ended at the Kansas line. We didn't know anyone beyond it. But the travel bug was tickling us looking for a place to burrow in.
"Where can we go next?" Jani asked.
Mom sighed and smiled wistfully. Living on the farm, our lives were owned by the livestock, crops and weather with a very small window of opportunity in August. Only twice in our childhood did everything workout so we could leave home for a few days. We'd all make up for it in the years to come.

Wahoo is slightly hilly. The approach to the Czech community of Prague is hilly with deep ravines. The train screeched to a stop scrunching cars together. We scrambled to get out and look around.

One wide main street with businesses on either side was it. The restaurant/bar advertised kolaches, roast pork, sauerkraut and dumplings on Sunday. Wow! People eat out on Sunday. "It's Grandpa and Grandma's for us," Jani piped up, "Is that eating out?"

We were running off energy when the round, black-hatted conductor called, "All aboard."
Mom whispered, "Take seats on the other side." We dashed on ahead.
Something didn't feel right. I stated, "There's no place to turn around."
Mom smiled, "You're right. The train has to backup."
"We're going backwards to Wahoo?" Jani puzzled with a frown.
A couple of hours later we were back in Wahoo happy and sleepy from the rock and rhythm of seeing where we'd been. It was a very good day.

At one time three major railroads crossed in Wahoo. No more. Tracks both directions from our local Museum were taken up stranding a lone, yellow caboose. Makes me sad. It would rather be riding the rails, me too. The first weekend in December, Wahoo celebrates Christmas on the Prairie. The Museum, machine shed, an old log house, church, school, mini-post office, the caboose and station are open for touring. Cookies, punch and coffee are served in the Museum. The caboose is cold. When I hosted it, I looked the part in my borrowed full-length fur coat and hat. Traipsing home in the snow was enough to remind me I was glad to live in today.

When my girls were little, they were not allowed to ride the Cookie Pusher, some new rule. We did the next best thing: climb on the ends of the caboose and pretend we were traveling across the praire to the ocean. Mike and Jenna and I walked the track bed, picked up trash, and worked our imaginations on the caboose. Ryker and Aja and I walked the rail-less track bed so they could climb up the loose dirt sides and slide down. Caboose imaginings followed.

I long for a train ride. Have toothbrush will travel.

2011 Red Convertible Travel Series

Batesville, Mississippi

The Chickasaw name for cotton was Panola, the name given to the port established on the south side of the Little Tallahatchie River in 1839. River commerce was limited to three to six months a year shipping commodities, mostly cotton. During the Civil War they had a gun foundry that employed "one people."

It was the summer of 1967 when I first heard the word Tallahatchie. I stopped working and listened to Bobbie Gentry sing "Ode to billy joe" in her haunting, gravely, alto voice smooth and rhythmic as a slow moving river. I felt the heat and humidity, sorrow and hopelessness. Did it really happen, or is it just a song?
Conjuring a picture of billy joe about to jump, I asked JB where the Tallahatchie bridge is. "On the Tallahatchie River."

Per the Chamber of Commerce, the name Panola was changed to Batesville in honor of Mr. Jim Bates, a conductor on the MS & TN Railroad and prominent Methodist Minister. In 1866 the town received it's charter. The well-maintained tracks and bed are still operational under another name.

Today shopping malls and businesses line Hwy 6 running east and west and 51 north and south. I55 cuts across 6. The city center has more empty store fronts than occupied, but it is still worth the look: great crafts, gifts and clothing, a pharmacy, jewelry store, hardware store and restaurant to name a few. A couple of blocks off the square is Court Street Catering. We had a lovely lunch on linen table clothes with Kenny G in the background; a pork chop and scalloped potatoes to die for, lima beans and lemon cake for dessert.

I'm looking forward to a trip to the cemetery to study old stones, soon as the snow melts.

2011 Red Convertible Travel Series

Tales of Turkey Tails

JB is right proud of its 27" spread and 11" beard. He says the tom was about four years old. When we colored turkey tails in country school, we used bright colors. Brown would have been boring, but whoever instigated colors must have had a parrot.

I don't hunt. I can't with my fingers in my ears, and I'm not that fond of potted meat and vienna sausage. They did take a kettle of my homemade venison chili with last week and brought it back empty. Dare I assume they ate it?

I asked JB, "What's the difference between deer and turkey hunting?"
He rolled his eyes and looked exasperated, "Well, they're just different."
"Uh huh. Could you be specific; I'm trying to write about it."
"We hunt deer from a stand and turkey from a ground blind with a turkey caller."
Now I remember his son is a super turkey caller.
"Thanks." I know that's all I'm going to get.

After several days in the woods without a bath, one of the guys told JB the scent block on his clothes wasn't working. Imagine that. I believe playing in the woods is primarily to avoid a bath, see how muddy they and their vehicle can get, whose vehicle can go the furthest before getting stuck, contesting who is the best shot, maybe getting game and who can tell the tallest tales. They say they are having a ball. I am officially a Mississippi woman: weekends to myself.

