Girls of the Round Table

(This cartoon was recommended by my friend Lauren and bears absolutely NO RESEMBLANCE to anyone who might or might not be mentioned in the following post. I promise. It also reminds me that I might need to re-read a book my firstborn daughter gave me a few years ago entitled How Not to Become a Little Old Lady).

One of my favorite perks of retirement -- ranking just slightly under getting to sleep past 5:00 a.m. -- is the luxury of long lunches with good friends. After years of having less than 25 minutes to put away materials for the last class, get out materials for the next class, use the restroom, walk to the far end of the school, go through the cafeteria line, find a place to sit, choke down my food while catching a few sentences of "what's going on in the 1st (2nd, 3rd, 4th, or 5th) grade world," hurrying back to my room just ahead of the next class, and putting on some fresh lipstick (You didn't really think I'd be able to concentrate on teaching without my lipstick, did you?), leisurely eating while doing something enjoyable is very high on my list of fun things to do. I can't imagine trying to diagram the sentence I just typed.

In the last year, I have started attending a wonderful Bible study on Monday mornings, and invariably several of my fellow attendees "do lunch" afterwards. Some days there are as many as 15-16 who go, but most of the time we have 7 or 8. There are 4 or 5 restaurants that we rotate between, but we are definitely open to trying new places. :) Depending on the tables available in the restaurant, we might end up in a long rectangular arrangement so conversation is only effective with those in close proximity. But this past Monday, we were seated at a large round table, so all of us got to hear everything. Perfect!

I've used the title GIRLS OF THE ROUND TABLE on purpose. This most recent group ranged in age from 45 to 86, with the majority of us being in our 50's and 60's. Surely we have the wisdom that comes with being a "woman," but mentally -- or maybe I should just speak for myself -- we're still girls. Our topics for discussion range from politics to church business, but most often we share about our children, our husbands, and our grandchildren. It's an equal opportunity group, you understand.

Last Monday I found out some pros and cons about taking a cruise, and a few of the hazards involved when a husband retires. One week I learned that one of the women worked for the FBI during the J. Edgar Hoover days, and during another I heard about the amazingly creative business that one of the husbands had started. These women are intelligent, willing-to-be-transparent, and insightful. They are all interested in growing in their Christian faith and learning from each other. Best of all, they love to laugh.

I often wonder what kind of image we project to the people who serve us or who might be observing casually from other tables. Hopefully, we are kind and considerate to our waiter, not being too demanding, and tipping generously. I also hope that we show joy and portray the genuine care that we really do have for one another. Some folks who happen to look might notice a strange habit we've acquired. Now, when there are a lot of us and we're seated in a long rectangle, we usually just ask someone near the middle to say the blessing. But, when the group is smaller, we play a quick thumbs-up game when the food arrives. The last one to catch on and get their thumbs up is the "winner" and has the privilege of saying the blessing. :)

I invariably leave these lunch gatherings with a fresh perspective -- on myself, my marriage, my children, my church, and the world around me. I'm also sharpened by these women -- "Iron sharpens iron, so one man (or woman) sharpens another." Proverbs 27:17 A great investment of time, wouldn't you say?

"Perfume and incense bring joy to the heart, and the pleasantness of a friend springs from their heartfelt advice." Proverbs 27:9

No Longer My Mother's Culinary World

To put things in perspective, I tasted pizza for the very first time when I was a freshman at Samford University and went on a date in the spring of 1969 with a handsome young man named Tommy Barrett. He took me to a quaint little place called Jim Davenport's Pizza Palace in Mountain Brook (which I have just learned is STILL there -- see picture above). I'm sure he was surprised when he asked me what I wanted on my pizza, and I had no earthly idea what to say. He ordered for us, and when this round, beefy, tomato-y, cheesy, crusty creation was set in the middle of the table, I had NO CLUE what to do next. Can you believe anyone could have actually been taking college classes and be that naive?? I fell instantly in love!!! Tommy was nice, too, but I'm talking about the pizza. :) College days opened up many new worlds for me, with new culinary taste sensations being one of them.

