Grandma's Day and Mine

Yesterday was a homemade chicken and rice soup with scratch gingerbread day, just like Grandma's. I hoped to whip the cream with a whisk. No go. We poured it over. Grandma's blackstrap molasses, ginger and cinnamon wafted through the house blessing us a second time, remembering her a third.

You may notice I uploaded my photo. At this age my two best friends are my hairdresser, Judy, at Judy's Broadway, and my photographer, Diane McLain. Now you know what a good hair day looks like.

Our work badge photos aren't at all flattering, faces look flat or wide. No one to blame but me. A co-worker came here for their photo. The only white wall is in the shower. We had to stop laughing long enough to take the head and shoulder shot. When we saw our completed badges we all grimmaced. Every one of us said the same thing, "It doesn't even look like me."

I added, "If I saw those people on the street, I wouldn't talk to them either."

2009 Red Convertible Travel Series

Our first Missouri Thanksgiving

Kitchen tools and spices are scattered from Nebraska to Mobile, AL with little bits here in Missouri. I think of my grandparents as small children traveling by covered wagon. We made do. Co-worker, Rick, and I put our heads together. I made a large skillet of buttermilk cornbread he converted to dressing with sage, poultry seasoning, melted butter, chopped hard boiled eggs, celery and onion. He mixed in chicken broth until it made ball stage. Sounds like candy. Not. We put it back in the big cast iron skillet to bake.

Rick seasoned a 5 1/2 pound roasting hen with melted butter, poultry seasoning, sage and rosemary. He cooked the giblets in chicken broth with two more chopped hard boiled eggs.

One hand mixer in AL and the other in NE necessitated using a slotted spoon to mash the potatoes. JB got his candied sweet potatoes. Rick made sweet potato pie from a recipe by COUGARR I pulled up on the internet @ allrecipes.com. Outstanding! To us sweet potatoes are more flavorful than pumpkin. I do like pureed pumpkin soup. In my family, it's girl food.

Where we found the round table for our kitchen, the lady offered us her yard swing. Today the guys picked it up. The frame is solid. The cushion needs replacing. JB and I put on warm clothes to sit in it and listen to Rick sing and strum his guitar. He does a pretty good Conway Twitty and "Up against the wall, Red Neck mother," by Jerry Jeff Walker. Between songs he said he needed a little table to set his drink on. I remembered seeing one by the dumpster. Ask and you shall receive.

When we drove through our neighborhood and saw two gas bottles by a dumpster that would fit our free grill. JB went to the door. The lady answered and told him he could have one. The magic of Missouri continues.

Thank you, Father, for blessing us with enough everything.

2009 Red Convertible Travel Series

HAPPY THANKSGIVING 2009!

msn photo

May everyone have enough.

2009 Red Convertible Travel Series

MISSOURI KEEPS ON GIVING

The Generosity Angels struck again. Here in Missouri's division of the Universal Storehouse, we Live the Attitude of Gratitude and expect miracles.

Co-worker, Gene, had a headlight go out on his car. He bought a bulb but couldn't figure out how to set it. Grumble. Grumble. Picking up a sale for me, he met a young military man in camouflage working on his truck. They talked vehicles, like guys do. Gene commented about his headlight problem. The young man volunteered, just like he did for his country, "I'll take a take a look at it." He knew exactly what to do. Using needle nosed pliers he fixed it in a flash.
Gene was shocked, "How old are you?"
"Nineteen."

Another day Gene was writing up a sale for a lady folding clothes. "My kids have outgrown these. I'm taking them to goodwill." She paused and looked at him, "You're about my son's size." Shoving a pair of jeans at him, she asked, "Will these fit you?" He peeked at the label and smiled: exactly his size. She layered him with sweaters and shirts and added, "There's more. Stop back."

What wonderful surprises are next in Missouri's division of the Universal Storehouse? We'd love to hear what great surprises come to you in your division?

2009 RedConvertibleTravelSeries

More Missouri Castoffs

Gene just came in from work carrying a 19" Symphonic TV and remote. That wouldn't be anything to write home about, except, he sold a lady cable, and she gave him the TV.

Last week we found a computer desk with a note, "Free. Take and enjoy!" We did.

Over the weekend we acquired another chair, two end tables and a lamp. Forget about furnishing on a dime, we have 10 cents left!

It's ok sleeping on the floor on a single air mattress. We lay the same direction and inhale at the same time. It isn't far to the floor, if we fall off. The question is not how, but when, one of us will come upon a no-longer-needed bed? I want to jump on the bed. I want to jump on the bed.

2009 Red Convertible Travel Series

Memory Malfunction

Just a minute, I'll be right back.

Who said elephant's never forget?

Leroy & Alice Patocka-Fortner took this picture in Africa. Leroy said he's seen an elephant 11'11" tall. That's a lot of elephant!

2009 Red Convertible Travel Series

WANAHOO DAM

Since childhood we've heard speculation about a dam on Sand Creek. It was always too expensive. Something shifted. I took this pic atop what's left of Bodley's Hill. Never paved, it was a vehicle test when muddy, and a great place to sled. Today the stakes mark the edge, a sheer drop off of about fifty feet. Wildlife will need to find new homes. When the dam fills, the trees will be covered providing hiding places for fish and snagging places for fishermen.

Highway 77 will continue around the west and north sides of Wahoo and over the dam. Where highways 109 and 77 intersect, the road has been raised. The weigh scale got a lift, too. Afterall, no eighteen-wheeler wants to drive in a hole to get weighed.

When I celebrated my 16th birthday, friends and I went down snow-packed Bodley's Hill in a truck we believed could go anywhere. It couldn't. A neighbor and his tractor came to our rescue. With the building of the dam, Bodley's Hill is now a private, crushed rock drive.

Those below the dam are looking forward to life without flooding, while the recreation lake will spawn a variety of new businesses for fun. Bait anyone?

2009 Red Convertible Travel Series

PIONEERING MISSOURI

If we'd just remembered how the pioneers traveled when they settled this country, we'd have come to Warrensburg with empty vehicles. This week was cleanup week east of Hwy 13. It allowed residents to put their "unwanteds" on the curb for the taking. Pioneer-fashion, we aquired an oblong wooden table and a round one, a box of dishes that included a kettle lid, mine has been missing for years. Neither of us brought dishes. Thankfully, we found cups, plates and flatware, two wooden chairs, a gas grill and a snow scoop guaranteed to stop winter.

During the day, JB spotted an entertainment center by a dumpster. We went back after dark, in a drizzle, loaded it up and wrestled the monster into our rental. Near midnight, we plopped into chairs to admire our find. I commented, "Our 17 TV looks newborn for the space; maybe it will grow into it. We need to shimmy the right end about an inch."
JB frowned. "No, we just need to set it on end."

You know you're tired when you can't figure out which end is up.

Next week the west side of town gets to unload. Who knows what we'll find.

Less is more . . . when it's enough.

