LET US GIVE THANKS...

...for just about everything! It's been a pretty good year here on Owl Court, and the whole family is in general good health - and fairly contented to boot.  I've had a great time doing up my blogs this year. Even as I post this I've got some really great pecan-raisin bread rising in the oven. I'm taking progress pictures of the whole procedure to go with Friday's blog.  I just love celebrating National Bread Month.  A happy, thoughtful, thankful Thanksgiving to all my readers.  And Zen Hugs too!

SENIOR MOMENT: NOW I ARE SEVENTY

Even at 6 I was a curmudgeon! *

For many years I’ve had a beautifully printed and framed quotation from Dorothy Canfield Fisher, the author, social activist, and educational reformer who brought the Montessori method of childhood education to America: “One of the many things nobody ever tells you about middle age is that it’s such a nice change from being young.”  The saying ‘spoke’ to me twenty years ago, and with a change from “middle” to “old”, it speaks volumes to me today.

The concerns of the old are many and varied – in as many and various ways as are those of the young - but we are usually more philosophical about our concerns. I suppose it’s because we probably won’t have to deal with them for too much longer. Fatalistic? Could be, could possibly be. 

My cousin’s husband’s Aunt Grace – got that? – was a character.  At seventy she believed she could say and do anything she wanted because her years had earned her the privilege. Unfortunately, I mentioned this to my Mother and she took up the practice. I’d rather she hadn’t because she was often unthinkingly unkind to people who couldn’t easily retaliate. I’m not going to follow in those footsteps, but lately I find, more and more, that I would really like to rip a stripe off of one or two selected miscreants. I shall resist the temptation to do so.

What I do enjoy now is looking at the lives of the younger folks – some of the younger baby boomers, the Gen X-ers, those ‘thirty-somethings – and just going “Tsk, tsk, tsk.”  What are they thinking?  Not that I have all the answers, but it’s such fun to kibitz, and even whine occasionally – but only in private, of course.  Years ago I was sure everyone was looking at me - kibitzing, whining, judging - and I was partially right: the seniors around me were probably enjoying doing the same things I do now.

I am glad for some of the privileges I now have as a Senior Citizen. I’ve always had my moments, but now I am able to qualify and dismiss them as being “senior.” I love and take advantage of senior discounts in stores, on the train, in restaurants.  A selection from any fast food chain’s dollar menu and a senior drink make for a quick, inexpensive lunch when I’m out and about.

I can see a time in the future when Senor discounts will be a thing of the past.  Fortunately for us our own ratio is fairly good, but it’s predicted that by 2030 we will have 33 seniors for every 100 working Americans – one to three. (In some countries it will be one to less than two!  I can’t imagine life among so many old people.) Even though I enjoy the privilege, I really don’t see what entitles one quarter of us to discounts just because we made it to age fifty or so. Just my own opinion – feel free to argue. 

Earlier this year I gave our son’s oldest daughter a copy of A.A. Milne’s “Now We Are Six” – for her sixth birthday, of course. (I also got her “Eloise’s Guide to Life or How to Eat, Dress, Travel, Behave, and Stay Six Forever.” That one’s from her silly, irreverent Grammy, not her serious Grammy.  Both Grammys wish ‘we’ were six again and knew what we know now.) I thought about putting together an essay on arriving at the wonderful age of seventy, only to find that Milne had beat me to the title. He also beat me to “Now We Are Seventy-five”, but I’ll whine about that in five years.  I’m seriously, actively delighted to be here, starting in on my eighth decade.  It’s a hoot!

*See Anything For Thanksgiving  to find out why I was decked out that way.

RUNNING AROUND...

 

...like a chicken with its head cut off?  Well yes, Thanksgiving is next week, and I have been reminded today that Christmas is just 41 days away. Some folks are decorating already.

I must brag and tell you that I am not running around, I am not even flustered: 1. someone else is doing all the major cooking for Thanksgiving (I'm just bringing one dish) and 2. my Christmas shopping is done.  I am one of those anal folks who do the shopping all year long.  And as for my granddaughters' books (I am the book Grandmother) I've got those for them, Christmas and birthdays, into the year 2016.  When I see a good book I grab it!  So now I'll spend the rest of the year relaxing.

BREAD BASICS - FOR FAMILY, FRIENDS AND FANS

The story about this loaf will be posted on November 30th.

These instructions, written ages ago for one of my nephews,  and recently revised,assume that you have a KitchenAid or similar mixer. Originally I did this all by hand, but the machine is very handy for my arthritic hands.