My mother was a great cook. Don't get me wrong. Being able to depend on -- and anticipate -- having roast, mashed potatoes, English peas, rolls and a yummy dessert every Sunday after church and then the leftovers while we watched "Bonanza" on Sunday night is still a delightful childhood memory. As I've mentioned in my blog before, my mother was The Queen of Casseroles. She loved mixing things together into something amazing, and her squash casserole was "to die for." But, she particularly loved collecting and trying dessert recipes. (A funny but frustrating habit that she had was when someone would tell her about a new recipe, she'd write the ingredient list ONLY on any scrap of paper she could find handy. After she died, we discovered many such lists remaining in her handwriting without the benefit of the name of the dish or the instructions for making it). When we were having company, she would first decide on what dessert she'd serve, next what meat, and then "fill in" with casseroles and congealed salads. Believe me, an invitation to Mildred Collier's dining room table was a hot ticket. On the other hand, her meals were fairly predictable. Delicious, mind you, but predictable.

It has occurred to me lately, though, just how many items are appearing in the stores and on restaurant menus that she never got to experience. I'm sure she would have enjoyed most all of them and would have tried fervently to track down the recipe. To my way of thinking, the following terms/items are recent additions to our American way of eating (I'm included some basic definitions for readers from my mother's generation):

panini -- any pressed or toasted sandwich

ciabatta -- a rustic Italian bread, broad and flat

latte -- a coffee drink made with expresso and steamed milk

wrap -- a sort of sandwich made of a soft flatbread rolled around a filling

tortellini -- a ring-shaped pasta typically stuffed with a mix of meat or cheese

smoothie -- a blended beverage made with fresh fruit. It usually has a milkshake consistency.

trifle -- a dessert dish made of multiple layers, typically cake, fruit, custard or whipped cream

blondies -- brownies without the chocolate

salsa -- a sauce, most often spicy and tomato-based, considered to be Mexican cuisine.

Balsamic vinegar, sammies, garlic-mashed cauliflower and tilapia also came to my mind as foods/ingredients my Mother never got a chance to try. Can you name other favorites of yours that have come into being in the past 25 years? Let's make a list. :)

Reflections from an Afternoon in the E.R.

I feel almost normal today. There's a little soreness and fatigue from the tension and tight muscles of yesterday, but nothing hurts this morning as I'm typing out my thoughts. Once again, I find myself so very grateful for my health and the opportunities of a new day.

How did I end up in the emergency room yesterday?

It's like this. As I was getting ready for my Monday morning Bible study, I bent over to pick something up off the floor and started having painful spasms in my abdomen. Something felt like it had popped or twisted. Strange. Since I no longer have an appendix, a gallbladder or a uterus, they couldn't be causing problems. Maybe, I thought to myself, it's just a twitch of some kind that will subside if I just go along with my plans.

I made it to the Bible study and even enjoyed lunch with great friends -- with occasional spasms and twitches still happening. As I drove around town running a few errands before heading back home (25 minutes away), the pain started getting worse and when I felt in my lower abdomen, something hard or tight was there. Immediately, flashes of Steve's emergency surgery last year for two strangulated hernias started whirling frighteningly through my mind. What if I drove all the way home and got WORSE -- an even longer distance away from Steve or any kind of help?

I reached Steve at work and described what was happening. He called our family doctor, who is 45 minutes away in Hartselle (I know, I know, we need to find one closer, but we've known and trusted this doctor for so many years now -- almost 40, in fact). The office said that he was about to leave for a meeting but could see me in the morning. They recommended that I go to Parkway Medical Center E.R. in Decatur -- the same place where Steve had gone when he had his emergency. So, I clutched the steering wheel and drove toward that destination. Even though Steve almost never has his cellphone handy while he's working, he promised to keep it close by.

When I walked in the door of the E.R., I was doubled over in pain. Tension and fear were "doing a number" on my body by this time. The process was quick. I was registered, through triage, and in a room in only about 15 minutes. Whew! Even though the visions of emergency surgery were still plaguing my thoughts, I was at least where Somebody could do Something, if Something indeed needed to be done.

