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This morning, when I dabbed Egyptian oils behind my ears and on my wrists, I was reminded of our trip to Egypt. Exotic flowers gave of their all. In their pure form, without alcohol added, they do not evaporate. Their fragrance can linger for days, through baths, and indefinitely on the dresser.

The climate is hot and very dry. Humid air is heavy, odors cling. Egypt has very little humidity. The only odor we noticed was from vehicle exhaust.

When we visited the pyramids, we had to have a camel ride. There was nothing quiet about the camels. They grumbled the whole time. I suspect they would rather have been running free, but they can't get water on their own.

Notice the Bedouin is covered up. When the wind blows sand flies and stings on impact. He probably is there to offer tourists a ride. And don't forget the "baksheesh" (tip).

In all our travels, we have never seen traffic to compare with Cairo. Lanes? Optional. Horns? A must. Between the usual means of transportation were old tractors pulling flatbeds of trash to make bricks, herds of sheep and goats, and people trying to cross while we were moving, or trying to.

The Egyptians were some of the nicest people we have met. Minnie and I couldn't find our way to Khan El Khalili, the oldest bazaar in the Middle East. At one point, someone grabbed me from behind and pulled me back. Annoyed, I turned to see I was spared a squash by a city bus.

Stand on a street corner and look lost, somebody will come along and tell you where to go. And he spoke English. "You look lost. I have a fragrance shop just over there. Will you follow me?" He had good eyes. We did. With his cool drinks in hand we began to look around. "No, you don't have to buy anything," he insisted. The wall displayed pictures of him in California selling his products. Our eyes feasted on pretty bottles catching the sun's rays. Our noses sniffed exotic soul-stirring fragrances we had to have. Relieved of our Piastres and Pounds, then he called a cab.

copyright 2007 Red Convertible Travel Series

Frank does Repousse

...not to be confused with Debbie does Dallas.

At Lake Charles, Louisiana, we met Frank McDonald. Fun to be around, he has a great personality, quick deep laugh, twinkly blue eyes, can sell anything, and has lots of great stories. In the last few years he has taken up an ancient art form that dates from the Bronze Age (2800-1100 BC) called Repujado (Spanish) or Repousse (French). It is how the Statue of Liberty was made. See his website "The Art of Frank McDonald" for further explanation of the process, the types of finish, and the varieties of fish and other creations. He's good. The Loggerhead Turtle looks like it will eventually crawl off the wall.

He is making me a Black Crappie relief. They are what we fished for in Minnesota for over twenty years. One fall five of us fishing Lake Osakis found them suspended at twenty feet in forty foot of water. Our boat didn't have enough anchor rope necessitating a quick return to camp. The fish were still biting when we got back taking our bait fast as we could throw it. All of a sudden they stopped. Back at camp we poured them on the grass and counted out 76, one over our limit. We ate it.

From the pictures of Frank's work I will want to handle the finished project. It looks smooth, shiny, and won't stink or be slimy. Keep hammering, Frank, you'll get relief!

copyright 2007 Red Convertible Travel Series

Not cable, heart connections

When we lived and worked in Springfield, Missouri, a tall, lanky, former professional Nebraska cowboy, Brad Pitzer, came looking for work. His real love is pencil drawings of horses. The slightest mark on the eye tells the viewer the horse's state of mind. If you're interested in his work, leave a contact number in my comment box.

Through Cowboy Brad I met Teresa. At first glance I noticed her beautiful skin and more cleavage than is legal. I commented just on her skin. She said she was a Mary Kay consultant. If I could have skin like that, I would be, too. Enter Tawnya Krempges from Missouri who is a long-time Mary Kay director with a mile-long title. She also has beautiful skin, a ready laugh, and a wonderful positive manner. She signs her email: with unflinching belief in you. What a friend. When the two of them are together they break into song without warning. I wish I sounded that good.

While Tawnya and Teresa were here we did dream pillowcases. I dug out the stamps and pads, and colored pens. Our dreams and wishes in writing, we sleep on them. I have used this method for years on a sheet of paper slipped into my pillowcase that sounds like sleeping on potato chips. About once a year I take it out, read it, and am pleased to check off results. Miracles are expected.

If I had stayed within my comfort zone, I never would have traveled for work and made these three new life-long friends.

copyright 2006 Red Convertible Travel Series

The Prayer of Jabez

I said it over and over looking forward to how the Lord would use me to expand his territory. Traveling for work gave us many opportunities. One of my favorite experiences was when we were working in Springfield, Tennessee where dark-fired tobacco is grown.

Each morning I'd tell the Lord I was available. I went to an address to sell cable. An older gentlemen answered the door. "This is an answer to a prayer." Mine too. I was so happy he could finally get what he wanted. We did our business and I left. Down the street I realized I had stopped at the right house number, but I was on the wrong street.

There were times I believed door-to-door work was just a cover. I went to a retired woman's home and noticed her front door hinge pins were coming out. I told her if she had a hammer, I'd fix it. She did. I did. We laughed.

At one door the woman answered almost in tears. I asked what was wrong. She said her husband had passed a couple of days ago. I put my arms around her and cried with her.

One woman had a plate of cheese on the coffee table. When she left to get her checkbook she said, "Now Mike, don't bother the cheese." I looked around for a child. Quick as a flash the cat grabbed the cheese and ran off. She said he had been a restaurant cat and would eat anything, but didn't particularly care for sauerkraut.

We made so many friends those six years, and fed so many hungry people. A Vietnam vet in Nashville befriended us where we parked our motorhome. We saw him again in January. He was ill and in short sleeves. Without a moment's hesitation, JB gave him his coat and some money.

Last Sunday Pastor Patrick read a list of terrible things that would happen around the world in the hour we were in church. He looked up and said, "What are we doing here? We should be out there working for the Lord." I could have jumped up and shouted. In a Southern church, I would have.

When we pay attention and listen, we can be of use expanding His territory anywhere.

copyrigh 2007 Red Convertible Travel Series

Tawnya & Teresa, True Friends, Food 'n Fun

The last month has been spent tripping up and down the stairs with JB on one floor and Kris on the other. And, yes, I did trip. It was so hot I was thinking of snow, Dr. Zhivago to be exact, and I skied the basement stairs. Not a good idea.

I like to reread Gone With the Wind in April and watch Dr. Zhivago in the dog days of summer. When he studies the frozen designs on the window I remember there's more to life than shoveling.

Confined to "home duty" two of my Missouri girlfriends made a surprise visit. What a delight. We laughed, watched movies, cooked and ate for two days. Tawnya made a baked crab dip to die for with cream cheese, mayo, chopped artichoke hearts, diced onions, crisp bacon broken to bits, parmesan cheese, and spiced it with Worcestershire, chili powder, salt and pepper. We ate it with and without crackers.

For one of our meals we made Suzanne Somers Chicken Piccata with squeezed lemon and capers. We sliced red, yellow and green peppers, mushrooms, zucchini, summer squash and red onion and sauteed all in a smidge of olive oil seasoned with fresh parsley, basil and oregano from my garden. Served on my happy Pistoulet dishes it was a feast for the eyes too.

Tawnya loves breakfast. She scrambled nine eggs for the three of us with onions, green pepper and more cream cheese. I feel so good after a meal of natural fats rather than foods that turn to sugar like potatoes and rice. We had homemade guacamole and put peach salsa on top. Chocolate Velvet coffee tasted great and made the kitchen smell so good.

Teresa really wanted to taste the lemon curd, and fresh pesto, but we forgot. I had homemade gazpacho we didn't get around to either. My decadent dark chocolate Texas sheetcake with cinnamon and cayenne went untouched. That's okay. We're planning a next time.

copyright 2007 Red Convertible Travel Series

SOCKEYE for Six

Alaska isn't on our travel itinerary at this time, but it is for a friend of ours. He and his friends took their "bear bells" to wear, and flew to Alaska to fish. I went to the fresh seafood counter at Baker's in Omaha.

JB said he didn't like salmon. I think it was just my patties he doesn't like. When the Dr. said he had to have Omega3, she recommended lots of fish, salmon in particular. I wondered how I'd get it down him.
They grocer had pond-raised salmon that were pale next to Alaska's bright salmon-colored wild Sockeye. I bought a pound and a half at $9.99 a lb., and baked them in parchment paper according to a recipe from Suzanne Somers Fast and Easy book.

On the paper, for each fillet, I placed two slices of lemon and half a teaspoon of butter, and added a sprig of my garden fresh tarragon. I salt and peppered the skin placing it down on the lemons. Salt and peppered the top, and added a heap of chopped onion to each. Folded up and over, they baked on a cookie sheet for twenty minutes at 400 degrees.

