We're having a great party tonight at the Blue Moon. It's sort of a Thank You all for a great year for the business and a celebration for putting the rough times in Harts Corner behind us. I hope folks realize that an Open House means they're supposed to greet, eat and leave. Miguel tells me I'm dreaming because people who can manage to stay awake will be here until midnight to toast the New Year in. And, of course, Miguel reminded me I have no liquor license and he doesn't want to have to arrest people on New Year's Eve anyway, so the toast will be with Cranberry-Apple sparkling cider.
We all had a mighty fine Christmas. Bethy Rose was so surprised when she saw the sleek, sliver bike Santa left her. She knew where it really came from as she whispered in my ear that Miguel had good taste in bicycles. She loved the books and clothes, too, but I'm was wondering how much longer I'll be able to pick out her clothes.
Miguel was very pleased with her gift to us; I wasn't so sure. With Leonard Skaggs help she made a welcome sign to place near the front door. One of those dated ones, like you see on old homes family members have lived in for generations. This one said: Home of the Kinkaids, Miguel, MM and Bethy Rose, 1966. I know she wants us to be a family real bad but this sign doesn't make it so. I just didn't have the heart to tell her this was adult business and she should butt out.
I've asked the folks here tonight to sign their names in this new notebook and write a little something about what they are thankful for, or what they are looking forward to, or what they wish for in this New Year. No, I'm not sneaking peeks at what they write. That would most likely put them off and they wouldn't write a word after their signed name.
But I will share their comments with you here--later. Right now, Leonard and the Piney Woods Boys are tuning up for my favorite song--Waltz Across Texas and my fella's headed my way with that special look in his eyes. I'd much rather be in his arms than talk to you folks anymore.
And I'll share some recipes for tonight's food, too.
Goodnight, folks.
Monday, December 31, 2012
Sunday, December 23, 2012
CHRISTMAS GIFTING
I, Jewel Tate, am working my fingers to the bone these two days before Christmas in a last minute rush to complete two of the gifts I want to give on Christmas Day. What with it being such a busy season at the Blue Moon, attending school and church Christmas programs, and spending some good times with Harold, I've found it a hard push to get my handicrafts completed.
I got the idea for these projects from Bethy Rose when she showed an interest in the quilted pillow covers I was working on during breaks at the Cafe. She's such an excited soul when she sees or hears of something unique to do or learn about. So when she said she wanted to learn to do the tiny stitches required to quilt, I was more than happy to teach her. We began with learning to cut out the pieces to make a block and then I showed her how to stitch them together. Then she moved on to putting the batting in between the blocks and a backing. So, we began the first series of blocks quilted to backing.
Surprised that she didn't choose all pink fabric, I was ever more pleased when she chose the colors of nature: blues and greens and a touch of tan. But I guess I should have remembered that she's growing up a bit each time I turn around and being in a stable home has changed her in many ways. She's such a happy child now, not that mousy, whisperer who first made our acquaintance with a cookie baking fest one Valentine's Day.
Bethy Rose shows a gift for making those tiny stitches so, over the past few months, she's done a few more blocks. As I said, she made enough for a panel. For a surprise Christmas gift, I took those panels, sewed on a pocket at one narrow end, pushed a dowel through and added a woven hanger to make a wall hanging for her new room. I just wrapped it up last night with a note telling her we'd start on a quilt after the New Year.
The other project is a crib-size quilt make of fabric covered with panda bears. I thought Jeffrey would enjoy it for a few years--maybe even be like my Ernie was--carry that thing around until it was so ragged I had to replace it with a new one. It was Ernie's security blanket when his father went on one of his rampages. Since Jeffrey lost his father before he even knew him, I think maybe he needs a security blanket, too. It's almost completed to be wrapped and put under MM's tree where we're all going to meet on Christmas morning for brunch and present opening.
I've been working on my crocheting, too, but if MM doesn't accept Miguel's proposal (which I hope is going to come up this Christmas season), I'll have plenty of time to get the bedspread done. It's going to be a pretty thing--an ivory shade, king-size, and done in a shell and ladder pattern.
Ernie's and Kathy's kids only want toys but they get so much. I had Harold drive me into Crockett and went to one of those learning stores. There I purchased games and books that offer such interesting lessons that teach without kids really realizing it. I wish I was a kid again and got those kind of gifts.
Harold was harder to shop for. He lived on the streets a long time and doesn't have too many wants. I can't make what he wants with a piece of fabric or needles. Nor can I purchase it in a learning store, or any other kind of store for that matter. It's for sure though that I can make his Christmas dream come true--and maybe I just will. After all, he's waited some time now, he's more than proven he's a worthy man, and a woman could do much worse than having a Harold Coburn by her side.
The only problem is with me. I don't know if I want to give up the first freedom I've ever known.
Merry Christmas all!
I got the idea for these projects from Bethy Rose when she showed an interest in the quilted pillow covers I was working on during breaks at the Cafe. She's such an excited soul when she sees or hears of something unique to do or learn about. So when she said she wanted to learn to do the tiny stitches required to quilt, I was more than happy to teach her. We began with learning to cut out the pieces to make a block and then I showed her how to stitch them together. Then she moved on to putting the batting in between the blocks and a backing. So, we began the first series of blocks quilted to backing.
Surprised that she didn't choose all pink fabric, I was ever more pleased when she chose the colors of nature: blues and greens and a touch of tan. But I guess I should have remembered that she's growing up a bit each time I turn around and being in a stable home has changed her in many ways. She's such a happy child now, not that mousy, whisperer who first made our acquaintance with a cookie baking fest one Valentine's Day.
Bethy Rose shows a gift for making those tiny stitches so, over the past few months, she's done a few more blocks. As I said, she made enough for a panel. For a surprise Christmas gift, I took those panels, sewed on a pocket at one narrow end, pushed a dowel through and added a woven hanger to make a wall hanging for her new room. I just wrapped it up last night with a note telling her we'd start on a quilt after the New Year.
The other project is a crib-size quilt make of fabric covered with panda bears. I thought Jeffrey would enjoy it for a few years--maybe even be like my Ernie was--carry that thing around until it was so ragged I had to replace it with a new one. It was Ernie's security blanket when his father went on one of his rampages. Since Jeffrey lost his father before he even knew him, I think maybe he needs a security blanket, too. It's almost completed to be wrapped and put under MM's tree where we're all going to meet on Christmas morning for brunch and present opening.
I've been working on my crocheting, too, but if MM doesn't accept Miguel's proposal (which I hope is going to come up this Christmas season), I'll have plenty of time to get the bedspread done. It's going to be a pretty thing--an ivory shade, king-size, and done in a shell and ladder pattern.
Ernie's and Kathy's kids only want toys but they get so much. I had Harold drive me into Crockett and went to one of those learning stores. There I purchased games and books that offer such interesting lessons that teach without kids really realizing it. I wish I was a kid again and got those kind of gifts.
Harold was harder to shop for. He lived on the streets a long time and doesn't have too many wants. I can't make what he wants with a piece of fabric or needles. Nor can I purchase it in a learning store, or any other kind of store for that matter. It's for sure though that I can make his Christmas dream come true--and maybe I just will. After all, he's waited some time now, he's more than proven he's a worthy man, and a woman could do much worse than having a Harold Coburn by her side.
The only problem is with me. I don't know if I want to give up the first freedom I've ever known.
Merry Christmas all!
Thursday, December 20, 2012
LIVY DOES CHRISTMAS!
Are you coming to my Christmas Eve dinner? I know you readers can't possibly make it but James and I have such lovely news we want to share with everyone. And, with MM, Megan and I working together on this affair, it is bound to be the highlight of the season. Livy and James Vandergriff are having a wonderful Christmas party!
Prime rib will be the centerpiece and, if you've never tasted MM's prime rib, you're in for the treat of your life. Garlicky mashed potatoes, beef gravy, green beans tied in bundles with strips of red pepper, spinach/pear/cranberry salad, and mile-high red velvet cake for dessert will the be menu. Just reading this makes my mouth water.
Do attend if you can. The entire evening will be quite an experience. The house, inside and out, has been artfully decorated and the big surprise is that for the first time James and I did most of it. It's taken a while but I've learned that being a real part of Christmas means you must get involved in all of the traditions, even make some new ones of your own, with head, hands, and heart.
Though MM and Megan will cater this (and yes, I did pay them well, gave them no instructions or limitations like I once did--and you do know that MM set me straight that time, don't you?), they are among my welcomed guests. Jim and I have invited people important to us--not like those business owners and leaders of society I once thought made the perfect guests either.
the guests at our table this year will be the ones who make our life so special on a daily basis--MM and Miguel and Bethy Rose, Pastor Micah and his wife, Leonard and Cora Skaggs, Jewel and Ernie and Kathy Tate--and, of course, Harold. Sam, the owner of the Shamrock Station/ambulance service/tow truck is a welcome addition; his wife is the sweetest thing, and funny, too. Megan and little Jeffrey, our newest town residents, will complete the guest list.
I would have never known this joy if Miguel hadn't called Jim to go undercover on a case, and MM hadn't sat me down to rake me over the coals, knock me off that pedestal Daddy had placed me on, and made me see how much of life I was missing. MM claims I saved her life during those resent troubling times in our town, but it was really MM who saved me.
And, at dinner tonight, we're going to let our favorite people, our friends, our new family know that by this time next year the Vandergriff family will have grown to three. Isn't that the most wonderful news to share on the night of Jesus birth?
Now, don't you go tellin' folks my news, you hear!
Prime rib will be the centerpiece and, if you've never tasted MM's prime rib, you're in for the treat of your life. Garlicky mashed potatoes, beef gravy, green beans tied in bundles with strips of red pepper, spinach/pear/cranberry salad, and mile-high red velvet cake for dessert will the be menu. Just reading this makes my mouth water.
Do attend if you can. The entire evening will be quite an experience. The house, inside and out, has been artfully decorated and the big surprise is that for the first time James and I did most of it. It's taken a while but I've learned that being a real part of Christmas means you must get involved in all of the traditions, even make some new ones of your own, with head, hands, and heart.
Though MM and Megan will cater this (and yes, I did pay them well, gave them no instructions or limitations like I once did--and you do know that MM set me straight that time, don't you?), they are among my welcomed guests. Jim and I have invited people important to us--not like those business owners and leaders of society I once thought made the perfect guests either.
the guests at our table this year will be the ones who make our life so special on a daily basis--MM and Miguel and Bethy Rose, Pastor Micah and his wife, Leonard and Cora Skaggs, Jewel and Ernie and Kathy Tate--and, of course, Harold. Sam, the owner of the Shamrock Station/ambulance service/tow truck is a welcome addition; his wife is the sweetest thing, and funny, too. Megan and little Jeffrey, our newest town residents, will complete the guest list.
I would have never known this joy if Miguel hadn't called Jim to go undercover on a case, and MM hadn't sat me down to rake me over the coals, knock me off that pedestal Daddy had placed me on, and made me see how much of life I was missing. MM claims I saved her life during those resent troubling times in our town, but it was really MM who saved me.
And, at dinner tonight, we're going to let our favorite people, our friends, our new family know that by this time next year the Vandergriff family will have grown to three. Isn't that the most wonderful news to share on the night of Jesus birth?
Now, don't you go tellin' folks my news, you hear!
Wednesday, December 19, 2012
ARTWORK AND BOOKS
As a long time resident of Harts Corner and the owner of the only cafe, I couldn't be more proud of my hometown. We've come through some hard times and we've come out even better on the other side. The town has managed to settle down and we are a community of happy folks--well, for the most part. This is the Christmas season so we won't talk about the lesser fine points.
I hope all of you have come to see the community tree, the colorful wreaths, and the sparkling lighted candy canes along Main Street, and strolled along for a close-up look at the lovely job our merchants have done with their windows. Carolers will stroll along our streets on Saturdays, one of the farmers has started a horse-drawn carriage opportunity which will run right up to Christmas Eve, and we are really excited about the business campaign that rings the bell to shop locally. Did you know you can buy most everything you need and want for a beautiful, great Holiday Season right here in Harts Corner? Get out there and look.
Did you see all the beautiful seasonal artwork on windows around town? It was all done by our newest resident, Megan Crandall. along with her baby son, Jeffrey, she's made a real impact on Harts Corner. She's a great mother, a wonderful caterer (she practically runs this new venture of mine) and, as we found out when she volunteered to paint the windows of the Blue Moon, an outstanding artist.
Mz Barbara has already put Megan in the new book she's beginning to work on. I hope she manages to bring this young woman's story to light as well as she did in "The Blue Moon Cafe." And we're going to see more of Aunt Lutie (ghost, spirit, haunt, whatever you wish to call her) and her appearance to me and several others; her wisdom and guidance will always be needed in this town. The book that's going on sale in January brought all of us into the spotlight (some of the folks kind of wished she hadn't been so honest when telling the story of that time in our town's history) and I think she got the town, warts and all, right as right could be.
Speaking of books, did you know if a book is published in December that on January 1 of the New Year, it is considered an old book? I knew the shelf life of books is about two weeks if any author is lucky but learning that you're book is dead-on-arrival if published in December was a bit of a surprise. So Mz Barbara and Gina put too good brains together and decided not to kill the book.
"Aunt Lutie's Blue Moon Cafe" will be released in January 2013. Sorry you can't give it as a Christmas gift to all those hundreds of reader/relatives/friends (we all wish we could shower books on folks, don't we?) this year but it'll read just as good in January.
Believe me, the waiting will be worth it.
I hope all of you have come to see the community tree, the colorful wreaths, and the sparkling lighted candy canes along Main Street, and strolled along for a close-up look at the lovely job our merchants have done with their windows. Carolers will stroll along our streets on Saturdays, one of the farmers has started a horse-drawn carriage opportunity which will run right up to Christmas Eve, and we are really excited about the business campaign that rings the bell to shop locally. Did you know you can buy most everything you need and want for a beautiful, great Holiday Season right here in Harts Corner? Get out there and look.
Did you see all the beautiful seasonal artwork on windows around town? It was all done by our newest resident, Megan Crandall. along with her baby son, Jeffrey, she's made a real impact on Harts Corner. She's a great mother, a wonderful caterer (she practically runs this new venture of mine) and, as we found out when she volunteered to paint the windows of the Blue Moon, an outstanding artist.
Mz Barbara has already put Megan in the new book she's beginning to work on. I hope she manages to bring this young woman's story to light as well as she did in "The Blue Moon Cafe." And we're going to see more of Aunt Lutie (ghost, spirit, haunt, whatever you wish to call her) and her appearance to me and several others; her wisdom and guidance will always be needed in this town. The book that's going on sale in January brought all of us into the spotlight (some of the folks kind of wished she hadn't been so honest when telling the story of that time in our town's history) and I think she got the town, warts and all, right as right could be.
Speaking of books, did you know if a book is published in December that on January 1 of the New Year, it is considered an old book? I knew the shelf life of books is about two weeks if any author is lucky but learning that you're book is dead-on-arrival if published in December was a bit of a surprise. So Mz Barbara and Gina put too good brains together and decided not to kill the book.
"Aunt Lutie's Blue Moon Cafe" will be released in January 2013. Sorry you can't give it as a Christmas gift to all those hundreds of reader/relatives/friends (we all wish we could shower books on folks, don't we?) this year but it'll read just as good in January.
Believe me, the waiting will be worth it.
Monday, December 17, 2012
BABY JESUS
You know me, folks, I'm Pastor Micah. I'm no TV evangelist, nor a blogging one either. MM got me involved in this thing, along with that author lady, Mz Barbara. And they both think I have a place here because the residents of Harts Corner are precious souls. If there is one of them who doesn't know about our little church then my having a message of some sort on this Internet thing is worth it.
