I have a lavender hatbox that stays under my bed. I got it years (and years) ago when I was in high school. Back then, I used it to keep things that were important to me. Notes passed from friends during class containing silly inside jokes went in the box. Notes from boyfriends went in, too. Corsages from the two proms I attended found their way into the box, along with pictures of friends and fun times. Eventually it got quite stuffed, and when I went away to college, it went into the attic. There it stayed for a number of years, holding all those memories that had seemed so important those years ago.
Not too long ago, I went up in my parents attic and got down the hatbox. I got a laugh at some of the things people had written to me in all those notes. It was fun, but they didn’t really hold any value for me anymore, and I couldn’t see tying up the space in keeping them. The corsages were dry and discolored, and besides, that romance was long gone and not missed. I found out that just because a boy tells you he loves you doesn’t mean that he doesn’t also love another girl, or several other girls. I found out that sometimes you forget what was behind the inside jokes that seems so hilarious at the time. Some of the pictures I kept, but most of them didn’t seem all that important anymore. I cleaned out the box and started from scratch.
In went the obituary for my precious, precious Mema. In went the pictures of her and my grandpa just two years before her death, at their 50th anniversary, because I can’t look at them yet. In went the bulletin for the last church service she was ever able to attend. In went all the cards and letters I had saved from my husband, who has quite a way with words for a country boy. The ticket stubs from our honeymoon Savannah riverboat dinner cruise also found their way in there. A few of my bridal portraits that I haven’t found the right place for. My grandmother’s handkerchief, my “something borrowed” which she insisted I keep. Some dried petals from her funeral. In went cards written to me by special people at special times in my life; my 18th birthday, my college graduation, my wedding. I think about how things are different in my box now, but somewhat the same. It’s still filled with pictures and written words, and tokens of remembrance. Only some of the names and faces have changed. One day I hope to put pictures of my children in there. Cards and pictures they will make for me. Mementos from this life that changes, but somehow still stays the same. But as always, not just anything can go into the hatbox. After all, it’s a small box, and space is limited and precious. When it’s something that wouldn’t be worth a penny to anybody else but means the world to you, that’s when you know it’s hatbox worthy.
Thursday, July 1, 2010
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Aunt Rita's Squash Casserole
Well, I can't very well talk about casseroles without sharing the recipe for one of THE BEST squash casseroles you could ever eat. It's a little bit of a non-recipe, because I personally don't like to follow them exactly and in this family when you ask for a recipe, you get a response that includes things like "about a cup or so" or "enough to cover." So here it is. Be brave, and follow it as closely (or not) as you feel like:
6-8 medium yellow squash, sliced
onion (I like onion so I might chop a whole one, but you pick. I use sweet onions.)
carrot (about 1 medium, grated)
a stick of margarine or butter (I never said this was health food)
a bag of unseasoned cornbread stuffing
a can of cream of chicken soup
a cup of cheese (chedder, grated)
salt
pepper
Here's what you do:
Preheat oven to 350 degrees.
Boil the squash until just tender and drain. (You don't want them too squishy or soupy since they are going to bake in a little bit).
Melt the margarine, and put a little bit of it in a skillet and saute your onion and carrot.
Add the bag of stuffing mix to the rest of the melted margarine and mix until moist. Spread half of the stuffing mixture in the bottom of a baking dish (about an 8x8 or so will do; this doesn't make a HUGE casserole)
Mix the squash, carrot, and onion. Put your squash mixture on top of the stuffing layer. Sprinkle lightly with salt and pepper.
Mix together your soup and sour cream, and pour the mixture all over the squash.
Sprinkle your cheddar cheese over the top of that, and then top with the remaining stuffing mix.
Bake at 350 for 25 to 30 minutes. Prepare to experience squash heaven.
It's a pretty easy recipe, and Southern comfort food at its finest. And if you grew the squash in your own garden (I did!) then you get extra points. Of course, if you didn't, you can buy frozen sliced squash at the grocery story, and I won't tell anybody. :-)
6-8 medium yellow squash, sliced
onion (I like onion so I might chop a whole one, but you pick. I use sweet onions.)
carrot (about 1 medium, grated)
a stick of margarine or butter (I never said this was health food)
a bag of unseasoned cornbread stuffing
a can of cream of chicken soup
a cup of cheese (chedder, grated)
salt
pepper
Here's what you do:
Preheat oven to 350 degrees.
