One Saturday afternoon, about 20 years ago, I had the television on while I was cleaning my apartment. At first I wasn't paying any attention to it, it was just random background white noise. Then I realized that an old Yogi Bear movie was playing. I'd always loved Yogi Bear and his little pal Boo Boo!
After a while, I took a break and found myself sitting on the couch, watching the movie.
It was springtime in Jellystone Park, and Yogi was up to his usual antics, stealing picnic baskets from unsuspecting tourists as Ranger Smith did his best to thwart Yogi's mischief. Then there was this business about the San Diego Zoo ang Yogi's girlfriend Cindy, and suddenly...it all seemed terribly...familiar. Was it just a deja vu? Or had I seen this before?
And then it all came back in a flood of memory. Hey There, It's Yogi Bear was the very first movie I had ever seen in a movie theater! I was only three years old, but I remember it with amazing clarity. The dark theater, the huge, mesmerizing screen, sitting on Mama's lap so I could see over the people in front of us.
Remember that this was back in the days before video tape, much less DVDs. Seeing a movie in a theater was a special occasion. The next time you could possibly see that movie again was years later when it ran on network television.
The next two movies I remember seeing were Mary Poppins, which I made Mama take me to at least ten times, and then The Sound of Music, which we saw probably twenty times. Clearly, we loved our musicals. Mama bought records of the soundtracks to each, and we memorized all the music and sang and sang, and both had huge impacts on me.
But that first powerful cinematic experience with Yogi Bear led to a lifelong love of movies and eventually to a career as an actor. I guess Yogi and Boo-Boo aren't exactly Robert De Niro and Meryl Streep, but they must have made an impact on my small but curious mind.
Do you remember the first movie you saw in a movie theater?
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About a month ago I got my annual physical, which I get about every three years. My doctor is not happy about this, but I'm forgetful, what can I say. And despite being in excellent health in every other way, my blood tests come back and I have...high cholesterol. Not just kind of a little bit highish, but really full-blown high. My doctor is hot happy about this either, and insists on my going on...Lipitor.
Now I have rather negative, but somewhat mixed feelings regarding this. I am generally a very cynical person. So I distrust things like giant, evil pharmaceutical companies, and am willing to believe all the negative conspiracy theories that say that the pharmaceuticals created the entire cholesterol scare just to sell lots and lots (and lots) of drugs. But on the other hand, I'm so cynical that I am willing to believe that the conspiracy theorists don't really know a damned thing and did they go to medical school or what?
I am, therefore, torn. In the end, it all came down to this - my mother died at the age of 69 from heart failure. Which was unacceptably young. This was just before they started testing everybody for cholesterol. But considering the fact that toward the end of her life the woman subsisted mostly on a diet of shellfish, pork and bourbon, I suspect that her cholesterol numbers were sky high. I absolutely refuse to die that young. It's just too damned young to leave my boy. I'm aiming for 93. By then, Jude will be 51, and I think that's an appropriate age to lose your mother. And I think that's old enough to have seen a lot of stuff, but not so old that you've completely fallen apart. At least that's the intention that I am hearby putting out to the universe.
So after expressing my concerns to my doctor, she agreed that I could go on the Lipitor for 6 weeks, and if at that point my numbers have dropped considerably, I can go off it and try to keep things in check with diet and exercise. This is the plan. Since then, I have been possibly a little overzealous - I've been practically a vegan. I am determined to scrub out my arteries.
On the Saturday before Easter, I went to church to sing with my choir at the Easter Vigil mass. It's a really beautiful service which starts off with everybody standing in the dark, and then the priest lights some kind of a holy fire (one year, the priest had the boneheaded idea of lighting it in a firepit, and all the smoke was sucked up into the choir loft, and we all practically choked, but that's another story...) and the whole church is slowly filled with light as we all light candles.
So I'm sitting there in the dark, about to start singing, and suddenly, I feel this weird, pain and pressure in my upper chest. "Hmmm", I think, "I've never felt this before." It does not get better. In fact, it gets worse, and things start whizzing through my brain. Things like that Facebook post I'd read the week before about the symptoms of heart attacks in women. Things like the fact that I have high cholesterol and my mother died of heart failure. I immediately scared myself into a hot flash.
I excused myself, ran to the bathroom at the back of the church and Googled "heart attack symptoms in women". Chest pain and/or pressure. Check. Sweating. Check. Fatigue. Check. Holy crap, I'm having a heart attack!