We've set up our creche (manager to many of you) scene today in front of the church. The figurine's are life-sized, very impressive even from the street out front. If you walk up to the scene and don't know much about the Holy season, you'll find the Biblical verses telling the story posted nearby. Oh, and by the way, our church doors are open daily from sunrise to sunset so if you need come time alone with your thoughts and prayers, come right on in.
Speaking of the figurine's, take a close look at Baby Jesus while you're there. He's got a few scratches here and there. That's because he's been pulled out of his cozy hay bed more than once. One year some rowdy teenagers from over Crockett way thought it would be real fun to steal him and dump the precious little lamb in a hog trough; it took a brave soul and a lot of soap and water to clean Jesus up, leaving a few marks from the heist.
Once Jesus disappeared and a church family sheepishly appeared with the figure. Their six-year old son confessed by explaining he wanted to keep Baby Jesus dry on an unusually wet day. When about three years old one of Lester and Cora Skaggs grandaugthter's brought the baby quilt Cora had made for her when she was born, and wrapped Baby Jesus in it--"to keep the baby warm."
Tonight we'll turn on the spotlight set out to show our creche thought the Christmas season. When you folks head to town for the tree lighting, or to view it later, don't forget to stop by First Baptist and enjoy the scene the Three Magi found when they followed the star.
I'll be the welcome-committee, the guy bundled up in a heavy coat with red wool cap and scarf, and snow boots with flashing lights on the soles (my grandchildren's gift last year). And, please, if my back is turned while greeting people don't run away with Baby Jesus.
We've set up our creche (manager to many of you) scene today in front of the church. The figurine's are life-sized, very impressive even from the street out front. If you walk up to the scene and don't know much about the Holy season, you'll find the Biblical verses telling the story posted nearby. Oh, and by the way, our church doors are open daily from sunrise to sunset so if you need come time alone with your thoughts and prayers, come right on in.
Speaking of the figurine's, take a close look at Baby Jesus while you're there. He's got a few scratches here and there. That's because he's been pulled out of his cozy hay bed more than once. One year some rowdy teenagers from over Crockett way thought it would be real fun to steal him and dump the precious little lamb in a hog trough; it took a brave soul and a lot of soap and water to clean Jesus up, leaving a few marks from the heist.
Once Jesus disappeared and a church family sheepishly appeared with the figure. Their six-year old son confessed by explaining he wanted to keep Baby Jesus dry on an unusually wet day. When about three years old one of Lester and Cora Skaggs grandaugthter's brought the baby quilt Cora had made for her when she was born, and wrapped Baby Jesus in it--"to keep the baby warm."
Tonight we'll turn on the spotlight set out to show our creche thought the Christmas season. When you folks head to town for the tree lighting, or to view it later, don't forget to stop by First Baptist and enjoy the scene the Three Magi found when they followed the star.
I'll be the welcome-committee, the guy bundled up in a heavy coat with red wool cap and scarf, and snow boots with flashing lights on the soles (my grandchildren's gift last year). And, please, if my back is turned while greeting people don't run away with Baby Jesus.
Friday, December 14, 2012
BRIGHT LIGHTS IN HARTS CORNER
I've got some exciting news. Harts Corner is decorated for Christmas. My town, the town that has become the best thing that ever happened to me, Harold Coburn, is wonderfully beautiful and I had something to do with making it look that way.
You know, for years, I've been the street cleaner of this town. You didn't know? Well, it's right there in Miz Barbara's book about how I was pretty messed up after Korea, roamed around a lot as a lost soul, like a lot of guys do after all these wars we get ourselves into. When I woke up in the Psych Ward of a hospital in Temple after a full-blown black out, I felt like a bucket of cold water had been thrown all over me. I woke up to what a lousy life I was livin'.
I dried out and hit the road, going just a short piece down the road before I found Harts Corner where kind people accepted me, allowed me to keep their streets clean, sell the bottles I collected to supplement my disability money, and even offered me a roof over my head for a little caregiving. I met MM and she introduced me to Jewel Tate and that made life more than worth taking care of. And this year, this town sort of crowned me with new glory. I was asked to decorate the streets for Christmas.
Sam McCrory has beendoin' this prettyin' up forever. It was a no-brainer that he had the job; he had the only truck suitable to put ladders on the bed in order to reach the one stop light, the dozen or so lamp posts, and the top of the community Christmas tree to place the star on top and wind the lights around the upper branches. This year Sam decided (we all figured his wife made the decision for him) that he was getting too old to shimmy up that ladder. So he asked me if I wanted the job.
Did I ever! Who wouldn't want to put all those colored lights up and down the street, hang those ornament-covered wreaths from lamp posts, and place the big candy canes around the courthouse grounds? With Sam's supervision, I went to work immediately. It ws not easy--that Sam had done an amazing job all those years. But with his supervision and the use of his truck, I decorated the town.
If you want to see something downright breathtakin', pay a visit to Harts Corner at 6 o'clock tomorrow night. Bethy Rose is gonna hit the switch to light up the most beautiful corner of the world--at least I think it is.
Hot chocolate and gingerbread men will be provided by the Blue Moon Cafe, so come help us celebrate the official beginnin' of Christmas in Harts Corner.
You know, for years, I've been the street cleaner of this town. You didn't know? Well, it's right there in Miz Barbara's book about how I was pretty messed up after Korea, roamed around a lot as a lost soul, like a lot of guys do after all these wars we get ourselves into. When I woke up in the Psych Ward of a hospital in Temple after a full-blown black out, I felt like a bucket of cold water had been thrown all over me. I woke up to what a lousy life I was livin'.
I dried out and hit the road, going just a short piece down the road before I found Harts Corner where kind people accepted me, allowed me to keep their streets clean, sell the bottles I collected to supplement my disability money, and even offered me a roof over my head for a little caregiving. I met MM and she introduced me to Jewel Tate and that made life more than worth taking care of. And this year, this town sort of crowned me with new glory. I was asked to decorate the streets for Christmas.
Sam McCrory has beendoin' this prettyin' up forever. It was a no-brainer that he had the job; he had the only truck suitable to put ladders on the bed in order to reach the one stop light, the dozen or so lamp posts, and the top of the community Christmas tree to place the star on top and wind the lights around the upper branches. This year Sam decided (we all figured his wife made the decision for him) that he was getting too old to shimmy up that ladder. So he asked me if I wanted the job.
Did I ever! Who wouldn't want to put all those colored lights up and down the street, hang those ornament-covered wreaths from lamp posts, and place the big candy canes around the courthouse grounds? With Sam's supervision, I went to work immediately. It ws not easy--that Sam had done an amazing job all those years. But with his supervision and the use of his truck, I decorated the town.
If you want to see something downright breathtakin', pay a visit to Harts Corner at 6 o'clock tomorrow night. Bethy Rose is gonna hit the switch to light up the most beautiful corner of the world--at least I think it is.
Hot chocolate and gingerbread men will be provided by the Blue Moon Cafe, so come help us celebrate the official beginnin' of Christmas in Harts Corner.
Thursday, December 13, 2012
Apologies from Mz. Barbara
I've been away from you so long that I feel I owe you a big-hair apology. It's not that I don't love chatting with all of you, letting my characters tell you all that is going on with them in Harts Corner. It's just that I have suffered a loss that no mother wants to ever face.
On October 6, after a two-year illness, my only son died at the age of 48. I spent a week with him before that and we made the best out of a bad situation; chuckling over his childhood photos, talking about his antics, about our lives together, and cementing the love we felt for each other. He insisted he didn't want me there when he died--and, knowing his dearest friends were there to care for him, be there for him right up until the end, I agreed to his final wish.
It has been a hard two months. There have been many times I've sunk to my knees in tears; other times I've smiled at the memories of him. I didn't think I could face the holidays but have managed to bake cookies and make candy and send off the usual Care Package I always sent to Eddie and his boss/housemate this time of year. I have long called David my second son and he has called me Mom. I slowly put up the tree and decorated the house. I just recently made calls to several neighbors and a few friends, asking them to attend a small Open House--trying to carry on the traditions Eddie had shared when at home and when visiting.
I've neglected Harts Corner but it's now time to get back in touch with those fine people who have been so comforting, have listened to my anguish, and have allowed me this time by waiting patiently for me to start listening to them again.
Thank you all for your understanding.
On October 6, after a two-year illness, my only son died at the age of 48. I spent a week with him before that and we made the best out of a bad situation; chuckling over his childhood photos, talking about his antics, about our lives together, and cementing the love we felt for each other. He insisted he didn't want me there when he died--and, knowing his dearest friends were there to care for him, be there for him right up until the end, I agreed to his final wish.
It has been a hard two months. There have been many times I've sunk to my knees in tears; other times I've smiled at the memories of him. I didn't think I could face the holidays but have managed to bake cookies and make candy and send off the usual Care Package I always sent to Eddie and his boss/housemate this time of year. I have long called David my second son and he has called me Mom. I slowly put up the tree and decorated the house. I just recently made calls to several neighbors and a few friends, asking them to attend a small Open House--trying to carry on the traditions Eddie had shared when at home and when visiting.
I've neglected Harts Corner but it's now time to get back in touch with those fine people who have been so comforting, have listened to my anguish, and have allowed me this time by waiting patiently for me to start listening to them again.
Thank you all for your understanding.
Friday, October 12, 2012
Untie the Knot in Your Panties!
This is Cora Skaggs bringing you up-to-date on some
happenings around here. One has to do with your jawin’ about not havin’ this
book out, not being able to read about all these people already, and I’ve even
heard some comments like “Why don’t you get off your butt and get that book out
to the readers?”
Now, most of you know that Miz Barbara is the one who has
taken down these words from Mary Margaret Butler to make up this book, “Aunt
Lutie’s Blue Moon Café”. What most of you might not know is that this is a very
hard job, especially when MM lived in another era—1966 was a different world.
And though Miz Barbara lived them times and knew what was goin’ on around her
real well—she was raisin’ two kids, seeing all those body counts in Vietnam,
and trying to keep a worthless man on the right path (it didn’t work) and had
her own trials to bear—that was some time ago. Do you remember everything that
was around then? No? Well, Mz Barbara and Mz Regina (she’s the lovely lady
publisher/editor of this book (Mockingbirdlanepress.com) ) are havin’ one heck
of a time gettin’ all this timeline stuff straightened out. I know for a fact
that if one of you found one mention of a lady wearin’ sweats or Willie Nelson
appearin’ in a place that wasn’t there yet, these two ladies would hear about
it big time. You’d never let them live it down.
Not that there might be something missed, mind you. Them big
New York publishers miss stuff all the time. I’ve read it and it ain’t pretty
when we find it. But let’s give these authors and their editors a break—they do
not sit up there with God. They are human. You are goin’ to get a great story
here, filled with love and laughter among folks in a neat community, mystery
and romance—for a much cheaper price, too, than those big mucked-muck author’s
books from New York City (does that sound like a salsa ad—oops, probably didn’t
have that stuff in a jar back then either, did they?).
What I’m tryin’ to say here is this: Have patience. Reread “Gone
With the Wind” or something with 800 pages. Go shoppin’. Have a piece of pecan
pie. Or if you want me to say it like Aunt Lutie would have, here it is: Quit
you snivelin’! Untie those knots in your panties! Wait!
Sunday, September 23, 2012
Bess and Garrett's Snuff
Good afternoon to all you lovin' folks. I hope your day is goin' as good as mine. I've been up since first light, saw Old Man Sun come up over those piney woods, watched the rabbits come into their tray of lettuce leaves from my garden, and listened to the call of the wild birds near the swamp. And the day just kept gettin' better from then on.
Mary Margaret came out for a visit and lunch. She's grown up to be a lovely woman and, one day when she gives up the fight, she'll accept Miguel's proposal, settled down, have those babies, and fulfill all of her aunt's dreams. She didn't know that Lutie Mae was sittin' right there at the table with us, just beamin' at her niece, the love shinin' from her eyes, her pride so thick in the air, I's surprised MM didn't feel it. Of course, Lutie Mae only lets MM know she's around when it suits her purpose--and usually that's not to MM's pleasure at all.
She brought me a supply of my favorite things, one of them a "goodie" she claims will put me in an early grave. I laugh and asked her just how old she thinks I am; I already have one foot in the grave according to those science people. That Garrett's Snuff is my last bad habit left. I gave up bourbon a long time ago, I no longer chase men with my dancin' shoes flyin', and I think I'm allowed one tiny sin.
Well, some might same them movie magazines she includes in the sack of stuff is harmful to my senses. I get a big kick out of the wild stories of those movie people's lives, love to see the glittery clothes the women wear, and check out the muscles of the men. I enjoy the stories of the old actors--they were much better than this new bunch, you know. Give me Gregory Peck anytime. MM says this is all just trash but her aunt, my deceased best friend, and I loved to go to the movies and read these magazines. Lutie Mae took me to the movies once a week for many years. She sat in the balcony with me because in those days, folks still frowned upon we coloreds mingling with them. It didn't bother her; she giggled, clapped, cried, and laughed right along with me, the same as those people below us.
MM brought me a large tin of chocolate chip cookies, too. I used to love Lutie Mae's oatmeal cookies but when MM brought me the first batch of these, my loyalty quickly changed. They will make a right nice dessert along with my chicory coffee later tonight. I've got to let the gumbo we had for lunch settle.
Gumbo? What kind? Well, you could make it with chicken or shrimp--sometimes I use a combination of both. It's MM's favorite. She fixes it for her catering dinners, but she says it never tastes as good as mine. Share the recipe? Why, Chil', I'm happy to do just that.
Chicken or Crab Gumbo
2 c. butter 1 c. stewed tomatoes
1/4 c. sliced onion 1 tsp. chpd. parsley
2 Tbsp. diced green Bell pepper 2 c. chicken stock
1/4 c. diced celery 1 c. fresh or frozen okra
2 c. cooked chicken or crab Salt and pepper to taste
In a large soup pot, melt the butter. Add the onion, green peppers, and celery, and saute for 10 minutes or until the vegetables are lightly browned.
Add the okra, tomatoes, parsley, chicken stock, and chicken/crab to the soup pot. Cover and let simmer for 20 minutes, stirring constantly to blend thoroughly. Season with salt and pepper.
***
I puts a small portion of cooked rice in the bottom of the bowls and ladle the soup over that. Served with a green salad and hot bread (French or yeast rolls), you have the best meal ever.
Mary Margaret came out for a visit and lunch. She's grown up to be a lovely woman and, one day when she gives up the fight, she'll accept Miguel's proposal, settled down, have those babies, and fulfill all of her aunt's dreams. She didn't know that Lutie Mae was sittin' right there at the table with us, just beamin' at her niece, the love shinin' from her eyes, her pride so thick in the air, I's surprised MM didn't feel it. Of course, Lutie Mae only lets MM know she's around when it suits her purpose--and usually that's not to MM's pleasure at all.
She brought me a supply of my favorite things, one of them a "goodie" she claims will put me in an early grave. I laugh and asked her just how old she thinks I am; I already have one foot in the grave according to those science people. That Garrett's Snuff is my last bad habit left. I gave up bourbon a long time ago, I no longer chase men with my dancin' shoes flyin', and I think I'm allowed one tiny sin.
Well, some might same them movie magazines she includes in the sack of stuff is harmful to my senses. I get a big kick out of the wild stories of those movie people's lives, love to see the glittery clothes the women wear, and check out the muscles of the men. I enjoy the stories of the old actors--they were much better than this new bunch, you know. Give me Gregory Peck anytime. MM says this is all just trash but her aunt, my deceased best friend, and I loved to go to the movies and read these magazines. Lutie Mae took me to the movies once a week for many years. She sat in the balcony with me because in those days, folks still frowned upon we coloreds mingling with them. It didn't bother her; she giggled, clapped, cried, and laughed right along with me, the same as those people below us.
MM brought me a large tin of chocolate chip cookies, too. I used to love Lutie Mae's oatmeal cookies but when MM brought me the first batch of these, my loyalty quickly changed. They will make a right nice dessert along with my chicory coffee later tonight. I've got to let the gumbo we had for lunch settle.
