What I want for CHRISTMAS

When I was three I sat on Santa's lap, gulped and asked for, ". . . a drum." I still haven't gotten it, or the purple Harley with a sidecar I asked for fifteen years ago. (It's probably just as well.)

This is Buckshot, our new puppy. He made his bed. Didn't he do well? Everything is fair game, including height. He swiped my car keys and ID from the kitchen table. Fortunately, I retrieved them before he ate or hid them.

Madchen and Schatzie have had the run of the house and are not happy to have an intruder come to stay, dart around and make noise, even though he hugs the ground in submission and moans, 'please'. Cats are cool; they're not buying it.

Frazzled, I prayed for our animals to lie down together peaceably. Last night Buckshot leaped up on the bed and snuggled between us. Madchen jumped up beside me and Schatzie beside JB. I held my breath. There was no hissing and barking. We slept cozy all night. My prayer was answered. Thank you!

May your Christmas be Merry and full of surprises. May the New Year bless you largely.

Love,
MJ

2011 Red Convertible Travel Series

No 'Easy Bake' Christmas

When the girls were small it was common for us to make nine kinds Christmas cookies to share. We baked tea rings, the braided sweet bread Houska, cranberry loaves and whatever else caught our fancy.

Here in Mississippi it rained all day Sunday. I turned the TV to Christmas music, organized ingredients and cried homesick tears for familiar surroundings, friends and family and those who have gone on.

My fist venture was to empty a bakesale jar of pre-measured dry ingredients for oatmeal raisin cookies. It made forty. The second jar was for chocolate chip cookies. The dough felt right, but the cookies flattened into one giant, flat cookie. I wonder if some flour was left out because there wasn't room in the jar. That was flop #1.

I made chocolate Biscotti from the book "Jump up and Kiss me". I like to dunk it in hot green tea in the afternoon. Cayenne gives a little burn to the tongue and is good for the metabolism.

Boiled chocolate cookies called for instant dry oatmeal and 2 cups of sugar. I cut the sugar in half and used packed brown sugar. That would have been okay, but I should have used regular oatmeal. They were a waste of good Penzy chocolate. Most all went in the trash. #2

Next came double chocolate cookies. I used Ghiradelli bittersweet chips. The idea was good, but the chips were too bitter. I packaged them for the exchange anyway. Not everyone likes super sweet cookies. Who am I kidding? #3

My friend gave me green tomatoes for green tomato bread. I doubled the recipe filling four ceramic mini-bread dishes and one regular-sized loaf pan. Inspite of greased dishes, each little loaf stuck to one side. The large loaf baked an hour and five minutes. A toothpick came out clean, but when I turned it out, the center was raw! I salvaged the outside inch and threw away the center. #4.5

I really wanted 'decent' cookies for the exchange. I really did. In my worn recipe file I found the well-loved recipe for Goomba's. I bought the German Chocolate cake mix, a jar of caramel icecream topping and a $4.38 bag of Hershey's semi-sweet chips. I even lined the baking pan with waxed paper.

The mixture was stiff when I spread half in the pan. I poured the whole jar of caramel topping over and glopped the rest of the batter on top. It baked the required time and needed more. After it cooled, I tried to cut it and couldn't. The caramel was too gooey, and the cake wouldn't hold together. I stormed out of the kitchen in 'failure' tears. Monday morning I took a spoon and made a dozen gooey balls of cake and caramel and threw the rest away. Tuesday morning I threw away the balls.#5 and #6.

What am I doing baking???????

My disasters were matched by two other local ladies. We blamed it on the excessive rain. At least we had sense enough not to attempt meringue.

And a Merry Christas to you, too! Bah humbug!

2011 Red Convertible Travel Series

High water cats

Last weekend we acquired a squirrel hunting puppy, a feist/terrier mix, honey colored with beautiful brown eyes. His name is Buckshot. If I had not raised children, I would not be able to handle him. It takes a lot of human adaptation to cope with a pet. We do not train pets, they train us.

He let me know he was tired of chasing the chew bone I threw at him by burying it in the corner of the sofa. Tucked into John's arm watching Monday night football, he showed his displeasure with me when I coughed. He gave me a 'you're interrupting the game' look. I shouldn't be surprised at his intelligence and tastes. Schatzie, the tomcat, watches NASCAR races with John. It must be a guy thing.

2011 Red Convertible Travel Series

Modified Thanksgiving Dinner

The pilgrims boiled theirs. We smoked ours.

Thanksgiving was a perfect weather day here in Mississippi. We put our smoked turkey breast, candied sweet potatoes, fresh cooked greens and cornbread with our neighbor's spiral-cut ham and homemade pecan pie and ate outdoors in the sunshine.

Our eating table is bowed through the center. I suspect years of holding heavy computers and too many books have permanently bent its back. Nothing rolls off. Everything rolls to the middle.

Our yard had muddy spots from five inches of rain earlier in the week. Asian ladybugs are gathering to huddle in the corners of the motorhome. I washed the dishes with water heated by running it through the coffee maker. It's life in the country.

I wanted to live in the city after growing up on a Midwestern farm with mud, mud and more mud. Well, guess what? I'm right back in mud, mud, mud. This time it is by choice. I'm enjoying country and the quirky ways we adapt. It's much more interesting.

2011 Red Convertible Travel Series

Thanksgiving 2011

I am grateful for the blessings I have and the one's I don't. Chocolate is high on my list.

God Bless you all.

Love,
MJ

2011 Red Convertible Travel Series

Salmon Chowder

Even the South is cooling off, thank God! Soups are my winter favorite along with roasted vegetables, lots of them.

A friend gave me the ingredient list without measurements. I'm giving you the recipe like my grandmother would have. Adjust it to fit your needs. What I made would fill six to eight cereal bowls.

Salmon Chowder
Dice 2 carrots,
2 stalks of celery,
1 onion
Saute in a small amount of EVOO

Add 1 c. white wine
1 box chicken broth I used 32 oz. low-sodium
the juice off 1 can Blue Seal label Salmon
(I picked out the loose skin and bones)
Simmer until vegetables are about half cooked

Add 1 can evaporated milk or cream (I prefer whipping cream)
1 chopped potato
Fresh or frozen sweet corn, as much as you like
Spice with thyme, bay leaf and dill
Simmer until vegetables are cooked, but not mushy

Crumble salmon in
Salt an pepper

Enjoy! We did.

2011 Red Convertible Travel Series

Hummingbird Help

The sun slipped behind the Mississippi River, but the mosquitoes didn't care, they work day and night, night and day, silently selecting and stinging whatever we expose, especially my ankles and elbows. What's with the bony bites? When they do make noise, we are the targets of their mini-blitz, and they are danged accurate.

We turned the lights on in the storage shed and heard flapping. Mosquitoes don't grow that big, thank God. Between two ceiling joists, a tiny bird flew in a small circle. Small bird. Small circle. Obviously not an eagle. If it had dropped down an inch, it could have flown out.

Could you talk 'down' a hummingbird? I went up on the stepladder for a closer view of the mini-fan in action. Wikipedia states their wings flap between 12-90 flaps per second. Dizzying. Everyone who stopped became engrossed in its 'circling without exit'. I was sure it would die of exhaustion. One friend suggested sugar water. It so happens, we had a feeder on the shelf. Our friend slowly moved a bucket to set the sugar water within five feet of the bird, and assured us it would 'smell' the sugar and come for a drink. It had been circling for at least an hour, it needed a boost.

When the outside world grew dark, it settled on a fine wire facing the wall about 6" below it's circling pattern. We have never seen a hummingbird at rest. A fine wire was the perfect size for its tiny feet to circle. I expected it to fall backward, or forward, around and around, like a top heavy Christmas ornament, but it's 1" beak pointed to 1 o'clock, and it's tail pointed to 7 creating perfect balance. Nature thought of everything. Our friend quietly moved more top shelf buckets to ease the feeder closer for breakfast.

Morning came, as it has a habit of doing. We rose early to see if our guest had flown away, or fallen off its perch. We didn't find it. I checked the feeder, but really, how much water can a hummingbird drink?

