Missing the Seasons

I remember seasonal changes and I remember loving each and every one of those changes as they each meant something different and meaningful. Seasonal changes always gave me cause for pause, for reflection, for hope and anticipation. They brought about excitement for the new season and all that it held.

Most of you know I'm not a fan of spring and summer because of the heat and I think part of that is we don't get a winter or at least not much of one anymore so there's no need to look forward to spring when you've been having summer and spring all during fall and winter. It's like fall and winter are gone away and I miss them terribly.

The last 10+ years have given us summer-like weather all during autumn and spring-like weather in winter and I find it depressing. How I long for those seasonal changes of my youth.

When I was growing up summer meant the end of the school year, days at my grandparents helping Grandmother snap beans, shell peas, shuck corn... Summer meant sleeping with the windows up and the window fan going. It meant playing freeze tag and baseball in the yard. It meant climbing trees to read books and riding my bike all day long. Summer meant fourth of July with BBQ, watermelon, potato salad, deviled eggs, churning ice cream, and fireworks galore. Summer meant going to the lake and water skiing and having cookouts in the backyard and our annual week-long trip to Myrtle Beach. Summer meant fashioning flower crown wreaths from clover and running about in the yard with them on our heads. Summer meant going to the community swimming pool, chasing fireflies, running between the sheets hanging on the line, and glorious late afternoon summer thunderstorms.

Fall was exciting as the first coolness in the air came about and stunning, vibrant colors began to appear on trees that only weeks ago were a million different shades of green. There were holidays to prepare for, pumpkins to buy, weekend camping trips to the mountains where we always stopped and bought apples and apple cider from the roadside stands. Fall was Halloween costumes and Thanksgiving dinner and sweaters and jackets and long pants. Fall was football on television and in the backyard. Fall was school and friends and school supplies and new school clothes. Fall was full of energy and color and fun.

Winter meant cold and snow at least once a year enough to warrant getting a sled for Christmas. Winter was trees shed of their colors, stark spindly and beautiful black against lovely gray skies. Winter was the excitement and anticipation of Christmas, New Year's, my birthday. Winter was Grandmother's Christmas goodies all made from scratch and with love and yes, you could taste the difference. Winter was snuggling up by the fireplace with books and Barbies. Winter was hot chocolate, warm coats, boots, and knitted hats. Winter was cozy blankets, warm socks that flopped around as I walked in them. Winter was brilliant red cardinals against a white background. Winter brought a blank page for spring to color.

Spring was cool in the morning and warm in the afternoon. Spring was first of colors on every street. Spring was Easter and the Easter Bunny and a new Easter dress, and Easter dinner at Grandmother and Granddaddy's house. Spring was Grandmother and Grandaddy's birthday and their anniversary. Spring was knowing that school would be out soon and summer was just around the corner. Spring was working in the yard on weekends with Grandmother whose yard exploded with vibrant color all during spring and summer.

This year, we've had summer and spring in the low-country once again. There is no looking forward to spring because winter was not allowed to happen. There was only the hope of winter. There was no fall as summer held on through November and then the weather was more like spring than fall but could, technically, have been fall. Sadly, there were no distinct seasonal changes again this year.

I suppose moving to a climate more conducive to seasonal changes would be the answer but when you are close to family and super close to your grandkids, that's not actually going to happen because grandkids are more important than just about anything else in the world especially personal preference.

It's not always easy missing the wonderful things of our childhood. If you're like me you still miss your grandparents all the time, friends, family gatherings, and the like. A simpler, happier time. A time of seasonal changes when we were in the spring and summer of our lives.

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What Does Autumn Really Bring?

If you're a regular reader here at Empty Nest, you know I adore fall and all things associated with it. Winter comes in at a close second. Even though our fall isn't lovely here in the low-country I still have a strong sense of the wonderfulness of all things fall. I enjoyed delightful autumns in my youth and into my 30s when we still had some changing seasons here in the Charleston area. Luckily, we are a mere 3-hour drive from the mountains so witnessing first hand the beauty of fall is never out of reach.

I love all the usual things about fall that everyone else loves--

• holidays
• colors
• weather
• clothes
• football
• food
• decorations

But autumn is deeper than that for me. Everything seems easier in the fall and more enjoyable. Lighter. Happier. Even my memories are better.

The air is cleaner, crisper giving me cause for pause to look, feel, and breathe in deeply and to don oversized sweaters and relish their cherished comfort. Tastes are warmer, sweeter, and soothing from the first taste all the way through. Colors are more vibrant and alive and provide inner warmth and feelings of comfort and a surety that all is well for that moment, at least. The sounds of the leaves rustling in the wind evoke visions of happy times past and present.

What autumn really gives me is renewed hope. How? Fall relaxes me and causes me to focus on the good things I've experienced in life and I realize there are more good things to come.