Boil the squash until just tender and drain. (You don't want them too squishy or soupy since they are going to bake in a little bit).
Melt the margarine, and put a little bit of it in a skillet and saute your onion and carrot.
Add the bag of stuffing mix to the rest of the melted margarine and mix until moist. Spread half of the stuffing mixture in the bottom of a baking dish (about an 8x8 or so will do; this doesn't make a HUGE casserole)
Mix the squash, carrot, and onion. Put your squash mixture on top of the stuffing layer. Sprinkle lightly with salt and pepper.
Mix together your soup and sour cream, and pour the mixture all over the squash.
Sprinkle your cheddar cheese over the top of that, and then top with the remaining stuffing mix.
Bake at 350 for 25 to 30 minutes. Prepare to experience squash heaven.
It's a pretty easy recipe, and Southern comfort food at its finest. And if you grew the squash in your own garden (I did!) then you get extra points. Of course, if you didn't, you can buy frozen sliced squash at the grocery story, and I won't tell anybody. :-)
Making my case for my hometown
I've lived in the same small town all my life. It's a little bit like Mayberry, except now we have a McDonald's, Burger King, Taco Bell, Food Lion, and two Chinese restaurants. Our town was built around a train depot, so we still have quite a few tracks running through, although trains don't come by as often anymore. We've got a volunteer fire department, where my husband volunteers. And it's not all that unusual to see someone driving through town on a tractor.
A lot of people I went to school with always moaned and groaned and complained about getting out of here at the first possible opportunity. I guess that's fine for them, except I've noticed that a lot of the ones who left have started to trickle back. I don't ever remember thinking that I wanted to leave, because this is home. This is where I lived so close to my schools I could have walked (if I had gotten up early enough for that kind of thing) and where I've spent all but the first four years of my life as a member of the First Baptist Church. This is where I cheered for the little league football team and rode in the Christmas parades shaking my pom poms and tossing out candy. This is where my childhood best friend's mom owned a furniture store on main street, and where as children we went every day after school and ran up and down the sidewalks, getting ice cream from the snack counter at the drugstore that has not changed a bit since about 1950.
This is also where you can drive about a mile or two away from my house and you start seeing the hazy blue silhouette of the Blue Ridge mountains. About another 30 minutes or so you can be in those mountains. My husband and I drove up and spent the weekend in lovely Hendersonville, NC a few weeks ago, and I commented as we drove up the mountain under cool, shady branches and surrounded by ferns and the occasional trickling waterfall, "Some people have never even been to mountains like these, and they don't have any idea what they're missing." These mountains aren't barren and rocky. They are rolling, and lush, and green, and the few exposed rocks are often covered by moss. My husband proposed to me at Pearson's Falls, a gorgeous waterfall not too far from where we live, and right down the road from my great-grandfather's mountain cottage, and it could not have been a more perfect place.
A lot of people I went to school with always moaned and groaned and complained about getting out of here at the first possible opportunity. I guess that's fine for them, except I've noticed that a lot of the ones who left have started to trickle back. I don't ever remember thinking that I wanted to leave, because this is home. This is where I lived so close to my schools I could have walked (if I had gotten up early enough for that kind of thing) and where I've spent all but the first four years of my life as a member of the First Baptist Church. This is where I cheered for the little league football team and rode in the Christmas parades shaking my pom poms and tossing out candy. This is where my childhood best friend's mom owned a furniture store on main street, and where as children we went every day after school and ran up and down the sidewalks, getting ice cream from the snack counter at the drugstore that has not changed a bit since about 1950.
This is also where you can drive about a mile or two away from my house and you start seeing the hazy blue silhouette of the Blue Ridge mountains. About another 30 minutes or so you can be in those mountains. My husband and I drove up and spent the weekend in lovely Hendersonville, NC a few weeks ago, and I commented as we drove up the mountain under cool, shady branches and surrounded by ferns and the occasional trickling waterfall, "Some people have never even been to mountains like these, and they don't have any idea what they're missing." These mountains aren't barren and rocky. They are rolling, and lush, and green, and the few exposed rocks are often covered by moss. My husband proposed to me at Pearson's Falls, a gorgeous waterfall not too far from where we live, and right down the road from my great-grandfather's mountain cottage, and it could not have been a more perfect place.