We are no longer needed to offer respite for you, Little Bird. We wish you well.

2011 Red Convertible Travel Series

Labor Day 2011 Remembering is reliving.

District #70 country school used Labor Day to clean up the building and grounds. Parents and kids worked beside neighbors without children, and all shared in the picnic dinner. Summer chickens were fried, potatoes scalloped, cucumbers and onions marinated in vinegar and sugar beside chocolate cakes and cherry pies. Scalloped corn was my favorite. A picnic wasn't a picnic without it.

Grandpa Williamson nailed a 16 penny nail in the center of a foot-square flat board. Working on the picnic table, he jammed the ear of fresh shucked corn on the nail and cut the corn off the cob Mom then blanched and froze. I swiped niblets to eat raw, and still love it right off the cob. Sticky corn milk ran everywhere. When she scalloped hers, she added eggs, butter, our own sour cream and cracker crumbs. Baking set it and gave it a golden finish. I wanted to hijack it, run and hide and eat the whole batch.

Pears ripened in September signaling the start of a new school year and the end to summer and fresh produce. Jani and I each took a pear and a fresh plum to school in our lunch boxes. Side note: she collected rocks in her empty lunch box on the walk home. I can smell the sweet scent of the pear's ripeness as I bit into it and the tangy, juicy flesh of the plum. Pure joy. Alive nourishment. This morning I ate a raw pear with a wedge of Brie, which wasn't a cheese of choice then. Peppermint Patty makes a great pear pie with home canned pears. I must ask for her recipe.

Grandpa was "The Help." His eyes were dark, his hair was white, but his skin was bleached, just so there is no confusion on The Help. He came all summer long to ease Mom's "put-up" load cleaning and freezing fryers for all of us and to sell, picking and canning green beans, canning cherries and picking mulberries for jams and pies with rhubarb. His and Grandma's white peaches we converted to jam and pies and ate fresh until we couldn't. He brought gallons of vinegar and bags of sugar for pickling cucumbers he picked by the bushel. Every available flat surface in the house, including the fold-down table behind the door to the upstairs, displayed jars and freezer bags of cooling produce. And he stayed through clean up. By season's end, both our cupboards and freezers were full of summer, and we had food to give as gifts.

Remembering is reliving live life. I feel the love between us fueling our work with harmony. We are laughing at cucumbers twisted, as if trying to get away from their siblings. Jani and I just used a box of cereal so we didn't have to look at each other. Grandpa, Mom and I make faces at bushels of Dad's morning-picked corn, a whole day's work or two. Both have passed from this world, but our life together continues uninterrupted; we are all alive and well. Forever.

2011 Red Convertible Travel Series

That's God!

Just a simple there and back trip to pickup the motorhome was our intention. It lumbers, sways and jiggles like a lumbering elephant. Ten minutes on the road and the the powersteering belt snapped. I'm thankful I wasn't driving. It takes "man" strength to get it off the road. I'm sure it wasn't intentional, but he parked it right under a church outdoor sign: Why aren't you coming to church? What better place to park; they'll take pity on us and pray.

Sunday morning the good-natured Pastor came over. Yes, they'd pray for us. He told his congregation he knew they had been wanting to get rid of him. "My house is packed and parked right outside; here's your chance." LOL

Our friends, and I do mean friends, live an hour northwest. Their little town has a postoffice, Dollar General and several churches. I was Baptist twice on Sunday with twenty-seven members. Mr. Pipkin has a powerful, musical voice worthy of the
musical "Oklahoma."

Pastor Peter was inspiring. When you need a place to stay and it's provided, that's God. One check for our friends putting us up. When you need something to eat and it's provided, that's God. Check two. When you need an encouraging word and someone gives it, that's God. Check three. While we were waiting on God to fix the motorhome, we were seeing God's work all around us.

Not only were we welcomed at our friend's home, they gave us four half-pints of homemade jelly to bring home: blackberry; apple, strawberry fig and blueberry.
Thank you, God.

2011 Red Convertible Travel Series

Zorba the Greek Mississippi Style

Anthony Quinn's character is dying. Locals hover round. Soon as he exhales his last, they strip his quarters clean.

Flood damage behind the MS Levy is extensive. Jagged waterline marks stained the cypress siding below and above windows, even on stilted homes. Uninvited flood water came and stayed. Doors hang open to ventilate. Exposed insulation hangs beneath, bedding for the taking by woods nesting creatures. Windows gape like toothless, old men exhaling stale smoke, their voices silenced: no more tall tales, lies and laughs.

Some camps have been buried, others have had no attention at all. One leans forgotten and deteriorating against trees that halted its escape. A few were permanent residents, as proved by their accumulation of yard decorations. Never has this generation seen such high water. Sawhorse height was not sufficient to save their posessions. In the aftermath, it was easier to walk away from once vibrant households than salvage. Rag pickers help themselves.

Nature restores itself. Will the homeowners do the same? Or will nature cover the remains with kudzu, and animals move in to stay?

2011 Red Convertible Travel Series

Me, a traffic stopper?

An hour late
he came for me
his eyes, ears
and traffic stopper

Into the woods we slipped
over potholes and around washouts
blacktop to scrunchy gravel
past sad, sagging remains
of flooded homes and rubble

He was too long
for a driveway
Around the tractor shed
to head out loaded

Diesel idle
Unhook the trailer
Drop the tracks
Move the truck

Tall, dead cottonwood
and pecans
easily removed
by elephant-like
scoop and lift

Engine roar
Track ho track
creaked and squeaked
War sound shudder
Monster herded
onto trailer
Trunk laid
in secure slot
Chained

Hydraulics moaned
lifting trailer
I count
22 wheels
60'

Retraced our route
Levy approach washout
right lane
He waits
My job to get him
up and over

Silent prayer
My mettle tested
Do I feel anyone
coming this way
No

I ease to the top
Pull to the right
Look to the east
Empty

Down the other side
Stop approaching car
Extra-wide load coming
Pull off please
Dial my man
All's clear

He sailed over the levy
toward me 1/4 mile away
Oncoming pickup won't stop
for my waving jacket

Big rig brakes
slows over-sized load
Pulls right
Fool sees
slows some
but continues
as if privileged

Back where we started
Job complete
Thumbs up
and beep beep

His day
load and unload
Mine
one-of-a-kind

2011 Red Convertible Travel Series

My friend Kim

She loves to eat. Her moans confirm it. Chicken salad with chopped celery, pecans, apples, cumin and mayo elicit oohs and aahs. When I'd bake Texas sheet cake, she just knew and popped in. Roasted veggies get her attention: purple cauliflower; white and green asparagus; snow peas; red, yellow and white potatoes, stop light and green peppers; white, yellow and purple onions; carrots; turnips and green beans with EVOO, sea salt and fresh rosemary. We love to eat the rainbow!

Her intuition guides her. She knows just when to call and just what to do or not do. She is knowledgeable about herbs and aromatherapy. Healing flows through her soft, warm hands blessing her massage clientele.

Over the last few years, I donated hundreds of Krysia's books and magazines to our local library. One afternoon last summer, she came over all excited, "I just found this magazine about England at the library and thought of you." It was the one I just donated. Ok, it's meant to be mine.

My love of France is obvious throughout my home. This past June she gave me "Lunch in Paris, A love story with recipes" by Elizabeth Bard. She didn't say where she found it, just that it jumped off the shelf at her to give to me. I enjoyed the story and recipes and have made Pasta A La Gwendal and her Aunt Joyce's Coconut Macaroons. Tonight I'm making eggplant stuffed with couscous rather than Quinoa.

When I started the book, it seemed familiar. Two chapters in I remembered I had owned one but couldn't get into it and donated it to the library. Kim, you did it again. I'm glad to have it back. Thank you, dear magical friend.

