Notes From a Southern Kitchen

Geronimo......

2011-10-23T12:58:00.000-07:00

It started out innocent enough, a discussion of "Bucket Lists" over Christmas Eve dinner. Sam, Chelsea, Zachary and me, all had something in common.... skydiving.
The next thing you know, someone has the great idea that we should all jump together. Then we started looking at dates and before you knew it, we had all agreed to skydive together during the Summer of 2011. YIKES!

Truth be told, I think one of us certainly thought we would come to our senses and find the reason that this couldn't happen.... it never did.

Before you knew it Zachary had made the reservations, Chelsea had taken off work, I had planned a trip to Georgia accompanied by Aunt Beck and we were at the point of no return.

Zack had kept the heat on through the winter and spring, this would be a Rumsey family outing that none of us would ever forget. We encouraged each other and by the time Aunt Beck and I arrived in Clayton we were all psyched for the big jump.

Now Aunt Beck had no intention of jumping, but she also had no intention of missing out on our jump. We arrived on Wednesday and scheduled the jump for Friday, July 22nd.

The focus of Thursday was to convince daddy and Donna to go with us for the jump. Both of them had been clear, they had no desire to join us, had no desire to see us jump and thought we were all stupid for considering the jump.

Aunt Beck on the other hand made it clear, she couldn't wait to see us jump and if she were 20 years younger she would be jumping with us.

Friday morning arrived, bright and early Sam, Chelsea and Zack picked us up for the drive to our jump site. Nervous energy was obvious, chit chat and excitement filled the car.

The drive to our jump site was almost 3 hours, we would be stuck in the car for 3 hours taunting each other along the way.

The closer we got to the jump site, the quieter Zack and I got. We are the most "talkative" of the family and our nerves manifested through our silence. You would have never known if Sam and Chelsea were nervous as they continued with their enthusiastic banter.

Finally, our car filled with thrill seekers ventured off the main road and into a pasture. A pasture with a small landing strip, wind sock and metal building. Gravel driveway, rolling hills and the gentle hum of a single engine airplane completed the scene.

Once we checked in we began the process of signing our life away. Basically the documents we signed said we could not hold our hosts responsible for a hang-nail, much less a 10,000 ft fall to our demise!

We watched with excitement the videos of other jumpers and sized up the other jumpers in our vicinity. Hey that guy over there is at least 70, if he can do it I can do it...right!?!?!?

Two things made me the most nervous and both of them had to do with Sam. First, my weight. The website stated loud and clear that if you were over a certain weight you had to pay more to jump. I knew if I hit that weight limit, my loving brother would never let me forget it.

The second thing that had me nervous was the weather. The website also said that if the weather were clear and pretty you could extend your jump, from 10,000 feet to 14,500 feet. I knew Sam would go for the higher limit if possible.

We step up the counter, Sam first, he weighs and I will not say what happened. Then the rep told him that the weather was beautiful and that was all it took for Sam.... here was the extra $10 to get him up to 14,500.

I stepped up on the scale and held my breath, hallelujah blessed Mary and Joseph, I was under the weight limit! (Seriously, I don't know how and I know I wouldn't do it today, so don't judge!) I think I was so excited about making the weight that I didn't even argue about the extra 4500 feet.

Now it was time to meet the person who would be strapped to my back with my life in their hands. I had a nice guy, mid-20s who had jumped numerous times in the past. He was no-nonsense and wasn't really interested in hearing the fears of a fat dude that is old enough to be his dad.

Chelsea, who had flirted with all the instructors, and enjoyed their flirting in return got Woody for her instructor. Woody was a super nice guy, about my age who appeared to have enjoyed the 70's A LOT!

Flights were called and Zack and Sam were on the first flight, Chelsea and I on the second. Nervously waiting for our turn to take to the skies, Chelsea and I enjoyed watching Sam and Zack float to the ground.

Now it was time, we loaded into the plane and prepared for our jump. The instructors had given us our instructions, the videographer was filming the trip and it was now or never.

We climbed to our jump level and my instructor moved me to the door. I was standing in the door of an airplane looking out over 2 miles off the ground and suddenly, every nervous moment I had disappeared, I was ready.

Seconds later, I was falling through the sky at 120 mph and loving every second of it! We did flips and I have never felt as free in my life.

After just 75 seconds the free fall was over, my instructor motioned me that we were going up and within seconds we were jerked up into the heavens and now we floated.... floated through the clouds and skies.

As we floated I could see the beautiful Georgia landscape and then I could see Chelsea floating through the skies as well.

As quickly as it all began, I could now see our landing spot, I could see Sam and Zack and Aunt Beck all cheering us down.

That day I felt alive, it was amazing to face this incredible fear and conquer it. Sometimes you need to do something that may not be your smartest move in life, but it's just needed... for me skydiving was just that.

I now look at other items on my bucket list and see them as things I WILL do instead of things I would like to do.... big difference.

Friends ask me, would you do it again? The answer is yes, I would do it again, but I don't HAVE to do it again.

I'm so happy I did it and even more happy that I did it with my family.... it was a jump I will never forget!

Charmed...

2011-10-15T07:11:00.000-07:00

There are certain possessions that we all have in life that mean much more to us than their value. Items that "in a fire" you would grab.

Besides Lita, I have a few things I would try to save in case of an emergency..... the framed baby outfit I wore home from the hospital when I was born, a quilt made from my parents clothes when they were children both of which were Christmas gifts from mama and daddy.

I would try to grab family photos and my "important documents" box, but before any of those other "things" in my life (excluding Lita) I would reach for the charm bracelets.

In my living room, in a special place of honor are two framed charm bracelets, costume jewelry that means more to me than anyone else. These charm bracelets belonged to mama and ma-ma.

When I was a very young child I used to spend a lot of time with ma-ma and gramps. We had kind of a routine that included continuous pampering and exploration of my imagination and creative personality.

Ma-ma was the perfect homemaker, she could bake, cook, clean, sew, garden, arrange flowers, craft, she could do it all and she loved having a little one tugging at her apron strings offering to "help." I love pulling those apron stings, so we were a perfect pair!

One of my favorite things to do with ma-ma was to have her tell me stories, stories from the charm bracelet.

Ma-ma's charm bracelet was gold and from my childhood memory it had what seemed like hundreds of charms. Each charm held a significance, the sewing machine, the thimble, a head for each child and grandchild, a replica of her brother's Bronze Star, Virginia, Puerto Rico, Florida; all remembrances of trips taken through the years.

For a young boy filled with an unquenchable imagination, that bracelet and the stories that were told about each charm could entertain for hours.

Many years later, when ma-ma died, I knew there was one thing I really wanted, I wanted that bracelet. I hadn't seen it in years and when I mentioned it no one knew where it was.

Through the days of purging ma-ma's belongings someone found the charm bracelet and gave it to me. As an adult, it wasn't as impressive as it was when I was a child, you could see some of the charms were missing and it was tarnished, but just seeing that bracelet brought back a flood of memories and times spent with my grandmother that I would never be able to replace.

Mama's bracelet was different. Mama's bracelet was silver and only had 5 charms on it... one for daddy, one for Tom, one for Sam, one for me and one for herself. Four male heads and one female.

On the front of each charm our name and birth date was engraved. On the back of Tom's was his death date.

Somewhere through the years mama lost her charm bracelet she would mention it from time to time and how much it meant to her.

One year, when I was about 16, I knew exactly what I wanted to give mama for Christmas. I had worked all summer and saved some money and knew that this would be the year I was able to give her the special gift.

When we open our Christmas gifts each year, we try and hold one back for the grand finale as we know it is going to be the "special gift" for that year. This was my first year able to give the "special" gift.

I planned for weeks, I got mama's gift, I made sure everything was perfect and on Christmas Eve, I proudly put that gift under the tree.

As we unwrapped the gifts my excitement built and for the first time, this year the excitement really wasn't for what I was receiving, but what I was giving.

When the time finally came and all the gifts but one were opened, I proudly handed mama her beautifully wrapped package. I sat nervously beside her and as she unwrapped the package, our small family watched in anticipation.

When the package was opened, there it lay a silver charm bracelet, just like the one she had year's before. Five heads, each engraved, a simple gift that meant more to my mama and I than any expensive gadget could. To this day, the most special gift I have ever given anyone.

Mama and I both cried.

Through the years mama wore that bracelet everywhere and she made sure not to lose it. She added three more heads through the years, Donna, Chelsea and Zack.

When mama passed, there was one thing I wanted. Before I left Clayton on my way back to Florida after that horrible/wonderful week, I went to mama's jewelry box and collected the charm bracelet.

Not long after I got my grandmother's bracelet, I decided to have it framed. I lived in Atlanta at the time and had a friend who was a framer, he made sure that it got the attention it deserved and did a beautiful job with the presentation.

After mama died it took me almost a year to have her bracelet framed. It hurt too much to think about finalizing it and putting the bracelet behind glass.

Finally, as the 1 year anniversary of mama's death approached I took it out and went to my local framer. I carried ma-ma's bracelet with me to show the framer what I wanted.

Thankfully, the framer saw the importance of this project and gave it his attention and dedication. We picked out a frame that complimented ma-ma's. After finally, pulling together the strength to take the bracelet to the framer, I waited with nervous anticipation for it to be completed.

When I got the call that my frame was completed, I went to pick it up with excitement. When I saw the frame opened, again I cried, just like the first time I saw it opened and just like the first time, I knew my mama was right beside me admiring the bracelet as well.

Today those two bracelets sit in a place of honor in my living room. On a small table, two pieces of costume jewelry that mean the world to me.

Bucket List

2011-07-17T12:34:00.000-07:00

Life is filled with day to day, the mundane challenges that consume us. While we move through these day to day hurdles the mind has a funny way of adding new challenges to our psyche.

I like to think these challenges created in our minds are part of our bucket lists... the things we aspire to before we move on to our next life. Bucket lists are funny things, they are often very personal, private, sometimes far fetched, sometimes simple... always individual.

My bucket list is extremely diverse, I want to attend the Winter Olympics, I want to sing a song on a Broadway stage, I want to visit Australia and scuba dive on the Great Barrier Reef. I want to hike the Grand Canyon, walk the red carpet at the Academy Awards and publish a novel.... like I said, diverse. These are just a few of the items on my "list."

I admire people who check off things on their list, my niece Chelsea has really done an amazing job of checking off items on her list. Some things are easier than others to check off, some just take the nerve to make it happen, sometimes you just need a good kick in the pants to say... go for it... that is the stage in my life that I find myself.

As a middle aged, overweight, bald man it is easy to sit back and let life pass you by. Work is great, I love my house, have amazing friends and family, enjoy my position as Vice-Mayor and find myself watching life pass me by. It is time for a quick kick in the butt.... this Friday that kick will happen.

Over the winter, Zack, Chelsea, Sam and I were having a conversation and realized that sky-diving is on all our bucket lists. Sky-diving... 47 years old, overweight, bald.... life passing me by... yep, that sounds like the perfect kick in the butt that I need.

During our initial conversation back in the winter we decided to jump together, a family outing. Reservations have been made and good Lord willing, this Friday, July 22nd, I will step out of a plane with a perfect stranger strapped to my back and float through the heavens and safely down to earth.

Skydiving... ok, sure I could have made reservations to go to the US Figure Skating Championships, yes, that is on the list. I could have taken scuba lessons, yes, that is on the list. I could have spent an entire weekend riding roller coasters, yes that's on the list too.... HOWEVER, would any of those things been the kick in the butt that this middle aged, bald, overweight guy needs to get out and stop letting life pass me by... I don't think so.

It's time and I hope this leap of faith will help change my psyche.

As I have told my friends about the jump, many have looked at me in disbelief. Some have questioned my mental capacity to manage my own life moving forward, others have just looked at me like I am crazy and some have even come right out and called me crazy. I have heard story after story of how my friend's neighbors, uncle's, wife was sucked up into a cloud and never seen again after she jumped.

I admit it, sky-diving may not be the smartest thing in the world to be doing. But is letting life pass me by any better? I don't think so, I think it is time for a good kick in the butt, it's time to live a little and cross off a MAJOR item on the bucket list.

Elivs has left the building...

2011-07-01T18:07:00.000-07:00

Often times we mark the seasons of our lives by where we were when history happens. I wasn't born when JFK was shot, but daddy tells the story of walking across the lawn of Wilcox County High School and hearing the news.

Mama was at home sick on the day Reagan was shot, she called the school to let Mrs. Snyder know, who passed on the word to the Principal who passed it on to us.

I was in Mrs. Weatherly's class when Frank D. Smith died, he was my Elementary School Principal and beloved by so many.

I stood in the living room of my friend Pam Suttle's apartment in Statesboro, GA as we watched the Space Shuttle blow up killing all on board. We left the television to go to an Editorial Writing class, where our instructor Ernie made us write an editorial memorializing the astronauts. I thought the assignment was unfair at the time, not much later I realized that was the job of the editorialist, a lesson I learned when I least expected it.

I was on a bus returning from a band competition when I heard about Belushi's OD. I was recovering from foot surgery when I heard about Versace and later Princess Diana. Eating dinner when Michael Jackson died.

I was in the break room of Carey Limousine when the OJ verdict was announced. I was in Centennial Park just hours before the bomb went off and on the phone with mama when the first plane hit the Twin Towers.

These moments of our lives are ingrained and for some reason we know exactly where we were and what we were doing when we first heard the news.

During the Summer of 1977, I was 13 years old and preparing to go into 7th grade. The sleepy days of August were about to be turned upside down by a scream from Becky Ramey, a scream that was echoed around the globe.... "ELVIS IS DEAD!"

Becky was the Rogers' baby-sitter. Today, Becky would be called the nanny; back then she was the baby sitter while Mr. and Mrs. Rogers were at work.

On that late August afternoon, Becky's scream echoed through our quiet neighborhood creating a frenzy of activity that would continue for several days.

I didn't realize Elvis was such a big deal, I knew he was a singer and all, but really within minutes of the announcement that he had died, grown women and some men started acting like a close relative had been lost.

Television news showed scenes of grieving fans from around the world mourning.... especially in Memphis, Graceland, the home of Elvis.

Little did I know how soon that mourning would hit home. When Becky left that afternoon she didn't return for almost a week. She returned after making her pilgrimage to Graceland for the Elvis funeral.

Becky's mother was a HUGE Elvis fan and his death was especially hard for her, so that night she and some friends along with Becky took off for Memphis for the King's funeral.

The pilgrimage continued as Gracie, our friend from south Georgia, along with her friends showed up at our house late that night. There for a stop over, long enough to get a quick night's sleep before moving on to Graceland.

As the days continued hundreds of thousands of people from around the World descended on Memphis. Television cameras were trained on the action as huge lines formed to view the casket. Television cameras carried the funeral and burial, it was all Elvis all the time.

After the funeral and burial, the throngs left the King behind, returning to their homes with a heavy heart. We heard stories from those who went to Graceland about how moving it was.

The pillars of the fence surrounding his home was covered with written condolences, written in magic marker or chalk, fans just wanted to leave their mark on the event.

Somewhere on that fence there are notes from Rochelle and Clayton, GA, I have no idea what they say, but I can tell you they were left by women who loved their Elvis and were broken hearted when he died.

The summer of 1977, one of those moments I will always remember where I was. The summer when Elvis left the building for good.

Things my daddy taught me....

2011-06-18T11:46:00.000-07:00

It's Father's Day weekend and as the day rolls around it makes me think back on things my daddy has taught me through life.

As with most father's daddy taught me respect, honor, pride and love. In addition to those normal lessons in life he taught me a lot more too, on Father's Day I like to look back on those things....

A look is more powerful than words Growing up daddy had a "look" that you never wanted to see. It was stern, solid and unflinching. The look said more than words ever could. The look would tell you to sit down, keep your mouth shut and pay attention. The look would say, don't ever let me see you do that again. The look would ask, what did you say? You did NOT answer the look!

As I have grown older I have perfected the look. I use it in business, I use it in my political life, I use it with the neighbor kids, I use it with my staff. I try to be selective in my use of the look and only pull it out when absolutely necessary, but when I want to make sure my point is perfectly clear, I just remember a lesson from my daddy and give the look.

Some sugar is sweeter than others. All my life I have heard my daddy tell people to "give me some sugar." I learned long ago he wasn't talking about the white stuff you put in tea, but he was talking about a kiss. Usually a kiss on the cheek, but it could mean a hug or both. There is nothing better than a hug and kiss from a friend or loved one. To my ears, give me some sugar is the ultimate compliment!

Family First. I don't think that lesson is anything out of the ordinary for most people, but my daddy lived that motto on a daily basis. After Tom died our family could have been torn apart, daddy made sure we weren't.

