Puppy Pics

A few of Elizabeth's first litter.

I want that boot!

Buckshot mines the yard. 

Buckshot marks the yard with recycled fleece.

      

 2012 Red Convertible Travel Series

Back Door Doggie Diner

Buckshot, has many friends. He's our Feists/Terrier mix. Across the street, puppy Haze, sits at her front door watching for him. He sits at our low living room window looking for her. For a while they came and went through her bendable gate. Now there's a cement block against it. We tried penning the two in her backyard, but Buckshot slipped out, and we can't figure out where.

Lucky, the short-legged, round-bodied dog down the street, wants to play, too, but he's leashed and loudly protests it. Boo, the black, long-haired Chihuahua lives next door and can't wait to get to our yard and make his mini-markings after Buckshot. He is so short and fast, he appears to be skimming the grass not running in it. And then there's mini-Callie, the black Dachshund. Her coat is shiny and soft. She came for a play date in the house and barked too loud and moved too fast for Buckshot. Guess what he did? Sat on her.

And then there's Elizabeth, Buckshot's first love. She deserves her own paragraph. Outweighing him by at least fifteen pounds, they learned their first lessons of love last spring. He had been fixed, but the desire was still there. When she went into estrus, he wanted to "do" something for her, but he couldn't figure out where. He was all around her until he figured out under the tail was where the action was. Try as he might, he wasn't tall enough, even when he stood on one leg on his tiptoes. She gave birth to sixteen puppies. None were his, of course. When he finally got to see her, he had eyes for her only. One of the puppies sunk her teeth into his leash and held him. He couldn't figure out why he couldn't move. Not long ago, Elizabeth's keeper took her to be spade. It was too late. Another litter's on the way.

What do all these dogs have in common? Wholesome Holistic Treats For Dogs. I bought them at  Walmart and share them at our backdoor. They are healthy dog biscuits fortified with vitamins and minerals  free of animal by-product meals, artificial color and preservatives. Made with chicken, wheat, peas, cranberries, carrots and apples, they are shaped into drumsticks, carrots, and apples about two inches long. They smell delicious. In an emergency . . . Callie gets the tip of the tip of a carrot shape. Boo gets the whole tip. Buckshot has to have the drumstick and carrot shapes snapped in two and the apple quartered, but only one treat at a time. Haze is taller than he, but shorter than Elizabeth. These two leap for the whole piece, and Elizabeth asks for second and thirds.

I took an eight cup Ziplock box of deer neck stew out of the freezer last week. There wasn't room in the refrigerator for it, so I set it on top of the shelves outside the backdoor and went about my day. I heard a clatter that was too late for reindeer, looked out and saw Elizabeth hauling it off. I wasn't about to come between a dog and her food.  She consumed the contents in record time. I couldn't be mad at her. New mom's have to keep up their strength.

If JB hadn't insisted Buckshot come home with us a year ago, we wouldn't have a community dog yard with treats. And I would be short of dog stories to share.

2012 Red Convertible Travel Series

Christmas 2012 No End-of-the-World to report

Perry Como is singing "That Christmas Feeling" in our living room.. Madchen, with her sticking-out-every-direction orange hair and huge white ruff, naps her ample body on my three-ring binder on the desk. She's holding down my excitement. The draft of my Young Adult novel Up and Out will be ready for queries after the first of the year. My editor wrote, "You have written a novel. Congratulations! Enjoy the moment and then get back to work. There are no published writers, only published re-writers."  I'm up to the challenge.

There's been an uneasiness about 12/21/12. I admit, I was a little concerned until I felt led to go about business as usual and make plans for next year. Only God knows what's what, when, where, why and how. If this world comes to an end, maybe there's a better one taking its place: A knowing among all life that we are all connected. All life living together in peace and harmony. Each person recognizing, acknowledging and working cooperatively with their God-Self. Earth is treated with respect and appreciation for giving us a place to live, food and water.

Whatever happens, our lives go on uninterrupted, whether we wear skin or not. Only the body dies. I can witness to this. For over thirty years, I've worked with the deceased. Their body died, but their life didn't skip a beat. I help those who are stuck go on to the Light.

