Wednesday, November 27, 2013
Tuesday, November 26, 2013
JFK, 50 Years Later, The Southern Connection
Although I wasn't quite five years old, I remember watching it unfold on a black and white TV in a Chicago brownstone. My mother and a neighbor were crying, I really didn't know what was going on, but I cried too. I felt much better later that night, because Little Joe on Bonanza didn't seem to be too upset about it.
I am sure everyone can recite JFK's " Ask not ...." speech phrase. Even though he had many brilliant speeches, I have always been moved more that his actions were a reflection of his works. i.e., his steadfast leadership during the Cuban Missile Crisis. I had read historical accounts of the 14 day nail biter, but Don's emphatic word verbatim recall of every single documentary he has watched on the subject have ~learned~ me the most.
The crisis was a 14 day nuclear dare — standoff near Cuba with Russia that could have obliterated the entire eastern seaboard. Kennedy, although missiles in place and targets in sight, remained coolheaded even when an American U-2 plane was shot down. The world breathed a huge sigh of relief when negotiations between America and Moscow were reached.
The standoff formally ended at 6:45 pm EST on November 20, 1962. The tense negotiations between the United States and the Soviet Union pointed out the necessity of a quick, clear and direct communication between Washington and Moscow. As a result, a direct telephone link between the leaders of the two countries was established. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cuban_missile_crisis
My friend and I, a navy vet, were messaging back and forth late in the evening, recounting our memories of JFK, his death and legacy. She told me "Long ago and far away, when I was a senior in high school in Bergenfield, NJ--just across the Hudson River from Manhattan, the Cuban missile crisis was happening. So many of my classmates were scared that the missiles would hit New York City, and possibly us as well. I thought the world of John Kennedy, and had complete faith in him--he was one of those presidents that you could say the man made the presidency, rather than the presidency made the man."
In response I tapped out this story;
"I went to Patriots Point in Charleston this past summer to do a story on the USS-Yorktown. For reasons I told her, but didn't type out here, the story fell through.
As I normally do when rejected (before toddy time) I searched for food. I stepped into line at the snack bar. They have meals on the Yorktown, but I needed a quick fix. An old guy stood behind me in prideful vet regalia.
I turned and told him that they served meals in the mess hall on the Yorktown. He smiled and told that he had seen enough mess halls to last a lifetime.
We got to talking about my failed story somehow and he said "I have one for you. Short and sweet. I was stationed on (??????) naval ship near the Bay of Pigs during Cuban Missile Crisis. It was a very stressful time for us, we were grateful to leave. When it was over we high tailed it back to the US and ported at (??????)”
I am juggling a hot dog, guzzler, notebook and pocketbook now as he eases up to the window to place his order. Ketchup is threatening to drip from the end of my unnaturally swollen steamed frank, but he has my attention so I lean on the snack bar and wait for him to continue.
"Well, we had leave and my buddies got drunk in Washington, DC and didn't want to go with me early on a Sunday morning to find a church. So, I went by myself.
I climbed the steps of an Irish Catholic church. No one was there, it was very early but the doors were open and candles gleaming. When I walked in, a tall gentleman got up off his knees slowly and turned to leave. I walked up the (?????) altar to light a candle. As we started to pass each other, he stuck out his hand. It was JFK! He thanked me for all I've done for my country and I thanked him for all that he does and we parted. I told my buddies when I got back to the ship when they finally woke up, damn drunks never believed it."
The vet and I talked for a few minutes while I woofed down the dog and I thanked him for the story and his service and we went our separate ways.
So, I click send and the message goes to NC to my friend. I piddled around the house the next morning, kicking myself for not writing down the facts — Church? Ship? Port name? to write his story up when I hear the beep that a message came in on my computer.
My friend responds, "Never trust an old sailor"
Wednesday, November 20, 2013
Tuesday, November 19, 2013
Stuffing outside? Stuffing Inside...Cross the Turkey Legs? Tie them?
Some read —no onion— no celery, no salad dressing, substitute sweet pickle relish...
All are little clues to our family's likes and dislikes. Some of the likes have waned over the years while some of the dislikes are tolerated now.
So, it's said that our taste buds change every seven years. Well— every seven years since I was 12, mine still say hell no to a particular dish. A deep south dish that may even be a delicacy now. Who would have thought pig belly and Scrapple would be served as delicacies‘? Anyway, my throw up a little in my mouth dish is Rutabagas’ and Pig Tails Perlous. A one pot combo of curly pig tails and bega's amidst a steaming bed of rice.
Seriously doesn't a rutabaga sound like something that you'd grab a stick to fight off?
