Set no Trap....Take no Bait

I remember one time VerDell asked me, "So just how important is it for you to have the last word?" She does stuff like that, asks questions that just shut you up for a minute. But it got me to thinkin about bait and traps and how some folks just enjoy settin'um up.

It got me thinkin about my Daddy and how much he loved to argue...or debate as he used to like to call it. Only thing was, he knew exactly where he wanted to go with the "open discussion". He was a master and the path was filled with traps and "gotcha's" and dead ends. After he retired, he and my Uncle David would sit in the livin room and go at it all day, and bein it was our house, Uncle David would usually storm out and say sumthin like, "You're just full of it Jimmy," and Daddy would shake his head, flash a smile and say, "Wore him down again..but he'll be back for another round." As usual, he was right, and by lunch time, it would start all over again.

When Radcliffe's get together it's like that sometimes. Others look on like they're watchin' a tennis match and we're pretty much oblivious to their bewilderment...or discomfort. It's a strange head-strong family, we just do what we do cause it's what we did..keep three reason's ahead!

I'm not sayin it's right and it doesn't sound pleasant, but in a way, it was good family fun and Daddy always said, the minute you start cussin, everybody stops listenin' so callin somebody a stupid shit-head was an automatic default. Daddy wouldn't listen to cussin; and some days he wouldn't even listen to reason. But he loved it, sittin there in his big ole chair, usually with a cat on his lap and cigarette in his hand; Lord Know-It-All on his throne.

I just want you to know I say all this with a smile and a touch of nostalgia. I'm m not dissin' Daddy. Nope I could stand my own thanks to him and much to my Momma's dismay. Last thing in the world she ever wanted was another strong will to contend with but that's what she got in my brother and me.

But I digress, I'm thinking about all this because Daddy died fifteen years ago this week, on the hottest day on record. He'd do just that and say, "told you it was hotter'n Hades here".

I do miss him and thank him for teachin' me about not cussin' when I'm fussin, how to spot a bullshitter (I didn't say he wasn't colorful at other times) and how to reach down deep for stuff. There were times when his style served me well, but these days I'm learnin that, "Really?" is a good answer too. I'm conservin' energy and pickin my battles, cause some aren't worth the sport.

RIP Big Jim!

Swallowin Sunshine

This mornin' I was gettin' breakfast on the table for Buck, makin sure his pills were all out; when one of my favorite memories of my Uncle Vaden floated up.

It had to do with vitamins. Now I never took vitamins cause they were just too big for me to swallow. Try as I might, they would stop mid-goozle and fly back out like I had a squat little catcher in the back of my throat hollerin, "Foul", while tossin' it back. .

So because I hate gaggin, I just never took'um. But, be that as it may; one night I had to spend the night in Danville cause I was in "that end of the state" and it would have been rude not to.

Now it is well known that my Aunt Irene was not much of a cook, so Uncle Vaden had plenty of vitamins that he would dole out every mornin. He had the alphabet, let me tell you.

"Here you go Gee-Nawlmon," he'd say in his big ole Moses voice, "I put some sunshine out for ya."

Sunshine, in the form of a pill the size of Texas, I surmised as the little "catcher" crouched down for the snap. But while my mind was crunchin' on just how the hell I was gonna git that golf-ball down the hatch, somethin' else caught my eye.

They say presentation is everything, and sure enough, he had placed that golf-ball (along with some friends) in a little ceramic hand, the one my Grandma Maude used as an ashtray when she and her foursome were playin Bridge. I had to smile, cause regardless of the provenance; those vitamins sittin in that little hand, just said love, to me.

That little ceramic hand, the one that used to be filled with burned down Camels, now offered-up my daily dose of health and well-bein'. I felt my throat start to relax as my heart filled with the beauty of that simple gesture; and then I swallowed sunshine.