We had a feast. Delicious! What little was left we shared with our two cats. Madchen would have nothing to do with it. Schatzie was thrilled, ate his and raced through the house. Her bites went to the outside cat we occasionally feed, and the balance we mixed with cream cheese to spread on crackers. We got our money's worth. This recipe is a keeper. JB just came to the kitchen looking for more spread. All gone.

copyright 2007 Red Convertible Travel Series.

Sunday at the pit

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The 400 mile fishing trip to Alexandria, Minnesota used to be the highlight of our summer. Now we drive twenty to Jim & Carol's cabin on a sandpit off the Platte River and have just as much fun without the work of packing, unpacking, packing and unpacking. We took a lot of food for a ride.

The Platte River ranges from trickle-width to a mile wide. Shallow, but tricky, it has surprised many a person with a swift current that made a deeper pool and stole their life. And there's quicksand - bottomless sucking sand. Crossing the Platte I noticed three air boats lined up on the south bank as if set to race across - about a block. With their powerful and extra loud engines they'd be in North Bend before they could stop.

We are a High Plains state in the "breadbasket of America". Nebraska farmers raise corn, wheat, and soybeans in abundance with the help of irrigation. I'd like a quilt of an aerial photo of our summer fields: shades of green, brown, and wheat gold, center pivot crop circles, the few trees around farmsteads, and straight roads with square sections unlike Minnesota and Mississippi.

Nebraska is one of eight states atop the Oglala, one of the world's largest aquifers (reservoirs). Its estimated age is from 2 to 6 millions years. According to U. S. Water News Online it's the deepest in Nebraska's sand hills in the northwest area of the state.

Our population is concentrated in the east. Sand pits are created by dredging sand for commercial use creating lakes the size of Paul Bunyan's pinky. Legend has it that it in Minnesota he stepped and created lakes - 10,000 of them. Sounds more like he clogged.

Jim and Carol dwarfed their cabin adding an over-sized deck with pergola. They don't do anything small. He's 6'9" with a sense of humor that goes all the way to the top. I stretch to be 5'5" and call him my two-step step-son. I have to stand up two to talk to him. Sweetcorn for dinner isn't an ear or two, it's a dozen. The only thing small in their life is Maddy, a little poodle.

The inner tubes Jim inflated were tractor size. Imagine that. We fiddled around trying to decide how to get in. I opted for the dock. Carol held it while I eased my booty into the middle without flipping and hung my legs and arms over. The water was cold in places and warm in others. Refreshing. Relaxing. Maddy wore her life jacket with leash attached but preferred to sit on Jim's shoulder. Neighbors yards were adorned with moving whirly-gigs to keep the geese from eating their new grass and making deposits.

Hunger nagged. Should we walk to the shallow area and roll out? Jim suggested placing a tall ladder in the water at the dock so I could climb out, up, over the top and down the other side. You first. I moved to shallow water, Carol held the tube, and I popped out.

Carol, our favorite daughter-in-law, is a great cook. Other years we had fresh fried crappie or walleye, new potatoes, peas and dill weed in a cream sauce and peach dumplings with ice cream for dessert. This year I brought fried chicken. She sauteed onion, garlic and portabella mushrooms, added chicken broth and rice. Delicious. Rhubarb crisp was dessert with vanilla ice cream. Sour, rhubarb needs lots of sugar. I love it. The roto-rooter of the bowels, it needs to be eaten in moderation.

It was a great mini-vacation, and I got to sleep in my own bed.

copyright 20007 Red Convertible Travel Series

HAPPY 4TH OF JULY

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Watermelon is as much the 4th of July as fireworks. Bite into it's refreshing coldness. The juice slips down your chin, your elbows, the front of your shirt. Everything gets sticky.

At a picnic we watched a man spit a couple watermelon seeds down the front of a woman's blouse. She didn't say anything, but her eyes narrowed in anger. We could tell she was thinking how to get even. She circled behind him, wrapped her slice around his neck and squeezed.

Whatever you do, celebrate freedom. It's ours and it's precious.

copyright 2007 Red Convertible Travel Series

Cause to Celebrate

My daughter had an appointment with her Oncologist this week after a two month break. It wracks her nerves. She worries about the needles and results. I trust she is healing. In my gut I know it.

Dr. Stephen Thome was busy and late, she got bored and walked around the office swinging her purse like we women do. When she returned he was behind her. She looked back surprising him. He was stunned, couldn't believe how easily she was moving. When she told him all the things she'd done in the last two months he looked at me wide-eyed, "It's a miracle". Considering he met her in late August, 2006 when she was flat on her broken back in screaming pain, it is. All I could say was, "By the Grace of God". He jumped up and left to tell the nurses station the good news. Throughout her exam he oohed and aahed at her overall improvement and doesn't need to see her for three months. Much joy throughout. We left amidst a flood of warm smiles.

At home we had a grateful hearts celebration: chunks of cantaloupe wrapped in Prosciutto; sips of James Arthur Vineyard's Seyval, a Nebraska white table wine; homemade organic chicken salad and baby lettuce served in bakery fresh flaky croissants. We took our time. Savored every bite. Smiled a lot. For dessert I served Marscapone in footed crystal with slices of huge, fresh, California, Driscoll, organic strawberries that tasted like sunshine. JAV 2 Brothers white table wine has a little effervescence and slightly sweeter taste. It was perfect sipped over a piece of melting dark mint chocolate.

Dr. Thome has the perfect bedside manner and expertise for her. The Chiropractor who saved her life twice, Dr. Ray Klepinger, continues to work on her with the Pro-Adjuster system used on Olympic athletes. PT Dr. Nick Wissink is outstanding at waking her muscles and strengthening her body. She couldn't be in better hands. There is progress to prove it. Praise the Lord.

Miracles for her are being worked through many people in many ways. We pray they continue. No prayer is wasted. Thank you one and all. God bless.

copyright 2007 Red Convertible Travel Series

Remembering

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Memorial Day: the day set aside to remember those who fought and died for freedom; those who fought and survived; those who sacrificed to support them; and family and friends who died unrelated to wars. Thank you all for your contribution to life.

We hang our flag and remember receiving one when Papa died. He did his time in the Pacific Theatre of WWII. For the past two weeks JB has been a patient at the VA hospital in Omaha, NE. He's amazed the operating surgeons visit him everyday. Dedicated staff, they live and breathe their work. Over all, it's been a positive experience. We are grateful. God Bless them.

copyright 2007 Red Convertible Travel Series

HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY 2007

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Mothers of all life, this is our day.

Whether you lay eggs or give live birth,

we are all one.

God Bless

One of our cards read, "It's as if the doors of Heaven have been opened for a while." True.

Baby powder, Johnson's baby soap, tiny warm breaths, red lips, long dark lashes, and a mass of dark hair were just as Grandma predicted. I felt instant overwhelming love, as if I'd known her forever. Her helplessness matched my protectiveness.

Fast forward. Devastating news: cancer broke her back. She wouldn't live to see Christmas 2006. "This is not fatal, it's just a glitch in my system. I am not a statistic," she replied. I believed her. Her late father had come to her in a dream and told her she was not dying from this. He confirmed my gut feeling that she not only survives, she thrives and moves into a full life.

The morning after I received the diagnosis I awoke to see her cradled in Jesus Christ's arms with two tall ministering Angels working on her. Jesus told me he would carry her and see her through. She couldn't be in better hands. Thank you Lord.

To the outer world she and I stand strong in faith, two anchored trees in a hurricane of doubters. I stopped my life to breathe life into hers. Countless prayers from friends, family and people we will never know sustain and encourage us. Humor and gratitude are soul food.

By the Grace of God she not only lives, she improves steadily. It's May. This week she drove for the first time in over a year. No more screaming pain. She weaned herself off pain meds that messed with her mind. Her will isn't tough-as-nails, it's tough-as-railroad spikes.

Our Pastor says it's miraculous what the Lord has done, and is doing in her. The blessings are huge and many, and they keep coming. Her Oncologist, Chiropractor and Physical Therapist are each outstanding in their field. She hopes people see her life and healing as proof that God does care, and works for, in and through us. Without Him we are nothing.

copyright 2007 Red Convertible Travel Series

EASTER 2007

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Easter Preparation 2007

Christ's Cruxifiction and Resurrection are God's gift of Grace to mankind. We celebrate with praise at early youth services with lilies that make us sneeze, and breakfast and/or a special choir presentation at morning worship, our table set with our best cloth and place settings, baked ham, and a coconut covered lamb cake. This year we spread melted chocolate on Matzo and chopped cashews similar to what Martha Stewart did. Of course, there are the colored and decorated eggs to hide and hunt, and displayed hollow ones with purple inked designs.