I immediately walked out of the church, and drove myself to the emergency room. In retrospect, I believe this was a very stupid thing to do. But I didn't want to worry anybody.
When I got to the hospital, they hooked me up to all sorts of monitors - I had those sticky heart monitor thingies all over me. After about three hours, a blood test, a chest x-ray and an EKG, it was decided that...there was nothing wrong with me.
Silly me.
Two days later, we left for Disney World, and I didn't have any problems during the entire trip. Then just after we got back, it returned. The pain/pressure. And it was worse than ever.
So what was it? If it wasn't a heart attack, what was my problem? I went to visit Dr. Google, and decided that I had either gastroesophageal reflux disease (GERD) or esophageal cancer. I then went to my actual doctor, and she narrowed it down for me. Yes, I have GERD, and she put me on...Prilosec. ANOTHER STUPID DRUG.
I am now on not one, but TWO old lady drugs! What the what? While I am more than happy to take money FROM a pharmaceutical company for playing a woman on old lady drugs in a commercial, I have no interest in giving money TO a pharmaceutical company for an old lady drug!
The doctor thinks that I got the stupid GERD because I changed my diet so much when I found out I had the stupid high cholesterol! Can't win for losing, right?
I am determined to shut the pharmaceutical companies out of my life with diet and exercise, but until then I guess I'm just a full-on old fart. I'm just going to bite the bullet and take the stupid meds and get my lifestyle under control. Bette Davis said, "Old age ain't no place for sissies." But I have never been a sissy, so I am planning on surviving old age for quite some time. Wish me luck.
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When I was in 9th grade, I officially took over the buying of gifts for my Mama. Daddy was a loving, kind man, who unfortunately was also very practical and...frugal. His idea of a gift for Mama tended toward things like...a new electric frying pan, or a pair of gardening gloves. Nice, but not exactly pampering or romantic. When I took over, things got better for my mother, because I wasn't just her champion, I was her...secret weapon.
You see, Mama had a good friend, Mrs. Mann, who owned a jewelry store. So every time a birthday or Mother's Day or Christmas was coming up, Mama and I would go down to Mrs. Mann's store. Mama would then pick out exactly the piece of jewelry she wanted it. Next, it was my turn. I would tell Daddy that Mama had mentioned to me that she would really like a new bracelet (or ring or necklace or earrings or whatever). So we would head down to the jewelry store to take a look and see what they had. Mrs. Mann, who was veeeeeery clever, would greet us as if she hadn't just seen me the week before, and then she would proceed to show Daddy the bracelets (or rings or necklaces or earrings...) which she thought Mama would like. She would always pull out three items. One would be inexpensive and plain, one would be far too expensive and flashy, and the third would be just right. And of course that was the one that Mama had picked out for herself the week before. It worked every time. Heheheheh.
When I grew up and started buying gifts for Mama on my own, she was always my favorite person to buy for. Partly because we had really similar tastes, but also because she had lots of interests, so I was always finding things that were "so Mama". I was always dog-earring catalogues and saving them for Christmas, and by the time December rolled around, I'd have a hundred things I wanted to get her.
A weird phenomenon that happens when someone dies is that you keep seeing things that are "so them". For years it would break my heart whenever I'd find that perfect thing to buy for Mama, but alas, she was gone. It still happens sometimes, especially around Mother's Day, when I get swamped with emails advertising "The Perfect Gift for Mom". The other day I saw these from Anthropologie, and I thought "That's so Mama!".
Notecards for every occasion. So Mama.
There are so many things I wish I could have given her that I could never begin to name them all. But here are a few things that come to mind that she missed, and I know she would have loved.
Anything Downton
Mama would have ADORED Downton Abbey! She was a nut for any and all British television, especially Upstairs, Downstairs, and a lifelong supporter of PBS. In fact, when she died, they found her in bed with the tv on, tuned to the PBS station. I'm pretty sure she died watching Mystery!, which is so perfect I can't stand it. Anyway, I stumbled upon the PBS Downton Abbey gift site the other day, and I wanted to buy it all for her.
Mama would have loved Lady Violet.
Oh yes.
and especially...
Mama was a jigsaw nut! This would have made her so happy!
Netflix
Netflix would have been the greatest thing in her life. Mama died before the internet came along, and she would have love all of it, really, but Netflix would have been her thing. ALL of her programs in one place! She could have binge watched all her mystery shows and every Judy Garland/Mickey Rooney movie.
Mama loved musicals!