On more than one occasion I heard my daddy make the comment, "I have already lost one, I won't lose another one." By that I think he meant that he would fight for us and make sure that we did not leave the "family." He would fight our enemies and protect us whenever needed to keep us together. That role model is something that we all take with us in our family. We may bicker and argue, but when it comes down to it we are family and will not be torn apart.

Woman's work is just.... work Daddy used to joke that cooking and cleaning was "woman's work." Early on in my life I learned that woman's work is just... work.

Mama was sick and hospitalized a lot when I was young. The wreck, the hospitalization after Tom died, migraines, she was sick a lot. Early on, daddy learned to cook and clean and keep a perfect house. When mama was sick that didn't mean we ate out, it meant we all chipped in and cooked dinner. Daddy is one of the best cooks I have ever known, the only thing my mama could ever cook that he couldn't match was biscuits, so to make up for it we had a lot of cornbread.

Long before the women's movement, long before stay at home dads, long before Mr. Mom, there was Ray Rumsey. A clean house, excellent meals, perfectly washed clothes, organized birthday parties and all the other typical "woman's work" chores around the house became just work in our house. He was a trend setter long before it was considered cool, in our house it was just necessity.

A chicken ain't nothing but a bird. Daddy has always has a way with words, but this is one of my favorites... a chicken ain't nothing but a bird. Whenever I have been afraid to try something I have heard it. Seven simple words that are very powerful.

When you take the fear out of life it makes everything possible. There is no room for being a chicken, after all a chicken ain't nothing but a bird.

Life lessons aren't taught in books. Daddy was a school teacher and football coach. He still teaches and coaches today, not in the formal sense but the life sense.

Daddy taught 12th grade American Government. I'm not sure we ever opened a text book during his class, but the life lessons that were taught in that class far outweigh any chapter and verse on the Constitution or rules of Congress than we could have ever been quizzed on.

Don't ever do anything to embarrass your mama. I have mentioned this one many times in this blog. It was the basis of my life and I still carry it with me today. The greatest lesson my daddy ever taught me, because it was the hardest to live up to.

My daddy is an interesting character, someone who has touched the lives of many, someone who has always taught and someone who overflows with love. I'm lucky and proud to call him my daddy.

Happy Father's Day.... I love you!

Through Thick and Thin

2011-05-08T10:07:00.000-07:00

Bert has Ernie, Abbot has Costello, Oprah has Gayle and Felix has Oscar..... I have Andrew, my best friend.

I have known Andrew most of my life, he is a year younger than me and we were casual friends as youngsters, that all changed around 13 or 14. I remember we were at the Halloween Carnival in the old Rabun County High School butler building and for some reason we ended up hanging out together that night.

A lifetime friendship was born.....

From that day forward Andrew has been like a brother to me, I seek his opinion, his advice, when something good happens I want to share it with him and in tough times I know he will be there.

As we grew up, Andrew became a part of my family and I his; Dr. Pete and Janie were my second mother and father, Ray and Martha were his. We were usually at one house or the other.

Andrew was with us on family vacations, I rushed the field of the Sugar Bowl with Andrew when Georgia won its one and only National Football Championship. We have raced down ski slopes, sprayed each other with water skis and shared bottles of Boone's Farm Strawberry Hill together.

Sadly as I graduated from High School and the following year Andrew graduated, we lost contact. I blame myself for losing contact with my best friend. Through those years we both grew up a lot and went our different directions.

Good and bad times for each of us, difficult times that the other could have helped with and unfortunately we weren't there. I know I missed so much of Andrew's life and I will always regret that, but even when we were separated I kept up with him and I know he kept up with me. Even apart, we were part of each other's lives.

Over the last seven or eight years Andrew and I started to reconnect. Slowly at first and then with more frequency. I met his wife, his kids and his family came to Florida for vacation and we were able to reconnect.

From the moment we reconnected it was as if we never were apart, conversations flowed effortlessly.

Now I am happy to say we speak often, while we don't see each other as often as I would like we are part of each other's lives now.... I am immensely thankful for that.

When mama died, I told Andrew that he didn't have to travel back and forth from Atlanta for the viewing and funeral and he said to me "she was like my mama too." Yes she was and I was incredibly thankful that Andrew was there with us.

Best friends are a funny connection, we may part but thankfully we come back. Best friends are chosen not assigned, I am thankful that I chose a smart, funny, dedicated man who has become an amazing father, husband and businessman, I am thankful for Andrew.

Back in the Kitchen....

2011-04-24T19:10:00.000-07:00

Obviously it has been a while since I blogged. I don't know why, I have been busy, haven't had anything to write about, lacking focus.... who knows.

As much as I enjoy writing I just haven't had the inspiration to do so. Today is Easter, a season of new beginnings.... maybe I will find inspiration in the season.

To catch up to date.. I have the best job I have ever had in my life, I LOVE being the Director of Marketing for Downtown at the Gardens. This is the most challenging, rewarding, difficult job I have ever had and I look forward to going to work every day.

I wish I could say the same for my political life.... since our election last March, two new Commissioners have joined the dais. One I can work with, although we don't agree much of the time, he is open to compromise. The other one... well let me just say she is a mix of Michelle Bachman, Sarah Palin, Glen Beck and every other know it all politician you can think of. She does not understand that LEADERS lead by finding common ground, not just demanding their way. It is extremely frustrating. My role on the commission has also changed, I am now Vice-Mayor, it is rewarding and interesting.

Daddy has been in Florida for the winter and I have been able to spend some time with him. He leaves for Georgia this Friday after we celebrate our birthdays together on Thursday. He will be 80.....80. He has good days and bad, his health is still good, although he is still trying to mend a broken heart.

Ironically Facebook has become a major part of my life... I use it for work a lot, but the true reward for me with Facebook has been reconnecting with so many old friends and family members that I have lost touch with.... it is very special to know what you all are up to.

So that's where I am for now.... working hard, enjoying amazing friends and family and for the most part in a good space.

I have a story brewing around in my mind that I need to get down on paper, not a blog post but something longer. Childhood best friends, brought back together by chance who find out that it isn't their commonality that is most important but their differences that make their relationship special. Hopefully I will get around to it soon.

Stay with me on the blog, I am going to make an effort to get back with you soon........

New Year, New Dreams...

2011-01-02T16:07:00.000-08:00

When I was younger my dreams were simple, I wanted it all. I wanted to be rich, I wanted to be famous. I wanted to star on Broadway, win a Tony award and then make my move to Hollywood and films win my first Oscar for a Supporting Role and then my Second for a Leading Role.

I wanted to travel the world. Paris, Moscow, Sydney, Barcelona, Rio. When I was young I wanted to be Brian Boitano. I wanted to win the Lottery, be obscenely rich and never work a day in my life.

My fantasies and dreams of youth were simple... I wanted it all! My bet is that many of you shared the same dreams (OK, probably not the Brian Boitano part!) Our dreams of youth were usually self-indulgent and not very practical.

As I grow older I find that my hopes and dreams are not so much about me anymore, not about "things," or fame or money. My dreams are more complex, my hopes smaller in scope, I venture to guess that my dreams of youth may have been easier to achieve.

My 2011 Wish list of Dreams.....

grace for those I disagree with, to those in need and those who are hurting
to continue loving my job
health and prosperity for those I love
time management skills
continue to reconnect with the people who slipped out of my life through the years
peace of mind
one more family dinner with mama
fit into 32" waist jeans
more time to spend with my friends
a cure for AIDS
for Chelsea and Zack to never suffer and always have a life filled with happiness
play in the snow
learn to scuba dive
dive the Great Barrier Reef
be able to eat pizza and pasta and burgers and fried foods and not gain weight or damage my health
attend the Winter Olympics
walk the Red Carpet at the Oscars
walk down the beach without a shirt and know I look good
play with Lita everyday
our Politicians start concentrating more on what is right for our country and not how they can benefit themselves
buy a new sofa
have something I have written published
Sam and Donna to LOVE the empty nest
continue to be touched, challenged and ministered to by Pastor Kent and Pastor Jen
Georgia Bulldog football to be king again
daddy to have peace of mind
no world suffering
growth in my faith
dedicate an hour each day to writing
no drama
use my elected office for good
be there for my friends and family
lively political debates with my brother
remodel my kitchen
laugh every day
continued financial responsibility
Snookie and the Situation to get a job
economic prosperity return to our country
be there for my family
learn math
enjoy biking
lose 35 pounds
volunteer more
worship in a completed sanctuary at my Church
own a summer home on top of a mountain in Asheville, NC
bipartisanship
paint the interior of my house (OK, have it painted)
study and grow in The Bible
be a dependable friend
inspire
sing on a Broadway stage
the naivete of youth
write the story that is in my head
don't waste a single moment
end every conversation with "I love you"
a backyard pool
go to the movies more
love life
hug at least one person every day
go on another road trip with Aunt Beck
be spontaneous
think before I speak
be a better person today than yesterday and tomorrow than today
swim
restart the Friday afternoon front yard gatherings with my neighbors
challenge myself physically
Simon, Paula and Randy all come back to American Idol as the only judges
eat healthy
be more patient with little stuff
do something I have never done before at least once per month
cook
realize that being right is not always best
trust
celebrate small victories
do a better job of updating my blog
say thank you
an end to war
praise God daily
enjoy life
work hard and play hard
honor the legacy that has been given me by my parents and brother
take weekend trips
children no longer suffer
honor the attempt
go to concerts
get my hands in the dirt more working in my yard
age gracefully
be active in my TAG group
learn to say "no" when I should
be fair
honor the elderly
stand up for what I believe in
write notes and send them in the mail, not just email
get pampered occasionally
don't always do it alone, assign responsibilities and expect them to be completed
hike
talk to daddy every day, talk to Sam at least once a week and talk to Aunt Beck once a week
make others feel special
live my faith
love.

Like I said, the dreams of youth are easier to obtain. I pray that in 2011 you find happiness, health and prosperity, but most of all I pray you are filled with love.

My Christmas Wish for You.....

2010-12-19T17:12:00.000-08:00

Christmas will be different this year. The first Christmas without the matriarch of my family, the one who taught us the joy of Christmas, the one who still enjoyed a visit from Santa as much as anyone else, even when her youngest child was 45 years old.

This year we will be without mama, definitely a sad marker since her death. As sad as the "first" Christmas will be, it also provides us with a challenge to fully celebrate the joy of Christmas the way she taught us since childhood.

This morning in Church I was swept away by the music of the season, beautiful glorious music celebrating the birth of our Savior. Suddenly it dawned on me, this will be mama's first year with the angels of heaven celebrating the miracle of that first Christmas. This year as we set one less place at the table, our family of angels sets one more, what a glorious feast that will be!

This year, not only in December, but through the year, the spirit of Christmas has engulfed me in ways that I have never felt before. As I think back on the past months, since that day in late February when my life changed, an overwhelming feeling of joy and gratitude fills my soul.

From the friends who selflessly gave their time to clean my house, replant my flower beds and stock my fridge and cabinets while I was away, I see the spirit of giving that we are taught as children, a selfless act that goes with me every day.

Phone calls that came out of the blue, phone calls from friends and family just to let me know they were thinking of me. In my world, those calls were like the angels of heaven announcing the good news, they were pick-me-ups letting me know that the dark days will pass.

I was taught from an early age that the spirit of Christmas is more about the promise of the new life than it is about gifts, trees and tinsel. This year, more than any other I have found myself thinking about that "new life."

A new life that moves forward without my most important influence. A life that moves forward without my "light."

This year as I think about the sadness that could take over my Christmas season, I have decided to celebrate the lessons I was taught since childhood and the joy that will help me move forward.

I will remember my 5th Christmas. The year I got a Big Wheel. The Big Wheel I literally wore the tires off of.  That was the year that Tom and Sam helped their little brother find the freedom of adventure with my own "wheels", a sense of adventure that I still have today as an adult.

This year, I will think back to my 6th Christmas, the year that ma-ma fell down our steps and broke her arm, that was the year that my cousin Melissa and I went out into the woods to build a "garden" in a pie pan to make ma-ma feel better. That was the year I learned about compassion, I have certainly felt that compassion this year and hope that I have been able to return the favor.

Or my 7th Christmas when Larry McClure showed up to our house and scared a little boy to tears when the Santa "impostor" showed up MUCH earlier than he should have. This year, I know in my soul that any "impostors" have been removed from my life. I have found a peace in faith that I never knew before, a faith that carries me not only through darkness but also through the joy of light!

When I was in my early teens we had Christmas a week early, that was because Sam was working on an oil rig that year and would be away from home on Christmas day. I hated that year and am glad that we never had another Christmas apart. That was the year that I learned the importance of family, just being in the same room, somehow takes away some of the pressures from the outside world and provides a feeling of warmth that can't be realized elsewhere.

Then there were the years when our family grew. The years we got Donna, then Chelsea and Zack, these are the years that I learned there is an endless ability to love.  Room for my heart to grow and welcome new people into my life.

We have had more Christmases than I can count that were uneventful, but always filled with laughter and sometimes tears. We were taught that the Christmas spirit is about family, it is about the laughter, the tears, the togetherness. No doubt we will find that same spirit under our tree this year as well.

Mama started a tradition years ago when Chelsea and Zack were very young. Once they got old enough to read they would open up an old "pop-up" book and read the Christmas story to our family. I hope this year, those same young adults will continue that tradition, knowing that the real meaning of Christmas lies in the words of the story, not in the packages under the tree.

This year, I have seen the spirit of Christmas all year long, in big and small ways, in ways I could never imagine.   Maybe it is because I am getting older and those simple gestures mean more. Maybe it is because of the loss of mama, or maybe it is because of the lessons I have learned along the way. The lessons I was taught by my bright star, a mother who taught the best gifts at Christmas are those shared with family.

My Christmas wish for each of you is the joy of the season, the light of simple gestures and the creation of memories and traditions that will comfort you into the future.

I wish you peace, I wish you love and I wish you happiness. With a full heart of gratitude this Christmas I will remember the past, but also look to the future hoping for new memories of the true meaning of Christmas.

Embrace those you love, hold them close and make sure they know just how important they are. Those people who touch your lives each day, the friend, co-worker, neighbor and family member, share the spirit of the season with them and as we move forward just imagine how great our futures would be if we carried that Christmas spirit year round.

My Christmas wish for you is love, grace and joy.

With love and gratitude, Merry Christmas to you all!

Aunt Beck

2010-09-26T10:43:00.000-07:00

We all have one, a favorite Aunt or Uncle, favorite cousin, for me that is my Aunt Beck.

Aunt Beck is mama's older sister by just a couple of years. The two of them were very close, which may explain my connection to her. Aunt Beck turned 80 this month, a milestone worthy of celebration and a milestone worthy of reflection.

In many ways Aunt Beck and I are very similar. We are the children who flew the coop, moved away from home and settled on the beach. We connect through the sand between our toes.

As a child some of my fondest memories were of Aunt Beck's house in the Summer or on Spring Break. Our family would pile into the stationwagon and take off for a week at the beach, a week at Aunt Beck's house.

Now, the house we were visiting wasn't only Aunt Beck's, Uncle Larry and Melissa lived there too, a dog or hamster was often included in the mix.

Aunt Beck has lived in Fernandina Beach, Florida for all of her adult life. She and Uncle Larry moved there not long after they were married.

For me, Fernandina Beach was paradise, little did I know that until the fancy people found it in the 80's that it really wasn't all the rage until a name change made it Amelia Island. Mama used to joke with her friends that we had been going to Amelia Island before anyone even knew what Amelia Island was.

Aunt Beck, Uncle Larry and Melissa had a quiet house, everything neat and put away in its place. That was until the Rumsey clan would arrive with three boys, insatiable appetites and a boisterous energy that was difficult to tame.

We would visit Aunt Beck a couple of times each year, wreaking havoc on her peaceful existence each time we came.

Two or three times each year, Aunt Beck, Uncle Larry and Melissa would make their way to God's Country for a visit. You could almost see the culture shock on their faces when they arrived and soon realized they had left the melodic symphony of the ocean for the hectic chaos found on Old Buncomb Road.

They usually stayed with Ma- ma and Gramps when they came, about 30 miles from our house. I think they probably needed a safe place to retreat to.

Our visits to Aunt Beck's house were for the beach. When Aunt Beck and her family came to God's Country it was usually for the visits to those "cute little shops on Main Street."

Mama and Aunt Beck loved going in and out of the shops on Main Street when she came. The same shops that mama only occasionally would walk into during the rest of the year would become a magnetic force for mama and Aunt Beck during those visits.

Aunt Beck has always held a special place in my heart. Her dry sense of humor, devilish grin and zest for life are what attracts me.