©2011 Red Convertible Travel Series

Foot bath settlers sequel

At JB's suggestion I hung a green and white kitchen towel on the west end of the shelves for shade, and set a tiny, glass bowl of fresh water in the tub for Mama Wren. I wanted a picture, but they moved ever so slightly and it blurred. I'll paint a picture for your imagination.

The nest was four feet off the ground on a grey metal shelf. Our cats, Schatzie and Madchen, watched, or rather stalked, Mama flying in with food and out with trash. Keeping the cats in the house was challenging; they are slippery when dry, too. I moved everything they could use for a step or spring. When I heard Mama chirping loudly I came outside to see if she was talking to her babies or cussing the cats. Schatzie and Madchen pretended to be unconcerned, but I knew their brains were twisting for when-can-we-have-a-go-at-them? In nature's food chain, birds are free cat food. St. Frances of Assisi, the Patron Saint of animals to the rescue. Protect the birds from the house cats and all other predators. Please and thank you.

The cats were stressing Mama Wren. I couldn't decide if I should move the nest to a higher shelf or not? If she abandoned them, they would starve to death. I put my concern in God's hands and peeked in. Settled on her silent clutch she turned and looked at me but made no effort to leave. In my softest mothering voice I said, "I want to help you to a higher shelf." She kept her eyes on me and didn't fly away. Okay, here goes. Ever so gently I slid the tub off and set it on the top shelf. She stayed on the nest. Thank you One and all.

Not tall enough to see in from the ground, I stood on side-by-side gallon paint cans. The nest was disheveled. Oh no. She must be furious with me. Was I over-mothering? And the chicks aren't moving. Fervent prayers and pleas for them and my forgiveness did not ease my heart or mind.

July 20th three chicks were out of the nest scattered around the tub, as if they'd been tossed. Pitiful. A feather here and there they looked moth eaten. One was stuck under a long-handled spoon. The second was upside down in the corner. The third looked half-dead lying on its side. The question wasn't could they fly, could they live? Mothering. Decisions. Without touching them or the nest, I removed the spoon and water bowl that wasn't an immediate threat, but if they lived, they might stumble in and drown.

We didn't see the mother for two days. I was sick. When I could no longer stand not knowing, I mustered the courage to look in and found the nest even more of a mess. What is she doing? Through my tears I prayed, God, pleeeeaaassssse let them live.

Friday, the 22nd, Mama perched on the rim chirping loudly and with great urgency. Saturday afternoon, I saw a chick on the rim. It lifted off and glided to the back yard crash landing and chirping I did it! First flight. No manual. Wing flapping next lesson. The second chick hopped to the rim, saw me and jumped off crashing nearby and chirping, What did I do wrong? The third panicked and did a suicide jump to the concrete. It skittered away on wobbly feet chirping.

We kept the cats in the house two more days. None of the wrens returned. The nest that had been larger than an ostrich egg with a bay window to the inside of the tub was permanently evacuated. Mama had ripped it apart when her chicks were two weeks old. They had no choice but to go forward.

Today I took the tub down and dumped out the tattered, mess of a nest. The tub is scrubbed and back on the top shelf empty. Thank you God and St. Frances.

2011 Red Convertible Travel Series

Foot bath settlers

I live in the land of pretty feet. When I went outside to get my foot bath tub, it wasn't empty as I had expected. I removed a box of kitchen tools from a garage sale. The leaves I suspected had blown in, until I looked closer. Four tiny, yellow beaks pointed skyward with 1/4" mouths open: new life on the block!

At six this morning I peaked at our new family. Mama was home. She isn't very big, and she moved so fast I didn't get a good look at her. She needn't worry, we will not disturb her nest; I'll find something else to soak my feet in.

2011 Red Convertible Travel Series

Lexi, crawfish lover

We went to the country Friday night for a double birthday party. Friends gathered round to help Kari and Sarah celebrate with a crawfish feed and a three-tied birthday cake.

Crawfish are currently plentiful. Some people are catching them with fishing poles and fat meat for bait. The crawfish table was long as a door and about 4' wide with two large holes cut in it. A garbage can sat beneath each hole for discarded shells and corncobs.

Over the 4th I prepped veggies for a Louisiana Coon Ass preparing Crawfish Etouffe. A great learning experience and awesome result. I'm a crawfish convert, but my appetite can't compare to Lexi's. She bellies up to the table, puts her paws on top, and digs in eating shells and all. She can because she's the family watch dog, a Rottweiler.

2011 Red Convertible Travel Series

HAPPY 4TH OF JULY 2011!!!!!

I hope you celebrate our FREEDOM happy and safe!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Along The Champs-Elysee: Catch a hint of rose in an exotic combination. Stick my wrist out for a sample. Clerk replies, "Chanel No. 9, of course." To die for.

8 am CST. Begin work sans jet lag. Try to write complete sentences. Take a short stroll through Monet's Garden at Giverny first: "It's my "happiest place on earth." Feeling inspired.

Write a few.

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

Get serious. Write!

©2017 Red Convertible Travel Series

Under the chestnut tree

Mother's Day came and went, but I didn't forget you, Mom. One of my favorite memories of you is in the belted, red nylon dress you sewed for yourself. It rustled when you moved. You were WOW!!! Movie star gorgeous. And you were ours.

Dressed down in cotton, you taught us Gardening 101. Remember how Jani screwed the onion sets into the freshly turned earth? They grew better than ours, didn't they. Thank goodness Grandpa came and helped pick and cut corn and can pears. He was great to have around for a broken leg, too; "Just don't tell Daddy I won't be home for a few days."

I can hear you pounding out the Twelve Street Rag with runt pig, Petey, grunting along. Another time we sat by the radio trying to figure out which of the twin pianos you were playing. Seamless! Beautiful! Are you playing for heavenly choirs now?

You reached out to others rather than wait for them to come to you. "Be a friend to have one." you explained. Going the extra mile wasn't enough, you went several when you taught school to special needs students. Patience. You have more than the average. I say "have" knowing you still do.

We loved when you read to us, especially on the blanket under our front yard chestnut tree. Jani and I had you all to ourselves and looked forward to the latest Kitchen Klatter story. Nibbling quarter jam sandwiches and sipping kool-aid we learned about Abner, the bull snake, that lived in the strawberry patch. The farmer was glad because Abner kept the thieving rats away. Since we had an oats bin, Jani and I decided snakes were our friends.

We hunted high and low for our "Abner." Calling didn't bring him, either. Walking home from school the next spring we saw a wavy snake track across the gravel road. We ran home. Out of breath, we jumped up and down talking all over each other to tell you, "Abner's here!"

For several years "Abner" tracks were seen on the road in about the same place. Our protection ended the day he didn't make it across. Truck tracks got him. We mourned our good friend.

Just so you know, Mother, we don't go looking for snakes, but we aren't afraid of them thanks to you under the chestnut tree. Could you find out if he's there?

Love you,

2011 Red Convertible Travel Series

MEMORIAL WEEKEND 2011

With appreciation and gratitude we remember those who fought and still fight for freedom, ours and others.

Dense, sky-reaching trees surround a thirty acre clearing in the Hills that could have been the setting for a pow-wow, Civil War battle, or Mississippi mule race.

In the shade of the truck we unpacked our lawn chairs and coolers. JB looked around for someone to talk to; imagine that! It wasn't long before he returned with a new friend. "Have some craw fish," he offered from the bushel he'd won in a coin toss the night before. The guy was thrilled. So was JB. The guy offered him a new place to hunt.

5 pm, race time at Grenada County Dirt Track, Gore Springs. Engines roared or chattered. A few drivers red lighted, took off too soon. Once was forgiven; two cost the driver the race.

There's chatter on the sidelines, too. Whose truck is the baddest? Who can run he three-hundred feet the fastest? Roughly four and a half seconds of roar, zoom and dust separated the men from the boys. The pink modified truck "Here Kitty Kitty" ran like a scalded car. Near midnight the winner by elimination was the black Chevy Luv, "Tasmanian Devil". But our night wasn't over. We had a long drive and two road blocks to clear.

