Dearest and Best

“The more things change, the more they stay the same”, isn’t that the old saying?

It’s hard to believe today marks a year since Grandma Helen went Home, but it does. It's been a long year of many, many changes- some wonderful, some not so much.

This past year, she’s seen a few of our family join her there. Even though there are supposed to be no tears in Heaven, knowing her as I do, she cried anyway. She’d have said, “What are you doing here? You’re not supposed to be here yet!” and then welcomed them with open arms and offered them a cup of coffee- as was her way.

I believe life goes on after death; you’re just in a perfect, more peaceful, more beautiful place. You’re happier and healthier. There isn’t a schedule to abide and dishes wash themselves.

I can well imagine Grandma sitting at a table in a cozy, vanilla and lemon Pledge-scented kitchen with lace-trimmed white curtains. There’s a slight, cool breeze fluttering the curtains through the open windows. Past the panes you can see the cloudless sky is the most brilliant shade of cerulean blue. You know the shade I mean- so blue your eyes can barely adjust.

In my mind’s eye, she’s with Grandpa Thomas, still asking questions… after all; she had twenty-four years of catching up to do!

I imagine she’s probably already been visiting with Jesus and her Mama & Daddy and all the rest of the family who’ve also passed on. There are far too many to name without certainly missing a few, but I am grateful I was blessed to have known quite a few of them too. Many were like her: the last of their kind- the “greatest generation.”

Over this past year, I've found myself thinking of her at the funniest times. As a child, I remember watching her do dishes countless times. When she walked away from the kitchen sink, she’d sorta lightly smack her hand on the edge to fling off the water so she didn’t trail it on the floor. A few months ago, I caught myself unconsciously doing the very same thing. It was a sweet reminder that while she may not be with me in person, she’s certainly still here in spirit.

As many of you know, the week prior to her death, our family was erroneously informed that she’d died. What a surreal experience!

“I’m sorry to inform you- she’s passed on.”

…(a few hours later)…

“Wait a sec, she’s right here. My bad.”

Blessed with a funny “roll-with-it” sense of humor, I believe Grandma would have laughed at the terrible mistake.

I think that is perhaps what I miss the most- her laughter; her easy, gentle way of taking life as it came and finding a reason to smile. If she couldn’t make you smile too, she would give you a slice of something magically delicious that would make you forget your troubles for a bit.

Whoever she’s catching up with today, whatever she’s doing… I am certain there’s something amazing cooking on the stove, a pan of Congo Squares on the table, and a blueberry cream pie in the fridge.

I find it altogether fitting and proper that she went Home on All Saints Day. A quick Google search defines a Saint as, “someone who is holy, virtuous, and typically regarded as being in Heaven after death.” I think that pretty much says it all.

Today, on this All Saints Day, I thank God for sharing one of His dearest and best with us for a time.

I miss you, Grandma. You’re never too far from my thoughts.

Mrs. Wells' Pumpkin Cake

Those who know me best know I adore anything pumpkin. I'd probably eat cardboard if it were smeared with pumpkin. That being said, I love Starbucks pumpkin loaf, but I detest going to Starbucks to get it. (I also don't care for paying nearly $4.00 for it either, but that's another story!) I needed a close replica of their recipe since I'm about one drive-thru away from having to take out a loan in order to support my pumpkin loaf habit.
The original recipe (which was the precursor to the following one) came from a lady named Mrs. Wells, who was the Home Ec teacher at West Nassau High School for many years. I believe it may have actually come from her mother. Anyway, I took her recipe, added cream cheese, played around with some of the spices, added frosting, removed the nuts, etc... long story short- this is my personal variation of Mrs. Wells' pumpkin cake. In my opinion, this cake is actually better than Starbucks. It's richer, denser, more moist... aww heck, it's just plain scrumptious! However, props still go to Mrs. Wells. I never knew her, but her cake will forever be a family favorite of ours.

Pumpkin Cake with Cream Cheese Frosting

1 cup (two sticks) unsalted butter, softened
3 cups granulated sugar
4 oz. cream cheese (softened)
3 eggs
1 lb* can solid-pack pumpkin (NOT pie filling mix!)
1 t. vanilla
3 cups sifted flour
3 t. pumpkin pie spice
1 c chopped nuts (optional)
1 c raisins (optional)
½ c roasted pumpkin seeds (optional- see notes)

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Grease and flour a Bundt or tube pan. Set aside.

In a mixing bowl, sift together flour with cinnamon, cloves, nutmeg, (and nuts/raisins, if desired), set aside.

In a large bowl, mix butter, sugar, and cream cheese until fluffy. Stir in pumpkin, eggs, and vanilla until blended. Add flour, a cup at a time, to the pumpkin mixture. Using the lowest setting on your mixer, mix ingredients until just blended. Do not over-stir!

If you’re adding nuts or raisins, fold in carefully using a wooden spoon. Pour mixture into the prepared pan and bake in a 350 degree oven for 1 hour. After one hour, check doneness using a toothpick or butter knife. If it’s not done, bake 10-15 additional minutes or until tester comes out clean.