As I have grown from childhood to adult life, Aunt Beck has become a force in my life. When I was thinking of moving to Florida, she was one of the people I spoke with.

My concern was that I wouldn't be able to be home when I "needed" to be there if I lived 12 hours away. Aunt Beck assured me that if I were to be happy in MY life I needed to follow my dreams and that the rest would take care of itself. She was right.

Aunt Beck is the person who guided me through my first few holidays away from home, and she was a role model for me to see how you can create a "Florida family" while never forgetting your real family.

When Aunt Beck married Uncle Larry she .....GASP.... left the Baptist Church and became a Methodist. During my search for faith, I did the same. Aunt Beck helped me realize it isn't about the family tradition of a denomination. It isn't about what faith you grew up in, what it is about is the path of faith you grow into.

After I moved to Florida, Aunt Beck and Uncle Larry continued their visits to God's country. Melissa was now married with her own children and Aunt Beck and Uncle Larry were now traveling to help take care of Ma-ma and Gramps as they made their long journey to heaven.

After ma-ma and gramps passed, not long after Uncle Larry's health began to fail and he passed before Christmas just a few years ago.

When it came time for me to make my next visit to God's Country, I asked Aunt Beck if she would like to go with me. Her house was almost perfectly half way in a 12 hour drive. Aunt Beck accepted my invitation to ride with me and this began a whole new adventure in our relationship.

I picked her up just off the I95 exit. Ground rules were set from the very first trip.... meet me at McDonald's just off of 95. I will drop you off at the same location on the way home. For the most part that has been our routine for several years now.

The other rule I set was, don't go to sleep and talk to me while we drive. I can assure you THAT rule has NEVER been broken!

From the time Aunt Beck sits down in the passenger seat until we arrive in God's Country we talk. We talk about anything and everything. She kids me and I kid her, she knows that we will stop 2 maybe 3 times tops on the road. She doesn't complain she just makes sure to take care of everything during these brief stops.

Driving up the road Aunt Beck tells me stories about the good ole days when she and mama were in High School. How their circle of friends used to congregate at my grandparents house and how Gramps would pile all their friends into his car and take them places.

We have talked about faith and Church news and business more than most people I have ever spoken to. Sometimes we even talk politics.

Several years ago, after mama's health began to fade Aunt Beck made a comment driving up the road, "Ken, once ma-ma and gramps started getting sick I always made sure I took all the clothes I may need for a visit because you just never know." In that very instant I knew exactly what she was saying and it was in that instant that I began to prepare myself for the inevitable loss of mama. Since that trip I always make sure to have "all the clothes I may need" because you just never know.

In February when we knew mama was making her final journey home, I called Aunt Beck at 11AM and told her I would be picking her up at 5, she was ready and in the car. We didn't talk as much on that trip, I assume for fear that we would both breakdown, but we did talk about the important stuff.

During that final week in Georgia, Aunt Beck was there every step of the way and she was the one who alerted us all that mama was gone..... I think mama planned it that way.

The trip back to Florida after mama passed was difficult, in many ways even harder than the drive up. On the way back we talked a lot about mama and the week we had just lived through, about mama's service, we talked about daddy and Sam and the grandkids and Donna, we talked about everyone.

We talked about how hard it would be not to be able to pick up the phone and talk to mama, after all Aunt Beck had been through it already. We talked about birthdays, anniversaries, holidays and just regular days and how they would be hard. But we also talked about the memories that we would carry with us, the memories that would make us smile and the memories that would bring a warmth to the heart.

When Aunt Beck got out of my car that day, I cried, she cried. There was no way to hold back the tears, they were going to come and we both knew it, the thing I didn't know would happen was that when I got back in my car to finish my drive home I had a strong sense of peace, I reflected on memories and my heart grew warm. Aunt Beck has a knack for teaching big lessons without ever trying, she did it again on that day.

In June I decided I was going to God's Country for Father's Day. It was my first visit home since mama passed and when I decided to go I invited Aunt Beck to go, she said yes. I was dreading the trip and I think she was too, but we both knew one trip had to be the first, so it may as well be now.

As usual we got into the car and took off. Since the first time Aunt Beck rode to God's Country with me, she has talked about how pretty the backroads are through Georgia. I am not the kind of guy who likes the back roads, I want to get on the Interstate and go, she likes to take her time and enjoy the scenery.

On this trip Aunt Beck threw down the ultimate guilt trip. "I would love to go on those back roads just one more time, this may be my last trip and I sure would love to see that pretty scenery." I insisted that I was NOT going on the back roads. For the next three hours I insisted that I wasn't going on the back roads until we reached Statesboro, Ga and she broke me.

I got off the interstate and made my way through Statesboro. I hadn't been there since I graduated college and thought it would be fun to reminisce for a bit. We drove into town, I showed her my college dorm and then we got onto the main road that I thought would take us home.

We were now on those back roads that she had longed for, I was going 35 mph and losing my patience, plus I was getting lost. We drove around in circles for about an hour until we finally got onto the road that we both agreed was the right road for us to be traveling during this excursion into the back roads of Georgia.

The trip home was about 2 hours longer than it should have been, but we saw cotton fields and antebellum houses. We saw the Wal-Mart that Aunt Beck and Uncle Larry used to always stop at on their journeys up and down the road. We reminisced and stepped back in time on those old 2 lane roads through Georgia.

Our visit home was much better than either of us expected, it was a wonderful family visit, it was hard without mama being there but it was our new normal and I am glad Aunt Beck was there to be a part of it.

Aunt Beck has lived 80 years, she has accomplished a lot in that time. She has kept that devilish grin and dry sense of humor for all these years. She has nurtured, she has loved and she has taught. Aunt Beck has become more important to me each and every year, I love her and wish for many more trips together to God's Country. Although one thing is for sure... she HAS taken her last trip through on the back roads with me driving, that is until she guilts me into it again!

The Phone Call the Changed My Life.... Chapter 4

2010-09-11T10:59:00.000-07:00

As I drove to the United Methodist Church of the Palm Beaches that morning, I kept thinking about what daddy had said on the phone the night before. "Go to Church tomorrow."

At 30 something years old, I was still accustomed to listening to my daddy. I didn't always do what he said, but I learned at an early age that he was pretty smart, so on most things I listened. This was one of those days when I listened.

I drove up to UMCPB and made my way into the "Gathering Place," the hall where Church was held. I hobbled in on my crutches and found my way to a seat. The seat I chose was on the right side of the building and there were a number of seniors who came and sat around me. A couple made chit-chat with me and I learned that the gentleman I was speaking to was a retired doctor, so he was very interested in my injury, my surgery and my on-going recovery.

As the service time got near a lady came and sat down beside me, I will never forget. She was dressed in a kelly green skirt and jacket. Those sitting around me all greeted her and she did the same in return. She introduced herself to me as Nancy and welcomed me to the Church.

As services began, Nancy and I shared a hymnal. I think she felt sorry for me, trying to balance myself on crutches was enough of a feat, much less trying to balance a hymnal, myself and the crutches. I felt really comfortable in this Church immediately. The people were friendly, welcoming and you could feel the genuine love amongst the members.

I decided before I left that morning that I would be back. I liked the music, the preaching and the overall feel of the place. Leaving Church that morning I felt better than I had since before my accident.

The following day I hit a really low point emotionally. I don't know what it was but the loneliness of a new town, the injury, everything just kind of hit. Immediately I knew what to do. I called the United Methodist Church of the Palm Beaches and asked if I could come over and speak to the Pastor.

Within the hour I was sitting in the office of David McEntire. He asked all the obvious questions, what was wrong with my leg, how long I had been on the crutches etc. Then he told me that his wife told him I had a nice voice and that I should be in the choir. His wife?????

What I didn't know at the time.... Nancy, the lady in the green, the lady who held my hymnal. Nancy was the Pastor's wife. That meeting led to a friendship that I will always cherish. David and Nancy McEntire became a pastoral couple who taught me about grace. They taught me what true Christianity is all about and they became family.

Over the years many people at the UMCPB have become like family to me. I have made friendships that will last throughout my life. I have been nurtured, loved, challenged, held accountable and taught by these people.

Now, 12 years later, this Church fills a chunk of my heart that guides me on a daily basis.

David and Nancy are gone, they were transferred a few years back, but we have been blessed by other Pastors who have served our Church well. John, Ken, Bo and Jen, all Associate Pastors who blessed UMCPB during their tenure and into today.

Pastor Jen and Bo remain with us today. I don't see Bo that often as he leads our Korean congregation, but Jen is a major force in my life. The day I got laid off, she was one of my first calls, I just needed to hear her voice. When mama was sick and her time was short, Jen called me more than once just to let me talk. She is now someone I look to for guidance and advice, but most of all she is someone I try to emulate, she lives her life humbly, with grace, compassion and love.... she lives her life the way God intended us all to live our lives.

David was replaced by Pastor Vic as our Senior Pastor. He was with us for 3 years. He had a difficult tenure, but he led us with grace and did his best, no one can ask for more than that.

I lost my job during Pastor Vic's tenure, you know they say "God puts people in your life for specific reasons." Debbi, his wife came to me after the lay-off, she hugged me and told me everything would be ok and for me not to leave Florida. God still had a future for me here, I listened to her.

Now this past summer Pastor Kent and Carla have come to lead our Church, I already like them. They are fun, energetic and Kent has a presence in the pulpit that I really like. I know they will lead us well.

The United Methodist Church of the Palm Beaches has become more than a Church for me, they are extended family. People I know who love me for our commonality and our differences. A congregation who loves, laughs, cries and grows together. A congregation that has nurtured me through good and bad.

And now you know why that simple phone call, with a simple statement "go to Church tomorrow" changed my life.

That simple call that had so much power, four words "go to Church tomorrow" the phone call that changed my life.

The Phone Call that Changed My Life.... Chapter 3

2010-08-22T10:02:00.000-07:00

Making my way into the "Gathering Place" of the United Methodist Church of the Palm Beaches was a big step for me. I had no idea that this would be the first step of many that would be life altering because of UMCPB.

I grew up in the Church, so attending services wasn't anything I was unaccustomed to. From an early age many of my fondest memories revolved around Clayton Baptist Church. Rev. Sam Letson was my first pastor, his son Sammy one of my best friends.

My Church friends from Clayton Baptist Church were some that I still think of fondly today. Fred, Michael, Patty, Kristina, Tracy, Warren, Brian, Jill and many others. I grew up with these kids. Together we sang in choirs, did musical productions, attended Bible School, led Youth Sunday and so much more.

Whether they knew it or not, these people helped to shape my life. Others shaped my life as well. Winona Gates, a gentle woman who started out as a piano player in my Youth Choir and later became a role model and confidant.

Mrs. Gates is the kind of woman who touches lives by example. No great speeches, no parables, just grace and example. When I go to God's Country I make it a point of seeing Mrs. Gates when I visit CBC.

Standing in the receiving line at the funeral home when mama passed away was incredibly difficult. I remember seeing Mrs. Gates face come around the corner and got a sense of peace, that is the kind of woman Winona Gates is.

I had a Sunday School teacher named Ted Law for several of my formidable years. Coach Law (in addition to being a Sunday School teacher, he was also a High School Basketball Coach) already seemed old when I was a kid, it was probably his grey hair because he wasn't much older than I am now when I first began going to his Sunday School class.

Coach Law challenged our class of boys. He challenged us to be young men, respect others and lead by example, not falling into the wrong crowd.

Another thing Coach Law taught was responsibility.

Sunday School and Church were not something that was done sometimes, it was our responsibility to be in Sunday School and Church EVERY Sunday. For some reason that responsibility made its way into my 10 year old brain and I latched onto it.

The year before my friend Brian had gotten a perfect attendance pin and I decided I wanted one too. That bright shiny pin looked so impressive on the lapel of his jacket and caught the light just so as to glisten when he walked.

I accepted Coach Law's challenge and decided I would receive my perfect attendance pin for Sunday School. I got my initial pin, I also got year two and year three.

Getting to Sunday School every week wasn't always easy, but mama and daddy knew it meant a lot to me. When we were out of town, they found a church where I could attend Sunday School.

When I was 11, I had my tonsils out, mama invited the entire Sunday School to our house for class, just so I wouldn't be counted absent.

When I was 12, a group of families went camping for the weekend. We set up camp on the river. The only way into the campground was with a 4-wheel drive vehicle.

Sunday morning came and as mama and I prepared to leave for Sunday School, all of the kids in the campground decided they were going too.

Instead of taking our Jeep, we all loaded into one of the pick-up trucks there. There were three of us in the front seat with mama driving and 4 boys in the back of the truck. (In the 70's it wasn't that big of a deal for kids to ride in the back of a pick-up truck.)

As we made our way down the small winding dirt road around the river, the truck lost its grip on the road. The next thing you knew we were rolling down an embankment, kids thrown out of the back of the truck and onto the ground.

The wreck looked bad and the truck was totaled, thankfully no one was seriously hurt. Just bruises, a few cuts and some stitches.

I missed Sunday School that week, we all missed Sunday School that week. I was heartbroken, not only were we in a wreck, but my streak was broken, there would be no perfect attendance pin.

Without my knowledge mama spoke to Coach Law and told him we were on our way to Sunday School when we had the wreck.

That year when Perfect Attendance Pins were presented they called my name. It was explained that I did miss a Sunday, but I was on my way and sometimes God puts obstacles in front of us that prevent us from reaching our intended goal.

On an early morning, in the backwoods of North Georgia, as a truck flipped down and embankment, God put one of those challenges in front of me, a challenge that would teach me a lesson I still carry today. It wasn't anything earth shaking, it was a lesson of perseverance.

I could have missed more Sundays after that week, but I didn't. I kept going and didn't miss another week. I was awarded that perfect attendance pin and I never felt like it was a "gimme" I earned it and wore it with pride as the lights flickered off my lapel.

I learned a lot in that Church growing up. The lessons I learned formed me in many ways into who I am today. The cornerstones of my character were molded there in that small Church, with my friends, leaders and examples I still remember today.

As often happens, I moved away from the Church when I was in college. I was experiencing life on my own, learning and accepting who I was and spreading my wings.

As I came to an acceptance of who I am, I wasn't so sure I was welcome in Church. This God who I had been told loved me, allowed his more vocal "followers" to persecute me. Was this really the God of love for everyone or only those who fit a certain mold?

As I searched for answers through my 20's, I longed for Church, but not the narrow-minded "spokespeople" who made up the Church. While living in Atlanta, I made friends with a couple of guys who told me about a Church they were attending.

A Methodist Church in Midtown Atlanta, not far from my house. I attended with them and found a Church where all were welcome, all were loved and the true examples of God I longed for were found.

In that Church I learned that the "spokespeople" who jumped in front of a television camera at every opportunity were not the Christians I would encounter. I learned that true Christians love everyone, we love each for our struggles, our weaknesses, our defeats and our victories.

I learned these Christians were the same ones who loved me as a child, the people who shaped my life and led by example. Through my journey, I learned that where God is truly present, there lies love and grace as well.

I had many examples of that grace throughout my life. On the day that I first walked into the United Methodist Church of the Palm Beaches, I wondered which Church I would find. The Church of persecution, or the Church of love and grace.

From the moment I walked through the doors, I knew I had found the latter. My walk with Christ has only been strengthened by the UMCPB family and through that journey I have found new leaders, people who lead by example, show love and grace.

Much like my childhood Church home, UMCPB has become my adult Church home, a journey that continues to evolve.

To Be Continued.....

The Phone Call that Changed My Life.... Chapter 2

2010-08-15T11:29:00.000-07:00

After surgery I was extremely weak. The last week of injury, ice and surgery had really taken its toll. Here I was back in my parents house, on the pull-out sofa in the living room.

Pull-out sofas are not comfortable, as you probably know there always seems to be an iron bar that goes right across the small of your back. Mama and daddy's pull-out was no different. Day and night I stayed on the sofa, but eventually I was able to move about more and more.

I had never been on crutches and they took some getting used to. I was anxious to get back to Florida, but also knew it would be a while before I came back.

After surgery on the 7th, I had a doctor appointment on the 21st, so my short four day vacation in God's Country had now turned into a month long Groundhog Day experience of pain, sofa bed, pain, sofa bed and on and on.

Daddy knew I was anxious to get back to Florida, but he also knew better than I did that I wasn't ready to go. He gave me a challenge. As soon as I could walk to the top of our driveway hill I would be ready to go back.

I was weak, but day after day I began to try to accomplish the task of going up the hill. The first day, I barely made it out of the garage. Each day I got stronger, eventually making it to the top of the long driveway hill within about a week.