Gumbo? What kind? Well, you could make it with chicken or shrimp--sometimes I use a combination of both. It's MM's favorite. She fixes it for her catering dinners, but she says it never tastes as good as mine. Share the recipe? Why, Chil', I'm happy to do just that.
Chicken or Crab Gumbo
2 c. butter 1 c. stewed tomatoes
1/4 c. sliced onion 1 tsp. chpd. parsley
2 Tbsp. diced green Bell pepper 2 c. chicken stock
1/4 c. diced celery 1 c. fresh or frozen okra
2 c. cooked chicken or crab Salt and pepper to taste
In a large soup pot, melt the butter. Add the onion, green peppers, and celery, and saute for 10 minutes or until the vegetables are lightly browned.
Add the okra, tomatoes, parsley, chicken stock, and chicken/crab to the soup pot. Cover and let simmer for 20 minutes, stirring constantly to blend thoroughly. Season with salt and pepper.
***
I puts a small portion of cooked rice in the bottom of the bowls and ladle the soup over that. Served with a green salad and hot bread (French or yeast rolls), you have the best meal ever.
Sunday, September 9, 2012
MM SAYS ALL'S WELL IN HARTS CORNER
The proprietor of the Blue Moon has finally come up for air. It's been a busy summer. When I added catering to the offerings at the cafe, I hoped it would grow into a nice sideline business. That little adventure has about run me ragged this summer.
Laurel Cameron, the Skaggs granddaughter from over Lovelady way, drove over to look at pictures of wedding cakes, reception hall decorations, and food I'd done for others. She was a joy to work with and a beautiful bride. She had friends who were getting married, giving baby showers, or doing some other party giving, so I was swamped with jobs. All these were added to a garden party for Livy Vandergriff, a birthday party for Jewel's grandson, and a pizza/dessert party for the football team at the end of summer's practice. Man, those teenagers can eat.
The one gig I didn't get was to host a wedding reception for Jewel and Harold. I guess I didn't set a very good example when Miguel moved into the house with Bethy Rose and I, because she moved in with Harold soon after.
That carriage house at the Judge's where Harold lived, was not very big so it was expanded with a second story holding two bedrooms, a new bath, and lots of storage cabinets and closets. Downstairs the kitchen was expanded by knocking out a wall to the one bedroom down there. That added some room at one end of the living room for a nice dining area. And when Jewel added her quilts and other decorative talents, that place became the cutest love nest around. Still, it didn't seem to spur those two toward the aisle.
Miguel drives off early each morning for the first patrol of the day before opening the Sheriff's Office. That is if Maude Crowley doesn't beat him to it. The Department dispatcher, I swear, knows everything that happens in Harts Corner before the dust settles.
Bethy Rose has made it through the first week of school without running away from home, turning my hair gray, or her love life (at age nine?) ruining her entire life. I think I overheard her telling a friend that Jason spoke to her yesterday. Praise the Lord! This household may survive in spite of itself.
Anyway, things are running pretty smoothly in town. And, to tell you the truth, that makes me more than a little nervous. I'm waiting for the next shoe to drop.
Laurel Cameron, the Skaggs granddaughter from over Lovelady way, drove over to look at pictures of wedding cakes, reception hall decorations, and food I'd done for others. She was a joy to work with and a beautiful bride. She had friends who were getting married, giving baby showers, or doing some other party giving, so I was swamped with jobs. All these were added to a garden party for Livy Vandergriff, a birthday party for Jewel's grandson, and a pizza/dessert party for the football team at the end of summer's practice. Man, those teenagers can eat.
The one gig I didn't get was to host a wedding reception for Jewel and Harold. I guess I didn't set a very good example when Miguel moved into the house with Bethy Rose and I, because she moved in with Harold soon after.
That carriage house at the Judge's where Harold lived, was not very big so it was expanded with a second story holding two bedrooms, a new bath, and lots of storage cabinets and closets. Downstairs the kitchen was expanded by knocking out a wall to the one bedroom down there. That added some room at one end of the living room for a nice dining area. And when Jewel added her quilts and other decorative talents, that place became the cutest love nest around. Still, it didn't seem to spur those two toward the aisle.
Miguel drives off early each morning for the first patrol of the day before opening the Sheriff's Office. That is if Maude Crowley doesn't beat him to it. The Department dispatcher, I swear, knows everything that happens in Harts Corner before the dust settles.
Bethy Rose has made it through the first week of school without running away from home, turning my hair gray, or her love life (at age nine?) ruining her entire life. I think I overheard her telling a friend that Jason spoke to her yesterday. Praise the Lord! This household may survive in spite of itself.
Anyway, things are running pretty smoothly in town. And, to tell you the truth, that makes me more than a little nervous. I'm waiting for the next shoe to drop.
Monday, August 27, 2012
SCHOOL STARTS IN HARTS CORNER
This is Bethy Rose again. Here it is the last of August already. I thought I'd jump in here because Mz. Barbara and all the characters in "Aunt Lutie's Blue Moon Cafe" seem to have been hiding from the heat or somethin'. Maybe they are either all stressed out or out of sorts with the world. Anyway, you sure haven't heard from them lately, have you? Pretty soon folks with have forgotten all about Harts Corner, think we just fell off the side of the earth, or gave up this place to become a ghost town. Far from it, let me tell you.
We're still here and just about now I'm wishin' I wasn't. School starts the first Tuesday in September, the day after Labor Day, and I'm not ready. Yes, I love school and, no, there wasn't that much excitement goin' on around here this summer that I regret for it to end. You see, I'm just goin' to be so embarrassed when I go back, and it's all Jacob Harley's fault. With some help of Sam. Yes, the same Sam that owns the Shamrock station, the tow truck, and the ambulance. That man doesn't know when to keep his lip zipped!
I don't think you know Jason. The Harley family bought a couple of acres at the edge of town, pulled in a beautiful triple wide mobile home that looks like a real house, and started a nursery. No, silly, not for kids. It's a nursery for live, green plants, bushes, trees, flowers. I don't know how they make a living but folks say they have some contracts to supply plants for big stores, garden shops, and landscapers. Don't know how many of them we have around here but MM says they do all the selling by word-of-mouth and deliver where necessary. They also set up booths at our street fair. That's where I met Jason.
I saw him selling some pretty flowers, said hello, introduced myself, and asked him if he was going to school here in the fall. He said he was and he'd be in the fifth grade. MM teased me a bit about the older man in my life, but she wouldn't have ever embarrassed me in front of others. Not like Sam did. Anyway, I told him about the Blue Moon having the best rootbeer floats around and on his break he came over. I made it myself and said it was "on the house" as he was a new customer. That started him coming in each time he was in town. He paid for those.
I showed him all the businesses in town, introduced him to the owners, and gave him some insider points about most of them. We liked to go down to the creek and skim rocks across the surface of the water. One day he helped Harold with his bottle collectin'. I enjoyed his company and certainly entertained no other thoughts than the one telling me he'd make a good friend.
But one day we were laughin' and shovin' each other on the sidewalk on Main Street when Sam walked over from his gas station. He opened his big mouth and said, "Hey, Bethy Rose, have you finally found a boyfriend?"
I could feel my face get hot. I saw a matching shade of red creep up Jason's neck and into his face. I told Sam he had rocks in his head. But it was too late. Jason hurried up the street to the flower shop where his mom had started to work partime. Not even a see-you-later or goodbye touched his lips. And he hasn't come into the Blue Moon since, or spoken to me either.
I'm so embarrassed that I'll run into him in the school hallway. I'm afraid he won't speak to me, or he might and I won't like what he has to say. I don't want to go to school. It's too scary.
Why couldn't that Sam have kept his mouth shut.
We're still here and just about now I'm wishin' I wasn't. School starts the first Tuesday in September, the day after Labor Day, and I'm not ready. Yes, I love school and, no, there wasn't that much excitement goin' on around here this summer that I regret for it to end. You see, I'm just goin' to be so embarrassed when I go back, and it's all Jacob Harley's fault. With some help of Sam. Yes, the same Sam that owns the Shamrock station, the tow truck, and the ambulance. That man doesn't know when to keep his lip zipped!
I don't think you know Jason. The Harley family bought a couple of acres at the edge of town, pulled in a beautiful triple wide mobile home that looks like a real house, and started a nursery. No, silly, not for kids. It's a nursery for live, green plants, bushes, trees, flowers. I don't know how they make a living but folks say they have some contracts to supply plants for big stores, garden shops, and landscapers. Don't know how many of them we have around here but MM says they do all the selling by word-of-mouth and deliver where necessary. They also set up booths at our street fair. That's where I met Jason.
I saw him selling some pretty flowers, said hello, introduced myself, and asked him if he was going to school here in the fall. He said he was and he'd be in the fifth grade. MM teased me a bit about the older man in my life, but she wouldn't have ever embarrassed me in front of others. Not like Sam did. Anyway, I told him about the Blue Moon having the best rootbeer floats around and on his break he came over. I made it myself and said it was "on the house" as he was a new customer. That started him coming in each time he was in town. He paid for those.
I showed him all the businesses in town, introduced him to the owners, and gave him some insider points about most of them. We liked to go down to the creek and skim rocks across the surface of the water. One day he helped Harold with his bottle collectin'. I enjoyed his company and certainly entertained no other thoughts than the one telling me he'd make a good friend.
But one day we were laughin' and shovin' each other on the sidewalk on Main Street when Sam walked over from his gas station. He opened his big mouth and said, "Hey, Bethy Rose, have you finally found a boyfriend?"
I could feel my face get hot. I saw a matching shade of red creep up Jason's neck and into his face. I told Sam he had rocks in his head. But it was too late. Jason hurried up the street to the flower shop where his mom had started to work partime. Not even a see-you-later or goodbye touched his lips. And he hasn't come into the Blue Moon since, or spoken to me either.
I'm so embarrassed that I'll run into him in the school hallway. I'm afraid he won't speak to me, or he might and I won't like what he has to say. I don't want to go to school. It's too scary.
Why couldn't that Sam have kept his mouth shut.
Tuesday, August 7, 2012
She Always Gets the Breaks
It's been a while since anyone dared write on this blog. I wonder what they are afraid of; do folks in this town think anyone gives a rat's nest about what little tidbits we offer here? Well, let me tell you, Tillie Tidwell is not afraid to let folks in Harts Corner, or beyond, read what I am about to say. I'll just give it a lick or two, for or against the people in this flyspeck town, and let the chips fall where they may.
Now don't get me wrong. I sure don't know where I'd live if it weren't here. It's not like I have a fortune stashed away somewhere. With my little country band, I do okay but I certainly don't make enough on it or my other "investment" to live the good life. But I have to admit I sure wished that wasn't the case.
Once, long ago when I was younger and married to Rene Benoit, that good lookin', cheatin' snake in the grass who up and died on me before I could get him to change his will to my benefit instead of his smart-ass, debutant brat daughter--anyway, he was one of the New Orlean's Benoits and we actually went to Paris on our honeymoon. That was the most excitin' place I've ever seen--even his snotty cousins couldn't spoil it for me. I never wanted to leave but Rene assured me we would return each year.
He reminded me his large shrimp fleet and processing plant could not run without him for any length of time. What I later found out was what he really meant was that he couldn't stay away from the rich-bitch hussy mistress he had tucked away in his summer house/farm across Lake Ponchartrain from New Orleans--not too far from the small airport where he landed the company plane when he wanted a little alone time with his sweetie--or as he put it, "checking the books on family holdings."
That's in the long-ago past now. I've been tryin' to keep a body alive and well since my loss of Rene. He was my one and only true love; two husbands since then could never take his place. Since none of my choices had two nickels to rub together, I have been scratchin' in all kinds of barnyards, and some fancy gardens, ever since. It's not a sin to be poor but it's not likeable either. When I found out some of the good old boys of Harts Corner were involved in a lucrative little adventure, I demanded to be let in. Lookin' back on it now, it's a wonder I didn't get my head blowed plumb off.
I never have cared for Mary Margaret Butler. She and her mama waltzed in here and sniveled their way into Lutie Mae Lucas' life and inheritance. She has it too good, not that I'd ever let her know that I actually admire what she has managed to do with the Blue Moon Cafe, mind you. Truthfully, there's too much bending over a hot stove for my likin'. But she has a steady income, loyal customers and, in spite of not having any friends as she grew up, MM has just about everyone in town smilin' at her. Well, not Preston Connors or Dan Wheeler, but they are the exception.
Even the Judge seems to be her champion. Look what he did to Dan regarding his precious daughter, Bethy Rose. I know, I know, I'm not supposed to tell the readers what goes on between the covers of the book MM wrote and, if I tried it here, some Blogger.com snoop would do a WW II censure thing and black out what I divulge. And the Woman's Lib group would probably come after me if I happened to mention that she's sharing the bed covers with that handsome sheriff, too.
Darn that Mary Margaret. She always get the breaks. And little ole me is still left to fend for herself.
Now don't get me wrong. I sure don't know where I'd live if it weren't here. It's not like I have a fortune stashed away somewhere. With my little country band, I do okay but I certainly don't make enough on it or my other "investment" to live the good life. But I have to admit I sure wished that wasn't the case.
Once, long ago when I was younger and married to Rene Benoit, that good lookin', cheatin' snake in the grass who up and died on me before I could get him to change his will to my benefit instead of his smart-ass, debutant brat daughter--anyway, he was one of the New Orlean's Benoits and we actually went to Paris on our honeymoon. That was the most excitin' place I've ever seen--even his snotty cousins couldn't spoil it for me. I never wanted to leave but Rene assured me we would return each year.
He reminded me his large shrimp fleet and processing plant could not run without him for any length of time. What I later found out was what he really meant was that he couldn't stay away from the rich-bitch hussy mistress he had tucked away in his summer house/farm across Lake Ponchartrain from New Orleans--not too far from the small airport where he landed the company plane when he wanted a little alone time with his sweetie--or as he put it, "checking the books on family holdings."
That's in the long-ago past now. I've been tryin' to keep a body alive and well since my loss of Rene. He was my one and only true love; two husbands since then could never take his place. Since none of my choices had two nickels to rub together, I have been scratchin' in all kinds of barnyards, and some fancy gardens, ever since. It's not a sin to be poor but it's not likeable either. When I found out some of the good old boys of Harts Corner were involved in a lucrative little adventure, I demanded to be let in. Lookin' back on it now, it's a wonder I didn't get my head blowed plumb off.
I never have cared for Mary Margaret Butler. She and her mama waltzed in here and sniveled their way into Lutie Mae Lucas' life and inheritance. She has it too good, not that I'd ever let her know that I actually admire what she has managed to do with the Blue Moon Cafe, mind you. Truthfully, there's too much bending over a hot stove for my likin'. But she has a steady income, loyal customers and, in spite of not having any friends as she grew up, MM has just about everyone in town smilin' at her. Well, not Preston Connors or Dan Wheeler, but they are the exception.
Even the Judge seems to be her champion. Look what he did to Dan regarding his precious daughter, Bethy Rose. I know, I know, I'm not supposed to tell the readers what goes on between the covers of the book MM wrote and, if I tried it here, some Blogger.com snoop would do a WW II censure thing and black out what I divulge. And the Woman's Lib group would probably come after me if I happened to mention that she's sharing the bed covers with that handsome sheriff, too.
Darn that Mary Margaret. She always get the breaks. And little ole me is still left to fend for herself.
Thursday, July 26, 2012
NEHI BOTTLES AND FOOD
My name's Harold Coburn. I'm a Korean War vet who wandered into Harts Corner several years ago and somehow the town entangled me in all it's ups and downs--and I haven't found a reason to leave yet. I've seen a lot of the countryside and this little place is about the best for what I need. Peace. Quiet. Folks to leave me alone. A post office box to get my disability checks, and a little job here and there to tide me over at the end of the month. I found that, and more, in Harts Corner.