2009 Red Convertible Travel Series

PULITZER PRIZE WINNER WILLA CATHER

AAA Living featured “Prairie Prose” in their May/June issue. It took me until Oct. 2nd to read it. Willa Cather lived near and in Red Cloud, Nebraska. She wrote fiction patch-worked from the lives of those around her.

The home is frame and small, there weren’t a lot of possessions to house. When my mother, my young daughters and I visited it, I climbed the stairs to her room, stood there and wondered what inspired her to write about the ordinariness of Nebraska. Home to me, it doesn’t seem all that interesting. She, however, captured the pioneer’s spirits, some so tortured with longing for the old country they took their life to get back.

A master at creating life-like characters, in “My Antonia,” she speaks of those who moved here to escape their past. Burdens carried took ‘now’ time. Simple pleasures were missed. Confession wasn’t enough to erase their remorse. When snow is piling up, and the wind is howling like wolves, I get a bone chill thinking of the brothers and the bride. Just a story, I tell myself.

“O Pioneers!” engraved in my mind the people's grit and determination. Our paternal ancestors immigrated from Sweden. Winter must have made them feel right at home. Willa was born in Virginia in 1873 and moved here with her family when she was nine. The bare landscape saddened her; she loved and missed trees.

People left the familiar to establish new communities with their traditions in food and worship, methods of farming and building. Breaking sod was hard, hard work. Weather came without Doppler warning. Swarms of grasshoppers ate them out, blizzards froze them out, droughts wiped them out and prairie fires burned them out. Threats of Indian raids, disease and loneliness added to their woes. Women ached to talk to another woman. As a child, my grandmother was living in a sod house when their cow broke through the roof―more dust, grass and bugs to contend with. The pioneers tried to persevere, worked hard, carried water and didn’t have a lot to eat. In their photos, no one is smiling. One thing about this part of the country, the people know more about work than how to relax.

Open prairie prompted farmers to raise a barn in a day or two with the help of their neighbors. Glad for the company, women cooked, baked and gossiped. The men built with wood nails and enjoyed the women’s food, such as fried chicken, biscuits and gravy, fruit and meat pies, whatever was in season, and a wagon load of bread. My maternal grandfather, Roy Williamson, played harmonica and fiddle. If there was a dance at the end of the day, I can see him fiddling Turkey in the straw, his dark curly hair bouncing and his brown eyes twinkling.

I was fourteen when I first visited Red Cloud for our state-wide Rainbow Girls convention. A small town, we brought our pretty dresses and stayed with families. Overnight a prisoner in the jail picked the bricks out and escaped. Hearing about it on the news made us afraid to leave the house. Willa Cather might have seen it as an idea for a story.

2009 Red Convertible Travel Series

Nesting Rocks

"You're making shishky, aren't you?" Papa inquired hopefully.
"I'm packing the poppyseed right now."

We looked forward to the crisp air and our limit of crappie and walley fall fishing in Minnesota.
Shorelines would be decorated with orange and yellow fall leaves. Fog would rise from the warm water. The lake might have already turned over. We packed coveralls, gloves, insulated boots, and hats.

Walleye and northerns like small frogs. One evening we came back to camp in the dark. Papa was driving and slammed on the brakes. Small frogs were all over the road. They wouldn't have been in such a hurry to get to the lake, if they'd known the fish were waiting for them. He was so excited he had me stay behind the wheel with the lights on, while he got out with his butterfly net and a Styrofoam bucket.

In the headlights, it was as if the frogs had personalities. One hopped across the road three times and into his net. Another hopped in and back out. One stayed in the same place and jumped up and down. All said and done he was happy as a little kid when he captured five. The refrigerator wouldn't accommodate the big bucket. Papa put the lid on and left it in the car overnight.

I was fixing breakfast when he came in wearing an 'I'm in trouble' look. They frogs had jumped up, moved the lid, and escaped. They were no where to be found in the car. We opened the car doors so they could escape. I was concerned one would pop out when I was driving. We watched two come out of the car. The rest were never found or discovered, thank God!

Our appetites were ravenous, and I loved to cook at camp. The cabin was so small it reminded us of a pumpkin shell with plumbing, but we had room to cook and eat hearty: fried crappie and walleye, homemade soups, breakfasts of bacon, scrambled eggs with potato dumpling slices and shishky.

Papa liked the potato dumpling dough rolled out in strips, then cut into one-inch squares and baked. The Bohemians called it "shishky." We ate it with melted butter, a little sugar and ground poppy seed. One trip we forgot the poppyseed grinder. Drifting near the shore, he spotted small rocks, reached in and grabbed two. I baked and he ground poppyseed between the nesting rocks. Another great trip. Another timeless memory.

2010 Red Convertible Travel Series

SHORTS, SHOES and SHEEP

Last week my friend, Diane, and I volunteered at the Arlington, NE, three day rummage sale on the fairgrounds. All day she unpacked, sorted and stacked donated plus sized sweaters, while I sorted small, medium and large shorts. I decided it would take seven pairs of Daisy Duke shorts to make one pair of jeans.

I suspect those in the know knew, if the volunteers had to leave the grounds to get something to eat, they wouldn’t come back, even though we were happy to be part of the effort. Volunteers were served a yummy potato and bacon soup, ham or egg salad sandwiches and a choice of cakes for dessert. A local bakery provided an assortment of brownies with nuts, or caramel, or nuts and caramel. Scrumptous! Back to work.

Our building displayed women’s clothes. Long jeans neatly folded and stacked bowed tables. Over 30’ of tables held folded sweaters at least six sweaters high and three or four across. Some blouses never made it to hangers, they ran out. We worked all day organizing, knowing full well a few minutes after opening it would look like a war zone. I could have shopped, but didn’t. It was overwhelming, like too many flavors of ice cream, just give me chocolate.

One building was dedicated to children’s clothes, another to men’s, a third to furniture. Across the road, row after row of shoes and purses were where I expected to find sheep.

Diane said this sale was a third of last year's donations, but they had a spring sale, too. As much as $75,000 has been raised for the hospital from a three day sale. That's a lot of Daisy Duke's.

2009 Red Convertible Travel Series

9/11/2009

From my "Vegetarian Pleasures" cookbook I made East Indian red lentil dal, yogurt with fresh orange sections and raisin chutney. Each has a healthy dose of fresh chopped ginger. Delicious! My house smells lived in. On my walls I have four small paintings of Mazatlan, Mexico, three Dutch tiles and Egyptian Papyrus. My home is a reflection of the world, my home.

I've learned to appreciate other cultures. Love is an equalizer. As humans we see in small pieces. Our Creator sees the whole. If we step outside our fear and allow love, I believe we can live together in peace.

2009 Red Convertible Travel Series

A BUCKET OF BATS

After 200 miles on the road with Madchen & Schatzie protesting being kenneled, I was ready for the Jacuzzi, pool and a nice dinner at the motel. My grandpa said to eat dessert first. Child-like I giggled over German chocolate cake with coconut frosting, a wee piece of snickers cheesecake, a taste of cannoli, and something white and gooey with coconut, pecans and a hint of rum. Delightful! My second course was three green beans, a variety of other cooked veggies and one small barbecued rib.