All Things Pope Francis
Mama would have loved Papa Francisco so much I can't even express it. All about charity, a Jesuit - she'd have been over the moon! I almost certainly would have gotten her this...
A little pope with her coffee.
and would probably have bought her this, but she'd have hated it.
Mama would have thought the Pope Soap on a Rope was sacrilegious, and wouldn't have used it. But I would have stubbornly have bought it for her anyway, because...well I had to buy it for somebody.
Club Pogo
Mama loved games. All games. She was kind of a card shark, but also loved word games and puzzles. If she had been able to join Club Pogo, we could have played Jungle Gin or Canasta or Spades and chatted TOGETHER, even though we were in separate states! It would have been the coolest thing.
Cookbooks
Mama and I both always loved a good cookbook. She used to sit in bed at night watching her PBS shows and reading cookbooks. I can picture her now, with her reading glasses on the end of her nose, marking interesting recipes with little scraps of paper. I don't have anyone to buy cookbooks for now. It's frustrating! I'm always finding a new and amazing cookbook and I want to give it to her!
She'd have been as excited about the next Barefoot Contessa book as I am!
Jude
Sigh...
This, of course, is the gift I would most have wanted to give her. She died 10 years before the boy was born. It breaks my heart more than I can express. She would have been a fierce Grandmama. I have absolutely no doubt that she would have sold the house in Texas and bought a condo here within a year of Jude's birth. I wouldn't have been able to keep her away from him. She would have smothered him with love and food and everything she could possibly buy for him. The thought of being able to have handed baby Jude to her for the first time just...kills me.
Okay, this whole list has pretty much done me in. I don't think I've ever cried this much writing a blog post. Maybe I'm just getting old and hormonal. Maybe I just always miss her so much on Mother's Day. And maybe it's that all of the things on this list are things that I would like to receive as a gift, and I'm suddenly shocked to see how much like her I am. I honestly don't think I realized just how alike we are until this moment. I always think of myself as Daddy's girl, but clearly...
So does anybody want to get me that pope mug?
Is there anyone in your life who you've lost who you would like to buy gifts for?
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Please read our other Mother's Day Gifts spinners. People are writing either about what they would like to get for Mother's Day, or what they would like to give for Mother's Day. There's still time to add your post to the Linky below. Check it out...
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Mothers receive many, many well-intentioned gifts every Mother's Day. I remember one year when I gave Mama a turquoise naugahyde wallet, which I'd made for her in Girl Scouts. And the woman USED it. God bless her.
I also remember a less successful year when I decided that what she really needed was some anti-wrinkle cream. I spent what seemed like a fortune on the fanciest anti-wrinkle cream I could find at the drug store. While I truly thought that this gift would be perceived as pampering and feminine, Mama, unfortunately, thought it was a rather rude hint that she needed to do something about her wrinkles. Sigh...
Do you have a drawer full of paper weights and trivets? Are you up to your neck in breakfast in beds?
This week, you have a couple of options -
What do you REALLY want for Mother's Day this year?
What would you REALLY want to give your mother for Mother's Day (whether she's with us or not)?
Write your spin. Post it. Link it in the Linky below. Check back on Friday to read Ginny Marie and my spins on Mother's Day Gifts.
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When I was a little girl, Mama enthusiastically celebrated May Day. She would spend hours filling May Baskets with treats and delivering them to the neighbors. She always wanted to have a party for me where my little friends and I could dance around a May Pole, which she would decorate with flowers and colorful ribbons.
And I hated it. Why? Because NOBODY else we knew celebrated May Day in any way. The neighbors would smile uncomfortably when we brought them their May Baskets, confused about what it was all about and if they were expected to reciprocate. In fact, you're really supposed to leave the May Basket secretly on someone's doorstep and run away, but since nobody else did it, she always had to knock and explain what it was. It just wasn't a "thing" in Texas. I wanted to be enthusiastic about Mama's holiday, but it was just a little...embarrassing.
Why was Mama so into it? I don't know. She wasn't from Texas, she grew up in South Dakota, then lived in Chicago. I always assumed that the May Day thing was a tradition from those places, the distant North. Or maybe it was something she got from her Norwegian relatives - some Scandinavian thing.
I've poked around on the internet, and can't find any evidence for this - nothing special in either Norway or South Dakota. Maybe it was just that when it's that stinking cold for such a long, hard winter, when everything finally thaws out, you want to have a little outdoors fun.