Basically, my bread has these ingredients for two 9½x5½x2¾ pans

 

      1 Tbsp. yeast

      2 Cups warm liquid* - water 

      2 Tbsp. sugar**

      1 Tbsp. salt***

      ¼ Cup shortening**** - oil

      5½-6 Cups of flour - white*****    

Notice all these stars!!  Read through all of this, noting the starred item notes (way) below.

 

I put the liquid in the bowl, sprinkle on the yeast, add the sugar, salt, shortening, and mix it all well. A whisk is handy for this. I add 5½ cups of flour and mix it in.  The last half cup or so is added depending on how the dough reacts.  If it is too sticky I'll add more. The dough should come away from the sides of the bowl and lump up on the dough hook.  Dough will be easier to work on rainy days where the barometric pressure is low.  If your dough is on the sticky side, you should flour up your hands and board.

White bread is just as above.  You can use milk and butter to make a silkier loaf.  These are nice if making raisin bread. (add 1 T more sugar, some cinnamon, 1 tsp. or so, and about a cup of raisins before adding the flour) (substitute cardamom for cinnamon to a make Norwegian Yule Kake type bread.)

Most times now I add a cup of quick oatmeal (not instant or old fashioned) to my white bread for some extra fiber.

For wheat bread I increase the water to 2¼ cups.  Instead of the sugar I use 2T molasses (for color and a different flavor) and 2T honey. The flour mix is 2C whole wheat flour, 1C quick oatmeal and 2½-3 C white flour.  Always more white than wheat.

For a nice whole grain bread you can add 1 C Harvest Grains Blend (I get this on line from King Arthur Flour) to the wheat bread recipe.

For sweet rolls you can 2T more sugar and a beaten egg to the basic white bread mix.

For a cheesy bread, add a cup of grated cheese to the liquid mix.

Always add the flour(s) last. 

MIXING, RISING AND BAKING

After mixing and machine kneading, I knead the dough by hand for a while - very satisfying - and then I form the dough into a flattened ball on a on a floured counter, and let it sit for 20 minutes or so, until it rises a bit.  Don’t worry if you let it go longer: “official” recipes tell you to let it rise until doubled.

Punch it down and form it into two equal loaves (I weigh them on an old postage scale to get them about even) - or rolls - and put the dough into greased pans.  I put the loaves into the oven and - this is tricky!! - turn on oven until it is just warm-- Then turn it off.

      (Better yet - warm the oven, then put in the loaf pans!)

If you can see the temperature display on your stove don’t let it get too much above 105°. The oven provides the warm, draft free place for the dough to rise.  (Sometimes I have forgotten and left the oven on - a bit of a disaster some times. The loaf may look like they have risen properly, but they usually deflate in the baking.  Still tastes good though.  Croutons anyone?!)

The dough usually takes an hour or so to rise properly.  About double and a half.  If you forget it and it really looks puffy, it will almost always deflate some (see above!) in the baking.  If the loaves are for 'show', or if you’ve accidentally hit the side of the oven or rack and the loaf deflates, just remove them, punch them down, reform them, and let them rise again.  Yeast is very forgiving.  Note - the barometric pressure has a lot to do with how fast the bread rises.  On a high pressure, sunny day it will take longer to rise.  Just think of the high pressure as pressing more heavily on the dough.  On overcast and rainy days, low pressure, the light air lets the dough rise more quickly.  (pray for rain!)

Once the dough has risen, remove the loaves from the oven and place them on top of the stove, near the heat of the oven outlet.  Heat the oven to 450º. When the oven is up to temperature, put the loaves in side by side - maybe three inches between - and time them for 10 minutes.  At the 10 min. mark, turn down the oven to 350º, and time the loaves for 30 minutes.  (Rolls for 15 minutes) 

Remove the loaves or rolls from the pans and cool them on racks.  Do not slice the bread until it is completely cool.  Slicing too soon will make for harder cutting and gumminess where the knife has pushed through instead of slicing cleanly.

If the sliced loaf or rolls won't be used up in two days, I recommend freezing them because there are no preservatives in these loaves. You can take out just what you need for the meal, and it will defrost in no time, helped along by a microwave if you're running late.  With some toasters, like mine, it is possible to plunk in the slices still frozen and still have them toast properly.

Of course, if the bread goes stale there are always French toast, croutons, stratas, etc. to be made.

 

NOTES TO NOTE

King Arthur Flour has a treasure chest of bread recipes.  The nice thing is that you can choose to have the ingredients listed by volume or weight in ounces or grams.

* liquid -what have you?  Over the years I have added bouillon, potato water, milk: regular, skim, buttermilk; tomato soup, orange juice, cottage cheese, sour cream, - any liquid or semi-solid I had left over and wanted to use up - with water or milk added to make the needed measure. (I use an extra ½ cup if I’m making bread with whole wheat flour because it sucks up more water than regular white flour.) Use your judgment and instinct to know what will 'go', according to how you want to use the bread.  Always make sure to use warmed, not hot, liquid.  Yeast slows down in the cold, that’s why I keep mine in the freezer, but too hot a liquid will kill it.