Cats settled in for the night, I walked around the parking lot talking on the phone. I forgot I was in a protected wetland. The only enemy the mosquitoes have here is bats, and bats need water. Just over the levy is the Mississippi River―plenty of water. Pausing on the patio was a mistake. Mosquitoes didn’t have to chase me, they just moved in and feasted on my ankles. Where’s a bat when you need one?

When I worked for Galen & nellie in downtown Omaha, their brick building was over 100 years old. Mortar had disintegrated around the windows allowing bats and breezes easy entrance and exit. Do breezes exit? On the phone one day, I looked down and saw a bat on the top of my foot. “OH!” I don’t know how long it had been there; it didn’t feel like anything. Was it hovering? My "Ohs" grew progressively louder until I noticed a peanut butter bucket on top of the file. The lady on the phone kept talking. I tilted my foot. The bat jumped off, did its clicking sonar sound and climbed up the brick wall. Lady is still yacking. I laid the phone down, grabbed the bucket, scooped the bat in with the lid and clamped it down. Big-eyed co-workers gathered to see what my “Oh’s” were about. I didn’t explain, just slipped outside and turned it loose. It wouldn’t surprise me if the bat was back in the building before I was. I picked up the phone, and she was still talking, oblivious to what had happened.

Tonight I wish I had a bucket of bats.

2009 Red Convertible Travel Series

SHE HAS THE LAST WORD

By the front entrance of Lake Tiak-O'Khata's lodge, the wagon wheel that helped clear the land is bent and broken by Mother Nature's wisteria. Fierce, isn't she?

2009 Red Convertible Travel Series

MISSISSIPPI'S ONLY SANCTIONED RACETRACK

This is the harness race with pacers, horses trained to move right legs at the same time, left the same, a smoother ride. Fast clopping, sulky wheels rattling, audience leaning on the fence cheering, a day at the races. All week long pacers, trotters and quarter horses entertained. Win some, lose some.

Notice how red the soil is; wet it stains, won't wash out. Grownups prayed for dry weather for racing. Kids prayed for rain and got it. Infield puddles gave kids an excuse to get wet running or sliding through and wrestling. Two girls did backflips numerous times. Pink and yellow boots were tossed aside so girls could mud fight. A hug included a handful of red mud to their hair and down their back. A hosing off was in order.

2009 Red Convertible Travel Series

WORKING THE MULES

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

2009 Red Convertible Travel Series

BAD BOYS AT THE FAIR

Just prior to this shot, these Brahma bulls were bellowing, and climbing all over each over. They didn't like their close quarters. In the evening they wasted no time letting their rider know what they thought of him, too: just another fly on his back. I wonder if Rodeo clowns and cowboys can be insured?

Friday evening rodeo goers sat in lawn chairs on the track. We sat in the stands for a better, less dusty view, and I prefer some distance from the powerful animals.

One event involved two black angus calves with a pink ribbon on their tail. Children from 6-10 were invited to the arena. Boys and girls by the dozens climbed the fence to get in. The calves were turned loose and took off. Like a mass of bees, the kids ran after them. A prize was given to each of the two boys who caught a ribbon.

I unintentionally did rodeo with our Bravada at the track fence. We bought a rack of ribs, coleslaw and beans for a tailgate picnic about ten pm. The evening was warm and still. We were still worked up from the rodeo excitement. I drove forward, felt the front end dip down and didn't think much of it, put it in reverse and slowly backed up and out. Two adolescents came running all excited. "You can't get out of that ditch." But I did. Smart track allows for the wheels to move independently. I was surprised to learn front-wheel and four-wheel drive are not the norm in the South.

Another perfect day at the fair.

2009 Red Convertible Travel Series

FAIR HOMES AT START FINISH LINE

Sawdust around and under the porch covers red clay earth that stains and tracks. Throughout the week a hundred pounds of raw peanuts were cooked with Zataran seasoning. Quite tastey.
Help yourself.

Homes have been in families for generations, much like Nebraska football tickets, and just as cherished.

2009 Red Convertible Travel Series

NESHOBA COUNTY FAIR

The world's largest house party. Where are all the people? Inside where it's cool, at some neighbor's, at the horse races, or on the porch we can't see. In my enthusiasm, I shot this picture through our windshield.

In 1889 families gathered at this location to picnic and race their mules and horses. Over the years their weekend get-together grew into a week-long gathering of events and political speeches. JB saw Ronald Reagan here.

Today the racetrack is surrounded with two and three-story homes open one week a year. More homes were built on other areas of the fairgrounds totaling some 600 that look like a cardboard movie set they are so close together, and there are hundreds of RV spots. It's a happening.

2009 Red Convertible Travel Series

Brim Fish Nesting

I have a new friend named Larrie. Her family thought they were having one very large boy they would name Larry. They had triplet girls. She got to be Larrie.

Riding around her and her husband’s pond in a golf cart, she asked if I could smell anything. I took a deep breath and smelled a dead ripe watermelon. She smiled and nodded. “That's it. Either you smell it, or you don't. The brim fish are nesting.”

I haven’t been fishing since we were behind the levy at the culvert where the bank is deep, and I stayed put. JB gave me a cane pole. I moved it to the right for him to bait. He doesn’t need to know I can do it. I’d put it in the water, catch a crappie and move it back for him to take off. Guys on the bank had all kinds of advice about how I should fish, but none of them were catching any.

Larry took us to their garden. Silver Queen corn had been harvested. Field corn was at its end. Butter beans, peaches, pears, apples and tomatoes needed rain. Deer ate their purple hulled peas. The figs will fill out with rain.

Larry had cut field corn off the cob, put it in a skillet with butter and milk and let it cook slow. I didn't see how such a small amount could feed the four of us, but it swelled up as it and we had leftovers. We all liked it. I thought of hominy and my grandmother telling how they soaked corn in a lye solution and put it on a shed roof to dry.

Larry shared her secret for fried green tomatoes: slice them thin and place them on ice; it crisps them. They were perfect. Good job, Larrie!

JB sent me to Walmart the other morning to purchase a deepfryer. It seems industrial sized, but he has a big family and right off we had company for a catfish fry with hushpuppies. I cut one Idaho potato for fries and one sweet potato in rounds. One guest, Hank, a young welder from the coast, breaded both kinds of potatoes in the catfish breading and fried them, too. With coleslaw, fresh tomatoes, baked beans and good company, we had a perfect summer evening by Lake-T'Okhata (T-o-kata).

Larry invited me to go brim fishing. My handmade pole burned in JB's fire, but she said she has plenty; I can hardly wait.

2009 Red Convertible Travel Series

First Methodist step test

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

2009 Red Convertible Travel Series

JACOB’S LADDER

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

2009 Red Convertible Travel Series

Laundromat Dating

The sign in the laundromat says:

NO LOITERING

DRINKS AND SNACKS

I add: GO, MINGLE

HIPS AND THIGHS WANT YOU

2009 Red Convertible Travel Series

Sweats Suits to Sweat

With single pane windows, our motorhome is designed for temperate weather. Not long ago it was so cold we wore sweats to bed. Now we just sweat. Fortunately the front air conditioner problem was as simple as removing the mud dobber nests.

