Mom was a Foodie

I used to tease my mom that she and I could not get through one conversation with her talking about food. She LOVED to cook. The kitchen was the heart of her home. I can still remember coming home from school and doing my homework in the kitchen because it always smelled so good. Mom learned to cook from her German grandparents, who owned and operated a bakery.

Cooking and entertaining meant everything to my mom. She didn't just throw together a quick meal, she created an event, every time she cooked. Everything had to be perfect. From the placemats to the salt shakers.

Mom was known for her southern cooking, especially her grits and her cheese souffle', neither of which I cared for. I can remember several Sunday afternoons, sneaking downstairs to open and SLAM the oven door so the souffle' would fall, so I wouldn't have to eat it. So why am I sharing the recipes for food I didn't like? Because I am the ONLY one who didn't like them. EVERYONE else absolutely LOVED them.

Well, here they are, shared the way they were written....


Jerry Lee's Cheese Souffle'

1/4 cup butter
1/4 cup flour
1/2 tsp. salt
1 cup of milk
1/2 lb. Nippy cheese spread
4 egg yolks, well beaten
4 egg whites, beaten until stiff

Melt butter. Add flour and salt; blend. Add milk slowly; cook, stirring constantly until thick and smooth. Add cheese; stir until melted. Gradually add sauce to egg yolks. Carefully fold in egg whites, beaten stiff but not dry. Pour into ungreased quart-and-a-half souffle' dish. Set the souffle' dish in a pan of water and bake in a moderately slow oven (325 degrees), for 1 hour and 15 minutes, or until mixture doesn't adhere to a knife. * Sometimes I add a pinch of dry mustard. (Be careful not to slam the over door!)


Jerry Lee's Famous Garlic Cheese Grits

To 3 cups boiling water add 1 cup grits. Cook for 3 minutes.

In separate pot:
Mix 1/4 cup warm milk with 3/4 stick oleo or butter. Add 1 tube garlic cheese. Mix until butter and cheese are melted.

Add 2 well-beaten eggs, 1 pressed garlic clove (optional) and a dash of cayenne pepper.

Pour this mixture into the grits and mix well. Pour into 1 1/2 qt. baking dish. Bake at 350 degrees for about 45 - 55 minutes, or until set.

ENJOY!

The Red Prayer Book

My mom died seven years ago tomorrow. Five years before that she had been diagnosed with lung cancer, adeno carcinoma, to be precise. It returned with a vengeance.

After being told that she had about four weeks to live, she spent every minute she could surrounded by faithful friends. Mom would have me help her get her makeup on and fix her hair, every morning. Her friends never seemed to tire of coming to visit and she thrived on the laughter and reminiscing.

About two weeks before her death, Mom began seeing things. I walked into her bedroom and told her some friends were coming to visit. She told me that she thought I had put enough chairs around her room and could stop now. I told her that I hadn't put any chairs in her room and she asked, as she pointed, "Well what about all of these?" She also asked what the women in old fashioned dresses were whispering about, and why they were staring at her. She said they were dashing about in a hurry, and that there were men in top hats. I figured it was just the morphine.

A few days later, one of the ministers from our church came by to give her communion with her family. My husband, daughter and I each sat around her and we all took communion and prayed. When communion was finished, the three of us walked the minister to the door to say goodbye and I went back in Mom's room to sit with her. We talked for a few minutes and then she got a strange look on her face and pointed and said, "Oh look, someone left a red prayer book on the dining room table and we need to return it." I turned in the direction she was pointing, and saw that she was just pointing to her bedroom wall. I told her that she must be mistaken because she couldn't possibly see the dining room table, or the dining room for that matter, from her bed. We joked for a minute that it must've been those gossiping ladies and the men in the top hats that left the prayer book.

No one could have been more surprised to walk out of her bedroom, go around the corner to the dining room, and find a red prayer book on the dining room table! I immediately called the minister, so we could return the prayer book. When he returned to pick it up, I told him what had happened and he said that God had allowed Mom to have one foot in Heaven while she still had the other foot here with us. She was starting to get her glorified resurrection body. That’s why she could see through the wall. Mom died the next week.

There is not a day that goes by that I don't think of her and I will always consider that moment to be a very special gift from God. He not only was taking her home, He was allowing us to observe this incredible experience as a reassurance for each of us.

(The photo is dated 1947. Mom is 23 years old in this photo.)

