Tag Archives: family

Good Food, Good Drink, Good God, Let’s Eat!

07 Tuesday Jul 2015

Posted by in Bountiful Raised Garden

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vegetablesGone for five days and it rained for four of those days.  Lucky days for our garden (and for our son Brian who offered to water both our garden and his brother Daniel’s garden.)  We came home to brand new vegetables and an abundance of others that had already been producing.  Always grateful, we love sharing and my new neighbor mentioned she was a vegetarian (for 55 years now) and she got a large brown bag of assorted vegetables right after I cleaned them. Included in yesterday’s pickings were cucumbers, squash, zucchini, lettuce, beets, purple hull crowder peas, bell peppers, okra, and three varieties of heirloom cherry tomatoes.

Yesterday for lunch I made a green salad with three varieties of lettuce, the cherry tomatoes, avocado, pine nuts, pumpkin seeds, boiled egg, chopped broccoli, cucumbers, and quinoa.  It was delicious.  We had a half a grilled cheese sandwich to top it off.  For dinner, I made cheese grits from organic polenta and because we do eat meat from time to time, I sautéed some chicken and then added a cold salad I made early in the day which had cucumber, tomato, and onion soaked in my homemade dressing of Bragg Organic Apple Cider Vinegar, olive oil, and honey.  For lunch today, I stir-fried slices of zucchini and veggie burger (which we split), deviled an egg for each of us, sliced some cold cumbers and tossed on a few cherry tomatoes and topped it all off with a couple of spoons of my homemade bread and butter pickles that I made last week.

Tonight I am making a zucchini risotto with sun-dried tomatoes and lots of other herbs and greens from our garden.  I’ll grill a slice of pork loin topped with garlic, grated lemon, red pepper flakes and some Louisiana seasoning.  And we will finish off our dinner with a flourless chocolate cFlourless-Chocolate-Chip-Banana-Muffinship almond butter muffin.  I found this recipe at the Huffington Taste website. Every once in a while it’s nice to not know the calorie count on something.  But eating healthy the majority of the time allows for a few hiccups and I do love chocolate chip anything!

But most of all, I enjoy taking advantage of the bounty from our raised gardens in our little back yard.  When I think about all the years we didn’t have one, I say a prayer of gratitude for what we have now.  Growing our own vegetables helps with our budget and it helps us know that what we are eating is organic and good for us.  And we get to enjoy new foods, create new recipes, and share our bounty with friends and family.

Revealing Your Unique Self

25 Saturday Aug 2012

Posted by in Your Unique Self

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I live in clutter.  I’m positive it is not good for my health because the dust bunnies make me sneeze when I sort through stacks of boxes yet to be unpacked from my move a year-and-a-half ago.  And my back goes into spasms when I bend to pick up the clutter without using my leg muscles.

When I was a child I used the excuse that I was a scatterbrain and didn’t know any better.  As a teenager, I used my sister, who shared a room with me; that it was all her fault the room stayed a mess.  That worked again in college when I shared a room with four other girls in the sorority house.  One could only function in chaos, certainly in those conditions!  Then came marriage and four children and honestly who keeps a perfect home without clutter?  But now, it’s just me and my husband and still there are stacks of clutter throughout our home (except his office which is pristine and perfect.)

I tell people (and myself) that my clutter is organized; that I know exactly what is in every stack, box, shelf and desk drawer, but in truth I don’t.  I have an idea, but that’s all.  And I know in my heart that the clutter is unhealthy and not good for my well-being.  This I know, because when I take the time to clean up I feel the rewards, even when they may be embarrassing.

Years ago, when I was a young mother of two, we celebrated a birthday party for my two-year-old.  Back in those days, birthday parties were at homes, not places.  I worked like a dog, as the saying goes, cleaning my house, going through piles of papers, projects, crafts, toys, etc. to clear out the clutter.  One table (an antique chest) in my kitchen was a catch all for most of the junk.  I happened to walk up from behind to find my two sister-in-laws standing in front of the chest.  They were commenting on the fact that they had never seen the top of the trunk.  I laughed and said, “I heard that.”  I was hurt, but only for a second; for it was true and they meant no harm.  Just like my seven year-old granddaughter did not mean to hurt my feelings when she walked into my house the other day and said, “Mimi, you cleaned off the table.”  I had been using the table in the kitchen for some projects and it had been weeks since I had cleared it off.  I laughed and asked her to help me with the centerpiece, an antique wooden compote that belonged to my mother.