I'm the DD, Designated Driver, and forever grateful I burned myself on booze the first time I imbibed what I thought was punch. Tasteless vodka was the culprit. Two days of recovery convinced me to not adopt the habit. We cleared a hill and there they were thick as lice: racing lights blazing and bright flashlights zeroed on faces and documents. I handed over my MS license and proof of insurance. One look and I was cleared. Did I look honest and sober, or was it my age?????

We hope you had a great weekend. Take care and God Bless!

2011 Red Convertible Travel Series

Backyard love

There's been a lot of "cluck and strut" in the backyard but not a lot of action, if you know what I mean. The old-timer needs to retire. A banty legged, dark fellow with luminescent tail feathers was imported from the hills.

New Man strutted around Old White Man. New muscle met old, feathers flew and longer spurs were winning.

Coup keeper nabbed Old White Man and shoved him into an outside cage where he flew out the other end that wasn't hooked. New Man and two hens saw freedom and ran for it. Pandemonium!

The rest of the story: Not a wham bam kind of guy, New Man worked at warming their hearts. He saw opportunity in a watermelon rind. Plucking bits out of it he left them lay for the hens. They perked up, evidently not used to a smooth hand. Easing to the bits, they sampled. Yum! He softly clucked. They cooed and circled closer. Within reach he carefully snipped bits of watermelon and put it in their mouths. Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh.

I'll let you know when the chicks hatch.

2011 Red Convertible Travel Series

EASTER 2011

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

2011 Red Convertible Travel Series

How do I hold it still?

Our house faces east overlooking the start of the Sunflower River with lots of wet-feet friends and family, Cypress knees. It's a pleasant view in the daylight but is wide-open naked to the world at night. Plantation blinds are near the windows, just not up doing their job, yet. We need 36 hr. days.

There's something primitive and homey about working with pins and needles. I remember Grandmother Williamson attempting to thread a needle when Parksinson's insisted otherwise. She managed to quilt into her late 70's. For graduation she made me a yellow and lavender quilt I display on a stand Papa made. Twice the memories.

When knit fabric became available in the 60's, our folks bought bolt ends that arrived in refrigerator boxes, usually three at a time. Heaven in a box! I sewed matching daisy bathing suits for my girls and myself and most everything else we wore. Dad got into it, too, sewing for Mother while she taught school. Krysia said for a new outfit she'd go anywhere with me.

It feels good to do two things at once. Venison stew and veggies slow cook in the crockpot. Savory scents slip out to tease. My Brother sewing machine is parked on the end of the kitchen table west of where I stuck a strip of masking tape across the table to mark fabric length. It was securing the creamy, filmy fabric for cutting that concerned me.

Use what's handy: a rubber-bottomed quart thermos; a quart jar of dried great northern beans; a pint jar of fig jam; a 15' metal tape measure; a bottle of Makers Mark Whiskey; my rubber-backed cell phone and a ten pound bag of red potatoes! Yes!!!!!!

Measure twice, cut once. I giggled and sewed. It's the perfect finish to the front door. And it looks soooo French.

I can still do it!

2011 Red Convertible Travel Series

Butterfingers for God

Not brave enough to have a doctor pierce my ears years ago, I did the "sleeper" method. Hurt like everything. My right lobe is pierced at an angle and eventually the doctor had to pierce my left. As a result, my right earrings don't hang straight, amateur work.

I thought I had fastened my good gold earring in my right lobe, but apparently I didn't. No amount of searching produced it. Naked lobes are a kin to no mascara. Blah. Blah.

About a week later I happened upon a gift shop. More interested in making a friend than shopping, Nan and I talked about books and authors. Romance Hall of Famer, Dorothy Garlock, is a favorite of mine. I met her the Fourth of July 2003. Sitting on her porch she told of caring for a relative's Great Dane that was afraid of storms. It had run through the screen door and tried to get all 90 of its pounds on her lap.

I mentioned I was looking for small earrings but didn't see any on the display I liked. She reached under the counter and pulled out a pair of gold, ridged earrings that made me think of short spaghetti. "Do you like these?"
I tried them on, "Perfect!"
Nan smiled and said, "I'm giving them to you."
My eyes popped. "Wow! Thank you!"
She grinned, "Butterfingers for God!"

2011 Red Convertible Travel Series

On a cloud dessert

Fresh meringue was placed on an upside down oven-proof bowl and slow baked. Picture the dried meringue, minus the bowl, inverted on a footed, clear glass, cake plate filled with whipped heavy cream. Fresh raspberries and short slices of rhubarb poached in kirsch were scattered over the cream and lightly dusted with powdered sugar. Breath-taking beauty! Use a pie server to break it up and eat immediately. I wish. The name of the magazine it was torn from isn't on the page with the picture, nor is the recipe. But I think I could duplicate it.

I have an oven-proof bowl. The beaters are in the drawer, but where is the mixer to propel them. Must be in storage. Rhubarb isn't in season, yet, and I don't have kirsch. I'll just feast my eyes.

If you have a recipe for this Pavlova, please speak up.

2011 Red Convertible Travel Series

Needing a vinegar road trip.

On the worn yellow bookshelf across the room, a happy photo of Jani and I at a wedding reception snuggles in a worded frame: Sister you are close to my heart so many dreams we've shared all the laughter and love . . . We need more of those moments.

The International Vinegar Festival at Roslyn, South Dakota would be a fun road trip. We looked up the Vinegar Man and found many varieties and some recipes. Did you know there is Blood Orange Vinegar? Spicy Pecan has a recipe for Vinegar Cookies. Maple Vinegar flavors buffalo wings. Vinegar Paradiso has coconut, mango and vanilla flavorings. Texas Blue Cheese Slaw is made with Pomegranate Vinegar. They sound so good, I want at least one of each. SD here we come!

2011 Red Convertible Travel Series

Grandpa loved trains, but . . .

When Jani and I were little we saw Grandpa Williamson take out his eye and wash it. Fascinated, we tried several times to take ours out. Exasperated, Jani asked, "How come you can do that and we can't?"
"I'm special," he said with a twinkle in his good eye.
"It is the same brown as your other eye," I added thoughtfully.
"They were all out of green."
I asked, "Where did you get it?"
"In the candy barrel at the hardware store."
"Can we get one?" Jani asked.
"They're only available on the 5th Tuesday of every third month."
We didn't know how to read a calendar.

Disgusted, we turned to Grandma. Tugging on her sleeve, Jani asked, "How did Grandpa get that eye he takes out?"
Grandma laid down her needle and thread, took a deep breath and added a frown for emphasis. "Well, it was like this. Grandpa loved trains. Loved them, you hear? Always wanted to work on them. I was afraid a cinder would fly up and take out his eye. I fussed and nagged until he gave up his dream."
"What's a dream?" Jani asked.
"What somebody really, really wants to do."
Jani gasped, "Like ride a bicycle?"
Grandma nodded.
I was horrified. "You mean if you thought I would lose an eye being a doctor, you wouldn't let me?"
Grandma shifted uneasily, "Sort of like that."
I stomped my foot. It wasn't worth it to grow up! Arms crossed I was determined to live my dream. If I couldn't be a doctor, I'd never have indoor plumbing.

Grandma continued, "Grandpa took up farming and quit talking about working on the railroad. I was so glad. Then one day he was out making fence; I heard a scream."
Jani and I started to cry; we loved our Grandpa, cheerleader, rescuer.
Tears rolled down Grandma's cheeks, too. "I ran to him fast as I could. His face was all bloody. And there was nothing where his eye should be. Horrible. Just horrible. He said he was hammering a steeple into a fencepost when the durn thing flipped back and hit his eye. "It was my fault. If I'd just let him work on the railroad, this wouldn't have happened."

That didn't feel right. "Grandma, maybe he was going to lose the eye one way or the other, train or steeple didn't matter."
She looked up pondering the possibility, "Maybe I saw that it would happen, but I didn't know how or where."
Hugging, soothing her, Jani and I agreed.

Hoping for a happy ending, Jani asked, "Does Grandpa still love trains?"
Grandma smiled, "He does. You know that track in the basement you play on; it's his way of working on the railroad. He gets to live his dream a different way.