I thought the town needed a little tidyin' up and I figured I was the one who could do that. No one wants that job. They don't want to pick up trash and, not many people, except maybe a few kids like Bethy Rose Wheeler, care a hoot about the pennies they get for collecting a bottle. So I started picking up those Nehi and Pearl Beer bottles (although this county is a dry one, the folks here only have to drive across the river to buy beer and they drink it all the way home, tossing out the bottles so their wives, for the most part, won't know just how many they've had). Save-Mart paid me for the bottles and pretty soon they figured I was doing a right smart good job of keeping the streets (and their parking lot) from looking too trashy. So they gave me an old shoppin' cart to haul my boxes of bottles and the black bags of trash in, and I was sittin' pretty.
Then the Judge decided I couldn't sleep in the steps down to the equipment room at the Courthouse and offered me his carriage place. Said I could be a sort of "estate caretaker" for his house, garage, carriage house, and the large lawn around them all. I thought it was a pretty good deal when all I had to do was make sure the buildings were locked up before I went to bed, check on the gardeners so they'd know someone was watchin' them do their work, and share the evenin' meal with the Judge. That was the hardest part--the Judge can't cook worth spit!
When I saw the ad for the Blue Moon employees MM needed, I decided to offer my services. She couldn't deny I could do the job. I could and I did. It's been a mutually satisfying arrangement. We all made a great team. When she added Jewel to the list, I was...NO, I promised I wouldn't tell you what the book is about and this is one part of the story you will have to find out for yourself.
I just want to say that this here town, these people, and the Blue Moon have given me a new life. If you want to learn why--yep, you have to read the book to find out.
And, since I only stir things already in pots on the stove in the kitchen, I have no recipe to share. You'll have to come back and read this here blog to get more tasty morsals.
I thought the town needed a little tidyin' up and I figured I was the one who could do that. No one wants that job. They don't want to pick up trash and, not many people, except maybe a few kids like Bethy Rose Wheeler, care a hoot about the pennies they get for collecting a bottle. So I started picking up those Nehi and Pearl Beer bottles (although this county is a dry one, the folks here only have to drive across the river to buy beer and they drink it all the way home, tossing out the bottles so their wives, for the most part, won't know just how many they've had). Save-Mart paid me for the bottles and pretty soon they figured I was doing a right smart good job of keeping the streets (and their parking lot) from looking too trashy. So they gave me an old shoppin' cart to haul my boxes of bottles and the black bags of trash in, and I was sittin' pretty.
Then the Judge decided I couldn't sleep in the steps down to the equipment room at the Courthouse and offered me his carriage place. Said I could be a sort of "estate caretaker" for his house, garage, carriage house, and the large lawn around them all. I thought it was a pretty good deal when all I had to do was make sure the buildings were locked up before I went to bed, check on the gardeners so they'd know someone was watchin' them do their work, and share the evenin' meal with the Judge. That was the hardest part--the Judge can't cook worth spit!
When I saw the ad for the Blue Moon employees MM needed, I decided to offer my services. She couldn't deny I could do the job. I could and I did. It's been a mutually satisfying arrangement. We all made a great team. When she added Jewel to the list, I was...NO, I promised I wouldn't tell you what the book is about and this is one part of the story you will have to find out for yourself.
I just want to say that this here town, these people, and the Blue Moon have given me a new life. If you want to learn why--yep, you have to read the book to find out.
And, since I only stir things already in pots on the stove in the kitchen, I have no recipe to share. You'll have to come back and read this here blog to get more tasty morsals.
Friday, July 20, 2012
HIDIN' OUT
I just want you to know that I, Miz Barbara, have not been hiding out from the world. I have been digging at this book, line by line, attempting to make it something that all of you will be proud to read. That takes more time than you would ever believe--unless you've written and published a book of your own. Miz Gina has been more than patient with my changes/rewrites/booboos caught and not, and is working with me to get this thing ready. It's coming along and we hope to meet that release deadline of no later than August.
This is all and well but you should hear the characters in this book throw a hissy fit! They don't care what I am doing. All they want to do is to get their two-cents worth in on this blog and make sure you all don't forget them. I guess I can't complain about their logic. After all, these characters are the ones who make the book, don't you think? I once had a "kid" copyeditor tell me that I could not sell a story when it was character driven. My response was, "Is that great description of the mountain going to show you what is happening between the people in the village at it's base?" Probably not the best way to put it, but needless to say, I feel that characters are the drivers of my stories. I, and they, like it that way.
The whole country seems to be burning up this summer, either from forest fires or temperatures. It's really hot in some parts of the midwest and we will find it hard to continue to get that delicious sweet corn pretty soon. Those Piney Woods near Harts Corner are beginning to show their lack of water and folks just pray no one will do something foolish with a cigarette or a campfire. The Blue Moon is one of those Cool Spots, so folks tend to head there for lunch, make it their main meal so they don't have to fire up the stove at home. And stay so they don't have to use their own A/C.
I like easy food to fix that is cool to eat during days like this. I use my microwave a lot (Mama is probably not pleased with me at all; she swore those things would nuke the user). I'm going to share one of my favorite salads: Can even be used as a sweet end to a soup and salad meal.
Pineapple Jello Salad
2 c. (l large can) crushed pineapple 2 pkg. lime jello
(juice and all) 2 c. grated cheese
1 scant c. sugar 1 pt. whipping cream, whipped
1 c. water
Heat pineapple, sugar, and water; do not boil. Dissolve in the jello; cool. Add cheese and when nearly set, fold in the whipped cream. Refrigerate until firm. Serves 9 to 12.
Stay cool, folks!
This is all and well but you should hear the characters in this book throw a hissy fit! They don't care what I am doing. All they want to do is to get their two-cents worth in on this blog and make sure you all don't forget them. I guess I can't complain about their logic. After all, these characters are the ones who make the book, don't you think? I once had a "kid" copyeditor tell me that I could not sell a story when it was character driven. My response was, "Is that great description of the mountain going to show you what is happening between the people in the village at it's base?" Probably not the best way to put it, but needless to say, I feel that characters are the drivers of my stories. I, and they, like it that way.
The whole country seems to be burning up this summer, either from forest fires or temperatures. It's really hot in some parts of the midwest and we will find it hard to continue to get that delicious sweet corn pretty soon. Those Piney Woods near Harts Corner are beginning to show their lack of water and folks just pray no one will do something foolish with a cigarette or a campfire. The Blue Moon is one of those Cool Spots, so folks tend to head there for lunch, make it their main meal so they don't have to fire up the stove at home. And stay so they don't have to use their own A/C.
I like easy food to fix that is cool to eat during days like this. I use my microwave a lot (Mama is probably not pleased with me at all; she swore those things would nuke the user). I'm going to share one of my favorite salads: Can even be used as a sweet end to a soup and salad meal.
Pineapple Jello Salad
2 c. (l large can) crushed pineapple 2 pkg. lime jello
(juice and all) 2 c. grated cheese
1 scant c. sugar 1 pt. whipping cream, whipped
1 c. water
Heat pineapple, sugar, and water; do not boil. Dissolve in the jello; cool. Add cheese and when nearly set, fold in the whipped cream. Refrigerate until firm. Serves 9 to 12.
Stay cool, folks!
Sunday, July 8, 2012
I'LL BE WAITING ALWAYS
Deputy/Sheriff Miguel Kinkaid signing in. That Miz Barbara knows I have very little time for this sort of thing but she's real good at twisting arms. So I said I'd write on this thing--once at least--and she can stay off my back if I never show up here again.
When I was assigned here over two years ago now, I had planned on doing my duty and, as soon as Sheriff Cobb returned, I'd be back in the Austin area. It didn't work out that way. The sheriff was asked to stay there after his special schooling--and his teenage son was "over the moon" as he put it. I was given a choice--I could stay on here, or I could destroy a young man's dreams. So I stayed and went from deputy to sheriff in a year's time with only one major upheaval in the peace of this town.
The main reason I stayed, the one you will learn about when you read the book, has red hair, green eyes, and a loveable foster daughter. She can also be the most stubborn, exasperating woman I have ever known!
Things got a little hot around here. You are planning on reading the book, aren't you? Well, I guess you will have to in order to find out what a hotbed of crime this podunk country town became for a short time. No, I won't tell you all about it. No hints either. I want Miz Barbara to sell lots of books.
I'll just add it certainly is not boring around Harts Corner, Texas.
MM (yeah, I sometimes give in and call her by her initials since everyone else does) keeps me hopping. She can get that pretty little nose into more prickly cactus than any woman you'll ever see. And she's certainly not going to listen to me yell about the dangers she gets herself into. She will continue to do her thing--even though I do try to sweet talk her into letting me do my own job. She'll pull back a bit but then her mind starts gnawing on a mystery or a clue, and she's off again.
Bethy Rose and I are trying to convince her that we need to be a family. I've been on bended knee more than once. MM's weakening some but she still believes the Butler women are not good at relationships. I don't know why she still believes that; she's certainly good at this one. We've given this togetherness a try, under the same roof, for almost a year now. The roof's still on, none of us bear any scars from verbal or physical fights, and we can still shoot off lightning bolts between us at the proper moments.
I'll keep asking. Bethy Rose will continue to tell MM's she's looking more like an Old Maid--though I dare not laugh when she does. One of these day's she'll walk down the aisle in one of those white satin and lace creations women have to have on that special day.
And I'll be waiting at the altar for her whenever she does it.
When I was assigned here over two years ago now, I had planned on doing my duty and, as soon as Sheriff Cobb returned, I'd be back in the Austin area. It didn't work out that way. The sheriff was asked to stay there after his special schooling--and his teenage son was "over the moon" as he put it. I was given a choice--I could stay on here, or I could destroy a young man's dreams. So I stayed and went from deputy to sheriff in a year's time with only one major upheaval in the peace of this town.
The main reason I stayed, the one you will learn about when you read the book, has red hair, green eyes, and a loveable foster daughter. She can also be the most stubborn, exasperating woman I have ever known!
Things got a little hot around here. You are planning on reading the book, aren't you? Well, I guess you will have to in order to find out what a hotbed of crime this podunk country town became for a short time. No, I won't tell you all about it. No hints either. I want Miz Barbara to sell lots of books.
I'll just add it certainly is not boring around Harts Corner, Texas.
MM (yeah, I sometimes give in and call her by her initials since everyone else does) keeps me hopping. She can get that pretty little nose into more prickly cactus than any woman you'll ever see. And she's certainly not going to listen to me yell about the dangers she gets herself into. She will continue to do her thing--even though I do try to sweet talk her into letting me do my own job. She'll pull back a bit but then her mind starts gnawing on a mystery or a clue, and she's off again.
Bethy Rose and I are trying to convince her that we need to be a family. I've been on bended knee more than once. MM's weakening some but she still believes the Butler women are not good at relationships. I don't know why she still believes that; she's certainly good at this one. We've given this togetherness a try, under the same roof, for almost a year now. The roof's still on, none of us bear any scars from verbal or physical fights, and we can still shoot off lightning bolts between us at the proper moments.
I'll keep asking. Bethy Rose will continue to tell MM's she's looking more like an Old Maid--though I dare not laugh when she does. One of these day's she'll walk down the aisle in one of those white satin and lace creations women have to have on that special day.
And I'll be waiting at the altar for her whenever she does it.
Wednesday, July 4, 2012
HEAVENLY SIGHTINGS
Aunt Lutie is buttin' in here today. I mean, since we don't take turns anymore it doesn't make any difference, now does it? I'm so excited! I just had to tell ya'll the good news.
You know, now and then, I get a vision. Now you stop that snortin', Mary Margaret. Just because I'm a spirit doesn't mean that I don't have dreams and see things, too. If them psychics on TV can do it, there's no way in God's Green Acre I am not going to have the same privilege. So hold up your horses, gal. This is my story.
Although I'm not ready to let go of my love ones permanently for an apartment in the blue hereafter, the Good Lord let's me visit behind the vail now and then. You might not want to share this news with everyone, or they just might walk on the other side of Main Street when they see you comin'. And, Mary Margaret, button your lip about your dear Aunt Lutie visitin' anywhere. It's bad for business.
Okay, Okay, I'll give my news. I'm not really sure where he is, up there or here on earth somewhere, but...I saw Jinks yesterday! Isn't that exciting? And he was doing some kind of work with cars--or was it chariots--see, I don't know if he was in Detroit or Dearborn, or working for our Holy Maker. Well, anyway, he had the biggest grin on his face as he worked. Not a word of complaint came out of hi mouth. That big grin on his face would have satisfied everyone--he's happy and safe and doing something he seems to love. Isn't that the best news?
Don't ask me all them questions, you hear? I can't answer them and I'm no Agatha Christie or Maisy whatever her name is. I'm no writer and no snoopy detective either. They're both always in someone's face wantin' information. So just take my word for it and let it be.
I know what I saw! So there!
You know, now and then, I get a vision. Now you stop that snortin', Mary Margaret. Just because I'm a spirit doesn't mean that I don't have dreams and see things, too. If them psychics on TV can do it, there's no way in God's Green Acre I am not going to have the same privilege. So hold up your horses, gal. This is my story.
Although I'm not ready to let go of my love ones permanently for an apartment in the blue hereafter, the Good Lord let's me visit behind the vail now and then. You might not want to share this news with everyone, or they just might walk on the other side of Main Street when they see you comin'. And, Mary Margaret, button your lip about your dear Aunt Lutie visitin' anywhere. It's bad for business.
Okay, Okay, I'll give my news. I'm not really sure where he is, up there or here on earth somewhere, but...I saw Jinks yesterday! Isn't that exciting? And he was doing some kind of work with cars--or was it chariots--see, I don't know if he was in Detroit or Dearborn, or working for our Holy Maker. Well, anyway, he had the biggest grin on his face as he worked. Not a word of complaint came out of hi mouth. That big grin on his face would have satisfied everyone--he's happy and safe and doing something he seems to love. Isn't that the best news?
Don't ask me all them questions, you hear? I can't answer them and I'm no Agatha Christie or Maisy whatever her name is. I'm no writer and no snoopy detective either. They're both always in someone's face wantin' information. So just take my word for it and let it be.
I know what I saw! So there!
Saturday, June 30, 2012
THE QUEEN OF HEAL
My name is Bess. Some people in Harts Corner and around these parts, call me a scary woman. Others call me a Voodoo Queen. Others say I do evil things. But many can attest to the fact that my salves, brewed teas, and potions have cured many of their ailments. Mary Margaret Butler calls me a conjurin' woman. I'm not so sure I understand the true meanin' of that word and if'n I did, I most probably wouldn't like it. I just call myself a healer and let it go at that.
My immediate family came from islands off the coast of Georgia. They been around for almost two hundred years there. Before that some kin says they came from a Caribbean country, and I do believe the original of my folks is, like most people of color, Africa. I never paid much mind to where I came from. The God put me on this earth and here I be. And The Lady has a lot to do with the fact that I's still here.
She gives me the power to keep people healthy. I worship her--leavin' out bowls of her favorite herbs, berries, twigs. I lights candles all around the room I've set aside for her. And she is there when I need to study on a hard case, come up with somethin' powerfully healin' or soothin' for some one in real need of a cure. Now, those Baptists and other church preachers (and some members) around will be mighty quick to tell you that I am spreadin' evil with my thoughts and beliefs. Where do they get their information? Do God come down and tell them that Bess LeClaire is an evil woman? Do he tell them not to come out here to get help? Is it at his direction that they smile at me when I do go into town, and cross themselves when my back is turned? Hmm, some pious people those are.
Traditional medicine don't help everyone. And my medicine don't either. Part of the reason it kept the pain away from Lutie Mae Lucas was because she believed I could somehow help her. Long before she got the cancer, she had come to me for such things as the mid-life miseries, colds, fevers, and a cough that lingered. I made her a tea of three barks for the cough near the end of her life and when it didn't help, I convinced her she needed to see a lung specialist. I don't fool around with life-threaten' diseases.
