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
Showing posts with label home. Show all posts
Showing posts with label home. Show all posts
Saturday, May 25, 2013
Sunday, June 14, 2009
From the Deep South to the Midwest and back
I returned to the soggy South yesterday after a 2,000 mile journey to the Midwest and back. Wahoo lawns were dry as late July. If it had rained as much as in TN, I would have filled a four yard dumpster with landscaping weeds. Sprinklers are great, but not the same as Mother Nature's magic. Grass seed responded; it sprouted.
Alabama peaches rode north and rhubarb south. I will chop and cook it down sweetened with the organic cane sugar Sucanat.
Ryker and Aja came for welcome hugs. He said, "Work is so much fun, what can we do?" They cut the suckers off the crabapple stump and were paid in fresh pineapple.
We celebrated Aja's 6th birthday by making chocolate chip, oatmeal cookies and drinking lukewarm green tea from French demitasse cups. She called her mother and asked, "Would you care to join us?" Of course my camera battery was dead. Our afternoon is burned into my heart.
Seven-year-old Eli came to the door and asked, "Can you come play "Monkey in the Middle" with Aunt Shelly and me? How often do you get an invitation like that? I went out and threw the ball over the one in the middle. Close to noon Eli asked if I'd like to go to Burger King with them. Sure.
Sarah, 6, came and asked if she could wash dishes. Glad to have her. Payment was a banana. Such comings and goings. I love that the kids want to come.
Jani got a purple cast on her left arm, and she isn't old enough to wear purple. I suspect it is well decorated by now.
My high school class had a meeting to discuss next year's reunion. We expected three or four. Twelve showed up. We are kinder than in high school. Life has knocked us all around a plenty.
It is strengthening and comforting being on home plate. I talked with everyone I needed to, saw old friends and was properly hugged up. Many pleasant memories were made and others maintained. I'll be back in August. Don't know why yet, but I know I have to come back. Time will tell.
On my 885 miles in one day return trip, I noticed cars abandoned by the side of the road. Know how to tell? No license plate. Poor lonely, lost, forgotten, or stolen cars wait, wait for someone to see some worth in them and haul them off to rest among more of the same. Maybe a radiator or tire will be a transplant. Nature wastes nothing. An empty vehicle is open season for rodents, snakes, homeless people and animals.
Passing at 70 mph I caught a glimpse of a maroon Chevy with it's right front tire missing. A lanky jack held up the right axle like a long-legged, boney dog. Did you know a gray hound isn't necessarily a greyhound.
My car's air-conditioner faded out. The fan cooled the air a couple of degrees reminding me of my empty bottle of Nantucket Rain perfume.
Large perfectly round bales lay scattered in a hayfield. Some stood on end, bow and arrow target practice style. Others lay flat. I see a checkerboard in the making. It would take a forklift to make a king.
Tennessee, Kentucky and Missouri grow rocks, trees and water. Water has to come from somewhere, why not grow it?
Fifteen hours of driving brought me to Fayetteville in time to have Chinese food with JB. Back to the point of my other life in Tennessee.
2009 Red Convertible Travel Series
Alabama peaches rode north and rhubarb south. I will chop and cook it down sweetened with the organic cane sugar Sucanat.
Ryker and Aja came for welcome hugs. He said, "Work is so much fun, what can we do?" They cut the suckers off the crabapple stump and were paid in fresh pineapple.
We celebrated Aja's 6th birthday by making chocolate chip, oatmeal cookies and drinking lukewarm green tea from French demitasse cups. She called her mother and asked, "Would you care to join us?" Of course my camera battery was dead. Our afternoon is burned into my heart.
Seven-year-old Eli came to the door and asked, "Can you come play "Monkey in the Middle" with Aunt Shelly and me? How often do you get an invitation like that? I went out and threw the ball over the one in the middle. Close to noon Eli asked if I'd like to go to Burger King with them. Sure.
Sarah, 6, came and asked if she could wash dishes. Glad to have her. Payment was a banana. Such comings and goings. I love that the kids want to come.
Jani got a purple cast on her left arm, and she isn't old enough to wear purple. I suspect it is well decorated by now.
My high school class had a meeting to discuss next year's reunion. We expected three or four. Twelve showed up. We are kinder than in high school. Life has knocked us all around a plenty.
It is strengthening and comforting being on home plate. I talked with everyone I needed to, saw old friends and was properly hugged up. Many pleasant memories were made and others maintained. I'll be back in August. Don't know why yet, but I know I have to come back. Time will tell.
On my 885 miles in one day return trip, I noticed cars abandoned by the side of the road. Know how to tell? No license plate. Poor lonely, lost, forgotten, or stolen cars wait, wait for someone to see some worth in them and haul them off to rest among more of the same. Maybe a radiator or tire will be a transplant. Nature wastes nothing. An empty vehicle is open season for rodents, snakes, homeless people and animals.
Passing at 70 mph I caught a glimpse of a maroon Chevy with it's right front tire missing. A lanky jack held up the right axle like a long-legged, boney dog. Did you know a gray hound isn't necessarily a greyhound.
My car's air-conditioner faded out. The fan cooled the air a couple of degrees reminding me of my empty bottle of Nantucket Rain perfume.
Large perfectly round bales lay scattered in a hayfield. Some stood on end, bow and arrow target practice style. Others lay flat. I see a checkerboard in the making. It would take a forklift to make a king.