2011 Red Convertible Travel Series

The fork and the urn

Breakfast for two:
one fork
spoon eggs
whole-grain bread mop
or
wait for the fork

An empty concrete cemetery urn sits beside the front door of the house we are moving to. I am excited to plant red geraniums in it and basil, rosemary, tarragon and tomatoes in the brick planter. Peering inside the urn I found it wasn't empty. A fork stands in a snag of dead leaves. It seemed a bit odd, until I recognized the pattern.

When Leonard and I married in 1974, my parents gave us a set of Oneida flatware in the Leonard pattern; the fork matches.

Leonard passed on thirteen and a half years ago. I believed he would watch out for me as long as I live. Nice to know he's on the job.:)

2011 Red Convertible Travel Series

My shopping list

I gave a precise grocery list to someone, I'll not mention whom: cat litter crystals; a specific brand of cat food in a green bag and free range eggs.

They came back with clay cat litter I don't use because it sticks between their toes and tracks big white pieces everywhere. The crystals are finer and less noticeable, except under bare feet.

The cat food was in a green bag (1 point) under a label I don't buy (minus 1). I dished up a little for Schatzie and Madchen, and they just stared at it. They wouldn't touch it. I swear I could see them thinking, You want us to eat this *&^^%? I was not forgiven until I brought home Hills Science Diet.

The requested free-range eggs were not. The carton was marked "natural." Natural? What are unnatural eggs? Square?

Memo to self: do my own shopping.

2011 Red Convertible Travel Series

Me and my shadow ready to roll!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

2011 Red Convertible Travel Series

Batesville, Mississippi

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

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

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

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

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

2011 Red Convertible Travel Series

New Moon pull it to me!

In the Mary Kay business consultants are encouraged to put up a dream board with pictures and imagine driving the car,living in the house etc. My sponsor is Teresa, AKA as Glitz she is so charming and beautiful. Cadillacs are earned rewards. She put a picture of a Cadillac CTS on her frig and forgot about it.

She didn't work the plan or even set a goal. Her 'food nose' takes her from city to city following her husband's work. When she tells me what she ate or cooked, there is passion in her voice. Food is more than satisfying hunger, its a sensuous experience. I look forward to making her grandmother's chicken pot pie recipe with fresh sage in the crust.

Glitz's parents have been married 60 years. When she came home, her Dad asked her to come outside. She grew panicked and nervous. "What's wrong?" He just kept walking to the garage and opened the door.
"WOW. You bought yourselves a Cadillac CTS. Good for you!" She exclaimed.
"It's for you," her mother replied.
Glitz was speechless. She tells me, "It's red, cherry red, a trollop car." I love her laugh. I can just see her in it. She will turn heads twice: once for her beauty and once for the car. We have so much fun together and gobs to visit about, if we went on a road trip, or a trip to the store, there's no telling when we'd get home.

Glitz's dream board put the "intention" on the wind. The Universe did the rest. A lesson to unlimit our possibilities. Today is 1/4, the New Moon. Put your intentions out and let the gravitational pull of the moon bring them to you. Be aware that your negative thoughts will bring a harvest also. We can manifest our needs. Go get'em!

2011 Red Convertible Travel Series

Who's calling?

We are a four phone family. JB has a bs. and a personal phone. I have a cell phone, and our cable bundle gives us a house phone.

When I was in NE my phone made a cascading tinkle sound every little bit? Even Ryker said it was driving him crazy. It does so much I need a pilot's license to operate it, and I am not even close to mastery. When I scroll the touch tone address book, I frequently set into motion an unintentional call and hang up fast. They ring back, "You called." Well, not really. It was my hot finger. Now when I do call they don't answer.

It's an Android. Outer spaceish. Large and alerting every time I get an email. It doesn't fit in my pocket. I was home alone when I misplaced it. JB and I call each other when our cell phone hides. I'd forgotten we have a house phone. It rarely rings. I dialed my phone. A faint ring. I tried again and stood in the 2nd bedroom. Not here. Try again. I opened the hall closet and there it was on a stack of towels.

After supper I was studying my call log when I noticed several calls from the same number. Oh, no, I missed them. Who? JB said, "Call them back."
Just as I dialed the house phone rang. I waved for JB to answer it.
Why am I talking to him?

I am so looking forward to telepathic messaging!

2010 Red Convertible Travel Series

Our Mississippi Christmas

For many years I had a pencil tree I left up all year. It was a night light and inspiration on gloomy days. The kids decorated it with hearts cut out of colored paper and wrote love messages.

Christmas tree hunting is JB's family tradition. He stressed, "We will not go across the state line." (Sounds like a childhood promise.) That leaves Alabama out and a lot of the Mississippi Hill country in.

I jumped in the truck with Ben. JB pulled a long face and got in his truck. I didn't think to explain that I grew up with livestock, and two people were needed to get in and out of pens. Hogs were a nuisance. They wanted corn and out. We had our hands full getting them back in.

Bump. Bump. Bounce to the pasture gate. Ben slid out to unhook the chain and three saddle horses raced to him. He hollered and made hand motions to back them away. Thank goodness they did because I don't know how to retrieve free range horses.

There wasn't time to get out of the passenger seat and walk around the truck. I did an acrobatic stretch across the console, slid behind the wheel and drove in. Both vehicles safely inside, Ben closed the gate and hooked the chain. One of the black horses had the saddle blanket impression on its back from a recent rider. All three
loped beside us. Social creatures, they might have thought we had apples or we were simply their entertainment.

Small Cedar trees were the object of our search. The can grow tall, but their wispy branches are similar to asparagus gone to seed. Sturdy, fragrant closet-wood trees grow in Nebraska.

It took most of the chilly afternoon to find a nicely shaped tree for each of us. We left the banner trees without branches on their back. Thanks to power saws, the guys quickly sliced off our choices. We finished the day with homemade chicken and dumplings.

200 lights make our after dark tree photograph as a splotch of stars. Miniature wooden angels and snowmen from Germany and Austria, crocheted hearts tied with red ribbons and starched hardanger angels make our tree Merry. The tree top is too fragile for an ornament. I imagined folding aluminum foil and cutting out two angels I would tape together on the inside, but I didn't get it done. Imagine it.

MS is a new life for me;, Christmas a new tradition for us.

Merry Christmas to you all and to all a good night.
God Bless.

2010 Red Convertible Travel Series

Tales of Turkey Tails

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

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

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

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

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

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

2010 Red Convertible Travel Series

What is it? What was it?

It graces our apartment living room wall, but it looks nothing like the deer we dropped off at the processor. JB and Brett are proud of it. A European skull mount is what it's called. In Western movies I've seen bleached long-horn skulls, but these are antlers, and it doesn't seem right.

JB is rebuilding his trophy collection. All of his mounts perished when his camp burnt. Since this picture, the east wall has gained a six-pointer. Hunting season lasts until sometime in January. What's next?

To the right hangs my acrylic work of the Nebraska Sandhlls. I can visualize a herd of white-faced cattle and the occasional skull. The prairie smells of sage. Harrison, NE used to sell the "world's largest hamburger" big as a dinner plate. I could never get away with more than a bite or two of someone else's, but I did taste sage. It was what it ate.

The only sign of human life in my work is the windmill, cow fan to city folk. Without trees to dot the landscape, sky is all there is. Big city dwellers were unacustomed to seeing for miles, their vision was limited to tall buildings and masses of visual stimulation.

I didn't care for the Sandhills at first visit. They seemed lonesome,empty. People get lost and never found. Neighbors are fifteen or more miles apart.

NE has the largest area of Sandhills in this Hemisphere, and it's a fragile ecosystem. A couple of inches of black soil rests atop the sand providing just enough grip for grass to root. During dry spells cattle pull the grass out exposing the sand and nothing will grow back.

Our ghostly wall rider makes me laugh and reminds me of happy trips to Western Nebraska. I could string Christmas lights on it. Maybe I'll drape it in black for Halloween, or just use it for a hat rack. On second thought, I'd better leave it alone and laugh to myself.

