During WWII, a pregnant German couple ran for their lives to escape the Nazi's. They made it to London where their daughter was born. She lives to tell their story.
When the air raid sirens would go off, they went to underground shelters. Her mother remembered people milling around smoking. In the midst of war's chaos, Margaret Mitchell's Gone with the Wind was playing. The young mother scraped together the money for the ticket. She was grateful for the diversion, even if it was another war story in another time and place. Like the rest of us, she lost herself in Deep Southern tradition, grit and glamour. Who can forget Rhett Butler's, "Frankly my dear, I don't give a damn!" Or Scarlett O'hara's green velvet dress made from the plantation drapes. Or Prissy declaring "I don't know nothin 'bout birthin' no babies."
When the air raid sirens went off, the manager stopped the movie and announced patrons could go to the shelter if they wanted, but he was going to continue showing the movie. The young mother said the ticket was so expensive she wasn't going anywhere. The movie rolled to its finish.
2012 Red Convertible Travel Series
Tuesday, August 21, 2012
Jimmy & Jammie's Red Solo Cup Toast
The bride's mother created this stunning cake white cake with almond flavored frosting. The flowers were fresh. The groom's cake was chocolate covered strawberry cake.
The weather was perfect. The home's backyard was perfect, and the bride and groom were perfectly happy. As for the rest of us: A good time was had by all.
2012 Red Convertible Travel Series
Le Monte Ste Michel
Without the causeway, access was limited. See my story posted 8/2/12.
2012 Red Convertible Travel Series
Friday, August 10, 2012
Shack Up Inn, Clarksdale, MS
The August 8th Clarksdale Press Register featured an article about our hometown. TripAdvisor, Newton, Mass, the world's largest travel site, stated their editor's top ten quirkiest U.S. properties. #5 is Shack Up Inn, Clarksdale, MS.
Come spend your time and money with us, people from around the world do. Nightly rates average $65. Shack Up Inn boasts, "The Ritz we ain't." The shacks provide "a laid-back and rustic setting. Each shack offers a touch of comfort while maintaining the authenticity of the former Hopson Plantation, located near (in) the Missippi Delta - and travelers can soak up the site's history as they walk among sharecropper shacks, the original cotton gin and seed houses located on the property. 'The rooms may not have a high-def TV, but they do have vintage musical instruments and more character than I could accumulate in a lifetime,' said one TripAdvisor traveler."
Back in the day, the shacks were also called shotgun houses: From the front door to the back there were no walls, rooms were to the side. The day laborers who "lived" there did not have running water or a bathroom. After all day in the cotton fields in sweltering heat and high humidity, A/C would have been nice, but it wasn't an option, either.
In the late 40's, the first-ever mechanical cotton picker was brought to Hopson Plantation. There was a lot of head-scratching and number crunching. It was a noisy contraption, but . . . if it worked . . . , it could replace the costs of human labor. It did and it did. Today, you can see, touch and have your picture taken by that first cotton picker setting out by the gin at Hopson's.
2012 Red Convertible Travel Series
Come spend your time and money with us, people from around the world do. Nightly rates average $65. Shack Up Inn boasts, "The Ritz we ain't." The shacks provide "a laid-back and rustic setting. Each shack offers a touch of comfort while maintaining the authenticity of the former Hopson Plantation, located near (in) the Missippi Delta - and travelers can soak up the site's history as they walk among sharecropper shacks, the original cotton gin and seed houses located on the property. 'The rooms may not have a high-def TV, but they do have vintage musical instruments and more character than I could accumulate in a lifetime,' said one TripAdvisor traveler."
Back in the day, the shacks were also called shotgun houses: From the front door to the back there were no walls, rooms were to the side. The day laborers who "lived" there did not have running water or a bathroom. After all day in the cotton fields in sweltering heat and high humidity, A/C would have been nice, but it wasn't an option, either.