Wed. of last week our three-year old friend came for a visit. I asked if she had new clothes for Easter church. She said, "No." I asked if they were going to church? Munching a grape she looked furtively side to side before shaking her head no. Assuming I hadn't heard, she leaned forward and whispered, "Jesus is dead." [There's no need to go ] In due time she will learn the rest of the story.

However you celebrate, may your heart be filled with gratitude and joy.

Peace.

coyright 2007 Red Convertible Travel Series

PRE-EASTER PREPARATION

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Who dyed all those eggs?

2007 Red Convertible Travel Series

The Connemara Theatre

HAPPY SAINT PATRICK'S DAY!

Our Galway, Ireland, B&B host was a carpenter. He had traveled to Russia with a group to teach them how to use certain power tools and equipment. First they had to show them how to put the wheel on the wheelbarrow. They were using the 'barrow' without the wheel.

Breakfast options included porridge, eggs, thick bacon, black or white pudding, toasted or fried bread and tea. We bid our farewell and headed for a drive through the Connemara, one of Ireland's thousands of years old peat bogs. At other Irish bogs we watched locals cut brick-sized pieces to heat their homes and cook stoves. No one was cutting here. In fact, we didn't see a soul or a native Connemara pony.

The road is a wavy ribbon. Left, drive left. It feels spongy, as if it has shock absorbers. The terrain is rough, rocky, mountainous, desolate, spooky, timeless, and was saturated in gloomy, damp weather: a blank canvas for life. Only the names change, but it was a field day for our imaginations. Who would come over the rise: medieval warriors, star wars characters, giants or "the little people"? An oasis. We needed and oasis of 'still' mineral water, rhubarb & ginger preserves , teacakes, Galtee cheese, and Cadbury's chocolate. In our imaginations we had it all.

Here at home I'd like to have a brick of peat to make a little fire to roast marshmallows, but if I have to wait for my landscaping to turn to peat, the marshmallows will be too hard. Peat is like sauerkraut, it isn't made overnight.

WE LOVE IRELAND!!!

copyright 2007 Red Convertible Travel Series

Working Rocks

JB is a good provider. He came with a variety of meats: venison hot tamales made in Arkansas by our friend, Hov, a former head Chef at the Silver dome in Detroit, Michigan; assorted wild hog parts the butcher will process; wild hog neck stew with lots of vegetables; venison tenderloin; a two-foot long venison sausage; and two chicken breasts from the motorhome freezer. Our seven-year dormant deep freeze rose to the call of electricity and is working just fine.

He brought his laundry, imagine that, an iron skillet for cornbread - it doesn't taste the same in anything else, and a bag of rocks. They are not gemstones prized for their brilliance, they are working rocks, the suspenders of the earth. In February JB's friend drilled a well at Bobo Brake, Mississippi - not far from Alligator, when the Midwest was colder than a well-digger's destination.

The digger unearthed palm-sized and smaller rocks from one hundred feet. Intrigued, JB asked for some. One is dark orange, another black, one off-white, and the rest are shades of gray. Some have worn marks: water makes. Who knows how old they are.

Everything has a vibration. They bare the sound of rapidly moving water, lots of it. The Mississippi River is thousands of years old. In its unrestrained wanderings across the Delta it left deposits of soil, rocks and God knows what before the Levees were built to contain it. I wonder where these rocks began? My friend, Frances, sums it up best, "They're part of the great mystery of life."

2007 Red Convertible Travel Series

Taking our spaghetti for a ride

We had a whiteout blizzard yesterday that dropped a foot of snow. High winds continue rearranging it. Footage of nature's gift to Watertown, NY, puts us to shame. They wouldn't be impressed with our piddly nuisance amount even though it closed the interstates in Eastern Nebraska and 100 miles into Western Iowa. Omaha's Westside High's girl's basketball team HAD to get to Lincoln for the state tournament. Forget hell an high water, they maneuvered snow closed roads and whiteouts to make it, play and win. It will be talked about for years.

When Minnie and I traveled through southern Canada we noticed few garages. A local said it was no use. When snow piled up they couldn't open the doors. Radiator heaters stood ready. Ropes connected houses and barns. Some houses had built-ons connecting to the barn. Rachael Ray says another month of winter means four more feet of snow and three more power outages. We thought it was rough when Minnie lived in St. Paul, Minnesota with its two seasons: shovel and swat. Further north is worse.

Fall foliage of the Northeast was our destination in '98. We had all kinds of plans to see, do and taste, but that's another story. I will say Cracker Barrel in Watertown was the first Cracker Barrel we've stopped at that had a Reuben sandwich. It was good. So was Ben and Jerry's Ice Cream at their plant. We'd reserved a condo at Smuggler's Notch, Vermont, and another at Lake Winnipesaukee, New Hampshire. Kitchens mean we take food. Since it was fall we packed fresh tomatoes unaware they could be confiscated, not leaving the US, but getting back in.

Northwest of Watertown, NY we crossed over the St. Lawrence River's high arched bridge onto an island for customs processing. There was no getting off unless approved. I was driving. The official looking official asked where we were from. Before I could answer Minnie hollered, "Wahoo!"
I gasped.
He asked, "Where we were going?"
She burst out, "Smuggler's Notch, Vermont!"
I cringed
"Are you related?" .
"Sisters!"
He bust out laughing. "I'll bet you two have a lot of fun. Get out of here."
We say Minnie confettied customs.

As for our spaghetti and tomatoes, we never took them out of the box, they were just along for the ride.

copyright 2007 Red Convertible Travel Series

HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY, LOVE

ABOUT CHOCOLATE

When you're not around

chocolate must do

confidentially speaking

no substitute

for you!

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copyright 2007 Red Convertible Travel Series

Hog Hanging Weather

Our weather is brutal -below zero with snow on the ground. The sun is bright, but the snow isn't going anywhere. It's "stay inside and make soup" weather. When we were kids on the farm the bitter cold cured the meat hanging from the rafters of the granary where nothing could reach it, and no flies were stirring.

Our hogs were in the 200 to 250 pound range. I can't image how many buckets of lard were on the long-bodied, short-legged, 1,000 pound hog we saw at the Iowa state fair. The wild hogs we see behind the Mississippi Levee have longer legs, tusks and a lot less lard.

Grandpa and Grandma came out to help and share in the bounty. He made sure the handsaws were sharp to work through the bones. We'd come home from school to the smell of lard rendering on the cook stove, the sound of white butcher paper crackling to wrap around fresh meat for the freezer, the squeaky crayon labeling and dating the packages, and the anticipation of wonderful meals Mom would be fixing. We felt prosperous with meat "put up" and our pantry full of canned and frozen vegetables.

Besides the usual cuts of meat, Mom cooked the head down, chopped all fine and molded it in a bread pan: head cheese. Thinly sliced with a dribble of vinegar it was a delicacy. I prefer the chops, hams and ribs, and pork shanks cooked with beans. At an early age our nephew liked liver and onions and rhubarb pie. I thought they were tastes that took fifty years to acquire.

Another neighbor family canned meat so they'd have a jar for each day of the year. Mom and Dad canned until a jar blew up in the canner. Bits of meat and glass were found on the outside of the kitchen window, behind the cook stove, on the ceiling, and everywhere in between. Fortunately no one was hurt.

Papa liked cracklings, lard with a little meat cooked down tiny bits of crisp meat. Give him a piece of fresh rye bread and some cracklings, and he was happy. During the Great Depression our neighbor friend, Hazel, took lard sandwiches to school. It didn't kill her. She and Hank just celebrated their 60th anniversary.

Mom taught us to make pie crust with lard, fry our fresh roosters in it, pork chops, donuts, and mix it in breads, rolls, and whatever didn't call for butter. Lard still makes the best pie crust, kolaches and seasoning for peas and greens anytime of year.

copyright 2007 Red Convertible Travel Series

Jefferson in a bottle

When Minnie and her family lived in Charlottesville, Virginia, they were ten minutes from Monticello (little mountain), the home of Thomas Jefferson, third President of the United States of America. We visited it in the summer and at Christmas.

Born April 13, 1743 Jefferson died July 4, 1826. A remarkable man, at 33 he drafted the Declaration of Independence. I can hear his quill pen scratch the parchment, and see his brow furrowed choosing the right words to declare freedom for the colonies. My Virginia quill pen sits in buckshot in a sterling silver container. We speak of Jefferson every Christmas season when we drink eggnog from our sterling silver Jefferson cups (no handles).

If I could talk to him, I'd thank him for the Louisiana Purchase in 1803 - Nebraska was carved from it. A man of vision, he encouraged Lewis and Clark's expedition. Go for it, he'd say. I'd thank him for recycling. He created the Great Clock by his front door: a seven-day mechanism of leftover Revolutionary Cannonballs and a ladder to reset it once a week. Passionate about education he established the University of Virginia. Wherever he saw a need he saw a solution.