2010 Red Convertible Travel Series

In the Hills of Mississippi

Bucolic. Where I would want to live, if it wasn't so far from town. Peaceful.
We came at it from the backside on our "adventure Sunday." The horses weren't the least bit concerned. The gate concerned us until we learned entering was restricted, not exiting.

2010 Red Convertible Travel Series

A Southern Living Thanksgiving

Uncle Ben lives Southern Hospitality. No matter when we stop we're asked if we're hungry. His daughter, Patty, always has something cooking. Last weekend she lifted the lid on her lima beans with ham hocks. Yum! And not greasy. She mixed and baked a huge skillet of cornbread and fried green tomatoes. We didn't come to eat, but it smelled so good we did. Wonderful!

The Barrett Clan gathered the Sunday before Thanksgiving over more food than I have ever seen and more family than I could imagine. The ages ranged from one month to seventy-two years.

An eight-foot table was covered with three rows of casseroles and juicy, deep-fried turkey, spiral-cut ham, cornbread dressing and oyster dressing to name a few. Patty made Rachael Ray's potato lasagne: partially cooked potatoes sliced and layered on the bottom covered with a layer of chopped artichoke hearts, ricotta cheese, parmesan and chopped fresh spinach covered with a cooked white sauce. Repeat. Repeat. The guys loved it, too.

Good old green bean casserole graced the center of the table surrounded by a sweet potato casserole with marshmallows and raisins and two with lots of nuts, corn casserole and yellow squash casserole. I don't remember all of them. No failures, I assure you. And there was a crockpot of turnip greens.

Felix's wife bottle fed their six-month old grandson. Jason and Shannon juggled their pre-school son, Joe, twin daughters and infant son. I remember feeling like a jungle gym to my two young daughters. And there's no rushing to the store with babies in tow.

It was a pleasant afternoon of family and friends celebrating their roots in peaceful co-existence. The counter was lined with salads: ambrosia; cranberry fluff; cranberry relish; watergate and more. Among the desserts were homemade pecan pie; apple pie; Abbie's chocolate frosted cupcakes; and a banana pudding made with peanut shaped cookies rather than vanilla wafers. Some Southern cooks use Eagle Brand in their banana pudding. What's not to like about that?

I cut the pecan pie in little slices without knowing it was Uncle Ben's personal stash from Beverly. I apologized. I'll know to hide it next time.

Paper platters were heaped, mine included. Those who ate on the screened-in porch were entertained by a litter of kittens scampering and tumbling. Born in the house, they spent their early days comfy in Ben's bathroom closet. I found them on the floor nosed into a corner under the counter like geese following the leader.

Oh, there's another baby boy. Felix has twin six-month old grandsons. Life is going on double time.

2010 Red Convertible Travel Series

Lost in Mississippi

I'd gone to Warren's to get JB and make arrangements for AAA to pick up his truck. Sat. night a spring popped out of the door, and it wouldn't shut. In the daylight, it was a simple solution. A beautiful fall ahead of us, Warren looked around, "We're going on an adventure."

Adventure water and a bag of turkey and cheese sandwiches in tow, we piled into his open Jeep bumped and swayed about the Hills, over dusty, scrunchy gravel roads and lumpy cotton fields African Safari-ish with the radio wide open. No creeping up on wildlife, people either. We didn't see either.

There was a little grit on those sandwiches, good for the gizzard. The guys searched for places to hunt while I pondered how they cleared the land to begin with; MS has been wooded since before Moses.

Our last forward turn was not an exit to the highway; we dead ended in tall grass lost as a goose. Daylight would last about an hour, and there was no phone service.

I don't pay enough attention to where I am when I'm not driving. I kept still and prayed. Warren slowly turned around. "We better go back the way we came."
"Does anybody remember how we got here?" JB asked.
The picture is a gooey spot with our tracks, a good sign.

Scrub trees forked and tracks weren't visible, I held my breath. Warren stopped. I'm thinking, if we make the wrong turn, we might run out of gas, night would be cold, I for sure am not sitting here while they go for help. His thoughts sorted, he turned to the right. It took almost an hour to reach civilization, but we made it. Whew! An adventure Mississippi style!

2010 Red Convertible Travel Series

Thanksgiving catered to the woods

"Baby, could you stop and get us each a plate lunch and bring it to the woods?"
"Or would you rather have chicken and dumplings, green bean casserole and pecan pie?"
"Hey! You guys want chicken and dumplings?" JB called.
Skipper answered for all, "Heck yes. That beats potted meat and vienna sausage."

My car smelled yummy. I couldn't wait to dive in. They were glad to see me, but in no hurry to eat. In spite of Clint's turkey in the oven, a few more stories had to be told, and the cooler wasn't empty yet.

I walked the couple of blocks to our camp. Last year the building burned to the ground in a thunderstorm. Locals said the gas bottles went off like rockets. What was left had to be buried. I was shocked to find no trace of JB's thirty-seven years of camping. This is where we parked our motorhome over the winter. I slept by the fire ring under the stars at full moon. No more handmade, four adult seats swing a friend traded JB for his leather jacket, or motel-sized refrigerator from Lake of the Ozarks with a story of its own. The crushed rock drive is overgrown. Five layers of used carpet, camp grass, is history. So are we.

Too stunned to weep, Mother Nature did it for me. A cloud came up and drenched me. I could almost hear her laughing. Might as well laugh, there was nothing to do but keep walking in the downpour. JB rushed toward me with my car. Too late. Dr. Seuss said it best, "I'll bet you never yet met a wet pet as wet as that pet can get."

Mud. Mississippi mud sticks to the boots and doesn't crumble off. The way of the woods: fresh fried crappie; another deer and turkey season. Nature cycles uninterrupted. The winner in the end. We are mere ghosts of the past.

2010 Red Convertible Travel Series

Where's the water?

This is what's left of Lake Grenada on the south end. The sailboat in the distance is stranded. It will take many inches of rain to bring the water level up to dam-worthy depth.

We drove across the dam and spotted a pickup truck out in what used to be the lake parked on an old stretch of highway that is supposed to be under water. Off to their right are blocks in a square formation, probably the foundation of a house. Do you suppose they were reminiscing about the Thanksgivings they spent there?

Pray for rain.

2010 Red Convertible Travel Series

Three-thirty zippers

The bed shook. Earthquake?
"Daddy," Brett called, "It's time to get up. It's 3:30. Come on." Moan from prone.
I nudged and prodded his weary, 2-hrs. of sleep body.
Zip the scent-blocked slacks. Zip the down jacket. Zip the shaving kit. Zip the suitcase. Drive sixty miles. Haul the Sweet Baby Ray's barbecued pork sandwiches, potted meat, Vienna sausages and crackers up into the deer stand. Wait. Wait.
Full moon. Too warm. Deer not moving. Didn't see any. Better when it's cold and nasty.

They're on their way home. Reverse Zips. Bet they sleep in.
It's Uncle Ben's deep-fried turkey for dinner tomorrow, our Thanksgiving.

Happy Thanksgiving to you, too.

2010 Red Convertible Travel Series

Closing the Nebraska chapter of my life.

There's an old Scottish hymn that explains my leaving. "Will you come and follow me, if I but call your name? Will you go where you don't know and never be the same? Will you let my name be known? Will you let my love be shown? Will you let my life be grown in you and you in me?"

Many, many years ago I said, "Thy Will be done." It has taken me places I never dreamed of and made friends I never would have met. I've provided services and been provided for in ways I could not have imagined.

John, from Mississippi, showed up at my door unannounced, and I knew I was headed south. I just knew. That was ten years ago. If I didn't get clear intuitive messages, I could not have pulled up stakes and left, but I know that I know it is Thy Will.

In meditation this past July, I was advised to put a "For Sale" sign in my yard before noon Saturday. There were boxes everywhere, almost ordered chaos that went against house showing advice. Thy Will, truth, defies logic.