It's still popular in Great Britain - lots of May Poles and Morris dancing. The Irish have Beltane, and the Germans and Finns have Walpurgis Night. And it's all wonderfully wild and pagan. Lots of dancing and bonfires where effigies of Old Man Winter are burned. In ancient Rome, tributes were made to Flora, the goddess of flowers.
Sadly, as I got older, Mama stopped the May Day thing. I don't remember any May Baskets by the time I was in sixth grade or so. I don't know if she just kind of forgot about it, or if she gave up on trying to get me interested. It must be lonely being the only person celebrating a holiday.
Interestingly, Jude's school celebrates May Day. Mama would LOVE it. As it has always done throughout history, the Catholic church has hijacked the pagan holiday, and May Day is now a celebration for the Blessed Virgin Mary. Every year they have a May Crowning, when they place a crown of flowers on the head of their statue of Mary. All the children bring bouquets of fresh flowers picked from their yards and gardens and they gather around Mary and sing things like "Hail Holy Queen" and "Immaculate Mary". The second graders all wear their first communion outfits. It's really terribly sweet.
Do you celebrate May Day in your part of the world? Did you when you were a kid?
Maybe I should try to bring back May Day. It all seems like a lot of fun to me, and it would sure have made Mama happy. I'm guessing my neighbors would enjoy a nice May Basket. Who wants to build a May Pole? Does anybody know how to Morris dance?
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Before I came along, Mama and Daddy were one of those childless couples who filled their photo albums with pictures of themselves with their much-beloved dogs. When I was born, I joined my brother Judge in all the pictures.
Judge, me.
Mama and Daddy LOVED that dog. His registered name was actually Chief Justice of Blue Haven, Blue Haven being what they had christened their land. Judge stories abounded. Mama swore that I learned to walk by holding on to this very patient dog's collar. One of their best friends swore that Judge walked up to her once and said "I'm hungry" in a sort of Scooby Dooish voice. The dog was brilliant.
Our first dog that I remember was my sweet, precious Fido.
Me, Fido.
Mama had desperately wanted a poodle, a breed which Daddy deemed ridiculous and girly. He agreed to get the poodle only if we named the dog Fido, the most over-the-top poodle name he could think of. On his registration papers, Daddy insisted on spelling it Fideaux, which he thought was hysterically pompous. Fido proved himself to be decidedly NOT poodlelike, always into trouble with skunks and such. I loved that dog. Unfortunately, Fido's second favorite hobby after chasing skunks was chasing cars, and so his life ended tragically.
After Fido came Abe, and after Abe came Rover. And then, when I was in 7th grade, I talked them into letting me get...a cat. That's right, a cat. Her name was Tatta. And yes, the 7th grade me named her, and I'm not sure why.
Tatta was Mama and my baby. We adored her. Daddy, the dog man, pretended to hate her. He always refered to her as "that cat". But secretly, we knew he loved her too. We would always catch him with Tatta asleep on his lap, and he'd feign ignorance "I don't know why this cat is on me. She got up here and I couldn't get her off."
About a year after Tatta joined us, we got Lady, our first female dog ever, who Daddy registered as First Lady of Blue Haven. Lady was very sweet, but as dumb as a stump. If I walked into my bedroom and came out wearing a hat, Lady would freak out barking because she didn't recognize me. That's dumb. However, she was the only dog we had who didn't end up a victim of the road, so maybe not so dumb. Tatta loved her deeply.
Mama is rolling in her grave because I'm sharing this picture, taken during the year before she joined Weight Watchers, but it's the only shot I have of Tatta and Lady snuggling. And yes, we did have red shag carpeting.
Tatta and Lady lived happily together for long and happy lives, both living far after I had grown up and moved away. After Daddy died, they were Mama's loving companions.
When I got my first apartment on my own, I decided I too wanted a companion, and since dogs weren't allowed in my apartment, I got a cat, and this was the beginning of my many years as a Cat Lady. You can read a post about my Cat Ladying HERE, which features a rather creepy Cat Accumulation Timeline. I hadn't set out become a cat person, it just...happened.
And then, after our last kitty, Imogene, passed away at the age of 23...
Imogene, in her dotage.
...we got Fancy.
Wuv her!
Santa Claus brought her to us on Christmas morning 2009 and suddenly...I'm a dog person again!