Allow to cool completely and frost with cream cheese frosting. (Recipe follows) Store loosely covered in the refrigerator.

NOTES:

-*Be sure you’re using the large can of solid-pack pumpkin and NOT pie filling mix. The recipe will not turn out if you use pie filling mix instead of pumpkin.
-I use the Libby’s brand name of pumpkin, but I’m sure any brand will do. The can actually says that its 29 ounces, which is 1 lb + 13 ozs- that’s the can you want to use.
-Blend the ingredients just until they’re incorporated. Over-stirring will cause the end result to have a weird spongy texture.
-I rarely use nuts or raisins in this cake because my family doesn’t like them. It turns out amazing without using either.
-For fun variety, you can omit the frosting and gently press chopped pumpkin seeds into the top of the cake after you’ve turned it out onto a plate. Or you can frost the cake as usual and then sprinkle pumpkin seeds on top. Either way is delicious.
-Or if you don't care for cream cheese frosting, sprinkle the top generously with powdered sugar. This is how my Mama prefers to make hers.



Cream Cheese Frosting

1/2 stick (1/4 cup) unsalted butter (softened)
4 oz cream cheese (softened)
2 cups powdered sugar
1/2 t. vanilla (see notes)

Using a mixer, blend the butter and cream cheese until combined. Add the powdered sugar and vanilla and beat until the mixture is light and fluffy- approximately 10 minutes. The frosting will become a thicker and fluffier the longer you beat it.

NOTES:

-I use a stand mixer for this recipe.
-I use additional powdered sugar if I need it to be stiffer.
-Do not be tempted to use additional vanilla, milk, or water because the frosting will be thin and drizzly.
-Store frosted food in the refrigerator as this frosting is perishable.

Junk drawers, Ebay, & Trash Bags- OH MY!

Those who know me best know that I am NOT the queen of organization. Not even a little bit. I always have fabulous intentions about organizing, really I do; but I either 1- don't keep up with it, or 2- get the stuff (plastic box, drawer compartmentalizer, shelf, shoebox, etc) to organize but never actually implement it.
This leaves me in somewhat of a dilemma when it comes to packing for the move.
I've long since given up the "you need to hang on to those cute jeans because some day your butt will fit into them again" pipe dream. So I'm already in the process of doing a clothes purge. Some will be going to folks who can use them, some to consignment stores/Goodwill. Got that part covered.
Books- We're keeping them. It's what we do. We're book people.
It's the rest of the stuff that is posing a problem. I can't figure out what to do with it all.
The hoarder in me who has a slight Pinterest addiction says, "You will repurpose that cracked picture frame, thereby saving it from the landfill to which it's most certainly otherwise bound."
Yeah... I have a box FULL of stuff that somehow made it to the "Repurposeable" category instead of the curb. When I put it there, I had really good intentions of actually doing whatever it was I thought I could do with it, but that box has been filling up for oh, I don't know, 9 years or so. Pretty sure said picture frame is in the bottom of it. SMH
The you-might-need-that-one-day side of me is screaming that I absolutely cannot throw away the power cord from the cell phone I owed 14 years ago. The fact that I still own the cell phone is beside the point. Not really sure what to do with it either.
The frugal, don't-want-to-be-wasteful side says, "Somewhere out there is a person who needs all these plastic containers that got warped in the dishwasher, sippy cups that are missing lids, and various doo-dads in the junk drawer; I can't just toss them! Post on Freecycle that it's at the curb. *Someone* will come get it all, right?"
Then there's the I'm-far-too-busy-for-this-nonsense part of me that is yelling, "Toss all of that crap in the trash and pray the garbage man picks it all up!"
Then there's the other stuff. You know what stuff I mean... the milk frother/smoothie maker/frappe mixer contraption thingamajig that I was given 7 years ago at some Christmas party, used it once, decided it was a pain in the butt to clean, and stuck it on a shelf in the garage. Pretty sure it has all the parts. There's nothing wrong with it. I simply don't want it anymore. And what about that As Seen On TV Slap Chop that seemed like such a great idea? I may have used it twice. Once to chop nuts because Vince said "You're gonna love chopping his [sic] nuts", and the other time to chop celery for egg salad. Yardsale? Donation to a local charity that supports cats?
What about the 19 bottles of red nail polish that I bought on sale because they were only a dime a bottle? But there's really no way I can possibly use 19 bottles of red nail polish before the polish gets thick and gross. So what do you do with them? I refuse to fill up my new house with that junk. And I do not have a burning desire to pack it all up and schlepp it over to the new house either.
This is my inner struggle, ya'll. And I know it's totally a First World kinda problem. There are poor people the world over who'd love for this to be their only problem. I get it, really I do, but that is a subject for another blog entirely.
Do you round up the 7 discs for that computer program you used twice in 2001 and try to Ebay it?
Do you put the bed frame that's been in the garage for 2 years on Craig's List or think twice abt Craig's List because it's a teeny bit creepy?
And what abt those purses that are dusty because they've been in storage that were super nice and pretty darn expensive at the time, but are now old and out of date? Do I take the time to clean them and stick 'em on Ebay, Virtual Yardsale, (actual) yardsale, or in a consignment shop? Because I know the guilt I would feel over simply tossing them in the trash would be far worse than the guilt I felt for paying THAT much for a purse to begin with.
This is where the argument for a swap meet comes to mind. "Hey, I can simply avoid a yardsale, Ebay, Craig's List, Virtual Yardsale, or consignment shop disaster, and have a swap meet at my house. I mean, really, who doesn't love a swap meet? It's fun and free! I'll put all my stuff in the living room, invite some friends to bring their stuff over, pop open a bottle or wine or three, and we'll all swap our stuff. Sounds like a fabulous plan!!"
Then reality smacks me in the face with that annoying little fact about swap meets: True, you get rid of your crap. But you end up stuck with someone else's crap in the process.
Do you sort out the junk drawer; tossing the old batteries & empty Tic Tac containers, but keeping the random coins & the nifty little tape dispenser that fits over your hand because you'll need it at Christmas? Then putting the refillable air freshener thingy & the sunglasses with the tiny scratch on the lens into a yardsale box but separating the washers & screws and the attachments for the gadget you no longer own into a Freecycle box because "someone might be missing *that* one particular piece" and you'll be "doing them a favor" by giving it away? Because right now, I'm considering dumping the whole drawer into the trash and calling it a day.
Any suggestions would be helpful and appreciated because right now, I feel like I'm drowning in my house.