Jefferson was a gracious host. Whoever stopped by was invited to dine with him. From Marie Kimball's editing of his recipes menu options included pigeon soup, stewed rabbit, fish cooked with potatoes, imported squash and broccoli from Italy, varieties of homegrown beans, or his favorite, English peas accompanied by wine from the grapes in his vineyard. He imported Italian oils and French mustard, used vanilla and macaroni, and had the first ice cream freezer. Vegetables were his preference, meat an accompaniment. With such variety, how many meals were shorted by servants transporting food from the kitchen to the mechanical dumbwaiter before a bell was attached to each transporter? Tinkling meant no sampling. I would have loved to partake and oh, the conversation.

He had a sense of humor. James Monroe decided to build his home on another mountain top. They would communicate with lanterns; no frustration with, "Can you hear me now?" Jefferson designed Ash Lawn for Monroe and had it built while he was away. The design included an optical illusion. Imagine Monroe's surprise when he had to duck leaving his new home. Jefferson said that was so he had to bow to Monticello.

A "can do" man, Jefferson built his bed between two walls, and had it made up with a pole. Depending on his mood he could get out of bed in his library, or in his bedroom. Clever. He is credited with a long list of inventions: a portable copying press, automated double doors, book stand, lap desk, coffee urn, and wooden plow board to name a few. I'd ask him to invent a "silent", light-weight vacuum that sucks.

It would depend which side of the bed he got out on whether he'd talk about his differences with Alexander Hamilton. I'd tread lightly. If he screwed up his face, I'd change the subject. How are your cherry trees doing?

In the heat of summer, amidst hundreds of tourists, we toured the grounds and lost our daughters. Parent panic! Thirty minutes later we found them studying the cemetery. They weren't lost, they said, we were too slow.

Boredom doesn't exist for me. There is so much to learn and do. When I leave this world, I'm going to sit on a cloud, eat seedless grapes, and study the man I'd like to call friend, Thomas Jefferson.

copyright 2007 Red Convertible Travel Series

It was a Happy New Year's!

We ended 2006 with salmon and marinated artichoke hearts over spinach and plain fettuccini noodles drizzled with olive oil; grated parmesan atop.

Rumaging through Mom's old recipes, I found hers for Grasshopper Pie. The 3x5 card is stained from buttery hands. The handwriting is childish, and there's a yellow cookoo clock on the right side with a bluebird on the perch wearing a chef's hat. She let us girls cook as soon as we could pull a chair up to the table. My first baking experience was gingerbread. I mixed it up and poured it in the pan along with the spoon, which she didn't discover until she couldn't cut it.

The Grasshopper Pie recipe calls for 14 finely crushed oreos. I put out extras - for me. Mix the crushed oreos with 2 tablespoons of melted butter. Set aside a small amount for topping. Pat the rest into a 9" pie plate to establish the crust. In the top of a double boiler melt 24 large marshmallows with 1/2 cup milk. Cool. The recipe calls for 1 ounce of white creme de cocoa and 2 ounces green creme de menthe. I half each. When the marshallow/milk mixture is partially set, add 1 cup whipped cream. I whip 1/2 cup of cream and fold in gently. Pour over the crust. Sprinkle top with reserved crumbs. Refrigerate until ready to serve. Thanks Mom for the love of cooking.

I bought the Galway crystal champagne glasses with engraved cladagh when Minnie and I visited Ireland in March of 2000. We really did hear Willie Nelson songs on St. Pat's Day. Kris and I toasted "Good Cheer, Health, Wealth andHappiness", and brought in the New Year sipping Martini and Rossi. Watching the ball drop in Time's Square, and celebrations around the world was a mini-vacation, and we got to sleep in our own beds.

Happy New Year to you, and may it be a year to celebrate.

copyright 2007 Red Convertible Travel Series

No Reading & Rocking On The Porch Tonight

Here in the Midwest Mother Nature blessed us with rain yesterday and snow today just right to make snow angels and snowballs. Hmmm. I'd better not throw them at Dan. He does a good job cleaning off our drive and walks. Maybe I could give the cat a snow bath. Won't faze her, she's part maine coon with snowshoe feet. Ice cream like Mom used to make? Snow isn't as clean as it used to be. Hot tub to snow bath would invigorate. Think I'll just stay inside and drink hot chocolate.

copyright 2006 Red Convertible Travel Series

Bring it on - Christmas!

Mexican, hand carved, ironwood reindeer stand guard over my accomplishment. It might look like a turkey with warts, but it is Houska, braided sweet bread with almond slivers, golden raisins and candied fruit. I wouldn't have attempted it, but Jim asked me to. My kitchen has not seen this recipe in nine years, and there's no buildup of yeast in the air. I wouldn't tell Jim unless it turned out right.

I read the recipe five times and measured twice. The first loaf was double this size and perfect. Then disaster hit. My oven was too hot. The loaf was too dark and dry. I was sick. It wasn't edible. The next morning I started the five-hour process at 6 o'clock. Everything went just right. I left Jim's loaf in his truck and waited for the phone to ring. It did. "MJ, this is delicious. I need one a week." Nothings better than a gift someone likes.

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year.

copyright 2006 Red Convertible Travel Series

Food & Faith

Our lives rearranged. I've moved home to help restore my grown daughter's health. Bears come to mind. My cub went down. We, mother bear and I, will protect and defend our young to death, if necessary. I hold and guard the image of my child healed on every level, and I will not waiver.

With my ears tuned to her as if she were a newborn, I move throughout the house cooking, encouraging, and comforting. From scratch and organic foods are my mainstay. Family recipes with a history of "comfort and healing" are back in action. Rice pudding made with a cinnamon stick, golden raisins and cream is one. Raisin bread pudding served warm drizzled with cream is another. Organic chickens under the "Smart" label convert to chicken cacciatore, roasting, stews, chicken salad and stock. We eat multi-grain breads, use unbleached flour, and cook with butter and cream.

Peas for pain. Sounds like a commercial, but they are doctor recommended. Frozen and bagged they move around the injury independently cooling the hot spot.

Our Pistoulet dishes are bright and cheerful. Food first feeds the eye. Red stem chard cooked in a little butter with fresh ground nutmeg looks good and tastes great. Fennel bulbs cooked in butter with Parmesan cheese lend a mild licorice taste. The root of the celery stock is awesome. It takes effort to get the outside off and the inside chopped, but we'd rather have it cooked and mashed than potatoes. Fresh broccoli, cauliflower and asparagus go into creamy, cheese soups.

A small dish of cranberry relish accompanies every meal: a bag of fresh cranberries, one whole apple cored and one whole orange are chopped in the food processor. Add a small can of crushed pineapple and a little sugar, Somer-sweet, or splenda. I make a batch about every five days: lots of Vitamin C and enzymes for digestion.

Dessert finishes off her meal with tea. To chocolate brownies I add Brewer's Yeast, a smidge of cayenne, walnuts, pecans or macadamias and a scoop of ice cream. As we head into winter gingerbread tastes good served warm with cream. (We should have a cow on standby.) Years ago we spent a Christmas in Virginia at Minnie's. While there we bought a chunk of Hershey chocolate run off, and a lavender sheepskin. Back home I made cream puffs with fresh country cream and melted chocolate. They were wonderful. The food memory is fresh. The sheepskin is long gone.

I just answered my phone. Wrong number, but humorous. The lady asked if we are the family with the dairy? No, but we sure use a lot of it.

Today I made Mrs. Fields chocolate chip, oatmeal, raisin, walnut cookies with Brewer's Yeast added. Great! Kris likes crushed graham crackers, coconut, Eagle Brand condensed milk and chocolate chips made into bars. Can you tell I'm trying to put weight on her?

Kris's appetite is great as is her attitude. We are taking a positive approach claiming her healing: Thank you God for healing Kris. And so it is. It is done. Her health does improve daily.

In this trial, the blessings are huge. We are deeply grateful for the prayers, everything and everyone. It is critical we live an attitude of gratitude. God is good all the time. All the time God is good. The bad news was good news resolving her long standing health issue. And people showed up exactly as needed. We don't believe it was accidental. It was the working hand of God.

If I could give others one gift, it would be trust. Trust that God cares, knows your every need, wants the best for you, wants to help, and He keeps His word. See for yourself. Invite Him into every corner of your life. Put Him to work. Keep still and trust.

Take care and God Bless.

copyright 2006 Red Convertible Travel Series

Hunting Season - Rite of Passage

This weekend is the opening of deer season in Mississippi. Today hunters arrived at their camps with provisions. Rifles were zeroed in at the firing range. Tonight campfires will blaze, grills will cook pork roasts, hamburgers, hotdogs, polish sausage, and just maybe some wild hog. Talk will be about where they're going to hunt tomorrow . Deer stands are popular and the game quota strictly enforced.