Fall brings me a time of positive reflection whether it's remembering the good times of childhood or the people whom I loved dearly or even lessons learned from mistakes made. Sometimes it's the memory of an autumn walk where leaves skittering across a deserted road made me debate whether or not to turn around to make absolutely sure it was an actual leave skittering across the road. Or the old haunted house at the campground with the broken glass and the tattered curtain that blew through a shattered pane and sent my brother hightailing it faster than light itself and we all ran with him because he was running it didn't matter why in BROAD DAYLIGHT (you can read this hilariously haunted tale right HERE.) It might be a mental picture of my grandmother in the kitchen preparing a meal while humming a hymn from long ago and smelling her homemade bread just about ready to come out of the oven. Maybe it's the Thanksgiving meal with all our family gathered around knowing we were grateful for one another and especially for my grandparents. It could even be a shadow of college love holding hands and appreciating the days of autumn together. There are times autumn brings tears of longing. Even those are welcomed as part of my autumnal repertoire. There is nothing about autumn I do not appreciate.

Nothing quite stirs my soul as autumn does. And so I bring out the flannel, the big sweater, the floppy socks, the decorations, the recipes, and the hot drinks and look forward to my memories and the renewed hope that I know autumn will bring.

What are your favorite things about autumn?

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Monday Memories: Family Life Continues

Hey, y'all! Monday which brings us one of my favorite memes and it's all about sharing memories! Y'all know how much I appreciate memories so you can imagine how excited I was to hear of a meme all about writing our memories! 

Want to join in? Just click the button and link up to Memory Monday at Retired, Not Tired!

This week's prompt is: Family Life Continues

For 25 years, give or take, I stayed home and raised the kids. Actually, staying home is something one rarely does while raising children. I spent that quarter of a century volunteering, chauffeuring, managing, doctoring, nurturing, encouraging, making priceless memories, laughing until it hurt, praying, creating family traditions--a good deal of which took place outside the home at school, gymnastics, piano lessons, soccer games/practices, cello, band, dance team, competition dance, chorus, softball, rehearsals, performances, and so on. 

To say the least, our family life was active. Busy. Never dull.

But, when I think of our family life when the lovelies were growing up, I think of our dining/kitchen area…

The kitchen has always been a gathering place for my family for as long as I can remember.  The women in our family have probably spent over half of their lives in their kitchens and I am no different.  I spent countless hours conversing with my grandmother as she prepared meal after meal- three meals/day seven days/week and while she baked cakes and breads from scratch.  I also enjoyed listening to her sing while she worked in the kitchen.  Our family ate all of our meals at the kitchen table and, if someone had football practice or a meeting, we waited for them to get home and we ate together.

People are always pushing togetherness during meals at the family table--like this is something new or perhaps they believe families have strayed from this particular type of family quality time. Meals at the table with everyone around are the only kind I have ever known (and not just during the holidays) so it is no surprise that I would continue this tradition with my own kids.  Certainly our kitchen table saw thousands of meals over the years.  Sometimes we were even a bit creative with our meals- candlelight dinners; no manners night; dessert first night; etc.  However, saying our table only satisfied family time during meals would diminish the importance and quality of the times our family shared while sitting there together.  

   

Our kitchen table provided space for creating school projects; ginger bread houses; Christmas cookies; Easter eggs; colorful art work. The lovelies also studied and read books there. Many a game of telephone has been played at the table as well as hundreds of hours of playing board games, card games and putting together jigsaw puzzles. The laughter still resounds if you listen carefully. This table has seen more than anyone’s fair share of Girl Talk, both serious and silly- the sharing of the deepest secrets and fears that young girls harbor as well as the silly thoughts and stories of a day in the life.  Our kitchen table has witnessed the tears and anger brought on by disagreements as well as the tears, hugs, understanding, and smiles the resolutions brought.  It heard the intense discussions of the injustices of the world and the ways to make changes.  It heard us telling our girls that they could be anything in the world they wanted to be.  The table has been the meeting place for friends both young and old as each of their friends sat and discussed their lives with me as well. How amazing it was to know their friends almost as well as I knew my own girls. They all knew that there was no judge or jury at the table, only listening and an attempt to understand.  

While I was growing up, the kitchen table was the center of our family life.  It was the same while I raised the lovelies.  The kitchen table is still a meeting place for the living-at-home-lovelies and myself and it remains our center when everyone comes home as it stirs past memories, and encourages the sharing of present goals and  future dreams. And those games and all that laughter? Yep, it still takes place right at the kitchen table. 

Monday Memories: My Mom

Hey, y'all! Monday may bring us back to work, but it also brings us one of my favorite memes and it's all about sharing memories! Y'all know how much I appreciate memories so you can imagine how excited I was to hear of a meme all about writing our memories! I am a full week behind but am having trouble with last week's prompt: The Most Influential Person.

Nevertheless, I'm moving forward with this week's prompt and will continue struggling with working on the last one.

