"We're doing it again, following a wrecker towing our motorhome. Ah, but the scenery is different: Mississippi was hot, humid and green; Texas is hot, dry and brown. Maybe we aren't prayed up?"
"Maybe we are. It could have been worse," JB replied from deep-thought mode. It's Saturday. Repairs can't begin until Monday. We need to be in Tucson, Arizona, Sunday evening by six - 635 miles away.
At Big Springs, Texas, the king-sized wrecker deposited our forty-footer, minus it's drive shaft with scattered bearings, at Rip Giffin's Texas-sized parking lot. Seeing no alternative, in his soft, Southern voice JB asked, "Could you stay behind, get it repaired, and drive it the rest of the way?"
I don't believe it! I've driven this forty-footer once with him in the passenger seat. Shocked, barely audible, I responded, "You want me to do what?"
"I'll come back and get you, if you can't," he assured.
With my guts in a knot, it took everything in me to say without choking, "I'll do my best."
Sunday morning, driving my car towing his, JB left for Tucson with a week's clothes, water, a can of smoked oysters, and some crackers. Left behind, I wilted knowing I couldn't do the job alone. When all else fails, consult the Master. While I prayed, the 23rd Psalm came apart: The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want. Hmm, that's encouraging.
He makes me lie down in green pastures. I looked at His pasture: asphalt and light poles; the horizon interrupted by oil wells perched like greedy grasshoppers sucking rich black syrup; a humming Freightliner to my left radiating cow-calf security. Thank you.
Alone, a little housework , nonstop munching on cheese, crackers, lunch meat, apples, walnuts and cookies - anything not nailed down, and calling everybody I knew for support, I managed to make it through the afternoon, but nothing eased my panic.
The wrecker man replaced the drive shaft with new, well-behaved bearings. I called JB. He'd stopped for gas, and opened the can of oysters. I couldn't imagine eating them while driving and not spilling them, but he could better. "Just drive it around the parking lot to get a feel."
"You know it takes three-hundred pounds more than me to stop it." Terrified, I shook my head in disbelief that I could possibly drive it to Tucson.
I walked around it: forty-feet, eight-feet, forty-feet, and eight feet - a monster. "Put it in drive and look forward, the rear end will follow. Just go slow, and don't turn too fast or you could wipe out a lane of traffic." That's encouraging.
I crept around the parking lot like a low-slung cat stalking prey: once, twice, three times.
Yeah, I had a feel for it, but cherished parking next to the humming Freightliner. As I stood up from the seat, a woman drove by maneuvering an eighteen-wheeler. Well! If she can do it, so can I!
In quiet prayer more of the Psalm unfolded: He leads me beside still waters. He restores my soul. Feeling nudged to step off in faith, I let go surrendering all to God. In an instant peace settled on, in, and through me. Oh, why didn't I do that in the first place? Now I knew that with God in charge, it would work out okay, the how didn't matter, but I suspected it would be an adventure.
(watch for part 2)
copyright 2005 Red Convertible Travel Series
Friday, July 29, 2005
Thursday, July 21, 2005
Dutch Loafers and Bed in a Box
Aunt Bobbe's Dutch wooden shoes fit me in fourth grade. I made lots of noise, stood up straight, and didn't bruise my clumsy feet.
Grandma grew red and white tulips. For science class I cross-pollinated them which created stripes the next year. Great-aunt Nora displayed the same bouquet of plastic red tulips on her dining room table our entire childhood and until she died. Holland's treasure influenced both of them. Driving from Germany into Holland we learned right off to stop and look at the flowers, and drive aware of bicyclers of all age - they have the right-of-way.
We wanted a vegetarian B&B with a washing machine. A visitor's center placed us at Dronten. According to their information, Dronten is on the manmade island that surfaced after the building of the dike in the 1950's. If the dike broke, 60% of Holland would be under water. A residential yard sign stated: "We're on our way!" ...to heaven or higher ground?
Our host had lived in Indonesia until he was twelve. Our hostess and a girlfriend hitchhiked through Egypt into the Sudan. Wow! Tell us more. They invited us to share their Indonesian dinner: rice, potatoes, and hard boiled egg slices in a peanut sauce, with a soup made of coconut milk - exotic, like the enormous houseplants they'd had for years that flourished in the natural humidity.
In the living room they served ice cream with mice (chocolate sprinkles), hazelnut liqueur, amaretto, and homemade wine. We shared life and learned about Holland. The tulips grow in "ghost-ground": earth, sand, and peat. People really did sleep in boxes and wooden shoes have been around since the 13th century.
Friendships forged, we parted with hugs, and promises to keep in touch, and backed out the wrong direction. Rob joked, "What will the neighbors say?"
"Tell them we're on our way."
We had to see a "bed in a box." The Zeiderzee Museum captured Dutch history with slanting, sinking houses that seemed miniature - the right size for tiny Holland. An enclosed horizontal closet with a door made a bed a box that kept the occupants warm. Beneath the bed drawers served for storage. Whatever works.
In the spring, when I look out at my blooming tulips, I smile, stop and look at Bobbe's wooden shoes on my bookshelves, and wonder what our Dutch friends are doing.
copyright 2005 Red Convertible Travel Series
Grandma grew red and white tulips. For science class I cross-pollinated them which created stripes the next year. Great-aunt Nora displayed the same bouquet of plastic red tulips on her dining room table our entire childhood and until she died. Holland's treasure influenced both of them. Driving from Germany into Holland we learned right off to stop and look at the flowers, and drive aware of bicyclers of all age - they have the right-of-way.
We wanted a vegetarian B&B with a washing machine. A visitor's center placed us at Dronten. According to their information, Dronten is on the manmade island that surfaced after the building of the dike in the 1950's. If the dike broke, 60% of Holland would be under water. A residential yard sign stated: "We're on our way!" ...to heaven or higher ground?
Our host had lived in Indonesia until he was twelve. Our hostess and a girlfriend hitchhiked through Egypt into the Sudan. Wow! Tell us more. They invited us to share their Indonesian dinner: rice, potatoes, and hard boiled egg slices in a peanut sauce, with a soup made of coconut milk - exotic, like the enormous houseplants they'd had for years that flourished in the natural humidity.
In the living room they served ice cream with mice (chocolate sprinkles), hazelnut liqueur, amaretto, and homemade wine. We shared life and learned about Holland. The tulips grow in "ghost-ground": earth, sand, and peat. People really did sleep in boxes and wooden shoes have been around since the 13th century.
Friendships forged, we parted with hugs, and promises to keep in touch, and backed out the wrong direction. Rob joked, "What will the neighbors say?"
"Tell them we're on our way."