My strength was returning and I was getting much better on the crutches. We had an appointment on the 21st with my doctor, so a few days before that, mama, daddy and I all felt comfortable that we could make a plane reservation for the 23rd.

The 21st came and we made it to my doctor appointment. For the first time since my surgery the doctor removed my cast and bandages. When everything was exposed I saw my scar, an 8 inch "L" shaped scar now adorned my beautiful foot.

After getting the cast off, my doctor found a referral for me in WPB and two days later I was on a plane headed back to Florida.

My first big challenge on the return home was to conquer the 17 steps that led up to my 2nd story apartment. I made it and eventually learned to drive with my left foot. I was coming along back in Florida.

The catering job was gone because I couldn't do anything, but that was ok, my main focus now was on getting well.

Four days per week I went to physical therapy, the rest of the time I spent moving slowly and trying to get around.

I found through this experience just how nice people can be. I had doors held for me by little old women, I learned to drive one of the motorized buggies at the grocery and often had people get items on uppper shelves that I couldn't reach. The kindness of strangers took on a whole new meaning during this time period.

As I began to get better each day, I also became depressed. Here I was in a town where I knew no one, I didn't have a job, I couldn't go to the beach and I had several more months on the crutches before I would be able to get around like I did before.

I looked for a job during this time, had a few interviews, but whenever I came hobbling in it was obvious by looking at the interviewer that I wouldn't be coming back for a second interview.

I was frustrated, I was angry, I was depressed and I was beginning to think I had made a mistake by moving to Florida.

Through it all my family tried to keep my spirits up, but it wasn't working, I was at a very low point in my life.

One Saturday night I was on the phone with mama and daddy. The conversation was pretty typical and then at the end of the conversation daddy said something, he said something that would change my life forever....

"you know that big Church behind the TGIF Friday's restaurant", my response was "yes." Then daddy said.... "why don't you go to Church in the morning?"

I was non-committal but the next morning I woke up, got dressed and made my way to the United Methodist Church of the Palm Beaches. I went in, sat down, and before I left I knew it that phone call from the night before had just changed me, changed me in a way that would soon make me realize it would all be ok!

To Be Continued....

The Phone Call That Changed My Life....

2010-08-07T18:00:00.000-07:00

Right after the 1996 Summer Olympic Games I needed a change of pace. Atlanta had been in the spotlight since 1990 when the Games were awarded and for those years we had all been gearing up for what was to come.

At the conclusion of the Olympics there was a tremendous let down, sadness and depression throughout the city. There was a feeling of now what? I had the same feeling on a more personal level.

Working in the special events industry, the Olympics were the epitome of a career for most people, here I was at 32 thinking, ok, what now? I needed a new adventure.

For years I had held a love affair with the beach. Immediately after the Games I took a trip to Florida, by myself just to unwind. What I found in Florida was the beginning of my "now what" because within weeks I was packing my bags and moving to sunny South Florida, West Palm Beach to be exact.

The beginning of this adventure was going to be huge, I was moving to a place where I knew no one. I would either thrive or fumble on my own.

I had gotten a piddly job working for a catering company to help me find my way. I hated working at the catering company, but loved south Florida, I knew that once I found a job I could enjoy I would be set.

A couple of months after my arrival, mama, daddy and gramps came for a visit to see my new home. A few months later mama and daddy came again, they could tell I was happy here and even though it was too far from God's Country for their taste they were supportive of my move.

At the end of June I had gathered up enough days to take a vacation. I packed my bags, hopped a plane and headed home, to see my family. The plan was to spend the Fourth of July holiday with family and then come back to WPB for work...... that was "the plan!"

It had been a while since I had been to God's Country and not long after I arrived mama told me she had one job she needed me to do while I was home. I told her of course and she said that "one of the screens had come off the upstairs window and she needed me to put it back on." Simple enough.

The next day, July 1st I decided it was time to re-attach the screen. Mama and daddy didn't have a ladder and I decided I didn't need on. Without saying anything to anyone, I went into the upstairs bathroom, opened the window and climbed out onto the roof.

I put the screen back into place and then it happened. I felt myself slipping, when I began slipping I jumped. When I hit the ground I landed on both feet, but immediately knew something was wrong from the pop I heard when I landed.

Intense pain surged through my body and all I could do was yell for daddy.

Mama first and then daddy made their way to the front lawn, finding me in a heap writhing in pain. What did you do was their first question, their second question was WHY????

I let them know quickly that this wasn't the time for a long drawn out talk, we needed to get to the hospital pronto. Daddy and I got into the car and made our way to the hospital, leaving mama at home to, well.... call everyone she knew to tell them that Ken was hurt.

By the time we made it to the emergency room, my foot was swollen and burning with pain. I knew this was more than a sprain, this was something serious. I had never had a broken bone, but was pretty sure I had one now.
Not long after daddy and I arrived at the hospital, Sam and mama made their way in. After checking out my foot, the doctor told us his recommendation was for us to go to a Regional Hospital about 40 miles away as they could give me better care.

An ambulance was offered, but we decided to load me into the backseat of mama and daddy's Oldsmobile and head south. By this time I had been given a shot for pain, so I was drifting, the backseat of the car as opposed to an ambulance was just fine with me.

We met a doctor at the Regional Hospital and he advised that I had broken my heel. My heel??? Who breaks a heel? Evidently I do!

Not only did I break it, the impact of me on the ground basically made my heel explode inside my body, it was in lots of pieces.

So now we know what is wrong, how do we fix it and fix it fast, I have to be back in WPB in less than a week. As if my day wasn't already bad enough the doctor had some more news for me.

The swelling in my foot was so great that he couldn't do surgery until it had subsided, this meant I would be going home and icing my foot to get the swelling down. Ok, ice the foot, we will see you tomorrow..... ummmm, NO..... we will see you on the 7th. The 7th!?!?!? That is a week away.

Yes, I would be coming back in one week for surgery. The instructions from the doctor, keep my foot elevated and iced for a week. Yes, iced for a week!

That is exactly what I did, for one week, day and night I kept ice on my foot. I slept and lived on a sofa bed in the living room. The 4th of July came and went, no fireworks for me and finally the morning of the 7th arrived.

Mama, daddy and I made our way to the hospital, surgery was scheduled for early afternoon. I would be in the hospital for a day or so, depending on how well I did.

When we got to my assigned room, mama told the nurse that she would need a blanket as she would be staying in my room with me. "Now mama that is silly, I am a grown man, I can stay here by myself, you go home with daddy."

My direction fell on deaf ears, mama was going to stay and I was just going to have to like it.

After surgery I woke up in the big hospital room. I soon found out that the surgery was a success, I was now the recipient of a bone graft, 7 screws and a metal plate which made up my heel.

At some point during the night I woke up, in horrible pain. The first face I saw was mama, she was bent over my bed, stroking my head, offering me water.... I was really glad she stayed!

The next morning the nurse came into my room bright and early, she advised me that I had to pee.

I told her I didn't need to pee, and she advised me that my needs didn't matter, I HAD to pee.

My bladder had not done anything since my surgery, she was getting off in an hour and she would be back in 30 minutes, if I had not pee'd she would insert a catheter and I WOULD pee.

I had never had a catheter, but I knew I didn't want one, so for the next few minutes I drank as much water as I could stand and eventually pee'd a few drops.

When she came back in she laughed and told me "I thought you would see it my way!"

In a couple of days I went home, back to the sleeper sofa. My return to WPB had come and gone, now I was in recovery land on the sofa in my childhood living room for God only knew how long......

To Be Continued......

(Side Note, thank you all so much for the notes and gentle pushes in person you have given me to continue the Blog. In all honesty, since mama died it has been a chore, but I am going to continue and thank you all for encouraging me to do so!)

Grief

2010-05-25T08:14:00.000-07:00

Grief is a strange thing. One moment you are ok, or at least you THINK you are ok and the next, something can hit you that opens up a deep pain that you didn't even know you could feel.

Since mama passed, I have been going through this roller-coaster of emotions and it doesn't seem to be getting any better. If anything it gets worse. The slightest thing will trigger my eyes to fill with tears, a commercial, a smell, anything and everything, it just hits a nerve.

This past Sunday, we got word that my Aunt had passed away, although we weren't particularly close, that news put me in a tail-spin right back to those days n God's Country with mama during her final days and burial.

I constantly want to pick up the phone and call her, but I can't, so in those moments I just talk to her. I speak with daddy every morning and that is a blessing I cherish.

Mama has been gone now for three months, but the wound of her loss is still fresh and some days it gets deeper and deeper. I am constantly reminded of her and I cherish every one of those memories and know that one day we will all be reunited.

I also know she is with me every moment of every day, but that doesn't take away the pain. I just want to hear her voice, I want to hear her say "I love you" or call me "baby".... I just want my mama!

Some things probably aren't appropriate for a blog post, and this may be one of them, but I need to get it out and for me writing it down is therapeutic, I realize this rambles, but it is how it is coming out, so accept my apologies, this one is more for me than anyone else.

Daddy and Sam are wonderful and I appreciate being able to lean on them, but I am a mama's boy and nothing or no one can completely take her place. I got through the funeral and planning and death better than I thought I would, but now as things are quieted down, as life has moved on and things are supposed to be back to normal, this new normal is difficult at best. I am trying and know I will get through, but at certain times and certain moments the sadness is overwhelming.

Grief is a strange thing, you think you are making progress and then the mack-truck of sadness runs into you face to face. I hate those moments, but also know that if I didn't love her so much and she didn't love me so much the pain wouldn't be as hard.

For the memories and joy mama gave me through life, this pain is worth it. But this pain is hard and will take forever to mend.

Child of Miracles

2010-05-16T12:48:00.000-07:00

Eighteen months ago I was in a meeting at Church. The meeting was like most others and to be honest I don't even remember what we discussed that night, but what happened during and after that meeting gave me a renewed sense of faith, grace and love unlike most anything I have ever seen in my life.

Just a month or so earlier, our Pastor Jen had shared the news with our congregation that she was expecting her first child. The congregation was overjoyed for Jen and her husband Mike, also a Methodist Pastor at a nearby church.

On the night of our meeting several of us noticed Pastor Jen appearing to be run-down and tired. Some even mentioned it to her. As the meeting concluded, I walked to the parking lot with Jen and we spoke briefly about how she just wasn't feeling well. As we usually do, we departed with a hug and I told her to get some rest.

Unbeknownst to me and the rest of the congregation, that ride home for Jen would change her life forever. After a call to her on-call doctor, Jen was informed to pack an overnight bag and get to the hospital.

Following doctor's orders she and Mike soon arrived at the hospital and doctor's began to do their work. Over the next few days it was determined that not only was the babies life in danger, but also Pastor Jen's.

Word of Pastor Jen's difficulties began to seep out into our community of faith and we all began to pray for her, Mike and their unborn child. Following a couple of days of ups and downs, Jen was transferred to another hospital and she delivered Luke, just over 1 lb at birth.

It was apparent from the beginning that Pastor Jen, Pastor Mike and baby Luke were in for a battle. Doctor's weren't very encouraging, but one thing that baby Luke had on his side was a community of faith that lifted he and his parents up.

We began to pray for baby Luke, we spread the word about baby Luke to other churches and we continued to pray. We prayed through dark days, days when it seemed inevitable that God's will wasn't for baby Luke to live. Facebook pages were formed for prayer and updates, blue ribbons were worn in solidarity with baby Luke and we turned it over to God for a miracle, to deliver baby Luke from harm.

During his early months, baby Luke was transferred from a local hospital to a regional hospital in Miami that could give him more intense care. We continued to pray and Pastor Jen and Pastor Mike made the trip daily to see their little boy and spend time with him.

One night during a bible study I was attending, Pastor Jen got word that she needed to get to Miami immediately. As word spread of this news, again we began to pray.

As time went along, it sometimes was confusing what we were praying for, but we kept praying.

Months passed and Luke began to improve, bit by bit his small body began to respond to treatments and he began to grow. First Christmas, birthday, Valentine's Day, Mother's Day and Father's Day were all held in a hospital NICU unit, but although they were reserved just for family, the faithful celebrated these milestones from miles away.

Finally, as if God had smiled on this little angel, Luke came home. He was released from the hospital with a mom and dad who had spent far too many hours confined to a hospital to enjoy their newborn;s birth. He came home.

This time we prayed a prayer of Thanksgiving..... another milestone met.

Today, several months after his initial homecoming, Luke was brought to another home. For the first time he was introduced to our congregation and his baptism was reaffirmed before one of his Church families. Again we prayed and we cried, but we also smiled today. Today a miracle child was in our midst and a proud mother and father shared the pulpit to preach the word of Luke's life and the lessons learned through his life.

We continue to pray for Luke, for the young boy he is and the young man he will become. We will continue to pray and celebrate the milestones.

Baby Luke is home, the blue ribbons no longer adorn our wrist and the Facebook page doesn't get much traffic any longer, but the prayers remain for a miracle child who taught us all about faith, perseverance, love, grace and prayer.

Welcome to the family baby Luke, we look forward to seeing where God leads you and your parents as you continue to journey.

Chelsea

2010-05-02T11:11:00.000-07:00

After years of waiting Sam finally called me with the news, Donna was pregnant! I had been wanting a niece or nephew since I was old enough to know what one was.

Sam and Donna waited until my patience had grown thin to get married and then waited a couple of years to get pregnant.... what was the wait? Didn't they know that I needed a little bundle of joy in the family?

So finally, the time had come, I was going to have a baby to play with. It never occurred to me that Sam and Donna would be the parents, all I knew was I was getting a baby.... FINALLY!

The next few months were filled with anticipation, if she were a girl I would groom her to be Miss America, if it was a boy, I would groom him to be President of the United States..... I was in a state of euphoria planning how I would impact this child's life.

Finally the day arrived, Sam called early in the morning and said Donna was in labor. I took the day off to be with family at the hospital. We were all there mama, daddy, Donna's mama and daddy, Donna's sister we paced the floors of Northeast Georgia Medical Center just waiting.

We waited for hours. I couldn't believe how long it was taking and I felt for Donna for the labor she must be going through. Later I found out Donna slept through most of the labor after she received her epidural.

When the moment arrived, Sam came out to tell us, "it's a girl." A girl! A girl?

Secretly I had wished for a girl, but when the words came out of his mouth I was a bit worried.... what are we supposed to do with a girl? We are a family of boys, we don't know anything about girls!

But we had one, a girl, Chelsea Leigh Rumsey, born May 8th, 1990.

I quickly learned that Chelsea was not mine, she belonged to her daddy and her grand-daddy. If two men could ever be wrapped around the small pudgy fingers of a child they were. This little girl would just look at them both and they would melt....and they still do to this day.

From day one Chelsea was her own person, she makes her own decisions, she stands strong behind her values and she is unwavering in her opinions.

Chelsea is a mix of soft blond beauty and rough and tumble tomboy. Today she is a statuesque college student who enjoys being in a sorority but also lets me know with no apologies that she can kick my butt.

I didn't get my Miss America, but what I did get was a sweet, funny niece who values her friends and family. A young lady who has her head on straight and always stands by what is right, not what is popular. I'll take that over Miss America any day!

Happy Birthday Chelsea, you make your family proud!

The Gift

2010-04-25T12:29:00.000-07:00

I was born on April 28th, 1964... yes, I will be 46 this week. Daddy was born 33 years prior, I was born on his birthday.

Growing up friends and family never made me feel like my birthday was HIS birthday nor his birthday MY birthday, we celebrated together but it was always made special for each of us.

On my 12th birthday and Daddy's 45th mama threw a surprise party for us both. I went home with a friend after school and daddy went somewhere. When we got home later that afternoon all the neighbors and friends for each of us was there.

That birthday mama and daddy gave me a motorcycle. I never asked for a motorcycle, but I got one. I rode it sporadically at best, but daddy LOVED riding that motorcycle and it quickly became more his gift than mine, which was appropriate.

For years that motorcycle sat in the garage and every now and then daddy would take it for a ride. Every now and again he tells us he is going to buy another one, which I quickly explain to him is not a good idea!

Since I was little, daddy has always told me I was the best gift he ever got for his birthday.... that's pretty nice praise for a child.

I may not have always realized it, but getting him for a daddy was the best gift I ever got for my birthday as well. I was born to a man who honors his family above all else, a man who loves, laughs and lives life to the fullest.

Daddy is an example of what a father should be.

I didn't always understand that and sometimes when he was tough on me, I thought I was cursed, but then you grow up and realize his influence and strong hand and stronger love shaped me into the man I am today.

As a teacher and Coach, daddy molded hundreds of kids in the mountains of God's Country into the adults they are today, generation after generation has been touched by his influence, strong hand and love.