Here in the Deep South of Mississippi, the weather rivals an Indian sweat lodge. If it takes three days for our body to adjust to a temperature change, my body didn't get the message.

At the downtown Farmers Market in Louisville, I bought a freak of nature cucumber horseshoe shaped, yellow squash, zucchini, small onions and a ball of eggplant best described as a purple baseball. I sautéed the veggies with garlic and portabellas in EVOO and ate the cucumber in a sandwich. Cucumber chills to the bone; I need all the help I can get.

At market a luscious caramel loaf cake was as large and long as three meatloaves; it could feed the Presbyterians and Methodists. Deep pound cakes were butter pecan with pecans, caramel and one with a pound of butter, the original pound of everything cake. No samples offered.

With the humidity at max, I’ve come to the conclusion fried foods are all that is crisp in the South. Handpie Ginny has Gin’s Market outside of Fayetteville, TN on the way to Lynchburg. She cooks down fresh peaches and apples and makes her own crusts for frying. Stop by when you’re in the neighborhood. When we worked late in Fayetteville, Ginny brought us supper of shrimp etouffe. Scrumptious. Born and raised in Louisiana, she told about her whole family getting up in the night to go to the draining rice fields to collect bushels of crawfish/mudbugs. I’ve grown to like them boiled and have had the tails baked into focaccia bread. The only time I saw crawfish tails in Nebraska was during Lent and they were shelled out.

Since I started this story, the weather turned deliciously cool. Just say something about Mother Nature and she changes: sweat jackets are in order in the evenings.

2009 Red Convertible Travel Series

BUT IT LOOKED LIKE A SALT GRINDER

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

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

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

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

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

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

2009 Red Convertible Travel Series

NO CABLE IN THE PASTURE!

Last week we moved our covered wagon/motorhome three hundred miles from TN to Uncle Ben's in MS. It took two days with the heat index at 110 and JB without AC.

Grateful for shade, we parked in Uncle Ben's pasture where the 4th of July picnic takes place. The area will be cleaned off and wet down. Grills, tables and chairs will be brought in for the near 100 guests.

While we setup, Ben searched for eggs. Imagine this: he's 6'4", weighs 285 lbs., was shirtless, in khaki shorts, docker shoes, no socks and carrying pullet eggs in a flowerpot with a short rope handle. All he needed was a floppy hat.

With the help of great-granddaughter, Abbe, late afternoon we began clearing the pasture. Five, six pick up sticks, seven, eight lay them straight we did in the two-wheeled trailer attached to the Rhino. In low gear we poked across the pasture to unload on the burn pile.

At daylight we heard pounding on our door, looked out the window and didn't see anyone. The pounding continued. Must be Uncle Ben. JB got up, went to the door and found Ben's Barbados ram most unhappy we were in his pasture. A few claps and a "Git!" sent he and his five ewes on their way.

Ben has an variety of large and small roosters that out number the small hens by seven to one. Those girls are constantly running away. It's a wonder they have time to lay eggs.

Our cats love being out doors. The roosters must have held a meeting and a small one drew the short straw. Apparently he was elected to let us know they also did not approve of our intrusion. I caught him cussing the cat.

The Rhino fascinates me. I call it "the imagination maker." Like I need any help. I decided to take it on safari, look for elephants. In first gear I ambled around the pair of long-necked geese, past three ducks, three noisy guinea hens and a lone tom-turkey. His mate passed on last year.

In the open pasture I found the carcass of the nanny goat. Coyotes got her baby last week. Around the burn pile to the far edge of dense trees, I searched for wild life. No elephants either. Between trees I spotted a clearing wide enough for my Rhino. Must investigate. LBJ used to say I was too curious. "You'll be sorry someday." Cresting the hill I froze then slammed on the brake before going headfirst into the pond with the Rhino. Ben wouldn't be amused. LBJ would say, "I told you so." Out of gear it eased to a stop. My heart pounding, and no room to turn around, I eased backward until I could turn into the woods. Now I know why it's called a Rhino. It went over branches and stumps, through tall grass and brought me home safely. I'm giving my imagination a rest. If you believe that...

At daylight this morning we heard racket on the kids jungle jim by our house. The ram was playing with the rubber tire suspended on three chains. He butted it around for half an hour. Guess he's just a "kid" at heart.

We don't need cable in our pasture home, we have plenty of entertainment.

2009 Red Convertible Travel Series

BUNNY BUSINESS

On East Prospect, in Fayetteville, TN, I stopped at a home with a "Bunnies for sale" sign in the yard. I haven't held a baby bunny since I was a small child. Dad found one on the farm and brought it to the house. Soft and fragile, covered with down, breathing tiny breaths, its heart beat fast. We were concerned its mother wouldn't care for it once we'd touched it. He took it back to its nest with our childish blessings.

Jenny answered the door with a smile. I inquired about the bunnies. She was happy to give me a tour. Hutches of four cages on each side shaded adults and babies. I didn't know that mothers pull their hair out to make bedding for their babies. We pull ours out later. Rabbit hair looks and feels like wool. Newborns are hairless and pink, rat-like, with closed eyes. Several females had litters of nine.

They breed a variety of bunnies with ears that stand up, as if starched, and those that droop or lop: mini-lops, Dutch-blue, (grey to black and white markings), mini-rex, standard-rex (white with brown spots), Holland-lop, (small, golden brown with a bull-dog face), black mini (The sun bleached its black to hints of dark red.) My favorite was the Rex. It felt like velvet, the Velveteen Rabbit.

If you are in the market for a cuddly pet, call Keith and Jenny, 931-993-7898. You won't be disappointed.

2009 Red Convertible Travel Series

From the Deep South to the Midwest and back

I returned to the soggy South yesterday after a 2,000 mile journey to the Midwest and back. Wahoo lawns were dry as late July. If it had rained as much as in TN, I would have filled a four yard dumpster with landscaping weeds. Sprinklers are great, but not the same as Mother Nature's magic. Grass seed responded; it sprouted.

Alabama peaches rode north and rhubarb south. I will chop and cook it down sweetened with the organic cane sugar Sucanat.

Ryker and Aja came for welcome hugs. He said, "Work is so much fun, what can we do?" They cut the suckers off the crabapple stump and were paid in fresh pineapple.

We celebrated Aja's 6th birthday by making chocolate chip, oatmeal cookies and drinking lukewarm green tea from French demitasse cups. She called her mother and asked, "Would you care to join us?" Of course my camera battery was dead. Our afternoon is burned into my heart.

Seven-year-old Eli came to the door and asked, "Can you come play "Monkey in the Middle" with Aunt Shelly and me? How often do you get an invitation like that? I went out and threw the ball over the one in the middle. Close to noon Eli asked if I'd like to go to Burger King with them. Sure.

Sarah, 6, came and asked if she could wash dishes. Glad to have her. Payment was a banana. Such comings and goings. I love that the kids want to come.

Jani got a purple cast on her left arm, and she isn't old enough to wear purple. I suspect it is well decorated by now.