I continued to sort, sell, box and donate from over a hundred years and four generations of family. The Library was beneficary to hundreds of books. Anything I could replace, I gave up. Actually, I paid ahead. I gave so I can receive. What goes around comes around.

A beautiful Sat. morning dawned. I walked to the hardware store early. They had for sale signs but nothing to hold them in. None at the First Street store either. It was approaching eleven, and my stomach was tying in knots. Diane picked me up. Chris bolted my signs to her metal real estate frame. Just before noon I placed it. My heart in my throat, I went into the house and sobbed. Surrendering my will wasn't easy.

A couple of days later I showed it and liked the couple right off. They'd been in town five days. She and I have so many similar interests, it was like looking at myself at that age. She loves the bones of the house and the happy energy. I didn't mind leaving it with them. I gave up a house and gained dear friends.

It was hardest for Aja. "Why do you have to leave?" she pleaded.
If I said it was God's will she might be angry with God. "I will be back." So help me God. "We are forever friends."
She nodded. "Will you visit my school?"
"Yes, and Ryker's." I talked to their parents before I made a promise. "After school, we'll go grocery shopping, take it to your house and fix supper for your family." It gives each of us something to look forward to, and we love to create in the kitchen.
"When are you coming?"
"I'll be back before Christmas." She was placated.

Ryker is glad to have another boy in the neighborhood. It's been all girls all his life: eight years. And Alec is in his grade.

Aja came to the door when the new owners and I were the kitchen. "Aja this is Brandi, and she likes to cook."
Aja looked up into her big brown eyes, "Can I cook with you?"
"Sure."
I can go now.

2010 Red Convertible Travel Series

I-just-want-a-driver's-license saga

My maternal grandparents, my parents and I have always licensed our vehicles in Saunders County. Grandpa was among the first to have tags on a vehicle when tagging originated.

Today I went to get a MS driver's license. The clerk said, "First you need car tags."

At the Court House I heard, "You need to bring in the title." Luckily I knew where it was. She took my money and kept my title to send to the Capital. It will be researched, to be sure it's mine (12 yrs.)and sent back to me weeks from now. I hadn't planned to sell it anyway.

'PAT 960' is my new tag for just the back of my car. MS doesn't tag both ends. It has a lighthouse on it for the coast and in memory of Katrina victims. It's pretty with the red sunset on the Gulf.

At the License Bureau I happily produced the tag info, my driver's license and social security card. "Your name is not the same on both." Crap! "You will need to take your marriage license and card to a SS office to get a new social security card and come back." This isn't New York City! I bit my tongue and kindly wished her a nice day.

I don't remember the last time I saw my marriage license. Who would have thought I'd need it after thirty-six years and Leonard dead thirteen of them? $37 later I have a certified copy coming. I pray I wrote everything right so they can find it, and it gets here before I need to change my insurance.

Explaining my frustration to Uncle Ben he shook his head, pointed at me and cautioned, "Be careful now, you hear. You could get opticalrectitis."
Naive me, "What's that?"
"A shitty attitude."
I'm close.

Since I will have to go to the SS office in Grenada, I might as well stop at Wall's overstock store. That's a happy thought. The last time I was there with a friend who found linen sheets, and I found cashmere sweaters. It's the only retail store I've ever been in where we were 'told' to put the clothes we didn't buy back on the rack. So much for order.

I'd close this chapter with something profound, but I don't think I can top Uncle Ben.

2010 Red Convertible Travel Series

The Traveling Door

JB and his long-time friend, Yankee, were sitting out front of the apartment when JB noticed a glass storm door on the apartment across the lot. Only one of the eight apartments there is occupied; only two on our side.

Storm doors are non-existent on the remaining 15 apartments. JB commented, “I sure wish we had a storm door here.”
Yankee thought a minute, “Why not that one?”
JB tried the idea on, got up, grabbed his screw driver and headed across the parking lot. An hour later the door was attached to our apartment.

I windexed both sides and wiped it off with newspaper. Schatzie and Madchen sat side by side appreciating the view from the safe side. The grass to the west is tall swamp grass. I don’t know what lives there, but Madchen has come racing in clucking her teeth.

Early the next morning there was a knock at our door. I answered. “I’m the maintenance man. I’m repossessing your door. I promised it to the new upstairs tenant who moves in today.” Too funny. I had occasional furniture at home, but here too?

Virginia moved in, heard about the door switch and came down to apologize. No need, no harm was done. We all laughed and became friends over the traveling door.

2010 Red Convertible Travel Series

A Southern Fish Fry

When the heat and humidity are equal, all you can do is have a fish fry. Six of us couples did, and it was scrumptous.

Start at the bottom of the picture: my green and purple cabbage slaw; five pounds of french fries; two pans of spicy baked beans; and a large pan of deep fried fresh crappie and catfish. Beyond the bottles of tartar and cocktail sauce is a pan of hushpuppies with added Ro-tel and chopped green pepper. What isn't pictured is a huge glass bowl of homemade banana pudding and a pound cake.

While we feasted, the men relived their hunting adventures, and we women discussed food, kids and men. I wish you could hear the laughter and see the smiles as old and new friends shared a pleasant afternoon Southern style.

2010 Red Convertible Travel Series

My First Flight

was to South Carolina to see my sister with my eleven-month old baby, Corrie. I was embarrassed to handle her with a body harness, but the travel agent insisted it was a good idea. People looked at me as if she was my puppy. Seated in bulkhead, she squirmed to the floor. I got ahold of her harness and gently lifted her up. Thank God for a short leash.

Omaha to Chicago was smooth. The Captain informed us flying east the weather would be turbulent. A business man cross the aisle repeatedly offered to hold Corrie. I thought he was a bit pushy. He insisted, "I make this trip every week, and it is going to be rough. Trust me." I did, and it was. We were tossed around like ice in a shaker. I questioned leaving home for this, but I wanted to see my sister.

The man was a blessing. I was scared to death, and she would have felt it. I wished I had a shoulder to lean on. Over and over he patted her back and sang "Possum up a tree stump, rabbit in a hole..." She laughed, felt safe and fell asleep on his shoulder. When we landed in South Carolina, he carried her off the plane and handed her to me.

I didn't know then that I would go on to log tens of thousands of air miles and each time remember what I learned from him: adapt, be of service, let others help me, and don't panic.

2010 Red Convertible Travel Series

double trouble

MSN photo

No matter how much music and how many lights we put in the sweetcorn, they knew exactly when it was ready and we weren't around.

They remind me of the children's storybook "Curious George." George, a pet racoon, washed everything and was disappointed when a sugar cube dissolved.

2010 Red Convertible Travel Series

Past Pastor 'n Pat's Pearl Party

Is that a mouthful, or what?

Ryker came in and announced, "Chefy Ryker here, and I want an apron." We substituted my jacket. He pushed a stool to the stove and proceeded to saute fresh veggies for the Vegetarian Split-Pea Soup, our first course. Gently stirring he commented, "The flavors have to marry. What kind of kids will they have?" .

Aja popped in and insisted, "I'll help." Every cook needs a pot scrubber.

Justin prepared the salmon in parchment per Suzane Somers with lemon slices and sprigs of fresh thyme. He had never eaten it but was willing to try. "Can I come back and cook some more?" Sure.

Pastor and Pat arrived all smiles and game to wear the pearl table decorations. Schatzie came running and jumped in his lap. That's a first for anyone. Pastor generously petted and scratched him until dinner was ready.

We steamed Whole Foods baby red potatoes and green peas, added a splash of butter and sprigs of garden baby dill making a colorful presentation.

Over the years I've watched Pastor minister to our community. He overflows with love and compassion for all. It is safe to say he walks the talk of Jesus Christ.

Pat was excited, "We are going to Denmark. Andy will meet us there. He is making all of the arrangements." Awesome! They trained him right.

Pastor added, "My parents and I sailed to Denmark when I was twelve. One stormy night, I didn't think we'd make it."

Our palette cleanser was apple/pear gelato. Refreshing.