It is nice to look back at 46 and see the man I called daddy as an influence in so many lives. I used to be jealous that so many students had his time, today I realize, he has so much to give; if only Sam and I would have gotten it his gift for life would have been wasted.

I am the one who got the best birthday gift, the gift of love, laughter and respect for the man who has lived his life giving to so many.

Happy Birthday Daddy, I love you!

Listening

2010-04-18T17:41:00.000-07:00

Today I had two friends ask me if I had posted on my blog recently, sadly the answer was no. In all honesty I haven't felt like writing.

Since mama died, the thought of writing anything here has terrified me. She loved this blog and I couldn't wait to share each story with her, now without her being here to read, it just isn't as much fun to write.

But here I go, although I have no idea what I am about to write, let me begin....

Everyone told me that losing a parent would be hard, I never could have imagined just how hard. Mama died on February 21st, today is April 18th and the emotions are still just as raw as they were the moment I knew she was gone.

My faith, my family and my friends have gotten me through this. But not a single moment of a single day has gone by since she passed that I haven't thought of her. I just want to pick up the phone and hear her voice. I want to hear her say she loves me and I want to know that I am going to see her again.

On the outside I seem pretty together, on the inside I am a mess. I go about my day everyday and keep a brave face, but a simple commercial or moment on tv can have me in tears.

The final thing our family did together was celebrate Communion, or the Lord's Supper. It was mama's wish, that someone from the Church come to the house and serve us this blessed meal together. So on Saturday the 20th, a Deacon from mama and daddy's Church came to the house and served us the Lord's meal as a family. Mama was already slowly making her journey home, but we surrounded her bed, as a family, and took part in the Lord's feast, that memory will be with me forever.

My Church serves communion on the first Sunday of each month, I missed it in March because I was busy with my election campaign. (To be honest, I was not in any place emotionally to go to Church and have Communion that week.)

On Maundy Thursday, I was in Church and had to leave the room when Communion was being prepared because I wasn't ready yet.

Last Sunday, we served Communion, the second Sunday of the month because Easter fell on the first. I took Communion and the warmth and love I felt as I took the bread and wine was palpable, I knew my mama was with me. It was emotional, but I got through it.

Easter was tough. Daddy came down for the day and as wonderful as it was to be with him, the empty seat was painful to see.

Daddy and I talk every morning, it is wonderful to hear his voice and we have been there for each other through all of this.

Daddy and I will both celebrate our birthdays on the 28th of this month, another first.

All these first seem like they are difficult, but I imagine the seconds and thirds and fourths are going to be just as hard. Mama was my rock, the person I always knew I could talk to and now she is gone. Now I talk to her in my mind and in my prayers and sometimes I just talk out loud to her, I just wish I could hear her answer.

A couple of weeks ago she did answer, although I had no idea she had until a friend of mine told me. I had an event on the 9th that I was responsible for. About 10 minutes before the event began I was running around getting everything finalized when I got a text from Sam.

The text was a picture of the headstone on mama's grave that had been put in that day. Of course I lost it but regained my composure and kept going with my event.

A few days later I was relaying the story to my friend Beth when she said "you know what that was don't you, that was your mama telling you she was with you." Beth was right, although I don't hear her voice any longer she still communicates to me... I just need to find the new way of listening.

Thinking back on it mama has spoken to me in numerous ways over the last 8 weeks.

When I arrived back in Florida after being with family to find my yard completely made over, my house cleaned beyond spotless, hot chili in the crock pot and a memory garden planted in the back yard. That was mama telling me that she has entrusted me to wonderful friends, a Florida family, who is there for me in good times and bad.

When on a particularly bad day, I called Sam and said I am having a bad day and within 2 minutes he had me laughing, that was mama passing along the love of siblings through us to get through difficult moments.

The night I was sitting on my sofa, deep in thought and feeling lonely, when an acquaintance, a Southern lady, drove up handed me a freshly baked pound cake and departed, that was mama knowing that everything is ok as long as you have a freshly baked pound cake on hand.

When a friend stops by to drop off flowers or neighbors who have suffered their own loss just sit and listen to me, that is mama helping me work through the grief and letting me know that I am not alone.

When Chelsea or Zack text or email me, or when Donna and I talk, that is mama passing along love to a new generation of Rumsey.

Countless cards, letters, phone calls, emails, Facebook messages all acts of love and kindness, the type of grace mama showed to others through her years is being given back to me now in my time of loss.

The rose bushes in the backyard that have been covered in blooms this year, each time I see one I think of mama and feel renewed.

It is comforting to know that mama still speaks to me in these brief moments. Moments of love and grace, now I just find a new way of hearing her.

Promoted to Glory....

2010-02-28T11:55:00.000-08:00

As those of you who read this blog regularly know, I love writing, it is an outlet for me. Today, I hate writing this post.

Mama passed away last Sunday. After years of fighting for her life, she made the journey to heaven early Sunday morning. She passed away in her sleep, surrounded by her family.

Over Valentine's Day weekend the entire family gathered in Edgewater, FL not knowing that the end was so near. Sam took mama and daddy home to Georgia on Sunday, February 14th. Mama wanted to go home.

Early Monday morning Sam called me and told me I needed to come home. Within the hour I was on the road.

During the week prior to her passing, my family was all together. We spent many loving hours together.

We left nothing unsaid and for that I am thankful. I am thankful that mama did not suffer and she is now home with our Lord.

Sam and I both spoke at mama's funeral. I have never been more proud of Sam than I was sitting in the Church pew listening to him talk about mama, he was masterful in his words and love for mama and our entire family.

I re-wrote my eulogy twice and finally finished it at 11:30 on Monday night, I lovingly post it below.....

On behalf of Daddy, Sam, Donna, Chelsea, Zack and Aunt Beck, I want to thank you all for being here today.

Several years ago at the funeral of Coretta Scott King, men and women from around the world stood to talk about the legacy of Mrs. King. As the service was nearing an end Former President Bill Clinton stood and walked to the podium, he simply said. Let’s not forget there is a woman in that box and today I want to talk about the woman.

Well, today I want to talk about this woman, Martha Joyce Bellamy Rumsey. Daughter, sister, wife, mother, grand-mother, teacher, role model, lady, friend and Christian.

Most of the people in this room know her simply as Mama, a tough, dedicated woman who fought through more tragedies and struggles than most of us will ever know. Through it all she never lost her zest for life, her passion, she never gave up and she never complained. Up until the day she died mama fought to live, even in her last breaths she was fighting to live.

In a household full of men, mama was a total lady. A southern lady. Supper was on the table every night, meat, two vegetables, biscuits and gravy. Sweet tea was always in the refrigerator, or as mama called it the Frigidaire. Mama ruled with grace, but she also ruled with an iron hand. She was the real boss of the house, she knew it, and we all knew it. The last thing you ever wanted to do was disappoint mama, and in the Rumsey house, we worked hard not to disappoint mama.

She taught us manners and respect. All questions were answered with yes ma’am, no ma’am, yes sir, no sir, we cleaned off the table after every meal and you never walked away from the kitchen without an “I enjoyed it.”

In our house there was one rule. Daddy tattooed it onto our brains….. don’t do anything to embarrass your mama, ever. Think about it…. Don’t do anything to embarrass your mama; it’s a pretty good rule to live by. I don’t think Sam or I ever embarrassed mama…… and that is a badge of honor I will carry forever.

Mama was a role model to my brothers and me…. and to hundreds of students who passed through her classroom doors. Ironically in a household of men, some of mama’s primary life influences were women. Four women shaped my mama through life and helped make her the woman she was.

Mama’s sister Aunt Beck, her big sister, her friend. Aunt Beck has been a major influence in all our lives; she taught mama about life as they grew up and she was the one mama chose to help her make her journey into heaven. Aunt Beck we love you and will always be thankful that you are a vital part of our lives.

When mama and daddy moved to South Georgia, she met Gracie Hudson….no words can describe Gracie other than, she was a character. Gracie was boisterous; she could make mama laugh harder than anyone else could. Gracie became a second sister to mama and for Sam and me a second mother. Gracie died a few years ago and I know she and mama are sitting on the banks of a catfish pond today, cane pole in hand, laughing, loving and remembering their times here on earth.

When we moved to Clayton mama met her best friend, Sara Singleton. Mama and Mrs. Singleton had lives that intertwined. Teachers, Coaches Wives, mothers of boys and coffee lovers. COFFEE LOVERS. For as long as I can remember mama and Mrs. Singleton would meet daily for coffee. 1:30 in the afternoon would find the two of them at the Singleton’s, the Rumsey’s or in later years McDonalds. Mrs. Singleton is my mama’s longest lasting friendship, her best friend; the two of them shared a bond like no other relationship in my mama’s life. Mrs. Singleton, my mama loved you and I know you loved her…. Thank you for always being there for mama.

The fourth woman of influence came along late in Mama’s life. Sam brought her home one day, shy, quiet, reserved. Donna. It took me a while to warm up to Donna, but she knew exactly how to get to mama’s heart. From day one Donna was able to connect with mama. For many years our house had a dark cloud over it, we mourned Tom and as hard as we tried that cloud remained over us….. until Donna came along. Donna gave us a new dimension in our family, a girl…..we didn’t know anything about having a girl in the family but mama thrived on it. Donna made mama happy, she was much more than a daughter in law, as mama told Donna last Thursday, she was the best thing to ever happen to the Rumsey family. And as much as I believe I was the best thing to ever happen to the Rumsey family, if I am honest I have to agree with mama. Donna thank you for bringing joy back to our household.

Sam and I are mama’s boys. In our minds mama was as close to perfect as anyone the good Lord ever created. While truth be told, she wasn’t perfect, she was in our eyes. Mama cooked, cleaned, kept house, taught school, and still had time to spend with us both.

Mama taught us simple lessons….simply. Christmas is for family, Sundays are for Church, Family is the most important thing there is. Mama’s family was her greatest pride and joy. She nurtured us, she made every holiday special, she would call just to say hello, and she made sure that the simple things in a day were important.

As lucky as Sam and I were to have mama, two people were even luckier. They got to have her as a grandmother. Chelsea and Zack; mama’s angels. While being the son of Martha Rumsey had a lot of benefits, imagine what it was like to have her as a grandmother. Mother’s have to say no sometimes, grandmothers don’t. Chelsea and Zack, you dada loved you more than you will ever know. She celebrated every moment of joy you had and hurt when you hurt. Know that your dada will now be your angel, she will watch over you from heaven, just always remember don’t do anything to embarrass your dada and you will be fine.

Over 60 years ago Mama met the man that she would marry and she chose well. Daddy words will never be enough to thank you for what you have done for mama over the years. Life wasn’t always perfect, but you both fought to make it the best it could be. In mama’s final years, daddy was her caretaker; he cooked, he cleaned, he made sure she never missed a medication; he catered to mama’s every need. I honor what my daddy did for mama and hope that I can prove to be half the man he has been through the years.

Not a single day will go by that I won’t miss mama. She lived on her own terms, but she also died on her terms. She had everything planned; she made it easy for us. Last Tuesday mama sat Sam, Daddy and I down to tell us what she wanted for today, I guess you could call it her final lesson plan. Every detail was planned and I pray that we have executed it to her satisfaction.

As hard as death is, the last week has been a wonderful blessing. As a family we have all been together, we have laughed, we have cried, and we have talked about everything. I can safely say that we all had the chance to say evertything that needed to be said. Every I love you was more intentional, hand holds meant more and simple touches will be forever cherished.

I hope for each of you, when the day comes to say good bye to the most important person in your life that you will be as fortunate as we have been with mama’s passing. The Lord blessed us as a family by letting us has Martha Rumsey in our lives, and he blessed us again by taking her without pain, knowing she was loved by us and we were loved by her.

I attend a multi-cultural Church in West Palm Beach, Florida. We have over 60 nationalities represented in our Church. Several years ago one of our members died, a lady from Jamaica who had fought cancer for several years.

I made a comment to a friend from Kenya about how sad it was that she had died. My Kenyan friend said something that I will never forget and today it has more meaning to me than it ever has before.

My Kenyan friend said….. no Kendall, Deborah had not died, she has been promoted to glory.

Promoted to Glory…… promoted to glory!

What a beautiful way to view the passing of a loved one. So today, my mother is not dead, she is Promoted to Glory. On Sunday morning she crossed over to her glorious after life, no longer in pain, with lungs that would never need the help of an artificial device to breathe again.

Mama ran into heaven and into the arms of Tommy. She now sits with the Lord in a huge celebration of a life well lived, enjoying her time with ma-ma, gramps, Pa and me-ma, Uncle Larry, Lloyd, Bubby, Aunt Tenie, Bridget, Vickie and Gracie.

A celebration worthy of a promotion…. A promotion to glory!

My Valentine

2010-02-12T14:28:00.000-08:00

I first met my Valentine on April 28, 1964. From that day until today she has held my heart.

From the first day I met her, my Valentine has loved me without question. She comforts me when I am sad, she celebrates my successes and provides guidance through every step of my life.

As a child she kissed my bumps and bruises, as an adult she kisses my heart.

Through almost 46 years of life, I have never doubted my Valentine's love, not for one day, not for one moment.

I cherish every memory with my Valentine. She talks to me about the things that matter, she talks to me about the journey of life and she talks to me about nothing of importance..... we just talk.

My Valentine warms my heart through memories, through her actions, through her being.

Growing up I revered her, today I honor her. She is my friend, my confidant and my Valentine.

She is my mother...... Happy Valentine's Day Mama! I love and appreciate you more than you will ever know.

Slippery Slopes

2010-01-10T08:41:00.000-08:00

It has been abnormally cold in Florida over the past couple of weeks. Last night it got down to 30 degrees at my house, the coldest night I have experienced here since I moved in 1996.

With the low temps, I have been thinking back to a time many years ago when I couldn't wait for the cold weather to arrive, the beginning of ski season.

God's Country is in the far northeast corner of Georgia, at the foothills of the Appalachian Trail. It gets cold in those mountains and each year we would have one or two really pretty snowfalls that blanketed the horizon.

When we built our house, mama's main wish was to have a wall of windows that she could sit in front of and watch the snows fall, she got those windows and we have watched many a snow shower from within the confines of that home.

In the 70s a group of developers built the southern most ski resort in our county, Sky Valley. It was a beautiful Alpine inspired resort with huge arching windows, intricate wood carvings and probably the smallest ski slope known to man.

With only a couple of snowfalls per year, Sky Valley utilized man made snow to keep it running. Once the temp hit 28 the big snow machines would be brought out and a base of ice (not really snow) would cover the slopes and the season would begin.

I began snow skiing when I was 11 or 12. I loved to slide down those icy slopes over and over again. Through many passes and slides, I became a pretty good skier.

Nothing was more exciting during those days than a school's out, snow day. Coach and Mrs. Singleton would pick me up early in the morning and joined by John, their son and an assortment of other friends we would pile into their old Scout and head for the slopes.

Piled into the Scout like a bunch of sardines in an aluminum can, we would make our way up the ice covered roads. Slipping and sliding the whole way. No seat belts, no airbags, basically a rag tag vehicle making our way up the mountain.

Once we arrive at Sky Valley we would spend the whole day going up and down that tiny slope. Some wonderful friendships were formed there and memories that will last me forever.

At the end of the day, mama and daddy would pick us up in our Jeep Cherokee. Another rag tag vehicle with no seat belts, no air bags and we would slide our way back down the hill.

Over the years mama, daddy and the Singletons made that trip hundred of times. Many times when they probably shouldn't have, but their boys wanted to do it, so they did.

I can still taste the hot chili from the lodge dining room and feel the cold air hitting my face as we made our way to the top of the hill on a chairlift.

My love for snow skiing continued through high school and into my first year of college. Those were great times, innocent and exciting.

Today, Sky Valley is a shell of its former self, it is sad to see how things have changed there, but my memories of that time will always keep me warm when the temperature dips.

Milestones....

2010-01-03T13:01:00.001-08:00

January, the beginning of a new year. Wow, where did the last year go? And the one before that and all the ones since I was an 18 year old kid with my whole life in front of me.... where does the time go?

We measure our lives in milestones. New Years, birthdays, anniversaries. Sometimes we measure our lives in wealth, luxury cars, designer clothes.

What if in 2010 we measured our milestones daily, what if for this year we measured our self-worth in something more simplistic, something that could really make a difference?

One of the things I learned in 2009 was that kindness and compassion are still rampant in our society, it sneaks up on you when you least expect it.

Do the people who have prayed for me, loved me and guided me know that I measure their past year as a success? Do the people who have done that for you know the difference they have made in your life.... sadly, like me, the answer is probably no.

What if for this year, 2010 we set new goals, not abandoning those that allow us to live the lives of comfort we already do, but smaller more tangible goals.