My high school class had a meeting to discuss next year's reunion. We expected three or four. Twelve showed up. We are kinder than in high school. Life has knocked us all around a plenty.

It is strengthening and comforting being on home plate. I talked with everyone I needed to, saw old friends and was properly hugged up. Many pleasant memories were made and others maintained. I'll be back in August. Don't know why yet, but I know I have to come back. Time will tell.

On my 885 miles in one day return trip, I noticed cars abandoned by the side of the road. Know how to tell? No license plate. Poor lonely, lost, forgotten, or stolen cars wait, wait for someone to see some worth in them and haul them off to rest among more of the same. Maybe a radiator or tire will be a transplant. Nature wastes nothing. An empty vehicle is open season for rodents, snakes, homeless people and animals.

Passing at 70 mph I caught a glimpse of a maroon Chevy with it's right front tire missing. A lanky jack held up the right axle like a long-legged, boney dog. Did you know a gray hound isn't necessarily a greyhound.

My car's air-conditioner faded out. The fan cooled the air a couple of degrees reminding me of my empty bottle of Nantucket Rain perfume.

Large perfectly round bales lay scattered in a hayfield. Some stood on end, bow and arrow target practice style. Others lay flat. I see a checkerboard in the making. It would take a forklift to make a king.

Tennessee, Kentucky and Missouri grow rocks, trees and water. Water has to come from somewhere, why not grow it?

Fifteen hours of driving brought me to Fayetteville in time to have Chinese food with JB. Back to the point of my other life in Tennessee.

2009 Red Convertible Travel Series

Is it a who or a what dragging the chain?

Roads are narrow here in TN and without shoulders. I parked my car at a vacant house to walk a half dozen homes hoping to find people I could help save money on their cable, internet or phone. Rare sunshine warmed my shoulders. I had had a fresh tomato sandwich for lunch and felt right as rain, except I shouldn't say anything about rain here, it's rained almost every day of May.

As I approached the second house I heard the clanking of a chain. Cause for pause. I turned to my left and froze. A large, grey short-haired dog was loping toward me I knew I couldn't outrun. Clutching my yellow work box to my front, I stood still and prayed. It kept coming dragging 7' of links as big around as my finger and two to three inches long. Time seemed slow motion. I shot a glance at the house to see if it had pulled bricks out. No.

Years ago a Rhodesian Razorback raced toward me showing all its teeth. The lady of the house stepped out just in time and shouted, "Don't go, I want cable."
I shouted, "Call your dog off!"
She did. The dog wilted.

Chain-link dog kept coming without showing teeth. Oh, dear. Its jaw looked smaller than a pit bull. At my feet it stopped and bounced around wanting to play. It's head as high as my hip, I relaxed a smidge and remembered to breathe. Talking softly I told it what a good dog it was as I walked backwards to my car. It was determined to go home with me. I slowly drove away so as not to get tangled in its chain. A quarter mile up the road I looked back and saw it still clanking down the center line after me. I hope and pray it gets the care it needs.

2009 Red Convertible Travel Series

MEMORIAL DAY 2009

...remembering the brave who have kept us free, and do keep us free . . . to camp in the rain or not; to worship or not; to speak our mind, and do as we please. Life without suppression, the ultimate.
Thank you.

2009 Red Convertible Travel Series

Porch Posts & Penny Pillars

Life in the South.....

We moved to Huntsville, Alabama in April, the best time of year to read "Gone With the Wind." Nebraska's High Plains have few trees. Alabama's forests shelter and shade. White porch pillars stand out quietly shouting, "You're in the South!" Some homes have solid wood porch posts, capable, unadorned, doing their job holding up the red tin roofed porch. Other porch posts were turned and shaped proudly proving they can do their job and look beautiful. In the pillar category, new-built miniature pillars, penny-pillars I call them, are slim shadows of the regal, magestsic, statement of wealth, grand masters large enough to hide valuables and children.

A month ago we moved north across the border to Fayetteville, TN. Bumps on the horizon are distant mountains. According to the usgov site, "The wispy, smoke-like fog that hangs over the Smoky Mountains comes from rain and evaporation from trees. On the high peaks of the Smokies, an average of 85 inches of rain falls each year, qualifying these upper elevation areas as temperate rain forests." We could qualify for rainforest status. It rains so often we light a bic to light a match to light the stove.

LBJ's first visit to the East left him unimpressed with the Great Smokys. "I've leveled bigger hills with my tractor (Ford)." I see them as squaw's teeth worn down from gnawing buffalo hide to soften it. The Rockies are the incisors and the Tetons, fangs.

Nights are cooler at 647' above sea level. Our neighboring roadside stand has first Georgia peaches and peaches and cream sweet corn. JB likes his cut off the cob, cooked in the skillet with a little butter and finished with cream. Who wouldn't? Heaven!!! Fresh strawberries, yellow squash, small zucchini, peppers, okra, baby red potatoes, green beans, vidalia onions, cucumbers, round watermelon, cantaloupe, jams, honey and more keep us pleasantly and healthily supplied in the world of porch posts and penny pillars.

2009 Red Convertible Travel Series

MOTHER'S DAY 2009

. . . a day set aside to celebrate the one who birthed us and all who nurture us.

My mother: My right thumb has a small rise on the knuckle exactly like hers. I see her rolling balls of yeast dough in her hands making buns; creating the divinity I've never been able to duplicate; serving grasshopper pie after a large meal; playing the "The 12th Street Rag" on the piano; hands folded in her lap when we needed to tell her something; creating my tap dancing dress from yards of lavender gingham; canning green beans; putting Denver mud on my chest. In my mind she is always there, alive, well, helpful and beautiful. Love knows no bounds. It connects hearts forever.

Grandmother Mae: My namesake, her cut finger wrapped in a white cloth. Work didn't stop, she maneuvered around it making apple dumplings and fixing chicken and dumplings for Grandpa and I when I was in high school. Quilting is her testimony to salvaging the beauty of the worn and frayed.

Aunt Bobbe: My cheerleader who laughed at my jokes. She'd "do" my nails and take it off before I went home. Not acceptable for little girls, according to Dad. I missed her the most. She passed before I understood we shed our body to live in changed form; she's still my cheerleader.

My sister, Janis: Slim fingers with polished nails. I see her as a child holding a baby chick to her ear to hear it peep. Her home is large enough for all of us for dinner. It thrills her to cook for Thanksgiving, as if feeding an army, and she gets excited making travel plans. No matter what she's into, her hands stay soft and smooth.

Corrie: My favorite second child. "Mom," she'd say exasperated, "you can't have more than one second child." That's why she's my favorite. Her hands have slim, smooth piano fingers that make great music and fluffy crochet. I see her lovingly cupping their dog, Maggie's, face.

Krysia: Her hands were small with wider knuckles like mine and Mother's. She used her index fingers to type, made quiche and remodeled. Her hands stayed smooth. What bothered her most about my caring for her was what it did to my hands: frequent washing made them rough, crack and bleed.