We had to see a "bed in a box." The Zeiderzee Museum captured Dutch history with slanting, sinking houses that seemed miniature - the right size for tiny Holland. An enclosed horizontal closet with a door made a bed a box that kept the occupants warm. Beneath the bed drawers served for storage. Whatever works.
In the spring, when I look out at my blooming tulips, I smile, stop and look at Bobbe's wooden shoes on my bookshelves, and wonder what our Dutch friends are doing.
copyright 2005 Red Convertible Travel Series
Wednesday, July 20, 2005
Hiking the Grand Canyon - part 2 Coonskin cap and fresh wheat
I opened the National Geographic to a spread of the Grand Canyon wall, and scared myself. To get a grip, and keep my promise, I adopted the mantra, "I think I can."
As word of our hike spread throughout the community, gear appeared: a pith helmet, WWII spats, a knife made from a downed B52 bomber, an aluminum backpack, a canteen, a sleeping bag, and a thinsulate pad to put under it. Papa made my most valuable tool by stripping and shelacing a four-foot pine tree, affixing a rubber tip on one end, and a leather strap handle on the other.
Someone asked if I would carry a gun. What if we ran into a motorcycle gang? The trail is for hiking not biking. No, I wouldn't carry a gun. With a twinkle in his eye, a friend brought a coonskin cap complete with tail and horns and a small bag of wheat. The cap was a bear and buffalo repellent he'd had for years and it worked, but what about the wheat?
(more later)
copyright 2005 Red Convertible Travel Series
As word of our hike spread throughout the community, gear appeared: a pith helmet, WWII spats, a knife made from a downed B52 bomber, an aluminum backpack, a canteen, a sleeping bag, and a thinsulate pad to put under it. Papa made my most valuable tool by stripping and shelacing a four-foot pine tree, affixing a rubber tip on one end, and a leather strap handle on the other.
Someone asked if I would carry a gun. What if we ran into a motorcycle gang? The trail is for hiking not biking. No, I wouldn't carry a gun. With a twinkle in his eye, a friend brought a coonskin cap complete with tail and horns and a small bag of wheat. The cap was a bear and buffalo repellent he'd had for years and it worked, but what about the wheat?
(more later)
copyright 2005 Red Convertible Travel Series
Friday, July 15, 2005
I raced "The Big Brown Truck!"
UPS is the sponsor for NASCAR driver Dale Jarrett, #88.
Picture this: Tucson, Arizona, 6:30 P.M. I stopped at a red light with my window down. "The Big Brown Truck" pulls to a stop at my left. The driver looks at me. I look at him. Would he? Could he? I mouth, "Do you want to race?" He nods. On the left means he's on the pole, the fastest, but I know I can beat him. I feel wild and wreckless reving my engine.
Green light. Muscles tensed, and my mind fixed on the start-finish line, I peel off in my Bravada. At 109 degrees I don't need to warm my tires. Like the tortoise, he steadily gains. I lead by a block - the first lap counts. I lead by two blocks when somebody pulls out in front of me - obviously a lap down. In the third block he passes me laughing - all the way to the finish line - the next red light. He wins the checkered flag. I come in second, but I got to race "The Big Brown Truck." Come on Dale, pleeeeeeease race "The Big Brown Truck."
copyright 2005 Red Convertible Travel Series
Picture this: Tucson, Arizona, 6:30 P.M. I stopped at a red light with my window down. "The Big Brown Truck" pulls to a stop at my left. The driver looks at me. I look at him. Would he? Could he? I mouth, "Do you want to race?" He nods. On the left means he's on the pole, the fastest, but I know I can beat him. I feel wild and wreckless reving my engine.
Green light. Muscles tensed, and my mind fixed on the start-finish line, I peel off in my Bravada. At 109 degrees I don't need to warm my tires. Like the tortoise, he steadily gains. I lead by a block - the first lap counts. I lead by two blocks when somebody pulls out in front of me - obviously a lap down. In the third block he passes me laughing - all the way to the finish line - the next red light. He wins the checkered flag. I come in second, but I got to race "The Big Brown Truck." Come on Dale, pleeeeeeease race "The Big Brown Truck."
copyright 2005 Red Convertible Travel Series
Monday, July 11, 2005
Shadow Pictures & Applejack
Our parsley-eating, French friends invited us to an evening Sound & Light Show - he'd drive. Just before sunset they whisked us through the countryside to an outdoor performance. We joined other ground-sitting spectators on the terraced hillside overlooking the theatrical village.
At dark a surprise drizzle canceled the performance. Projection lights beaming from behind inspired our ever-ready imaginations to bend our fingers making giant rabbits appear on the stage.
Camille, our Normandy Auberge host, eagerly awaited our return. As we parked he came out with a bottle in hand, a skip in his step, his white hair bouncing, and an impish grin on his face. Proud of his homemade applejack (apple brandy), he stated he didn't share it with just anybody.
Our daytime outdoor table, with its red and white checkered cover, looked magical by candlelight with four tiny cups and a sugarcube perched on each saucer. With flair, Camille poured a short tablespoon in each cup with instructions to dip the sugarcube and suck it.
His eyes twinkled. "How is it?" Apples on fire! Unable to breathe, we sort of nodded approval, which I would regret later. (Hard liquor and I don't get along. I tried it at seventeen and thirty-seven, and gave up.)
Savoring each mini-sip, sharing our life's joys and sorrows gave our friendships time to blend and deepen. We went to bed smiling over this chapter of our French travels: shadow pictures and applejack.
copyright 2005 Red Convertible Travel Series
At dark a surprise drizzle canceled the performance. Projection lights beaming from behind inspired our ever-ready imaginations to bend our fingers making giant rabbits appear on the stage.
Camille, our Normandy Auberge host, eagerly awaited our return. As we parked he came out with a bottle in hand, a skip in his step, his white hair bouncing, and an impish grin on his face. Proud of his homemade applejack (apple brandy), he stated he didn't share it with just anybody.
Our daytime outdoor table, with its red and white checkered cover, looked magical by candlelight with four tiny cups and a sugarcube perched on each saucer. With flair, Camille poured a short tablespoon in each cup with instructions to dip the sugarcube and suck it.
His eyes twinkled. "How is it?" Apples on fire! Unable to breathe, we sort of nodded approval, which I would regret later. (Hard liquor and I don't get along. I tried it at seventeen and thirty-seven, and gave up.)
Savoring each mini-sip, sharing our life's joys and sorrows gave our friendships time to blend and deepen. We went to bed smiling over this chapter of our French travels: shadow pictures and applejack.
copyright 2005 Red Convertible Travel Series
Thursday, July 07, 2005
Bulls and Onions
We have a working travel system: little sister navigates and I drive. She loves maps and can read them in a moving vehicle - I might upchuck. One Sunday we drove around Lake Como, Italy, over the Alps, and into Germany's Black Forest. When I asked our location she replied, "...north of the Alps and south of the construction."