Now Mary Margaret is not a believer. She is a fearer--a feared of the hoodoo stuff, as she calls it. She sees Dr. Barnes when she lets things go too far--if she'd let me mix her up a little tea, she could save her money--and she don't even want Bethy Rose to know about my remedies. I respect her wishes and Bethy Rose and I just remain friends. She's a precious child that deserves all the happiness she can grab hold of.
I don't do too much cookin' anymore but, unknown probably to Mary Margaret, there are a couple of the tried and true favorite dishes served at the Blue Moon that I gave Lutie Mae. You know, in the old days--and sometimes even today--farmers raise a hog just for butcherin' in the fall to put meat in their freezers. Folks used to bring me bacon, a ham, and pork chops in payment for herbs. I used this recipe for pork chops.
Fried Pork Chops With Cream Gravy
1 cup all-purpose flour 1 tsp. mixed spices (Cajun used today)
1/4 tsps. garlic powder 1/4 tsp. pepper
8 (4-ozs) boneless center-cut 1 cup buttermilk (nonfat for health)
pork chops Vegetable cooking spray
For Gravy
1 cup milk (fat-free for health) 1/4 tsp. salt
Garnish: coarse ground pepper
Reserve: 2 tbsps. flour, and set aside. Place remaining four in shallow dish.
Combine: Seasoning, garlic powder, and pepper. Rub pork chops evenly on
both sides with seasoning mixture.
Dip: Pork chops in buttermilk; dredge in flour. Lightly coat both sides of
pork with cooking spray.
Cook: Pork chops, in batches, in hot oil in a large heavy skillet over medium-
light heat 5 minutes on each side until golden brown. Drain on paper towels.
For Gravey Add: Reserved 2 tbsps. flour to pan drippings in skillet; stir in milk and salt, and
cook, stirring constantly, until tickened and bubbly. Serve immediately with
pork. Garnish, if desired.
My immediate family came from islands off the coast of Georgia. They been around for almost two hundred years there. Before that some kin says they came from a Caribbean country, and I do believe the original of my folks is, like most people of color, Africa. I never paid much mind to where I came from. The God put me on this earth and here I be. And The Lady has a lot to do with the fact that I's still here.
She gives me the power to keep people healthy. I worship her--leavin' out bowls of her favorite herbs, berries, twigs. I lights candles all around the room I've set aside for her. And she is there when I need to study on a hard case, come up with somethin' powerfully healin' or soothin' for some one in real need of a cure. Now, those Baptists and other church preachers (and some members) around will be mighty quick to tell you that I am spreadin' evil with my thoughts and beliefs. Where do they get their information? Do God come down and tell them that Bess LeClaire is an evil woman? Do he tell them not to come out here to get help? Is it at his direction that they smile at me when I do go into town, and cross themselves when my back is turned? Hmm, some pious people those are.
Traditional medicine don't help everyone. And my medicine don't either. Part of the reason it kept the pain away from Lutie Mae Lucas was because she believed I could somehow help her. Long before she got the cancer, she had come to me for such things as the mid-life miseries, colds, fevers, and a cough that lingered. I made her a tea of three barks for the cough near the end of her life and when it didn't help, I convinced her she needed to see a lung specialist. I don't fool around with life-threaten' diseases.
Now Mary Margaret is not a believer. She is a fearer--a feared of the hoodoo stuff, as she calls it. She sees Dr. Barnes when she lets things go too far--if she'd let me mix her up a little tea, she could save her money--and she don't even want Bethy Rose to know about my remedies. I respect her wishes and Bethy Rose and I just remain friends. She's a precious child that deserves all the happiness she can grab hold of.
I don't do too much cookin' anymore but, unknown probably to Mary Margaret, there are a couple of the tried and true favorite dishes served at the Blue Moon that I gave Lutie Mae. You know, in the old days--and sometimes even today--farmers raise a hog just for butcherin' in the fall to put meat in their freezers. Folks used to bring me bacon, a ham, and pork chops in payment for herbs. I used this recipe for pork chops.
Fried Pork Chops With Cream Gravy
1 cup all-purpose flour 1 tsp. mixed spices (Cajun used today)
1/4 tsps. garlic powder 1/4 tsp. pepper
8 (4-ozs) boneless center-cut 1 cup buttermilk (nonfat for health)
pork chops Vegetable cooking spray
For Gravy
1 cup milk (fat-free for health) 1/4 tsp. salt
Garnish: coarse ground pepper
Reserve: 2 tbsps. flour, and set aside. Place remaining four in shallow dish.
Combine: Seasoning, garlic powder, and pepper. Rub pork chops evenly on
both sides with seasoning mixture.
Dip: Pork chops in buttermilk; dredge in flour. Lightly coat both sides of
pork with cooking spray.
Cook: Pork chops, in batches, in hot oil in a large heavy skillet over medium-
light heat 5 minutes on each side until golden brown. Drain on paper towels.
For Gravey Add: Reserved 2 tbsps. flour to pan drippings in skillet; stir in milk and salt, and
cook, stirring constantly, until tickened and bubbly. Serve immediately with
pork. Garnish, if desired.
Thursday, June 28, 2012
MOTHERLY FIGURE
Miz Barbara, how did I let you talk me into putting my two cents worth in here? Whatever will I share with the folks here in Harts Corner that they don't know already? Oh, right, if they haven't decided to read the book yet, maybe something we all share here will tweak their interest.
Well, all the townspeople know I'm married to Leonard Skaggs. He's always been a fiddle player, even when a teenager, and even back then he had a small musical group. Don't know if he even called it a band then but they did get some paying jobs for house parties and weddings. When he retired, he began to take on more gigs, some in county honky tonks. I was a little unsettled about that as Baptists, even in these more modern days of the 1960's, frown on not only dancing but going to those kind of places. Drinking is a huge No-No for us and the pastors remind us that "birds of a feather flock together." Even though Leonard is not a drinking man, he was looked down on. Which meant that he stopped going to church.
That fact doesn't make him a bad man, only one who doesn't take religion as serious as some of us. I had a hard time of it for a bit but then the ladies of the church gave me a pass. I heard more "You poor thing" than I ever want to hear again. Next to me and his grandchildren, Leonard loves his music and I feel that God understands his feelings. After all, all talents are God given aren't they?
We raised two children to adulthood without many problems and now they have showered us with a great daughter- and son-in-law and three grandchildren. I babysit them from time to time and that's where Bethy Rose comes into the picture. Those grandkids can run me ragged when they're here all weekend or even longer in the summer. Bethy Rose has this great imagination and she can come up with more things to entertain all of them. That keeps them all happy and me sane. So I have always had Bethy Rose as part of my extended family, right along with MM and now Miguel.
I worry about MM when she gets involved in this crime solving stuff. She's a wonderful cook and baker, runs the Blue Moon even better than her aunt, and she has made the right kind of life for an orphan child. But she scares me when she gets some puzzle in her head that involves what she declares is an "injustice." She has a good heart and takes in all kinds of strays too--just wait until you read about Jewel Tate and Weird Harold Coburn--but it was others that she befriended...well, at least had more than a handshaking acquaintance with...those were the ones that worried me. And she's never going to stop extending that helping hand out to anyone she thinks needs it either.
Life is pretty easy for me now. I still love to cook and bake and Leonard loves to eat. My family life is pretty secure. My favorite hobby is quilting. If you go down to Laurel's Home Decor, two doors down from the Blue Moon, you can see some of my work. Laurel Baxter, she's been in town for about a year now, has been employed by some people to decorate their homes, a room here and there. She's set up a lovely shop so I'm sure her work is quite good. Anyway, she has sold some of my quilts as part of her redecorating--and has others for sale to the public around the shop.
I don't know what else to tell you about Harts Corner or myself. I've lived here all of my married life. It's had good days and bad. Now, with the freeway causing traffic to pass us by for the most part, we aren't as prosperous as we were when travelers passed through--and when the logging mills were running full steam. But we get by. We're neighborly and try to follow the rules of life--and God is an important part of our lives--well, to most of us. We have a good town here--and I hope you'll read the book when it comes out to find out just how special we are.
Come to think of it, special might not be the right word. Read it and decide how you want to describe our little town.
Well, all the townspeople know I'm married to Leonard Skaggs. He's always been a fiddle player, even when a teenager, and even back then he had a small musical group. Don't know if he even called it a band then but they did get some paying jobs for house parties and weddings. When he retired, he began to take on more gigs, some in county honky tonks. I was a little unsettled about that as Baptists, even in these more modern days of the 1960's, frown on not only dancing but going to those kind of places. Drinking is a huge No-No for us and the pastors remind us that "birds of a feather flock together." Even though Leonard is not a drinking man, he was looked down on. Which meant that he stopped going to church.
That fact doesn't make him a bad man, only one who doesn't take religion as serious as some of us. I had a hard time of it for a bit but then the ladies of the church gave me a pass. I heard more "You poor thing" than I ever want to hear again. Next to me and his grandchildren, Leonard loves his music and I feel that God understands his feelings. After all, all talents are God given aren't they?
We raised two children to adulthood without many problems and now they have showered us with a great daughter- and son-in-law and three grandchildren. I babysit them from time to time and that's where Bethy Rose comes into the picture. Those grandkids can run me ragged when they're here all weekend or even longer in the summer. Bethy Rose has this great imagination and she can come up with more things to entertain all of them. That keeps them all happy and me sane. So I have always had Bethy Rose as part of my extended family, right along with MM and now Miguel.
I worry about MM when she gets involved in this crime solving stuff. She's a wonderful cook and baker, runs the Blue Moon even better than her aunt, and she has made the right kind of life for an orphan child. But she scares me when she gets some puzzle in her head that involves what she declares is an "injustice." She has a good heart and takes in all kinds of strays too--just wait until you read about Jewel Tate and Weird Harold Coburn--but it was others that she befriended...well, at least had more than a handshaking acquaintance with...those were the ones that worried me. And she's never going to stop extending that helping hand out to anyone she thinks needs it either.
Life is pretty easy for me now. I still love to cook and bake and Leonard loves to eat. My family life is pretty secure. My favorite hobby is quilting. If you go down to Laurel's Home Decor, two doors down from the Blue Moon, you can see some of my work. Laurel Baxter, she's been in town for about a year now, has been employed by some people to decorate their homes, a room here and there. She's set up a lovely shop so I'm sure her work is quite good. Anyway, she has sold some of my quilts as part of her redecorating--and has others for sale to the public around the shop.
I don't know what else to tell you about Harts Corner or myself. I've lived here all of my married life. It's had good days and bad. Now, with the freeway causing traffic to pass us by for the most part, we aren't as prosperous as we were when travelers passed through--and when the logging mills were running full steam. But we get by. We're neighborly and try to follow the rules of life--and God is an important part of our lives--well, to most of us. We have a good town here--and I hope you'll read the book when it comes out to find out just how special we are.
Come to think of it, special might not be the right word. Read it and decide how you want to describe our little town.
Tuesday, June 26, 2012
I'M A LUCKY GIRL
I’m Bethy Rose Wheeler Butler
(hopefully, one day Kinkaid). I’m so excited to be allowed to write in this
blog. I can’t wait to make copies and show all of my friends. You bet I have a
lot of friends. It makes me sad when I remember that MM grew up in Harts Corner
without a close friend. You gotta have girlfriends or life ain’t (sorry, isn’t)
worth living.
2 eggs 1 tsp. ground nutmeg
5 c. flour ½ milk
Cookie Frosting
12 c. confectioners’ 2 tsp. vanilla
sugar, sifted Red food coloring
Cream butter; add salt. Gradually add about 1 c. sugar, blending after
each addition.
Enjoy my cookies.
Some people say there’s not much
to do in Harts Corner. I sure have always been able to find lots to do around
here. Even before Daddy died and I came to live with MM, I had things to do. He
was on the road a lot and kinda forgot to do certain parentin’ things, so I
found ways to earn a little money. Tillie paid me to weed her flowers. SaveMart
took all the cola bottles and cans I could pick up, and I bought milk, cereal,
and stuff to tide me over until Daddy came home. And I usually had enough to
buy a root beer float at the Blue Moon a couple of times a week.
I always loved to read. The
little library set up in the corner of Dixie Lee’s Curl & Pearl shop had
all kinds of books for me to read. Dixie is known to take some of her tips to
purchase new books to go along with the donated ones on the shelves. I guess
she did all right with the hair dos for ladies in town and the pearly polish
she painted on their nails, because she always had new books for me to check
out.
When I came to live with MM, she
took me fishin’ on White Rock Creek, made sure I had a uniform so I could join
the softball team, attended my school plays, and took me to Crockett to buy new
school clothes twice a year. We went to the movies once a week when the show
was kid appropriate. And she even
allowed me to learn to cook when I told her I wanted to. So to those folks who
tell you there’s nothing to do in Harts Corner, I say they just don’t have any
imagination at all.
There’s one thing though that I
wish MM would do. She needs to marry Miguel and make us a real family. He’s
asked her but for whatever reason (I think she’s just being her own stubborn
self as Aunt Lutie says), she won’t say yes. He’s the handsomest, bestest,
kindest man, and he loves me like his real own daughter. I don’t want him to
give up on us.
Did you all hear the story about
the time MM helped me make cookies for Valentine’s Day? No? Well, you’ll just
have to read the book; it tells the whole story. And it’s a doozy as Harold
would say. Just to give you a taste (ha ha, funny, huh?)—here’s the recipe for my
cookies.
Bethy Rose’s Valentine Cookies
1-1/4 c. soft butter 1
tsp. salt
2 c. sugar 4tsp.
baking powder2 eggs 1 tsp. ground nutmeg
5 c. flour ½ milk
Cream butter and sugar together. Add eggs and beat until fluffy.
Stir together dry ingredients; add alternately with milk to creamed
mixture. If dough is sticky, add flour to handle.
Roll ¼” thick on well-floured pastry cloth; cut with heart-shaped
cutter. Bake on ungreased baking sheet in 350 degree oven for 8 minutes. Cool on
racks. Makes about 100 cookies, depending on size of cutter.
½ c. butter 5
egg whites, unbeaten
½ tsp. salt ½ c.
light cream12 c. confectioners’ 2 tsp. vanilla
sugar, sifted Red food coloring
Add remaining sugar alternately with egg whites first, then cream,
until of right consistency to spread. Beat smooth after each addition. Add vanilla
and red food coloring to desired color. Frost each cookie; decorate with
colored sugars or candies.
Monday, June 25, 2012
CREATED EQUAL
Good evening from Miz Barbara,
I’m a Southern gal through and through. Growing up in the
1950’s South I saw some puzzling things. For example, until I was eighteen, I
never knew there were separate water fountains in public places. Years before
that Mama sewed clothing for people to help supplement Daddy’s income. She was
a beautiful seamstress and one of the things she did so well was formals for
the local girls. The girls brought her a picture from a magazine, she took
their measurements, cut out a pattern from newspaper and created a dream of a
dress.
What puzzled me was the reaction of the townsfolk when a
Colored woman asked if Mama would make a prom dress for her daughter. I’ve
confused you—the dress wasn’t the puzzle. The boycott of Mama’s dressmaking
skills was the puzzle. Why did people act like that? What difference could it
possibly make who she sewed for?
Bless Mama’s kind heart. She taught all of her children that
God created all of us and forbid us to mistreat or disrespect any living thing.
In this case, she stood her ground and that girl had the most beautiful dress.
I can’t remember any of the other many dresses Mama made, but I will never
forget the beauty of that yellow dress—or the smile on the wearer’s face.
Remember what Mama said? We’re all created equal. That goes
for the people who live in Harts Corner, and for those who write in this blog.
So we’re making some changes—we’re inviting other voices in. Now, just a darned
minute, you two! Don’t get your panties tied up in a wad. Stop and think of
this: You are going to run out of words (and spit), those special memories to
share, and maybe even recipes. We want to keep this blog interesting and we
need some more blood to do that.