Here's the main fall... beautiful!
And you walk up to the main fall along a trail beside these small, drippy, mossy waterfalls that are so incredibly peaceful.
I can't imagine living where I couldn't just jump in the car and go up to those mountains.
Besides those mountains, we're not all that far from the beach either. About 3 and a half hours, and you can be on the sand. I've always adored going to Myrtle Beach because it's nostalgic for me, but Charleston really has my heart. Savannah, GA is lovely too, and it may be my second love, but Charleston is truly the crown jewel of the south. The cobblestone streets, the majestic mansions on the battery, the breezy verandas, the haunting old trees, the rich history, the sweetgrass baskets, and the amazing seafood... you just can't beat it! Unless you've seen Charleston, you can't believe how beautiful it is. Pictures don't really do it justice, but I plan to do a whole post on Charleston in the future.
To close, I just want you to imagine something. Imagine sitting in a rocking chair sipping lemonade as the sun sets, with a slight balmy breeze and the sounds of thousands of bugs singing to each other as the lightning bugs begin their dance in the field. That's how we spend our summer evenings here. Now don't you want to come on down?? :-)
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
Southernism #1: Casseroles
I know it's been a long time since I wrote. I've been a little busy! I finished my master's degree, taught 2 maternity leaves for teachers who had babies, and I've been frantically searching for my own teaching job for the past few months. But God is good, and I got my job, and our new house is hopefully just a month or so away from being started, and life can now resume. And now that that's out of the way, one to my first Southernism: Casseroles.
If you've never had the pleasure of eating a truly good casserole, (be it chicken, vegetable, green bean, squash, hashbrown, broccoli, etc.) then all I have to say is, "Bless your heart!" Now I know some people turn up their nose when they think of a casserole. They picture a gloopy, gooey mess that was born when somebody cleaned out their pantry and just dumped everything in a dish and baked it. However, that is not the case. A casserole has several distinct parts, and I'm about to explain them to you.
First: The "Base" (I made that term up, but you'll get the picture)
The base is whatever the casserole is BASED on (I'm so clever!) For example, in Chicken casserole, that would be the chicken. In squash casserole, the squash. Got it? Good. Usually this part goes in first. If it's a meat, it will be ccoked first. Depending on the casserole, it might have chopped vegetables (celery, onion, carrot, etc.) added to it, or seasonings.
Second: The "Binder" (made that up, too)
I'm calling the second part the binder because it binds everything together. It's some kind of liquid, and it is very often a can of cream of something soup. The most popular are cream of mushroom, cream of chicken, or cream of celery. Sometimes this might be mixed with some mayonnaise or sour cream, or something like that to give it some zing. This part of the casserole usually goes on next. There are TWO possible ways to achieve this: you can MIX it in the base, or just pour it all over the top. Doesn't make a huge difference which way you do it. Just a preference!
Third: The "Bread"
The bread layer is not usually an actual bread. Most often it's crushed up crackers, bread crumbs, corn flakes, or stuffing mix. It is often mixed with melted butter so it won't come out bone dry. This is often the top layer. HOWEVER (important!) if your casserole includes a layer of shredded cheddar cheese, it will go on the top before the bread layer. If you're feeling really daring, you might even choose to stir together the base, binder, AND cheese, but you will NEVER stir the bread into it. It always sits right on top, because nobody wants soggy bread chunks floating in the middle of their delicious casserole.
Finally: The Baking. Most casseroles bake for about 30-45 minutes at about 350 until golden brown, bubbly, and fragrant :-)
Okay, now that you know what a casserole IS, let me tell you what it DOES. A casserole can soothe the soul. Every good Southerner knows that in any tragedy, a casserole brought to the door will almost always be a welcome comfort. Why? Because of casseroles' other magical power: they almost all freeze beautifully. ("It's in the Freezes Beautifully section of my cookbook, and I want something that freezes beautifully!" Name that classic Southern movie!) You can take them over frozen, and then the recipients of this warm gooey goodness can put it away and then pull it out at a time when they don't feel like cooking and have a meal in minutes. Casseroles are excellent for the following times of tragedy or stress: deaths, illnesses, operations, financial hardships, and childbirth. Of course, you may think of other times when a casserole would be just the ticket, and you are probably right. I could go on and explain the list of other foods that are appropriate (ok, necessary) at a time of tragedy, but that's for a later time. For now, just don't fight the urge. Go grab something delicious, pour some cream of something soup over it, top it with cheese if desired, slap on a layer of breading, and pop that thing in the over and just TRY to turn your nose up at a casserole again once you've experience one. This isn't cuisine, baby doll.... it's comfort food!