Carol, more than a daughter-in-law, a friend: Large hands, large heart, good cook. She takes her time, makes a mean shrimp dip, perfectly fried fish, creamed asparagus, rhubarb crisp. Always kind, she is a there when needed.

To all who nurture here and from beyond, thank you, thank you for uplifting life. God Bless and Happy Mother's Day.

2009 Red Convertible Travel Series

Myrtle's Mom

msn photo

Friends who raised sheep called and asked if we wanted to raise a spring lamb? Excited, sister and I pleaded, "Mom, Dad, can we?" Living in the country, we had lots of room, and we'd never raised sheep. It would be an adventure. They nodded in agreement.

A few days later our friend arrived with a long-legged bundle of curly white wool in his arms. We frowned at how little she was and asked why she was taken from her mother. He said, "She wasn't taken, her mother wouldn't feed her. She was rejected."
Our jaws dropped. What? We thought all mother's were like ours. It was unimaginable a mother, any mother, could/would turn her back on her own.

Dad fixed a place in the cellar with a heat lamp. We traipsed down first thing in the morning to bottle feed her and after school. Mother fed her during the day. The heat brought out the ticks in her wool. One moved over to my sister's head. Mother found it when washing her hair, removed it and placed it in a pint jar where it lived more than 30 days off sister's blood. Yuk! And it wasn't even Halloween.

When the weather warmed, Myrtle graduated from the cellar to the yard bouncing around stiff-legged, as if on springs. She liked to be chased. When we caught her we rolled around on the grass. Squeezing our fingers in her wool put lanolin on our hands. Mother appreciated it the most. Under her fertilization our lawn improved, and she became our watchdog. Guests at our gate didn't try to enter when she bobbed her head in butt mode.

Being an active 4-H family, Myrtle became my project for the county fair. Hours were spent training her to walk with my left hand under her chin and my right on her rump. Many leaps were attempted before she learned to cooperate and stand still with her feet evenly spaced.

In August I bathed and curry combed her until she was fluffy. We gathered our sewing and baking projects and Myrtle and went to the fair. I walked into the ring holding her under the chin and on the rump and stopped in presentation. She stayed calm. I knelt on one knee. The judge felt her hind quarters and fingered her wool. We waited. Low and behold we earned a blue ribbon for showmanship. I still have it.

Fair animals were sold at the close of the fair, unless they were champions and going on to higher competition. Not Myrtle, she lived with us several years. Wherever we went she was right behind us.

The smell of wet wool reminds us of our friend and pet. I've not eaten lamb or mutton since. Spring lamb means a bouncing, playful bundle of wool in our yard, not on my plate. And mint jelly is fine on toast.

2009 Red Convertible Travel Series

Post St. Patrick's Day Cabbage Math

After weeks of cold, rainy, gloomy weather reminiscent of Ireland, 3/17 was a sunny blessing. For me, no sun equals no sense of direction. JB points and says, "That's north." Nuh-huh, that's east. Nebraska's roads are generally square miles. Mississippi roads follow old Indian trails, creeks, and around stumps.

On the 17th, friends of JB's stopped by for a chat. Lawn chairs were pulled out and placed in the shade at the nose of the motorhome. They reminisced hunting and drag racing, while I pondered how to feed them with a single head of cabbage .

Hunger interrupted their tales; God knows they will never run out. Hilton said he had some fresh slab (2 lb.) crappie, hushpuppies and potatoes. Cecil had a fry daddy. Derek said coleslaw would taste good. I volunteered our cabbage. He offered tomatoes, onions and mayo. JB setup the table.

Cabbage + fish + friends = a tasty feast with leftovers.

©2009 Red Convertible Travel Series

Easter 2009 AD

Mother Mary relieved
He's alive
overcame death
the world changed
forever
He did it
for us

Thank you.

2009 Red Convertible Travel Series

Fresh Fish and a Tea Cozy

I love hot Earl Grey with fresh homemade Irish soda bread Southwestern style. Walnuts and japlaenos added. The recipe is from "Jump Up and Kiss Me" spicy Vegetarian Cooking by Jennifer Trainer Thompson. From her I learned to add cayenne and cinnamon to my chocolate Texas sheetcake.

Hand washing my tea cozy I remembered a faraway friend. My pale blue and white striped cozy was handmade for my navy teapot with a hole for the handle and one for the spout. A white and a pale blue puff ball are attached to the top. Crocheted or knitted? I can't tell. I started knitting a blanket before Krysia was born and finished it three years later when I brought Corrie home from the hospital. I knit too tight. Corrie's nimble piano fingers make her knitting look like marshamllows, gorgeous.

While in London I purused Harrod's, if we haven't got it, you probably don't need it department store. Yes, they have a dress code. A shopper in torn geans and flip flops might be turned away, even though Harrod's might sell the items at the store. People dress up to shop.

I had worked my way through the thousand thread count bed linens to the foods. At the seafood department I was stunned to see a fresh fish display of arranged rows of hand-sized fish in a sunburst pattern on an upright 5'x5' panel with cold water tumbling over all. Overhead lights made tiny rainbows. Admirers of all ages paused, nodded to each other and shook their heads in amazement. The display is changed weekly.

The best part of travel is meeting people. Mae was from Dublin, Ireland, the place of brightly painted doors. She had come to London to shop. We metat the fish display. A world traveler, she had been to the States four times, to the European continent eleven, Russia four, Australia six, to five African nations, and two South American countries to name a few. Her favorite place? Home. We exchanged addresses.

Months later a package arrived from Ireland. Mae made and sent a tea cozy. Every time I use it, I think of her. Here's to you Mae, my far away yet close in heart friend. May we meet again, on this side or the next.

2009 Red Convertible Travel Series

Signs of Spring

in our corner of the world. Flushing out the season, Krysia grew narcissus bulbs in a bowl of rocks. Garden books replaced winter books of polar bears and snowy Alps. The summer picture of her and Schatzie is a constant.

Hardy red, yellow and white tulips come up in our landscaping. A high school science project inspired me to cross-pollinate my grandmother's tulips. Pollen from a red tulip was tapped onto a knife and sprinkled into the center of white tulips. The next spring they boasted red stripes. It took three seasons for the red to fade out. White remained white and red remained red.

Krysia liked tea and scones for her birthday. Tomorrow I will enjoy them in my mind remembering her.

2009 Red Convertible Travel Series

PALM SUNDAY 2009

Holy Week begins
Mother Mary's ordeal
even if she knew
the plan
of what
was to become
of Him/Her son
it still hurt

2009 Red Convertible Travel Series

Zimbabwe, Africa

photo by Leroy & Alice Patocka-Fortner

I have not been to this area of Africa, Alice and Leroy have.

At the base of this monstrous Zimbabwe, African Baobob, we strain to see our friends, Leroy and Alice. He has been a big game hunter all his life. Alice and I went to high school together. A country kid, she didn't expect to travel the world. Together they have been to the Dark Continent numerous times and driven to Alaska.

Baobob or Boabob? I found it spelled both ways. Africans call it "the upside-down tree" and "the monkey bread tree." One folklore tale says the tree was planted upside down accidentally by a hyena.