In the Midwest we mostly work. Second homes/camps are unusual. In the South, most any weekend will find the guys at their second home Fri. thru Sunday. During hunting season no one gets married, and you better not die. One hunter said he's been hunting since he was a little boy. It meant everything to him. He was so excited he couldn't sleep the night before. By the size of the membership, and it isn't cheap, it still means everything to a lot of them.

Bagging the first deer is a milestone for hunters. Traditionally five fingers are dipped in its blood and spread on the hunter's face. All who see him know what he or she has accomplished. Other hunters look up to him/her. We saw a forty-four year old man so proud he glowed.

At age nine, John L. made his first kill. When he was twelve he bagged a nine point with fourteen and a half inch spread, a buck of about two and a half years. "I used a 30-30 Winchester zeroed in at 150 yards. It was a long shot at 170 yards, but I made it." He grinned. "Not only did the local paper do a feature story, it was mounted for free as the largest in its class. It is something that will always go with me, and people will talk about it for a long time. "

John's family splits the tenderloin down the center, puts in chopped bell peppers, onions, and cajun spice. Hickory smoked dry rub is spread on the outside with salt, pepper, and seasoned salt. Sealed in foil, it's placed on the grill to roast or in the oven.

We like our venison run through the tenderizer and soaked in either milk or coca cola to remove any gamey taste. We season it with worcesteshire sauce, salt and pepper, and bread each piece with milk, beaten eggs and flour and fry. Purple-hulled peas, greens and cornbread round out the meal.

They'll go out before daylight to get in their stands, wait patiently for hours, then come back cold and hungry for biscuits and gravy. There will be lots of talk about where they heard a shot come from and did they get anything. The story is the same every year. It's what they live for.

copyright 2006 Red Convertible Travel Series

Labor Day

We are One Nation Under God, Indivisible.  photo

copyright 2006 Red Convertible Travel Series

Ole Man River' s many brides

He came from humble beginnings: Lake Itasca, Minnesota, born tumbling over rocks I've walked across. His mission: to travel toward the equator collecting brides. They come from the melting snows of the Rockies across Nebraska joining their sister the Missouri traveling to St. Louis to meet up with him. Like a harem master he selects and collects. From up north, Canadan brides of cold, cold water come to his call.

The St. Croix bride joins him south of St. Paul, MN. The Ohio and Illinois further south. The more brides he takes, the more powerful he becomes through their mingling, joined forces. And he's used. Twenty-seven locks corral him at a level for passage. Barges bringing supplies ride his back to and fro. Local news announce his "level" daily.

Before levee's castrated him, he roamed where he pleased across Mississippi, Arkansas, Louisiana, and more. But when he gets riled up, he spills his guts on the countryside. All are reminded he's still a force to be reckoned with.

Not all about work, he moves the sand leaving huge sandbars. Visitors camp for the day and night. Pontoons pull up between the sandbars and the bank out of his swift current. People put out lawn chairs to sit in the water to cool their booty and feet. Some stand in him to their necks to visit and sip cool drinks. Sand buckets and little kids dot him. Barbecues are set out to cook hotdogs and sausages, vegetables optional.

His fish are legendary. Storytells love him: Mark Twain. The mussels are brought to the surface, their shells cut into tiny pieces, shipped to Japan, and seeded into oysters to produce pearls.

The Lord put twists and turns in his life to slow his pace. It keeps him from a straight shot to the end. He's already fast moving. Some places he twists and a piece of him goes backwards higher than the rest. It looks strange. He's busy all the way to the bottom.

Why do the brides rush to him? What's his pull? Binets? No. They'd be soggy. Freedom. He carries them to freedom, giving them to the Gulf, pleased a piece of him goes with.

copyright 2006 Red Convertible Travel Series

Bridge Tails

2006: a reunion was in order. Work had kept us apart.

We met at West Point Lake on the border of Alabama and Georgia. Miles of water invited us to play. JB inquired about renting a house boat. A 200 gallon gas tank and gas at $3.45 made the decision for us. He opted for a pontoon boat with a canopy. We sat on it after sunset watching the full moon play with the water.

Early the next morning we put on our bathing suits and hats, took our lunch, hiked down the steep bank to our dock and eased off. The lake is long, the banks heavily wooded. We took note of specific irregularities to find our way back: a crooked sign, a telephone tower.

JB maneuvered with skill. A cool breeze slipped through my hat cooling the all of me. I dozed. The slow-down, unwind, relax, let-go-of-stress speed worked.

An overhead railroad trestle marked a return landmark. We eased under and noticed it had tails. We'd never seen ropes hanging from anything, and had no idea why they were there.

On down the lake we noticed ropes hanging from an overhead highway bridge. JB spotted a bass boat tied to a tail. He grabbed one and tied up our pontoon to the tune of cars whizzing overhead. The breeze and water twisted us around, but we stayed under the road grateful for whoever thought of hanging tails. In this delicious state of limbo we picnicked on fried chicken, coleslaw and honey biscuits in two times the shade: canopy and bridge.

2013 Red Convertible Travel Series

My Chocolate Mousse and Her Big Plunge!

Sitting in the living room of our Bavarian friend's home with after dinner coffee and chocolate mousse, I looked above the drapes at the names of their children carved in the wood valances. Our host came back into the room with home videos. Family vacations? No. He owns and operates a commercial crane that he also uses for bungee jumpers.

A pretty woman came on the screen. Somewhat amazed he explained, " She came down off the mountain dressed this way." Her hair was braided and fastened tight to her scalp. She wore a fitted white, laced top with short sleeves and a full skirt of plaid. I could imagine her milking Swiss cows and making cottage cheese pastries, but not bungee jumping. By all appearances she was a settled down, family woman. It was her enthusiasm that startled. Our host exclaimed, "She came to jump!" You go girl!

The video showed the crane lifting the Swiss Mrs. to its full height like a mighty dinosaur. I was scared for her and dipped deep into my chocolate mousse. With but a slight hesitation she stepped off. She must have thought about this a long time. I gasped halting my spoonful in mid-air. Over she tumbled with her skirt in her face and her pantaloons holding tight. The bungee cord stretched to its max bouncing her up and down and up and down. I wonder if that feels good? Gently the crane lowered her to the ground. Standing up she huffed and puffed and beamed. Her cheeks were red red, but she was proud. She did it!

Her dream isn't mine, but I will forever associate chocolate mousse with bungee jumping, and one woman's determination to fulfill her dream regardless of her age.

copyright 2006 Red Convertible Travel Series

Two Times the Parade

When in Germany, do as the Germans do: walk! "It's just over there." The local man gestured northwest. "...just walk." We could do that.

Fueled for the day on a marvelous breakfast of dense bread, cheese, lunch meats, fruit, juice, coffee and a sweet roll - a far cry from our usual bowl of cereal - we headed out. At home "just over there" means a block or a few, not miles, and here we would have to walk back. Balanced on the edge of the road and in the ditch, we tromped. Cars passed. No one stopped. After an hour we spotted a crowd of people and tents.

Just in time for the start of the parade we looked for a place to sit. Park benches? Heavens no. Stand. In the sun. Smile. Perspire. Water? What's water? The huge beer stein (one size fits all) required both hands. "You hold the beer, I'll hold the pretzel," I instructed. It was dinner plate-sized. We weren't hungry, but alcohol and I don't get along. I have to be extremely thirsty to take a small sip, and there wasn't anything smaller to nibble on.

At this Bavarian horse parade two kinds of horses stood out. A pair of huge draft horses, with their heads down, pulled a wagon. A local couple dressed in traditional costume graced the wagon seat. The lady looked pretty in her fitted white bodice and full skirt. The horses knew they were created to work pulling heavy loads. Built for it, they accepted their lot.

A black stallion with English saddle and rider took our breath away. He walked with his head high radiating pride and superior intelligence. Long-distance Aquarius vision shown on his face. He could see the "larger" picture of life. Not meant to work pulling wagons, we half expected him to take off running and fly. No, a few sips didn't influence us. The rest of the horses were so-so, but this one was magnificent. We stood in awe.

A variety of nondescript horses paraded by, more draft horses looking down pulling their wagon and people, and another magnificent black stallion. "He's just as beautiful as the last one," Minnie stopped in mid-nibble. The parade had gone around twice.

copyright 2006 Red Convertible Travel Series

The water snake that wouldn't...

Dot tapped on my bedroom window, "You've got to come see this." Her wide grin suggested I'd learn something.