Want to join in? Just click the button and link up to Memory Monday at Retired, Not Tired!

This week's prompt is: My Mom


Mother was the youngest of two daughters born to the BEST grandparents IN THE WORLD. She was an athlete (basketball), a cheerleader, extremely social and a dare devil. As the stories go, all someone had to do was utter the words, "I dare you.." and Mother would take up the challenge.  

This is one of my favorite pictures of Mother. LOVE the bare feet. 

Mother and her sister, my Aunt Betty (whom you won't see with bare feet). That's the house my Granddaddy grew up in in the background. 

Aunt Betty, Granddaddy, Mother, Grandmother. Please notice Mother's feet. 

Aunt Betty and Mother with Granddaddy at Lake Lure. Where I'm taking the lovelies for a vacay after Christmas this year. 

Mother is third from the left. 

I think this is her senior picture. 

My mom, whom I call Mother, is a very smart and talented person. There are few things that she cannot do or figure out how to do. She is a seamstress extraordinaire who made most of her clothes while growing up. She not only designed but made her own wedding gown and her bridesmaids' dresses. She also made a pattern and the wedding gown of my oldest daughter from a picture my daughter drew. Over the years, Mother taught herself how to knit, smock and quilt. She made all my clothes when I was a girl and even into my teenage years when I was no longer appreciative of homemade clothing.

She always let me decorate the Christmas tree and put all red lights on it because red was my favorite color. And yes, I was a spoiled brat. Christmas was BIG in our family. 

A new coat for Christmas

She made that dress. 

And this one. AND, I totally remember that one and that Christmas. 

Here's Mother in her wedding gown. 

She quit college after her sophomore year to marry my dad and had me two years later. When I was in high school, Mother went back to college and was finishing her master's degree in School Psychology when I was in college. She worked as a school psychologist for over 30 years. And, as with everything else, she was really good at it. 

That's me with Mother and her grandfather, Papa Campbell. 

She was always helpful with the lovelies as they were growing up in a plethora of ways. She has always done many things for many people.

The problem lies in the fact that Mother is a control freak. The epitome of a control freak. Look up control freak in the dictionary, and there she is. And this is where all the tension comes into play. BIG tension. BIG. Huge. Ginormous. She is also very good at holding grudges and handing out unsolicited advice. And, to be honest, I'm still uncertain as to how she ended up with those traits.    

I won't dwell on these things. No one is perfect. It took me a lot of years to make sure that I am not following in the negative parts of those footsteps. And the good outweighed the negative by MILES and MILES. 

I think the main problem I've always had is that she doted on me and I can't stand to be doted on. Go figure. LOL

I'm sure I'll keep adding on to this one as more and more stories and memories pop into this old brain of mine.

Monday Memories: My Family

Hey, y'all! Monday may bring us back to work, but it also brings us one of my favorite memes and it's all about sharing memories! Y'all know how much I appreciate memories so you can imagine how excited I was to hear of a meme all about writing our memories! I, of course, missed the first one but I'm just going to combine the first and second memories together in this post.

Want to join in? Just click the button and link up to Memory Monday at Retired, Not Tired!

This week's prompt is: My Family

This is straight from a post I wrote a year or so ago but it is perfect for this week's prompt. So, I'm going to go ahead and use it.

Our first picture together.

While growing up, I found that there are advantages to being an only child.  This is especially true when there is doting to be carried out because you are the only receiver of said doting.  And, for the first twelve years of my life I was doted on to the point of embarrassment.  Of course, there are down sides.  The obvious one being if someone broke the lamp, forgot to feed or water the dog or didn't take out the trash, there was very little detective work needed to identify the guilty party.  There is also the loneliness of being an only child.  When it's raining outside and everyone is stuck inside, you are stuck inside alone.  Well, your parents might be around but what fun are they?  Mine weren't really the type to be playing with their kid.  (Hubs and I are much cooler parents than ours were..shhhh.) My dad's only sister lived just across the street and down a couple of houses from us and she had four children- two girls and two boys.  The third child in my aunt's brood was my cousin Diane and there was but a mere six months difference in our ages and we played all the time.  I loved to go over to their house or have Diane over playing at my house.  When we all got together we would play football or softball; hide and seek or freeze tag; all the fun, active outside greatest games of all time!  They had a big family and it was FUN!  But, when the weather was bad or it was time to go inside for the evening, they got to go in together.  I had to go home alone.  I was always so jealous of my cousins and their big family.  Oh and, adding insult to injury, at lunch time during the summer?  They got to have Kool-Aid.  Oh yeah.  Even my best friend during those years (CM) had three younger brothers.  I thought that I was, perhaps, the only girl in America without siblings.  But, in the fall of 1970, all of that changed.