Tucked into the tall, dense, dark forest, a 600 year-old Black Forest Inn stands long and two-story. At this remote location I doubted speaking English would get us a room. Using my long-ago high school German I asked for a room. The innkeeper looked puzzled, turned to the kitchen, and yelled to his wife, "Honey, come out here, some woman is trying to speak English."
Hungry, I decided to leave a room reservation until later, resorted to just plain English, requested two servings of deep-fried Camembert with cranberry sauce, and got it! It delighted our mouths with crunchy, soft, sweet, and tangy.
The Innkeeper explained the Inn's multi-purposes. Half of the structure houses bulls. When snow blows and piles up, they can get to them easily. The other half of the ground floor is the restaurant with rooms for rent overhead.
We found the upstairs room ample, complete with feather ticks to sleep under, and a tiny bowl of potpourri by the bed - a cover up for bulls or onions?
copyright 2005 Red Convertible Travel Series
Tucked into the tall, dense, dark forest, a 600 year-old Black Forest Inn stands long and two-story. At this remote location I doubted speaking English would get us a room. Using my long-ago high school German I asked for a room. The innkeeper looked puzzled, turned to the kitchen, and yelled to his wife, "Honey, come out here, some woman is trying to speak English."
Hungry, I decided to leave a room reservation until later, resorted to just plain English, requested two servings of deep-fried Camembert with cranberry sauce, and got it! It delighted our mouths with crunchy, soft, sweet, and tangy.
The Innkeeper explained the Inn's multi-purposes. Half of the structure houses bulls. When snow blows and piles up, they can get to them easily. The other half of the ground floor is the restaurant with rooms for rent overhead.
We found the upstairs room ample, complete with feather ticks to sleep under, and a tiny bowl of potpourri by the bed - a cover up for bulls or onions?
copyright 2005 Red Convertible Travel Series
Friday, July 01, 2005
No flag, no parade, no hotdogs
As American citizens we didn't know what was involved with clearing customs, until we returned from Mexico. Before computerization, US agents looked through a huge, worn book. If the passport name was found, the person could not enter the US.
As I stood in line in Texas, I raced through my past. I had nothing to report. Still, I broke out in a sweat. We couldn't leave to eat or use the restroom. What will we do if we can't get in? What will happen to our kids? Where will we go? I understood kissing home ground.
While the agent searched, I held my breath. Satisfied we weren't felons, he stamped our passports, and said, "Next." Thank God.
Minnie and I were in Germany one July 4th without a small American flag, and didn't see one anywhere. We felt "foreign," out of place, but we would make the best of the day.
Our childhood holidays meant picnics and celebrations with extended family and community unless the wheat needed to be harvested. Ripe, it was too fragile to leave in the field. We wrote our names with sparklers and lit black caps on the sidewalk to make messy worms. Until July 4th summer was up and coming. After, it was downhill to school and winter.
White asparagus with hollandaise replaced hotdogs. For that I could give up hotdogs. A quiet walk in the country replaced a noisey parade, but without people to watch. Wild red poppies looked like a sea of onlookers waving flags at passing floats. That put some life into it. We waved back.
A quiet game of Rummy replaced yelling at a ballgame. We missed Mom's after-the-game root beer floats and malts with the homemade rich, creamy ice cream we'd worked all afternoon taking turns cranking. I love the taste of malt powder. The texture reminds me of sawdust.
From a hilltop after dark we saw a few fireworks from an American base. We couldn't smell them, and no children or dogs complained about the noise.
Our low-key, lonely celebration put into perspective that the rest of the world does not revolve around the US. It did deepen our pride in America, and strengthen our love and loyalty to home and country.
copyright 2005 Red Convertible Travel Series
As I stood in line in Texas, I raced through my past. I had nothing to report. Still, I broke out in a sweat. We couldn't leave to eat or use the restroom. What will we do if we can't get in? What will happen to our kids? Where will we go? I understood kissing home ground.
While the agent searched, I held my breath. Satisfied we weren't felons, he stamped our passports, and said, "Next." Thank God.
Minnie and I were in Germany one July 4th without a small American flag, and didn't see one anywhere. We felt "foreign," out of place, but we would make the best of the day.
Our childhood holidays meant picnics and celebrations with extended family and community unless the wheat needed to be harvested. Ripe, it was too fragile to leave in the field. We wrote our names with sparklers and lit black caps on the sidewalk to make messy worms. Until July 4th summer was up and coming. After, it was downhill to school and winter.
White asparagus with hollandaise replaced hotdogs. For that I could give up hotdogs. A quiet walk in the country replaced a noisey parade, but without people to watch. Wild red poppies looked like a sea of onlookers waving flags at passing floats. That put some life into it. We waved back.
A quiet game of Rummy replaced yelling at a ballgame. We missed Mom's after-the-game root beer floats and malts with the homemade rich, creamy ice cream we'd worked all afternoon taking turns cranking. I love the taste of malt powder. The texture reminds me of sawdust.
From a hilltop after dark we saw a few fireworks from an American base. We couldn't smell them, and no children or dogs complained about the noise.
Our low-key, lonely celebration put into perspective that the rest of the world does not revolve around the US. It did deepen our pride in America, and strengthen our love and loyalty to home and country.
copyright 2005 Red Convertible Travel Series
Tuesday, June 28, 2005
Ste. Quentin, France - No money, no room
Driving into France from the east we stopped at Ste. Quentin to exchange dollars for francs and find a room. We don't speak French, and we didn't recognize a bank name. At the Post a man held the door for Minnie. She thanked him. He responded, "You're welcome," in English.
"Stop! Please. We can't find a bank." He paused, looked us over, and asked if we'd follow him. We nodded. At the third bank, Credit Agriculture, he negotiated a VISA draw of dollars for francs. Thank God.
"Where are you staying?" he asked. We didn't have a reservation. "Oh, I can help with that." Taking charge, he called an Auberge near an American cemetery and reserved us a room. Thank God. He smiled, successful a second time.
"What do you plan to see and do?" We were open to suggestions. "You're traveling without destination too?" Shocked, his expression said 'you need a keeper'. Our go-with-the-flow philosophy needed explaining. Each day we put God first and let him lead us. That did it. He realized God was working through him to help us, smiled, took our map, spread it on the hood of our car, and pointed out places of interest. Thank God. Thank you three times Mr. Cache.
We bought him coffee and sat a spell. Between chocolate pastry bites, he shared that he liked visiting San Francisco. We all agreed this wasn't an accidental meeting. By putting God first, everything we needed was provided.
copyright 2005 Red Convertible Travel Series
"Stop! Please. We can't find a bank." He paused, looked us over, and asked if we'd follow him. We nodded. At the third bank, Credit Agriculture, he negotiated a VISA draw of dollars for francs. Thank God.