If we don’t take the time to clear out the clutter in our life, then we are not letting people see the real us.  And now in my age of wisdom, (baby boomer years), I’ve come to realize that clutter is a metaphor for hiding the real me.   I need to wake up and let people see who I really am.  I might just be surprised to see how anxious they are to see who I really am!

Saying Good-bye

07 Tuesday Aug 2012

Posted by in Saying Good-bye

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You know that it is every person’s dream to be liked and appreciated for who she is and not necessarily for what she is or for how she makes her living.  On August 6th a great lady passed away, my great-aunt.  For some, she is in heaven with God and all the family and friends that died before her.  For others she is still with us in spirit, along with a cloud of witnesses that make us who we are.  It doesn’t matter what your particular religion teaches you to believe about death, what does matter is that we celebrate her life each day.

What does it mean to be the oldest in a family; what responsibilities does that mean for a person?  For this woman it did not mean that she knew she would out-live her husband and sister-in-law, the last two children of her father-in-law, the patriarch of our family.  But she did and it was a good long life, ninety-two years.

On her ninetieth birthday, the family gathered at her new home, an assisted living.  It was the last time I saw her, but not the last time we talked, I’m glad to say.  She was most proud of her great-grandbabies and loved to ask me how my life as a grandmother was going.  She always remembered their names and parents and loved hearing about what they were doing.  She had this gift of being present in the life of the people that surrounded her.

Although her husband was my grandfather’s little brother, they were closer in age to my parents.  When they would visit my grandparents, my mother made everything stop and we joined in the family fun with our cousins.  It occurred to me that families can’t (or won’t) do that anymore.  We can’t take off work, get our children out of school, or change plans already set in place just because someone comes to town to visit much less when a relative dies.  I’ve been in that position, I know, and there is nothing we can do.  Times are different.

But isn’t that sad?  In her life all of us left in the family were born and how many birthdays, weddings, and yes, funerals did she attend?  How many baby gifts did she send our children and grandchildren? How many phone calls did she make; and letters did she write?  Countless.  But we hold no grudge for that is what families are about.  And she certainly would not be unhappy with anyone who could not attend her funeral.  She would be the first to understand.

It is with much pride that she mentioned to her daughter the day before she died that my mother who passed away twenty-two years ago was standing in her room.  What a gift to see someone who she loved and who loved her just as much.  Hearing that my mother was with her in the room prompted me to leave a day early so I too could see my Aunt.  I was awakened very early in the morning.  At first I thought it was my daughter calling me from her bedroom, but immediately I recognized my mother’s voice saying, “Pris” waking me to get up and get on the road.  It was a few hours later that I got the call from my cousin saying her mother had died peacefully.

I will forever be grateful for the life of my Great-Aunt Frances McCrary.  I will make the trip to her home town to celebrate her life along with many in the McCrary family.  I thank God for her and the love she gave us all.  She will be truly missed, but she will live on in my heart for all time.  I hear her calling me now, “Prissy, …….”

Louisiana Food to Die For

28 Monday May 2012

Posted by in Eating My Way Through a Trip

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I’m hard put to think of any food I like more than red beans and rice.  And after spending a week eating Creole food throughout the trip, the one thing I did not get to eat was red beans and rice.  Zea’s in Town Center in Baton Rouge has it on their menu.  It comes with a huge fried chicken breast served on top of a steaming plate of dark red beans and gooey rice; just the way I like it.

But I didn’t make to Zea’s on this trip.  But I did eat some amazing food while visiting family and old friends in Louisiana.  And that’s what it’s all about – FOOD.  What you ate that day; what you are going to eat later in the day; who you ate with; where did you eat; how was it cooked (grilled, baked, sautéed, boiled, and of course fried); was it a gumbo, Etouffee, or bisque; and on and on and on.  It never ended.

My first stop was a little hole in the wall just outside the Louis Armstrong International Airport (a.k.a. MSY – New Orleans) called Fisherman’s Cove in Kenner, LA.  I had the (notice the THE as that is how one refers to the food in Louisiana) fried eggplant stuffed with crabmeat and covered with crawfish Etouffee, a couple of slices of buttered French bread and a glass of Shiraz.  It melted in my mouth.  (Needless to say I didn’t count Weight Watcher points while out of town this trip.)  The portion was moderate and very satisfying.  My sister had boiled shrimp and said it was very good.