We probably all have a bad food memory. Even the most adventurous foodie will throw their hands in the air, tighten their lips like a vise and shudder when offered their offender again.
Then — there are those dishes that require counseling to get over. I don't know the story and I won't press, but Corned Beef and Cabbage has been introduced every seven years for the duration of our marriage, always resulting with the push it around the plate while feigning fullness act. I retired it officially last year when Don literally prayed out loud "Lord, if you see fit, will you please banish Corned Beef and Cabbage from this earth."
Sometimes we can work through those early palate scars. As is the case with Don's favorite ~Not So Red Meatloaf~ closely followed by the other favorite ~Not So Red Rice.~ Apparently his mother was heavy on the Heinz. A prodigal of the 50's one pot dinner, his mother's meatloaf recipe mirrored every cook's on the block — 3 day old bread, eggs, a little hamburger and a bottle of ketchup with more squirted on top.
Let me tell you how it was in the good ole days. No, I didn't walk ten miles to school in five feet of snow in the one pair of shoes but — in my early days – there was one meal cooked and you either liked it or you asked to be excused with beef liver secretly cupped in your hand to throw out the back door to the dog.
There were 13 years between myself and my baby brother. Times had relaxed somewhat, but my siblings and I still shook our heads in disbelief when his request of washing the red off of his Spagettio's was honored. Not to mention his hot dog skin getting peeled off.
Our taste and little idiosyncrasies are spared the public most of the time, Thank God.
So, it's said that our taste buds change every seven years. Well— every seven years since I was 12, mine still say hell no to a particular dish. A deep south dish that may even be a delicacy now. Who would have thought pig belly and Scrapple would be served as delicacies‘? Anyway, my throw up a little in my mouth dish is Rutabagas’ and Pig Tails Perlous. A one pot combo of curly pig tails and bega's amidst a steaming bed of rice.
Seriously doesn't a rutabaga sound like something that you'd grab a stick to fight off?
We probably all have a bad food memory. Even the most adventurous foodie will throw their hands in the air, tighten their lips like a vise and shudder when offered their offender again.
Then — there are those dishes that require counseling to get over. I don't know the story and I won't press, but Corned Beef and Cabbage has been introduced every seven years for the duration of our marriage, always resulting with the push it around the plate while feigning fullness act. I retired it officially last year when Don literally prayed out loud "Lord, if you see fit, will you please banish Corned Beef and Cabbage from this earth."
Sometimes we can work through those early palate scars. As is the case with Don's favorite ~Not So Red Meatloaf~ closely followed by the other favorite ~Not So Red Rice.~ Apparently his mother was heavy on the Heinz. A prodigal of the 50's one pot dinner, his mother's meatloaf recipe mirrored every cook's on the block — 3 day old bread, eggs, a little hamburger and a bottle of ketchup with more squirted on top.
Let me tell you how it was in the good ole days. No, I didn't walk ten miles to school in five feet of snow in the one pair of shoes but — in my early days – there was one meal cooked and you either liked it or you asked to be excused with beef liver secretly cupped in your hand to throw out the back door to the dog.
There were 13 years between myself and my baby brother. Times had relaxed somewhat, but my siblings and I still shook our heads in disbelief when his request of washing the red off of his Spagettio's was honored. Not to mention his hot dog skin getting peeled off.
Our taste and little idiosyncrasies are spared the public most of the time, Thank God.
Myself, I am the precise food surgeon. For example —Ravioli. I lift the Ravioli from the pan with a slotted spoon so that I don't get a lot of juice — then for the next half hour– with only the tongs of the fork, I surgically remove the top off of each ravioli and eat it. next the square of mystery meat and finally the bottom Ravioli shell. Lasagna can be a eating marathon. I am also a vocal eater the one that sounds like Meg Ryan in "Harry Met Sally" over dinner.
Sometimes our little food peculiarities are habitually inherited. i.e., My sister and I like to roll up fresh loaf bread in our hands into small balls of dough and eat them. Our grandmother did the same thing.
Don, he is a sleep walking forager. He has no memories later of what he ate most of the time. I can't count the times I have checked him for a heart beat after finding the alarming orange striped ~Cheetos~ pillow at daybreak.
Our oldest daughter could sniff out an onion in a manure factory. She ate like a bird, the other three kids loved her at dinner because she could pass off what she didn't want most discreetly.
Our oldest son had a broad base of food likes, like his daddy. But if he didn't like it? He could cause quite a standoff at the table. May I be excused? ...No... May I be excused? No.....May I be excused? Yesssssss! Go!!!