If you've never had the pleasure of eating a truly good casserole, (be it chicken, vegetable, green bean, squash, hashbrown, broccoli, etc.) then all I have to say is, "Bless your heart!" Now I know some people turn up their nose when they think of a casserole. They picture a gloopy, gooey mess that was born when somebody cleaned out their pantry and just dumped everything in a dish and baked it. However, that is not the case. A casserole has several distinct parts, and I'm about to explain them to you.
First: The "Base" (I made that term up, but you'll get the picture)
The base is whatever the casserole is BASED on (I'm so clever!) For example, in Chicken casserole, that would be the chicken. In squash casserole, the squash. Got it? Good. Usually this part goes in first. If it's a meat, it will be ccoked first. Depending on the casserole, it might have chopped vegetables (celery, onion, carrot, etc.) added to it, or seasonings.
Second: The "Binder" (made that up, too)
I'm calling the second part the binder because it binds everything together. It's some kind of liquid, and it is very often a can of cream of something soup. The most popular are cream of mushroom, cream of chicken, or cream of celery. Sometimes this might be mixed with some mayonnaise or sour cream, or something like that to give it some zing. This part of the casserole usually goes on next. There are TWO possible ways to achieve this: you can MIX it in the base, or just pour it all over the top. Doesn't make a huge difference which way you do it. Just a preference!
Third: The "Bread"
The bread layer is not usually an actual bread. Most often it's crushed up crackers, bread crumbs, corn flakes, or stuffing mix. It is often mixed with melted butter so it won't come out bone dry. This is often the top layer. HOWEVER (important!) if your casserole includes a layer of shredded cheddar cheese, it will go on the top before the bread layer. If you're feeling really daring, you might even choose to stir together the base, binder, AND cheese, but you will NEVER stir the bread into it. It always sits right on top, because nobody wants soggy bread chunks floating in the middle of their delicious casserole.
Finally: The Baking. Most casseroles bake for about 30-45 minutes at about 350 until golden brown, bubbly, and fragrant :-)
Okay, now that you know what a casserole IS, let me tell you what it DOES. A casserole can soothe the soul. Every good Southerner knows that in any tragedy, a casserole brought to the door will almost always be a welcome comfort. Why? Because of casseroles' other magical power: they almost all freeze beautifully. ("It's in the Freezes Beautifully section of my cookbook, and I want something that freezes beautifully!" Name that classic Southern movie!) You can take them over frozen, and then the recipients of this warm gooey goodness can put it away and then pull it out at a time when they don't feel like cooking and have a meal in minutes. Casseroles are excellent for the following times of tragedy or stress: deaths, illnesses, operations, financial hardships, and childbirth. Of course, you may think of other times when a casserole would be just the ticket, and you are probably right. I could go on and explain the list of other foods that are appropriate (ok, necessary) at a time of tragedy, but that's for a later time. For now, just don't fight the urge. Go grab something delicious, pour some cream of something soup over it, top it with cheese if desired, slap on a layer of breading, and pop that thing in the over and just TRY to turn your nose up at a casserole again once you've experience one. This isn't cuisine, baby doll.... it's comfort food!
Thursday, February 25, 2010
Southerners
I can't deny it, not would I really want to. I'm a Southerner; always have been, always will be. But I know for a lot of people, the word "Southerner" conjures up a lot of stereotypes. Granted, some have a grain of truth behind them, as many stereotypes do. But I want you to consider this: ignorant, redneck people are NOT exclusive to the South. If you have any doubts, pay a visit to Peopleofwalmart.com. There you will clearly see that rednecks (mullets, missing teeth, and all) can be found all across our beautiful country. And to further dispel some of the myths about Southerners, I will give you some quick facts about myself.
I do NOT have a mullet. Never have, never will.
None of my family members have mullets either.
I am not married to my cousin.
I still have all the teeth I've ever had. I've never even had a cavity.
I have never attended a chicken fight, dirt track race, or Nascar event.