Football-sized seed pods house seeds Leroy says taste like cream of tartar. Acording to The Illustrated Guide to EDIBLE WILD PLANTS Dept. of the Army, a mix of pulp and water cures diarrhea; cut into strips and pounded, pulp is made into rope; young leaves are a soup vegetable; for a refreshing drink, a handful of pulp is added to a cup of water; seeds are roasted and ground to make flour. The hollow trunk is a source of fresh water. Its circumfrence changes as water is absorbed and released.

Without bark and rings, the tree's age is determined by carbon dating. This one could be 2,000 years old or older, in spite of elephant and smaller animal damage. At about 1,000 years, the trees start to hollow out. The most famous Baobob, 3rd largest in the world, is located in Limpopo, South Africa. Limpopo shares borders with Botswana, Zimbabwe and Mozambique. An average of 10,000 visitors a year visit the carved-out pub and wine cellar of Doug & Heather van Heerden.

In her long-legged life, Alice never dreamed she'd visit Africa and sleep in a thatched roof lodge under a mosquito net and be glad for it. She and Leroy took anti-malaria medicine two weeks before leaving the states, the duration, and two weeks back home. It worked. No sweats to flash freezing.

Meals were prepared according to old English ways and without electricity or refrigeration. White bread was baked daily in wood burning ovens. Alice said, "The wild kudu stew was delicious with locally grown organic potatoes, carrots and onions. It reminded us of our beef stew. The kudu are antelope-like with tall corkscrew horns. Custard or pudding was dessert. The local sudda brew tasted bitter."

Expecting to see John Deere tractors, they were surprised to see natives with oxen work the land around abandoned farm equipment. Included in the rusty graveyard are Nebraska irrigation systems. When the government expelled white landowners, they had three days to leave. Anything related to the farming operation could not be removed. They left with the clothes on their back and some personal items. Natives used the equipment until it ran out of gas or the batteries died. Where it stopped, it stayed. The modern was replaced by people and oxen. Square one, back to methods as old as the Baobab tree.

2009 Red Convertible Travel Series

Ladybug Bushouse

In our absence ladybugs moved in to stay, play and propagate in our rarely visited Mississippi motorhome. They don't leave an odor; they are just everywhere and inside things, as if they studied building ships in bottles. I'd sweep up a few and more would drop. They're stuck to the ceiling, in drawers, on everything, and between screens I can't vacuum. We think they're responsible for the clogging the sink.

I found three vacuums to cleanup the deceased. The handheld dirt devil inhaled and exhaled through the cloth bag rearranging the dust. No collecting bag inside. One upright electric broom wasn't worth a push, the other sounds pneumatic, asthmatic. There isn't one good suck between them. In my trunk is the mother of all suckers, my Kirby, and I can't get to it. It has rained nonstop since Wed.

We adjust. Madchen and Schatze have new scenery and spaces to explore. They lie on the foot of the bed watching the space heater turn red and fade out. JB reads "Ripley's Believe It Or Not." I'm into a mystery. We are soothed by the rain on the roof and nap. No TV. Simple snack meals of sliced veggies, apples and leftover KFC. A pair of beagle coon dogs whoop mournfully. Peaceful. This is country.

I suspect 99.9% of the ladybugs are deceased. The few remaining tickle my neck walking the rim of my collar, light on the cat's noses, and crawl up JB's fingers encouraging us to be light hearted.

If ladybugs are good luck, we ought to have bushels.

2009 Red Convertible Travel Series

Was it the luck of the ...

...Irish, draw, rabbits foot, salt over the shoulder, Friday the 13th, prayed up or spared?

Friday the 13th of February, JB got the call no parent wants,"Your daughter has been in a car accident and won't make it through the night."

Pray first, put pants on second. We left at midnight to drive the 800+ miles on Valentine's Day. No time for romance and cards, it was crackers and peanut butter and smoked oysters that left a smelly, greasy stain on the passenger's plastic floor mat. Daylight revealed the oil had spread to the shape of a heart.

Hour by hour the details unfolded. Brandi was riding with a girlfriend on the narrow, twisted roads of Mississippi. The white line is about 2" from the edge and the shoulders aren't graveled. The driver went off the road and over corrected causing the car to flip end over end. Brandi was pinned beneath in the mud.

A nearby homeowner heard the crash, slipped into her shoes and ran to the scene dialing 911. Brandi's face was in the windshield on the outside of the car. The frame of the door rested on her neck. She wasn't breathing, believed dead. The engine was smoking. The woman helped the driver out and away.

Chuck, a Deputy Sheriff, happened upon the scene and organized volunteers to lift the car off Brandi. She took two deep breaths. An ambulance rushed both girls to the hospital. Doctors told the family Brandi would not make it. The driver had a broken wrist and torn ligaments at her knee.

Brandi's vitals stabilized. Too foggy for a helicopter, an ambulance transferred her to Elvis Presley Trauma Center in Memphis, TN where people go to die. Non-responsive, doctors again said she would not make it.

We arrived at the hospital at 2 pm. Little John warned us about the size of her head: basketball or watermelon. But she was awake and asking the same question over and over. More tests. At Elvis's wall outside ICU, the line of concerned family and friends grew longer.

Sunday she announced she was hungry. Later in the day she started walking. Monday pm she was dismissed from ICU to go home. Not one miracle, many. Praise theLord! Is luck Divine intervention?

2009 Red Convertible Travel Series

How does love find us?

Our maternal grandparents were unacquainted in Illinois. As young children their families packed up their covered wagons and headed west in the late 1800's. Grandpa's family homesteaded in southeast Nebraska, Grandma's in northeast Kansas.

Settled on the prairie, Mae took piano lessons at home from a traveling pianist. All was well until he made unwanted advances. She and her girlfriend switched two of his buggy wheels making the buggy lopsided. He left and never came back. At sixteen Mae took the teaching test and was certified as a teacher. Several of her students were older than she, typical of a farming community and the times.

LeRoy learned to play the fiddle and harmonica for himself and dances. In 1910 he joined a wheat threshers crew to work from Nebraska into northern Kansas, about 100 miles. One of the crew's favorite meals was roasted prairie chicken. Of course, they had to catch and kill it, coat it with thick mud, dig a fire pit and roast it.

Near Linn, Kansas they set up their machinery for the Simons. Mae, her mother and two other women cooked for the crew four times a day for two days. Resting in the shade of the thresher, LeRoy stopped mid-bite on his thick slices of fresh bread slathered with sweet cream butter and quince jam when a young woman crossed the farmyard carrying a pail for water. He had to meet her.

Mae was cutting cake when she noticed a man ride through the yard toward the watering tank. That was odd. The thresher was the opposite direction. He took off his hat and wiped his brow. Dark wavy hair flowed over his collar, a young man.

Music drifted up to the house at dusk. Mae peaked out through a curtain. Some thresher was playing Turkey in the Straw on a harmonica. A pleasant distraction, soothing after a long hot day. Dancing music. Toe tapping at the least. She sighed. If only. Her father was concerned no one had asked her to wed. 'Ought to be married by now,' her brothers said. Not even a promise. Two locals were interested, but she wasn't.