The next day we met up with two old friends from our early childhood and their mother.  We think it was my wedding, forty-one years ago this May 30th that we last saw them.  We four girls look good for our age, but their mother looked fantastic.  Unfortunately the restaurant was packed (it was LSU graduation that day and everything was crowded on that side of town.)  We could barely hear each other but we had a wonderful visit and enjoyed a delicious American meal at J Alexander’s near the Mall of Louisiana on Bluebonnet Road.  I had the Cypress Salad with chicken fingers, bacon, cucumbers and cheese.  It was very good, but huge so I ate about half of it. On a side note, when I left Baton Rouge in 1976, Bluebonnet was a street off Jefferson Highway that was part of a quiet neighborhood.  Today it is a vein in the thoroughfare that cuts through the South side of Baton Rouge, stretching from Jefferson Highway to Highland Road, four lanes of one commercial business after another.

On Saturday, I had the pleasure of spending the day with three old friends.  Two of which I had known since I was a child and the third I met in junior high.  We were all good friends through high school and college and have remained close as adults.  We get together once a year when I come to Louisiana to see them.  One lives in Franklinton, LA in an old home she has renovated and filled with antiques; one lives in a beautiful traditional Acadian home in Denham Springs while the third is still in Baton Rouge in a lovely old neighborhood on the South side of LSU.  She still has her father’s season tickets to the LSU football games on the 40 yard line as well as LSU basketball season tickets.   This year we gathered for conversation in Denham Springs eating lunch at Randazzo’s Italian Market.  I had the lasagna and it was very good.  It was the charm of the couple who own the restaurant that was most endearing as they walked up to every table asking if our meals were acceptable.  Moving from Italy to Denham Springs, the chef and his wife opened the business to bring the “traditions from the hills of Italy to the Bayou country.”

As my friends talked over each other and about our choices of food, we connected as we did as children filled with the love of friendship.  Missing was one friend who had a conflict, a wedding to attend in New Orleans.  But we thought of her and others who might join us next time.  After perusing the antique stores in “Old Denham” we made a stop at the home of one of my friend’s mother.  Living in a retirement community near her daughter in Denham Springs, she looked and acted just as she did when I was a child, proud, beautiful, and always the gracious hostess.  Because it wasn’t just a visit to her apartment, it was also a visit to the dining room where we talked about the food and saw the beautiful tables and chandeliers and menu for the night.  Even retired people in Louisiana, look forward to their meals which I found in some pleasant way very consoling.

That night my sister and I joined our cousin and his wife at Ralph and Kacoo’s, a famous seafood restaurant.  I had a delicious bowl of crawfish bisque and a Sensation Salad and two Coors Light draft beers.  The salad was made famous by Bob and Jake’s, a steak restaurant very popular when I was a child.  Crawfish bisque was my all-time favorite dish growing up as a child.  The original owners of Ralph and Kacoo’s had a place on False River called the Triple Arch, in New Roads, Louisiana.  It was a favorite pastime for my parents and friends to make the trek on Sunday’s after church.  The dining room was to the right after entering the building.  The walls along one wall were covered in a mural of Southern families, horses and buggies.  The bar was to the left of the dining room and off-limits to us kids.  But not the dance hall.  It was straight ahead from the front door.  We loved to finish our meal and get permission to go the goldfish pond out back which meant going through the dance hall room to the back door of the restaurant.

The wooden floor was smooth and aged from years of dancing.  The tables were up against the wall with folding wood chairs stacked along the wall.  Outside was a round stone goldfish pond filled with lilies.  The lake (False River) was swampy and creepy and we stayed as far away as possible from it.  Back inside we felt safe, loved and protected by our parents and waiters who knew us each time we came.  Hush puppies were a specialty and a lost art, I’m afraid, but the memories of those trips to eat seafood and share a meal with other families still warm my heart.

Sunday was a day of rest with a home-cooked meal for lunch with my sister and then a visit with old family friends in Springfield, Louisiana.  Having lived most of their adult life in the Memphis, TN area, they served Memphis BBQ which was like coming home and most rewarding.  But more so was that their two grown children drove all the way from Baton Rouge to spend the time with us.  It’s not easy to leave someone you’ve known since the day they were born, three years after you were born.  Like a brother, this friend’s parents were my second parents.  His family is my family and sharing a meal with them was a blessing.