My parents had considered adopting a boy-- a brother for me, a son for themselves.  We had been through the countless interviews with DSS and, finally, our caseworker called and to tell my parents they had a boy for them to adopt.  I went to stay with CM while the parents went to meet the boy.  CM and I spent a good portion of that afternoon discussing brothers.  All I really knew was how to be a spoiled only child.  A role I not only took seriously, but also portrayed quite well (let's be honest- I relished it).  Even so, I was, actually, very excited that there would be someone around to spend time with when the other kids weren’t around.   Late that afternoon, my parents called to say they were on their way with my brothers.  Wait. What?  BrotherS?  I couldn't believe their words.  They were bringing home THREE brothers instead of one.  We had grown from a family of three to a family of six in only one afternoon.  

Our first Christmas together

My brothers were three actual, biological brothers, ages 9, 10, and 11, in need of a home and our parents decided that we could give them just that.  Surprisingly, there didn't seem to be much of an adjustment period…or maybe I just don’t remember.  I do remember that I went right up to each of them on that very first day and gave them great big hugs and it was like they had always been with me.  When I look back on my childhood, I can remember things I did before the boys came to live with us, but only spurts here and there and most of those memories involve my grandparents.  However, I have tons of memories with my brothers.  TONS!  And they are good memories.  When the neighborhood kids got together to play, my brothers and I joined in the fun. And, when it was time to go home?  My brothers and I went home together.  If something was broken, or forgot to feed or water the dog, or a chore remained undone—the parents had to play the guessing game or interrogate all four of us!  Rainy days?  No problem. We played inside! Together.  

Oh, and that thing about being a spoiled only child?  The only thing that changed there was my only child status.  My brothers swooped in and made the spoiled trait of mine worse than ever!  And protective?  Oh yes!  I never had to worry about anybody doing anything to me EVER.  By the same token, I was extremely protective of them as well.  I never cared what anyone said or did to me but, if they messed with one of my brothers?  Jump back Jack!  We had our fair share of  fights  disagreements but nothing that ever lasted very long. Mostly, we just had a great time being a family.   

Monday Memories

Hey, y'all! There's a new meme in town and it's all about sharing memories! Y'all know how much I appreciate memories so you can imagine how excited I was to hear of a meme all about writing our memories! I, of course, missed the first one but I'm just going to combine the first and second memories together in this post.

Want to join in? Just click the button and link up to Memory Monday at Retired, Not Tired!

The first prompt was: My First Memory

My first memory is being in my room in the evening and watching my parents outside in the front yard taking care of some yard work. I was probably three years old and I remember looking at my wallpaper and loving it so much. It was red with little flowers on it. When I think back on that wallpaper now, I think the best way to describe it is like calico fabric. Something like this:

Red has always been my favorite color. It remains so to this very day. If I'm not mistaken, only one wall in my room had the wallpaper on it. The other walls were probably a muted white of some shade. But I can't swear to that. I just remember looking at the wall that was to the right of the window and that's where I see, in my mind, the red wallpaper. 

Not a particularly interesting memory. But I did love that wallpaper. Oh, and I'm petty sure I had been sent to bed early but, for some reason, I think it had to do more with an situation between my parents rather than something I had done wrong. Who knows. 

Today's prompt is: My First Home

If this is about my first home after marriage, then I'm spot on. Otherwise, I need to start all over. Ha!

The first home after marriage was a true life hovel in the back of my in-laws' landscape nursery. I hated living there and was glad it only lasted two years. It was the worse place I've ever lived in my life from beginning to now. When it rained, the little horrid place flooded. No matter how many improvements I tried to make, it was just awful. I don't even think I have any pictures of it because, who, in their right mind, would take pictures of such a place? I should have recognized that little hell hole as the red flag it was, but I didn't. I would share the good points of that thing, but there just aren't any.

Anyway, y'all probably get the point that it was a horrid place to live. My second home is the home in which I still reside. And, though it is small, it is a much nicer, cozier place and was a great house in which to raise a family.

Ok, that should catch me up!

Y'all head on over to Retired, Not Tired and join in this fun meme full of memories.

Kitchen

My grandmother was an artist in the kitchen. When she was creating a work of art, whether is was as simple as breakfast or as elaborate as her fresh, organic, six layer coconut cakes, she donned her smock (an old, worn out, plaid shirt of Granddaddy's on which you could see her darning stitches if you looked closely enough) and an old pair of cotton ankle pants the color of the summer sky and set about her work.

The white flour would end up everywhere. It would be all over her clothes, in her hair and on her face. Her red speckled counter-tops were covered in patches where bits of her paints- the ingredients for her creation- had dripped off the spatula or out of the often neglected measuring cup. Not even the floor was spared from her creative mess.

Every single time, Grandmother's creations turned out perfectly. To the eye, they were beautiful; the smell made your mouth water; and the taste was a pure delight to our tongues and fulfilling not only to our bellies but to our souls.

I sorely miss all those times spent with Grandmother in her kitchen. She sang and chatted away every step of the way. I remember those special times and her words. But, somehow, the magic she worked in her kitchen evaded me. Or did it?