How to lose 100 pounds after Thanksgiving

For some reason on the Friday after Thanksgiving, instead of beginning a new cycle of acquiring, I usually start to take a look at all I have managed to “collect” or hold onto during the year. The stacks of magazines that continue to inspire- until I put them down, the half burned candles that I know I can melt down and make a “memorial” to the dinners and gatherings they once graced. I see so much potential in all things that it is hard to simply let them go. But there is something about Thanksgiving Day that helps me to release and make room for that which is yet to come. I call it my Thanksgiving Weight Loss Program. It is a day to purge…things.

This year I am drawn to the closet and the treasure trove of memories interwoven in the folds of woolen scarves, vintage dresses and “soldier” suits that served me for so many years. No longer a size 6, 8, or 10, I have to wonder why I hold on to some of them.

I need only touch the brocade of my infamous “Poinsettia Dress” and the memories of the past come rushing back. It was my mother’s official Christmas dress, past down to her from one of her best friends who would never be seen in the same dress twice. A best friend whose life had taken a different turn.

Every year, around Thanksgiving a box from Barbara would arrive. Even though we knew what was in it, it would sit, unopened until the end of the day. I used to wonder why Momma didn’t just open it right away, but I understand now. It was personal. Only after dinner, homework, and baths, would she take that box to the backroom and in front of the full length mirror, try on each and every piece. I would help with the 22 inch zippers that miraculously brought together two halves of a bodice into a seamless silhouette that only the styles of the fifties and the nature of silk or cashmere seemed to capture.

Momma would smile at herself, turn left and right and then look over her shoulder as she smoothed away the wrinkles that came with packing fine woolens for a long journey. I watched her focus soften and just for a minute, I knew she was seeing herself at a party or a tea; seeing herself in a life like Barbara’s. I knew, because I could see it too; a moment ever so brief, yet everlasting.

So while this year, I have gathered close to 100 pounds of power suits and skinny jeans; leather pants and bouclé jackets, scarves and ill-fitting silk blouses, to take to the Goodwill; I have once again, touched and returned the Poinsettia Dress to her protective cover, on the padded hanger, in the back of the closet. After all, It doesn’t weigh that much.

Serves Four

Lately I’ve been thinkin about “porcupines”. Not the critter; all be-it I do identify with the defensive little feller. Nope, more like the approach of the dark season and memories of birthday’s past that got me dwelling on ‘um.

Momma usta always ask me what I wanted to eat for my birthday supper and when I was little, it was without hesitation that I would ask for Porcupines. Now I know you think there are few things that Southerner’s don’t eat, but NO, we do NOT actually eat porcupines, we fix’um.

(Here’s why they’re called porcupines – as they cook the rice starts to poke out and they look like little porcupines.)

Momma always used her electric skillet and I’m bettin’ that this recipe came with the book cause it’s a bear to make these in the oven. I could almost eat the whole pan by myself, but I know I didn’t cause momma always gave Daddy what she liked to call, “the “Lion’s share”. Funny, I don’t even remember what went with’um, maybe a pineapple salad with shredded cheddar cheese and Hellman’s mayo spooned in the center, or maybe canned pears with cream cheese, didn’t matter cause it was all about the Porcupines. I didn’t have to worry about my brother eatin’um cause they had texture and he didn’t eat texture, nope I don’t think that boy ate real food til he went into the service, but that is another story, today, the focus is on Porcupines.

Folks my age remember these meatballs made with ground beef, rice, onion, tomato soup, and Worcestershire sauce. Buck doesn’t know it, but I’m gonna make him a skillet full of Porcupines this week. It’s gonna rain and be cold here on Wednesday and that’s perfect Porcupine weather.

So thank you Momma, thank you for workin all day then comin home and it pullin together my birthday dinner. Later it would morph into spaghetti, then pork tenderloin with black-eyed peas and stewed tomatoes, but these little meatballs still have a special place in my heart.