"Where are you staying?" he asked. We didn't have a reservation. "Oh, I can help with that." Taking charge, he called an Auberge near an American cemetery and reserved us a room. Thank God. He smiled, successful a second time.
"What do you plan to see and do?" We were open to suggestions. "You're traveling without destination too?" Shocked, his expression said 'you need a keeper'. Our go-with-the-flow philosophy needed explaining. Each day we put God first and let him lead us. That did it. He realized God was working through him to help us, smiled, took our map, spread it on the hood of our car, and pointed out places of interest. Thank God. Thank you three times Mr. Cache.
We bought him coffee and sat a spell. Between chocolate pastry bites, he shared that he liked visiting San Francisco. We all agreed this wasn't an accidental meeting. By putting God first, everything we needed was provided.
copyright 2005 Red Convertible Travel Series
Friday, June 24, 2005
Swiss Cows Summer Home
Our cows were underprivileged. They never went anywhere. Like the people of the Midwest United States they stayed put and worked. Our black and whites, Holsteins, provided us with plenty of fresh milk. Mom made butter from the cream. Over-whipped cream made "accidental" butter.
Brown Swiss cows summer in the Alps. With a twinkle in his eye, Papa said their legs were shorter on one side from walking the side of the mountain. Our B&B in Wattens (Vattens), Austria had an empty barn. Kati, our hostess, invited us to the "summer home" for their cows near the top of the Alps. Her husband had driven their dozen cows up the ten miles in May, would stay with them all summer, and drive them down in September wearing wreaths of wild flowers and maybe a small Christmas tree on the top of their head. The community will be so glad to have all the cows and keepers home they'll have a celebration.
So few miles up the mountain took thirty minutes. Where the road ran out we parked, gathered the groceries and walked a path through tall, dense, dark woods for ten minutes. The air was clear, clean, thin and quiet except for the rustle of our bags. In the clearing a rooster announced our arrival. Contented Brown Swiss cows chewed their cud lounging in a 1700's barn. The chalet from the same period had been replaced with a new knotty pine Alpine structure.
Ernst was thrilled to see Kati. Summer is lonesome. There are no near neighbors, and it's just mid-June. While our hostess made her promised cottage cheese pastry we visited with her husband, as best we could. German is their language. He showed us their gently sloping pasture and grazing land. We couldn't fall off or roll down here. Going to the mountain top and looking over didn't interest us. It's too high and steep. We'd need a guide, ropes, etc., but maybe some other time we'll do that.
The scent of fresh-brewed coffee and warm pastry drew us to their table. The dough was soft, the filling grandmotherly, soothing and delicious. We could see mountain tops for about 100 miles and Innsbruck in the Valley. If our flat-land cows were here, would they feel privileged or scared?
copyright 2005 Red Convertible Travel Series
Brown Swiss cows summer in the Alps. With a twinkle in his eye, Papa said their legs were shorter on one side from walking the side of the mountain. Our B&B in Wattens (Vattens), Austria had an empty barn. Kati, our hostess, invited us to the "summer home" for their cows near the top of the Alps. Her husband had driven their dozen cows up the ten miles in May, would stay with them all summer, and drive them down in September wearing wreaths of wild flowers and maybe a small Christmas tree on the top of their head. The community will be so glad to have all the cows and keepers home they'll have a celebration.
So few miles up the mountain took thirty minutes. Where the road ran out we parked, gathered the groceries and walked a path through tall, dense, dark woods for ten minutes. The air was clear, clean, thin and quiet except for the rustle of our bags. In the clearing a rooster announced our arrival. Contented Brown Swiss cows chewed their cud lounging in a 1700's barn. The chalet from the same period had been replaced with a new knotty pine Alpine structure.
Ernst was thrilled to see Kati. Summer is lonesome. There are no near neighbors, and it's just mid-June. While our hostess made her promised cottage cheese pastry we visited with her husband, as best we could. German is their language. He showed us their gently sloping pasture and grazing land. We couldn't fall off or roll down here. Going to the mountain top and looking over didn't interest us. It's too high and steep. We'd need a guide, ropes, etc., but maybe some other time we'll do that.
The scent of fresh-brewed coffee and warm pastry drew us to their table. The dough was soft, the filling grandmotherly, soothing and delicious. We could see mountain tops for about 100 miles and Innsbruck in the Valley. If our flat-land cows were here, would they feel privileged or scared?
copyright 2005 Red Convertible Travel Series
Wednesday, June 22, 2005
The Barefoot Pastor & His Bucket of Rocks
He's tall, long-legged and barefoot most of the time. In church he wears shoes, I think. It was his Children's Time presentation that stuck with me.
He folded his long legs to sit on the floor with the kids and dumped out a pail of rocks. The big one was the "God" rock. The smaller rocks all had names representing the different aspects of a person's life: work, play, family, friends, etc. He put the small rocks in first and the big "God" rock last. It didn't fit. It fell off. He dumped the pail out and started over showing them how to put the "God" rock in first then all the others rocks fit. "Life works best when we put God first," he said.
Here at St. Mark's Lutheran Church in Cape Girardeau, Interim Pastor Peter Rupprecht has his bare feet firmly planted in a working faith. I'm so glad he walked barefoot past our campsite and invited me to church.
copyright 2005 Red Convertible Travel Series
He folded his long legs to sit on the floor with the kids and dumped out a pail of rocks. The big one was the "God" rock. The smaller rocks all had names representing the different aspects of a person's life: work, play, family, friends, etc. He put the small rocks in first and the big "God" rock last. It didn't fit. It fell off. He dumped the pail out and started over showing them how to put the "God" rock in first then all the others rocks fit. "Life works best when we put God first," he said.
Here at St. Mark's Lutheran Church in Cape Girardeau, Interim Pastor Peter Rupprecht has his bare feet firmly planted in a working faith. I'm so glad he walked barefoot past our campsite and invited me to church.
copyright 2005 Red Convertible Travel Series
Monday, June 20, 2005
Here, you have the first bite.
Cape Girardeau's farmer's market is held at the Arena on Wednesday's at 8 AM. I love outdoor markets. They remind me of the slower pace of the "old country." The produce is alive nourishing body and soul.
It's early in the season so I didn't expect much, but I'd been awake since 4 AM, took my mesh market bag, and arrived five minutes before they opened. Tables were spread in a large circle under shade. My first treasure was fresh leeks with six inches of white. Wow! The lady said it took lots of "mounding" like white asparagus does. Quart plastic bags held organized green beans - all lined up with their tips peeking out the top. Cold, sweating brown eggs were the gifts of free-thinking, free-roaming hens whose buffet was on the ground and in the air. I took them gratefully.