So, all things being created equal, we’re gonna share this
with some of our friends and family. Well, like who? Cora and Leonard Skaggs
might have a lot to say—she is always volunteering to help people in town, and
he and his little band play some fun gigs. Pastor Micah might want to give us a
little spiritual uplifting now and again. Some of the church women have great
recipes and know a lot of the history of this town. Bethy Rose even said she’d
like to talk about her life, maybe even some of the kids in school. And MM
might persuade Miguel to give us some safety tips and ways to keep crime out of
our neighborhood.
You folks look out for some new writers on this blog.
Sunday, June 24, 2012
Goodness and Trouble
My Mary Margaret can sure cook up
a storm when the chips are down. Did you read what she did for the Skagg’s
wedding anniversary? With Miguel’s suggestions and much needed help, she baked
and decorated that wedding/anniversary cake that wowed everyone.
1 (20-oz) pkg. frozen strawberries 1 (8-oz) sour cream
Dissolve Jell-O in boiling water. Add frozen berries; stir until
berries melt. Add pineapple and nuts. Pour half of mixture into 9X9” pan;
refrigerate till firm. Spread sour cream over Jell-O and pour remaining Jell-O
over top. Refrigerate until set. Serves
8 to 10.
She has this pattern she always
using to decorate wedding cakes; roses and bells tied together with
confectionary ribbons. It is every bride’s dream to have a cake that looks like
the ones Mary Margaret creates. When people walked into the Fellowship Hall
after church today, there were gasps of wonder, then lots of oohs and aahs. Cora cried and Leonard felt he had to kiss her to get her
over all the emotion. Which it did when she began to turn red and giggle at his
unusual public show of affection.
I do take some of the credit for
her cooking expertise as I taught her the basics—which she took to like a duck
to White Rock Creek. From then on it was curiosity, research, and a God-given
gift to create wonderful dishes. She’s a jewel, that girl is.
I really don’t how she handles
all that is going on in her life. She works hard at the Blue Moon but manages
to keep a lovely home, nurtures Bethy Rose, keeps Miguel happy (at least his
grin seems to say so), and opens the door to her employees, her daughter’s
teammates, and the people who work with Miguel at the Sheriff’s Department. I
guess I could have done it when I was younger but I do worry about my Mary
Margaret just plain burning herself out.
There’s also the fact that she
can’t keep her nose clean. It seems to sniff out trouble like a Blue Tick hound
dog. That gal will then dig and dig until she finds out too much for her own
good and winds up in the shadows of danger. Even Miguel, who has such a
sensible head on his shoulders, has no control over Mary Margaret Butler’s
determination to draw a permanent line between right and wrong.
She gets mad at me when I remind
her that Bess and I only have her best interest at heart when we attempt to
slow her down with some secrets of our own. Mary Margaret confesses she is a
little bit afraid of the power many believe Bess has and steers as clear of her
as she can in a town as small as Harts Corner. Good thing Bess stays to herself
most of the time. But when Bess fell and spent a week in bed when she returned
from the hospital, Mary Margaret drove out there every afternoon to set out her
pills for the next day and deliver a hot supper. She made all of the conjuring
woman’s favorite foods, including this salad that can be served as such, or as
dessert.
Strawberry Salad
1 (6-oz) pkg. strawberry Jell-O 1 c. chopped walnuts
1 c. crushed pineapple, undrained 1-2/3 boiling water1 (20-oz) pkg. frozen strawberries 1 (8-oz) sour cream
Saturday, June 23, 2012
WEDDING ANNIVERSARY
I am in such a flitter tonight. I have to work in our kitchen while Miguel and Bethy Rose enjoy a new DVD just down the hall. Yes, I know it's Saturday night and I have a rule about not working after lunch until Monday morning. I realize I need the break and Bethy Rose needs to know that there are some priorities that do include her. But this is something special.
It is not about the money. How dare you think I would take money to cater this special celebration after church tomorrow? Do you think I'd go over to the Fellowship Hall and spend three hours decorating and setting up the food table instead of going swimming with Bethy Rose if this was only about money? Don't you folks know me better than that?
It's Cora and Leonard Skagg's fortieth anniversary and Pastor Micah suggested the women of the church might like to plan "a little something for them." The church would make the punch and coffee, provide all the serving sets needed, and maybe we could "put out a list for donations of desserts." I quickly said I'd provide the desserts and would be happy to decorate, set up, and coordinate the ladies who would pour drinks and dish up the food. I had no trouble finding volunteers, of course, but it was with the timing that it all began to fall apart. Pastor Micah asked me yesterday to do this.
This whole darned week went berserk! I suddenly had three other catering jobs. Jewel had a twenty-four hour bug and missed a day; Harold might as well have taken to bed with her. I swear, those two better hurry up and get married and get tired of each other, or I'm going to be forced to look for new employees. Of course, I don't mean that--but sometimes I wish I wasn't the boss and could just let them know what it is like keeping a cafe running somewhat well. What it all meant I have been running ragged every night and day all week. I've missed Bethy Rose's softball game, and had to skip a romantic dinner with Miguel--away from Harts Corner. I am not in the best of moods.
And here I am trying to concoct desserts at nine at night--and I'm dead on my feet.So help me if there was a bakery within twenty miles of here, I'd drive over there and buy them out.
As it is, I have three pecan pies pulled out of the cafe freezer, and one chocolate sheet cake I have now iced with German chocolate frosting. Bethy Rose helped me bake her favorite sugar cookies. So far, a nice assortment of sweets. But I need to do something that really says "wedding" and to me that means a tiered cake. How in the world can I do something like that at the midnight hour so to speak?
Strong arms embraced me from behind. "Bethy Rose is brushing her teeth, getting ready for bed. When you go up to kiss her goodnight, I'll go to the cafe and get the tiered pans. You can have the ingredients all mixed up by the time I find them and get back. The cakes will come out in thirty minutes. You will cool them overnight, get up a little early, pack them up, set up the cake in the Fellowship Hall and decorate the most beautiful wedding cake you've ever presented."
I leaned back and looked at this man who had entered my life when I thought I needed no one in it. Miguel never ceased to amaze me. And he was absolutely right--I can do this. I let the stress of the entire week tell me it was impossible. Miguel's reassured me that I am the one in charge here and, tired or not, I can do this for my very favorite couple in the world.
I kissed him quickly. "You are a genius, Sheriff Kinkaid. Do you wanta make a date for the entire weekend next week--go to Galveston and walk the beach? Hide out in a hotel room? Eat someone else's cooking? I promise I won't cancel this time."
"That's a promise I will definitely make you keep. I'll be back ASAP."
How could I have been so lucky to find him?
Ouch! Darn it, Aunt Lutie, I'm too old to be swatted on the behind. Okay, okay, you and Bess conjured him up. You always get your way, don't you? I;'m too tired and busy to fight with you tonight. Goodnight, Aunt Lutie."
It is not about the money. How dare you think I would take money to cater this special celebration after church tomorrow? Do you think I'd go over to the Fellowship Hall and spend three hours decorating and setting up the food table instead of going swimming with Bethy Rose if this was only about money? Don't you folks know me better than that?
It's Cora and Leonard Skagg's fortieth anniversary and Pastor Micah suggested the women of the church might like to plan "a little something for them." The church would make the punch and coffee, provide all the serving sets needed, and maybe we could "put out a list for donations of desserts." I quickly said I'd provide the desserts and would be happy to decorate, set up, and coordinate the ladies who would pour drinks and dish up the food. I had no trouble finding volunteers, of course, but it was with the timing that it all began to fall apart. Pastor Micah asked me yesterday to do this.
This whole darned week went berserk! I suddenly had three other catering jobs. Jewel had a twenty-four hour bug and missed a day; Harold might as well have taken to bed with her. I swear, those two better hurry up and get married and get tired of each other, or I'm going to be forced to look for new employees. Of course, I don't mean that--but sometimes I wish I wasn't the boss and could just let them know what it is like keeping a cafe running somewhat well. What it all meant I have been running ragged every night and day all week. I've missed Bethy Rose's softball game, and had to skip a romantic dinner with Miguel--away from Harts Corner. I am not in the best of moods.
And here I am trying to concoct desserts at nine at night--and I'm dead on my feet.So help me if there was a bakery within twenty miles of here, I'd drive over there and buy them out.
As it is, I have three pecan pies pulled out of the cafe freezer, and one chocolate sheet cake I have now iced with German chocolate frosting. Bethy Rose helped me bake her favorite sugar cookies. So far, a nice assortment of sweets. But I need to do something that really says "wedding" and to me that means a tiered cake. How in the world can I do something like that at the midnight hour so to speak?
Strong arms embraced me from behind. "Bethy Rose is brushing her teeth, getting ready for bed. When you go up to kiss her goodnight, I'll go to the cafe and get the tiered pans. You can have the ingredients all mixed up by the time I find them and get back. The cakes will come out in thirty minutes. You will cool them overnight, get up a little early, pack them up, set up the cake in the Fellowship Hall and decorate the most beautiful wedding cake you've ever presented."
I leaned back and looked at this man who had entered my life when I thought I needed no one in it. Miguel never ceased to amaze me. And he was absolutely right--I can do this. I let the stress of the entire week tell me it was impossible. Miguel's reassured me that I am the one in charge here and, tired or not, I can do this for my very favorite couple in the world.
I kissed him quickly. "You are a genius, Sheriff Kinkaid. Do you wanta make a date for the entire weekend next week--go to Galveston and walk the beach? Hide out in a hotel room? Eat someone else's cooking? I promise I won't cancel this time."
"That's a promise I will definitely make you keep. I'll be back ASAP."
How could I have been so lucky to find him?
Ouch! Darn it, Aunt Lutie, I'm too old to be swatted on the behind. Okay, okay, you and Bess conjured him up. You always get your way, don't you? I;'m too tired and busy to fight with you tonight. Goodnight, Aunt Lutie."
Friday, June 22, 2012
REMIND ME WHAT I'M DOING HERE
Miz Barbara isn't her perky self tonight. She's had a busy, busy day (working on the next Aunt Lutie Book and mopping floors), and a sad night. If you didn't know, she/I do much more than keep track of Harts Corner and all the characters living there. I shepherd elderly students in creative writing classes and a special memoir class. One of them was held tonight--and I am a little down about it.
Eight years ago I was asked to sign a contract to teach this memoir class in an assisted living retirement community in a nearby town. I began with six students. It quickly grew to fifteen or more members and went on for the next six years at that rate. Then my initial students began to become ill, move closer to children, or leave this earth for the happy hunting grounds. I have been down to six to ten students for these last several years--which is a concern to me.
What do you do when you are down? One of the things I do is put on some nice, colorful clothes, add a smile and go forward. Tonight I dressed in white slacks, a pink shell, and a soft, sheer blouse in pale pinks, lilacs, and blues. I signed in with a big smile and the receptionist told me how summery I looked. My class members said they felt lighter just looking at me. But...
Tonight I had three students. They are also concerned about the diminishing numbers. The activities director says we will hang in there and see if it doesn't improve. In the past, I made up flyers and had them delivered to all the residents; I had a few visitors but only one who stayed on. I've made excuses for the time--nights from seven to eight--as many elderly want to be in front of their TV at that time, or in bed. My students have spread the word...we have all done what we could to promote this.
And that's what writers must do for themselves. Treat your writing like the important thing in your life it is. Dress each day as if you are going off to work--either neat casual or dressier--not your pajamas. Promote your craft, your books, your classes. If that fails or if you receive a rejection, don't let it erase the love of writing. Put on that smile and enjoy what you are doing--in spite of few members in a class, or less acceptances of your writing for publication--because writing is what you want to do with all your heart.
Whatever happens to my class, I have learned so much from the wonderful people who have attended. Just as I hope you will learn all about the people in Harts Corner--and come to care for what happens to them. Or want them to get their due justice.
That's what I'm doing here.
Eight years ago I was asked to sign a contract to teach this memoir class in an assisted living retirement community in a nearby town. I began with six students. It quickly grew to fifteen or more members and went on for the next six years at that rate. Then my initial students began to become ill, move closer to children, or leave this earth for the happy hunting grounds. I have been down to six to ten students for these last several years--which is a concern to me.
What do you do when you are down? One of the things I do is put on some nice, colorful clothes, add a smile and go forward. Tonight I dressed in white slacks, a pink shell, and a soft, sheer blouse in pale pinks, lilacs, and blues. I signed in with a big smile and the receptionist told me how summery I looked. My class members said they felt lighter just looking at me. But...
Tonight I had three students. They are also concerned about the diminishing numbers. The activities director says we will hang in there and see if it doesn't improve. In the past, I made up flyers and had them delivered to all the residents; I had a few visitors but only one who stayed on. I've made excuses for the time--nights from seven to eight--as many elderly want to be in front of their TV at that time, or in bed. My students have spread the word...we have all done what we could to promote this.
And that's what writers must do for themselves. Treat your writing like the important thing in your life it is. Dress each day as if you are going off to work--either neat casual or dressier--not your pajamas. Promote your craft, your books, your classes. If that fails or if you receive a rejection, don't let it erase the love of writing. Put on that smile and enjoy what you are doing--in spite of few members in a class, or less acceptances of your writing for publication--because writing is what you want to do with all your heart.
Whatever happens to my class, I have learned so much from the wonderful people who have attended. Just as I hope you will learn all about the people in Harts Corner--and come to care for what happens to them. Or want them to get their due justice.
That's what I'm doing here.
Thursday, June 21, 2012
Me and Bess
I am real disappointed in all of your folks. If you are out there reading this blog about us, you are certainly keepin' your opinion to yourself. Come on, it isn't that bad, is it? We all work hard to make time in our lives to keep you enlightened about what goes on in this town, and with the people who live here. We'd like to hear from you; good, bad, or indifferent opinions welcome. And do you mean to tell me you haven't tried, or even printed off, any of these recipes?
Oh, I see, young women don't cook anymore, huh? No wonder you have to buy them boobs and have those skinny arses. No meat with your potatoes will give you migraines, did you know that? And you're lack of being able to string enough words together to leave a comment won't stop us from keepin' on givin' you news and good eatin' hints.
For me, I dropped in on my best friend on this earth, Bess LeClaire, today. She lives in this lovely old cypress house way back in the trees near the Big Thicket. I don't know how long she's lived out there but I know she's been stirrin' up those powders and potions for people it seems like forever. They call her a conjurin' woman; that has tones of doing somethin' underhanded, shady. But Bess didn't take much money for what she offered, bartered for goods mostly, and people were helped. Or they wouldn't have continued to seek her advice, would they?
When I was goin' through that womanly time in my early fifties, I went out to Aunt Lutie for some help. Those hot flashes could have lit up the night skies. I had a cafe to run and a young girl to raise. I couldn't be puttin' quilts up over the windows and sleepin' in on those mornings after a sweaty no-sleep night. She ground up roots and berries and made me a cup of tea. Before I left her little front porch, I felt better, and those cups of tea carried me through those couple of years of female unsettles pretty easily.
Same thing about my final illness; Bess took care of me until the end. She saw that I had a potion to ease the pain, keep me goin' longer that Dr. Barnes diagnosed, and made my life so much better. I guess if anyone really knew what was in those powders, she might be subject to an investigation. But no one would ever blow the whistle on her. That old Gullah woman can pretend innosence like no one you've ever seen.
Today, she decided we needed to talk about MM--and Miguel. She wanted to know if I thought they would ever tie the knot--if we didn't interfere. I remember before the reaction when Mary Margaret found out we had put a love potion/powder in her coffee. That gal went home and threw out the best tasting coffee ever and read me the riot act about interferring in her love life, or lack thereof. So I really hesitate to push this along in any way.