Kindness, compassion, understanding, love, friendship and grace.

How different would the world be if those were our guiding principles instead of who has the nicest I-pod, who can shout the loudest to get their point across, whose Mercedes is newer.... how different would the world be?

As we embark on a new year, with new goals and aspirations, wouldn't it be great if this year we measured our lives by what is really important, the kind of person we can become.

2010 like every year starts off with great promise, like a daffodil breaking through a soft bed of snow, the potential is limitless. My goal for 2010 is to be the best person I can be, to return the love, compassion and friendship I have been shown.

Several years ago I set a goal for myself.....

Laugh each day and show grace to others.

Some days I meet that goal, others I don't, but if I continue to strive for that ideal imagine how great my life will be!

It is expected that we measure our lives each year with those milestone moments, there is nothing wrong with that, but this year, my challenge for myself and you is to measure your life successes in smaller increments. Live each day to the fullest, honor your neighbor, and find a way to be of service to someone each day.

Service, it doesn't have to be something big. Helping a lady across the street is service, opening the door for someone, sharing a kind word with a stranger, it is all service. What if in 2010 we took it upon ourselves to make a difference, small differences added together to make a huge difference.

I continue to work towards financial security and having nice things in my life, that is expected... but this year, the small things are what I will use to measure my life.

Making a daily difference, that is a milestone I can be proud of!

The BEST Year of My Life

2009-12-13T09:24:00.001-08:00

Today will be my final post for 2009. I am leaving for an extended stay in God's Country on the 18th and will return home just before New Year's.

Before I go any further I want to wish you and your family a blessed Christmas, I hope that you are able to spend time with those you love and remember the true spirit of Christmas isn't about the gifts we give or the food we eat, but the gift that was given to us, so many years ago in the birth of our Jesus the Christ.

This year has been the most difficult of my life. I was laid off from my job, a job I loved, back in January. Sam likes to remind me that my lay-off occurred just 2 hours after President Obama was sworn in.

Never did I imagine that I would be in the place I am at 45 years old. The year has tried my patience, my faith and my self-worth. As much as I know my lay-off had nothing to do with my job performance, it still stings when you are told that your services are no longer needed.

I have struggled this year in ways that I wouldn't wish on anyone, but through it all I have made it through, in many ways a stronger man than I was when the year began.

Through all the crap of being laid-off, I have found so much. I have been blessed in ways that I never imagined and have renewed my faith in the power of simple acts of kindness through the people who have carried me through.

As poor as my bank account is, my heart and soul are richer than they have ever been!

In March, the people of Lake Park, Florida elected me to the position of Town Commissioner. After a grueling run-off, I beat a long-term incumbent with over 65% of the vote. The job of Commissioner has been the most rewarding I have ever had. If only I could live on $9,700 a year!!!!

In this year, I have given back to my community and I feel like we are on a good path for the future. Like most communities we face difficult challenges ahead, but we have grown together and will move forward together.

Through the blog and Facebook, I have reconnected with old friends and relatives. People I have not had contact with in decades returned to my life. It has been wonderful to hear from so many people and renewed friendships.

The blog has given me a joy for writing once again. Something I hadn't done in years, but I have found that putting the words on the blog have been cathartic for me, remembering the good and bad times of life is important and the blog has given that to me. Maybe someday I will find a way to make a living with my writing, it really is something that I enjoy doing.

Many of you have embraced the blog and sent me notes through the year to encourage me to keep going. You don't know how much those simple acts of kindness have meant, I will appreciate it forever.

There are many more stories to come and I look forward to sharing them with you in 2010! I hope in some ways the blog has helped you to remember the moments in your life that were important, the ones that helped you grow, made you smile and sometimes made you cry. Memories are a powerful thing, without them our pathway through life would much less meaningful.

2009 has renewed my faith in my fellow man. From a simple hug, kiss on the cheek or telling me you are praying for me, the most important lesson I have learned this year has been that the fellowship of man is strong and thriving, when one of us is down we can rally behind the person and lift them up...... you have done that for me.

I will never be able to thank you all enough for the compassion, prayers and love you have shown me. I hope someday to pass that along in your honor to others in need.

Finally, 2009 has drawn me closer to my family and those I cherish most. Mama, Daddy, Sam, Donna, Chelsea, Zack and Aunt Beck are the most important people in the world to me. My family keeps me on track, we bicker, we laugh and we cry together, but through it all we love.

The love my family has shown me during the past year has been incredible, never judging and always without question, I am honored to be a member of the Rumsey clan!

Yes, in many ways 2009 has been a horrible year, one that I would like to forget. However, the lessons I have learned will be invaluable to me as I move forward in life. You can take my job, my money and my status, you can't take my compassion, love and the gifts that have been given to me through this year.

I will survive this and come out the other side stronger than ever before. Life isn't about the jobs we hold, the cars we drive or the money we make, it is about the friends, family and memories we cherish.

To all of you, thank you for being a part of my 2009 in more ways than I can measure the BEST year of my life!

The Harvest of Thanks

2009-11-25T13:21:00.000-08:00

Thanksgiving has always been my favorite holiday. There is no pressure for the perfect gift, it isn't about one single person, it is just a celebration of thanks.

The food, friends, family all combine to make Thanksgiving a special time.

As I have grown older, my Thanksgiving celebrations have changed. Since, moving to Florida I have always had to work the day after Thanksgiving, so travelling to Georgia has been out of the question. Now, I celebrate this special holiday with my Florida family, a collection of friends who have blessed my life in unimagined ways.

It is sad not to be with my family in Georgia on this holiday, but I know that they hold a special place in their hearts for me as they sit to enjoy the harvest of love they feast on at Thanksgiving.

As much as I loved those Thanksgiving celebrations in God's Country before moving to Florida, and as much as I love the ones I take part in here, my favorite Thanksgiving memories are from my early childhood, in a place called Rochelle, Ga.

Rochelle, is a tiny town in south-western Georgia, approximately 60 miles from Macon. Not much happens in Rochelle, it is an agriculture community that thrives on pecan fields. Rochelle is where we lived the first year of my life.

We moved away from Rochelle, before my first birthday, but it has always held a special place in our hearts.

During our time in Rochelle, our family became part of a close-knit circle of friends the Hudsons, the Horns, the Mashburns, Whitworths, Conners, Reeds and others, an extended family much like the one I have created in Florida.

We had a special bond with the Hudsons, Newt, Gracie, Randy, Dixie and Suzanne.

For years after moving to God's Country, we would travel to Rochelle for Thanksgiving. Mama and daddy would pack up the car after school let out on Wednesday and we would travel into the night to our friend's in south-Georgia. A standing invitation was held for us at Newt and Gracie's house and we would revel in being there.

Newt was the County Extension Director and later became a State Legislator. Randy, their son, is the splitting image of his father in personality and actions.

Gracie was a combination of Paula Deen and Rose Kennedy. The loud, hilarious, protective matriarch of the family. Dixie is as much like Gracie as anyone could imagine.

Suzanne, the perfect combination of her father's quite dignity and her mother's rambunctious zest for life.

To me, Gracie was the funniest, kindest, most loving person I have ever known. She had an infectious laugh that would echo through the house, a love that was as poignant one on one as in a crowd, and a simple elegance that would capture every eye when she walked into a room.

Arriving in Rochelle for Thanksgiving meant one thing.... joy! Unbridled joy!

We would drive up to the Hudson house late into the evening and be engulfed in hugs, kisses and laughter that would last long past the time we returned to God's Country.

Without delay preparations would begin for the Harvest of Thanks that would be presented the next day. A table filled with turkey, ham, beef, fish, vegetables, salads, cakes and pies of every combination and most of all love.

My favorite memories of Gracie have nothing to do with the meal preparation, but special times sharing the bench of her organ, laughing and singing to her concert that in my mind was performed just for me.

Located in the den of the house was Gracie's organ, no music in sight, but the most important piece of furniture in their house in my young mind.

To this day, I recall asking repeatedly "Gracie, will you play the organ for me?" After some simple coaxing, she would always pull off her apron, take me by the hand, place me on the bench along side her and begin to play. Gracie played by ear, and in my mind she performed like the best of the best at Carnegie Hall.

I would sit along side Gracie and the rest of the family would join us in the den. She would play, she would sing, she would laugh and we would all join in. Those moments spent with Gracie are some of the most treasured of my life, I will never forget that time for as long as I live.

Mama and Gracie would continue preparations for the feast long into the night. Potatoes peeled, oranges crushed, cakes baked and a continuous round of basting the turkey throughout the night, this was a meal prepared with love for all those who would sit together the following day.

After a long night, preparations would again begin early in the morning. After a full breakfast, daddy, Newt, Tom, Sam and Randy would make their way to the Hudson's farm, a sprawling pecan orchard with grazing cows and catfish ponds. I stayed behind, tugging on Gracie's apron strings just enjoying the time with this lady I loved so much.

By lunchtime, the house was filled with all the other families who had been a part of our life in Rochelle. Providing their own dishes, there was easily enough food for the entire state and more laughter in one confined place than should be allowed.

We would gather together as time for the feast approached and Newt would lead us in prayer. All holding hands, families intermingled.... an extended family of love.

A Harvest of Thanks!

I treasure those times in Rochelle, the memories of those days still impact me some 30 years later.

As I grew older we didn't travel to Rochelle for Thanksgiving anymore. Ma-ma and Gramps were getting older and it was important for us to stay closer to God's Country, but that extended family still holds a special place in my heart.

We lost Gracie a few years back, I had not seen her in many years when she died and I regret that, but I know she loved me and I know she knew I loved her. She will always hold a special place in my heart and I look forward to sitting at her side again some day as she serenades the angels in heaven on her organ.

Yes, Thanksgiving has always been my favorite holiday, a time to tell those important to you that they are loved.... a time to give thanks!

Short Notes..... Rabun Cross

2009-11-16T06:00:00.000-08:00

I received an email this week regarding my story on The Shining Cross. The email included a link to the website Rabun Cross. If you would like more information on the cross, the story of the cross or to see additional photos, check it out, it really is spectacular.

Daddy's Little Girl

2009-11-09T15:42:00.000-08:00

Like most kids, I had pets of all kinds growing up. You have read about my dog Andy, I also had "Duke", "Jip" and Sam had "Rowdy."

We had the occasional fish, craw fish and lightening bug, we once had a parakeet.

When I went away to college, I got a goldfish "Goldie Hawn" my Junior year and kept it alive until I graduated, a feat unto itself, but somehow I was able to keep it alive.

After Goldie Hawn, I went many years without a pet. With my tendency to move frequently and my 20 something life-style, it is probably a good thing that I didn't take on the responsibility of a pet.

As I began to settle down, I started thinking about a pet. Since I lived in a condo a cat was the most logical choice, but I hate cats, so that was out of the question. I continued pet-less until I moved into my home.

After moving into my house, I got the itch for a pet again, I knew what I wanted.... a dog.

As I was researching breeds, I set up some ground rules for what I wanted.....

No female
No sissy dog
No pet store

With my rules set, I continued my research. One Saturday afternoon, I was out running errands when I ended up in a strip center with a few minutes to kill. Deciding that some hands-on pet research would do me good, I wandered into the pet store, just to look!

I made it clear to the salesperson when she asked if she could help me that I was not there to buy, I was ONLY LOOKING!

Out of the corner of my eye, a cute little bundle of black and white mischief got my attention. I was drawn over to the pen that little fur ball was housed in and reached in to pet the tiny pup.

With the horns blaring and big neon sign flashing "SUCKER ALERT" over my head, the salesperson rushed over and placed that little girl right in my arms.

Needless to say, after a few minutes of play, I knew this FEMALE, SISSY BREED, FROM A PET STORE dog was going home with me.

With a long breath, I told the attendant, give her a bath and I will be back in one hour, I need that much time to talk myself out of this purchase.

No sooner had I gotten into my car than I was dialing my neighbors, I knew both of the calls I was going to make would help bring me to my senses and leave this puppy in the pet store where she belonged.

First call was Leigh, I knew Leigh would tell me I was an idiot for even thinking about this. UUUMMMMM, no, Leigh thought it was a great idea, I needed a cute little puppy and she would even babysit when I needed her to.

Ok, strike out with Leigh, but a call to Wendy would certainly do the trick. Wendy is the neighbor who doesn't mince words, she will tell me quickly that I am not responsible enough to have a dog, I know Wendy will talk me out of it. UUUMMMMM, no, Wendy couldn't encourage me more, she thought a puppy was exactly what I needed.

So I ended up with this cute little pup, she came home with me that day and has been here ever since.

Rosalita "Lita" Grace quickly took control of our residence on day one and hasn't let up since. I remember before I had a dog I used to think people were unstable when they would talk about their dogs like they were children. Now I completely understand it.

Lita is the light of my life. There is not a day that goes by that she doesn't make me laugh. When she curls up into the small of my back at night for sleep a sense of peace comes over me at the end of a long day. I can't go from one room to the other that she doesn't follow me and our nightly game of fetch is a highlight for me.

It's funny, I realized many years ago that I would never have children, but I didn't realize until I adopted Lita that I could love anything as much as I do her. Dog love is different that people love, I get that, but the love I have for this furry little girl is incredibly strong.

Lita is the one thing on this earth that is totally dependant on me, I take that responsibility seriously.

In a few weeks we will celebrate Lita's third birthday, there won't be a party or anything that silly, but she and I will celebrate. She will get a new toy and a special treat, just to mark the impact she has had on my life.

Lita is my little girl, she is prissy and she is the queen of this castle. I love her and can't imagine life without her.

Short Notes.... Fall Splendor

2009-11-04T06:49:00.001-08:00

Why do I call it God's Country?

Take a look at the video....

Fall Splendor

Thanks to my brother, Sam for sending this to me.

Run Lindsay, Run!

2009-11-01T08:42:00.000-08:00

Well, my beloved Georgia Bulldogs suffered another massacre at the hands of the Florida Crocodiles yesterday, the planets are out of line and darkness descends on the earth..... these are sad, sad days!

Unfortunately for the better part of the last 15 years, these dark days have haunted our land as those nasty, ugly crocks have chomped down on our beautiful DAWGS and sent us home in defeat.

If this scourge continues, it won't be long before locust devour our fields and volcanoes erupt, covering our planet in orange lava...... those reptiles must be stopped!

It wasn't always this way, years ago, ok let me be honest, DECADES ago, we lived in a better time. A time when the red and black ruled supreme, when the world's largest cocktail party really was something to revel in, a time when the DAWGS were on top and those pesky crocodiles were just another pesky step on our way to College Football supremacy. Ahhh, I remember it well.......

Remember it with me, won't you.... a time when milk and honey were in abundance, when life was good, when a lizard knew its place and didn't pose a threat to a rough and tough bulldog, those were the days my friends!

Picture it, November 8, 1980 and the Georgia Bulldogs are mid-way through an undefeated season. Led by Herschel Walker, Buck Belue and a pack of others, the Dawgs make their way to Jacksonville, FL for the annual clash of states, the Georgia-Florida classic known as the "World's Largest Cocktail Party."

I settled into the living room with mama and daddy to watch the game on CBS. We knew that the lizards would be our toughest competition of the year and any hopes of winning a National Championship would be solidified, or lost, on the field that day.

As was customary in our house, if we weren't at the game we watched it on television. We watched it on television, but the sound was off....... for the true picture of what was happening we LISTENED to Larry Munson, the voice of the Bulldogs on the radio!

The game was a nail-biter all day but going into the game, no one could have predicted that the final 90 seconds would determine Georgia's fate, on their march to a National Championship.

With just 90 seconds to go, the Dawgs were deep in the Florida red-zone, behind by one point and on 3rd down, it seemed like the magical season was in jeopardy. For Georgia to win the game, all the goodness of the earth would have to join forces and help conquer those evil crocks.

As the forces of good, stepped up to the line of scrimmage, you could feel the tension in our living room, in the living rooms of the faithful throughout the state of Georgia and in the stadium in Jacksonville.

I had made my way to a chair between mama and daddy, we didn't breathe, we just let Larry Munson guide us through those next few moments.

Relive it with me now...... the miracle of 1980, the moment good defeated evil, the moment when the sun shone bright and the fellowship of humanity celebrate the slaughter of a ugly lizard, sending it back to the swamp.

Run Lindsay, Run!

As Lindsay ran, you could feel the excitement grow. Run Lindsay, Run! Mama and Daddy and I ended up on our feet, jumping with the Georgia faithful! The dawgs were headed to New Orleans and their moment of destiny, a National Championship!

Those were beautiful days, yes they were and I encourage you, to remember the way things should be, the way they will be again, the days when Dawgs are king and pesky reptiles know their place!