Manic Monday

Things that are annoying me today:

It’s Monday. Again.

*Someone* cleaned out my car and removed all of the pens, hair clips, Scrunchies, my nametag, a coupon for a free smoothie, and a receipt I was saving to return something. They left a card table and folding chairs in the trunk that rattle like a freight train. But I can’t complain about it because they were doing something nice for me by cleaning out my car.

I broke two fingernails down into the quick.

People who out-tragedy every single thing you say. No matter how bad yours is, theirs is always worse.

I have a really annoying song stuck in my head.

Miley “Ratchet” Cyrus is the headline on every single media outlet today.

Took off my wedding band yesterday to clean it and forgot to retrieve it from the container of jewelry cleaner this morning. Feeling strangely naked without it.

People who type in all caps EVEN WHEN THEY’RE NOT SHOUTING.

People who think they know more than you do no matter the subject.


Things that I’m thankful for today:

My kiddos. Always.

Dan slept in.

Copious amounts of espresso.

I woke up on the right side of the grass.

USB plugs in my car.

Spotify.

My MIL is getting the kids from school today.

One of my co-workers is buying us lunch from Callahan BBQ. I have some pretty darn awesome co-workers.

One of them snuck up and scared me which made me laugh. He didn’t catch me singing to myself.

My friends who appreciate my bizarre sense of humor.

The day is almost over.

Where Everybody Knows Your Name

Well, I finally set foot in a Starbucks again after having largely avoided the chain for the last few years. As many of you know, my beloved local coffee shop, Montego Bay, closed their doors after being in my community for over five years.

It wasn’t just the coffee Montego Bay sold; it was the atmosphere they provided. It was a unique experience as far as coffee shops go.

It was a feel-good sorta place. At any given time, you might walk in and hear Ozzy Osbourne blasting over the speakers. Or Jimmy Buffett. Or George Strait. You just never knew what you’d hear, but there was always some sort of music playing.

It had a very relaxing, beachy feel to it. There was an overhang above the counter that made you feel as though you were walking up to a cabana bar on the beach. They had a swirling painting hanging over the Simonelli Espresso machine reminiscent of the many cerulean shades of the Caribbean. Heck, even the walls were painted a soothing Bahama blue.

The first time I walked in, I was greeted by a Val Kilmer lookalike named Blair. He was wearing a do-rag to hold back his long hair and I immediately liked him. He asked what I wanted and I said I wasn’t sure. He told me to describe what I wanted and he’d make it for me. I told him I usually order a caramel macchiato at Starbucks. So that’s what he made me. Only, this was far better than anything Starbucks has ever even thought about making.

I liked Montego Bay so much that I have a window decal on my car advertising for them. I liked the fact that on mornings when I was makeup-less, had not yet brushed my teeth, and was wearing pajamas when I dropped off the kids, I could still swing by MBC and they didn’t judge. When I’d be out & about shopping or whatever, Dan knew that I’d very likely stop by MBC and spend at least an hour.

Montego Bay Coffee was one of my happy places and I miss it terribly. I didn’t realize just how much I miss it though, until I walked into Starbucks yesterday.

(Don’t judge. I was running late and didn’t have time to make a latte at home.)

The first thing I noticed is that no one greeted me when I came through the door. No one seemed genuinely glad to see me, nor did they call me by name. There was no barstool to sit on and have a chat with the person behind the counter.

There was no music, only the din of chatter.

The next thing I noticed is I had to tell them what I wanted.