What happened during the 3 hours that I was there?

Just as I got "situated" and was waiting to be seen about, my daughter Laura sent me a text saying that she'd been asked to write an article for a magazine and was sharing her excitement. When I texted back about where I was, she simply typed the word "praying." What peace for a Momma's heart.

From the first appearance of the nurse, I could feel myself getting calmer. With her trained hands, she began to pinpoint and help me define the source of my pain. And no, I'll go ahead and answer the question that my son succinctly texted to me hours later: "Was it just gas?" Mr. Compassion strikes again. No, gas was not involved.

After her preliminary exam, we both began to think it might be just a pulled muscle, but "the doctor would be in shortly, some tests would be run to rule out anything more significant, and we'd wait for the results." Yay. A plan.

Everyone I interacted with yesterday was wonderful. They were all -- from the doctor to the lab techs to the X-ray personnel --kind and competent. They reassured me that I had made the right decision to come and be checked out, and they were so very respectful of my fears and feelings. As my body relaxed, my pain subsided.

By the time the doctor came in to tell me that all test results were negative and to give me some instructions, etc., I was breathing easier and doing much better. I walked out of the E.R. in the upright position and called Steve to bring home Steak-Out for supper, because the kitchen was closed for the night. :)

What did God bring to my mind through this crisis?

I thought of two women in particular.

One was Ruth Cost, a dear friend and former prayer partner who died quite a few years ago. She was a nurse, a widow, a beloved member of the church we joined, and one of the first people we met when we moved to Hartselle in 1973. I remembered visiting her in the hospital after she'd had an extremely painful surgery that removed a section of one of her lungs. In the middle of horrible agony and in a semi-conscious state, she was STILL kind and considerate to every nurse and hospital staff member who came into her room. I was amazed that she was able to do that, but I knew it was the result of YEARS of conditioning and practice. It was her "default" manner of responding to whatever life threw her way. I wanted to be like Ruth Cost to each person who came into my cubicle yesterday. I tried hard. I did not want to be selfish, whiny and demanding. Oh, I realize that yesterday wasn't much of a test compared to what so many people face. Maybe it was just my chance to practice imitating Ruth and her unfailing kindness.

I also thought of Grannie, Steve's mom who died last July. She made many trips to the Emergency Room between 2002 and 2011. When she was feeling a lot of anxiety or pain, she must have felt very frightened and alone. I could understand a little more about why she felt the urgency to get to the E.R. As I did yesterday, she knew that once she arrived there would be people who could figure out what was wrong and "make it all better." I wish I had understood that more clearly before she died.

God reminded me that He has continued to grant me good health so that I can bring Him glory. He doesn't NEED me in order for His work to be done, but He's still choosing to use me. He still desires to hear "Yes, Lord" as my automatic response to His voice. Thank you, Father, for the precious gift of a new day.

Memorable Kitchens from our Ecuador Days

If a home is said to be a man's castle, then surely the kitchen must be the woman's ballroom. I know there are a lot of comments being made by house-hunters and real estate professionals nowadays that the kitchen is getting only passing attention because it's being used the least. Say it isn't so!! Ladies, for those of you who cook -- at least a few times a week -- wouldn't you say that you want your kitchen to reflect your style and your personality? Yes, it needs to be painted in a color you like, be arranged for optimum working, and have fun touches scattered throughout, but don't you see it as the "heart" of your home, the place where children gather to do homework and talk while you create tantalizing smells of delicious treats to come, where your husband comes in the back door and is immediately glad he's there, where company comes to enjoy your food but also your warm hospitality, where you experiment with new recipes and anticipate the people in your life who will appreciate them? Maybe I'm just sitting here whistling the tune of a long-ago generation, but for me the kitchens in the nests I've made with Steve have been of utmost importance.

Just last Friday I spent a happy day in my kitchen in our house near the river baking bread, polishing silver, arranging a buffet, putting a pot of soup on to simmer and arranging a yummy dessert on a platter because I was eagerly awaiting a group of great young couples from the church who were coming for a party. True bliss for me. Really.

