Tag: memories

How Do You Like Your Eggs

While Studly Doright played golf on Saturday morning I watched the 1936 film, “The Plainsman,” starring Gary Cooper as Wild Bill Hickok and Jean Arthur as Calamity Jane. The old movie wouldn’t be deemed politically correct nowadays with its portrayal of Native Americans as aggressive savages and women as nothing more than flies in the ointment of men’s lives, but it wasn’t without humor.

In one scene Gary Cooper asked another cowboy how he liked his eggs. “Well,” said the man. “I like them just fine.”

I couldn’t help but giggle. Studly walked in about that time and asked me what was so funny. He’s an aficionado of good one liners, so he got a chuckle out of the egg quip, as well. I then recalled the first time anyone asked me how I liked my eggs.

I’d gone with my grandparents to Houston to see the oldest of their three children, my Uncle Jack. I might’ve been five, and I adored Uncle Jack. He lovingly called me a little jackass–which I, in turn, took to calling others, much to my parents’ chagrin.

On one morning of this trip Uncle Jack treated us to breakfast at an International House of Pancakes. I’d never been to one before, and it was the most wonderful place I’d ever seen. The variety of pancakes on the menu was staggering. I took my time choosing just the right item. As I recall I ordered a combo that featured a pancake festooned with strawberries and whipped cream, along with bacon and eggs.

When the waitress took my order she asked, “How do you like your eggs.”

In my sweetest five year old voice I responded, “Cooked, please.”

Everyone, my uncle, my grandparents, even the waitress, laughed. My Nanny quickly told the waitress that I liked my eggs over easy, but I was mortified. I didn’t order eggs any way other than scrambled for many years after. I was a sensitive kid, you know.

Now, many years later I can marvel at how naive I was. How do I like my eggs? Well, I like them just fine.

Peace, people!

Designing Woman

My mother had two hobbies: reading and rearranging furniture. I shared her love of reading, but never understood her passion for decorating. Once I get my furnishings placed appropriately they might remain in the same place for years. The only times I've moved furniture around are when we've been transferred to a new location. I wouldn't do it even then, but I can't afford new stuff every time we change houses, and no one ever seems to want our old stuff.

Mom never had a budget for decorating, so our furniture was about as basic as it could be. We had a sofa, a love seat, and two chairs in varying shades of brown, tan, and black, but by simply rearranging the pieces from time to time and adding a new throw pillow or a crocheted afghan she'd create a completely different look.

Not long after I left home Mom bought a floral sofa. It kind of pissed me off. For all those years I thought furniture had to be a solid color and at the tender age of 18 I discovered florals exist! Had I not been worthy of a floral sofa? Was she making an exchange? Me for a sofa of flowers and leaves?

Studly Doright and I inherited my parents ugly black sofa when we married, but when I had the opportunity to buy a new one, it had flowers everywhere. It was ugly as sin, but at least it wasn't a solid. That'd show 'em.

Honestly, I have no skills in decorating. I never thought of it as something I'd enjoy doing for fun, but recently I was looking for an online game to keep me from overthinking everything in my life, and I found Design Home. Now I'm obsessed.

Here's how it works. Every few hours a design challenge is posted, usually with some criteria attached, i.e. two metal items, three rustic pieces, etc. Players select pieces either from their own inventory, from the inventories of friends, or from the shop, and then try to create a pleasing room. Players also get to vote on other designs. I get a kick out of seeing how others interpreted the challenge.

Here's one of my designs:

Isn't it pretty? My mom would have loved this game. Would she have chosen a floral sofa? I'll never know.

Peace, people. Go hug your mom.

Oldie #7: Twirling Queen

Some folks were made to twirl a baton. I was not one of those people; although, I can still do the figure eight with style and grace. Or at least with style. Okay. No style either.

http://wp.me/p4O8fw-44

Driving Away

Driving Away
by
Leslie Noyes

At her lowest point
Her car felt like salvation
Four wheels to freedom

Lock the doors and breathe,
Imagine the horizon
Turn the key and drive


A full tank of gas,
She neared the city’s limits
Never crossed the line

Sticky Date Nut Roll

Today would have been my mom’s 79th birthday. She’s been gone for many years, and I still miss her every day. 