While I might not be near the artist she was in the kitchen, I did receive understanding of the importance of the kitchen. A place for sharing words of wisdom. A place for singing. A place for telling secrets. A place for spending invaluable time with those we love. A place that continues to do these things and more in our kitchen.


FYI: My 'L' post will be late. It's wedding weekend so y'all probably won't see it until Sunday. Sorry in advance!

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Ice Cream

(FYI- If you're looking for my Hodge Podge post, it's right below this one!)

My love affair with ice cream has been going on since before I was old enough to remember. How do I know if I was not old enough to remember? Because I'm sure my parents gave me a taste from a very early age and because how can anyone not love ice cream?

I love it so much I'm writing a blog post about it. 

I don't love all flavors of ice cream. Some flavors I won't even try. Mostly because I'm quite satisfied with the flavors I love.

• chocolate
• vanilla
• strawberry
• peach
• cherry vanilla
• butter pecan
• praline

And that's about it. If I HAD to pick a favorite, it would probably be chocolate. But I love them all.

I love each flavor by itself. I love vanilla in a coke float. I love any of it in a banana split. Or a hot fudge sundae.

I have the most wonderful memories of home churned ice cream during the summers when I was a kid. It seemed to take forever but it was so worth it! Peach was my absolute favorite homemade ice cream.

I remember my dad making it on the back steps and letting me try my hand at churning. I much preferred the eating to the churning. I remember my granddaddy churning ice cream on the porch. I remember bunches of us churning it at family reunions at my great grandfather's house.

I remember there were always loads of us around whenever the grown ups pulled out the ice cream churn.

Ice cream reminds me of--

• the sounds of all the kids at the neighborhood pool--of kids having fun... laughter, shrills of delight, splashing, Marco! Polo!
• us kids running around the backyard playing Freeze Tag or chasing lightning bugs. 
• waking up at my grandparents' house to the chirping of the birds.
• the squeaking and slamming of the screen door.
• bees buzzing past my head, barking dogs
• approaching thunder storms
• the ice cream truck...

Nowadays, I don't buy ice cream. I'm trying not to eat sugar- even the organic kind because, well, glucose is glucose regardless. And because I can eat ice cream all day long--that's NOT an exaggeration--and it tends to aid in packing on the pounds.

It's a shame. Publix has this fabulous organic chocolate...Oh my.

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Recipes and Memories

Can go hand in hand. Did y'all know that?

For example, whenever I make chicken pot pie or chicken and dumplings or a cake or homemade bread/biscuits, I remember my grandmother- my mother's mother. It's certain that I do not come anywhere near the quality of her making/baking, but the memories that come with the preparation of these (and a few other) recipes almost make up for their lacking in that area. The times spent in the kitchen with my grandmother have always been some of my most favorite memories.

Then there are the times when I (used to) make Rice-A-Roni (the San Francisco treat...haha) or sautee mushrooms and the memory of the first time I had those with Aunt Betty. I had never heard of Rice-A-Roni (Mother made everything from scratch just like Grandmother did) and I said that I didn't like mushrooms. Aunt Betty was always the one who tried to get me to try something I'd never had before just to see if I liked it. I've been eating mushrooms ever since. It also reminds me of the first time Deanie made Rice-A-Roni years ago...it was crunchy. Ha! None of us have used Rice-A-Roni in so many years that I don't even know if they make it anymore, but what fond memories I have because of it.

Every time I burn something or a dish turns out badly, I am reminded of the husband's mother. She was a writer; a poet; a walk-the-walk Christian; a lover of the arts and PBS and Christmas. She was not a cook. But she did it anyway- regardless of the end product's taste, looks or appeal. 

My attempts at homemade lemon cake and Christmas eggnog brings back memories of my dad's mother. She, too, made everything from scratch. Her lemon cake was to die for. I remember her eggnog at Christmas. It wasn't the kind that we kids could partake of, but the adults used to crack us up arguing over whether or not there was enough alcohol in it. Not usually won out. Though most of my memories of GrandMoore center around reading, creating, and playing games, anything lemony and with rum will take me right back.

Making the homemade goodies at Christmas- fudge, cheese and olive balls, sausage balls, etc.- bring back memories of my mother making these wonders every single year. Our table would be filled with every kind of Christmas delight you could possibly think of and I loved walking around and around that table taking one of everything over and over again. I make these same treats every year and revel in the memories of Christmases past.

Saturday morning breakfasts of French toast or scrambled eggs with cheese or grilling out take me back to my dad being in the kitchen or grilling. He loves to cook to this day but, when I was growing up, he mostly did it on Saturday mornings and/or evenings. And I loved it when he cooked. I know he had a special recipe for the French toast but I can never get a straight answer from him. I mean, it's a straight answer, it's just never the same answer. His cheese eggs I can make, they just don't taste as good. And nobody grills as good as my dad. Although my brother does get close.