12/21/12 came and went. Life goes on. Merry Christmas and best wishes for the best New Year ever!

2012 Red Convertible Travel Series

Newtown, CT and Clarksdale, MS commonality

Who would have thought the two would stand in the same sentence?  Newtown is an Andy Griffith type community. Homey. Comfortable. Safe. Clarksdale is Deep South America. Mannerly men and soft-spoken women. Old homes with expansive porches and pillars. Visitors come from around the world to see and experience where "The Blues" began.

When the school children and staff were killed, the shots were heard around the world. When a local 80 year old woman's home was broken into in Clarksdale, she was robbed, beaten to death and set on fire. And the suspect stole her car. It all makes us sick. All life is connected. When one hurts, we all hurt. Patrick Marshall, Pastor of the First Presbyterian Church of Wahoo, NE, says, "Make your concern active: Do something to comfort the living." They are creating a banner for locals to sign. Cards and letter, money, toys and other items are headed their way and from many other communities, too.

I found this article comforting. If you can't access it as is, copy and paste.
http://lightworkers.org/channeling/173312/message-matthew-december-15-2012

Grace, Love and Peace to all.

2012 Red Convertible Travel Series

The X in Christmas

I was accused of being lazy when I used Xmas for Christmas. Patrick Marshall, our Pastor at the First Presbyterian Church in Wahoo, NE, wrote about its history in the December newsletter.

"Centuries ago, when Christianity first started taking root and growing, the dominant language of our faith was Greek (the whole New Testament was written in Greek). In Greek, the word for Christ is Christo. The Greek alphabet doesn't have a C in it. So when you want to say Christo, you had to use the Greek letter X, which was pronounced Chi (not ch like chair, but more like the ch in how we say Christ). In Greek then, the word Christ looked like this: Xpistou.

"When it became illegal to be a Christian and the Roman Empire started persecuting, arresting, and killing Christians, they had to be a little more discreet about the fact that they were talking about Jesus. So instead of spelling out his name, they would simply abbreviate it with an X, the first letter in Chirst. When the Roman Emperor Constantine made Christianity legal in 313 A.D., he did so, in part, becuase he had a vision before a major battle of a shield in the sky with Greek letters XP on it (chi and rho, the first two letters of Christ).

"So for over 1700 years, the letter X has been used by Christians as an abbreviation for Christ. The word Xmas, then, is not an attempt to take Christ out of Christmas. Christ is right there in it. You have to look for him.

". . . Christmas (and Christianity) isn't about finding Christ in the obvious places. We have to search for him in this world and in our lives. Because then and now, God always shows up where we least expect him: in a manger; a conversation with a friend, or in something as simple as a letter. Merry Christmas."

Merry Xmas and Best Wishes for the New Year.
Grace, Peace and Plenty to you and yours now and always.

Love,
Maeann

2012 Red Convertible Travel Series

McCarty's Pottery & Gallery Restaurant

If you have people on your Christmas list who like pottery, check out mccartyspottery.com/faq.html
Last October Jani and I visited their shop at Merigold, MS, in what was originally a mule barn. Shoppers were shoulder to shoulder, and they were buying.

Should you be on the premises, be sure to visit the gardens. Decades of work have gone into them.

If you want an elegant lunch, their Gallery Restaurant is worth it. We were served without a reservation, but there were other's present who had made them. www.mccartyspottery.com/gallery.html

The bunny is McCartys, too.

The dark stripe on the cup represents the MS River.

Vegetable soup. Tasty.

We chose the shrimp enchilada with creamed spinach and Merigold tomatoes.

For dessert we shared a footed pottery goblet of Chocolate Cobbler with ice cream. It was a large serving and awesome. It served our chocolate fix for the day.

Mississippi has lots of treasures. Happy shopping! And Happy Holidays!

Peace and Grace to all.