The backyard above ground swimming pool has a small window above the waterline for the water filtering system. Inside the pool, on the top of the mini-window frame, lay a folded over baby snake, it's head's about the size of my index fingernail. Clearly it did not want to get in the water, but it's store-string sized tail kept falling in. I suspect it hasn't yet learned control of it's "back end." JB says the spots indicate it's a water mocassin--anti-water is more like it.
Maybe it was just on an adventure and wanted to cool off, not jump in - yet. Water 101. It's so hot in the midwest, my friend, Nancy finds garter snakes draped over bushes to cool off.

Dot decided to remove it from the pool with her long-handled grill tongs. She lifted the frame from the outside of the window, reached in, and grabbed its middle. "Now what do we do?"

Beyond her fenced in yard the woods are dense. "Throw it over the fence. Send it home. It's mother is probably looking for it. Boy, is it going to get a cussing. She'd be embarrassed it wouldn't get in the water. Bet he'll be grounded." Wasted humor. She had but one thing on her mind and that was to get it out of the yard and over the fence. Mind you, this is "hog fence" with open spaces between the wires at least 6" square. The snake is about a foot long and half an inch wide. It's the principle.

"Shall I rinse off the tongs?"
"Nooooooo, put them in the dishwasher!"

Only one of us was amused to meet a waterless moccasin.

copyright 2006 Red Convertible Travel Series

Where my suitcase dropped:

Alabama. Seagulls land in the parking lots, storms come up quick and violent, and the countryside is steep Iowa-type wooded hills. I used to hit every shoe sale until I ran out of closet space. Now I can't pass a fresh fruit and vegetable stand.

We cook fresh string beans with new baby red potatoes, onion and bacon. Delicious. Non-slimy okra cooked in a little v-8 juice, with fresh chopped tomatoes, summer squsash, zucchini, shallots, onions, and chopped fresh basil is wonderful with a slice of toasted garlic bread. I'm going to try it cold with a chopped cucumber and some sour cream - gazpacho of sorts. Breakfast is a ripe peach sliced with blueberries, strawberries, a mini-banana and plain yogurt: clock food. It keeps my sytem on time.

I've learned Crawfish are edible if they're curled. If they're straight it means they were dead when cooked, and they're poisonous. My first experience with crawfish wasn't good. They tasted muddy. Since I learned how to shuck them and remove the vein, I like them.

My gracious friend Dot's motto is: if it's NOT broke, I can fix it! And she'll paint it and move it. Shop tools are her passion, and she can sense a yard sale for miles. She seems to have a hotline to the Universal storehouse. Her needs aren't always voiced aloud, but whatever it is, it shows up: ie, a tall lamp for the living room. A couple of days later she came home with one somebody threw out, and the bulb still works.

To beautify her yard, Dot wanted a saga palm. Without her saying so, a friend brought her one that was "left behind." Pathetic. The shape of a pineapple and dead. She planted it by her back deck, talked to it, and watered it daily. Weeks went by before a sign of life appeared. "It's a miracle," she exclaimed. Send birth announcements. When it displayed a dozen leaves each a foot long, her riding mower got away from her crashing into it with blades a whirling. She exploded in tears apologizing to saga.

Her son came running. "What's wrong?"

"I killed my saga." Big tears.

"It'll be okay," and under his breath, it's just a plant.

"It's my baby." More Dot tears.

Daniel tilted the mower and dislodged the pulled-from-the-ground saga. Sad story. It's no longer round. The east side is flat. They planted it back in the ground, added water, and the last time we looked, six leaves survived, three more are scarred - paint won't help, and three are missing.

We celebrated the 4th early picniking on the deck with seafood gumbo, dirty rice, seafood salad, (We can't get enough fresh seafood when we're near the sea.) watermelon, brownies, and loving concern for the saga palm. On the 4th we're going to a Mississippi goat roast. That's another story. May your 4th be equally as pleasant.

copyright 2006 Red Convertible Travel Series

Happy 4th of July, 2006
Celebrate Freedom!!!!!

MSN photo

The Master Flower Maker

Girls of any age can have a tea party. I watched as Jani "organized the kettle," as the Irish say, and placed it on the stove. "You know, there is a trick to boiling water. Don't boil it too long or the air will boil out and the water will taste flat. And warm the teapot with hot water while you're waiting." Tea 101. With great care she filled her imported Belleek, traditional design with hand-painted signature shamrocks, china teapot.

When the water grew "mad" Jani emptied the warm teapot, put in three bags of Earl Grey, one for each of us and the pot, one cup of hot white grape juice, and the mad water. Patience, Prudence, let it brew.

She placed a silver teaspoon in each matching Belleek china teacup to take the heat off the cup. At precisely three minutes, we don't like it too strong, she poured the hot tea. Can you tell tea is as much ceremony as refreshment? On her imported Belleek lunch plates she served fresh-baked King Arthur traditional scones.

A dollop of imported English clotted cream spread on top a scone makes for a working marriage between the Northern Irish and the English with strawberry preserves the cap. "Oh, Jani, this is wonderful!" Our wee drop of Scotch/Irish heritage thrilled at sipping tea and talking nice with our pinkies up - Hyacinth Bucket (Boo-kay) style.

"Minnie, do you remember when we were in the "green bowl"? The mere mention of traveling in the North tightened our stomachs and made our mouths go dry?"

"Yes, but we wanted to see the world-famous Belleek Pottery factory on the River Erne. We shut our minds to violence and kept going. President and Mrs. Kennedy were gifted with one of their tea sets, and we wanted to see them up close."

Holding our cups reminded us of our visit to the village of Fermanagh on the River Erne. We spotted empty tour buses, and knew we were at the right place, forgot about the local problems, and concentrated on shopping - a great remedy. The Belleek gift shop had us ordering in no time. They would ship our Christmas ornaments, Irish blessings and Jani 's tea set. Delicate yet serviceable pieces. In America we search for four-leaf clovers for luck. The Irish depict the three-leaf clover in their work as representation of the Holy Trinity.

Our guide took us past the large, 100-year old bell used in the past to call staff to work. The Belleek business began in 1857 with "sanitary" pieces: sinks and pots. They've come a long way. Now they make delicate woven china baskets that won't hold water, but they're exquisite works of art, no two alike. "Jani, can you feel the hands-on effort that went into the making of your pieces?"

"I can. They have an energy of their own I don't feel in mass produced pieces. Have you noticed how happy King Arthur flour feels?"

I nodded, "... flour with an attitude. I love to have it around. It bounces with happy energy."

"Minnie, do you remember the man at the workbench?"

"Oh, do I! ... those hands. Have you ever seen bigger hands? He could have passed for a lumberjack or a wrestler with his huge shoulders."

"I remember he cut a quarter-inch piece of spaghetti-sized twisted clay off a large spool, used a long-handled miniature spoon tool to press it in his palm, and made a flower petal. Some flowers have over 100 petals. The process alone is amazing."

"You told him you thought only God could make a flower. He never looked up, but he did smile just a wee bit recognized for a job well done."

"It was neat. We witnessed a master at work."

copyright 2006 Red Convertible Travel Series

When my mind travels without the rest of me

Toadstools: small thoughts rest

Picnic table: medium thoughts rest with green tea and chocolate pastry

High Plains of the Midwest: large thoughts move about in the continual breeze

Mountain tops: up reaching thoughts stand on end

copyright 2006 Red Convertible Travel Series

Remembering: Memorial Day 2006

... the day we officially remember family and friends who've passed. The cemetery at home is marked with a white cross for each deceased veteran. Our family's slim urns are filled with seasonal artificial flowers - they last, just as our thoughts of them do. As I stand at their graves I wonder who will tend them after we're gone. We are a small family.

In France Jani and I visited a cemetery with porcelain flowers that were purchased at the local feed store. Some graves were old, untended, and the ground around them had caved in. The horror movies had us worried about walking too close for fear a bony hand would reach up and grab our ankles.

In Germany and Switzerland the graves were decorated with growing flowers. It was a competetion between the mature women as to who had the best looking graves.

We've visited the Coptic Church and Cemetery in Cairo, Egypt. The grounds are locked. Small houses are built over the graves for the family of the deceased to accept visitors, share food and drink. The body is placed in a casket under the house where it will reside until another needs the box. Bones are left under the house and the casket recycled. With low humidity the only odors we noticed were exhaust fumes. Public cemeteries have a few benches, some covered. Beggars can be found living there.

We spend time building relationships. When someone passes, we spend time adjusting to the gap. The best thing I can do for someone who passes is to continue to love them. This is not goodbye, I'll see you later. They've changed form, but their life hasn't skipped a beat. I hope my family and friends will do the same for me. Formally I remember them today, but they are never more than a thought away ,and they live in my heart forever.

copyright 2006 Red Convertible Travel Series

MOTHER'S DAY - 2006

Happy Mother's Day to mothers, grandmothers, Mr. Moms, and all the rest who fill the role in our lives. Thank you. Whether near or far, in or out of skin, love binds hearts forever.