And so it ended, five days in Louisiana, and yet no red beans and rice.  But today I decided, enough is enough.  I spent the morning cooking dry red beans with onions until they were soft and perfect.  I could have added sausage as usual but I didn’t.  And just when I thought I could never replace Zea’s red beans, I invented my own recipe!  Left-over BBQ hamburgers (one and a half) and Nathan’s beef hot dogs (one) cut into pieces and added to the beans and voila, the perfect red beans and rice!  It was delicious and my vacation was complete.

In between I had some delicious strawberries and blueberries covered in real cream, some chicken and sausage gumbo, and a delicious Bishop’s Cake out of the River Road Cookbook (the Louisiana Bible of cookbooks) and my stomach was full, my appetite satisfied and my heart happy.

Good food, good friends, good God, let’s eat…Amen.

Free to be Me

07 Wednesday Mar 2012

Posted by in Free to be Me

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When I was a little girl my favorite time of year was springtime. Waking to the sound of lawnmowers roaring up and down the street and the ligustrum blooming outside my open window, I took the good with the bad.  We didn’t know what allergies were in those days.  A stuffy or runny nose in the spring was acceptable and a rite of passage from winter to spring.

Today the Bradford Pear Trees are in full bloom; already their petals are flying across the airwaves from yard to yard.  The other day my throat closed up on me in the middle of a conversation with my new neighbors.  I walked down with a bag of chocolate chip muffins, just out of the oven.  So warm, the plastic bag was steamed over.  The teenage son, twin ten-year-old boys, and 8 year-old daughter gobbled them up while their parents and grandmother and I exchanged names and telephone numbers.  I was there only a few minutes so as not to disturb their unpacking, but by the time I walked back to my house two doors down, I could not stop coughing or catch my breath.  I thought at first I was choking and then it came to me that it was the blossoms of the pear trees across the street from my house.

Once inside the house, I drank some water and washed my hands and face.  This seemed to help.  I felt refreshed and renewed, not unlike the feeling I get when winter turns into spring.  But this year seems to be harder than years in the past.  My first full spring in my house where half the garage still needs to be unpacked so that the storage unit that needs to be emptied can fit into the garage.  I can’t seem to part with some of my family furniture like my parent’s antique Queen Anne dining room table and antique four-poster bed, or my grandfather’s antique sofa.  I don’t have room for them in this house because I no longer have a den or a formal dining room.  And it is not fair to ask my children to burden their homes with pieces of furniture they don’t want.  So for the time-being they will be housed in the garage, along with my craft supplies, sewing materials, albums of the children when they were babies, and various other things that would not survive life in the attic over the garage.

The other day while working on the garage, I found a picture of my mother and her mother standing opposite a table filled with an abundance of food.  The table was covered in a cotton cloth and a vase of flowers.  It was outside the screened porch under some pine trees at my grandparents’ home.  It was Easter Sunday.  My mother and grandmother look pretty and happy.  In the same batch of pictures was one taken earlier in the winter, at Christmas.  Again my mother and grandmother and most of the rest of the family are seated around the table, all turning toward the person, most likely my father, who is taking the picture.  This time the table is in my grandparents’ dining room and again the table is beautifully set and filled with an assortment of food.  But not one of us is smiling in the picture.  It is clear that this is not a good day.

Probably my mother has been drinking too much and her mother and father are upset with her.  My father has gone into the protective mode hovering over my mother and being defensive to my grandparents’ remarks.  My uncle is also drinking heavily and his wife is not supportive but instead mad at him.  One spouse is enabling while the other is admonishing and we children are caught in the crossfire once again.

As the oldest of the cousins, it was my duty to stay calm and stay the course, to pretend all is well.  This was not a job I was given, but one I imposed upon myself.  Welcome to the world of living with alcoholics.  There I am in the picture, clearly a young teenager, maybe 12 years old, with my legs crossed like a young woman wearing fancy white boots, like the models of the early ‘60’s, and in my arms is a baby doll that I got for Christmas.  How mixed up is that?  It is no wonder that wintertime brings up feelings of inadequacy and hunger for a better life.  And that springtime is just the opposite.

We are all called to be the person God wants us to be.  If we are to live as Spiritual beings so that God can live through us, then we must choose to be free of the things that hold us back.  I can choose to live in the wintertime of negativity or in the springtime of renewal where I claim my freedom as a child God.

So give me a runny or stuffy nose any day!  I am free!