2012 Red Convertible Travel Series

Deep Soth Williamson and Simmons graves Sardis, MS

Our maternal grandfather was RoyWilliamson. As a small child, he and his family left Ohio and homesteaded in Saunders County, Nebraska in the late 1800's. When we asked him where they came prior to Ohio, he said they waved at Columbus.  His wife, our grandmother, was Mae Simmons. As a child, her family also traveled from Ohio to homestead at Lynn, Kansas. They were married 56 years. Grandma was a wife, mother and homemaker. She passed in the 1970's.

Jani and I randomly visit cemeteries. At Sardis, MS, we were shocked to find Williamson's and Simmons.

Oh, if these stones could just talk.

                              

                                              
Masonic carving on Rose Hill Williamson stone. Grandpa was a 50 year Mason in Nebraska.

And Jani and I found Williamson's at the cemetery in Muthill, Scotland. I think this is a job for Ancestry.com.

2012 Red Convertible Travel Series

Oscar Mayer Angus Beef Franks & Red Neck Toaster

I know weines. The original Wahoo, NE, weiners were cherished and shipped all over the world. The casings were a thin gut and tender. The meat was seasoned just right. They were great in a bun, sliced and fried with potatoes, chopped into scrambled eggs and eaten cold. When the owners sold out, the new casings were tough, and the meat recipe wasn't the same. 

Preparing for Mississippi's hunting season, I scoured the Kroeger hotdog section and was surprised to find Oscar Mayer's "SELECTS ANGUS BUN LENGTH SMOKED UNCURED ANGUS BEEF FRANKS". We're talking "PREMIUM ANGUS". A high quality of beef makes me think they want us to have the World's Best Hotdog! Get this: THERE ARE NO NITRATES OR NITRITES, except those occurring naturally in celery juice. There are NO ARTIFICIAL FLAVORS, COLORS, FILLERS OR BY-PRODUCTS. This is The Holy Grail of Hotdogs!

During hunting season, our four-foot wide fire pit burns wood nonstop. Hunters stop at any hour to update the wild hog kill, bucks and does taken, have a drink and tell lies. They might have a bowl of fresh neckbone stew cooked with a variety of vegetables, smoked sausage sections cooked on the grill, or hotdogs. They are a resourceful bunch heating hotdogs on a stretched out clothes hanger. But I was lost when it came to warming the buns. The guys threw a long branch over the pit. One of the men opened a hotdog bun and rested it around a small branch. Voila! It toasted. From a four-year old to grandpas, the hotdogs were a hit. Thank you Oscar Mayer!  Visit them at oscarmayer.com

2012 Red Convertible Travel Series

WWII, London movie

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

Jimmy & Jammie's Red Solo Cup Toast

When Toby Keith's hit song pops into my head, I can't get it out.. At Jimmy and Jammie's wedding, someone creatively glued them to candle sticks. They held champagne just fine.

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

I couldn't believe this picture showed up on fb. And I'm thrilled someone told me how to copy it. Two Yah's!!

Without the causeway, access was limited. See my story posted 8/2/12.

2012 Red Convertible Travel Series

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

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

Le Mont Saint Michel, France

When a Divine Being appears it sets into motion a following of pilgrims to the site in hopes of blessings - God knows we all need them. In the 8th Century Ste. Michel appeared to Bishop Aubert of Avranges, Fance, asking him to build a small chapel on the Mont 300 miles northwest of Paris on the Atlantic Ocean. I wonder what the command felt like? Did he tingle or was he propelled into ecstasy? Did he doubt he could do it? It was no easy task, but it stands today as a testament to Ste. Michel's love and devotion to God and Bishop Aubert's obedience.

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

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.

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

The end of our family's presence.

In l872 our Williamson great-grandparents and their  family homesteaded in Saunders County. There were no trees. Nebraska's land was virgin prairie with grasses six feet tall. Children got lost in it. Pioneers who buried their treasures overnight, couldn't always find them in the morning, but they persevered carving out homes and lives. Great Grandmother, Charity Williamson, was a mid-wife. In the only picture we have of them, she and her husband, George Washington Williamson, looked jolly. One story was passed down about her. Some kid had his ear almost cut off. She held it in place until it healed with the lining in an eggshell.