I almost never deep- fry anything I cook at home.
I don't drown everything in butter.
I don't even really like gravy or grits that much.
I don't own a single hound dog.
I have never held any beliefs about the South rising again.
I love all types of people in the world.
I would never use a racial slur, ever.
In spite of my Southern accent, I was able to earn a college degree. Several, actually.
If I see you around town, I will most likely smile, wave, and hold the door open for you.
I may even speak to you in the grocery line.
So don't be afraid of us Southerners! Don't judge us by our accent, or lump us all together as a group. Just like any other group of people, there is no one-size-fits-all definition of a Southerner. We're just like everyone else really.
Except Yankees. Everybody knows you can't trust a Yankee :-)
I do NOT have a mullet. Never have, never will.
None of my family members have mullets either.
I am not married to my cousin.
I still have all the teeth I've ever had. I've never even had a cavity.
I have never attended a chicken fight, dirt track race, or Nascar event.
I almost never deep- fry anything I cook at home.
I don't drown everything in butter.
I don't even really like gravy or grits that much.
I don't own a single hound dog.
I have never held any beliefs about the South rising again.
I love all types of people in the world.
I would never use a racial slur, ever.
In spite of my Southern accent, I was able to earn a college degree. Several, actually.
If I see you around town, I will most likely smile, wave, and hold the door open for you.
I may even speak to you in the grocery line.
So don't be afraid of us Southerners! Don't judge us by our accent, or lump us all together as a group. Just like any other group of people, there is no one-size-fits-all definition of a Southerner. We're just like everyone else really.
Except Yankees. Everybody knows you can't trust a Yankee :-)
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
Mema
Not only did Mema cook wonderfully, she also tried to please everyone in her cooking. She's the only person I know who ever made "Bananaless" Banana Puddings. See, a few insane members of our family have this problem where they don't know a good thing when they see it, so they would pick the bananas out of their banana pudding. From then on, whenever she made it, Mema would make two: Banana Pudding (for the sane ones of us) and Bananaless Pudding (for the crazies!). And she didn't do it because anybody fussed or complained or requested it. She did it out of love.
That's how Mema did everything. She would sacrifice everything she had for the ones she loved. We saw that love most vividly when she got sick. In the summer of 2005, Mema went in for a routine yearly exam with the gynecologist. He thought he felt something in her abdomen, so they ran some tests and went in for an exploratory surgery. We are all devasted to hear that the doctor's suspicions were confirmed and what he had felt was ovarian cancer. The doctor was able to remove all the tumors, and Mema bravely went through months of chemo and was declared cancer free.
In August 2008, it was discovered that Mema's cancer had returned. She had tumors in her abdomen and in her liver. She endured another painful surgery, followed by a severe infection. She endured more months of chemo, but ultimately she just wore out. She had some better months in the spring of 2009, and she was back out of bed and cooking those feasts during that time, even though we now know she probably did not have the energy to do that. Even though she must have known she was losing her battle, she was still worrying about taking care of her family. I remember during one particularly violent summer thunderstorm that year, she called me to make sure I was okay because she knew I was driving to summer school. When I was getting close to graduating with my masters degree, she frequently told my mama that she was hoping so much that I would be able to get a good job. Even when she was dying, she was worrying about other people. When she was freezing in the bed when she had gotten so tiny and frail, she would tell us to turn on the fan (we didn't) because she could tell we were hot because she had the heat turned up so high. When kind church members would bring her food she knew she wouldn't be able to eat, she would still try to sit up and smile. The next to the last day I saw her alive, a sweet lady brought her and my grandpa some cupcakes. Mema could not life her head, but whispered, "Oh boy, that sounds good." She wanted that lady to know she appreciated what she was trying to do for her.
The day Mema died, I sat at her feet all day. I knew she was ready to go, because she had told me so. All that day, she was in a deep sleep. At about 7:30 pm on October 10, 2009, Mema went to Heaven. I know she went because right before she took her last breath, she opened her eyes for the first time that day, and she had a look of amazement on her face. I don't know what she saw, but I'm certain she's with her Lord now, and she's cancer-free. But oh, I miss her so very much.
When they took her body from her room at the hospice house, they played her favorite hymn, "How Great Thou Art." I like to think that maybe she's singing that song in Heaven now.
I can just hear her beautiful alto voice, "Then sings my soul...."
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