Sunday, January 22, 2012

Make a Joyful Noise!


I LOVE congregational singing!  

My first memory of congregational singing was watching my grandpa, John Riner, stand at the front of our little one-room country church, leading the hymns with gusto, with his sweet mouth twisted a bit to the side.  There was no piano accompaniment, but little need for it when you sang from the heart like Grandpa always did.

My daddy, John Jr, loved hymn singing as much as his pa, but for reasons known only to him, Daddy never officially joined his family church.  However, he always maintained a deep, abiding love for God and Jesus and each Sunday evening that rolled around would find him tuning in his old tabletop radio to hear some good ole time gospel music.  “How Great Thou Art”, “Just as I Am”, “The Old Rugged Cross”, and “Rock of Ages” were among his favorites.

Shortly before Daddy died he went into respiratory failure and was put on a ventilator.  I drove up from Florida to visit him in the hospital for a few days and since it was December, I took along my Christmas cards to address while sitting with him.  I also took along a church hymnal so I could sing those gospel songs that he so loved so well to my daddy.  And sing I did, hour after hour until my throat was raw.

I was with Daddy as they took him off the ventilator and watched anxiously as he slowly started breathing again on his own.  In gratitude, I began another hymn.  My sweet Daddy then turned toward me and rasped, “Honey, that’s enough singin’.”

Good thing I have a sense of humor! I returned to quietly addressing envelopes until about half an hour later when he opened his eyes and said, “Okay, honey, you can sing again.” And so I did, gladly.
Years ago a family vacationing in Florida came to our church meeting and sat in the pew in front of my family.  One of their sons had Down’s Syndrome; when the opening hymn began, that young man began to sing … quite loudly.  He didn’t know the words and his singing was totally off key, but I’ve rarely seen or heard anything as beautiful as that young boy praising God in song with his whole heart and soul.  I wept, grateful that I was there to witness it.  Recalling that sweet moment still brings me to tears.

All of my children have sung in choirs both in school and at church.  It is a gift I’ve been delighted to share with them.  My good husband, on the other hand, is one who absolutely cannot sing on key, but he still has a great appreciation for good music.  Like the boy with Down’s Syndrome, my husband’s inability to carry a tune has never stopped him from singing in church with his whole heart.  I’ve always appreciated that about him.  

After all, the Psalmist didn’t say, “Sing in perfect harmony unto the Lord”; he said, “Make a joyful noise unto the Lord!”  This is just what that young boy and my husband do.

Tuesday, January 17, 2012

What Ya Got a-Cookin', part 2


I truly wish I had paid more attention to Mama’s cooking when I was younger.  She was one of those kitchen maestros who could just toss in a bit of this and a pinch of that to make something supremely yummy.  Me?  I need details, man; give me a fully annotated step-by-step recipe to follow. 

My big sister JoAnn is the only one of us to pick up on Mama’s cooking skills (she told me to say that)  and she is an excellent cook in her own right, with lasagna and quiche as her specialties (she didn't tell me to say that). Thank goodness JoAnn moved beyond the ghoulish goulash she used to make every Saturday when were younger. She had learned to make that in home ec and was quite pleased with her ability to feed her younger (and often ungrateful) siblings.   In later years when she and Mama cooked together, our taste buds were always in for a treat.  

For years I badgered JoAnn to write up Mama’s recipe for Brunswick Stew so I could attempt it.  Thankfully, just a few months before Mama died, she and JoAnn spent a day cooking together.  While Mama created her legendary stew, JoAnn measured and wrote.  Here is what they came up with.  I hope you enjoy it as much as we have!

Mary Lue’s Brunswick Stew

3 lbs Boston Butt, roasted or cooked slowly in crockpot until tender
3 lbs Stew Beef, cooked; save broth
3 cans stewed tomatoes
4 large potatoes, diced
1 large onion, diced
1 can cream corn
2 cans whole corn
1 can tomato sauce
1 bottle ketchup (use ½ to 1 bottle)
2 tble Tobasco sauce
Salt, Pepper, Garlic & Hot Sauce to taste

Mix all ingredients except corn in a big pot.  Simmer about 2 hours until done.
Add seasonings to taste.
Add corn the last 30-45 minutes of cooking to prevent sticking.
Have extra beef broth on hand if you need to thin the stew.
Stir frequently to prevent sticking.

This should make about 2 gallons of wonderfully delicious stew.

Note: We use frozen veggies because they have less sodium.  We also like to add Lima Beans.  You can also add more onions, potatoes, or tomatoes to taste, as desired.

Friday, January 13, 2012

Hey Good Lookin', What Ya Got a-Cookin'?