There are so many memories that center around food in our family. But I believe that most of the fondness comes from the preparation time instead of the actual food itself- although the food was always incredible. It was the time spent with some of the most special people in my life. People who made a difference. People who taught me how to appreciate the value of conversation and taking time to do things the right way. People who taught me to value, appreciate and take pride in a job well done. People who showed me the inner strength, compassion, independence and unconditional love of the women in the family (yep, even my dad who was taught the very same thing by his dad). People who taught me the value of a family. The love of a family. The never-ending support of a family.

Teachable moments were never missed in my family.

Where do your recipes take you?

Here We Come A Baking

I love baking during the holiday season. And I come by it honestly. My grandmother was the absolute, hands down, without a doubt BEST BAKER IN THE WORLD. Everything she made was from scratch and I loved spending time with her in the kitchen any time she was baking any of her many deliciously delectable delights.

She made homemade biscuits every single day of her life. Biscuits that she learned how to make from my great grandmother. They were TO DIE FOR. And I'm not exaggerating. And she made cakes throughout the year for people. As well as her yeast rolls. But, during the holidays, the baking was taken to a whole new level.

At Thanksgiving, she served up a feast of turkey, cornbread dressing, sweet potato casserole, green beans, corn, mashed potatoes, rice, gravy, homemade yeast rolls, broccoli casserole, cranberry sauce, and homemade pies and cakes. How in the world I was a thin youngster I will never know.

At Christmas the dining room table was filled with homemade cakes with no less than 4 to 6 layers- coconut, pineapple, chocolate. The house would fill up with the sweetest, warmest baking aromas and there was always just enough left in the bowl for licking. There were cookies, fudge, and other candies- all homemade. A ham with cloves, pineapple slices and cherries all over the surface covered with a sweet honey and mustard glaze sliced to perfection.

It's no wonder that I enjoy baking so much. There are so many wonderful memories associated with every part of holiday baking. And so, every year, I look forward to this season of my favorite holidays and all the baking that I do. Most of the recipes are the old, reliable ones of my childhood. I do try a few new ones every couple of years, but they're rarely good enough to win a spot on our holiday table.

The lovelies look forward to the holiday baking as well. They started helping out as soon as they were old enough to stand on a chair to reach the kitchen counter. Now, as each one comes home for the holidays, they pitch in with the baking. As a matter of fact, they insist that I save some things for them to do instead of having it all done for them when they arrive.

We have such fun during this time. Our dining area was the place for many things throughout the years besides family meals- creating school projects, studying, reading, playing telephone, board games, card games, jigsaw puzzles, girl talk, heated discussions, words of encouragement, silly-girl-giggly-tales with friends...and sisters.

But the best times of all were, and continue to be, the cherished moments baking those holiday goodies. When we come together and catch each other up on what's going on in our lives since everyone got so grown up so quickly. No matter that we talk daily, it's still better up close and in person. And no one ever minds hearing it again. And again. Because it's the holiday season. There's baking to be done. Memories to recall. Stories to tell.

And, best of all, we're all here. Together.

Great Listicles

It's Monday and time to join Stasha over at The Good Life for Monday Listicles! And I AM LATE again. Hey, at least it's STILL Monday. Each week Stasha gives us a theme for our lists. This week, we have the List of 10 Great Not Too Distant Memories. All you have to do to join the fun is click on the link or the button!

Ten Great Not Too Distant Memories

1. When Breezy was 2 years old and Deanie was just a month old, I took a picture of Breezy looking at Deanie with such affection. The other day, Breezy texted that picture to Deanie with the caption, "I love you THIS much!" Deanie forwarded it to me with the message, "How sweet is my sister?!" I would post the picture for ya'll but I'm still on the loaner computer.

2. There was a scarecrow contest at school on Halloween. The following day, as I was walking into school, I over heard one kindergartener excitedly tell another one, "He WINNED! He WINNED!"

3. Last week during one of my kindergarten intervention groups, one of the little darlings sat down at the table, smacked his hand on the table and said, "Let's go Mrs. Lofton. We've got recess."

4. A couple of weeks ago when I had laryngitis and couldn't talk at all, Breezy sent me this text: "It's freaking killing me not being able to talk to you!!!!!!!!!!!"

5. I got this text from Birdie a couple of weeks ago--"So Evan needs ties for Christmas cause I don't really like any of his."

6. Last week, DoodleBug sent me this text: "Wanna take me to the grocery store tonight?"

7. My brother and SIL are hosting Thanksgiving dinner this year. I asked what I could bring and my brother said I needed to bring my pumpkin pie. It's my recipe but he loves it so much we call it Uncle Tony's Pumpkin Pie. He asked me to make 10 of them so he could freeze some for later. Funny thing is, I'll probably do just that.