Huge Missouri apricots went into my bag. I missed the last box of black raspberries which reminded me I have homemade black raspberry wine in my cellar at home. Last weekend I went to Illers for homegrown blueberries. I'm parceling them out in two-serving batches of cobbler baked in the four-inch cast iron skillet - to die for.
A purple and a green pepper, zucchini and yellow squash, small cucumbers, mixed baby lettuces, vine-ripened tomatoes, and fresh basil filled my bag. We are going to eat like kings.
Four brownies for JB, four chocolate biscotti for me to have with hot tea, and organic pork chops rounded out my shopping. There were other goodies too: honey, soaps and home-grown loofas.
A four-inch, maroon sunflower for a dollar was a must. It's standing in a rootbeer mug on the kitchen counter leaning it's heavy head my way encouraging me to stop and sniff it's secret scent. Nature did good.
There were cookies, breads with herbs or cheese, cinnamon rolls and an angel food cake. An older gentleman was purchasing a sweetroll with cherry filling on top. It looked so good. I kidded him I almost took it out of his hand. With a wide, warm smile and without hesitation, he held it toward me, "Here, you have the first bite." I said no. He insisted. I did. It was a perfectly raised dough and not too sweet. Delicious. Kind sir, thank you for the first bite.
copyright 2005 Red Convertible Travel Series
It's early in the season so I didn't expect much, but I'd been awake since 4 AM, took my mesh market bag, and arrived five minutes before they opened. Tables were spread in a large circle under shade. My first treasure was fresh leeks with six inches of white. Wow! The lady said it took lots of "mounding" like white asparagus does. Quart plastic bags held organized green beans - all lined up with their tips peeking out the top. Cold, sweating brown eggs were the gifts of free-thinking, free-roaming hens whose buffet was on the ground and in the air. I took them gratefully.
Huge Missouri apricots went into my bag. I missed the last box of black raspberries which reminded me I have homemade black raspberry wine in my cellar at home. Last weekend I went to Illers for homegrown blueberries. I'm parceling them out in two-serving batches of cobbler baked in the four-inch cast iron skillet - to die for.
A purple and a green pepper, zucchini and yellow squash, small cucumbers, mixed baby lettuces, vine-ripened tomatoes, and fresh basil filled my bag. We are going to eat like kings.
Four brownies for JB, four chocolate biscotti for me to have with hot tea, and organic pork chops rounded out my shopping. There were other goodies too: honey, soaps and home-grown loofas.
A four-inch, maroon sunflower for a dollar was a must. It's standing in a rootbeer mug on the kitchen counter leaning it's heavy head my way encouraging me to stop and sniff it's secret scent. Nature did good.
There were cookies, breads with herbs or cheese, cinnamon rolls and an angel food cake. An older gentleman was purchasing a sweetroll with cherry filling on top. It looked so good. I kidded him I almost took it out of his hand. With a wide, warm smile and without hesitation, he held it toward me, "Here, you have the first bite." I said no. He insisted. I did. It was a perfectly raised dough and not too sweet. Delicious. Kind sir, thank you for the first bite.
copyright 2005 Red Convertible Travel Series
Thursday, June 16, 2005
Peace thru fishing
MSN photo
Peace thru fishing.
It's a stock photo, but the guys look a lot like Papa in the front and Jim further out. A nice memory.verse copyright 2005 Red Convertible Travel Series
Father's Day at the lake in Minnesota
It was a big deal. We lived all year for our June week of fishing in Minnesota. Good Friday Papa planted potatoes. Shortly thereafter he'd plant #9 peas, green onions, radishes and lettuce.
A backpack is about all I'd need to go around the world, but it took a boat load, literally, for a week of fishing. It's a sport that requires a lot of gear: tackle, life vests, and rain gear that got us wet. It was just a question of whether it was an inside or an outside job: sweat or rain. Papa's five-gallon bucket of earth and collected night crawlers wouldn't always make it. We'd forget and have to remind him they have bait in Minnesota.
I loved to cook at camp which necessitated cooking equipment and food stuffs like tuna, just in case. The perfect Father's Day dinner was new potatoes and peas in a creamed sauce with fresh dill weed, new lettuce with sweet dressing, green onions, fresh caught and fried walleye or crappie, local bakery rye bread and from scratch peach dumplings with ice cream for dessert.
Peach Dumpling Recipe
Preheat oven to 350 degrees.
A backpack is about all I'd need to go around the world, but it took a boat load, literally, for a week of fishing. It's a sport that requires a lot of gear: tackle, life vests, and rain gear that got us wet. It was just a question of whether it was an inside or an outside job: sweat or rain. Papa's five-gallon bucket of earth and collected night crawlers wouldn't always make it. We'd forget and have to remind him they have bait in Minnesota.
I loved to cook at camp which necessitated cooking equipment and food stuffs like tuna, just in case. The perfect Father's Day dinner was new potatoes and peas in a creamed sauce with fresh dill weed, new lettuce with sweet dressing, green onions, fresh caught and fried walleye or crappie, local bakery rye bread and from scratch peach dumplings with ice cream for dessert.
Peach Dumpling Recipe
Preheat oven to 350 degrees.
For a 9x13 dish, roll out pie dough and cut into roughly five inch squares. Lay slices of fresh or frozen peaches on each square and sprinkle with sugar and cinnamon. Bring the corners up. Place side by side in a deep baking dish.
Make a syrup of :
1 cup sugar
2 cups boiling water
1/2 cup butter
1 teaspoon almond flavoring
Pour it over the dumplings leaving the tops exposed to brown like a pie crust.
Sprinkle the top with a little cinnamon and sugar.
Bake 350 degrees until crust is golden and peaches tender, about 45 minutes. Serve warm with ice cream. When we could get country cream, that was the ultimate topping.
We joyfully gave Papa cards and presents. Satisified he was properly praised and appreciated, he'd smile, give thanks, hugs and kisses, and retire for a nap. Later we'd do whatever he wanted: cruise the lake, fish, play lawn darts, cards, or go for a ride, and of course, start planning next year's trip. The memory of it all is every bit as sweet as the trip was.
copyright 2005 Red Convertible Travel Series
1 cup sugar
2 cups boiling water
1/2 cup butter
1 teaspoon almond flavoring
Pour it over the dumplings leaving the tops exposed to brown like a pie crust.
Sprinkle the top with a little cinnamon and sugar.
Bake 350 degrees until crust is golden and peaches tender, about 45 minutes. Serve warm with ice cream. When we could get country cream, that was the ultimate topping.