The land was harsh, unforgiving. Grandma Mae Simmons Williamson was from Lynn, Kansas. She remembered being frightened by Indians coming to their home. She and her brothers hid under the bed. Her mother gave the Indians bread and whatever else she had.

As a grown woman, Grandma had a fear of iron bridges. If we didn't put her in the middle seat, she'd get out and walk across the Platte River bridge.

Both sides of our father's Swedish ancestors homesteaded in Saunders County, too. His mother, Ann, is my namesake, and I look like her. She died when he was eighteen months old.

I moved to Mississippi with the pioneering spirits of my grandmother's Mae and Ann. When my sister moves to Virginia, it will end our family's 150 years presence in Saunders County. It makes me sad. I miss the cemetery. I can call and talk to everybody else. My  Nebraska friends are my anchors to my roots.

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Flower Lake Cyprus Knees

I love the knees weird shapes.
 A group of them will bind together

and become a tree.

2012 Red Convertible Travel Series

How their Great Dane sits in their lap.

2012 Red Convertible Travel Series

The Unusual Electrician

In my younger days, I was painfully shy. With time and travel, I learned to pick and choose who to talk to, and it has been fascinating. Recently, I met an electrician for a mine. My only point of reference was kerosene lamps in old Western movies. I asked "How deep do they have to go for the ore?"
He replied, "Until they find it!"

2012 Red Convertible Travel Series

An Arizona baby gift

I met a young woman from Arizona whose mother bought her a pet when she was born. I expected a cat or a dog. No, it was a little lime green iguana - probably from the neighborhood. Sleeping with it made her very happy, she said.
Indoor Iguanas need a hot rock to lay on. They put  theirs in the window with a heat lamp for his daily dose of heat. (If you've ever been in AZ, you KNOW it gets extremely hot. "Just let him out!" I say, but that's not how they do it.)
It could have taken on campoflauge colors at times, but it didn't feel threatened.
Their happy arrangement lasted for the first eight years of her life, and he had grown to five feet long.

2012 Red Convertible Travel Series

Chair Lift at Sun Valley, ID.  Snow shows up in the fall.                                                          

 

This is where the skiers wait for the chair lift.

2012 Red Convertible Travel Series



The other Rico's

On Highway 1 at Rena Lara, MS, we stop at Rico's for fresh sandwiches, chips, cold drinks and the occasional household item needed now! It's over ten miles to town, and we're either too cold or too hot. 

In Ketchum, Idaho, the air is dry and hot in the daytime and deliciously cool at night: blanket weather. Perusing the city, we found the other Rico's. We could have eaten out under an umbrella but chose to eat inside. Corrie and I shared a paper thin pan pizza covered with a light layer of cheese and sauteed fresh onions, peppers and mushrooms. Yummmy!!!! My salad included fresh pear pieces and carmeled walnuts -  a wonderful combinations. Corrie inhaled hot peach cobbler smothered in ice cream. I had the above tiarimusu. Both were outstanding! And the coffee was unusually good, smooth without acidity. 

2012 Red Convertible Travel Series

Bidyadanga Artists of Western Australia

The following information is from the back of this card:

The Harvey Art Projects USA proudly presents in conujunction with Short Street Gallery Broome Western Australia

LUMINESCENCE
The Color of Bidyadanga Artists of Western Australia

Bidyadanga artists are the Yulparija elders who have spent most of their lives in the Great Sandy Desert of Western Australia living in the traditional bush way. Much of their work reflects this and depicts the country on the Canning Stock Route around well 33. Their paintings shimmer with vibrant colors that capture their landscapes in the most luminescence of ways. Exhibit runs until July 31st 2012.

Gallery walk Opening July 6th 2012 5-8 pm
391 1st Ave North
Ketchum ID 83340
info@harveyartprojects.com

I photo

The photo on the reverse of this card says: Weaver Jack, Acrylic on Belgian linen 2008.
It is a map of the area the artist grew up in. She signs her work with a cross.

2012 Red Convertible Travel Series

Reaching for the Stars!!!!