8. Emails with my friend Kim in CA.

9. Phone calls from an old friend.

10. Listening to a friend who is a first time grandparent.

What great not too distant memories make you smile?  

The List of Then and Now

It's Monday and time to join Stasha over at The Good Life for Monday Listicles! Well, PAST time because I AM LATE! Each week Stasha gives us a theme for our lists. This week, we have the 10 WAYS YOU ARE SAME OR DIFFERENT FROM YOUR YOUNGER SELF theme. All you have to do to join the fun is click on the link or the button!

10 WAYS I AM THE SAME OR DIFFERENT FROM MY YOUNGER SELF

1. I STILL tend towards moodiness. That's right. I was a moody kid. A moody teenager. A moody young adult...and now, I'm a moody old adult. I'll never know whether menopause makes me moody or not. Moody is my nature regardless. The mood to avoid? The bitchy one. Trust me.
2. I used to LOVE swimming at the beach when I was younger. I would spend all day every day of vacation in the water. When the lovelies were growing up, I took them to the beach every single day during the summers (because we live only 3 miles from the beach) and we would swim and swim and swim. I am no longer a fan of swimming in the ocean. I have become very aware of sand in places that sand does not feel nice and of jelly fish. And then there was that shark I saw a few years ago. Well, it could have been a dolphin. But I'm not taking any chances.
3. I used to LOVE being on a boat. Large, small, in between- no matter. Just put me on a boat and I was happy! About 10 years ago, I discovered that I can no longer be on a boat of any size without getting seasick. WTH?! And it SUCKS because I still love boats. I just can't be on one. 
4. I HATE liver. I have never liked it I will never like it. It's the worst food on the face of the earth. My dad thought I was just fooling around when I was a kid so they hid it in the mashed potatoes. When I threw up all over everything, they realized that I really didn't like it. I can't even be around it when someone is cooking it. YUCK!
5. I LOVED my stuffed animals when I was a kid. They each had their own designated spot on my bed and they stayed that way always. To this day, our attic is filled with all the stuffed animals the lovelies ever had while growing up. Why? Because I cannot throw them away. I can't even give them away. I LOVE those things. What is it about stuffed animals?
6. I hated snakes then. I hate them now. The only difference is that I can actually look at them in a book now. Nasty, ugly, stupid things.
7. I was scared of heights then, I'm scared of heights now. I avoided them then. I avoid them now. No sense tempting fate.
8. READING! Loved it then, love it now! I've always read anything I can get my hands on! 
9. I totally enjoyed eating when I was younger. I totally enjoy it now too. The difference? I was a skinny kid. I'm a fat adult. Sigh.
10. Music. Music has been so important to me FOREVAH! I used to listen to the Rat Pack, Herb Albert, Johnny Mathis and more when my parents had parties, at my grandparents at Christmas there was Nat King Cole and Ella Fitzgerald and on Sundays there was gospel; with my older cousins there was all that glorious 60s music and then my own decade- the 70s! The bluegrass and local talent of my college years... There's never been a single moment in my life that music didn't play a major role! It's still like that now! Well, except for heavy metal and country. Let's not go crazy.

Now, it's your turn! How are you alike and different between now and then? 

High School PE

Oh how I hated it. And the teacher. And most of the other students. But that outfit was the worst of all.

source

Holy Crap. I've never seen anything so hideous in my life. It was like a prison jumpsuit but, instead of long pants, they were shorts. And they snapped up the front. The color? A medium shade of blue that would make you seriously consider hurling. They were similar to the one in the picture on the left. Only much, much worse in shape and color.

I'm not sure anyone enjoyed PE. Though it might have been different if we'd had a decent teacher.

This woman was the girls' basketball coach and basketball seemed to be her one and only interest. Except for her basketball players, that is.

We played basketball every day. EVERY day. Her basketball players loved this. The rest of us- not so much. On the rarest of the rare occasion that we did not play basketball, students on the basketball team did not have to participate. Nor did they have to dress out. Really? Regardless of whether or not a student had an excuse to sit-out of PE, she had to dress out. Unless she was on the basketball team. I am still amazed that our stupid teacher did not realize that this was not going to be just fine and dandy with the rest of us. Especially when they team students sat in the bleachers and had social time while we had to run drills. During basketball season, the players did not participate nor did they dress out.

One day a most brilliant non-basketball player student (I promise you, as much as I wish it had been, it was not me) decided that perhaps a sit-out (sit-in?) of sorts might drive the point home that idiot woman's the teacher's methods sucked were not fair to all students. We felt that:

• The fact that teacher didn't require her players to take PE but the state did was wrong.
•  Having one rule for students who made the team and a separate set for those who didn't was quite unfair: everyone should have to dress out or no one should; everyone should have to participate or no one should; etc...
• Basketball was not the only activity in the state PE curriculum.