We joyfully gave Papa cards and presents. Satisified he was properly praised and appreciated, he'd smile, give thanks, hugs and kisses, and retire for a nap. Later we'd do whatever he wanted: cruise the lake, fish, play lawn darts, cards, or go for a ride, and of course, start planning next year's trip. The memory of it all is every bit as sweet as the trip was.
copyright 2005 Red Convertible Travel Series
Tuesday, June 14, 2005
The Ocean from On High
MSN photo
The view could be from a para-sail. I love the peace and silence suspended in space.
verse copyright 2005 Red Convertible Travel Series
Parasail With Me
Minnie and I watched a colorful sunset while we dined by the sea in Mazatlan, Mexico. Assorted seafood for two was cooked on a grill at our table and served with a twist of lime. Delicious. Our waiter suggested we go para-sailing, but before ten in the morning, "Once the wind comes up, it can be hazardous." I had to try.
Fastened in harness
rope tied to boat
to follow their instructions
was foolish hope
With giggles and tickles
sylphs lift me high
to music and angels
not heard below
Cut the engine
slack the line
pull the rope
I try, I try
Yells and screams
far below
pull, come down
before you blow
Oops, in the water
up to my knees
undines delighted
I paid their fees
Pulling the rope to let the air out of the parachute was harder than I thought, but to experience weightlessness was worth it.
copyright 2005 Red Convertible Travel Series
Sunday, June 12, 2005
Saturday, June 11, 2005
Pantheistic
The dictionary states that "it is the belief in all or many deities." And for me, it's my love of pots and pans I store in my motorhome oven.
One winter we rented a small apartment that had little kitchen cupboard space. Out of habit I stored the cast iron skillets, cookie sheets and cooking pots in the oven. Why not? A friend said his mother stored her empty refrigerator dishes in the refrigerator.
I mixed up cornbread. When I went to get the skillet out of the cold oven, I looked at those empty pots and pans that were used to being hot and left them where they were. The cornbread baked among them.
copyright 2005 Red Convertible Travel Series
Monday, June 06, 2005
Marie Tussaud's London Wax Museum
In the cool semi-darkness of the Musuem, the "wax work" makes the Royals and other important people look alive. I expected them to unpose. Up close and personal they're not nearly as large as their importance had led me to believe.
Studying the semi-circle of African leaders I read each name and looked at each face. One, from a country I'd never heard of, grinned back at me. I gasped, turned to strangers beside me and asked if they'd noticed. They nodded equally shaken. Was he alive or was he wax? Even the pores of their skin have been replicated. Shocked, I had to sit down.
Dressed in my black hat, black coat and black boots I was collecting my thoughts when someone bent over to look in my face. I looked up. They gasped and jumped back. Gotcha!
copyright 2005 Red Convertible Travel Series
Studying the semi-circle of African leaders I read each name and looked at each face. One, from a country I'd never heard of, grinned back at me. I gasped, turned to strangers beside me and asked if they'd noticed. They nodded equally shaken. Was he alive or was he wax? Even the pores of their skin have been replicated. Shocked, I had to sit down.
Dressed in my black hat, black coat and black boots I was collecting my thoughts when someone bent over to look in my face. I looked up. They gasped and jumped back. Gotcha!
copyright 2005 Red Convertible Travel Series
Saturday, June 04, 2005
Louisiana Ditch Friends
My love and I sat on the curb with but an alligator between us, chopped up in little pieces and deep-fried; tastey.
Driving home we caught the full moon glistening off something shiny in the Interstate ditch. It moved. We turned, went back, and found three people milling around a van with a broken tie rod. No one was hurt.
We waited for the wrecker with our new "ditch friends" and were amazed at what we learned. Their hobby was African big game hunting, and they had the pictures to prove it. They were married in Africa, and invited us to go on their next hunt. It seems so far away, out of reach. But we could go sometime. We should. We could make more friends.
copyright 2005 Red Convertible Travel Series
Thursday, May 26, 2005
USA Memorial Day
At the American Cemetery and Memorial in Hamm, Luxemborg we stood at Patton's grave not set apart from his men, but with them as he wanted. It was a warm day. From a marble bench we prayed for and thanked them and left puddles of sweat. Our contribution would dry up, but theirs was permanent.
At Colleville Sur Mer the 170 acre American cemetery holds the remains of those who contributed their all to the cause of freedom. The American director said the perfectly aligned crosses are set in a trench of concrete.
At Dachau, Germany we spoke with the President of the Survivors. "He said he was there to be sure the ovens were never again lit for that purpose." To our surprise he was not a bitter man inspite of his parents and first wife dying while all were imprisoned. He married again and they had a son. The Press arrived to interview him. He laughed and said to watch him make a fool of himself.
Our bellies in our throats we walked through the crematorium trying not to imagine its horrors. Images surfaced anyway remembering the words of a fellow from our home that was here liberation day. "They were so emaciated we couldn't tell the men from the women. An American soldier threw a piece of candy that landed in the barbed-wire. Naked prisoners dove in risking deep cuts and scratches; anything for a bite of food."
My late husband was a generation older than I and a WWII veteran plagued with nightmares and bouts with malaria. When he passed on I hoped his meeting with the Creator would go like so:
Seen the horrors of war, dear one,
The man began to weep
No more, no more! the Good God cried
I'm granting you Grace and Peace
In death their souls have returned to God to be rewarded and made whole. Grace and Peace to all who have fought, and who do fight for freedom.
copyright 2005 Red Convertible Travel Series
Tuesday, May 24, 2005
Homeless in Cape Girardeau
Two weeks without our RV refigerator working equals salvaged contents floating in a cooler of melted ice, even though we drain it daily and continually add more. Secretly I pretend I'm in Europe and "market" often. We grill meat or fry crappie with our neighbors in the evening, roast eggplant, fennel, potatoes and onions with olive oil and salt, toast garlic bread, have fresh strawberry shortcake and finish the evening by the bonfire. The full moon adds a touch of romance. We're doing okay.
Like those rousted from their home by fire, we took what we "thought" we would need for today when we left our RV at the shop. JB bought us Kentucky Fried Chicken we took to the park and ate with the ducks. Walking by the lake we noticed a chalk drawing on the sidewalk some talented artist had drawn of a pair of birds in God's hands. Would we have taken time for a picnic in the park otherwise? Pobably not.
Feeling like a displaced person, I remembered Grace's Cafe has Wi-Fi, sandwiches, salads, homemade desserts and a variety of Italian soda flavors and other hot and cold drinks. Over an iced latte Annette said she invented a salad today: watermelon, feta cheese, fresh mint leaves, red onion and olive oil. Sounds delicious. I wished I was hungry. Vintage clothes are to my left and comfortable couches that invite intimate conversation to my right. If our refer hadn't gone out, I might not have had the good fortune to spend the afternoon at Grace's.
copyright 2005 Red Convertible Travel Series
Like those rousted from their home by fire, we took what we "thought" we would need for today when we left our RV at the shop. JB bought us Kentucky Fried Chicken we took to the park and ate with the ducks. Walking by the lake we noticed a chalk drawing on the sidewalk some talented artist had drawn of a pair of birds in God's hands. Would we have taken time for a picnic in the park otherwise? Pobably not.