** sugar - white or brown granulated, honey, maple or pancake syrup. Powdered sugar isn't recommended. 

***never forget salt - your bread will be blah!  Sugar you can forget, never salt!

**** These days I use olive oil for the most part.  You can use vegetable oil (Usually, not nut oils because they are too flavorful, not to mention expensive) I have, in the past, used bacon fat and butter – butter, even now,  especially for sweet breads and Christmas breads like Yule Kake.  Oh, the cholesterol!  Oh, the calories!  Oh, it’s delicious!

*****Some folks measure flour by the cup, some by weight. The recipes on the website at King Arthur Flour give you the choice of either method.  If you are measuring by the cup, be careful of taking your flour directly from a new bag.  This flour has been tamped down and there is much more weight in that cup than if you had first transferred it to a canister and taken the loosened flour. 

That’s about all I can write down.  I have been making bread for over thirty-five years, so some of this knowledge has come to me be osmosis over that time.  It isn’t easy explaining the feel of the dough, how it reacts on a rainy day – you just have to get some experience under your belt.  I can say this – even my disasters have tasted O.K. – provided I didn’t forget the salt!!  

P.S.  Email me if you have any questions.  ;-)

A LA CUISINE JULES!

 

This is Jules, the late éminence jaune of Le Château de Vergières in Saint Martin de Crau. We got to know and love him in the times we stayed at the  Château during our visits to the Camargue.  The bane of Marie-Andrée Pincede’s existence, he would be forever roaming around – you see, he could open the lever-handled doors – and she’d find him and scold him: “A la cuisine Jules!” He would slink off to the kitchen – or to the back of the Peugeot – and contemplate his next move.

 

NATIONAL BREAD MONTH

My Multigrain Bread

There is absolutely nothing to beat the aroma of bread baking, unless is it is the taste of the first slice you’re allowed once the bread cools.

November is always National Bread Month.  What better month than this to start a winter of wonderful bread baking.  I came to bread baking in my early thirties. My Mom wasn’t a baker at all.  After my Mother-in-Law died – and I still miss her like crazy – I got her recipe book.  She wrote all the family recipes in a marbled, black and white composition book.  As I do now, she had her own Mother’s daily bread recipe in her head, but I thank the stars above that she thought to write it down. 

Frank remembers when he’d come home after school, bringing along a friend or two.  There would be fresh bread and homemade grape jam for their snack. No butter, it was war time, but they hardly needed butter. After a while they’d be off doing whatever it is young boys do, and that was left on the table were a few crumbs and a knife resting in an empty jam jar.

I began experimenting, and I finally got the hang of bread baking. The original recipe was for white bread – plain, wonderful white bread. It is, of course, what I do best.  After all these years I can tell, just be the feel of the day, how much flour to use, how long it will take to rise. You may have to use a bit more flour to tame the sticky dough, but bread rises faster on a rainy day than a fair one: lower barometric pressure lets the yeast do its thing more easily.  Reading and experimenting, I’ve devised many different recipes for myself for breads from multi grain to to-die-for Pecan-Raisin bread.  

Of late, many of the food and shelter magazines have had wonderful spreads (of course!) on artisanal bread.  Frank will get a hold of one of the articles, and read it and tell me how easy it looks. I’m sure it is, but it seems to me that to do up these breads with their various starters, bigas, mother doughs, and the like, you almost have to go into regular production.  The starters have to be maintained, and I just don’t make bread regularly enough now, in our old age with our smaller appetites, to warrant the bother.  From start to finish, I usually have bread in about three hours.  Once we devour the first, fresh slices, the rest, properly bagged, goes into the freezer where it keeps wonderfully.

I am a bit put off by the “holier than thou” stance taken by some bread bakers.  You’ think they were building a fine Swiss watch.  Yes, you might want to follow their methods scrupulously if you are a newbie, though all I had from my Mother-in-law were the basic ingredients and instructions. There are the rapid-rise vs. the regular-rise yeast fans, and there are the weigh-the-flour vs. the measure-the-flour fans.  Arguments abound on how much, if any, sugar to add, and which salt is best; how long and where to let the dough rise; what pans, or none, to use to bake it. To me it is much ado about very little.  If you think you might take up bread making, you’ll soon know all the ropes, shall we say.  Experimenting is half the fun, if you go by the starter method or the fresh yeast method.