5' of Dynamo

2009-10-25T17:03:00.000-07:00

Ma-ma died in 1994, some days, like today, it seems like yesterday. I still want to pick up the phone just to hear her voice.

Ma-ma was 5' of dynamo! She was a southern lady to the core of her being, with a mischievous grin that could light up the room.

I was my ma-ma's baby, the youngest grandchild. She doted on me like there was no tomorrow. After Tom died and mama was still recovering from her own car accident I spent a lot of time with ma-ma, it brought up incredibly close.

I remember taking a bath in the big sink in the kitchen, or drinking coffee with ma-ma at the kitchen table. Truth be known, I was actually drinking milk with a drop of coffee, but still to me I was drinking coffee with my ma-ma.

Ma-ma was quite the seamstress, she made all of the grand children's "fancy" clothes, she even made Sam's prom suit. She would sit at her old Singer sewing machine in the wooden cabinet and sew for hours. That old sewing machine now sits in my living room, to most people it is just an old piece of furniture, to me, it is memories; a prized possession from a woman who helped shape my life. Inside the old cabinet still lays her threads, needles and thimbles, just waiting for her to open back up and get to work.

She was also a great cook, but baking was her real forte. Her passion for baking was passed on to me at an early age. We would make sugar cookies, pound cakes, Christmas candies and pies. Rarely did she make a sweet that she didn't leave just enough in the bowl for me or the other grand kids to feast upon, there is nothing like raw dough and the pleasure of standing in her kitchen licking a bowl clean is something that will never leave my mind.

Ma-ma's other passion was flowers, she had beautiful roses and dahlias and African Violets. Her green thumb created one of the most beautiful gardens in the area.

There wasn't much domestically that ma-ma couldn't do and if she couldn't do it she would watch "The Nancy Welch Show" to get tips to make it happen. Nancy Welch was the pre-cursor to Martha Stewart and on more than one occasion ma-ma would quote her as an authority.

One of Sam's favorite lines to use on me is that I am the sensitive child. It's true I am, but the line originated with ma-ma. On one of the many occasions when Sam was picking on me, she came to my defense and told him to leave me alone, "Ken is a sensitive child." While at the time I wasn't too thrilled with the title, today I can't think of a greater moniker.

She could make us all laugh with just a simple phrase and she could make you shake in your boots when she would insist that you go out in the back yard and pick your own hickery for a punishment you would receive for doing something wrong. Ma-ma was 5' of dynamo!

As her health began to fade she lost her ability to do the things she loved. First the sewing and then the baking, but the flowers remained. Up until her death she had beautiful African Violets on her back porch that she and gramps tended to.

Her death was drawn out and painful, not just for her but for those of us who loved her, we didn't want to watch this vibrant soul suffer any longer. The week before she died she was in Emory Hospital in Atlanta, I am thankful she was there because after college I had moved to Atlanta and was able to spend time with her.

The night before she died, I sat beside her and held her hand. I helped her drink her liquid dinner and I told her how much I loved her. The next day, around lunchtime mama called to tell me she was gone.

I miss that sweet gentle soul, that 5' of dynamo. But I am thankful that I was able to learn from her, today some of the same passions she held mean the most to me. I don't ever bake a cake that I don't think of her when I am licking the bowl, and while my garden looks nothing like hers, I think she would approve.

I still miss my ma-ma....... just like it was yesterday.

The Shining Cross

2009-10-18T09:48:00.000-07:00

People ask me from time to time, why I call my hometown God's Country. It began as a joke between Sam and I. When I moved to Florida and I would tell him about some of the shenanigans going on here, he would shoot back with a quick "we don't have those problems here in God's Country."

For me, God's Country is a place of idyllic beauty. Where the people care for each other, the seasons each bring forth rich balance and a simplistic peace flows like a river through the land. Basically, my hometown is as close to God's Country as I have ever known.

Nestled in the north Georgia mountains this beautiful utopia has thrived for many years. This earthly God's Country isn't perfect, the problems found in all society are there, but there is something about that place that gives me peace. It is like the mountains that surround the land insulates it from many of the troubles found just over the ridge.

Overlooking God's Country stands Black Rock Mountain. At the very top the land has been designated a State park and people come from far and wide to hike, camp and admire the beautiful scenery from its look out.

As I was growing up, Black Rock Mountain was a beacon for family picnics, camping trips and Easter Sunrise, but in mind the true beacon of Black Rock was the lighted cross.

Standing atop the mountain and off to the side of the state park was a beautiful lighted cross, standing 40 - 50' high. Each night at sunset, the cross would illuminate as if to protect those beneath it for the night. The cross on Black Rock Mountain was a symbol, not necessarily a religious symbol, but a symbol for the community.

I was raised to respect the cross for the Christian symbol of Jesus dying for my sins, but for others it had different personal significance.

Every night that cross would light up and it could be seen from miles away, a lighted cross shining as a beacon for those below. During the Christmas season, the cross would change. From Thanksgiving to New Year's, the cross would become either a Christmas tree or star, honestly I don't remember which, I just remember it would change.

Immediately after the New Year it would change back to that beautiful cross.

That cross on the top of Black Rock was a symbol for our town, one that gave us pride and shown as a light for all those who saw it.

Sometime in the early 70's the State of Georgia was sued over the cross on top of Black Rock. The cross had to come down because it was viewed as promoting the Christian religion on state land. I am a firm believer in the separation of Church and State, however as is often the case, the cross on Black Rock and the citizens of God's Country became the victims of someone trying to make a point and serving their own agenda instead of the public at large.

I don't know, but I am sure the person who brought the suit probably wasn't a resident of the town, but someone who heard about it or saw it passing through and decided they were offended by what it stood for.

For many years, we were without our cross. Somehow the nights seemed darker without that light standing guard over our town. The town went on, it didn't crumble, but when you looked to the mountains there was always something missing.

About a year ago, mama told me that the cross was back on Black Rock. I couldn't have been more happy.

This summer when I made my annual trek to God's Country, one of the things on my to do list was to see the cross. I had heard it was even more magnificent than it was when I was young.

Because of the torrential rains and flooding when I was there, I didn't get out much and a nighttime drive to see the cross was out of the question.

On the morning I left to come back to Florida the rains had subsided and a heavy coating of fog coated the countryside. As I was making my way down Smith Hill leading to the highway home, there it was.... the cross.

Caressed by a blanket of fog, the cross illuminated the landscape.

The cross now stands on land that is privately owned so as not to interfere with any one's "personal liberties," but it stands and it glows!

That cross that for so many years burned with radiance, was dark and now glows again, the cross still stands.

I got a sense of peace driving out of town that morning after seeing the cross. Once again the beacon had returned and it shined brighter than ever.

UPDATE:

One of my readers, Marianne Wilson, just sent me this photo of the cross on Black Rock. Now you can see for yourself how magnificent it is. Thanks Marianne!

Surrogate

2009-10-10T14:34:00.000-07:00

When someone important in your life passes away, no one can take their place. For all time there is a hole in your heart that can't be filled. Although I was only a youngster, Tom's passing left me with such a hole that today leaves me wondering what could have been.

After Tom died, our family was in turmoil. Mama still faced surgeries and health issues, Sam was without his big brother and daddy did his best to create a normal life for his boys all while going through his own grief, it was a challenge.

For me, life basically moved on. Grief isn't something a six year old grasps easily. While my family was grieving a special teenager stepped in and took me under his wing, in part to fill his own hurting heart, but more importantly to make sure a young kid didn't get lost in the shuffle, acting in many ways as the big brother I had lost.

Tim was Tom's best friend. They had been friends since we moved to God's Country. Tim was the high school quarterback, Tom the running back. They shared a bond.

Tim had always been a part of my life since I can remember. Around the house with Tom.

In the summer after Tom died, Tim took me on as his little buddy. In my eyes he had one of the best jobs in all of God's Country, he was the lifeguard at the private country club Kingwood. His day was spent hanging out by the small pool, catching rays and visiting with the guests and locals who would stop in for a plunge in the nice cool waters of the pool.

Our house was on the way to work for Tim and at the beginning of the summer after Tom died he started stopping by each day to "take me to work with him." I remember how exciting it was for me to pile into Tim's prized Mustang each morning. I always thought the foot-shaped gas pedal was one of the coolest things I had ever seen.

During that summer, Tim would stop by each day to pick me up. He taught me to swim in that pool, how to measure the chlorine levels and would let me throw chlorine in the pool.

Around lunchtime each day, Tim and I would make our way up to the top level of the gazebo overlooking the pool and it was there that he became my surrogate big brother. Each day, just the two of us, would sit and have our lunch together. We would talk and although I have no idea what we talked about, I like to think that those moments allowed him to move past his grief, of losing his best friend, and helped me understand and move on as well.

Tim has always remained close to our family. After high school he went away to college, got married, had kids and became a respected football coach and teacher. I know Tom would have been proud of him for that.

For my part, I moved on, made my way in life and hopefully have made those who love me proud. I know Tom would have liked that also.

I haven't seen Tim since mama and daddy's 50th Anniversary party. I never got the chance to tell him thank you for taking a little kid under his wing and I never had the opportunity to say thanks for being a surrogate.

I hope Tim knows that long before he got a degree in education he was already teaching. His classroom only consisted of one student, but he made a huge impression on that kid many years ago. Tim taught me life lessons under that gazebo, he also taught me kindness and compassion, a gesture as simple as taking a little buddy "to work with you" each day can shape a person's life, for that I know Tom would have been proud of Tim and for me I am forever grateful.

Thank you Tim, for stepping in as a surrogate, for teaching me about life and for making your best friend proud.

It's Atlanta

2009-10-04T07:53:00.000-07:00

As I watched the excitement this week in Rio, when they were awarded the Summer Olympic Games of 2016, I couldn't help but reflect back on a summer, not so long ago, when I lived in Atlanta and the same excitement exploded in the City, placing the capital of the South on the world stage.

I moved to Atlanta immediately after graduating college in 1986 and the City was just beginning to gear up for its bid to host the Centennial Olympic Games. Atlanta was considered a long shot with Athens, Greece the sentimental favorite. Other competing cities for the bid were Melbourne, Belgrade, Manchester and Toronto.

For years Atlanta pushed its bid, Olympic officials visited the city and the excitement of what could be pulsed through the veins of the city like an impeding Christmas morning. Those of us who lived in Atlanta knew what winning the Games could do for our town, transforming an otherwise sleepy metropolis into a bustling world-renowned focal point.

As the days grew near, leading up to the bid announcement, preparations were made and a grand victory announcement party was planned for downtown on the morning of September 18th, 1990.

In the days before the awarding, my family suffered a crisis, Aunt Laura Bea, was hospitalized and family was called to Atlanta as her status was not good. Aunt Laura Bea was ma-ma's sister, my great aunt, a sweet southern belle with a loving strength that kept us all in line. Cousins from around the country flew in to be with Aunt Laura Bea and during the time I reconnected with my cousin Dede from Houston who I had not seen since we were both children.

Dede and I hit it off immediately, becoming fast friends, a relationship that remains strong today.

On the night before the bid announcement I was visiting with the family when my cousin Tina, who also lived in Atlanta, mentioned that we should go to the announcement party together. I jumped at the chance to go to the event with Tina and we invited Dede to go along with us.

On the morning of the 18th, I met up with Tina and Dede before sunrise. The announcement would be made in Tokyo, many hours ahead of us, making it necessary for the announcement party to begin during the early morning hours.

Mass transportation was filled that morning, it seemed as though everyone was headed for Undergound Atlanta, the cities gathering spot and host of the Olympic announcement party. Arriving on the site, Dede, Tina and I found a spot on the plaza steps to be a part of the festivities.

As Juan Antonio Samaranch, President of the International Olympic Committee strode up to the microphone to announce the winners after the fifth and final round vote, the only two cities left in the competition were Athens and Atlanta. He took the stage and in one breath made the announcement, a hush fell over the crowd and Mr. Samaranch said "the International Olympic Committee has awarded the 1996 Olympic Games to the City of ...Atlanta!"

Hearing those words, the crowds assembled took one collective breath and then PANDEMONIUM! Underground Atlanta, the City of Atlanta and the entire United States erupted in a celebration that I had never experienced up until that time.

We hugged, jumped, clapped and cheered!

No work was done that day as people filed out of their offices and into the streets for a giant celebration. Tina, Dede and I toured the city, we walked from location to location and within an hour had our collector's edition newspaper with the headline.... "It's Atlanta!"

Leading up to the Olympic announcement I had been toying with the idea of moving. I knew that I would eventually wind up in Florida and the time seemed right to make that move. As the words rolled off Juan Antonio Samaranch's lips I decided in that instance to remain in Atlanta until after the Olympics. Living in an Olympic city is a once in a lifetime opportunity and I was determined to experience the next six years as a proud Atlantan.

The days party stretched long into the evening. Eventually Tina went home and Dede and I were joined by my friend Charlie. The three of us painted the town gold, we laughed and celebrated one magical day that will live in my memory forever.

Over the next few years, Atlanta moved forward and eventually hosted those Games. We didn't do everything right, but for the most part the Games were a huge success. The media wasn't too kind to the City, but as someone who was there, I will tell you the 1996 Centennial Olympic Games made me proud to be an Atlantan.

Short Notes

2009-09-30T09:48:00.000-07:00

You may remember recently I wrote an entry entitled Hollywood Meets God's Country. The story was about the movie Deliverance being made in my hometown.

On Monday evening, I was thrilled to meet one of the actors from the movie, none other than Mr. Burt Reynolds.

Mr. Reynolds was the guest speaker at the Lake Park Historical Society monthly meeting. He was raised in our town and went to school here, his very first acting performance took place on the stage of our "Mirror Ballroom" where the meeting took place.

You could tell that Mr. Reynolds was deeply touched to be back in the room that gave him his start.

During his talk, Mr. Reynolds regaled us all with stories of his time in the area during his youth. It was a beautiful evening and he was one of the most gentle, kind men I have ever met.

When it came time for question and answers I introduced myself and told him where I was from. Mr. Reynolds got a sly smile on his face and talked for several minutes about the filming of Deliverance and how that movie changed his life.

After the presentation I went up to thank Mr. Reynolds for coming and I was delighted to share stories with him about God's Country and the people we both know there. Meeting Burt Reynolds was a dream come true and he was even more than I ever imagined!

Homecoming

2009-09-27T09:31:00.000-07:00

Last week I returned from a brief visit in God's Country. I always go up for a week in the summer and this year my visit coincided with my parent's High School reunion. I stopped in north Florida on the way up to pick up my Aunt to take her to the reunion as well.

The visit was from the 17th until the 22nd. For part of the week I was on my own while mama, daddy and Aunt Beck attended the reunion.

On the way to God's Country, the weather turned and the rains began to fall. Little did I know that over the next few days the area would see continuous rain and flooding. Not exactly Chamber of Commerce weather for a visit!

I left God's Country in 1982 and haven't made it my home since then, however there is something about that little piece of heaven that will always be my HOME.

Cresting the mountains with a view of the landscape below always makes me feel at peace. There is something about that little town, that I grew up in, that reminds me of a hand sewn quilt wrapped around me on a cold winter's day.

The little town hasn't changed a great deal in the years since I left. There is now a Wal-Mart, Home Depot and McDonalds, and the main road in is 4 lanes but the fabric of the community remains the same.

In God's Country people take pride in their community, their family and their country in a way that is reminiscent of a time gone by. In God's Country people know their neighbors and take care of them. These qualities are like the ones I have found in my new home, in a small Town, something I haven't known since I left my childhood home and something I appreciate more with each passing year.

We moved into our present home when I was only six, not long after Tom died. It is a split level home with great room, master bedroom and bath downstairs and three bedrooms and a bath upstairs. Turning off the main road headed east and onto the road of my youth looks the same today as it did when we moved in.

There is something about turning into the driveway that brings me back to my childhood and the memories of a time when life was easier and less hectic.

I have turned down that driveway thousands of times over the years, in good times, in bad times and on days that were just as basic as any can imagine. Turning down the driveway and seeing the home of my youth at the other end is one of the most peaceful feelings I feel because it is here, that I am truly HOME. No matter how many cities I live in, no matter how many homes I own, this one will always be special.

Like so many times before, the minute I park the car daddy is out the door waiting to embrace me and welcome me home. On this trip it was no different, he was there, smiling, embracing and telling me he loves me. HOME

I don't think I have ever in my entire life walked through the front door of that house. The door into the kitchen is where everyone enters. As a child we always knew when a stranger was at the door because the front doorbell would ring, invited guests, drop ins and family use the kitchen door.