Mom was a Christmas person. She didn’t do a great deal of baking during the year, but at Christmas she pulled out all the stops. She baked cookies and made candy and sweet breads. She made a sticky date nut roll that either came out perfectly or had to be peeled off the wax paper in gooey chunks. But she made it every year, always hoping for the best.

I haven’t had that date nut roll in years, but I’ve been going through my recipes this week and reminiscing. Wouldn’t it be great, I thought, to make Mom’s date nut roll, to see if I could make it come out perfectly, in her honor. Alas, I can’t find it. Maybe I never had that one. 

I turned to Google and came up with this one, though:

Date Nut Roll

Ingredients 

3 1/2 C. Sugar
1 C. Milk
1/4 C. Butter or Margarine
1 16 oz. pkg. Pitted Dates
1 C. Chopped Pecans
1 Tsp. Vanilla extract
Powdered Sugar

Directions

-Combine sugar, milk, and butter in a saucepan. Stir until sugar dissolves.
-Cover and cook over medium hear for 2-3 minutes to wash down sugar crystals from the sides of the pan.
-Uncover and continue to cook without stirring until the mixture reaches the soft ball stage (240°).
-Cool to lukewarm (110°).
-Add vanilla.
-Beat at medium speed with an electric mixer until the mixture thickens and cools.
-Sift powdered sugar on a linen towel.
-Divide mixture into two portions and shape each portion into two rolls, each

    1 1/2″ in diameter.
    -Wrap in towels.
    -Let stand until set, then cut into 1/2″ thick slices.

    As far as I can tell its Mom’s recipe; although, I don’t think she used a candy thermometer, and that probably explains why it only turned out perfectly about 20% of the time.

    Will I give it a go and try to make this Christmas treat? I kind of feel Mom urging me to do just that.

    Mom as a teenager.

    A Box and a Bottle 

    The box sat unopened on the kitchen table, a bottle of red wine close at hand, long-stemmed glass in reach.

    Off came the lids and memories spilled forth: 

    Newlywed couple, too young to know the perils of an uncertain future.

    Pensive new mom in a white nightgown holding her firstborn, swaddled in soft blue bunting.

    Happy one year old, face covered in frosting.

    Another newborn held tightly, this one covered in pink.

    A grinning toddler waving chubby fists over a Cabbage Patch birthday cake.

    Wine poured, a tentative taste.

    Years roll along. Kindergarten, primary years. Slow days, fast years.

    Field day ribbons in primary hues.

    Teachers’ notes in calligraphy

    Cards from grandparents, now long gone, the signatures unique and cherished. Tangible proof of their love.

    A bit more wine, a smooth second sip. Sweeter, deeper, longer.

    High school awards, who knew they’d had so many?

    Yearbook photos from different schools

    Letters from crushes, embarrassingly frank, oh this is blackmail material!

    Pour another glass. Wipe a tear away. 

    Graduation photos with family and friends.

    Caps and gowns

    Alma mater in the background

    That glass went quickly! Pour another. Be generous. That’s good. 

    Adventures abroad

    Wedding gowns and cummerbunds

    Honeymoons

    First grandchildren, three months apart

    Sweet babies. She has my nose. He has your smile. More wine? Please.

    New grandchildren are born

    Personalities emerge–this one a tomboy, this one mercurial, this one a charmer; all loved

    Marriages shift

    New alliances form

    Those were difficult days. Yes, more wine, please. 

    Holidays and birthdays

    Moving days, so far away

    Family reunions, look how we’ve grown! From two scared kids to this grand family.

    Enough for one afternoon. Besides, we’re all out of wine. Close the box and kiss me.

       




    Funny How This Works

    A blogging friend shared this post today:

    Nachos..