That Bess can be a strong voice for what she feels is the best for people, let me tell you. She insists these two are meant to be together forever, but she thinks they are wasting precious time. Don't we all? Even Bethy Rose wants her to hurry up and give her a sibling or two. I argued in the couple's favor, I really did, but Bess can be stubborn. Of course, I don't know any other people like that in this story, do you? Anyway, she's given me an ultimatum--Mary Margaret has three months--until the week after Christmas--to accept a proposal and set a wedding date, or Bess LeClaire, conjuring woman extraordinaire, will make it happen.
Lordy, how am I going to get this across to Mary Margaret without her getting on the badside of Bess?
Oh, I see, young women don't cook anymore, huh? No wonder you have to buy them boobs and have those skinny arses. No meat with your potatoes will give you migraines, did you know that? And you're lack of being able to string enough words together to leave a comment won't stop us from keepin' on givin' you news and good eatin' hints.
For me, I dropped in on my best friend on this earth, Bess LeClaire, today. She lives in this lovely old cypress house way back in the trees near the Big Thicket. I don't know how long she's lived out there but I know she's been stirrin' up those powders and potions for people it seems like forever. They call her a conjurin' woman; that has tones of doing somethin' underhanded, shady. But Bess didn't take much money for what she offered, bartered for goods mostly, and people were helped. Or they wouldn't have continued to seek her advice, would they?
When I was goin' through that womanly time in my early fifties, I went out to Aunt Lutie for some help. Those hot flashes could have lit up the night skies. I had a cafe to run and a young girl to raise. I couldn't be puttin' quilts up over the windows and sleepin' in on those mornings after a sweaty no-sleep night. She ground up roots and berries and made me a cup of tea. Before I left her little front porch, I felt better, and those cups of tea carried me through those couple of years of female unsettles pretty easily.
Same thing about my final illness; Bess took care of me until the end. She saw that I had a potion to ease the pain, keep me goin' longer that Dr. Barnes diagnosed, and made my life so much better. I guess if anyone really knew what was in those powders, she might be subject to an investigation. But no one would ever blow the whistle on her. That old Gullah woman can pretend innosence like no one you've ever seen.
Today, she decided we needed to talk about MM--and Miguel. She wanted to know if I thought they would ever tie the knot--if we didn't interfere. I remember before the reaction when Mary Margaret found out we had put a love potion/powder in her coffee. That gal went home and threw out the best tasting coffee ever and read me the riot act about interferring in her love life, or lack thereof. So I really hesitate to push this along in any way.
That Bess can be a strong voice for what she feels is the best for people, let me tell you. She insists these two are meant to be together forever, but she thinks they are wasting precious time. Don't we all? Even Bethy Rose wants her to hurry up and give her a sibling or two. I argued in the couple's favor, I really did, but Bess can be stubborn. Of course, I don't know any other people like that in this story, do you? Anyway, she's given me an ultimatum--Mary Margaret has three months--until the week after Christmas--to accept a proposal and set a wedding date, or Bess LeClaire, conjuring woman extraordinaire, will make it happen.
Lordy, how am I going to get this across to Mary Margaret without her getting on the badside of Bess?
Wednesday, June 20, 2012
SMALL TOWN LIP
Good evening, folks. It's a mighty nice evening here in Harts Corner. Although we were busier that all get out at the Blue Moon today, Jewel, Harold and I made quick work of the clean-up, money tallying, and doing a few things necessary in order to get breakfast started the next morning. Then I rushed home (we don't live above the Blue Moon anymore, but that's for another story) to help Bethy Rose with her homework, make sure I hadn't forgotten some sport or social event I was supposed to chauffer her to, and then we went into the kitchen to prepare supper before Miguel showed up.
Bethy Rose doesn't have to work in the Blue Moon the way I did. I never resented the fact it was necessary that I be the second half of a two-woman team but I didn't want my foster child to do that. I make sure she can play softball on a school team, have sleepovers with friends, and be the funny child she is. Although I didn't push her, Bethy Rose has always wanted to cook with me--maybe it all started with those sugar cookies you'll read about in my story. Anyway, she still wants to join me in the kitchen most every night.
We cook and talk about the day's happenings. I listen a lot to what happened in this class or that. It blows my mind that she doesn't just have the same teacher all day long like I did. In the third grade the administrators feel students should begin to learn what changing classes, lockers, and adjusting to different teachers is like. I don't agree that kids should be shoved toward that higher education mode so soon. I mean, shouldn't they be allowed to just be kids? But I don't say anything as I don't want her to be torn between loyalties to me and the "system."
"Hey, MM, my friend Meagan, says people are talking about you and Miguel not being married and him living here with us."
That loose lip stuff always gives me heartburn. Gee Whiz, don't they get it--times have changed; women and men have been free to live the life of choice for some time. It's not like we, well, at least Miguel--okay, me, too--haven't considered marriage. We've got more going here than just a romp in the hay, folks. I wish people around here could just mind their own business, or at least keep their mouths shut around their kids.
"People should have enough to do with their own lives, Bethy Rose, than to gossip."
She was quiet as she tore up spinach for the salad. As she used the can opener on the mandarin oranges and dumped them in the drainer, her forehead showied lines of concentration. "You might not care if people talk but I don't like it. They make it sound like you and Miguel are bad people."
I put the casserole in the oven and leaned against the counter, carefully choosing my words. "You know better than that. I work hard at the Blue Moon, my cafe. I am respected as a businesswoman in Harts Corner. Miguel is respected because he's very good at his job as Sheriff of this county." I stepped over to the bar that separated the kitchen from the dining area, and pulled her into my arms. "Bethy Rose, I don't want you to worry about us--or this arrangement. We're not going anywhere--and one day I'm sure Miguel and I will have that wedding Aunt Lutie and everyone in this entire town want to see happen. But, for now, we are good like we are, aren't we?"
"I'm okay with this though you do know I want to be a part of a real family." She stuck her tongue out at me with a silly grin. "Besides, I told Meagan she could tell those gossipy old biddies to go suck an egg!"
Aunt Lutie who once said that the acorns don't fall far from the tree. How true that is. I'm going to have to find out a way to steer this child down a more ladylike path.
In the meantime, we had dinner ready when Miguel arrived. It was one of our favorite casseroles, one I use for catering Tex-Mex luncheons. I had to work a little to cut this down for a family-size dish...a large family, or a container of left-overs.
Green Chiles Rice Casserole
1 cup chopped onions 1 tsp. salt
4 tbsps. olive oil 1 tsp. pepper (or to taste)
4 cups cooked rice (1 cup raw) 3 (4-1/2 0z) cans chpd. green chilies
2 cups sour cream 2 cups grated sharp Cheddar cheese
1 cup small curd cottage cheese
Cook onions in margarine until soft. Mix with cooked rice, sour cream, cottage cheese, salt and pepper. Grease a 13X9X2-inch baking dish and put in layers of 1/2 of the rice mixture, 1/2 of the green chilies and 1/2 of the cheese. Repeat. Bake in preheated 375 degree oven about 25 minutes, uncovered. Serves 6-8.
Ya'll can make this a day ahead, either bake it and reheat, or refrigerate until time to bake. Enjoy!
Bethy Rose doesn't have to work in the Blue Moon the way I did. I never resented the fact it was necessary that I be the second half of a two-woman team but I didn't want my foster child to do that. I make sure she can play softball on a school team, have sleepovers with friends, and be the funny child she is. Although I didn't push her, Bethy Rose has always wanted to cook with me--maybe it all started with those sugar cookies you'll read about in my story. Anyway, she still wants to join me in the kitchen most every night.
We cook and talk about the day's happenings. I listen a lot to what happened in this class or that. It blows my mind that she doesn't just have the same teacher all day long like I did. In the third grade the administrators feel students should begin to learn what changing classes, lockers, and adjusting to different teachers is like. I don't agree that kids should be shoved toward that higher education mode so soon. I mean, shouldn't they be allowed to just be kids? But I don't say anything as I don't want her to be torn between loyalties to me and the "system."
"Hey, MM, my friend Meagan, says people are talking about you and Miguel not being married and him living here with us."
That loose lip stuff always gives me heartburn. Gee Whiz, don't they get it--times have changed; women and men have been free to live the life of choice for some time. It's not like we, well, at least Miguel--okay, me, too--haven't considered marriage. We've got more going here than just a romp in the hay, folks. I wish people around here could just mind their own business, or at least keep their mouths shut around their kids.
"People should have enough to do with their own lives, Bethy Rose, than to gossip."
She was quiet as she tore up spinach for the salad. As she used the can opener on the mandarin oranges and dumped them in the drainer, her forehead showied lines of concentration. "You might not care if people talk but I don't like it. They make it sound like you and Miguel are bad people."
I put the casserole in the oven and leaned against the counter, carefully choosing my words. "You know better than that. I work hard at the Blue Moon, my cafe. I am respected as a businesswoman in Harts Corner. Miguel is respected because he's very good at his job as Sheriff of this county." I stepped over to the bar that separated the kitchen from the dining area, and pulled her into my arms. "Bethy Rose, I don't want you to worry about us--or this arrangement. We're not going anywhere--and one day I'm sure Miguel and I will have that wedding Aunt Lutie and everyone in this entire town want to see happen. But, for now, we are good like we are, aren't we?"
"I'm okay with this though you do know I want to be a part of a real family." She stuck her tongue out at me with a silly grin. "Besides, I told Meagan she could tell those gossipy old biddies to go suck an egg!"
Aunt Lutie who once said that the acorns don't fall far from the tree. How true that is. I'm going to have to find out a way to steer this child down a more ladylike path.
In the meantime, we had dinner ready when Miguel arrived. It was one of our favorite casseroles, one I use for catering Tex-Mex luncheons. I had to work a little to cut this down for a family-size dish...a large family, or a container of left-overs.
Green Chiles Rice Casserole
1 cup chopped onions 1 tsp. salt
4 tbsps. olive oil 1 tsp. pepper (or to taste)
4 cups cooked rice (1 cup raw) 3 (4-1/2 0z) cans chpd. green chilies
2 cups sour cream 2 cups grated sharp Cheddar cheese
1 cup small curd cottage cheese
Cook onions in margarine until soft. Mix with cooked rice, sour cream, cottage cheese, salt and pepper. Grease a 13X9X2-inch baking dish and put in layers of 1/2 of the rice mixture, 1/2 of the green chilies and 1/2 of the cheese. Repeat. Bake in preheated 375 degree oven about 25 minutes, uncovered. Serves 6-8.
Ya'll can make this a day ahead, either bake it and reheat, or refrigerate until time to bake. Enjoy!
Tuesday, June 19, 2012
Plum Tuckered Out
Miz Barbara is plum tuckered out tonight. Today is not Monday but it was wash day anyway. That should be an easy task now days, don't you think? But for some reason, just the thought that I'm chained to the house, or at least nearby, puts me in a catch-up-on-chores mood. Between moving clothes from washer to dryer and then folding, I do a lot of busy work. You know, come to think of it, I don't remember ever reading where MM did a load of laundry. Hmm.
In between those loads I watered the thirsty potted plants on patio, porch, and in the yard. It's not so warm yet but for five days or so we've had a hot wind blowing from about ten in the morning to sundown. That breeze sucks up all the moisture not only in the pots, but ground plants and bird bath, too. And, of course, while I was outside, I could see other things that needed to be done. It was trash day and the cans were sitting at the curb. What better time to whip the boungainvillea growing over the arch in front of our home into shape. Now, I do know for sure that I never saw a blossom or green frond in MM's apartment; and there was nothing growing in the Blue Moon either. Though she loved to be outdoors when able, that gal did not have a green thumb was my guess.
After a quick lunch (tuna salad on pita bread) and a large glass of cold water with lemon, it was time to sit myself down in the office chair and do a little reading/reviewing for Gina the Great. That's really not work--it's a matter of fitting it into my schedule. It's fun to read what others are writing and attempting to have published. But I have to admit that MM's life in Harts Corner is much more fun than these other lives out there. My personal opinion, of course.
A friend sent me a Texas joke tonight. I read and grin and take those old "bigger and better" jokes with a big grain of salt. I have to admit I miss Texas though. I haven't lived there for more years than I want to think about and, now that Mama and Daddy are gone, I don't travel back on that trail of memories physically--only the memory is always there of what a wonderful childhood I had growing up in that small Texas town. From the very beginning, when Bethy Rose Wheeler presented herself to me, I knew I had to place her in Harts Corner. I know for a long time MM planned on leaving but when I involved her with the plight of this child, I could feel some of that desire waning. I'm sure her presence had the most to do with MM's decision to stay or go.
Do you folks know anything about Texas--well, except for the fact that two of our presidents came from there? Or that they eat, breath, and live football? There's much more to my state. For example, did you know Texas has had six capital cities?
Washington-on-the-Brazos (Great Historical Park here)
Harrisburg (That's Houston today)
Galveston (Lovely Island City)
Velasco (My daddy was born here; city on a bay on the Gulf (of Mexico)
West Columbia (Town in Brazoria County on the Brazos River)
Austin (my ancestors came to Texas with Stephen F. Austin when it was part of Mexico)
Current capital of my fair state.
Did you sports jocks know that the first domed stadium in the U.S. was built in Houston?
I love the fact that the county where I lived for my formative years, Brazoria, has more species
of birds than any other area in North America.
Which would not mean a thimble full of spit to MM. She'd be more likely to find a body than a bird, even in that county. That gal worries me.
But tomorrow she's going to give us a family-sized version of one of her catering dishes--Green Chiles Rice Casserole. It's one of the best Tex-Mex dishes you'll ever eat, I guarantee you.
In between those loads I watered the thirsty potted plants on patio, porch, and in the yard. It's not so warm yet but for five days or so we've had a hot wind blowing from about ten in the morning to sundown. That breeze sucks up all the moisture not only in the pots, but ground plants and bird bath, too. And, of course, while I was outside, I could see other things that needed to be done. It was trash day and the cans were sitting at the curb. What better time to whip the boungainvillea growing over the arch in front of our home into shape. Now, I do know for sure that I never saw a blossom or green frond in MM's apartment; and there was nothing growing in the Blue Moon either. Though she loved to be outdoors when able, that gal did not have a green thumb was my guess.
After a quick lunch (tuna salad on pita bread) and a large glass of cold water with lemon, it was time to sit myself down in the office chair and do a little reading/reviewing for Gina the Great. That's really not work--it's a matter of fitting it into my schedule. It's fun to read what others are writing and attempting to have published. But I have to admit that MM's life in Harts Corner is much more fun than these other lives out there. My personal opinion, of course.
A friend sent me a Texas joke tonight. I read and grin and take those old "bigger and better" jokes with a big grain of salt. I have to admit I miss Texas though. I haven't lived there for more years than I want to think about and, now that Mama and Daddy are gone, I don't travel back on that trail of memories physically--only the memory is always there of what a wonderful childhood I had growing up in that small Texas town. From the very beginning, when Bethy Rose Wheeler presented herself to me, I knew I had to place her in Harts Corner. I know for a long time MM planned on leaving but when I involved her with the plight of this child, I could feel some of that desire waning. I'm sure her presence had the most to do with MM's decision to stay or go.
Do you folks know anything about Texas--well, except for the fact that two of our presidents came from there? Or that they eat, breath, and live football? There's much more to my state. For example, did you know Texas has had six capital cities?
Washington-on-the-Brazos (Great Historical Park here)
Harrisburg (That's Houston today)
Galveston (Lovely Island City)
Velasco (My daddy was born here; city on a bay on the Gulf (of Mexico)
West Columbia (Town in Brazoria County on the Brazos River)
Austin (my ancestors came to Texas with Stephen F. Austin when it was part of Mexico)
Current capital of my fair state.
Did you sports jocks know that the first domed stadium in the U.S. was built in Houston?
I love the fact that the county where I lived for my formative years, Brazoria, has more species
of birds than any other area in North America.
Which would not mean a thimble full of spit to MM. She'd be more likely to find a body than a bird, even in that county. That gal worries me.