As I hummed and bustled in my present kitchen, my mind drifted back to some very memorable kitchens I visited or worked in during the years Steve and I spent in Ecuador. I searched for some pictures that might give you a sense, or a "taste" if you will, that my inadequate words never could.

I have to laugh (to keep from crying) when I see this first kitchen below. The day after we arrived in the country I was left here with 2 plates, 2 forks, 2 knives, 2 glasses, 2 spoons, a small aluminum skillet and one saucepan. By the time this picture was made, I had begged and borrowed a few other cooking items from a fellow missionary (bless you, Peggy Mulkey) and was beginning to figure a couple of things out. Steve describes the first few meals I prepared in this apartment as reminding him of "the first year we were married." I was a novice cook in 1971, and I was back to being a novice cook at an altitude of 8500 ft. and using a gas stove again for the first time since our small trailer at Auburn. I was also re-learning (if I ever indeed learned in the first place) how to cook everything "from scratch." There were virtually NO convenience foods at the main grocery store in Cuenca, and it took me several weeks before I could pass the meat counter without gagging from the smell (I hate to admit that, but it's true). It would be another year before a sweet friend told me how to cook rice in a pressure cooker. Until then, mine was either gummy, the consistency of fine gravel, or we just skipped it altogether. We only lived here for a few months, but I guarantee we'll never forget it. I had truly not known what kind of living conditions to expect, and this was actually a very welcome sight.

After a few months in the first apartment, we were given permission to look for a more suitable place. As we were driving around, we spotted the "Se Arrienda" (For Rent) sign taped to the outside window of this 2nd floor apartment and hurriedly made arrangements to see it. In this picture, the landlady -- who spoke very good English and became a dear friend of ours -- was showing me the kitchen, and I was trying desperately to "act cool." It was completely unfurnished, not even any kitchen appliances, but I was so excited about the possibility of living there. I knew some negotiations would have to take place first, and I was holding my breath. The deal was made, and Steve and I had a great time getting it all set up. In the 2 1/2 more years in Cuenca, I prepared MANY meals in this kitchen for volunteers, for Ecuadorian friends, for fellow missionaries, for Quichua church planters, for our children who came to visit, and for our neighbors in the building. I have many great memories of this place.
We lived in Quito for a year and a half while Steve served as the administrator for the Ecuador Southern Baptist missionaries. This kitchen was in the little mission house where we lived that the International Mission Board had owned for over 30 years. I was very happy for the renovation that had taken place a few years earlier and was delighted with all of those cabinets. There were no dishwashers in any of these kitchens, but they all had double sinks -- much more important than you might realize until you only have a single sink.
Other very memorable kitchens were the ones that provided US with food and genuine hospitality. Below you will see Pastor Pablo's wife and daughters serving us some lunch before time to walk through the mud to the church building nearby. They were such beautiful people, all cleaned up for the service and for having company. We had only been in Ecuador a few weeks when we met them for the first time. They lived in the small town of Ducur.
Steve and I became good friends with my Spanish teacher, Rosana Cordoba, and her husband Diego. They invited us to spend the day with them at their "hacienda en el campo," (their retreat out in the country), and we had a ball that day. This kitchen was tiny, but we put a great meal together, laughed, and spoke Spanglish with them and with their 3 delightful children.
One "kitchen" I will never forget was actually an open fire with big boiling pots. I had just concluded an English class in the school in this tiny town of Huigra, and these women were preparing their specialty for me -- GUINEA PIG!!! Remember the missionary motto: "Where He leads me, I will follow. What they feed me, I will swallow." It really wasn't too bad. However, this particular time, I was served the head of the guinea pig with the mouth wide open on a big bed of rice, of course. Yikes!
I can't imagine what Steve and I would have done without Ed and Pat Delgado, the great friends we made in Cuenca. We met them one Sunday when we visited "Le Fe Iglesia Bautista" (Faith Baptist Church) and bonded almost immediately. Ed and Pat are the 2nd and 3rd people lined up on the left, and there I am in the middle with the red shirt. Steve is "up in the rafters" making the picture. They were so helpful serving as translators when our volunteers came in, and Pat even helped me start a weekly Bible study for English speakers in Cuenca. This occasion was Thanksgiving, 2003 or 2004. Pat, being from Ohio, always made a big deal out of this North American holiday, and we were so very grateful to be included.
This last kitchen was not in Ecuador but in Somerville, Alabama. I include it in this post because it will always have an enduring place in my heart. Christmas of 2004 Steve and I were able to come home for a visit and to spend the holidays with our family. The problem was that we had no "home base." We had sold our family home before we moved, so we didn't have a place to actually gather, spend time, and just be a family again. I guess a hotel room would have worked, but . . . . Our friends Dave and Debi Russell figured that out somehow. They were going to be in Arkansas for Christmas and offered us their home. They literally left the key under the mat and said "it's all yours." The children came in from miles away, and we all walked into this oasis decorated like something out of Southern Living magazine and felt completely welcome and loved. Allie was our only grandchild at the time, and we actually had a place to make memories (a.k.a. reindeer cookies).
Thanks for letting me share these memories. Maybe you understand a little more now about why my kitchen is such a big deal to me.