Tennessee, Kentucky and Missouri grow rocks, trees and water. Water has to come from somewhere, why not grow it?
Fifteen hours of driving brought me to Fayetteville in time to have Chinese food with JB. Back to the point of my other life in Tennessee.
2009 Red Convertible Travel Series
Friday, May 08, 2009
MOTHER'S DAY 2009
. . . a day set aside to celebrate the one who birthed us and all who nurture us.
My mother: My right thumb has a small rise on the knuckle exactly like hers. I see her rolling balls of yeast dough in her hands making buns; creating the divinity I've never been able to duplicate; serving grasshopper pie after a large meal; playing the "The 12th Street Rag" on the piano; hands folded in her lap when we needed to tell her something; creating my tap dancing dress from yards of lavender gingham; canning green beans; putting Denver mud on my chest. In my mind she is always there, alive, well, helpful and beautiful. Love knows no bounds. It connects hearts forever.
Grandmother Mae: My namesake, her cut finger wrapped in a white cloth. Work didn't stop, she maneuvered around it making apple dumplings and fixing chicken and dumplings for Grandpa and I when I was in high school. Quilting is her testimony to salvaging the beauty of the worn and frayed.
Aunt Bobbe: My cheerleader who laughed at my jokes. She'd "do" my nails and take it off before I went home. Not acceptable for little girls, according to Dad. I missed her the most. She passed before I understood we shed our body to live in changed form; she's still my cheerleader.
My sister, Janis: Slim fingers with polished nails. I see her as a child holding a baby chick to her ear to hear it peep. Her home is large enough for all of us for dinner. It thrills her to cook for Thanksgiving, as if feeding an army, and she gets excited making travel plans. No matter what she's into, her hands stay soft and smooth.
Corrie: My favorite second child. "Mom," she'd say exasperated, "you can't have more than one second child." That's why she's my favorite. Her hands have slim, smooth piano fingers that make great music and fluffy crochet. I see her lovingly cupping their dog, Maggie's, face.
Krysia: Her hands were small with wider knuckles like mine and Mother's. She used her index fingers to type, made quiche and remodeled. Her hands stayed smooth. What bothered her most about my caring for her was what it did to my hands: frequent washing made them rough, crack and bleed.
Carol, more than a daughter-in-law, a friend: Large hands, large heart, good cook. She takes her time, makes a mean shrimp dip, perfectly fried fish, creamed asparagus, rhubarb crisp. Always kind, she is a there when needed.
To all who nurture here and from beyond, thank you, thank you for uplifting life. God Bless and Happy Mother's Day.
2009 Red Convertible Travel Series
My mother: My right thumb has a small rise on the knuckle exactly like hers. I see her rolling balls of yeast dough in her hands making buns; creating the divinity I've never been able to duplicate; serving grasshopper pie after a large meal; playing the "The 12th Street Rag" on the piano; hands folded in her lap when we needed to tell her something; creating my tap dancing dress from yards of lavender gingham; canning green beans; putting Denver mud on my chest. In my mind she is always there, alive, well, helpful and beautiful. Love knows no bounds. It connects hearts forever.
Grandmother Mae: My namesake, her cut finger wrapped in a white cloth. Work didn't stop, she maneuvered around it making apple dumplings and fixing chicken and dumplings for Grandpa and I when I was in high school. Quilting is her testimony to salvaging the beauty of the worn and frayed.
Aunt Bobbe: My cheerleader who laughed at my jokes. She'd "do" my nails and take it off before I went home. Not acceptable for little girls, according to Dad. I missed her the most. She passed before I understood we shed our body to live in changed form; she's still my cheerleader.
My sister, Janis: Slim fingers with polished nails. I see her as a child holding a baby chick to her ear to hear it peep. Her home is large enough for all of us for dinner. It thrills her to cook for Thanksgiving, as if feeding an army, and she gets excited making travel plans. No matter what she's into, her hands stay soft and smooth.
Corrie: My favorite second child. "Mom," she'd say exasperated, "you can't have more than one second child." That's why she's my favorite. Her hands have slim, smooth piano fingers that make great music and fluffy crochet. I see her lovingly cupping their dog, Maggie's, face.
Krysia: Her hands were small with wider knuckles like mine and Mother's. She used her index fingers to type, made quiche and remodeled. Her hands stayed smooth. What bothered her most about my caring for her was what it did to my hands: frequent washing made them rough, crack and bleed.
Carol, more than a daughter-in-law, a friend: Large hands, large heart, good cook. She takes her time, makes a mean shrimp dip, perfectly fried fish, creamed asparagus, rhubarb crisp. Always kind, she is a there when needed.
To all who nurture here and from beyond, thank you, thank you for uplifting life. God Bless and Happy Mother's Day.
2009 Red Convertible Travel Series
Monday, April 06, 2009
Signs of Spring
in our corner of the world. Flushing out the season, Krysia grew narcissus bulbs in a bowl of rocks. Garden books replaced winter books of polar bears and snowy Alps. The summer picture of her and Schatzie is a constant.
Hardy red, yellow and white tulips come up in our landscaping. A high school science project inspired me to cross-pollinate my grandmother's tulips. Pollen from a red tulip was tapped onto a knife and sprinkled into the center of white tulips. The next spring they boasted red stripes. It took three seasons for the red to fade out. White remained white and red remained red.
Krysia liked tea and scones for her birthday. Tomorrow I will enjoy them in my mind remembering her.
2009 Red Convertible Travel Series
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