I make the bread as we need it. We do get a ciabatta bread or a nice boule every once in a while, and we couldn’t do without English muffins, but basically we rely on my own baking. During this November I’ll bring you three more posts on bread: Bread Basics, the Pecan Raisin Bread story, and, last, a tale of a bread disaster. 

 

 

 

 

WHITE KID GLOVES

Oh, aaarg!  This morning I was folding wash from the dryer and what did I find that had been through the whole cycle? My good, black, cashmere-lined, 4-button Fownes gloves!  Aaarg!  I know the glove fell into the laundry basket from a shelf where I had placed them temporarily, but why didn’t I notice this before I threw the whole mess in the washer? Yes, I know I can get a new pair, but these were my Mother’s.  It’s the sentiment attached, doncha know. 

Looking for another pair to put in the pockets of my black winter jacket, (It was 35° when I got up this morning) I mooched around in the box where I keep odd, miscellaneous scarves, gloves and little purses. I don’t have a great collection of any of these items and rarely use them, but as the say: “One never knows.”  There – ah the memories! – I found my pair of white kid gloves. They are so lovely I’m ready to meet royalty.  Back in the sixties I was asked to be in my friend Lolly’s wedding.  Her wonderful mom – one of my former Girl Scout leaders – was a stickler for manners and etiquette. Everyone in the wedding party was expected to wear gloves – yes, the men too. I remember the men had on grey gloves – were they cotton? – but she bought all of us girls white kid gloves. I don’t remember if I ever wore them again, though I must have over these last 47 years, but I keep them “among my souvenirs.”

So, needless to say, I trotted out my album to look at the picture of us gals. I scanned it in for posterity, and safer keeping.  That’s me, the chubbiest one, in the picture below – and you can just see my pair of white kid gloves.

 

 

 

 

RETREAT TO YOUR SANCTUARY

She's gone for weeks and then she's back two days in a row - the Curmudgeon. But as I was throwing Sunday's newspaper into the recycling I saw a headline that stopped me with an idea for an essay:

I loved this headline in this Sunday’s Community section of the Charlotte Observer: Outdoor Fireplaces: A hideaway in your yard.  Oooh! Things are getting bad: folks on the lam are searching for hideaways. And what about those “bedroom retreats”, and “adult sanctuaries”?  What I want to know is from what are some folks fleeing?  Why do they have to retreat? Why must they hide away?  Are things getting so bad that instead of sending recalcitrant kids to their rooms the parents flee to their own?  Are things getting so bad that folks must flee from the world in general?

Being just two weeks this side of seventy, I’m from an era where togetherness was the key word for families: togetherness at meals, togetherness for an evening’s entertainment and learning, togetherness in all times good or bad. It seems now that every family member is entitled to their own inviolable space. Entitled, I tell you!  Our son has three girls, and each has her own bedroom. The girls are all under six, so there aren’t yet any “go to your room” orders, or even their own desire to get away from the rest of the bunch - but they’re getting older every day. Of course, the parents have their own suite, and there’s a small guest suite on the first floor. Five bedrooms: gotta have ‘em! I’d better not complain too loudly: I may need that guest suite one day. But you know what I’m getting at here.

Excess, excess – it’s everywhere. (Witness yesterday’s blog about Booing.)

The size of the average American family home is increasing – doesn’t every home need a living room, a great room, a playroom, a media room, a billiards room, and maybe a gym?  Our son’s home has four of those six, yet along with those five bedrooms it’s one of the smaller houses in his golf club community.  I ask you!  But why not, it’s what up-and-comers do these days.  And I really shouldn’t comment, because they are doing so well. But it just chews at my conscious. Though I’m sure it is mainly doing what they think best for their family, it all seems to me to be the eternal keeping up with the Joneses, the maintaining face, if you will, and the showing themselves that they’re all right Jack.  Seems to me it might be our fault for not instilling simpler values in them.  It’s a vicious cycle, and many parents will probably be lamenting about this for eons.

Well, that’s off my chest for now – but I’ll probably still stew about it later on in life.

 

 

 

BOO FOR BOOING

The Curmudgeon is back!  She’s been gone for a while, though I could have trotted her out for my last blog on manners. She’s ready to give her opinion on the current trend to make Halloween that much more frenetic by “Boo”-ing.  Boo for Booing. In my most recent letter to my dear correspondent in Canada I told her of that week’s encounters with Booing:

-----Speaking of candy – eye candy and otherwise - Have the Canadians picked up the custom of “Booing”? At night someone rings your doorbell and runs away, leaving a bag of candy and a note telling you to make two copies of the note and the picture of a ghost, and pass it on to two more Boo-ees, along with bags of goodies for them. Whew! I don’t know who started this, but I think it should be stopped.  My daughter-in-law and the kids got Booed last Saturday while we were there. She suspected who Booed them and couldn’t Boo them back and couldn’t think of any two others to Boo in the neighborhood (not many households with kids there). She’d have to find two bags to pass on and some candy to fill them, and make copies, etc. She was a bit exasperated at that point, but the kids were excited. Just what they needed: more candy!