Our youngest son and daughter, as it usually goes were the food guppies. Our youngest son's logic if he didn't particularly care for the meal line up was to kill it with ketchup. And our youngest daughter was usually the last at at the table to see if anything else would come her way. Hence the nickname her grand-daddy gave her "Billy Goat."
On Thanksgiving, there was always a dish that was most favored by each. I can see each of their faces as they stand over their favorite fork in hand and ready for the Amen.
Sometimes our little food peculiarities are habitually inherited. i.e., My sister and I like to roll up fresh loaf bread in our hands into small balls of dough and eat them. Our grandmother did the same thing.
Don, he is a sleep walking forager. He has no memories later of what he ate most of the time. I can't count the times I have checked him for a heart beat after finding the alarming orange striped ~Cheetos~ pillow at daybreak.
Our oldest daughter could sniff out an onion in a manure factory. She ate like a bird, the other three kids loved her at dinner because she could pass off what she didn't want most discreetly.
Our oldest son had a broad base of food likes, like his daddy. But if he didn't like it? He could cause quite a standoff at the table. May I be excused? ...No... May I be excused? No.....May I be excused? Yesssssss! Go!!!
Our youngest son and daughter, as it usually goes were the food guppies. Our youngest son's logic if he didn't particularly care for the meal line up was to kill it with ketchup. And our youngest daughter was usually the last at at the table to see if anything else would come her way. Hence the nickname her grand-daddy gave her "Billy Goat."
On Thanksgiving, there was always a dish that was most favored by each. I can see each of their faces as they stand over their favorite fork in hand and ready for the Amen.
Turkey/Giblet Gravy
Oyster Dressing
Green Bean Casserole
Baked Macaroni and Cheese Pie
Baked Ham
Green Bean Casserole
Baked Macaroni and Cheese Pie
Baked Ham
Deviled Eggs
Cherry Cheesecake
Cranberry Sauce
Cherry Cheesecake
Cranberry Sauce
Pumpkin Pie
Whether they make it to our table or share their traditions elsewhere, their dish is always part of the menu lineup.
I put the cards back in the recipe box. Whether you gather with friends or stay at home, look over your food choices at the Thanksgiving table and you'll see a cook who tried to make something special for everyone. Bless the cook, or cooks.
Whether they make it to our table or share their traditions elsewhere, their dish is always part of the menu lineup.
I put the cards back in the recipe box. Whether you gather with friends or stay at home, look over your food choices at the Thanksgiving table and you'll see a cook who tried to make something special for everyone. Bless the cook, or cooks.
Tuesday, November 12, 2013
Friday, November 8, 2013
Getting Hyped For The Holidays!
It's the first week of November. I'd be lying if I said I hadn't started a Thanksgiving dinner shopping list. The radio station announced this morning that it's going to play continuous Christmas music on iheart (by consumer choice) for any listeners that want to get a jump on the holiday. I'm tempted, (for a chuckle and to see what they would play) to call and request Thanksgiving music. I nixed the idea, mostly because I am grateful they gave me the choice to opt out of the forced 8 weeks of Christmas music. I'm a little burnt out, the ice cream truck in my neighborhood has been playing ~Here comes Santa Claus~ since July.
I don't really want to get on the bandwagon of the early bird bashers. The holiday's mean something different to all of us and bless their hearts if they want to get the glitter and tinsel out at Halloween, that's fine with me. The truth is that I can hardly contain my own self, it's on like Calgon on December 1st for me. A personal choice....there's really nothing appealing about dusting ornaments on my Christmas tree. I will admit to peeking in closets early and searching for the ~first~ decorations,one being a fruit cake doorstop. And I'll admit to sniffing the essential oils to conjure up a batch of Christmas soap.
But for now, I am excited about Thanksgiving and all of our family's simple steadfast traditions. The grocery store shopping for that magnificent meal, Wishbone wishes, Don's surprise side dish, leftovers and my personal favorite— The Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade! There are no expectations other than showing up with an empty stomach to share good food with family, friends and hopefully a few new friends, passerby's or strangers. Yep, let the mat at the door mean what it says. Welcome.
I will spend the next 3 weeks in this season. The one that holds the memories of a refrigerator brimming with kid art...paper plates painted with five finger turkey's and stick pilgrims. And every day of this season I will be thankful that it's those memories that remain. Not the hurts and differences. Isn't that similar to Thanksgiving's true origins? Putting down the rifles..the tomahawks and opening the fort doors?
Over the next few weeks, my cabinets will fill, the refrigerator will groan and the grocery list will get longer. I just added another dish this morning, I'm going to try a (new for me) southern Thanksgiving recipe, Oyster Pie!
Happy Thanksgiving Season everyone! Let me share my favorite Thanksgiving song with you!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=64RuZZxpUaQ
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