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Wait!!! I'm slow!

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Come to Mama, Sweet Patootie

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Deader than a Doornail!

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Where my blogging time went!

This is Buckshot, the little Feist squirrel dog that adopted us last Thanksgiving at the tender age of ten weeks. I was shocked when JB announced he was coming home with us. It was the equivalent of finding a baby in a basket on our doorstep. I knew his care would land on me. It did. I dug deep in my mothering experience to meet his needs.


He created his bed and made himself at home. JB took him to the camp the first night and let him sleep with him. Buckshot believes its his rightful place today.

JB says he's never seen a dog so loving. When I first looked into Buckshot's big brown eyes, I saw a blank canvas. He had no preconceived ideas about the world. It was up to us to program him. I put love in. He puts love out.
Cats Schatzie and Madchen were not happy with the arrangement. No one asked them if they wanted "a brother". They didn't and still don't. While I cleaned house, he decorated his crate by shredding puppy papers he snatched from a kitchen chair. I think Madchen egged him on telling him, "Mom will love it."

He is now nine months old. His sharp, into everything teeth are an issue. Nothing is sacred. The vet says it could last a year. Ugh. He shredded a small doll full of plastic bee bees. I'm still finding them.

I am learning how to walk him on his leash and where not to walk. The local ants were not pleased to meet me, and I have the welts to prove it. And that's where my blogging time has gone.

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My friend, The Head,

is a quadraplegic I met when I volunteered to read to residents of a Nursing Home. I admit tears got away when I first saw him and thought of all he couldn't do. I can't imagine such limitation.

Over a few weeks of reading and visiting, I discovered my new friend is interested in everything; he has no distrations. He is warm, funny and kind and can talk on any subject. I've learned about fishing, sports and travel, to name a few areas.

He wanted to hear Stephen King books. I shuddered. The director said I'd only be reading in the daylight. I was thrilled to discover someone donated three books on tapes to the library, and the home bought him a tape player. My next visit I didn't interrupt his listening. He was aglow with pure delight.

My friend likes NASCAR stories, too. When I read about Dale Earnhardt's frustration over a losing streak, I asked him what he did with his frustration.
He didn't hesitate. "I don't have any."
I was stunned. I have a lot to learn from this man. 


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An Angel for Dogs

  
   We have a man in Clarksdale, MS who has a soft spot for stray dogs and does something about it. Locals have been behind the tanned, white-haired man buying a hamburger and a sackful. Our kind, big-hearted hero cruises the streets and backroads in his truck, or on his motorcycle, finds and  feeds stray dogs. You could say he's their Angel. God Bless him.

2012 Red Convertible Travel Series

Memorial Day 2012

Many flags
Many memories
Cemetery short white crosses
Searching for Papa and George's
Feeling their burdens, unspoken pain
War horror
Mass graves
Destruction of body and soul
Fractured souls of the living

For ages
I prayed for a way
to erase it

God gave it
Thank you

When you are ready
to exchange war's horrors
for inner peace,
come to me.

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Yazoo Pass Bistro @ 207 Yazoo Ave

Home alone, I didn't eat highly nutritious, microwaveable macaroni and cheese, I investigated Clarksdale's new downtown restaurant, Yazoo Pass.

Housed in a former retail store, the entire front is glass. Diners are welcomed to comfortable booths, tables and chairs, and a long, sturdy, raised table that can seat fourteen with stools. At noon it filled up fast with a mixed-age crowd.

I bought the last piece of Quiche Lorraine. Perfect! And I told the Manager so.

They serve soups, salads and sandwiches from 7 AM until 9 PM. I had the small salad and liked that the veggies were chopped small. Kids from 1-100 enjoyed the top-your-own, $.45 an ounce frozen yogurt with a variety of nuts, crumbled cookies, candies, sprinkles and syrups. I had chocolate with Oreo bits and slivered almonds. Yum!

Breakfast offers include bagels, croissants or breads with eggs, bacon, natural black forest ham, and or, swiss, cheddar or provolone cheese; an oatmal bar, french toast with pure maple syrup and homemade granola.