Then one night last week we got Booed here. What a pain! They don’t allow Trick or Treating here at SCCL, so I don’t have any supply of candy or other goodies. I recieved a bag-full of M&M snack bags, a Reesse’s Pieces, and one mint tea bag – strange! I don’t know what my daughter-in-law did about it, but I stopped it right there. Like a chain letter, I don’t pass such things on. Instead I just ate the candy! (Burp!) It might be fun for the kids – and I suspect this was started by the candy companies to drum up more business – but here in Sun City it is almost an imposition. From the looks of the bag I got it seems like the Booer had to scrounge up something to pass along. Many of us seniors don’t go in for such sweets – at least not the kind of things kids usually like. Last week I did have a coupon from Lindt for a free (free: my favorite word!) bag of their new Truffles – at $6.99 a bag! That is not for the kiddies. -----

Turns out that, just as I did, my daughter-in-law decided enough was enough, and didn’t pass on the Boo. It would have been fun for the girls to sneak up and ring the bells, but they can have other fun other ways. She is not a Martha Stewart Mama, all organized to the teeth and so busy she gets everything done elegantly.  If gals like that are not a myth, they’re few and far between.  She’s an every-day, loving Mama who has a lot on her plate and little inclination to go off on tangents imposed from the outside.  

Actually, I can see a sort of Booing here at SCCL.  Perhaps I’d call it “Gifting”. I remember when I was just a kid, maybe eight or so, and my Grandmother was writing out a birthday card to her Secret Pal. They even had greeting cards especially for Secret Pals. Do they have them now? I always thought that was a nice idea. So today, if someone knew that a neighbor or friend had a birthday coming up, or was recovering from an illness, or was just in need of some cheering, I could see leaving a Secret Gift. How about a gift bag of things like a small supply of herbal tea, some trial size toiletries, a colorful pair of socks, a box of Walker’s shortbread? You know the person so you should know what they like.  Add a cheerful card and Voila!  Just hang it on their doorknob.  There’d be no instructions to pass on the gift – though talking up the idea would be nice.  Mmmm!  One never knows, do one?

MIND YOUR MANNERS

What better month to celebrate National Manners Month than in October, the month when Emily Post was born to a prominent Baltimore family in the year 1873. She was raised in the Victorian era when manners were strictly codified, and women, especially well-to-do women, had to know their place and do nothing to jeopardize it. That was an era of polite society, so polite that even today the Emily Post website politely fails to mention her divorce, one of the first in her circle of friends, and her subsequent entry into the realms of the gainfully employed. After writing several successful novels and travel articles she turned her hand to a book on etiquette.

In my book, her book is really about two things: etiquette and manners. According to my handy dictionary, etiquette is “the conventional requirements as to social behavior, and the prescribed or accepted code of usage in matters of ceremony.” It is how you set a table, what fork goes where. It is how you formally address the President of the United States or the Archbishop of Canterbury.

Manners, on the other hand, are, according to the same dictionary, “social behavior, especially in terms of what is considered correct or unacceptable in a particular society or period in time.” There is a fine difference. Manners are how you relate to other people. Using an example from today’s technical world, we could say etiquette is using the accepted lingo or shorthand for text messages to your friends, while manners would be your texting them at appropriate times for both of you: not when you are driving, not at meal times, not at midnight.

Etiquette, as I said, is how you set your table. Manners are waiting to eat until your hostess takes her first bite. Etiquette and its rules go along with the times; manners are timeless. Emily Post said "Manners are a sensitive awareness of the feelings of others. If you have that awareness, you have good manners, no matter what fork you use." It comes down to this: it’s nice to be nice.

It’s not that you do something correctly, but that you do it with correct consideration. Etiquette requires a gentleman to hold the door for a lady; manners require that he do so graciously, not with an exasperated expression on his face. Further, manners at SCCL suggest that you hold the door for the next guy, especially at the Lake House where the heavyweight doors were designed for Gargantua.

I get all confused here: is it etiquette or good manners for SCCL golf cart drivers to park two carts in a regular car spot? Well, I guess it could be etiquette for two to use the spot, and manners to be considerate and park them offset so that drivers and passengers can get in and out of the cart with ease. 