I remember my mom's graciousness to all, her cooking, good humor, pure, kind heart, and love of adventure. We irritated each other, but she's who I wanted when I was sick. I admired her most when she faced her death head-on.

Mom was a natural teacher. As soon as I could pull a chair up to the counter my cooking lessons began. Gingerbread was first. She measured, I mixed, and added a secret ingredient. The finished product wouldn't cut. My stirring spoon was baked in.

When traveling, two of my cooking favorites are deviled eggs and corn salad. Our first weekend in Waverly, Iowa, we had an everybody-brings-something fishfry with locals we just met. Walking downtown, a few days later, someone yelled, "Have you got anymore deviled eggs?"

My recipe ... Split hard-boiled eggs. Mash the yolks. Add white pepper, mustard, celery salt and mayonnaise to taste. Sweet or dill pickle relish is optional. I like it stiff enough to spoon, or pipe, back into the white. Place on an egg plate or arrange on lettuce leaves, sprinkle with paprika, and get out of the way.

I learned to make Corn Salad in the South. My basic recipe is two cans of Shoepeg corn to one can of Ro-tel seasoned tomatoes poured together in a strainer to drain off the liquid. Add black olives, and whatever fresh veggies are available: green onions, radishes, carrots, celery, and one tablespoon of mayonnaise - it goes a long way. Let all drain. Refrigerate in a covered bowl to chill and let the flavors marry, if you can wait that long.

God Bless mother's everywhere.

copyright 2006 Red Convertible Travel Series

My Giuseppe Zanotti's...

two-strap dancing sandals with painted porcelain heels:

Red
happy, happy
hyacinth for the soul
in case of fire
grab the shoes
shoes

copyright 2006 Red Convertible Travel Series

NASCAR & the woman from MARS

"Baby, we're only 140 miles from Atlanta Motor Speedway, want to go to the race?"
"You bet!"
Within minutes we had tickets and a parking place for the motorhome St. Patrick's weekend. Pack, plan and invite friends; it's more fun when shared.

There's the race and then there's all the other stuff that happens. On St. Patrick's day we parked in Legends Campground behind a rented RV from Canada. Visiting with the lady of the group we learned that she was from MARS - a slim, trim, blue-eyed blonde that sounded Mid-western. We know NASCAR is the fastest growing sport among women, but Mars? How many rocks from the sun is that?

To our delight, two of our house guests were adolescent boys who found it more interesting to exit the motorhome's two steps sliding on their bellies. JB flipped a coin for them to claim which set of earplugs. We gathered coolers and coats and headed for the "Rebuilt Real Fast" stands. It was a mountain climb to our seats in the 69th row of the Champion's.

The boys watched the Craftsman Truck Race until the need for food, or a diversion, took over. Just once Mr. G. showed them the way down. Thereafter, they navigated on their own returning with a funnel cake one time, and space ice cream others. I liked the mint chocolate best. Todd Bodine won.

Back at camp we set our little grill on the grass to similate a campfire. It didn't take the boys long to discover they could make flames by adding dry grass. JB cut a metal coat hanger in half for roasting marshmallows. We put the slightly dark ones between mint patties. The blackened ones dropped on the hot coals and swelled up - a science experiment.

Before Saturday's Nicorette 300 Busch race we put our small charcoal grill on our plastic table to cook hotdogs and polish sausage. We didn't notice it was melting through. The indentation resembles a large butterfly hurled hard and fast, or are those Martian footprints? Mr. G autographed our "less table, more conversation piece." Jeff Burton won.

Sunday just JB and I treked the half-mile to the track in our rain-gear with coolers and sandwiches, took our seats in the Champion stands, and waited. Spits of rain. National Anthem. Drivers in their cars. Drivers out. Trucks busy drying the track. Drizzle. Real rain. Race delayed until Monday at eleven. Close together and fast drops parted the sea of spectators into stayers and leavers. We stayed. It was our seventh race, and the first that was a rain delay.

Ms. MARS came by happily saying, "It was an eighteen hour drive from north of Toronto. We;re staying. It's my first race." Her husband had been to Talladega, and came home with a smile. No doubt. We've been to that Red Neck Mardi Gras: beads, boobs and painted on bikinis.

Mon. we heard, "Gentlemen....start your engines!" I soooo want to say that. The race was on. We were up and down, intrigued by each caution, and thankful no one was seriously hurt. Kasey Kahne won.

The crowd was thin. Our Canadian friend came to say bye. I overheard her admit she had worked at the MARS candy factory, but I never saw a trace of chocolate on her face or any samples.

It didn't seem like such a big deal to leave after the race with fewer spectators, but it took us five hours to go 140 miles. Stop and go to Atlanta. It was so slow, guys who needed relief dashed out to the ditch, and lined up like a busload of French school kids.

copyright 2006 Red Convertible Travel Series

MSN Photo.

Happy Spring! Happy Easter!

I love sheep and the smell of wet wool. The lanolin in the wool is healing to the hands. I bought a dyed purple sheepskin in Virginia that laid on the bed for years. We raised deserted lambs on the farm. It stunned us the mother would reject her own. Lambs have the prettiest face.

About Easter

This Easter we will walk across the street to the Methodist Church established in Friar's Point, MS, in 1834. Our Easter dinner will be a surprise later in the day on our way home. That's okay, we have lots of miles to cross.

Back home, Papa had to have a Lilly plant. Some families placed theirs in front of the church altar in memory of someone dear. Sneezes interjected the services.

Easter was sunrise youth services first, and then breakfast. The eleven o'clock service was a celebration in choir music. Lent was over. My Presbyterian background doesn't require giving anything up, but it keeps me in touch with the Passion. I didn't accomplish much giving up food, I did better working on giving up a bad habit. (Sometimes it took more than one Lent.)

The year I attended Easter services at the Assembly of God in Warner Robbins, GA, they put on a live performance of the Passion with a cast of dozens. The motion and commotion made further inroads in my belief bank, as does hearing the recorded voice of a deceased famous person.

Seeing the Passion Play at Spearfish, SD, made the whole business real and overwhelming; I forgot my childhood responsibility of keeping track of our family's dirty clothes. Several hundred miles later I confessed. Dad discovered his Masonic affiliation's worth when he went to buy us jackets. I don't remember he ever thanked me. Minnie liked my white imitation leather jacket better than hers. It had more colorful embroidery on it. She nagged me to look down knowing full well it would scare and sicken me. I liked mine too, and did not look down.

In Nashville, TN, the Easter service I attended was without piano or organ accompaniment. I was thankful they weren't relying on me to lead. Afterwards I learned it's their custom. Whatever works, there's no limiting God.

My daughters fondly remember new dresses, hats, white gloves, white straw purses, and paten-leather shoes for church, finding the marshmallow chicks under the front seat of the car and eating them, and hunting for the eggs they'd decorated.

Easter dinners involved the best dishes, linens, crystal, elaborate Ukrainian hand-decorated eggs displayed, and the ceramic rabbit pulling a cart filled with artificial grass and plastic eggs full of M&Ms - a lot of fuss.

We served Papa's homemade wine, ham, scalloped potatoes, asparagus or green beans, five-cup, Watergate or pretzel salad, deviled eggs, horn rolls, kolaches, and hot-cross buns. Dessert was angelfood cake with strawberries and whipped cream. One year a guest brought a cake in the shape of a lamb frosted white and covered with coconut. Yummy. And one more thing: all our guests, even those over eighty, hunted eggs. And a good time was had by all.

The times we did Easter brunch we used our clear purple dishes. They're springy. We bought service for eight at a fleamarket in Minnesota. Having left our boat motor at the lodge for fall fishing gave us just enough trunk space.

Our eyes were fed by the rich colors of the dishes, plump blueberries; cool green kiwi slices; juicy melon slivers; warm, buttery croissants, and Mexican eggs topped with hot Salsa. Dessert was a slice of Napoleon, the Lithuania tort made with custard and apricot between thin pastry layers.

We attend church and gather with family and friends to celebrate our Christian heritage. God's love and forgiveness for us, and Jesus Christ's cooperation with His plan for our benefit, is a knee bender. Thank you.

copyright 2006 Red Convertible Travel Series

Jax New Orleans Bistro

The scent of wisteria followed us to the center of Anderson, South Carolina. Thank God it's Friday! No more fast food or planned overs, it's "dine out" time. During the week I'd noticed outside tables at a place called Jax.

Perhaps it was a smidge too cool, the outside tables were empty. We opted for the lounge side where people could smoke and we could visit with other guests who felt chatty. Feathered masks decorate the wall behind the bar. Soft music. Low light.

Seated, JB took his glasses off and held them up, "Look at the scratches." Even in dim light they looked like he cleans them with sandpaper.
"Can you see anything without them?"
"I can see the "X" on the far wall."
"X"! It's crossed swords!"

