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