"Have you had your pudd today?" I asked. It was a quesion often heard in old England.I found the recipe in Betty Crocker. Kim was pouring it into the baking dish and lost her grip. Might as well laugh; she had egg on more than her face.

The Pudd baked in a hot water bath. The top became a sponge cake and the bottom settled into lemon pudding. Outstanding! No wonder it appears in so many recipe books.

I forgot to serve the wine and take pictures of food, but a good time was had by all. They filled my house with laughter and warm memories of good friends,good food and eager to learn to cook children.

2010 Red Convertible Travel Series

Spinach Balls

My daughter-in-law, Carol, first made Spinach Balls for us. They were so good, JB asked for the recipe. I like to keep them on hand. They're healthy, quick and easy to make.

It is important to buy a good brand of finely chopped spinach. In a hurry, I bought a cheap one and found it stringy with too many stems. We couldn't use it.

Two 10 ounce packages of chopped frozen spinach, thawed, drained and squeezed dry.
Add 2 cups of Pepperidge Farm herb seasoned dry stuffing crumbs
a dash of dry mustard
6 eggs, beaten
1/2 cup soft butter
1 cup parmesan cheese.

Mix. Roll into small balls.(I got 42 out of my last batch.)Refrigerate or freeze until firm.
Bake on lightly greased cookie sheet 350 degrees 15"

Spicy Hot Mustard Sauce
1/4 cup dry mustard
1/2 cup white vinegar
Mix and set aside 2-24 hours

Add 1/2 cup sugar
1 egg yolk
Simmer until thick

Can you believe spinach tastes so good?

2010 Red Convertible Travel Series

To my Chinese comenters

Dear Friends,

Translations do not always come through. I want you to know
I appreciate your interest and support.

Sincerely,
Maeann Jasa

Looking good from any angle

Best friends relaxing. Aja holds Madchen, with a long a. Madchen has her own ministry radiating love to all. Aja's ministry is helping wherever she can.

2010 Red Convertible Travel Series

Summer's Best

A feast for the eyes I found at our local city center market. The peaches taste like peaches. We've already eaten the long, slim quarter-sized eggplant sauteed with a summer squash and one shapely red peper. Yum. Today I'm cooking purple-hulled peas with okra.

I'm learning tricks about cooking in castiron skillets on top of the stove. It's so hot here, we don't need more heat in the kitchen. I did not know I could make cornbread on top, if I cover the skillet and turn the burner on low. I'll let you know how it is. I might have had a decent peach cobbler this way, too. Instead, it was crispy on the sides and the dough was undone. We're just eating the peaches as is. They're quite fine naked.

2010 Red Convertible Travel Series

Mooshing Bernie

Bernie was between trips to Chicago for treatment. We had to have a Pearl Girls party. Kim was at work and Sandi was otherwise occupied, but they were there in spirit. Di and I held up our end. Chris called from NYC with well wishes.

Bernie said she'd eat anything healthy. No problem. I fixed a fresh sweet potato and green bean soup, tomato slices with capers, and limeade from fresh squeezed limes.

Earlier in the day Kim left a wrapped present for her: a pin/pendant "Tree of Life" representing the huge oak trees on her farm. We could almost hear the wind in it. Hugging a tree is good medicine.

Bernie explained the mix of medicine and holistic treatment in Chicago. They treat the whole person on all levels. God bless them. There's more to cancer treatment than chemo and radiation.

She admired an oblong print on my wall: pots of colorful impatients lined up on steps. It was natural to offer it to her. She protested. I insisted claiming Indian thinking: if someone admires something I have, I should give it to them. Except for my man. She giggled and accepted my picture.

We didn't need to give her presents, but there is the urge to give her something to smile about, even though she stays upbeat. We're in this with her, and would move heaven and earth to free her of it. That's what friends do.

For dessert I fanned slices of Braeburn apples. Under the fresh mint leaf is chopped Braeburn apple with chopped almonds, cinnamon and a splash of almond milk. Yum.

Until next time, Pearl Girls, Bon Appetite!

2010 Red Convertible Travel Series

Umbrella art

Ryker creates. Another day he ran into the wind shouting, "How many umbrella's would it take to fly?" Aja was sure she could. No lift off happened, the wind turned my Monet inside out.

2010 Red Convertible Travel Series

Our Neighbors

Cam and Wendy and their famly are our Chinese neighbors who run a great Chinese Restaurant in our town. We love the General's Chicken and Cashew Chicken. Snowball used to live in their house and belong to the neighborhood. We all watch out for him as he travels from house to house befriending us and collecting handouts.

We're a mix of people and pets from around the world watching out for each other. Neighbors.

2010 Red Convertible Travel Series

News for the blind.

You didn’t expect pictures, did you?

I caught up with Connie on her phone when she was out for a Saturday afternoon walk. Huffing and puffing just a little, she proceeded to tell me where she was and what she saw. “I’m over by the old grade school, North Ward.”
I know it, my mother taught there. It’s been leveled and so has West Ward.

“Now I’m walking down Richard Vybiral’s old alley, old because he doesn’t live there anymore and convenient because it’s paved.”
His mother and mine were friends in school. The longer we live here, the longer it takes to introduce someone.

“I’m walking down Linden. A new sign is going up. Soon as I can see it, I’ll read it to you: ‘Ryan’s Repair and Automotive Service; Scott’s Tree Service’. The guys are laughing at me. I’m reporting the news.”
I only know of one individual who put their car in the top of a tree and lived to tell about it. Prague. Saturday night. The guys had no idea where they were, until daylight and the first step.

“Somebody just drove by and gave me a one fingered wave―index finger.”
They’re too tired to wave them all.

“Wahoo State Bank’s time is 2:36 pm. The bank is closed, so is Lucille’s. I think the only businesses open are the Warehouse, Dollar General, The Chinese Restaurant and a bar.”
It isn't like Saturdays past when families came to town to shop until 11 pm and trade eggs and cream for flour and sugar.

“The wind’s coming up and dark clouds are rolling in. I need to get home so I can cleanup and get to the Museum’s Barbecue. See you there.”
The menu is barbecued pork sandwiches, baked beans, coleslaw, potato salad, and if we have room, Donald Proett’s brownie sundae with ice cream made on the spot.

And that’s the news from Wahoo, the one and only.

©2010 Red Convertible Travel Series

Impromptu Pearl Party and July 4th

Happy July 4th to you and yours.

I was packing dishes for goodwill when Bernie came back from Chicago and Chris arrived from the East Coast. We had to have a pearl party. Never mind my extra dishes were loaded in the car for good will.

My third trip to goodwill to donate leftovers from my garage sale I found eight huge green glass goblets just right for gazpacho that coordinated with the dishes I had planned to give away. A good thing I didn't. They worked well with Monet and dark green placemats.

The Essential Vegetarian Cookbook provided the gazpacho recipe. Plenty of fresh tomatoes, cucs and tomato juice serve as the base with chopped stoplight peppers, onion and garlic. A dollop of sour cream on top and homemade garlicy croutons completed the presentation. Yummy and comfortably filling.

A pitcher of fresh squeezed lemon juice allowed each to make their own lemonade with honey. A simple pleasure. So what if I served ice cubes with salad tongs.

We caught up on each other's news. Chris kayaks and has learned to sail off the East Coast. Bernie returns to Chicago next week to begin radiation treatments. It was a time to celebrate each other's accomplishments and offer support. We're our own Yah Yah Sisterhood AKA Pearl Girls.

Deep in my hutch I found eight clear yellow dessert plates just right for a slice of homemade Suzane Somer's New York Style Cheesecake with Raspberry Coulis and a fresh strawberry fanned by Chris. And she stayed to help with dishes, God Bless her.

July 4th reminds us to treasure our simple pleasures, our freedom and take nothing for granted. I hope you have a safe Holiday.

2010 Red Convertible Travel Series

Where did you purchase this product?

The Essential Vegetarian Cookbook by Whitecap Books is available on Amazon.com. Enjoy!

2010 Red Convertible Travel Series