Fancy is possibly the sweetest, mellowest, most easy-going dog that ever lived on the Planet Earth. She never barks, barely sheds, never chews, never seems to have to pee, and loves us all deeply. I can't believe that I lived so long without a dog. Soon after Fancy joined our family Jude said to me "Mama, hearts are coming out of my head. That's what happens in cartoons when you love a dog." And it's true. Fancy makes hearts come out of my head.
But now...I'd kind of like to get another cat. A teeny little kitten. Wouldn't that be sweet? Then Fancy would have a little pal to hang out with. They could be like Lady and Tatta. I need to start working on Jimmy.
Which are you, a Dog Person or a Cat Person?
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As my life has progressed along its timeline, my idea of an "inspirational woman" has evolved and changed considerably. When I was younger, I admired women for their looks, their talent, their business savvy - women who I wished to emulate in my career.
Now that I have moved on into my "second blooming", I find that I am far less impressed by those elements, and find myself admiring women most who have a certain quality to their character - an ability to continually grow and evolve, to try new things, to stay intellectually curious, and to stay present and relevant. So many of us get stuck, either by their families or husbands or uninspiring jobs, or by difficulty and disappointment, and become isolated and insular. And when I see women who were able to accept the difficulties in their lives and learn and grow and move forward, I say "yes, that's what I want to be!"
Eleanor Roosevelt
Even though Eleanor was born to extreme privilege, she was the definition of the "poor little rich girl". Both her mother and brother died of diphtheria when she was eight, and her depressive, alcoholic father died by jumping out a window when she was ten. She was not a particularly pretty girl, and almost all of the men in her life ignored or abandoned her. But she took what she was given and moved on with it. At 15 she wrote "no matter how plain a woman may be if truth and loyalty are stamped upon her face all will be attracted to her." It was a time when a girl's prospects were dependent on making a good marriage, so she married her cousin Franklin, who certainly had great prospects. Despite having six children, their marriage was never a passionate one. Franklin had numerous, long-term affairs, leaving Eleanor deeply hurt and publicly humiliated. Franklin didn't want to get a divorce because it would mean the end of his political career. So Eleanor was faced with a choice - divorce him and make a better life for herself, or stay with him and make a better life for the country. She chose the latter, and their marriage evolved into a strong political partnership. All of her life she was an outspoken advocate for civil rights, women's rights and education. She became one of the most involved and active first ladies of all time, and after Franklin's death, she continued to stay politically active for the rest of her life. At age 61, she became a delegate to the United Nations, and had been named the chairperson of the Presidential Commission on the Status of Women when she passed away in 1962 at age 78.
I want to be like her!
Jennifer Salt
About 20 years ago, Jennifer used to date one of Jimmy's best friends, and we spent quite a bit of time with them and at her house. Though she was a good deal older than me, we got along well, and enjoyed cooking dinner parties together. Jennifer had been a pretty successful actress, who you might remember from Soap in the '70s, but when I knew her, she was just celebrating her 50th birthday, and had fallen into that black hole for actresses when no one wants to hire them. (Oh my, Gretchen, isn't that where you are right now? Mmm...yes.) She hadn't worked in a couple of years and was panicking. She had a teenage son to take care of and a mortgage. What was she going to do? So she started writing. She took a screenwriting class and focused all of her energy on making this new career work for her. I remember her telling me that she realized that few people in Hollywood would hire a middle-aged woman as a writer, but maybe she could carve out a niche for herself writing "women's" films She started focusing on writing what I think of as "Lifetime movies". Sure enough, she started selling scripts. Cut to: Over the last 10 years, Jennifer has become hugely successful as the writer/producer of Nip/Tuck as well as American Horror Story. Both incredibly popular and decidedly NOT "women's" shows. She has become something of an anomaly - a woman in her 60s who writes some of the sexiest, bloodiest and most cutting-edge shows on television.
I want to be like her!
My Mama
I've spoken about the way in which my mother reinvented herself from an orphaned farmgirl with a troubled youth into the string-of-pearls-Coach-bag-wearing, church-going wife of an attorney who she came to be. Mama knew the kind of lady she wanted to be, and made it happen. But after I left home, she found herself with little to do, and a husband 15 years older than her and in declining health. No doubt she was lonely. So she threw herself into charity work with a passion. She had always been a "doer" - Girl Scout troop leader, room mother, event organizer. But at this point in her life, she kicked it into a higher gear. She started with working at a soup kitchen - she spent several days a week feeding the homeless. She went on to volunteering at the St. Vincent de Paul Society Thrift Store - a job she adored. She loved sorting through all the donations, and made good friends with the Guatemalan ladies who worked with her in the back of the store. I wonder if those ladies knew that her childhood had probably been much like theirs. She became extremely active in the Ladies of Charity, a Catholic women's organization, and eventually was named to the International Board. I'm telling you, that woman HELPED people. One of the last things I did with her before she died was to Secret Santa an entire family - we bought food and presents and delivered it all to their house. She never stopped contributing, and never stopped "doing".