Feeling like a displaced person, I remembered Grace's Cafe has Wi-Fi, sandwiches, salads, homemade desserts and a variety of Italian soda flavors and other hot and cold drinks. Over an iced latte Annette said she invented a salad today: watermelon, feta cheese, fresh mint leaves, red onion and olive oil. Sounds delicious. I wished I was hungry. Vintage clothes are to my left and comfortable couches that invite intimate conversation to my right. If our refer hadn't gone out, I might not have had the good fortune to spend the afternoon at Grace's.
copyright 2005 Red Convertible Travel Series
Monday, May 23, 2005
Sunday, May 22, 2005
Knees Worth Noticing
Cedar trees hold branches close
Willow trees hang loose
Cypress trees stand, observe
showing off their knees
At a dead lake outside of Pascagoula, Mississippi, we fished for crappie. Sitting on the bank and looking across, the "knees" took on personalities. (I swear I was sober.) "In medieval garb a mother stood between two short ones. The girl had curls of Spanish moss. A woman with a scalloped cape held a child. The tall one in back had a large cross on its chest - High Priestess? A dozen nondescript ones stood in the middle, foot soldiers, or wet-foot soldiers. Up out of the water you'd think their complexion would improve. It hasn't.
A jerk on my line revealed I'd caught a two-pound crappie on a dead minnow. There's no accounting for some tastes.
copyright 2005 Red Convertible Travel Series
Willow trees hang loose
Cypress trees stand, observe
showing off their knees
At a dead lake outside of Pascagoula, Mississippi, we fished for crappie. Sitting on the bank and looking across, the "knees" took on personalities. (I swear I was sober.) "In medieval garb a mother stood between two short ones. The girl had curls of Spanish moss. A woman with a scalloped cape held a child. The tall one in back had a large cross on its chest - High Priestess? A dozen nondescript ones stood in the middle, foot soldiers, or wet-foot soldiers. Up out of the water you'd think their complexion would improve. It hasn't.
A jerk on my line revealed I'd caught a two-pound crappie on a dead minnow. There's no accounting for some tastes.
copyright 2005 Red Convertible Travel Series
Thursday, May 19, 2005
Hike the Grand Canyon?
Over cinnamon tea my friend, Donna, invited me to the Grand Canyon. Of course I'd like to go. "Have toothbrush will travel," is my motto. Then she said she wanted to hike it. (gasp) My size eight foot was perfectly lodged in my size five mouth.
I was a behind-the-desk woman. I liked my heels and hose, my hair to stay in place, gourmet meals, air conditioning or I wouldn't go, did not like to perspire, and do like to park close. But when I gave my word I kept it.
(more later)
copyright 2005 Red Convertible Travel Series
I was a behind-the-desk woman. I liked my heels and hose, my hair to stay in place, gourmet meals, air conditioning or I wouldn't go, did not like to perspire, and do like to park close. But when I gave my word I kept it.
(more later)
copyright 2005 Red Convertible Travel Series
Saint Teresa of the Child Jesus, The Little Flower
In Saint Peter's Cathedral at Lisieux, France I knelt at an old wooden pew to give thanks, pray, contemplate Saint Teresa's contribution to life, and wonder how saints are made. The air smelled damp, musty. The incense said, "You are in church."
I hoped something magical would happen, and it did. I opened my heart to soak up "the momentum of application," the energy of accumulated prayerful activity. Saint Teresa's gracious, loving presence came through. In my heart I felt, "Copy me. Make room for Him in your life, to live with and walk with you always, careful to stay positive so he can work with and through you for all. Trust God all the time. Love without exception."
copyright 2005 Red Convertible Travel Series
I hoped something magical would happen, and it did. I opened my heart to soak up "the momentum of application," the energy of accumulated prayerful activity. Saint Teresa's gracious, loving presence came through. In my heart I felt, "Copy me. Make room for Him in your life, to live with and walk with you always, careful to stay positive so he can work with and through you for all. Trust God all the time. Love without exception."
copyright 2005 Red Convertible Travel Series
Goliath the Bridge
Our beloved Pastor Burton A. Knudsen was retiring after over thirty-years as the Pastor of our First Presbyterian Church. Staying in the community it would be look but don't touch. We needed a shift in our relationship. In Nashville, Tennessee and again in Des Moines, Iowa, I saw goats. They gave me an idea.
At his retirement I told him we were concerned he'd be lonely so we got him a pet. The audience of over 200 gasped, "She didn't!"
"In Mississippi we found a homeless pet Diane, the church secretary, named 'Goliath'. With a name like that can you imagine the appetite? Weaned and housebroken, it's diet requires 18% crude protein. "
Pastor guessed it was a catfish, opend the Fed-Ex box and did what any kid would do: took the angora, cloth, happy-faced fourteen-inch tall goat out of the box and hugged it. It's pail of 18% crude protein petfood just happened to be chocolate.
In Goliath we had a bridge that demanded nothing of Pastor. We could call and, "If Pat answers, just ask how the old goat, I mean Pastor is."
copyright 2005 Red Convertible Travel Series
At his retirement I told him we were concerned he'd be lonely so we got him a pet. The audience of over 200 gasped, "She didn't!"
"In Mississippi we found a homeless pet Diane, the church secretary, named 'Goliath'. With a name like that can you imagine the appetite? Weaned and housebroken, it's diet requires 18% crude protein. "
Pastor guessed it was a catfish, opend the Fed-Ex box and did what any kid would do: took the angora, cloth, happy-faced fourteen-inch tall goat out of the box and hugged it. It's pail of 18% crude protein petfood just happened to be chocolate.
In Goliath we had a bridge that demanded nothing of Pastor. We could call and, "If Pat answers, just ask how the old goat, I mean Pastor is."
copyright 2005 Red Convertible Travel Series
Sunday, May 15, 2005
Red Convertible Travel Series Inspiration
Mother loved the idea of traveling through life in a red convertible. It represented freedom, romance, class, fun, whimsy, a lighter side of life. She'd never even sat in one until, thanks to Harry, our local used car dealer, we borrowed one for the afternoon.
Mother drove my sister and I and her childhood friend, Ileta, all around town hoping people would "see us and talk." Five miles from home we stopped at a little cafe for homemade pie: rhubarb, strawnberry, raisin cream and coconut. Mom sat by the window so she could see who noticed "her" car.