Yeah, I know, I know… the folks at Montego Bay had me spoiled a tad because I was a regular. But that’s not the point. I liked the fact that the moment they saw my car pull up, they started my caramel macchiato with half the syrup and extra froth. By the time I walked in, they were putting my coffee into my hand and asking what else they could get me.

The ordering experience at Starbucks was nothing of the sort. It made me a feel a little like cattle being rounded up to wait my turn at being put through the chute.

When my turn came, I said, “I want a Venti Caramel Macchiato with half the syrup, please.”

The teenage girl at the cash register just stared at me like I had lobsters coming out of my ears. She said, “Could you please repeat that?”

So I did. Slowly.

She asked, “You mean you want light syrup?”

I replied, “No. I want *half* the syrup you normally put in a latte.”

She said, “Are you sure you don’t want sugar-free syrup?”

I found myself wondering for the umpteenth time: Why, oh, why is it always me who gets the most clueless/rude/smartass/obnoxious/dumb/boneheaded employee a company has to offer?

It was my turn to give her a blank stare. I replied, “No, I don’t want sugar-free syrup…”

“Are you sure?” She interrupted. “Because that’s what people usually mean when they order ‘light’ syrup.”

As the increasing line of caffeine-deprived customers behind me let out a collective huff of aggravation, I mustered my remaining patience and replied, “Yes, I’m quite sure I don’t mean sugar-free. I want a caramel macchiato with two pumps of regular syrup. Just two, just regular, not sugar-free syrup. Please.”

I could almost see the light bulb come on over her head as clarity hit her.

“Oh!! Why didn’t you just say that?” She asked this as if I’d been speaking Greek the whole time.

“See, when you order coffee,” she explained as if I was a latte virgin, “There are codes and terms you have to use. ‘Light’ refers to sugar-free, not two pumps of flavoring.”

“Ah, I see.” I replied. I didn’t bother to point out to her that I never said the word “light” to begin with.

Then she asked my name so she could put it on the side of the cup. I said, “It’s Cari; C-A-R-I.”

With a confused look, she glanced down at my debit card in her hands and said, “But that’s not how it’s spelled on your card.”

She was right, of course. C-A-R-I isn’t the legal spelling of my name; however, it IS the spelling I’ve gone by since I was a kid.

Instead of attempting to explain this to the girl who had by now wasted many more minutes of my time than I wanted to give her, I replied, “You’re right, I misspelled my name. Just put it the same way it appears on the card.”

The sarcasm was completely lost on her.

After I finally got my Venti caramel macchiato (with the legal spelling of my name on the side of the cup and half the syrup, tyvm), I got in my car and took a sip. It was woefully inadequate.

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: Great coffee is a lot like great sex. If all you’ve ever had is average sex, then you accept it. But the moment you have amazing sex, your mind is blown. Suddenly, everything else seems pedestrian in comparison. Coffee is a lot like that for people who love coffee.

Montego Bay served velvety smooth, roasted-to-perfection coffee, prepared ANY way you could dream up. Starbucks serves coffee-flavored water with steamed milk and syrup. Yeah, it’ll do in a pinch when I’m desperate for caffeine and there isn’t a McDonald’s in sight. But it doesn’t, and never will, be able to hold a candle to Montego Bay Coffee.

I guess all of this just boils down to the fact that I miss my Montego Bay. I miss amazing coffee. I miss the breakfast burritos and the cinnamon rolls with homemade icing. I miss looking forward to the September day when Pumpkin Spice Lattes (made with real pumpkin and a secret blend of spices) would come back. I miss Holly Jolly Mochas. I miss the sight of Rooster the Red Roaster spinning around. I miss the smell of freshly roasted coffee. I miss hearing The White Stripes blasting from the speakers to help me kick-start my morning. I miss Blair, Hannah, Michaela, Morgan, Kerri, Talia, Bonnie, and the multitude of other regulars like me who’d come in on any given morning. I miss the friendship and camaraderie that comes along with being a regular at an establishment.

I miss going where everybody knew my name.

"Well, I Suwannee!"

The following is the obituary as well as the eulogy I wrote for Aunt Jeannie's memorial service.

Rest in peace, Aunt Jeannie. Godspeed.

Memorial services for Imagene Hurst (69) of Bryceville, Florida, formerly of Live Oak, Florida and Willacoochee, Georgia, will be held Thursday, May 2, 2013 in the chapel of Prestwood Funeral Home. Imagene was born on November 11, 1943 in Willacoochee, Georgia, daughter of the late Jerry Jack Cribb and the former Mary Elizabeth Floyd. She passed away April 29, 2013 following a lengthy illness. She is survived by her children, Robby Cribb (Tracy), Kelly Douglas (Jimmy), Karen DeWitt (Michael), Kim Terranova (Glen) and Jeremy Taylor; grandchildren, Lisa Cribb, Jennifer Cribb, Tiffany Miller, Ashley Miller, Hannah Miller, Adam Taylor, Abby Bolstein, Lindsey DeWitt, Chad Taylor, Cody Terranova, Zachary Terranova, Kierstin Taylor and Tristyn Taylor; 17 great grandchildren and numerous extended family members and friends.