I want to be like her!
Which women inspire you most? Please share your spin on Inspirational Women in the Linky below, and don't forget to check out the other contributors. Maybe they will inspire you as well!
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...Etta James (this, btw, was Jimmy and my first dance at our wedding. Awww.)
...Grandma's Quilt
My sweet paternal Grandma, Martha Elizabeth Peters German (known as Mattie) made this quilt back in the 1930s. It was pieced, as a quilt really should be, from fabric cut from her children's old clothes, and her dresses which had worn out. I remember having it since I was just little. It was always our camping quilt and picnic quilt, and as a result, is worn and stained and frayed. I never use it, because it's so worn out, but on a recent particularly cold night, I pulled it out and tucked it around Jude as he was going to sleep. I told him that I liked to think that Grandma was wrapping her arms around him and keeping him warm at night. That sentimental little boy has taken to sleeping with it every night, it's his new favorite thing. Maybe he needed a little hug from his great-Grandma who he never knew.
...Words to be Proud of From My Wise Little Boy
The other day, Jude said to me, "You know, Mom, most guys say that when they pick a girl to marry they want a girl who's foxy and hot and everything. But I think I'd rather marry a girl who is kind." I swear to God. That's what he said.
...My Favorite Picture of my Grandparents
On the back is the date - February 14, 1932.
...The Love Story of Pups and Lambie
Pups and Lambie are Jude's very most favorite special lovey animals since he was little. When he was about six he announced to me that Pups and Lambie had gotten married. Apparently, it happened while we were on a Cub Scout camping trip, which puzzles me a bit, but I never asked for the details. Nonetheless, they are a happy and much loved couple. Recently, Pups and Lambie have been a bit...sigh...forgotten. In fact, I hadn't even seen them in a while. I guess that's to be expected now that the boy's ten years old. The other day, in a fit of cleaning, I decided to tackle the Ninth Level of Hell, also known as the area under Jude's bed. There I found, amid numerous books, toys and dust bunnies...Pups and Lambie, and they were, fittingly, right next to each other. I rescued them and arranged them on top of the bed where they belong. Jude was happy to see them. Their love story continues.
...My Nomination For Best Rock and Roll Love Song
Inspired by the most enduring rock and roll marriage of all time. Kills me every time.
...Dog Love
The other morning Jude woke up complaining that he hadn't slept very well. When I asked him why he said that our little dog, Fancy, had slept on top of him the entire night. When I asked him why he hadn't just shoved her off, he said "But she looked so happy!"
...Friends
I am blessed to have a writer's group which I meet with once a month. We are five women who met because our boys attend the same school, and we all had an interest in writing and reading. We started out as a somewhat unlikely quintet, with diverse upbringings and sensibilities. However, over the last two years, we have gone through a tremendous amount together, Cecilia having lost her son, and Julie, her husband. We have shared our writing and our pain, and we have come to depend on each others support. Last Saturday, when we met, Cecilia, who is understandably sensitive and intuitive about these things, was worried about how Julie was going to get through Valentine's Day, having so recently lost her husband, George. So she decided to buy her (and the rest of us) a little Valentine's something. She went to the store and stood there, unsure what to buy. Should she get her a card? Flowers? Champagne? Finally, she just looked to heaven and asked, "George, what should I get her? What do you want me to get for her?" And suddenly she knew she should buy her (and the rest of us) chocolates. When she gave them to us that night, Julie burst into tears. Because George had always given her chocolates. Isn't it great to have friends?
...My Very Favorite Picture of My Parents
The look on Daddy's face, the look on Mama's face, the look on my face. Perfect.
...This Year's Valentine's Feast
Those of you who are old-timers here at Second Blooming know that many years ago Jimmy and I decided to forgo the crowded, over-priced, bad-service Valentine's meals in restaurants in favor of a decadent meal at home, prepared by me. We love it. In the past, I have often made so much food that we seriously over-did it, and a couple of times never even ate the dessert. So this year we're simplifying, but it's probably the richest and most decadent meal yet. This year's menu...