Can Real Men Enjoy Pretty Food?

Can Real Men Enjoy Pretty Food? That's the question that will be answered when my Silver Fox comes through the back door, tired and very hungry in about an hour. Notice that I deliberately didn't call this "Chick Food." Some very manly Chicken Enchiladas with Green Chili Sour Cream Sauce should fill him right up (the ones pictured above are ready to go into the oven), and I just happen to think fresh spinach with strawberries, feta cheese crumbles and glazed pecans make a beautiful salad -- a feast for the eyes as well as for the taste buds. The "pink stuff" in the picture is homemade Raspberry Vinaigrette dressing. Sure hope he gets here soon. I can hardly wait.

I happily confess that the recipes for the enchiladas and for the dressing come from links I found on Pinterest, but here they are for you to enjoy ASAP.

Chicken Enchiladas with Green Chili Sour Cream Sauce

10 soft taco shells

2 c. cooked shredded chicken

2 c. shredded Monterey Jack cheese

3 T. butter

3 T. flour

2 c. chicken broth

1 c. sour cream

1 (4 oz.) can diced green chilies

1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Grease a 9 x 13 pan.

2. Mix chicken and 1 c. cheese. Roll up in tortillas and place in pan.

3. In a sauce pan, melt butter, stir in flour and cook 1 minute. Add broth and whisk until smooth. Heat over medium heat until thick and bubbly.

4. Stir in sour cream and chilies. Do NOT bring to a boil. You don't want curdled sour cream.

5. Pour over enchiladas and top with remaining cheese.

6. Bake 22 min. and then under high broil for 3 min. to brown the cheese.

Raspberry Vinaigrette Dressing

1 small shallot, minced

1/2 c. raspberry preserves

1/8 c. honey

1 t. dry mustard

1 t. salt

1/4 t. white pepper

1/2 c. white distilled vinegar

1/4 c. water

Put these ingredients into a blender or food processor and process until combined. Slowly add

1/3 c. olive oil

1/3 c. canola oil

Blend until well mixed. This dressing will keep in the refrigerator for several weeks.

Nothing but the best for my man!!

Music and Art Day at Grandmomma's House

Today I had the opportunity to exercise two of my very favorite roles in life -- being a grandmother and being a music and art teacher. As those of you know who read my blog regularly, both of my daughters are homeschooling now. One daughter lives in Ft. Smith, AR -- sadly, much too far away to be able to make the kind of regular, consistent impact that I would dearly love to make. The other daughter lives in Huntsville -- still an hour away from my house, but definitely doable. The Huntsville daughter recently invited me to have her two oldest children one day every month for the purpose of teaching them music and art. Today was our first day. Maggie and Allie were eager students, ready to soak in whatever I wanted to share with them. And, I didn't want to miss a minute of this precious time I had to do what I love with two little girls who are so special in my life. The only slight educational challenge I had was how to engage an 11-year-old AND a 4 1/2-year-old at the same time. With a little extra planning everything worked out well.