Speaking of manners, we’ve a few husbands around here who are really pips.You may have seen one of these incidents with the genders reversed, but on several recent occasions I’ve seen men with relatively infirm spouses get out of a car or golf cart and just stride off, leaving the woman to get out, rummage around in the back seat for her cane in one case, and to get herself inside without so much as a steadying hand. You can’t tell me that on every one of those occasions he had to get to the john so fast he left her to fend for herself. He sure wasn’t catching a plane.

I firmly believe that courtesy, manners, and etiquette, are part of the foundation of a good marriage.  I have been blessed with one of the most considerate husbands on the planet, and I appreciate it no end.

To paraphrase Sgt. Esterhaus: “Let’s mind our manners out there.”

HONEYCOMB

On our recent trip to th Blue Ridge Mountains I bought one of these jars of sourwood honey at a roadside stand on Rt. 221 outside of Linville, NC. I opened the jar yesterday and tasted a bit of the honey - delicious.  Certainly beats the commercial stuff.  I've never eaten honeycomb, so naturally I went on line and did a bit of browsing.  My farorite idea was to serve it with good cheese and  great crusty bread or crackers.  Just cut into the honeycomb and spread it and savor it.  Ooooo - sounds like a great plan. Come on over and share it with us.

HISTORY GETS INTERESTING AGAIN

This week Frank and I took a leaf-peeper drive along South Carolina’s Route 11, the Cherokee Foothills National Scenic Highway. Our first stop was Cowpens Nation al Battlefield. As at any battlefield we’ve visited there isn’t much to see in the lay of the land – you have to use your imagination. We stopped off first at the information center.  They’ve got just about the best battle presentation we’ve ever seen.  It is a narrated summary of the war to the date of the Battle of Cowpens, and later to the surrender at Yorktown,  complete with a fiber optics display on two large maps: one map of the south in general, and one map of the battlefield.  Later we took the loop road drive around the battlefield and, with the presentation in mind, could get a better idea of what went on where.

I wrote the following article for the July 2011 issue of Living @ Sun City Carolina Lakes.  As today is the anniversary of the surrender at Yorktown I thought it appropriate to use the article again.

 

 

HISTORY GETS INTERESTING AGAIN

The Declaration of Independence was signed in Philadelphia on July 4, 1776, formalizing the conflict between ‘us’ and ‘them’. The conflict was all but ended south of the Mason-Dixon Line on October 19, 1781, with the British surrender Yorktown, Virginia, only 330 miles from here as the crow flies.

 

The Redcoats are going! The Redcoats are going!

 

Coming from one of the North Atlantic states I was fairly well schooled in the northern events of the Revolutionary War, but it never kept my interest for too long, seeming to be just a series of names, battles, and dates that I had to memorize for a test. Moving to the South has awakened my interest. 

Since my school days I’ve learned that some of our ancestors, especially the more noted ones, had a lot more going on in their lives than just leading the nation. Fourth grade history and the study of American Revolution never mentioned that Benjamin Franklin was quite the ladies’ man or that Thomas Jefferson had a concubine. Interesting! 

Fourth grade history in the North also never mentioned much about the role of the South in that war, and it was probably the same in reverse for students in the South. Nor did it mention what it was like for those on ‘the other side’ – in this case, the English on the other side of the pond.

 



Queen Charlotte

Did you know that King George III was married to Charlotte of Mecklenburg-Strelitz?  That wouldn’t have interested me before, but, living where I do just south of Charlotte, now it does. Poor guy: wars going on all the time, suffering from a mental illness that may have been a blood disorder, he had troubles galore. And some upstarts in the American colonies wanted things like “no taxation without representation,” and they had other objections to being mere colonies. They wanted their independence.  Think of it from George’s point of view: it was appalling.

If it weren’t for the South we might all be British.  Though the primary action of the opening years of the war was in the north, at the same time the persistent southern forces were handling British actions in Charleston and eastern Florida, and nagging at the British and Loyalists whenever they could. The North began to get help from the French, and in the last major battle there they defeated the British at Saratoga in 1777.  Still the British remained a large presence in the north, harrying and engaging the forces in a series of smaller battles. 

The same year as Saratoga, the southerners did lose Savannah, their biggest city, to the British.  Then Charleston went, and the Americans retreated in defeat to the Carolinas. There they met the British in several engagements: one of them was the Battle of the Waxhaws.  For about a year it didn’t look good for the American cause, but then the tide turned and they won at Kings Mountain and Cowpens.  The British kept at it, winning some battles, but at great cost to themselves. Finally the American southern, northern, and naval forces came together in Yorktown to defeat the British and accept their surrender.  King George lost control of Parliament to the factions within his own country that were suing for peace with the Americans, and that, in a nutshell, was that.  