Riding in this used red convertible, these two old friends in their late 70's glowed, over flowing with joy. They had it all. And their hair stayed in place under the plastic rain caps we thought were disgusting. My sister's and my free hair tied in knots.
The Red Convertible Travel Series is a collection of my life's inspirational moments.
copyright 2005 Red Convertible Travel Series
Mother drove my sister and I and her childhood friend, Ileta, all around town hoping people would "see us and talk." Five miles from home we stopped at a little cafe for homemade pie: rhubarb, strawnberry, raisin cream and coconut. Mom sat by the window so she could see who noticed "her" car.
Riding in this used red convertible, these two old friends in their late 70's glowed, over flowing with joy. They had it all. And their hair stayed in place under the plastic rain caps we thought were disgusting. My sister's and my free hair tied in knots.
The Red Convertible Travel Series is a collection of my life's inspirational moments.
copyright 2005 Red Convertible Travel Series
Mid-wife Krys
Thank you Krys for mid-wifeing my blog. You did a great job.
Unlike you and your sister, this baby came with a manual.
2005 Red Convertible Travel Series
Unlike you and your sister, this baby came with a manual.
2005 Red Convertible Travel Series
Friday, May 13, 2005
Peace thru Parsley
The Red Convertible Travel Series is a collection of inspirational travel stories. Excerpts will be posted at least weekly. I am looking for a publisher.
From Peace thru Parsley: "In the delicious French sun of late July, we four lunched at the outdoor table with its red plaid plastic cover. My sister and I dined on fragrant, juicy, fresh peaches and skin-popping plums with Camembert, baguettes someone labored very early to bake and soft white wine. Their lunch included a bouquet of parsley. A pair of fenced-in donkeys stood close by staring at us."
copyright 2005 Red Convertible Travel Series
From Peace thru Parsley: "In the delicious French sun of late July, we four lunched at the outdoor table with its red plaid plastic cover. My sister and I dined on fragrant, juicy, fresh peaches and skin-popping plums with Camembert, baguettes someone labored very early to bake and soft white wine. Their lunch included a bouquet of parsley. A pair of fenced-in donkeys stood close by staring at us."
copyright 2005 Red Convertible Travel Series
Thursday, May 12, 2005
Before Mike Could Write 5/12/05
Mike, our neighbor's young grandson, was a frequent visitor. He'd knock at our backdoor and ask if I could go for a walk. We'd work our way the two blocks to the Saunders County Museum. On the parked caboose we traveled the world. Our adventures were grand: crossing the prairie, mountains, sea and flying. Bison cooked on an open fire was just okay. He said, "It needed ketchup."
When we weren't walking, or picking up sticks and discarded cans at the Museum, we'd sit in my swing. He'd tell stories he thought should be written. His mother listened and wrote them down for him before he could write. I asked, "Where were you before you were born?" Without hesitation, four-year old Mike replied, "I was with God and He was so good to me."
This weekend he graduates from High School. He's still writing. In the fall he will go off to college to write some more. He still wants to travel the world. I suspect he'll write his own adventures his mother and I will enjoy reading.
©2005 Red Convertible Travel Series
When we weren't walking, or picking up sticks and discarded cans at the Museum, we'd sit in my swing. He'd tell stories he thought should be written. His mother listened and wrote them down for him before he could write. I asked, "Where were you before you were born?" Without hesitation, four-year old Mike replied, "I was with God and He was so good to me."
This weekend he graduates from High School. He's still writing. In the fall he will go off to college to write some more. He still wants to travel the world. I suspect he'll write his own adventures his mother and I will enjoy reading.
©2005 Red Convertible Travel Series
Monday, May 09, 2005
French Market Shopping 5/9/05
My sister and I rose early at our Auberge, slipped into summer slacks and shirts, and made our way to our host's large table with its red and white checkered-cloth. Always cheerful, Camille was bustling around serving his robust coffee in cups without handles. The smell of toast and warm croissants filled the air, dotted with whiffs of his homemade strawberry-rhubarb jam. No one was in a hurry, this was no "drive-through."
Having been a baker most of his life, our host explained the complicated process of kneading butter into dough multiple times to create the flaky croissants. We were accustomed to popping the end result in the oven to warm. At his table we were learning a respect for food preparation we had only experienced as children on the farm with our stay-at-home mother. She loved to cook and bake like as much as he did.
Satisfied we'd "taken in" our French breakfast experience, we gathered our mesh bags and headed for the "market experience."
Vendors displayed their just picked or pulled, colorful, fragrant vegetables and herbs, fresh meats, cheeses and more. And to think, we could do it again tomorrow.
Smiling, pointing and "Merci" got us a soft cheese with walnuts, two Baguettes, a fresh tomato, two small cucumbers, a few radishes, some baby lettuce, a hard sausage, a bottle of cider and two peaches.
No table is complete without fresh flowers. We needed a large yellow sunflower like a hole in the head, but flowers feed the soul. In a perfect world, I would always have fresh flowers in my home.
I have red sandals with porcelain painted heels that feed my soul: Giuseppe Zanotti's. I call them my happy, happy, hyacinth for the soul, in case of fire, grab the shoes, shoes.
Our first French market feast, on the outside table at the Auberge, was the beginning of our love affair with French food. It is ongoing.
©2005 Red Convertible Travel Series
Having been a baker most of his life, our host explained the complicated process of kneading butter into dough multiple times to create the flaky croissants. We were accustomed to popping the end result in the oven to warm. At his table we were learning a respect for food preparation we had only experienced as children on the farm with our stay-at-home mother. She loved to cook and bake like as much as he did.
Satisfied we'd "taken in" our French breakfast experience, we gathered our mesh bags and headed for the "market experience."
Vendors displayed their just picked or pulled, colorful, fragrant vegetables and herbs, fresh meats, cheeses and more. And to think, we could do it again tomorrow.
Smiling, pointing and "Merci" got us a soft cheese with walnuts, two Baguettes, a fresh tomato, two small cucumbers, a few radishes, some baby lettuce, a hard sausage, a bottle of cider and two peaches.
No table is complete without fresh flowers. We needed a large yellow sunflower like a hole in the head, but flowers feed the soul. In a perfect world, I would always have fresh flowers in my home.
I have red sandals with porcelain painted heels that feed my soul: Giuseppe Zanotti's. I call them my happy, happy, hyacinth for the soul, in case of fire, grab the shoes, shoes.
Our first French market feast, on the outside table at the Auberge, was the beginning of our love affair with French food. It is ongoing.
©2005 Red Convertible Travel Series
Grocery List
for our American lunch:
bread
meat
cheese
sparkling grape juice
2005 Red Convertible Travel Series
bread
meat
cheese
sparkling grape juice
2005 Red Convertible Travel Series
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