We began by filling a page with tempera paints of all colors in whatever random designs they chose. As you can tell in the photo above, Allie tends to be more deliberate and organized, while Maggie is exuberant and enthusiastic --always so pleased when she figures out a way to do her assignments and projects successfully. We laid these aside to dry -- you'll see the finished product later -- and then started on some music lessons. Who says you need fancy, expensive instruments to learn about rhythm?
We concentrated on quarter notes, eighth notes and quarter rests for this session (now better known as "walk," "running," and "shhhh.") A few spatulas and cookware made great percussion instruments, and music from The Lion King ("I Just Can't Wait to Be King") jazzed up our drills and patterns. They arranged and rearranged flashcards and made some great patterns of their own.
Then we headed to the piano. After all, what good is rhythm without some pitches and melodies? Here you see the sisters "making beautiful music together" playing a great duet on the black keys. We had fun lifting the lid to discover why some of the notes are low and some are high. Allie quickly learned "Old McDonald Had a Farm," and I'm sure Maggie will have it learned by next time as well.

We stopped for lunch and then started our study of today's artist -- Laurel Burch. We learned about her life, saw a video interview made the year before she died, and we found lots of examples of her work. It was then their turn to create a Fantastic Feline in the style of Laurel Burch. We started by drawing and then added color with oil pastels. Notice the intense concentration of both girls.

Just mention the name Laurel Burch now, and I'm sure they will be glad to tell you all about her. :) When our cats were done, we stopped for an ice cream break (Sorry, Julie, I could have said fruits and veggies, but it just wouldn't have been the truth. Maybe next time.)

We had just enough time left to finish our last project -- the one that started with the tempera paints. They were to create a stringed instrument using painted paper, strips of construction paper, buttons and sequins. Maggie decided hers was a ukelele, and Allie's is a violin. They look pretty pleased with the results, don't they?
The day flew by. There were just a few folks missing that would have made the day COMPLETE -- Granddaddy and the 7 other best grandchildren in the world. :) My mental wheels are spinning overtime coming up with more ideas for next month. I wonder if they'd enjoy Wayne Thiebaud and his awesome paintings of cakes, and we need to put some half notes in those rhythm patterns. . . . hmmmmmm. I hope THEY had a good time. This Grandmomma loved it.

Bread Bliss!

Oh, how I wish you were sitting at the kitchen table with me right now, smelling the tantalizing aroma and tasting a slice of warm homemade sourdough bread with a slight smear of real butter. Sister Schubert has NOTHING on me this morning -- well, except several million dollars $$$$. Oh well. Have I told you lately that we both graduated from Charles Henderson High School in Troy, AL, and that she was just a couple of years behind me? It's true. I know her parents and sisters, and we are all very proud of her success.

But, I digress.

It always gives me a huge Little-House-on-the-Prairie feeling when I bake bread, and even more so, when it actually turns out great. Through the inspiration of my Facebook friend, Martha Dunlap -- who also happens to be the former teacher of two of my children -- AND the great pictures and recipes now available through Pinterest, I decided to try my hand at making sourdough starter and giving this whole process a try.

First, I must say that sourdough starter is appropriately named. You need to really keep a tight lid on it because it smells VERY sour. However, what happens inside that container while it ferments makes a feast for the senses possible. Trust me.

Six days ago I began with the yeast, mashed potato flakes, sugar and warm water. I stirred it everyday, then on the 5th day, I fed it with more ingredients and took out a cup of "brew" to begin the bread-making. The picture above shows what I found when I walked into my kitchen this morning.

After a few minutes of kneading (I could just as easily and truthfully use the word NEEDING), the dough was pliable and elastic, so I divided it into halves and put it in greased loaf pans.
An hour or so of rising time later, those loaves looked like this. I drizzled them with melted butter and put them in a 350-degree oven.
Forty minutes later? Voila!
You didn't REALLY think I would wait until it cooled before I sampled it. Now did you?
I can't wait for Steve to get home tonight. He'll get out his favorite honey (the kind that comes in a jar, mind you) and be a happy man.

Are you inspired? Try it. You'll be glad . . . and so will all the folks who live in your house.