One of our friends was an avid turkey hunter. Proud of his trophy wall mount, he was stunned to find the tail tips missing. This is sacred territory. DO NOT TOUCH! Well, one of his kids needed something for nature day, snipped them off and sewed them on her shirt.

There's something about men and game. LBJ asked to have his picture taken beside a 6' Marlin when we were in Mexico. He showed it at home and everyone assumed he'd caught it. In the same manner, JB could claim the turkey tail, but he admits he found it in on the curb and rescued it from a divorce or vicious house cleaner.

2010 Red Convertible Travel Series

WORKING THE MULES

Mule competitions: adding another fifty to one-hundred pounds to the sled excited the mules. Hard workers, mules look like horses, but their ears are much longer, their faces larger, they bray not whinny, and they're a whole lot more stubborn. When you walk into the Tunica, Mississippi museum, you'll be eye to eye with a mule pulling a cotton wagon. They have their place in our history and at the fair.

2009 Red Convertible Travel Series

First Methodist step test

The tower just looks like it leans. It doesn't.

2009 Red Convertible Travel Series

JACOB’S LADDER

One Sunday I decided to be Methodist. The week before I was First Presbyterian. When I’m away from home, I like to dress up and go where the cars are. Learning how others worship, and adding my voice in praise, increases my appreciation for and understanding of life.

The First United Methodist Church is on the corner of Main Street and North Church Avenue in Louisville, MS. I parked, walked across the street and intended to walk up the steps. Up close they looked like a brick ladder to Heaven: narrow and steep. I could go up with the handrail, but down? How do they do it?

A beautiful Southern lady came along and smiled. I commented, “You have to be in good shape to be Methodist.”
Miss Sylvia laughed, “We don’t use them. Come on, we go in the side door and use the elevator.” Thank God! Few could pass the step test.

I don’t think I’ve felt more welcome visiting a church. Miss Sylvia and Miss Joyce introduced me. Others came forward in welcome. I was invited to Sunday School and services. Two college students shared their mission for “Dry Tears” by raising money for water wells for African children. It never occurred to me that a body doesn't make tears when it is dehydrated.

After church I asked Miss Joyce if she was eating alone. She was. JB out of town left me alone, too. We ate at the Tiak O’Khata buffet that smelled like Thanksgiving: turkey, cornbread stuffing, cranberry sauce, crispy fried chicken, lima beans, greens, string beans, creamed corn, sweet potatoes cooked with apples and cinnamon, bread pudding with hard sauce and caramel (butterscotch to me) pie to name a few. Heaven on a plate.

Although neither of us said so, we didn’t want to go home alone. We laughed and shared the afternoon away while she gave me the grand tour of Louisville established in the 1830’s by Scottish immigrants.

I shall long remember this Sunday’s blessings and new-found friends. Collecting friends is a travel treasure. When I am at home in my First Presbyterian Church in Nebraska, I promise to pay more attention to our visitors and make them feel as welcome.

2009 Red Convertible Travel Series

BUT IT LOOKED LIKE A SALT GRINDER

I'm in heaven in Jimmie Nell's kitchen. She passed on in '07, but her kitchen is in tact here at Uncle Ben's. She loved to cook and has every pot, pan and utensil imaginable, plus counter space for two or more to work at the same time.

Last night I used one of her huge skillets to cook hamburger patties seasoned with Johnny's liquid seasoning. Sliced portabellas and beef stock were added. Looking for cornstarch, I found a tall, slim container with some kind of grinder handle at the top. I suspected it was salt, but had to find out. I thought I was removing the last section of the bottom, but I wasn't, and the whole thing came apart. The kitchen looked like a pre-school experiment. Contents went everywhere including down my front. It didn't taste like cornstarch. I think it was flour for dusting her daily biscuits. A powdered sugar sifter is what I'd use it for--carefully.

Speaking of powdered sugar, makes me think of cake, makes me think of walking for an hour down around and up and over Enid Dam, not with a carrot dangling to entice me, but a piece of fresh yellow cake with chocolate frosting. What I won't do for chocolate.

We ate our hamburger patties with mushroom gravy over rice, had home cooked lima beans, cornbread and tomato slices. The blueberry cobbler was rubbery. Self-rising flour was called for, and I got into the wrong bucket.

Ben got up at dawn, and ahead of the coons, to gather 161 ears of his neighbor's corn. Friday the guys will bring down the grills, fire them up, and so they don't go hungry, as if they could here, they're boiling craw fish with corn, potatoes, portabellas, smoked sausage (Boudan is too expensive) and Zataran. The world really does move on its belly.

Today we make the grocery list for Ben and scour the freezers for squash, beans and whatever else we can cook for the 4th. I saw a bag of pears marked for pie and found a recipe for a French open face. We'll labor all day tomorrow in the kitchen making potato salad, boiling eggs for deviling, a vanilla cream cheese pie, and probably a dozen other foods. I hope Jimmie Nell looks over our shoulders and gives us directions.

2009 Red Convertible Travel Series