But tomorrow she's going to give us a family-sized version of one of her catering dishes--Green Chiles Rice Casserole. It's one of the best Tex-Mex dishes you'll ever eat, I guarantee you.
Monday, June 18, 2012
WHO NEEDS FRIENDS?
"Mary Margaret Butler don't have no friends!"
I still remember the taunts during her childhood. Not that it was by choice that she had no friends. I've seen and heard her make attempts to get to know her classmates a few times but she was snubbed. Children can be cruel, especially when they overhear the remarks of their parents. Folks knew her daddy had dumped her on my doorstep, and that my sister had turned her face to the wall and slowly drank herself into oblivion. They gossiped about the situation until their children caught on to the sad life of the kid nobody wanted.
It made me mad as a wet hen but I knew if I got into it with those dumb mothers, it would only make matters worse. So I stepped in and filled our free hours with fun. At first, I thought I wasn't going to be able to keep up. Though I loved my niece, I had no idea of what stamina it would take to raise a child. I mean after all, when they came to live with me above the Blue Moon, I was already closing in on forty. I had never been this close to kids since I was one. But I learned how to play softball on the school's diamond on Sunday afternoon's when we could have it to ourselves. I made a fisherman out of her like my daddy had done me; she took to it right away, put that wiggly worm on a hook, and flipped those little sun perch onto the bank as pretty as you please. We went to movies on Saturday night when there was something decent for us both. Picnics out in the woods. Dancin' to the old juke box in the Blue Moon. Singin' in the same pew at church on Sunday mornings. I helped with homework until she became smarter at it than me. And she was always with me during the week at the Blue Moon.
I don't think I ever insisted she work in the cafe with me but maybe I did imply that it was expected. After all, I had to work like a crazy person in order to keep a roof over our heads, to put food on our table, to clothe two people, and just make ends barely meet. It was a game at first; Mary
Margaret loved to learn how to bake oatmeal cookies, roll out a pie crust, and throw ingredients into the soup pot after she chopped them. She had a real knack for being a cook.
As a teenager, of course she gripped about washing dishes and waiting tables from time to time. By the time she reached that age, the customers had multiplied but I still didn't make enough money to hire a waitress. Or a dishwasher. So we both did whatever it took to keep the Blue Moon runnin' smooth like. I wished I could offer her more but she got the best of everything I could provide. And she often talked about savin' money to leave this hick town.
I thought for sure she would make friends in high school and that would help her be more settled, satisfied even. She was a smart gal, made the honor roll all the time. Mary Margaret was not a raving beauty, but with that red hair and those wide green eyes, she certainly wasn't hard on the eyes. I expected her to have girlfriends to giggle over a soda with, or to hang around with on the weekends. But she never brought anyone around. Boys? A few of her classmates would walk with her to the Blue Moon and come in for a soda; she'd make it and serve it and then get to work. Those boys weren't mean to her, didn't tease her in a bad way, seemed to like her well enough. But she never got asked out, at least she never told me if she did, not until that Tad guy came along when she was a sophmore and he was a senior.
If I had not been a God-fearin', law abidin' woman, I would have dug daddy's shotgun out of the attic, loaded it with buckshot, and gone huntin' for that jerk. He broke my gal's heart, told fasle tales about her, and left her with a deep distrust of men in general. Sometimes I wonder if she still harbors a little of that fear of being hurt, and is holdin' back from a lifelong commitment with Miguel because of it.
Livy Palmer went through school with Mary Margaret and came in once or twice for a soda. I thought she would make a nice girlfriend but I was set straight on that idea soon enough. She showed her true colors one Sunday after church when she asked my darlin' if she had a date for the prom. When Mary Margaret admitted that she didn't, that snippy Livy let her eyes run up and down the dress my niece wore, then laughed--one of those snide, ugly laughs meant to be a real put down. Her comment brought a tongue lashing from me--in fact, I will not print it on these page because I am ashamed that I hadn't at least stepped off the church property before I cussed.
"No wonder no one asked you, Mary Margaret. Just look at you. You're still the little orphan kid of Harts Corner. Maybe some of us should take up a collection."
Mary Margaret grabbed my arm and yanked me away from Livy Palmer's face. She marched me home and read me the riot act about tryin' to fight her battles for her. She warned me she would leave me, the Blue Moon, and Harts Corner if I ever did it again.
I didn't do it again.
And now that I'm gone, I can't belive that Livy Palmer Vandergriff has inserted herself into Mary Margaret's life again. I do have to give both of the credit though. When Livy lipped off to her, Mary Margaret put her soundly in her place and there was no comeback. And when Mary Margaret needed her in a dire situation, Livy pulled her swanky Caddy in the line of fire to save my niece's arse.
But with someone like that snotty woman hangin' around her, does Mary Margaret have any chance at a real friendship with someone who will appreciate her for what she is? I do not have a clue what is going on with these two.
I think I hear my friend, Bess, so I'd best see what she's gettin' into a fuss about. Have a good night, folks.
I still remember the taunts during her childhood. Not that it was by choice that she had no friends. I've seen and heard her make attempts to get to know her classmates a few times but she was snubbed. Children can be cruel, especially when they overhear the remarks of their parents. Folks knew her daddy had dumped her on my doorstep, and that my sister had turned her face to the wall and slowly drank herself into oblivion. They gossiped about the situation until their children caught on to the sad life of the kid nobody wanted.
It made me mad as a wet hen but I knew if I got into it with those dumb mothers, it would only make matters worse. So I stepped in and filled our free hours with fun. At first, I thought I wasn't going to be able to keep up. Though I loved my niece, I had no idea of what stamina it would take to raise a child. I mean after all, when they came to live with me above the Blue Moon, I was already closing in on forty. I had never been this close to kids since I was one. But I learned how to play softball on the school's diamond on Sunday afternoon's when we could have it to ourselves. I made a fisherman out of her like my daddy had done me; she took to it right away, put that wiggly worm on a hook, and flipped those little sun perch onto the bank as pretty as you please. We went to movies on Saturday night when there was something decent for us both. Picnics out in the woods. Dancin' to the old juke box in the Blue Moon. Singin' in the same pew at church on Sunday mornings. I helped with homework until she became smarter at it than me. And she was always with me during the week at the Blue Moon.
I don't think I ever insisted she work in the cafe with me but maybe I did imply that it was expected. After all, I had to work like a crazy person in order to keep a roof over our heads, to put food on our table, to clothe two people, and just make ends barely meet. It was a game at first; Mary
Margaret loved to learn how to bake oatmeal cookies, roll out a pie crust, and throw ingredients into the soup pot after she chopped them. She had a real knack for being a cook.
As a teenager, of course she gripped about washing dishes and waiting tables from time to time. By the time she reached that age, the customers had multiplied but I still didn't make enough money to hire a waitress. Or a dishwasher. So we both did whatever it took to keep the Blue Moon runnin' smooth like. I wished I could offer her more but she got the best of everything I could provide. And she often talked about savin' money to leave this hick town.
I thought for sure she would make friends in high school and that would help her be more settled, satisfied even. She was a smart gal, made the honor roll all the time. Mary Margaret was not a raving beauty, but with that red hair and those wide green eyes, she certainly wasn't hard on the eyes. I expected her to have girlfriends to giggle over a soda with, or to hang around with on the weekends. But she never brought anyone around. Boys? A few of her classmates would walk with her to the Blue Moon and come in for a soda; she'd make it and serve it and then get to work. Those boys weren't mean to her, didn't tease her in a bad way, seemed to like her well enough. But she never got asked out, at least she never told me if she did, not until that Tad guy came along when she was a sophmore and he was a senior.
If I had not been a God-fearin', law abidin' woman, I would have dug daddy's shotgun out of the attic, loaded it with buckshot, and gone huntin' for that jerk. He broke my gal's heart, told fasle tales about her, and left her with a deep distrust of men in general. Sometimes I wonder if she still harbors a little of that fear of being hurt, and is holdin' back from a lifelong commitment with Miguel because of it.
Livy Palmer went through school with Mary Margaret and came in once or twice for a soda. I thought she would make a nice girlfriend but I was set straight on that idea soon enough. She showed her true colors one Sunday after church when she asked my darlin' if she had a date for the prom. When Mary Margaret admitted that she didn't, that snippy Livy let her eyes run up and down the dress my niece wore, then laughed--one of those snide, ugly laughs meant to be a real put down. Her comment brought a tongue lashing from me--in fact, I will not print it on these page because I am ashamed that I hadn't at least stepped off the church property before I cussed.
"No wonder no one asked you, Mary Margaret. Just look at you. You're still the little orphan kid of Harts Corner. Maybe some of us should take up a collection."
Mary Margaret grabbed my arm and yanked me away from Livy Palmer's face. She marched me home and read me the riot act about tryin' to fight her battles for her. She warned me she would leave me, the Blue Moon, and Harts Corner if I ever did it again.
I didn't do it again.
And now that I'm gone, I can't belive that Livy Palmer Vandergriff has inserted herself into Mary Margaret's life again. I do have to give both of the credit though. When Livy lipped off to her, Mary Margaret put her soundly in her place and there was no comeback. And when Mary Margaret needed her in a dire situation, Livy pulled her swanky Caddy in the line of fire to save my niece's arse.
But with someone like that snotty woman hangin' around her, does Mary Margaret have any chance at a real friendship with someone who will appreciate her for what she is? I do not have a clue what is going on with these two.
I think I hear my friend, Bess, so I'd best see what she's gettin' into a fuss about. Have a good night, folks.
Sunday, June 17, 2012
HAPPY FATHER'S DAY, MIGUEL
I don't remember my own Daddy as he left when I was pretty young. I have a vague memory of his smile and the last kiss he gave me before he walked out the door. Mama had no one else in her life before she died, and Aunt Lutie became mother and father to me. I knew what father's should be like, the things they should do, like play baseball with their sons (or daughters), attend their band concerts even if their child stinks, and always be there to make things right when a child feels the whole world has turned on them.
Bethy Rose Wheeler's father was not a good influence. His wife died when his daughter was six, the same age I'd been when I lost Mama. But he wasn't the one she could lean on; he leaned on her. Or maybe I should say he made sure she was doing for him, at his beck and call. That poor child rushed home from school to keep a house clean, cook a meal, iron clothes--whatever a housekeeper/cook should have been doing for a man. He forgot to buy groceries when he was going to be gone for a long time, so Bethy Rose found a job weeding for Tillie Treadwell, and sold cola bottles she found on her way to and from school. It was a down right shame when Harts Corner, and Bethy Rose, found out just what all Dan Wheeler was selling on the road. She shouldn't have had a father.
But her life changed when she came to live with me as my foster child. Miguel Kinkaid rescued her from her father and that life. He sat down with her and explained just what was going to happen and, when he realized I was determined to keep the child in Harts Corner, he stood beside me. He has been her father figure for over a year now and just the other day I swear I heard her call Miguel "Dad." If so, he will be so jazzed.
Sean Kinkaid is Miguel's father. If you could see this retired cop with his children, you'd know what kind of fathers, and mothers, they will be, or are. He is a no-nonesense sort of guy but I've seen him pull a grandson up on his lap and hug the tears away more than once. I've also seen him embrace his sons, tell them he's proud of them, and he respects all of the women in his life--he's even included me in that circle. He's a faithful man to wife and church and country--probably in that order. But he can also pull the funniest jokes on his loved ones, sing a baudy Irish song, and chase his beloved Mercedes around the kitchen. And I absolutely believe he would lay down his life for those people he loves.
I know what kind of father Miguel will be to our children, too. Okay, I will say yes--when I'm ready and yes, I do want to have children of my own. And, Bethy Rose, I do understand that I am not getting any younger--and you want to be a big sister. I promise you all it will happen. But not today. Tonight I'm serving Miguel his favorite pot roast dinneer and will top it off with his very favorite dessert. Want to come join us for a slice of cake?
Southern Carrot Cake
2 cups flour 1 tsp. salt
2 cups sugar 4 eggs
2 tsp. baking powder 1-1/2 cups veg. oil
2 tsp. baking soda 3 cups grated carrots
2/3 tsp. cinnamon 1/2 cup chopped nuts (pecans for me)
Mix together all dry ingredients in large mixing bowl. In smaller bowl, beat eggs and add oil. Combine dry ingredients with egg mixture. Add carrots and nuts. Pour into 3 greased and floured 9" cake pans. Bake at 300 degrees for 45 minutes (or 350 degrees for 25-30 minutes if you're in a big hurry).
Frosting
1 8-oz pkg. cream cheese 1/2 stick butter, softened
1 box powdered sugar Finely chopped pecans (optional)
Cream together cream cheese and butter. Add sugar and beat well. Frost lightly between layers, then ice sides and top. Sprinkle nuts over top if desired.
I'm hiding the leftovers from the rest of you, gals. That goes for you, too, Aunt Lutie--but I have no way of knowing if I can keep you out of anything!
Bethy Rose Wheeler's father was not a good influence. His wife died when his daughter was six, the same age I'd been when I lost Mama. But he wasn't the one she could lean on; he leaned on her. Or maybe I should say he made sure she was doing for him, at his beck and call. That poor child rushed home from school to keep a house clean, cook a meal, iron clothes--whatever a housekeeper/cook should have been doing for a man. He forgot to buy groceries when he was going to be gone for a long time, so Bethy Rose found a job weeding for Tillie Treadwell, and sold cola bottles she found on her way to and from school. It was a down right shame when Harts Corner, and Bethy Rose, found out just what all Dan Wheeler was selling on the road. She shouldn't have had a father.
But her life changed when she came to live with me as my foster child. Miguel Kinkaid rescued her from her father and that life. He sat down with her and explained just what was going to happen and, when he realized I was determined to keep the child in Harts Corner, he stood beside me. He has been her father figure for over a year now and just the other day I swear I heard her call Miguel "Dad." If so, he will be so jazzed.
Sean Kinkaid is Miguel's father. If you could see this retired cop with his children, you'd know what kind of fathers, and mothers, they will be, or are. He is a no-nonesense sort of guy but I've seen him pull a grandson up on his lap and hug the tears away more than once. I've also seen him embrace his sons, tell them he's proud of them, and he respects all of the women in his life--he's even included me in that circle. He's a faithful man to wife and church and country--probably in that order. But he can also pull the funniest jokes on his loved ones, sing a baudy Irish song, and chase his beloved Mercedes around the kitchen. And I absolutely believe he would lay down his life for those people he loves.
I know what kind of father Miguel will be to our children, too. Okay, I will say yes--when I'm ready and yes, I do want to have children of my own. And, Bethy Rose, I do understand that I am not getting any younger--and you want to be a big sister. I promise you all it will happen. But not today. Tonight I'm serving Miguel his favorite pot roast dinneer and will top it off with his very favorite dessert. Want to come join us for a slice of cake?
Southern Carrot Cake
2 cups flour 1 tsp. salt
2 cups sugar 4 eggs
2 tsp. baking powder 1-1/2 cups veg. oil
2 tsp. baking soda 3 cups grated carrots
2/3 tsp. cinnamon 1/2 cup chopped nuts (pecans for me)
Mix together all dry ingredients in large mixing bowl. In smaller bowl, beat eggs and add oil. Combine dry ingredients with egg mixture. Add carrots and nuts. Pour into 3 greased and floured 9" cake pans. Bake at 300 degrees for 45 minutes (or 350 degrees for 25-30 minutes if you're in a big hurry).
Frosting
1 8-oz pkg. cream cheese 1/2 stick butter, softened
1 box powdered sugar Finely chopped pecans (optional)
Cream together cream cheese and butter. Add sugar and beat well. Frost lightly between layers, then ice sides and top. Sprinkle nuts over top if desired.
I'm hiding the leftovers from the rest of you, gals. That goes for you, too, Aunt Lutie--but I have no way of knowing if I can keep you out of anything!
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