Of course, the Revolution can’t be covered in 600 words. There’s so much to be learned, seen, and enjoyed.  You can begin on the internet researching the Southern states’ Revolutionary War Trails, starting at oldeenglishdistrict.com, or hit the brochure racks at the highway visitor centers.  Our nations’s history will keep you busy and entertained for a long time to come.

 

 

IT'S PUMPKIN TIME

 

 

but where would I have put it once I got it home - that is if I had won the bidding?

 

BELOW THE MASON-DIXON LINE

 

On this October 18^th, 245 years ago, surveyor Jeremiah Dixon and astronomer Charles Mason completed the plotting of the 233 mile line known to us all, naturally, as the Mason-Dixon Line. Historically speaking, it settled the border between Pennsylvania and Maryland.  During the earlier settlement of the country things got a bit messy with lands granted to various families.  Stop here: this is where it sometimes “gets to me”, that bit about “lands granted.”  Broadly speaking, the English swept up what the French and Spanish didn’t particularly claim – though they had a few wars later over it all – and just stated, more or less: “Never mind who lives here now, all this is ours to do with and give away as we like.”  Talk about divine right of kings! Talk about coming in and taking over! Whew!

But to continue: the claims of Penns of Pennsylvania and the Calverts of Maryland overlapped significantly to the point where Philadelphia was technically within the Maryland colony. So out they went with their rods and chains, letting Philadelphia sit a good fifteen miles above the new border, and marked the line for posterity.  The line now forms the boundaries of four states: Maryland, Pennsylvania, West Virginia and Delaware.  The Delaware-Pennsylvania section of the line is relatively small, and the rest of their border is a twelve mile arc. That arc in itself is an interesting topic for another essay.

 

 

A born Yankee – a New Yorker from “Nu yawk”, although I don’t really sound like that – I never ever expected to live below the line, much less have my whole family living down South. One lives in the suburbs of Houston, one the suburbs of Charleston, and now the other two are near Charlotte. Jobs are the great movers of families these days. Needless to say, I never gave the line a thought other than to know that it separated us from them, culturally speaking and gastronomically speaking. Ooh – the gastronomy down here is superb!

Why do adults tell children outlandish things? I know my Father was highly indignant later on in life when he learned that chocolate milk did not come from brown cows. His Mother was born in West “By God” Virginia. Many times when I was little she told me that the Southerners would love me because my name is Lee. Well, good grief! How long can a kid believe something like that?!  I don’t know how many Southerners like me, but I like a whole lot of Southerners that I’ve met so far. They are charming, gracious people. Sometimes, living where I do, I am mortified at what they have to put up with from pushy Northerners. It’s the same feeling I got a few times when we were traveling in Europe and “Ugly Americans” - maybe they were Northerners! – were less than polite, shall we say, to a shop clerk or the hotel staff.  Maybe I just don’t want to be tarred with the same brush.

Reverting back to gastronomic delights, and I frequently do, I leave you with this prayerful poem by the late, big and big-hearted actor, Victor Buono. 

The last lines say it all. 

A Dieter's Prayer

Lord, my soul is ripped with riot
incited by my wicked diet.

"We Are What We Eat," said a wise old man!
Lord, if that's true, I'm a garbage can.
To rise on Judgment Day, it's plain!
With my present weight, I'll need a crane.

So grant me strength, that I may not fall
into the clutches of cholesterol.
May my flesh with carrot-curls be dated,
that my soul may be poly unsaturated

And show me the light, that I may bear witness
to the President's Council on Physical Fitness.
And at oleo margarine I'll never mutter,
for the road to Hell is spread with butter.

And cream is cursed; and cake is awful;
and Satan is hiding in every waffle.
Mephistopheles lurks in provolone;
the Devil is in each slice of baloney,

Beelzebub is a chocolate drop,
and Lucifer is a lollipop.
Give me this day my daily slice
Cut it thin and toast it twice.

I beg upon my dimpled knees,
deliver me from jujube's.
And when my days of trial are done,
and my war with malted milk is won,
Let me stand with Heavenly throng,
In a shining robe -- size 30 long.
I can do it Lord, if you'll show to me,
the virtues of lettuce and celery.

Teach me the evil of mayonnaise,
And of pasta a la Milanese
and crisp-fried chicken from the South.
Lord, if you love me, shut my mouth.


Amen

 

Oh yes!  Amen to that!

 

 

 

FALL FAIR

Our granddaughter at the Altamont Fair on a windy fall day in 1993!  Can't you just taste that candy-apple?  Makes my teeth itch!