Glasses on, he ordered New Orleans Style "Barbecue" Shrimp served over Maque Choux. Superb! The creamy corn tasted smokey, a perfect match with the shrimp. He didn't need glasses to know it was wonderful.

I ordered Crawfish Etoufee. I like mine shucked. Served on a square white plate with a molded mound of rice, four Haricot Vert, and wisps of green onion, the presentation was perfect. A bite of spice on the tip of my tongue, the rest on the back, convinced me it was New Orleans style. Wonderful!

For dessert I couldn't decide between a chocolate & pistachio tartlet or praline creme brulee, so I ordered a grasshopper. They made it with whipping cream and ice cream. Delicious. Our server, Lydia, tempted us with a sample of Beignet bread pudding with bourbon sauce. Super!

We'll be back. There's more to try: Duck Confit Salad, Blistered Corn and Crawfish Chowder, Chickory Coffee Seared Salmon, and Sunday Brunch for a few. The city of New Orleans may never be the same, but the food survives. Jax is doing it right, and it's no April Fool joke.

copyright 2006 Red Convertible Travel Series

Happy Saint Patrick's Day!

MSN photo

Ireland. Trees are rare as sunshine. Roads are twisted. Rocks a plenty. Hospitality warm. Willie Nelson music on St. Patrick's Day.

2006 Red Convertible Travel Series

For the love of green

My friend, Frances, is 91 going on 20. Small, she walks straight and tall. Her white hair waves up adding the illusion of height. There's an air of European royalty about her, and a twinkle in her eye. She's quick to laugh - fun to be with. People fight for her company. She's Irish, and as perpetually positive as Ireland is perpetually green. To quote her, "Oh, how I love the mystery of life."

Would that we could, I'd take her to Ireland. We'd drive on the left in a small car, manage the roundabouts, shake our heads at those paying no attention to the "Do Not Overtake" (don't pass signs), and puzzle over "Traffic Calming" (slow down).

This time of year the dewy air is scented with daffodils, pink and white blooms of flowering trees, yellow forsythia, and brightly colored primrose near the deep green ground cover, the deep green that is Ireland. On cloudy days the green is even darker.

Stacked white stones mark fence lines and gardens. Extracting stones from the ground is akin to dentistry, earth heaves them slowly. A miniature house of stone with a thatched room sits among the organized rocks testifying to a slow, labor intensive time. To some, the good old days.

Over shepherd's pie or Irish stew, lamb either way you look at it, and a pint at a local pub, we'd celebrate Saint Patrick's Day thankful he drove the snakes out. We'd see if they play Country Western to celebrate - Willie Nelson, or have gone strictly native this year. Either way, we'd have a bloody good time!

Copyright 2006 Red Convertible Travel Series

A Quiet Hero:

unpretentious; more "heart" than most; pushes forward in spite of limitations - health or financial; goes beyond the extra mile - my friend, Lil.

The cat in the window watched its keeper open the door. Stepping inside my eyes popped. The homeowner noticed and laughed. “I have twenty-nine of them.” We have two. Twenty-nine I couldn’t imagine. They were everywhere, high and low. I chuckled at the longhaired white cat stretched out on her back on the kitchen table.

The moment Lil sat down one hopped on her lap for a pet. Another hopped on mine she tried to shoo off, but animals know I like them. Petting him soothed my longing for our pets back home. I smiled. He purred.

“How did you get so many?”
"People just drop them off. Each one has a story. This one (black and in her lap) was shot in Houston. He still has a bullet in his spine. Doc said he can't operate; it's too close to a nerve.” He jumped down satisfied. She smiled ready to welcome another. I imagined an invisible neon sign with a flashing arrow pointing down: homeless cats - stop here for food, shelter, and love.

Lil is a former Humane Society board member. But for her, they'd all be deceased. Her doctor said caring for them keeps her going. "Some of them sleep with me. I live alone."
"No you don't," I exclaimed. We both laughed.

"Do you have help with their maintenance?”
“Not really. I use coupons when I can. Basically, it comes out of my pocket. I have them neutered and spayed too."

Patron saint of the animals, Saint Frances of Assisi is remembered for his love and service to animals. I see the likes of him in Lil. God bless her.

copyright 2006 Red Convertible Travel Series

Honeymoon & the Queen

South Carolina feels "English" today: gloomy, drizzly, not too cold. I'm sipping hot ginger tea and nibbling a yummy, chocolate-filled pastry at Panera's, grateful for their Wi-Fi, and wishing for a trip to some warm, exotic place. Thumbing through the archives of my soul, memories of Mexico City surface. Aaaahhhhh, the honeymoon.

Mexico City, Mexico - the final destination of our 1975 honeymoon. Amidst the ten million inhabitants and twenty-four hour construction, with scaffolding I wouldn't trust, we ventured here and there with our feet barely touching the ground; we were in love. The tour guide pointed out the "Zona Rosa," pink zone, for nighttime activity. We weren't interested, we had our own. I imagine we ate but don't remember what. Seafood? Probably. And chocolate. My sister would remember, but she wasn't along for obvious reasons.

Lunching at our hotel a motorcade passed. We did a double-take. A dark-haired woman wearing a small hat stood and waved - slightly. A tall man stood behind her. My eyes popped. "Is that Queen Elizabeth II?" I stammered. " Here?" Riding in her magic carriage wearing gown and crown, she paraded through my childhood living room on her 1953 Coronation Day. I was awed. A real Queen. She was so beautiful and looked kind. My mind wrapped around "Royalty," and decided she was "The Good Queen." I still think so.

Our server snapped us to the present, "The Crown Jewels are on display at the Museum." We couldn't get there fast enough.

Glass limited accessibility to the Crown Jewels, but their brilliance reached out to all in an explosion of color and light showing off nature and man's best work: gold, pearls, diamonds, rubies, emeralds, deep purple velvet, and more. The best of the best. A study in exquisite beauty and tradition. Thinking aloud I murmured, "The Crown is gorgeous. Huge. Heavy. My neck would hurt. What kind of shoes would I have to wear? I'd stumble. It'd tumble. What if jewels fell out?"

My honeymoon-husband put his arm around my shoulder, leaned close, and whispered, "Don't worry, you're not in line to wear it!"

Copyright 2006 Red Convertible Travel Series

MSN photo

Happy Valentine's Day! I hope it's super!

2006 Red Convertible Travel Series

Minnesota to Mexico Extremes

"The tour leaves at one from the dock. Wear shoes you can slip off." Minnie and I looked at the Mexican hotel clerk surprised. Visiting Mazatlan, Mexico in March we walked the city shops, dined by the sea, and I para-sailed. Today we planned to explore outside the city limits. A dozen of us gathered at the dock for the tour. Wearing black pants legs rolled up to the knee, our guide waded around the small fishing boats to steady them for us to board. Life jackets? None. Mini-motors sputtered. We headed up stream at a Mexican pace - slow.

Moving through the narrow tree-lined river we looked about for creatures in the water and didn't see any. Our guide headed for a cleared bank, cut the engine, jumped out, held the boat, and motioned for us to get out. Minnie said, "Ah, this is where our shoes come off and our pants legs roll up."

Children came from a stick hut to greet us. "The vertical sticks are spaced so pigs and chickens can come and go," our guide explained. The young toothless mother came forward with an infant in her arms.

We were astounded at how they lived. We expect much more for ourselves. Was it a setup for money? Our guide gave them a little from our group, but the kids just wanted candy. Kids are kids. Their lifestyle hadn't changed in hundreds of years, or more. What is the mortality rate? Mouths agape, we stared at the footed sleeper with "Minnesota" embroidered on it, a gift from a church group in Minnesota. Extremes.
Silence ruled our return trip to the city. We didn't know what to make of their situation, or if we were obligated to do something - the American dilemma. Perhaps the purpose was to remind us we have so much  to appreciate and not take for granted.

Copyright 2006 Red Convertible Travel Series

MSN photo

so little
so much
laces hearts
with love

verse copyright 2006 Red Convertible Travel Series

Less than a dollar

On a bus tour of Mexico City, Mexico, our driver stopped at a curbside flower stand. Papa got up and got off.  He returned handing me a single long-stemmed red rose. I felt loved, cherished. Its scent floated through the bus stimulating women’s desires. What followed was a study in relationships. Men who understood they could have the world by the tail for the small price of a rose got right up and bought one. Their women were delighted. Some men were elbowed to buy one, and did. A few women bought their own when their man wouldn't budge. Across the aisle a woman elbowed, begged, and offered her own money, but he still refused. They didn’t speak to each other the rest of the bus tour. Cost of the rose, less than a dollar. Feeling cherished, priceless.

Copyright 2006 Red Convertible Travel Series