Mama was a very accomplished Southern Cook.  Sadly, those skills did not pass down to me because I was too busy doing “important” things like after school activities, Girl Scouts, drama, or student government to do something as mundane as cooking. 
Like a lot of Southern cooks, Mama would fry or boil everything to within an inch of its life, then smother it in butter and/or gravy.  Not so good for the arteries maybe, but oh so tasty!  And, boy howdy, could my Mama cook up a yummy pot of Brunswick Stew!
I recall helping her make Brunswick Stew once when I was about 8 or 10 years old.  She brought home a hog’s head for the stew (yeah, a “real” hog’s head … it was the only meat we could afford at the time) that she boiled up with a bunch of onions and seasonings.  When it was cooled, my task was to pluck all the meat off the head. Come to think of it, that experience probably added a lot to my early aversion to cooking.
Years and years ago when my soon-to-be FiancĂ© flew out to meet my family, he was astounded by the variety and amount of food Mama served.  Shucks, a good Southern meal ain’t hardly worth fixin’ unless you’ve got at least 2 or 3 meats, half-a-dozen different vegetables, and 3 or 4 splendid desserts!
My husband was raised out west where “peas” are those round mushy green things that come in cans, so the variety of peas we have in the South amazed him.  After more than two decades of Southern living, he has come to appreciate the tasty goodness of black-eyed peas, crowders, lady fingers, purple hulls, even butter beans. 
He has also developed a liking for grits … after all, Grits Is Groceries!  In fact, one of our favorite light evening meals is grits & eggs with bacon or sausage and muffins or biscuits.  Mmm, mmm … it doesn't get much better than that.  Oh, and no self-respecting Southerner would ever put sugar on their grits!  The proper seasonings are butter with salt and pepper, topped with red-eye gravy, if you have it.  If not, try mixing your helping of grits with scrambled eggs and crumbled bacon or sausage. Major yum!
Alas, my lack of culinary skills - or more accurately, my disinterest in cooking – has passed on to my daughters.  My apologies to my sons-in-law!  Fortunately for them, both of my married daughters have husbands who enjoy cooking, so my failure hasn’t totally ruined their lives.  Oh, my family never went hungry … thirty-plus years of marriage and raising a passel of kids will force such skills on you, however much you may resist it.  I can cook a decent meal, but I will never match Mama’s  talent for good down-home cooking and it will never be one of my favorite things to do.
A couple of years ago my husband started working from home and gradually has assumed more of the cooking chores, especially since I now work five days a week.  Hallelujah!!  I gladly relinquish the kitchen to him as he is a much more creative cook than I am and is no coward when it comes to using spices.  If he wants to continue cooking for the next thirty years, I will gladly wash the dishes!
So, hey good lookin’ … watch you got a-cookin’ tonight?

Tuesday, January 10, 2012

Hand Me Down Rose

Growing up the youngest of three daughters in a dirt poor family, I frequently wore my sisters’ hand-me-downs.  Since Mama’s family was one of our church’s “charity cases”, we frequently received bags and boxes of clothing.  The happy result was that even though we were poor, we didn’t always look poor.   Usually we received the clothing with gladness, but I vividly recall a day when my proud 15-year-old self was not quite so grateful. 
It was a Saturday and Mama and I were assisting with a church-run rummage sale.  One of the kind older ladies from church came over carrying a suit that she was sure would be just perfect for me to wear on Sundays.  She handed me the most hideous outfit I had ever seen:  an icky hued orange knit skirt with matching 3-quarter-length sleeved jacket that looked like something someone’s old maid aunt would wear.  Reluctantly, I tried the thing on and looked in the mirror to find a frump staring back at me.  No way was I ever going to wear that in public!  The suit fitted me just fine, but I told a bald-faced lie to that sweet church lady and said it didn’t.  Decades later I still recall the shame of lying to that good woman.
I continue to wear hand-me-downs.  In fact, today I’m wearing black slacks that used to be my sister’s and a black sweater set that belonged to a dear friend.  They both have better taste than me, so I don’t mind their castoffs at all, especially since my sister relinquished the title of “Polyester Queen” several years ago.  About once a year my sister cleans out her closet and Voila …  I’ve got a spiffy new wardrobe!
Our children have learned to value second-hand clothes, as well.  As they were growing up, their dad and I told them we would pay the cost of a basic pair of jeans or shoes for them, but if they wanted to wear a designer label on their behinds or on their feet, then they would have to make up the difference in cost themselves.  It didn’t take long for them to discover that for the price of one piece of designer duds, they could almost buy an entire wardrobe of “regular” clothes.  If they just “had” to have a certain brand, they learned to shop at Goodwill  or Plato’s Closet or other clothing re-sell shops and nobody knew the difference.  It delights me to know that to this day none of our grown children crave designer clothing, especially now that they are paying for their own stuff. 
I recall a line from a long ago song: “Don’t give me no hand-me-down clothes; I’ve got some already.”  My response?  “Bring ‘em on!”