In the late 40's, the first-ever mechanical cotton picker was brought to Hopson Plantation. There was a lot of head-scratching and number crunching. It was a noisy contraption, but . . . if it worked . . . , it could replace the costs of human labor. It did and it did. Today, you can see, touch and have your picture taken by that first cotton picker setting out by the gin at Hopson's.
2012 Red Convertible Travel Series
Thursday, August 09, 2012
WWII Vet, Jim, and Absolut
Absolut sponsored an invitation only Pool Party at Fitzgerald's in Tunica. Working our way through their scrumptous buffet of salads, roasted veggies and sweets, we visited with our table mate, Jim. When we commented on his cap with WWII on it and a row of ribbons, he lit up. "August 5th is the 77th anniversary of my enlistment in the Army in 1935."
I said, "You lied about your age."
His grin foretold the answer, "I was 16. Arrived at Normandy thirty days after it was taken and did five campaigns under General Patton. After my discharge from the Army, I joined the Air Force."
My sister and I have walked Normandy Beach and stood at Patton's grave; I could talk a little of his language, but I couldn't imagine what he'd seen and done.
Absolut offered guests a free sample, if the guest had a ticket. JB came back with a bottle of Absolut Grapevine for us: Vodka, Dragonfruit and Papaya flavor. I won't drink it, but the bottle is pretty and will look nice with fresh flowers. Jim looked disappointed. He didn't know he needed a ticket, and he can't walk. Bulldog-like, JB set out to solve the problem. He came back with Absolut Citron. Jim was ecstatic. One friend would get the Tshirt and his guy friends would enjoy the Vodka. When he and JB shook hands, Jim said, "You don't need to do another good deed for a week."
2012 Red Convertible Travel Series
I said, "You lied about your age."
His grin foretold the answer, "I was 16. Arrived at Normandy thirty days after it was taken and did five campaigns under General Patton. After my discharge from the Army, I joined the Air Force."
My sister and I have walked Normandy Beach and stood at Patton's grave; I could talk a little of his language, but I couldn't imagine what he'd seen and done.
Absolut offered guests a free sample, if the guest had a ticket. JB came back with a bottle of Absolut Grapevine for us: Vodka, Dragonfruit and Papaya flavor. I won't drink it, but the bottle is pretty and will look nice with fresh flowers. Jim looked disappointed. He didn't know he needed a ticket, and he can't walk. Bulldog-like, JB set out to solve the problem. He came back with Absolut Citron. Jim was ecstatic. One friend would get the Tshirt and his guy friends would enjoy the Vodka. When he and JB shook hands, Jim said, "You don't need to do another good deed for a week."
2012 Red Convertible Travel Series
Thursday, August 02, 2012
Le Mont Saint Michel, France
www.ot-montsaintmichel.com/en/accueil.htm Paste, if you can't access.
The sea rises and falls at the base of the Mont. Unpredictable high tides swept many a pilgrim from the path into a watery grave before the causeway was built in the late 1800's. Years ago my sister and I walked half a mile in the gloom, and damp wind on the last leg of out pilgrimage of thousands of miles by air and hundreds by car. Among the pilgrims were bereted old men, accompanied by old women with head scarves and substantial shoes, mingling with children and grandchildren working their way toward the chapel at the top. Not all would make it, just being inside the fortress counted.
Having walked off our breakfast croissant, the first place we saw to eat was Madame Poullard's. thebluechef.blogspot.com/.../famous-omelet-from-la-mre-poulard.ht...
Seated by a window, outsiders peered at us zoo-like. A white-coated man rhythmically whipped eggs with a long-handled whisk in a large copper bowl. He didn't just whip them twenty or thirty times, he beat the daylight of them. Veggies, cheeses, and meats or seafood are ala carte. Each omelet filled a platter and stood several inches high. The waiter served it as if it were a pricelsss piece of art. The price confirmed it. A leg of salt-meadow lamb was recommended for the second course. I passed. I was full of omelet air.
We wound through narrow streets and small businesses featuring souvenirs of candles, prayer cards, pictures and whatever would remind pilgrims of Ste.Michel 's love and devotion to God and Bishop Aubert's obedience. The further we walked, the less crowded it was.