LOGIC AND DIPLOMACY - AND CHALLENGE

When I was in high school the Guidance Department gave us aptitude tests.  I came out highest to be an auto mechanic or a diplomat. At that time I just listened to the counselor’s spiel while I sat there, got up, and went out. All I remembered after that were the two professions, neither of which I chose to follow. Looking back after all these years, I see that the common denominator there was logic.

An auto mechanic must have a logical mind to go with his knowledge of cars.  The combination tells him, for instance, what’s wrong with the car, how to take it apart, and, most important, how to put it back together again.

A diplomat has to juggle logic: his own and that of the entities with whom and between whom he must negotiate, and with whom he must maintain cordial relations on behalf of his country or company.  Like being green, it ain’t easy.

I did fall into a field that required logic: computer programming.  I was working for a Long Island bank that was about to get its first computer.  They tested all the employees and I scored very well. So, from being a teller and then a clerk in the loan department, I was catapulted into the world of computers. Programming involves logic: instructions to the computer must follow logically, with no “oh, by the way” instructions to mess things up. Logically, I could say, I went from programming, to systems analysis, to running the department, to becoming and A.V.P. in Operations, the first female officer at the bank. 

On the face of things now, I don’t have to dig down and use any of my logic abilities. Except that I can’t get into a criminal mindset, I can usually understand other people’s point of view.  After over a quarter of a century of retirement, living in a relatively isolated and fairly homogenous rural community, it’s a brain boost, and sometimes a diplomatic challenge, to live in a dense, diverse community like this Sun City Carolina Lakes.

 

NOW I KNOW...

...WHY THEY CALL THEM THE BLUE RIDGE MOUNTAINS.

We're back from our too brief sojourn in Blowing Rock, North Carolina. We had a marvelous trip, saw this year's start of the fall colors, spent time and took a lot of pictures on Grandfather Mountain and the Blue Ridge Parkway, and bought wonderful handcrafts from pottery to jam and sourwood honey.

KEEPING IT ALL TOGETHER

Tomorrow is our 38^th anniversary.  We’ll be off later today to the mountains of North Carolina for a celebratory trip. We’ve had folks comment on how well my husband and I get along. Naturally, above all, we love each other to pieces.  Though we can mildly aggravate each other at times, we enjoy each other’s company above any others.

We both enjoy planning ahead: for the next meal, the next shopping trip, the next car, the next house. This usually helps us with our P’s: Proper Prior Planning Prevents Piss-Poor Performance. We’re probably in our last house now, but we still enjoy the planning. One never knows, do one? We’re fortunate that we’re both inclined to be neat and organized – it precludes sniping at one another.  Above all, we are courteous to each other. Saying a ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ for little favors leads to greater appreciation of bigger ones.

Over the years we’ve developed little rituals that we enjoy: from being sure to put out the sweet gherkins for our tuna melts to selecting fresh flowers for the house. Our best, now ingrained ritual is to say “I Love You” or “Love You to Pieeeeeeeeeeces!” Waking up each morning, settling in to bed, and all times in between; coming and going – especially going or ending a phone call with each other or any of the family – the words are always there. 

We’ve got a song-book of family sayings, many of which our children and grandchildren outgrew years ago. When Joe was Joey – a little kid, that is – if he’d had a bad day, struck out, guttered too many bowling balls, or maybe fallen off his bike, he’d say to his Dad “it’s a no day Dad.” “A no day Dad” is a phrase of the past for him, but it is a regular in the conversation between Frank and me.  Similarly, when our oldest grandchild was in day care, she came home disgusted one day because the resident baby ducks were gone.  When asked how they were that day she replied: “No ducks, es worms.”  This too is part of her past, our present. 

These are just family sayings and doings, nothing too catchy or memorable outside of the family, but they keep the memories alive and the love renewed.

You might like to read about Zen Hugs, another of our family favorites.

A LATE SEPTEMBER DAY...

...heading west into Montana in 1994.  A load of hay!  My Mom always said it was lucky to see a load of hay, and that was the trip and the time of year to see them.  And it was lucky: we had a wonderful trip.

WORDS, WORDS, WORDS

“Words, words, words, I’m so sick of words” sang Eliza Doolittle in My Fair Lady.  Words, words, words – I just love words.

 Yesterday’s  The Writer’s Almanac  celebrated the anniversary of the Norman Conquest in 1066, and cited many of the words we owe to the French. Now I know why we have cow/beef, calf/veal, and sheep/mutton. These three alone are a clue as to why English is not an easy language to learn. So many words, so little time.

On last year’s anniversary (I sometimes think this anniversary is a moveable feast) my blog celebrated the same, the 945^th anniversary, with a blog on languages.  To celebrate the day this year, why not check out Grammarphobia, a blog of “grammar, etymology, usage, and more” that is guaranteed to fascinate and enlighten anyone who loves words.