    Posted on March 29, 2016 by A Not So Jaded Life

    I called for a nacho night, awesome right? Except I ate almost all the cheese before it went on the corn chips… Why do I do these unforgivable things. 

    I can certainly identify with her dilemma. Nachos sans cheese are just chips. I imagine that  when the ingredients met up in her stomach they probably recognized their respective soul mates and did a happy dance.

      
    But her tale reminded me of one from my very early childhood. I commented:

    When I was very little my mom made up a mixture of peanut butter and Karo syrup to put on toast. But while she was toasting the bread I devoured the mixture. She got so tickled because I thought the peanut butter and syrup was my breakfast. I remember that vividly and I was only three or four at the time. Your post brought that back to me. Thanks!

    I can still picture the confusion on Mother’s face when she brought the toast to the table and found that the peanut butter and syrup bowl was empty–probably licked clean. It was my first taste of that lovely concoction and it was bowl licking good.

    Then she began to laugh. And it was a wonderful laugh. We mixed up more of the good stuff and enjoyed it on our toast. And then I watched Captain Kangaroo.

    This is why we share our lives through our blogs. The exciting and mundane, the shocking and the bland can provide meaningful connections. You never know when your post is going to trigger a lost memory.

    Heres a link to my friend’s site. Check her out!

    https://anotsojadedlife.wordpress.com/author/anotsojadedlife/

    Peace, people.

    Peanut butter and Karo Syrup: Food of the gods.

    Making Memories

    Someone should have told me all those years ago

    When fevered toddlers ruled the day and all they said was no!

    That too soon would they be grown and gone 

    And the tasks we hastened through all done

    Memories were being made yet I grumbled, griped, and whined

    About their childish faults and the endless daily grind.

    I had no idea that second chances were not guaranteed

    That time would pass by in a flash and my regrets would only feed

    On recollections of opportunities lost, never to be regained

    My heart aches for the past and the memories we should have made.

      

    Peace, people. 


    Marbles In

    I picked up a
    handful of marbles,
    perfectly round,
    smooth, cool, 
    clinkety clunky in
    my wrinkled grasp.

    Brightly colored,
    variegated blues,
    yellows, reds, plus
    an amber cat’s eye,
    a shiny steelie,
    and a swirly snaky.

    There was nothing
    particularly
    notable about these
    colorful orbs.
    Other than they
    exist simultaneously
    in the worlds of my
    present and my past
    as only childhood
    playthings can.

      
    Peace, people!

    Angels 

    Studly Doright and I married on July 30, 1976. We were young, in love, and profoundly broke. I hadn’t really noticed just how broke we were until our first Christmas rolled around.

    We managed to buy a sad little tree, but we had no ornaments. I know now there existed women who could whip up some crafty ornaments using a mixture of baking soda, grape jelly, and crushed leaves, but I was not one of those women. And this was way before Pinterest. 

    My mother came to the rescue. She bought me two kits of do-it-yourself felt ornaments. At first I was overwhelmed. I couldn’t, and still can’t, sew, but I began working on the ornaments a little bit every evening, hanging them on the tree as I finished. 

     
    In the beginning there were twelve ornaments, but after 16 moves in 39 years of marriage a couple have gone missing. One wreath shaped ornament was last seen being tossed around by our Siamese cat, aptly named Holly. Said wreath had a decidedly bedraggled air before it disappeared for good around 1996. The other missing ornament just went A.W.O.L. one year, perhaps fearing it would meet a death similar to that of the mangled wreath.

    My favorite of the lot are the scarecrow and the angel.

      
    Poor scarecrow is holding on, but just barely. He is missing an eye and his hat has undergone drastic alterations, but he continues to smile. I feel like scarecrow is my spirit animal. 

      
    The angel has fared better than the rest of the crew. All but one of her sequins remain intact. She’s still praying for peace, and she means it. 

    After my mom passed away I began collecting angels. Some are intricately carved, others beautifully crafted. A few were quite expensive. But this little felt angel, given to me that first Christmas of my marriage by my mother and sewn imperfectly by me, is the one I cherish most.

    Peace, people.