Quietly we entered the silent, empty stone Chapel more than 500 feet above the sea. A few vigil candles burned confirming previous visitors. The sun broke through the gloom and slid through the lead-glass windows splashing color around us.
At an old wooden pew I knelt and thanked God and Ste. Miche and Bishop Auberge for listening and obeying. I'd come to listen, too. Maybe it is in the air, but a message unfolded, as if pre-recorded. In my heart I felt "I need to trust God to direct my life, believe, and have faith that Thy will is best."
Atop the chapel stands a gold statue of Ste. Michel with his wings spread, his sword raised, and his left foot stomping on the dragon symbolizing darkness overcome, hope and justice. He's our fierce defender, patron saint of perils at sea and policemen; the friend I take with me everywhere. If I could, I'd have a two-story stained glass window of Ste. Michel. Working as a cable lady, I pulled over to ask a man for directions. He stopped his weed whacking, and pointed to the back of the lot. Then he turned back to me and said, "Don't go there, he's been drinking all day." I thanked him and Ste. Michel.
We stepped out through the portal we came in, wrapped our coats close to shut out the cold wind and headed across the windy, treeless sand with threads of sea strung out, as if waiting to be woven. And then I realized, Ste. Michel and Bishop Auberge were weaing faith and trust into us.
2012 Red Convertible Travel Series
The sea rises and falls at the base of the Mont. Unpredictable high tides swept many a pilgrim from the path into a watery grave before the causeway was built in the late 1800's. Years ago my sister and I walked half a mile in the gloom, and damp wind on the last leg of out pilgrimage of thousands of miles by air and hundreds by car. Among the pilgrims were bereted old men, accompanied by old women with head scarves and substantial shoes, mingling with children and grandchildren working their way toward the chapel at the top. Not all would make it, just being inside the fortress counted.
Having walked off our breakfast croissant, the first place we saw to eat was Madame Poullard's. thebluechef.blogspot.com/.../famous-omelet-from-la-mre-poulard.ht...
Seated by a window, outsiders peered at us zoo-like. A white-coated man rhythmically whipped eggs with a long-handled whisk in a large copper bowl. He didn't just whip them twenty or thirty times, he beat the daylight of them. Veggies, cheeses, and meats or seafood are ala carte. Each omelet filled a platter and stood several inches high. The waiter served it as if it were a pricelsss piece of art. The price confirmed it. A leg of salt-meadow lamb was recommended for the second course. I passed. I was full of omelet air.
We wound through narrow streets and small businesses featuring souvenirs of candles, prayer cards, pictures and whatever would remind pilgrims of Ste.Michel 's love and devotion to God and Bishop Aubert's obedience. The further we walked, the less crowded it was.
Quietly we entered the silent, empty stone Chapel more than 500 feet above the sea. A few vigil candles burned confirming previous visitors. The sun broke through the gloom and slid through the lead-glass windows splashing color around us.
At an old wooden pew I knelt and thanked God and Ste. Miche and Bishop Auberge for listening and obeying. I'd come to listen, too. Maybe it is in the air, but a message unfolded, as if pre-recorded. In my heart I felt "I need to trust God to direct my life, believe, and have faith that Thy will is best."
Atop the chapel stands a gold statue of Ste. Michel with his wings spread, his sword raised, and his left foot stomping on the dragon symbolizing darkness overcome, hope and justice. He's our fierce defender, patron saint of perils at sea and policemen; the friend I take with me everywhere. If I could, I'd have a two-story stained glass window of Ste. Michel. Working as a cable lady, I pulled over to ask a man for directions. He stopped his weed whacking, and pointed to the back of the lot. Then he turned back to me and said, "Don't go there, he's been drinking all day." I thanked him and Ste. Michel.
We stepped out through the portal we came in, wrapped our coats close to shut out the cold wind and headed across the windy, treeless sand with threads of sea strung out, as if waiting to be woven. And then I realized, Ste. Michel and Bishop Auberge were weaing faith and trust into us.