Don’t cry for me for now I have died
For I am still here, I am by your side
My body is gone but my soul is here
Please don’t shed another tear

I am still here all around

I am the snowflake that kisses your nose
I am the frost that nips your toes
I am the sun bringing light
I am a star shining so bright
I am the rain refreshing the earth
I am the laughter, I am the mirth
I am the bird up in the sky
I am the cloud that’s drifting by
I am the stillness before the dawn
While I’m still here, I can’t be gone.

This evening, we celebrate the life of Imagene Cribb Hurst. Or Ima, as some called her. Or Aunt Jeannie, as I called her.

I say it’s a celebration of her life because that is what tonight is. Even though we’re sad and there will be some tears; we are also celebrating her life.

As I was writing this eulogy, I debated what to say. How do you make someone who might not have known her as well as I did, understand just how wonderful a person she really was?

Let me start by telling you that Aunt Jeannie was a woman who loved her family dearly. She was so proud of each and every one of you and she loved you more than you’ll ever know.

They say you memorize the things that are most important to you. I think it’s very telling that she could tell you at the drop of a hat the ages and birthdates of each of her children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren.

She was a funny woman. She had a great sense of humor and knew how to take a joke with the best of them. She and my brother, Thomas, used to prank each other back & forth. Ya’ll know those little sprayers in the sink in the kitchen? Well, one day when she was at Mama’s house, Thomas put a rubber band around the sprayer to hold the button down and turned it to just about her height so that when she turned the sink on, the water sprayed right in her face. So she got him back by hiding behind the door and scaring him just as he got out of the shower.

I remember as a little girl, seeing that yellow Beetle coming down the driveway and being so excited that Aunt Jeannie was coming and bringing kids for me to play with. I remember her bringing Jeremy to Mama’s when he was a baby. And that summer when Karen, Kim, and Kelly came to stay with us will always be one of my favorite memories.

Aunt Jeannie used to say, “Well, I Suwannee!” all the time. When I’d tease her, she’d said, “Carianne Priscilla, I Suwannee! You’re not too big for me to beat you!” Judging by the looks on some of your faces, I’m not the only one she said that to.

Now, I don’t know if she meant the river or the county… I’m still not sure. But it was one of those things she said that was uniquely her that always made me smile.

Aunt Jeannie was retired from the phone company. She worked for them back when they had to manually transfer a call. When she told me that, I remember getting a visual image of her sitting there in front of a switchboard like Sarah from "The Andy Griffith Show." I asked Aunt Jeannie if she was ever tempted to listen in on the calls like Sarah sometimes did. She said, “Of course! We weren’t supposed to but sometimes we did. Especially if we knew it was gonna be a juicy call!”

Aunt Jeannie loved to read. Now when I say she loved it, I don’t mean she kinda read a book here or there, I mean she could sit down on the couch with her morning coffee, open a new book, and by supper that book was finished.

She and I enjoyed reading the same kind of novels and one Sunday I brought her a bag full of books- about a dozen or so- and the following weekend when I was at Mama’s, she gave me the books back. I asked, “What’s the matter? Didn’t you like the books?” She replied, “Oh, I loved them! I could hardly put them down.” I said, “Well, then why are you giving them back?” She replied, “I’m finished with them.” She’d read all twelve that week.

Now, while she might have been a fast reader, she was certainly not a fast driver. Thomas and I were talking as I was writing this and he reminded of a time she got mad at him for driving so fast he made it from Live Oak to Bryceville in 45 minutes. Now, that was a trip that normally took her several hours. I can just hear her now: “Thomas Randall, I Suwannee!”

I remember Jeremy, Thomas, and I were teasing her one day about her driving and Jeremy said, “She drives so slow that bugs don’t mind hitting the windshield; they just roll off & get up and fly away.”

Aunt Jeannie enjoyed going on trips with her sisters. They’d go to the mountains, go shopping, and just enjoy spending time together. They never let her drive, though; otherwise, they’d never get there!

Aunt Jeannie was a great photographer and loved being outside so she could take pictures of everything. She had an amazing eye for details and saw beauty in ordinary things like mailboxes.

That attention to detail came through in another of her hobbies- painting. She loved to paint and painted just about everything. I am proud to say that I have several original “Ima’s” at my house. I’m sure many of you do as well.

Another thing I am especially proud of is the beautiful afghan she made me when I got married. It’s one of the gifts that I’ll always treasure because I know there was love put into every stitch.

Aunt Jeannie was stubborn as the day is long and once she had her mind made up, there was no changing it. I say that with all due love and respect because there was nothing the world she wouldn’t do for someone if she could.

I’ve heard it said that how you face life is only half as important as how you face death. If that is so, then she was courageous woman, indeed. She faced the last few months of her life with bravery, dignity, and grace beyond anything I could ever muster.