We walked into the gym and sat on the bleachers. And refused to move. The moron coach/teacher became quite upset. She finally ran into her office crying and had her star player (I remember her name but decided not to post it) come out and try to guilt us into dressing out and having class. Really? Yep. She was that kind of stupid.

Someone might have suggested, after star player's tirade, that going to the principal or our parents or the school board might be the best solution to this problem. 

That's when star player (and this was hilarious) shouted something like, "FINE! We'll dress out and take class." How freaking generous of her, don't you think?

I rarely think about that day in PE but, when I do, I am disgusted with the behavior of the coach/teacher to this very day. And, to this day, I am not a fan of women's basketball.

Oh and that star player? She's the one on the Latin Club trip to the state capital that got so drunk and caused such problems that we never got to go to the Latin Club Convention again. Thanks for that too.


You still have time to enter to win a quart of Tropical Traditions Gold Label Coconut Oil! Just go to the post right HERE.  





This post is part of the NaBloPoMo for May. The theme is PLAY and this post was inspired by the prompt: "What sports did you play as a child."  

 

Recess

I remember not being that thrilled to go out to recess while in elementary school. I would much rather have sat inside and continued doing school work. And I was, most likely, the only kid in my school who felt that way. I may have been the only kid in the state who felt that way.

It wasn't so much because I loved school- even though I did. It was more related to the organized games we had to play during recess. And I kind of sucked at organized games. I wanted to be really good at them. But I wasn't.

So, when it was time to play dodge ball or softball or kick ball, my face did not don an expression of total delight. Which is odd when you know that I loved these games in the neighborhood with the other kids and my cousins. The same people I went to school with. Except that a lot of them were older and I never seemed to be in any of the same classes as those in my grade. OK, so, the kids were different.

I believe that my competitive nature might have been the reason behind my less than enthusiastic attitude about organized games at recess. I was (am) highly competitive and did (do) not like to lose. At anything. And I was not good at these games. I didn't suck to the point that I was the last one picked for a team- it there were 15 kids on each team, I was probably around the 8th one picked. I was not one of the best. But I wanted to be.

Since I couldn't be the best, I didn't enjoy playing. Which made me that much worse at the game. I even let this stop me from trying out for organized sports as I got older. Luckily, I didn't pass this on to the lovelies. They've all played on a team of some sort at some point and did just fine.

I still don't enjoy playing organized games (though cards and board games I totally enjoy...as long as I win). But I do LOVELOVELOVE watching football on the weekends during the season! And college basketball! And soccer! And not being good at playing them doesn't stop me from spouting my opinion during the games. If the neighbors ever hear me they must think I'm trying to kill the husband. I sort of get into it. And yell. A lot.

So, I sucked at playing organized sports during recess in elementary school which deterred me from trying to play in high school and college (even intramural). But it did not stop me from loving sports and games. Thankfully. I'd hate to think who'd be the recipient of my venting if I didn't at least have weekend football!  




You have plenty of time to enter to win a quart of Tropical Traditions Gold Label Coconut Oil! Just go to the post right HERE.  





This post is part of the NaBloPoMo for May. The theme is PLAY and this post was inspired by the prompt: "Write about a strong memory from recess."  

 

Broken

I do not remember ever breaking a toy. I actually think that I've accidentally broken way more things as an adult than I did as a child. Including toys. Luckily, Hubs can fix anything.

When DoodleBug and I went to visit Mimi (my mother) on Thursday, we pulled out the old Singer sewing machine because Mimi's machine is not just broken. It died. She's been sewing clothes for the lovelies and me on her machine since 1989. Including prom dresses and Breezy's wedding gown.

 I was reminded of playing around with her sewing machine when I was growing up. That was my first clue that I would not be a seamstress. Ever. No patience.

The first time Mother let me sew something all by myself, I was pretty excited. It was like a milestone- being old enough to be left alone to sew on the machine. Especially for someone who comes from a family of some amazing seamstresses.

I do not remember what it was I was making--a shirt or a dress--but I remember NOT being able to get it right. Just the simple side seams were not a problem.

But those #$%$ sleeves were. I sew the armholes up. Undid them. I sewed the wrong sleeve on the wrong side. Undid them. I sewed the sleeves closed. Undid them.

The next time I tried to sew something was after I had children of my own. When I made Breezy a rag doll. I suck at sewing. Totally. I know it and I'm ok with it.

I'm quite content living with the memories of the women in the family who could sew so beautifully--which would be all of them except me.

I didn't get that particular gene.

But I did enjoy wearing the clothes. So did the lovelies. As a matter of fact, Mimi still makes clothes for us. And Birdie got the gene! She's already sewing aprons and quilts and skirts.

It is nice to know that someone will be continuing the sewing tradition for the next generation.


This post is part of the NaBloPoMo for May. The theme is PLAY and they provide prompts for those who want/need them. BUT you do NOT have to stick to the theme. You just have to post every day. The prompt that inspired this post was- "Talk about a toy you broke as a child."