Ingredients:

1 pound lean ground beef
1/3 cup uncooked long-grain rice
1/4 cup chopped onion
1/4 cup water
1 teaspoon salt
dash ground black pepper
dash of Worcestershire
1 can condensed tomato soup
1/2 cup water

Preparation:

Combine the ground beef, rice, onion, 1/4 cup of the water, salt, and pepper. Shape meat mixture into 12 to 15 meat balls. Combine the soup, and rest of the water in a large saucepan; (electric skillet, but who has one these days) bring to a boil. Add meatballs; reduce heat, cover, and simmer over very low heat for 1 hour. Stir occasionally.
Serves 4.

Baby Love

I guess I fell in love with my uncle Vaden when I got the Chicken Pox and my Momma and Daddy had to leave me in Danville with my Grandma Maude. I wasn’t old enough to be in school and I don’t have the slightest idea why I was that far out of town in the first place, havin a fever and all, but all I know is that they left me there and there I stayed until I got better.

My Momma’s Momma wasn’t the nurturing type so I’m not sure she knew what to do with me, but my uncle Vaden would check on me ever mornin’ and every afternoon; he‘d bring me a present. He was my medicine.

He was probably one of the only men I ever let spoil me…cause I learned later in life about “Greeks bearin’ gifts” and so while I love Greeks, I don’t accept their gifts without reservation and my famous sideways squinty-eyed glance. (Trust issues form early you know.)

Uncle Vaden was a big man, he must’av been 6’4 or so and had some meat on his bones. His hair was a black as coal, and he had a big ol’ nose and a boomin voice, “Moses like” as my friend Mr. Pat said. He moved real slow…I guess it took some thought to move all that presence at once and keep everything so smooth. But he did it. He had a swagger. Later in life, after I’d seen Gone with the Wind, I would liken’ Uncle Vaden to Clark Gable…all be it with a big ole nose.

He was excitin’ too. Momma said he was kicked out of every school Grandaddy sent him to. He and my Daddy were best friends and would skip school when they were young and go over to neighborin counties to find trouble, Momma said Uncle Vaden wrecked every car they ever had. She said, it was good the War came along when it did, or they would all be dead.

He did his time and bein big and havin swagger, made it out alright. He told me stories about he and Momma winnin' Jitter-bug contests all over the county and travelin to Richmond when the Big Bands hit town. He loved to dance, drink, and win...a man after my own heart!

He loved his Momma and took great pride in drivin her and her friends to Richmond to shop and stay at the Jefferson Hotel in the Winter and the Cavalier at Virginia Beach in the Summer. He had the life.

After the army he moved down to Fort Lauderdale for a spell and was Captain of the Lifeguards. He loved the beach and swam like he walked, real slow. I could not for the life of me figure out how that man stayed afloat…swimming that slow and all.

But all good things come to an end and his Daddy said he needed to think about a serious job, think about joinin’ him in the tobacco market. So Vaden went with his daddy and worked with the Imperial Tobacco Company purchasing tobacco all over the world; Turkey, Africa, South America, he had stories on top of stories and I never, ever tired of hearin’um.

He was a bachelor for a long time, but always had a shiny black car and a blond girlfriend. He married late, which was fine with me. They didn’t have any children so I remained the center of the Universe in his eyes. He and Irene took me on vacations when I was little. I remember they tried to teach me to play tennis, (thus begin’n my early fear of fast movin’ balls). They took me to restaurants and always ordered me a “Shirley Temple” so I could sip along while they partook of a little “Taste” as he used to call it. He often gave me a little "taste", thus ruinin my appetite for Scotch for life.

Uncle Vaden was extravagant and preferred the top of the menu; one of the few differences I ever saw him and Irene have was when she thought my young appetite might be appeased more so from “chopped sirloin” than the Porterhouse he ordered for me. Irene won that one and I remember when my dinner came, I turned to her and said, "Irene, this iddin' steak...its hamburger," and so Uncle Vaden called that waiter right over and said, "Bring this child a steak!"

When I went to college, every month he would send me a little spendin’ money, five dollars a week, every week, for four years. No strings. After I graduated and started workin, he would tape a ten or a twenty under the bottom of a Russell Stover Sampler that he would give me after a visit. He’d say, “Here Honey, git yourself somethin’ special.” Not bein a “takin” girl…I don’t have the words to say how this made me feel, all I can say is that I made sure I didn’t pay bills with his “Honey-money” I made sure I did as he said, and “got myself somethin’ special.