Aunt Jeannie was many things to many people. She was a Mama, and a Nana. She was Ima-gene, Ima, Sister, and "Aint" Jeannie; but most of all, she was a dear, dear friend and we are all blessed to have had her in our lives.

Her daughter, Kimberly, would like to share a poem she wrote for her Mama.

Once upon a time, an angel held my hand
She wiped away my tears and helped me understand
Our time on earth is brief
There’s lessons to be learned
Each precious day, God gives us another page to turn
Every chapter full of memories, times of joy and tears
Triumphs and defeats, through every passing year
Angels come in many forms, for me it is my mother
With love I cannot say in words there'll never be another
Thank you God for giving me the most priceless of all treasures
I hope she’s smiling down from heaven knowing she did good
As we gather here today there's no ending to her story
Another chapter has begun full of grace and glory
Gods called her to his heavenly home, part of His great plan
Although it may be hard, we all must understand
Faith is what is hoped for, things we cannot see
Heaven is promised to all of us if only we believe.

You know, I can just imagine her now walking on the streets of gold, beside the crystal sea. She's with her Mama & Daddy, cousins, sisters, and grandchildren; they’re all laughing and carrying on. I think she’d probably say, “Don’t miss me too much. The view is nice and I’m doing just fine.”

Opening Pandora's... Closet?

"You have enemies? Good. That means you've stood up for something, sometime in your life.” -Winston Churchill

I saw something on Facebook earlier that prompted this blog post. It was a video of a reporter from MSNBC doing an interview with her daughter about marriage. During the interview, she asked what the child thought of gay marriage and I couldn’t help but smile at her daughter’s answer. It made me think, "Good job, Mama! You've done something right along the way."

See, it’s not very different at all from the conversation I had with my own boys about the very same subject. I tend to believe that civil rights are called civil rights for a reason. There is a clear separation of church and state written into the Bill of Rights, why should one person’s religious beliefs determine someone else’s civil rights?

Frankly, who the hell am I to tell you, or you, or you, who you can and cannot love? I may be straight, but I’m not narrow.

I’m pro gay marriage and I’m extremely thankful no one ever told me I couldn’t marry my husband when I fell in love with him. I’m thankful for a partner who accepts me for me and doesn’t try to change me, even when he doesn’t agree with me. He stands up for me and would charge Hell with nothing but a water pistol to defend me.

I am of the firm belief that no one is born hating another person. Hatred is a learned trait. So are bigotry, prejudice, sexism, elitism, racism, and homophobia. I believe that if a child can be taught all of those ugly things, they can also be taught love, respect, acceptance, kindness, tolerance, and compassion.

Have you ever observed preschoolers playing? They don’t see “colors”; they see other kids to play with. They don’t care if that child is Asian, Hispanic, or “brown” or “pink” or rich or poor. They simply see someone to play with. As much as adults like to think they have it all figured out, I’m pretty sure it’s the children who are far wiser than many adults I know.

I am a wife and a damned good one. My husband is lucky to have me and he knows it. But I’m just as lucky to have him and believe me when I say that I certainly know it.

I’m a wannabe writer. Will I ever be as good as Hemingway or sell as many books as Stephenie Meyer? Probably not. In fact, let’s just go ahead and say it’s a pretty safe bet that neither of those things will ever happen. But I still like to write. It’s my outlet.

I like to blog. I don’t do it nearly enough, but I still enjoy chronicling our lives this way.

I’m a coffee connoisseur. Actually, "snob" might be a more appropriate term here. Great coffee is like great sex- if all you’ve ever had is average sex, you’re accustomed to it so you accept it; but your mind is blown when you have amazing sex and suddenly everything else seems pedestrian in comparison. Same is true for coffee.

I’m an avid reader. I even read graffiti on the walls in the bathroom. I usually have at least three books going at once.

I’m a Rock Band rock star and sound just like Joan Jett when I sing “I Love Rock & Roll.” No, really, I do.

I’m a movie aficionado. I love a good sappy love story, especially if it involves a black & white film or anything with Doris Day, Rock Hudson, and Tony Randall. I won't turn down a little eye-candy of the George Clooney variety either.

I am a certified Girl Raised In The South. Being Southern isn’t about where you’re born; it’s a way of life. Here in the south we don’t hide our crazy; we parade it around on the front porch and give it sweet tea.

I’m an unapologetic Mama Bear when it comes to my boys. I'm fairly mild-mannered until someone messes with my children; then I'm twelve kinds of bat-shit crazy coming unglued. It's the kind of crazy that you don't see coming. It knows no reason and has no excuse; it simply is, and that's that.

I’m a believer in co-sleeping and attachment parenting, and I believe breast milk is best for a baby. But I’m not gonna judge you if you don’t believe those things. What worked for me might not work for you, and you know what? That’s okay.

I’m pro-life and will gladly tell you the reason I believe what I do. But it isn’t up to me to judge anyone for the personal decisions they make. While I won’t help anyone obtain an abortion, neither will I stand in your way should you choose to have one.