Friday, January 6, 2012

Hair, Long Beautiful Hair


In my mind’s eye I see myself as tall and svelte (hey, a girl can dream, can’t she?) with long flowing tresses.  (stop snickering!)

I have to admit my hair is my one point of vanity … it is longish, thick, wavy, and healthy.  But it was not always thus - when I was in grade school, Grandma Riner once accused me of having a horse’s tail attached to my head.  Isn’t it amazing what a decent conditioner can do?

Throughout high school and college I wore my hair very short – short and sassy like me.  But then I met a nice young man who liked long hair (on women) so now, after more than 30 years together, I still keep my hair longer for him.  (Oh, the things we women do to please our men.  Like stiletto heels.  Really?!?) 

I’m not a vain person so when a few gray hairs cropped up, I welcomed them.  My niece Joanna kept trying to convince me that I needed to color my hair and get rid of the grays.  “You’ll feel so much better about yourself,” said she.  “Hey,” I replied, “I feel just fine about myself, thanks.  Besides, I worked hard for those grays … I Earned them!”  My two older sisters, who had been coloring their own hair for years, didn’t like the fact that their little sister looked older than them (or so they told me).  But, I held firm and my hair got grayer.

Then in 2007 that beloved niece lost her battle with breast cancer, a mere 6 days before what would have been her 33rd birthday.  To honor her, my sister Ammy and I drove down to southern Florida to spend Joanna’s birthday with her mom, JoAnn.  We went out for breakfast at one of Joanna’s favorite restaurants then enjoyed a homemade Spa Day, pampering ourselves with mani-pedis and massages.

JoAnn and Ammy had long tried to convince me to get rid of my gray, so when they started in on me this time, I caved in … again, to honor my dear niece.  At first, though, they tried to turn me blonde.  Yikes!  Fortunately, it didn’t take because I have neither the coloring nor the Attitude to be a Blonde.  Next came a nice soft brown with reddish tints and wouldn’t you know … I loved it!  So now, nearly five years later, I’m still covering those grays.   

Who knew that Lady Clairol and I would become such good friends?

Back to the long hair … I always wondered why women of a Certain Age (about MY age, as a matter of fact) suddenly went from having long hair to short.  Was there some Unwritten Rule no one told me about that declares “older” women can’t have long hair?  If so, my husband would be disappointed.

Well, now that I am of a “Certain Age” myself, I have finally discovered the terrible truth and I’ll let you in on the secret: long hair + hot flashes?  Not a good combination.   Taking a B Complex and Black Cohosh and using strategically placed deodorant at night have helped a lot, but one of these days I’m going to come home with short hair again.  And when I do, my good husband will just have to understand.

Tuesday, January 3, 2012

I'm a Blogger!

Why become a Blogger??

Years ago while living in Florida we took our children to the quintessential Florida attractions: Disney World and Epcot Center.  At Epcot our kids were captivated by what they called the "giant golf ball" ride.  I'm not sure what it is today, but back then it was a roller coaster adventure depicting the history of communication.  As we turned and twisted uphill and down, we passed a series of vignettes from caveman times to the (then) present showing how the ability to communicate with others had advanced. As the ride continued it occurred to me that the figures in those scenes represented Real People ... real FORGOTTEN people.  And I began to cry.

(Okay, okay, I know it's silly - a grown woman crying on a Disney ride - but what can I say?  I freely admit ... I'm a soft-hearted sap.  I cry during TV commercials and tear up when people win game shows because I'm happy for them.  And don't even get me started on sappy books and movies!)

Anyway, that got me to thinking about my own ancestors.  Who were they?  What were their lives like? What were their talents/skills/abilities?   Who did I get my love of singing from?    Did they like corn-on-the-cob and chocolate and grapes as much as I do?  Were they short like me?  I wanted to get to know them and thus was born my love of family history.  It all started on a Disney roller coaster.

Next came the thought: What about me?  I don't want to be forgotten, either! Hence, this Blog.  Someday my descendants (should my married offspring ever decide to give me some grandchildren!) may want to know what their Grandma Carol was like.  If so, somewhere floating around in the ether will be my thoughts and observations as recorded in this Blog. 

Some of my posts will be silly or trivial, some thought-provoking, some funny, some sad ... just like my life.  I hope they will enjoy getting to know me.