2012 Red Convertible Travel Series
Wednesday, August 01, 2012
What Claude Monet said and ate
"Landscape is only an impression, instantaneous, hence the label they've given us, all because of me, for that matter."
"I am precisely the man of isolated trees and wide spaces." Quotes from the book Monet Water Lillies by Charles F. Stuckey.
At Giverny, "Monet and his second wife, Alice, created their own art of living. Their sole culinary ambition was to serve beautifully prepared dishes using whatever the kitchen-garden or the farmyard could supply."
"The recipe for bouillabaisse came from Cezanne, the recipe for their bread rolls from Jean Millet. Their tarte Tatin was a souvenir of the visits to the Tartin sisters themselves, to sample this famous dish."
The kitchen wall behind the massive double oven cookstove is a variety of blue and white tiles. The dining room is painted a yellow somewhere between egg yolk and sunrise. Scrambled Eggs were served with wild mushrooms, such as morels, chanterelles or oyster mushrooms and trufflesfor Chiristmas.
The dishes are yellow with wedgewood blue rims. Imagine the fragrance rising from tiny vases of fresh lilacs mingling with the scents of fresh baked bread, Mussels with Fresh Herbs, or Pike in White Butter Sauce, or Lobster Newburg. Smell Truffles poached with bacon in the bottom of the pan and enough white wine over. Cook over medium heat 35 minutes. Yum! One of Marguerite's dessert specialties was the Green Cake Vert-vert featuring pistachios and kirsch. Everything invites one to enjoy the food and the company, even though Monet didn't linger over his food or want seconds to be served. If the eye wanders through the open French doors, it is treated to an explosion of color from the overflowing gardens.
Monet rose early to work in morning light. With lead white, cadmium yellow, dark madder, vermillion, emerald and cobalt blue oils, he captured slivers of light as he saw them. Just thinking of him makes me long for Giverny. They lived well. They ate well. It is reflected in his work. I found it to be he happiest place I've visited anywhere in the world. God Bless him!
2012 Red Convertible Travel Series
"I am precisely the man of isolated trees and wide spaces." Quotes from the book Monet Water Lillies by Charles F. Stuckey.
From Monet's Table The Cooking Journals of Claude Monet, we get a glimpse/impression of his life.
Text by Claire Joyes. Photographs by Jean-Bernard Nuadin.
At Giverny, "Monet and his second wife, Alice, created their own art of living. Their sole culinary ambition was to serve beautifully prepared dishes using whatever the kitchen-garden or the farmyard could supply."
"The recipe for bouillabaisse came from Cezanne, the recipe for their bread rolls from Jean Millet. Their tarte Tatin was a souvenir of the visits to the Tartin sisters themselves, to sample this famous dish."
The kitchen wall behind the massive double oven cookstove is a variety of blue and white tiles. The dining room is painted a yellow somewhere between egg yolk and sunrise. Scrambled Eggs were served with wild mushrooms, such as morels, chanterelles or oyster mushrooms and trufflesfor Chiristmas.
The dishes are yellow with wedgewood blue rims. Imagine the fragrance rising from tiny vases of fresh lilacs mingling with the scents of fresh baked bread, Mussels with Fresh Herbs, or Pike in White Butter Sauce, or Lobster Newburg. Smell Truffles poached with bacon in the bottom of the pan and enough white wine over. Cook over medium heat 35 minutes. Yum! One of Marguerite's dessert specialties was the Green Cake Vert-vert featuring pistachios and kirsch. Everything invites one to enjoy the food and the company, even though Monet didn't linger over his food or want seconds to be served. If the eye wanders through the open French doors, it is treated to an explosion of color from the overflowing gardens.
Monet rose early to work in morning light. With lead white, cadmium yellow, dark madder, vermillion, emerald and cobalt blue oils, he captured slivers of light as he saw them. Just thinking of him makes me long for Giverny. They lived well. They ate well. It is reflected in his work. I found it to be he happiest place I've visited anywhere in the world. God Bless him!
2012 Red Convertible Travel Series
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