I try very hard not to judge. I don’t always succeed, but I try.

I believe in the Bill of Rights and will fight tooth and nail to defend those rights.

I'm a strong supporter of our military. Those who won't stand behind our troops are certainly welcome to go stand in front of them. I'll even help you get there, if need be.

I’ll readily admit that I have very few close friends, but those I do have know that they couldn’t ask for a more steadfast and loyal friend than me. They know I love them and will do anything for them; and I truly would.

I am a Christian who attends a Methodist church that I adore. However, I believe and teach my children to “coexist” with everyone. I respect everyone’s beliefs, whether they’re spiritual or religious.

Little-known fact about me: I once dated a man who is Muslim. He was extraordinarily polite, treated me with respect, and never once mentioned blowing up anything. He was and still is a good friend. I also have Jewish friends, Wiccan friends (and relatives), friends who are Pagans, Catholics, atheists, and Baptists. I have friends and family who are missionaries. And you know what? I don’t have to agree with them to love them; and I do love them dearly.

I am of the firm belief that it would only take a few generations of Mamas like me teaching our children to celebrate each other’s differences rather than using them as a reason to divide us; to change the whole world.

In my house we do second chances.
We do grace.
We do real.
We do mistakes.
We do I’m sorry.
We do loud really well.
We do forgiveness.
We do mercy.
We do compassion.
We do kindness.
We do hugs.
We do family.
We do love.

I am who I am, folks. Love me, like me, or hate me; but I am who I am. I am not perfect. I might bend a little, I might even change my mind about the way I feel about something, but I refuse to change who I am for anyone.

Finding Peace in the Middle of Winter

I grew up in a little map dot of a place called Bryceville. It’s a tiny place, really, and if you blink while driving through, you just might miss it.

It’s the kind of place where life revolves around church, the small country store, or somebody’s kitchen table. Its where, as a kid, you knew better than to misbehave when your parents weren’t around because your Mama would know about it before you could get home. That or an adult you’d known your entire life would correct you the same as your own parents would.

It’s a place where "yes ma’am" and "no sir" are not only a way to show respect, but a way to tell if you're a local or “you ain’t from ‘round here.” Hearing the phrase, “How’s yer Mama ‘n them?” is quite common and if you don’t ask, folks might wonder where you left your manners.

If you’re lucky enough to be from Bryceville, then you’re lucky enough. And you may grow up and move somewhere else, but you never actually leave. As they say, you can take the girl out of Bryceville but you can’t take the Bryceville out of the girl. To me, Bryceville is home and it always will be. I’ve known many of the families literally my entire life and am probably distantly related to half of them by marriage or some such. More to the point, our families have known each other for generations past.

Bryceville is the kind of place that everyone knows everyone else. It’s a place that thrives on a sense of family and a sense of community. So when we lose one of our own, we all feel the loss as acutely as if they were family because, in a sense, they were family. Today I learned of the loss of a dear, sweet man, James Fouraker. He was truly one of the kindest, most gentle people I’ve ever known. My heart aches for his family. My heart is saddened that the community-family that is Bryceville has lost another of our own entirely too soon.

My sister, Marcee, posted this earlier and I think it says it all:

“I guess in a way we are selfish because we don't want people we love to go, when in truth, we should be happy for them. I mean what could be better? I have an aunt in the end stage of cancer right now and it's hard. But in a way, I will be so glad for her fight to be over and for her to get home. Cause that is surely no way to live. The Fourakers have had blow after blow the last couple of years. I know they are surely some strong stock to weather all this winter.”

James was a young man in his prime; enjoying life with his lovely wife and watching his grandchildren grow up. Maybe the Lord just needed James there more than He needed him to be here. Sending love and light to the Fouraker family. I hope they find some peace in the middle of their winter.

Hungry Kids, Wasted Food- Thank you, Mama Obama

Insert all due sarcasm in that title, please.

Frankly, I've had enough.

My children come home from school every day ravenous. I don’t simply mean “they want an after-school snack”, I mean they’re so hungry, their blood sugar levels have dropped to the point that they're mean and irritable. This has been going on since the beginning of school. Last school year (and in previous school years) they loved school lunch. Not this year. It’s “awful”, “nasty”, “gross”, and “disgusting” to list just a few of the infelicitous terms they’ve used to describe the food.

My boys couldn’t be more opposite if I’d tried to make them that way. One will eat anything, the other doesn’t like but a handful of foods. So when my oldest (the picky kid) came home complaining about the school food, I admit I didn’t really take him very seriously. He’ll complain if the mac & cheese isn’t creamy enough or the chicken nuggets aren’t white meat; but when my kid who will eat just about anything came home complaining that the food at school was yucky, I paid closer attention. He’d come home on a daily basis pleading with me to send him lunch from home because he didn’t want to face another day of cafeteria food.

After questioning them a bit, I also discovered that they’re being “forced” to purchase food they won’t eat. Apparently, they are required to purchase an entrée as well as a side.

To be clear, they’re NOT forced to eat it, just to purchase it.