There is an espresso bar. Come summer, I want to try their smoothies: strawberry, banana, mango or peach.

The price and quality is comparable to Panera's. I will be a regular. Check it out!

2012 Red Convertible Travel Series

The Help on the carpet

Author Kathryn Stockett exposed a Deep South way of life that sixty agents rejected. I am grateful the sixty-first saw her work's value and had the courage to do something about it. I caught up with the movie at our local library expecting the pull down screen to be the object of projection. Wrong. It was projected on the carpeted wall behind it for a larger picture.

Prejudice was not limited to the Deep South. In the Midwest, we had religious prejudice. In the 60's an African-American engineer came to our area to work for General Dynamics. It was the first time I witnessed racial prejudice.

I compared my Midwestern culture with the Deep South. Where I grew up, we were 'the help' with an outside bathroom, too. Ours was a two-seater outhouse. Jani and I learned to garden, cook and preserve our food, tend the chickens, hogs, cattle and occasional lamb, sew, entertain, write thank you notes and more. We never had a sitter or a nanny. When Mom and Dad had to go somewhere, we stayed with Grandpa and Grandma and Aunt Bobbe.

We watched Mom do it all in the house and the garden and train us to do the same. She helped Dad move livestock and kept the hogs back when he drove the tractor in with a load of corn. We sure could have used 'help', but it wasn't an option. Neighbor helped neighbor, but not on a daily basis.

We were self-contained. We grew our own food, and Mom and Dad did our comforting, guiding and inspiring. We knew we were loved. She belonged to Seven-O-Sals extension club that met monthly for practical household tips and homemade cake the hostess took great care preparing. At home chocolate with chocolate frosting was Jani's and my favorite. Mom's favorite was angelfood with strawberries and whipped cream. She knew exactly how many cobs to put in the cookstove to bake a perfect angelfood. Couples played Pinochle and Canasta and Square Danced.

Our lives were full and complete. We always had 'enough'. Extended family helped harvest the garden, clean chickens, and came in emergencies. One summer Saturday Mom knew something was up when three-year old Janis asked for soap and water. Mom searched and discovered she had dipped the black and white kittens in tan (ugly to me) porch paint. By the time Grandpa arrived, the kittens were stiff. He and Mom worked the rest of the day cleaning them off with paint thinner. They all survived.

Without hired help, willing neighbors were a treasure. They helped each other put up hay, harvest, and do what ever was needed. We were a tight-knit, small community that revolved around a country school.

Every community has its own culture. I enjoy learning what's held sacred, how they worship, care for one another, what works and what doesn't. Learning about our differences leads to understanding, tolerance and peace. Whatever works.

Goodnight y'all.

2012 Red Convertible Travel Series

Ready or not, 2012 is here!

We came home late and got up early New Year's Day. JB went hunting. I went back to bed to sleep off drinking to much water. Yes, water. Buckshot parked in my left arm. Madchen parked in my right with big round, scheming eyes, a scowl and bent out ears. Peace was not on her mind, when she reached across and slapped him. He yelped. I jumped up, put her in the hall, him in his crate and shut the bedroom door!

This afternoon Madchen parked her ample, orange-haired personage by the hall door daring Buckshot to cross the threshold. He took one look at her pissy owl face and backed off. I suspect she's made it her New Year's resolution to get him out of the house!

It's a Southern tradition to have black-eyed peas and cornbread on New Year's, but JB asked for the beef stew I cooked the day before. That was easy.

I don't do resolutions well. My only plan is to better manage these pets. I, too, have a dream of integration. I will try to stay a step ahead of Buckshot. He can reach the kitchen table; ballpoint pens are his current chomp of choice. I'm finding detached screws and other bits of hardware around the recliner. If it falls apart, I know where to place the blame. On a personal note, I think I'll let my hair grow so I have more to pull.

I hope your New Year is off to a great start and the rest of the year is the best ever! May you receive more blessings than you know what to do with!

Love,
MJ

2012 Red Convertible Travel Series

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