Behind the Times

Apparently, doggy butt sunglasses are the new rage in California. I thought I'd give it a try. My poor, sweet dog looks like an elephant walking backwards! Enough said!

Arsenal of Spit-wads

We went to dinner tonight to celebrate Mimi's birthday. Mimi does not officially belong to my family but she is a shared Mimi, and we are glad to have her. Tonight, she was literally surrounded by her adult children. The grandchildren sat at a table behind her. She strategized and planned the seating arrangement to her own perfection.

The waiter timed the deposit of nachos perfectly, placing the plate dangerously close to me. After eating half a plate myself and then offering the rest to those around me, I heard the words YOU FAT PIG! Well, yes, oink oink, but who's talking about me? My snout is far more capable than you might imagine. So, I spend the next few minutes rooting and foraging through my salad. Then, it hit me. Not a thought or an idea. Something really hit me. I touched my cheek and pulled off a wet, oozing glob of spit and paper. The definition of a spit-wad is "An awesome force in the universe. Owning all one at a time." It was an awesome force, all right. A declaration of war.

I'm now oblivious to everyone around me. I embarrassly admit that I had to get a quick lesson on making and firing spit-wads but I missed the part where you shove the paper in one end of the straw, and then blow on the end that the paper is in. I broke the first rule of firing spit-wads. I TURNED THE STRAW AROUND. I took a deep breath, blew hard, and it went about two feet and fizzled. Damn! Another incoming skud. Ouch! That one hit me below the left eye, followed by another one in my hair.

As I reload, I catch one of my enemies in the ready-position. This time I lean to my right and avoid the impact. Unfortunately, it hit a little girl at another table behind me. She's really little and has no idea what happened, and none of the adults with her had any idea. My turn!

This time the wad of wet paper is on the end of the straw nearest my mouth. I take a deep breath and.....the spit wad ends up in my mouth. While I have yet to shoot a good one, I now have them all over my shirt, in my iced tea, and on my plate. I pick up one that fell out of the straw and reload, only to have it end up in my mouth. I'm practically sure that it was someone else's spit-wad that is now in my mouth.

I'm determined, stubborn, whatever you want to call me but I am going to shoot a good one. Through my efforts to reload, I hear someone talking to me in the distance, something about acting my age. Haven't I told you not to talk to me when I'm busy? Husbands are s-l-o-w learners. For a brief second, I mentally went down my list of people that I am relieved weren't there: my mother, my father, my father-in-law, my gynecologist and colon specialist. Family members begin circling the table to apologize to those sitting quietly as I am blowing so hard on my straw that my face turns bright red. Nothing happens. I am losing this battle.

People begin leaving. But like every war in history, never turn your back on the enemy. It finally happens! Zing and Splat! I nailed him. He looks at his shirt, looks back at me, and says GOOD SHOT! Yes!! Satisfaction! It was another GREAT family dinner. NOW I will go back to acting my age.

If It's Not Broke, Don't Fix It

My phone is ringing and Stevie Wonder is singing...

You are the sunshine of my life, that's why I'll always be around,
You are the apple of my eye, forever you'll stay in my heart...

She's calling. Tomorrow she turns 21 years old. Where did the time go?

Me: "Hi, Sweet Pea!"

Her: "Mom, my car....is.....broken....sob...sob...and .........I can't.....come.....hoooooooome."

Me: "OK, wait. Stop crying and tell me what's wrong."

Her: "It's broken. It's doing what it did yesterday. I turn the key and it makes this really loud, scary noise. It's going to blow up. Lauren's car blew up, you know."

Me: "Describe the noise."

Her: "Click, click, click..."

Me: "It sounds like the starter or the battery."

Her: "Well you better be ready to come pick me up tomorrow so I can come home for my birthday dinner."

Me: "No problem, I will."

Her: "I called Dad and he's not being helpful at all. He told me to find someplace here to take the car to.

Me: "Well, did you?"

Her: "Not yet."

Me: "Ok, let's hang up and you get that done."

We hang up. Fifteen minutes later, I hear Stevie again.

You are the sunshine of my life.... I answer.

Me: "Well, did you find someplace to take it?"

Her: (Inaudible noise....huge sob.....) "Mom, now the whole car is broken. It's just broken. Even the brakes are broken. When you push on them the car just rolls backwards a little."

Me: "Sweetheart, you have power brakes. So, if the battery is dead or the car is not on, the brakes will not work."

Her: "Oh."

She's going to be applying for a teaching job next year. I hope she doesn't have to teach shop or mechanics.