Cioppino - This is the same thing I made for New Year's Eve, and it was so stinking good that we were licking our plates. Seriously, one of the best things I've ever made in my life. Recipe is HERE.
Molten Chocolate Cakes - For my chocolate-fiend husband and son. Everybody gets their own little ramekin filled with chocolately love. Recipe is HERE.
...The Return of the Beef Broth
Several years ago, I wrote THIS post about a silly ritual that Jimmy and I shared which involved silently hiding a can of beef broth for the other one to find. If you don't remember it, go read it now. No really, seriously, go read it, or this won't make sense. And it's a really good story. So READ IT now. I'll wait.........Are you back? Okay, so not long after writing that story, I decided that for the sake of public health, I needed to throw the old soup can away. It had been expired for years, and I was honestly afraid that the thing would explode and kill us all. Sad, but true. But...marriage has been stressful lately. I guess we all go through this. And I decided that we needed a reminder of why we fell in love in the first place. So I bought a new can of beef broth. The can made it's return under Jimmy's pillow one night. The next day I found it in my boot. Right now, it's here...
Jimmy's sock drawer.
Ain't love grand?
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Happy Valentine's Day, y'all!
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DISCLAIMER: I love me some Christmas songs. I love ALL Christmas songs. I even love that hokey Country song about Mama dying and being in heaven for Christmas. I even love that Mariah Carey song where she has all those trilly runs and hits that crazy high note at the end. I start listening to them the day after Thanksgiving and continue through the Feast of the Epiphany. And I sing along. LOUDLY. It's slightly mad. So it is close to impossible for me to truly come up with a Top 10 List, because my favorites change. But here are my Top 10 Favorite Christmas Songs at this very moment.
In no particular order...
Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas - Judy Garland
Judy, Judy, Judy. No one had more emotion in her voice. So pure, so rich. She just kills me every time I listen to it.
Christmas (Baby Please Come Home) - Darlene Love
Before he became known as an eccentric murderer, Phil Spector was the genius behind The Wall of Sound. His production on this is amazing, and Darlene Love's voice and performance are incredibly passionate. Don't you dare listen to the wimpy Mariah Carey remake!
Joy to the World - the John Rutter arrangement in the style of Handel
My favorite carol to sing. Singing this piece with my choir is one of my Christmas joys. SO joyous and glorious!
Santa Claus is Coming to Town - Tony Bennett
Nobody swings the cool Christmas jazz like Tony.
Silent Night - Petula Clark
Okay, I'm slightly freaking out that I actually found this on the YouTube. When I was a little girl, Mama had one of those Christmas compilation albums, probably by Ronco or something, and this version of Silent Night was on it. Everything else on the album was Andy Williams or the Ray Conniff Singers or such, but this cut was just so GROOVY! I used to put it on and listen to it over and over, picking up that needle and dropping it back at the beginning of Petula.
Merry Christmas Baby - Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band
The sexiest Christmas song I know. You can't beat the Boss.
Merry Christmas From the Family - Robert Earl Keene
A truly Texan Christmas song, and one of the funniest songs I know. So many subversively honest and brilliant lyrics that can't even choose a favorite. A Texan will get all of the inside jokes, but hopefully, anyone who has a weird family can appreciate it. I know these people. Absolutely. PLEASE listen.
Christmas in Hollis - RUN-DMC
When this first came out, I used to crank it up and dance around my apartment singing. I can't imagine what my Dallas neighbors thought about a crazy white girl running around rapping "It's Christmas time in Hollis, Queens, Mom's cooking chicken and collard greens..." but I don't really care.
Santa Baby - Eartha Kitt
Do NOT listen to the travesty that is the Madonna remake! Eartha was HAWT!
Hark the Herald Angels Sing
My Daddy had one Christmas joke. It went like this...
Once there was a church in a small town. The preacher was trying to raise the money to buy new hymnals for the congregation, but was coming up short. Finally, the local drug store agreed to donate the money for the new hymnals. They ordered them and they came in just in time for Christmas. On Christmas morning, the congregation all opened their shiny new hymnals and began to sing...
Hark the herald angels sing,
Carter's Pills are just the thing.
Peace on earth and mercy mild,
Two for adults, one for child.
So every Christmas morning when we went to church and sang this song, Daddy and I would get into an impossible giggling fit, we just couldn't stop. My poor mother (who NEVER got the joke) was terribly embarrassed and left "tsking" and rolling her eyes at our inappropriate behavior. But I loved it. This one's for you Daddy...
This post was inspired by...