For example, if there is a side they want but the entrée isn’t something they’ll eat, they have no choice but to purchase both. So you know what they do with those entrees and sides they’re required to purchase? They throw them in the trash untouched.

No, really. How wasteful is that?

The theory “if they’re hungry enough, they’ll eat it” is a bunch of crap. Whoever came up with that doesn’t have kids or doesn’t live in America. My kids will NOT eat something they don’t like; they’ll simply refuse to eat.

(For the record- I am referring to my children only. I’m not talking abt kids in third-world countries where food is scarce. That is another topic altogether and one for a different blog. Maybe one day when I am feeling more humanitarian and less compelled by politicians trying to parent my children, I will write a blog about food shortages in foreign countries. However, that day is not today.)

Let me give you an example:
My youngest son is one of those kids who loves a good salad. I don’t mean a Ranch-drenched mess, either. He loves fresh tomatoes, raw carrots, and broccoli. One day, the “entrée” was a salad with ham on it. One of the sides available that day was a side salad. He wanted a salad but doesn’t like ham so he asked if he could purchase two side salads instead of having to purchase the entrée salad. He was told no, so he didn’t eat lunch that day. That makes absolutely NO sense to me. Seems to me that if he’s willing to eat two salads, why not let him?

Additionally, what if we were Jewish and he couldn't eat ham? We're not, but that isn't the point. Would they basically punish him based on his religion? Isn't that tantamount to discrimination? In this area, we have very few Jewish families so I admit I may be stretching this one a tad. However, to those few Jewish families there are here, it isn't a stretch at all; it's blatant discrimination.

Upon further research, requiring children to purchase food they’re not going to eat isn’t something that is limited to my local school district; this is nationwide, folks. It’s required at the primary and elementary levels, not so much at the middle and high school levels. Although, the older kids still have foods they’re required to purchase, even if they have no intention of eating it.

I have a secret… I’m not a perfect mom. THERE, I said it- my dirty little secret is out. While my children are always fed, I don’t always plan out our meals. I’m guilty of picking up the phone and ordering pizza here and there. We pull through Chick-Fil-A too. And I am guilty of counting ketchup as a veggie on occasion. And you know what? There are days I let them have just chocolate milk for breakfast, but dammit, that is MY decision to make. It isn’t for the government to decide. I am their mother.

To take it a step further- they might be children but they have rights too. They have a right to say, “I do not like this food and I will not eat it.” As their mother, I am behind them a hundred bazillion percent. But you know what? As their mother, I am out in front of them as well, shielding them as much as I can.

Strictly from a monetary standpoint- it’s my money that they’re using to purchase their lunches. To be required to purchase food that they’re not going to eat is ludicrous in my opinion. Not only is it a waste of money, it’s a waste of food, and resources.

Yeah, I could brown-bag their lunches, and I often do. The point I am trying to make is that I should not have to.

Recently, I spoke to a local school board member who told me that according to the new guidelines that have been mandated by the federal government, they have no choice but to use vendors who use wheat flour instead of white flour. I frequently hear folks say, “Well, wheat flour is healthier for you than white flour.” But if kids won’t eat it, what is the point of purchasing it? Not only do you end up with a huge amount of wasted food, you allow children to be hungry all day long.

That can’t be good for education. Can it?

They’ve completely removed foods like peanut butter and jelly sandwiches from schools because there are very few vendors who supply a wheat bread version. That was my children’s fall-back. When there was absolutely NOTHING else they wanted on the menu, they’d resort to the ol' PB&J standby. Now that option is gone.

I also found out from this school board member is that this program was introduced by Michelle Obama and that it's been extremely unpopular nationwide. All you have to do is Google “Obama school food” or any incarnation thereof, to find a multitude of websites in which kids and adults alike are pushing back against this plan. According to many school districts, food waste has gone up over 20%. That's TWENTY percent OVER what it used to be and that’s huge, folks.

Instead of giving our kids more and better choices, they’ve limited them even further. They’ve made our children little automatons going through the line getting their daily dose of Soylent Green.

In my research, I found the following from another parent:

"To quote our beloved President, this school lunch to-do is indeed a 'teachable moment.' America should pay heed to what happens when a benevolent government worms its way into private choice and uses the excuse that it's for the good of the citizenry. The truth is that what is currently taking place in school cafeterias across America is an omen of a future where the government that is currently regulating Tater Tots will one day be rationing health care."

Indeed.


*Excerpt courtesy of: http://www.americanthinker.com/blog/2012/09/michelle_obamas_share-the-starvation_school_lunch_program.html#ixzz2MdRuHsCl

References:
http://pjmedia.com/blog/wasted-food-hungry-kids-michelle-obamas-bill-in-action/
http://www.medicalnewstoday.com/articles/250732.php
http://dailycaller.com/2012/09/22/nations-children-push-back-against-michelle-obama-backed-school-lunch-regs/
http://www.americanthinker.com/blog/2012/09/michelle_obamas_share-the-starvation_school_lunch_program.html