I could go on, but bottom line is, every little girl falls in love before she even knows what it’s all about and I was blessed to have my Uncle Vaden as a measurin’ stick. I miss him now...and I always will.

WVG: 12-12-1918 to 2-12-2010

PS. He loved Buck...and Buck loved him.

Golden Wheat - Remains of the Day

When my grandparents were alive, Thanksgiving was always at their house. Grandma would cook and set the table with her best china, “Golden Wheat”. It came in Doz detergent and was, by design, really only appropriate for Thanksgiving, so I figured that’s why Thanksgiving was always at their house and why Grandma always bought Doz even though she liked Tide better.

I thought Grandma was the best cook in the world and I loved bein' in her kitchen. I went to her house early on Thanksgiving to "help". Every eye on the stove had a pot or pan on it and each one offered up its own little vapor, just a hint of what was inside. The pressure cooker hissed and whistled, the beans sputtered to warn us that the water was almost gone and the timer ticked out each minute until the turkey came out or the rolls were ready for the second risin. It was like a little kitchen symphony in “B-fat.”

Grandma cooked the turkey in a brown paper bag at 225 all night. The dark meat was always sweet and juicy but the white meat was almost always dry. But it didn’t really matter though cause the gravy took care of that. Grandma made her gravy usin neck bones and gizzards and what ever else didn’t look pretty. It rolled to a boil and thickened when she stirred in a steady stream of flour paste. Just like magic, I can't live without turkey gravy cause gravy can fix “a world of dry”.

She cooked the ham early and and put on the back porch cause ham didn’t spoil like a bird would. The ham was a true work of art; she poured a bottle of Coca Cola on her ham; only Coke, never Pepsi or Royal Crown cause of the sugar. The sugar made the ham turn brown and crispy and blistered the fat so it looked raw amber. She'd cut it so it separated into little diamonds, each studded with a whole clove, God it was a sight. I can still remember throwin up ham fat cause I ate it off everybody’s plate, I had a hard time wastin fat when I was little and truth be known, still do.

But anyway, dressin was made out of day old corn bread and came from the bird, not the box. There were always apple rings, watermelon rind pickle and spiced peaches in the only “cut glass” dish Grandma had. I had to put the pickle on top of my greens, cause they were a challenge to get down, Lord I did learn how to hide those bitter greens; put’um next to sweet potato casserole and top with that “hurt your teeth sweet” pickle, you “could fool the blind".

Momma hated fat peas, so she always volunteered to bring the little peas. I thought they were special because of the French name…LeSewer. She always bought two cans casue she didn't like to look stingy. My aunt Mae Lee would “unmold” the cranberry jelly, by openin' both ends of the can so it would just slide out nice. (A trick she was very proud of) It was all there, the perfect Southern Thanksgiving table; sweet tea, sweet taters with marshmellows, macaroni and cheese, pumpkin pie and poundcake. Grandma worked hard and I believe really enjoyed havin the family over. Momma and Daddy didn’t get there usually until the last minute cause there was always a little tension between Grandma and Momma, so she stayed out of the kitchen if you know what I mean.

My Daddy’s brother would roll in from Richmond with his wife (from up North) and their six kids and all hell would break loose. The quite that was always mine at Grandma’s house was sucked up by the “others.” Lord have mercy, there was even a baby! At least they all had to sit at the "children's table".

To my Grandma’s credit, she never made me sit at the “children’s table”. She kept me close when the “other’s" arrived and gave me big girl chores in the kitchen to save me from having to actually play with them. Don't know why, but I never liked playin' with my cousins, I was usually glad when they piled back into their station wagon and drove off leaving nothing but crumbs and blessed peace. Even when Momma and Daddy left I stayed, and while Grand-daddy watched the game, Grandma and I washed and dried the “Golden Wheat,” and stacked it in the china press for the next time.