Prompt #5 - Your top 5 favorite Christmas songs. (Yes the prompt was for 5 songs and I had 10, so sue me!)
Unfortunately for my food-loving mother, my Daddy was an old-fashioned meat-and-potatoes Texan. Every night for dinner, he wanted meat and potatoes and more meat and more potatoes and even more meat and even more potatoes. He ascribed to the three rules of Southern cooking -
Deep fry it.
Cook it in a pot with a bunch of pork.
Smother it with cream gravy.
Mama did her damnedest to work in as many non-fried vegetables as possible and the occasional fish dish, but Daddy would greet these offerings with begrudging acceptance at best, and outright hostility on occasion. He would, however, eat whatever she gave him, because she was an excellent cook, and her food was delicious, even if it was too gourmet for Daddy.
Mama had spent many years living in Chicago during and just after World War II, so before moving to Texas she had experienced a bit of big city life. She loved going to fancy restaurants and trying new and exotic cuisines. I'm afraid going to cafeterias with Daddy and feeding him the same old/same old was a bit tragic for her.
Luckily, she birthed me. I was her gourmand cohort. We delighted in sneaking off for secret fancy dining experiences - what Daddy didn't know wouldn't hurt him. Unfortunately, Mama's tastes were a bit expensive, and we were not wealthy people. So Mama would save up her grocery money on the sly to finance our foodie experiences.
Occasionally, we'd go to restaurants. Mama loved to go with Daddy on business trips to bigger cities so that we could sneak off for lunch at glamorous spots with white linens and fine china. I distinctly remember going to The Adolphus Hotel in Dallas and having filet mignon (prepared medium-rare, the only civilized way to eat meat in Mama's mind, as opposed to Daddy's bourgeois choice - well-done) and a salad with Roquefort dressing. Fancy. I also remember going to Maxim's in Houston and having my very first lobster.
But getting away to a restaurant was rare. Mama and my favorite food-sharing experience was the after school treat. About once a week, I would get home from school in the afternoon to discover that Mama had prepared us something special. Just for us. I loved it more than I can express. She spent quite a bit of time making it wonderful and filling it with love. It was our special time.
Sometimes it was something simple. A popular snack was a cheese tray. In the land/time of Velveeta, Mama would buy Baby Swiss, imported Bleu or maybe even Brie. She would cut the cheeses into tiny cubes, stick in toothpicks and serve them on a silver tray.
But our very most favorite indulgence was seafood. Mama loved seafood more than anything in the world. I am happy to say that when she passed away, we found a lobster shell in the sink. Yes, her last meal was a lobster tail she had prepared for herself - I can't think of anything more fitting.
In those days, there used to be a guy who would catch fresh seafood down at the Gulf of Mexico in the morning, then drive up to Austin and park on the side of the road and sell it out of the back of his truck. Mama was his best customer.
Mama would make us raw oysters on the half-shell, which we'd slurp up with homemade cocktail sauce and Ritz crackers. She would fry up crab cakes with tartar sauce. She would steam mussels and clams and serve them with tiny silver cocktail forks and drawn butter. She'd serve shrimp cocktail in special shrimp cocktail glasses which had a compartment on the bottom for ice to keep it chilled. She would lay it all out on the coffee table, and we would sit on the floor around it and stuff ourselves silly.
But our very most favorite treat, was Mama's Crab Dip, something that became one of her signature dishes. If I was VERY lucky, she would whip up a batch just for the two of us, and we would gobble up the whole bowl, shoveling it in with Ruffles potato chips.
Mama's Crab Dip
Cream together 8 oz. softened cream cheese and one cup of mayonnaise. Mix in as much fresh crab meat as you can afford. Season with lemon juice, garlic powder, salt and a bunch of Worcestershire sauce.
I would be a very happy and spoiled little girl when I then went to do my homework and watch Star Trek reruns, my belly full of tasty treats and love.
Cohorts.
Nowadays, I am lucky to have Jimmy, a husband who is also an omnivore, and loves sitting around the coffee table slurping up treats. I've often written about our elaborate holiday meals, but it's only just now that I realized that the reason I love eating around the coffee table in the living room is because of Mama's after school treats. It just seems like the ultimate indulgence.
It would have made Mama SO happy that Jimmy and Jude both love seafood. I desperately wish she had lived long enough to make them both some crab dip and love. I guess I'll just have to keep up the tradition as well as I can.
Jimmy slurping up mussels and love at the coffee table.
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