When the threshers finished and were packing up to move to the next farm, a man came to the house and tipped his hat. "Thank you ladies for your hospitality. We'll be going now."
Mother was surprised and pleased, a man with manners. "Do come in. Mae, come fix a sack for, what's your name?"
"LeRoy, Ma'am."
Mae saw him and gasped. The dark-haired yard rider had twinkly, dark eyes. Handsome. He nodded, "Afternoon Miss." It was all she could do to shut her mouth and nod. Heart pounding she gathered two loaves of fresh bread. If he could just look into her eyes, he could see if she was interested. She handed him the bread, looked up quickly and blushed. He could see her heart pounding through her high-necked blue dress. So was his. "I'd best be going. Much obliged, Miss." Breathless, she followed him to the porch. He mounted his roan, looked softly at her and said, "I'll be back." A half-smile crossed his face.

Stunned, she watched him out of sight, her heart filling with hope. Doubt crept in. He doesn't know I'm too old. It would never work. He lives in Nebraska, but if he comes back, it's meant to be. I'll keep busy with school. Her fourth year.

January of 1911 Mae was in the kitchen, as usual, when her father answered the door. A man asked for her. She frowned, wiped her hands on her apron and went to the parlor. It was him, LeRoy. She could have fainted, but Simons' women didn't. Her father saw her blush and excused himself.

When they were alone, LeRoy's eyes pierced hers. "I said I'd be back." She blushed and nodded unable to speak. A knot the size of a loaf of bread sat in her stomach. Flustered, she asked, "Would you like some feefee and tea take?"
He laughed. "I don't know about the feefee, but I'd drink some buttermilk and taste your tea take." She shut her eyes in embarrassment and tried to stifled a laugh.

Two days later they were married in her parlor. He took her back to his home in Nebraska where they loved, laughed and supported each other 58 years. This year would have been their 98th anniversary.

How does love find us? Love finds a way.

2009 Red Convertible Travel Series

Energy Follows Attention

I was caught up in the blahs of winter's long nights and gloomy days, snow and ice, grief and uncertainty. Follow along and I'll tell you why I put them in past tense.

Sorting files I came across "The Golden Key," a five-page booklet by Emmet Fox (1886-1951), New Thought leader and writer. It is available at http://www.unityworldhq.org/. I made a cup of mint and green leaf tea and sat down to read. My poem inspires sharing what I learned.

The wisdom given

at the lofty peak

included the instructions,

'It's not yours to keep.'

Emmet Fox said, "Stop thinking about the difficulty, whatever it is, and think about God instead."

Practice The Attitude of Gratitude.

Mother Theresa said she would not demonstrate against war, but she would march for peace. She understood energy follows attention.

I was reminded, yet again, to get out of my own way. Putting attention only on God allows Him to go to work resolving my problems. At bedtime I surrendered my boat load of troubles and fell asleep praising Him..

I awoke this morning at peace.

Whether you believe in a Higher Power or not, it works. Go ahead test it, and let us know what happens.

2009 Red Convertible Travel Series

Dreamers

George Washington had dreams of opportunity for our new nation. I suspect Betsy Ross stitched our first flag with dreams and prayers for our country's women and children: nurture, don't destroy.

Martin Luther King Jr.had a dream of equality. January 20th Barack Obama will be installed as our first African-American President. Dr. King would be proud. President Obama's "can do" spirit
inspires. He is forthright and honest. God bless and protect him, his family, his administration, our country.

I dream of world-wide good health and abundance ; inexpensive, renewable energy; Earth healed; all people living in peace.

What we think, feel and speak we bring into existence--positive and negative. Peace cannot be dictated, it is personal. When we take responsibility for our thoughts and feelings, purge the negatives and reprogram with positives, the puzzle pieces of peace fall into place.

What positives do you want to bring into existence in your life and world?

The last word in all of this is.......love.

2009 Red Convertible Travel Series

January on the Farm

msn photo

Wrapped in my rose, flannel-covered duvet, I remember childhood winters on the farm. Night captured the sun and its sundog shadow signaling Nature to slide open the deep freeze door. Bitter cold waltzed out to test animals and people.

Evening's fist of coal warmed the resting cook stove. Overnight both cooled down causing freezing of the teakettle on the stove and the faucet across the room. Outside, wheat straw bales lined the north side of the house providing minimal insulation. Inside walls felt icy. Pale blue and white striped wallpaper over layers of newspaper, over lathe, didn't stop a blizzard, it strained it. The house begged for warmth. Dad's laundered long johns leaned against the dining room wall frozen stiff, ghost-like.

Standing close to the stove, Jani and I shucked out of school clothes into warmed, red flannel pj's. Socks stayed on. Clinging to the warmth, we scurried up the steps. The sheets warmed just to the shape of our spooning bodies.

The wind argued furiously with the plastic on the windows. The house shuddered. Subzero nights moved Dad to light the oil stove in our room. It took the sting off our second floor. Yuk! Stinky, oily-smelling. flames leaped behind the glass showing off their "hot stuff." If they got out, everything could be destroyed, including Myrtle, our pet lamb in the cellar. Terrified, I couldn't sleep; I had to keep watch.

Morning was announced by squeaks and clatters. Mom was in the kitchen lifting the lid on the cook stove; wood thunked in feeding its hungry appetite. We rushed to use the icy-rimmed chamber pot. Quick as cats we dashed down the steps sideways. Huddling near the cook stove's 'safe' fire we changed into school clothes. The phone rang, "No school today." Yeah!

Dad said he would take care of the livestock. No chores and no homework equaled a free day. Icicles hung from cattle's coats and steamy breaths. The axe made a hollow sound with each chop toward moving water. Chips flew. Cattle flinched. Dad's hands grew numb and stiff. His nose dripped. He cussed the weather.

Mother fixed cream of wheat with raisins and slathered scratchy slices of oven-toasted homemade bread with fresh butter and last summer's peach jam. The view from our kitchen table was eye-popping. Even the wind paused. Between our house and windbreak Nature had delivered feet of snow. Winter's diamonds sparkled in the sunlight.

Jani and I bundled in our Christmas boots, navy-blue coats, hats and gloves to make "first tracks" pioneer-like. Stomping and squealing we played fox and geese and threw snowballs at each other and the wash house. Dad went rabbit hunting while we built a lopsided snowman Mom could see from the kitchen window. Our gloves soggy and our faces rosy ,we fell backwards making snow angels.

Mom called out, "Come get this bowl and fill it with snow." We did. Warming by the fire we watched her stir in sweet cream from the cellar, a small amount of sugar and vanilla. Smiling, she spooned it into bowls and handed us each one. We hesitated. "Try it," she insisted taking a spoonful, "It's snowcream." Rich and creamy mini-crystals tickled my tongue. Delicious. She put a dish aside for dad. We three giggled and ate the rest. Snowcream, a yesterday pleasure.

2009 Red Convertible Travel Series