Not much has really changed in the house since I was a kid, the walls may be a different color, the carpets new and furniture upgraded, but the bones of the house are still the same.

Same Formica counter tops in the kitchen, the dining room table that we have shared so many meals on has been there since I was in high school. Two stuffed recliners, big sofa, coffee table.

A great rock fireplace anchors the room flanked by shelves overflowing with tchotchkes from throughout our lives. The ceramic lion Sam made in art class, the old man with hat that I made in art class, bronzed baby booties, the family Bible, precious photos and yearbooks from every year since the 60's all hold a place of honor on this wall that marks the times of our lives.

Dropping my bags in my bedroom I look around. Nothing has changed there since the day I left in 1982, same bed, same furniture, my old stereo sits silent and the bulletin board is still filled with memories of High School. My room is the blue room. Sam occupied the red room and the gold room was planned for Tom, the colors of each room marked by the carpet colors. So many memories overflow from these rooms, HOME.

When I visit God's Country I usually try to spend at least one day on Main Street, checking out the antique stores and galleries. This year with the rains I didn't get that opportunity. I did take a road trip with my nephew Zack to Asheville, but other than that I stayed close to home.

This trip was spent talking with family, eating the foods I love more than any other and soaking up the love of that old house. Sadly I know that one day this will no longer be OUR house. Someone else will move in and make it their own, but for now I want to let all the love found between those walls soak into my veins and fill me.

Homecomings are good if for no other reason than to recapture a time when life seemed simpler a time when the love of family made you know you were truly HOME!

Let Them Eat Cake

2009-09-13T12:15:00.001-07:00

I learned at an early age that baking is an art. Baking also says a lot about a person. Ma-ma loved to bake and we loved it when she baked.

Ma-ma was the ultimate homemaker. She kept a perfect house, had dinner on the table each night when gramps came home, had control over a sewing machine like nobodies business, made homemade Christmas decorations and never had a hair out of place or smudge on her clothes while doing it.

Ma-ma was a domestic goddess.

As much as she was a master around the house, the thing I took from her was the love of baking. She always had cookies, cobblers, or cakes fresh out of the oven when you would stop by.

When birthdays would roll around, she would have a special cake designed just for the occasion.

Christmas brought an assortment of cookies and candies and treats to rival the finest confectioner. Most any occasion would warrant some sort of sweet.

I learned this appreciation for baking from ma-ma, in my mind something baked with love is one of the greatest gifts a person can give. There is something comforting about a fresh baked cake or pie.

I am not as good as ma-ma was in the baking department, but I can hold my own and like to give baked goods for friends on their birthdays or in times of need.

This past week, my neighbor Gayle lost her mom. Granny had lived with Gayle for a couple of years and was a sweet lady. She always sat out in the driveway to smoke and we would speak to each other whenever I would see her. Last Saturday, Granny fell and hit her head, she died a few hours later.

I didn't know about Granny passing until Monday, when Gayle came over to tell me. It all happened quickly and she didn't suffer, I am glad for that.

Gayle and her family had a memorial service this morning and I knew there would be a crowd at her house after the service, so I decided to bake a cake.

One of my favorite cakes ma-ma used to make is a Pound Cake.

Pound Cakes are a traditional delicacy that are about as basic as you can get, but not as easily made as you would think.

I loved ma-ma's basic pound cake, but several years before she died she began making Cream Cheese Pound Cake which I like even more.

Today, while I was baking a cream cheese pound cake for Gayle and her family, I thought back to all the hundreds of cakes ma-ma had made for our family and hope that the simple gift of a pound cake will bring Gayle and her family some relief during their time of grief.

Cream Cheese Pound Cake:

3 Sticks of Butter

3 Cups of Sugar

3 Cups of Sifted Flour (I just use self-rising, some people say you shouldn't but I say it is easier, so I use it.)

1 (8 oz.) Package of Cream Cheese

6 Large Eggs

Dash of Salt

1 1/2 Teaspoons Vanilla

Directions:

Cream butter, cream cheese and sugar. Add eggs, one at a time, beating well after each. Add vanilla and a dash of salt. Add flour. Pour in a bundt pan. Put in a cold oven. Bake at 325 for 1 hour, 25 minutes.

Today I added a raspberry glaze over the finished cake. It isn't the pretties cake in the world, but it is one of the best!

Short Notes...

2009-09-07T15:28:00.000-07:00

Mama called today to tell me that she did NOT elope! Aunt Beck, Uncle Larry, Aunt Tenie and Uncle Lloyd went with she and daddy to get married.

Record corrected.

A Legacy of 57 Years

2009-09-06T08:58:00.000-07:00

September 7, 1952

The Silver Chalice by Thomas B. Cortain tops the New York Times Best Sellers List

Maureen Connolly beat Doris Hart to win the US Tennis Open Championship 6/3; 7/5

General Naguid forms the Egyptian Government and becomes Premier

Eddie Bracken is the "Mystery Guest" on What's My Line

and

General Ray and Martha Joyce elope to Wallhalla, SC to get married.

GR and MJ have known each other since they were children. He the Big Man on Campus in High School, leader on the football field and Golden Gloves Champion Boxer. She the all-American beauty, popular, cheerleader.

While in High School they became sweethearts. Their romance followed them to college where they both majored in education. After graduation they became teachers.

Over Labor Day weekend in 1952, GR and MJ got married.

Tomorrow marks the 57th wedding anniversary of GR and MJ or as I like to call them, mama and daddy.

57 years is a long time, obviously.

Mama and daddy have been through a lot in their married life, it hasn't always been good, some of it has been horrible, but for the most part they have weathered the storms together and come out the other side better for it.

57 years provides a lot of time for adventure. Mama and daddy have traveled across America in a motor home. Driven to Alaska, cruised the Caribbean, attended most every Football Bowl Game you can imagine, attended Olympic Games, World Series and as daddy likes to proclaim visited every Wal-Mart ever opened.

But most of all, 57 years provides for mundane day to day life where examples are made, shown and lived.

Our family was very typical, a morning rush to get everyone out the door, after school activities that kept mama running from one end of town to the other, home at night and then starting all over again the next day.

We had some basic rules growing up, yes ma'am, no ma'am, yes sir and no sir. Dishes were to be taken to the kitchen after all meals and an "I enjoyed it" was expected whether you enjoyed it or not. (But we always DID enjoy it.)

When six o'clock came everyone was expected to be around the supper table.

We were pretty typical. Mama and daddy were pretty typical as well, we just lived our lives each day moving through life as best we could.

Life wasn't always a bed of roses, mama and daddy could, and still do, argue with the best of them. When it was time for a disagreement you just wanted to stay away. In our house nothing was ever thrown and voices were only raised for an explosive few minutes, but the silence would last for days.

Those days of silence were horrible, whenever mama and daddy weren't talking it was miserable to live in our split level ranch on Old Buncomb Road. And good Lord help us all when Daddy started calling mama "Martha Joyce" or mama referred to him as "Your Daddy." Uh-oh this one is gonna last a while!

Inevitably mama and daddy would get over it. Back to normal as quickly as the original argument had flared up and things would return to our typical American life.

Mama and daddy both chose teaching as their profession, a more perfect career could not have been assigned to them. As much as they taught in the classroom, they taught in life and the examples they provided.

For my brothers and I, mama and daddy provided lessons of humility. Both of my parents knew they were looked upon by the community with respect and honor. Throughout their adult lives, they have been humble in knowing the life changes they have made for so many, and shown humility in accepting that one person can make a difference without ever drawing attention to themselves.

Mama and daddy have taught us about perseverance. Life isn't always easy, it is often more difficult that you can possibly imagine, but through perseverance you move through the challenges of life and come out the other side with a renewed understanding of the importance of family, friends and community.

We learned about faith from mama and daddy. Faith has gotten us through a lot, mama and daddy taught us at an early age that we are given a great gift from God and that it is our duty to honor that gift through faithfulness in him.

Mama and daddy taught us the importance of family. We learned that when all else seemed to fail us, family would be there. Through good times, bad times, indifferent time, everyday time, mama and daddy stressed family. We are not, and have never been, a perfect family, but together we are more than we could ever be individually, I thank mama and daddy for instilling that truth in us.

Back in 2002 mama and daddy were preparing to celebrate their 50th wedding anniversary. This was going to be a big deal for the entire family and Sam and I were determined to make it special for them. Twenty five years earlier we had thrown a covered dish dinner with friends at the Ramey gazebo and I still remember how proud they were on that day to be recognized.

For the 50th Anniversary, Sam and I began planning months ahead of time. Sam had money and I had talent, the perfect combination! It was decided that he would pay for it and I would plan it.

The day of mama and daddy's anniversary party finally arrived. After months of planning the day was perfect. Friends and family from everywhere showed up. The day brought together people I hadn't seen in years, family who hadn't been together in ages were reunited and stories, laughter and some tears filled the day.

Sam and I presented mama and daddy with a portrait of their wedding day as their gift. A large framed photo of them in their youth, before the hands of time had greyed and wrinkled them, a time when anything was possible and when their legacy has yet to be envisioned.

Today that portrait hangs in the dining room of their house. Next to the table where we were taught the lessons of life, taught about faith, humility, perseverance and family. It is comforting to look at that photo, of a young couple starting out on their adventures of life together.

The twinkle in that young couples eyes may not be as bright and their steps may have slowed, but I am confident that young bride and groom would be pretty proud if they had any idea what their legacy would have been 57 years later.

57 years....great books, tennis champs, movie stars, and governments being formed. Or 57 years, a legacy of humility, perseverance, faith and family..... I'll take the latter any day.

Happy Anniversary mama and daddy and thank you for the legacy you have created for us all!

Short Notes

2009-09-05T07:38:00.001-07:00

There are only a few species of the animal kingdom that I just don't like. I am not particularly fond of snakes, but I leave them alone and they leave me alone. Spiders, roaches and bees I have no use for. At the top of my list of least favorite animals are raccoons, I have never liked them.

Raccoons are just big overgrown rats, they look cute but they are anything but. Raccoons are mean, nasty varmits!

We have raccoons that scrounge around my neighborhood from time to time, I stay away from them at all cost.

This morning, Lita, my beautiful 9 pound attack dog, wakes up at 2:15AM in full barking assault. She had her sites set on the French Doors in our bedroom and she sees something outside. Her attack wakes me and I peer out onto the back porch. I see a raccoon looking through the glass at us as we USED to be sleeping.

I try to calm Lita down to no avail, I tap the glass to try and get the nasty varmit raccoon to leave and then notice another one on the porch as well, I look again..... FOUR nasty raccoons are outside the bedroom French Doors having a party!

Like I said, raccoons are my least favorite member of the animal kingdom.

Notes from a Southern Kitchen, 10 Questions..... Jan Norris

2009-09-02T05:12:00.000-07:00

Jan Norris is a foodie's foodie! For years, Jan was the Food Editor for the Palm Beach Post. Last year when the media world turned upside down, Jan left the Post.

I was not happy about Jan's departure as I enjoyed her columns.

A few months ago I was enjoying lunch at my favorite sandwich shop "Brown Baggin' It" in beautiful Lake Park, Florida, when my friend Leila started talking about Jan. Leila informed me that Jan now had her own website. I couldn't wait to check it out and now am an avid reader getting my Jan fixes! Check out her site http://www.jannorris.com/

Jan's site is filled with stories of her southern Florida life, restaurant reviews, great recipes and most anything else a foodie could want, it is a good read and I recommend it to anyone!

I recently learned that Jan and I live about 2 miles from each other, we are going to get together for coffee soon and regale each other with stories of our southern lives and the joys of sharing our thoughts with the world through the Internet.

I hope you enjoy this edition of,

10 Questions with Jan Norris...

1) Where were you born?

Miami Beach. I'm an adoptee, into a Southern LA (Lower Alabama) family. My kin trace back five generations in Florida.

2) Who is the greatest influence in your life and why?

My parents. Nearly all the values they instilled in me from day one are what I follow today.

3) What is the one thing that you cannot do without in your Southern Kitchen?

Simple: My iron skillet.

4) What is your favorite holiday food?

Probably the fresh orange cake my mother made at Christmas and New Year's.

5) What makes you a Southerner?

The easy answer might be because I can make a mean biscuit and can put up the fig preserves to eat with them.The more complex answer is another question: How does one define DNA? Being Southern isn't an talking with an accent (I lost my thick drawl the minute I went to public school), or rocking on a porch while drinking sweet tea, or knowing how to tell a good story. It's how you're brought up -- with Southerners, family (blood kin or not) is sacred; you respect others and are polite nearly to a fault; you always know your place but are fierce about your beliefs. And food along with college football -- is darn near a religion.

6) Biscuits or Cornbread?

Biscuits AND cornbread (absolutely no sugar in the latter).

7) What is your favorite memory?

I can't pick just one, so I'll pick a favorite food one.

It involves my Aunt Eleanor's buttermilk biscuits -- she made the best in our family. One night at her table as a girl, I was handed one. My Uncle Bill leaned over and said, "You know your Aunt Eleanor's biscuits will kill you, dontcha?"I shook my head, wide-eyed at this revelation. My favorite food on earth would kill me?

"That's right," he said. "They're so good - just set one on the top of your head, and your tongue will slap your brains out to get to it!"Everyone just roared.

This became a tradition to tell with anyone new at Aunt Eleanor's table, and it makes me laugh to this day.

8) Who taught you to cook?

I'm self-taught -- from cookbooks. My mother had zero patience for anyone in her kitchen who wasn't fast - and I was deliberate -- almost compulsively. It took me three minutes to spread one slice of bread with mayonnaise just to get it perfectly even and precisely to the edges. She rarely baked - so I took that task on even as a child, reading recipes, of course. After I was married, I read and cooked from every cookbook I could find. It was quite a surprise to my mom and the rest of the family when I turned out to be a really decent, and now very improvisational cook.

9) Banana Sandwich or Tomato Sandwich?

You left out pimento cheese - my favorite.

10) What would you serve, or have served to you, for your FAVORITE Southern meal?

If I could have them again, a giant pot of my mother's chicken and dumplings.

Jan was kind enough to share one of her favorite Southern Recipes with us and I can't wait to try it!

A recipe for my mom's fresh orange cake.

Simple, but time-consuming

As for the orange cake, I’m giving you a “best guess” recipe. Use any yellow sponge cake recipe you like; I use the same tender cake batter I use with my coconut cake. Make 3 or 4 layers. Soak it with the orange zest syrup. That’s it — simplicity, or so it sounds.With all the grating, juicing and soaking, however, it’s somewhat labor intensive – and you need room in the fridge for it so plan far enough ahead to do this. (Jan’s Rule: Don’t waste your time on this homemade beauty for unappreciative guests who’ll eat anything – bake them a fast box cake or just go buy something.)

Here’s a written recipe; but know that y0u must make a few to get the sugar/orange zest/juice ratio just right.

Nellie’s Orange Cake

For the cake:

■3 cups all-purpose flour, sifted

■2 teaspoons baking powder

■1/2 teaspoon salt

■1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract

■1 cup milk

■1 cup (2 sticks) unsalted butter, softened

■2 cups sugar

■4 eggs, separated

For the orange syrup:

■juice of 8 Florida juice oranges (see note), strained

■grated rind of 8 oranges

■1 small can frozen orange juice concentrate, thawed

■1-1/2 to 3 cups granulated sugar, or more (see note)

Note: Thin-skinned backyard juice oranges are key to this cake. You can buy them at fruit stands and occasionally supermarkets. Do not use thick-skinned varieties or those from California.

Sugar: I can’t tell you how much to use; this will depend on amount of juice from the oranges.

Make cake layers.

Prep: Grease and flour 3 or four 9-inch round cake pans. In a medium bowl, combine flour, baking powder and salt. Measure the milk into a glass measuring cup and add the vanilla. Beat egg whites until soft peaks form in clean medium bowl. Set all aside.

In a large bowl, cream the butter and add the sugar to continue creaming on medium speed. Scrape sides and beat again. Add the egg yolks one at a time, beating well after each is added. Add dry ingredients alternately with milk and vanilla, beating well after each to incorporate. Scrape bowl well. Remove bowl from mixer stand and with a rubber spatula, fold in the egg whites until no whites show; batter should be light and foamy.

Divide batter evenly among pans; bake at 350 degrees until tops are lightly browned and cakes spring back slightly to touch in center of cake, approximately 25 minutes. Cool on racks; set aside.

While cakes bake, make orange zest syrup: Wash oranges very well. Grate rinds on fine grate of box grater or with Microplane zester into a medium mixing bowl. Juice and strain oranges into bowl with zest. Add thawed orange juice concentrate; stir well.

Begin adding sugar and whisking to dissolve sugar. This may take some time – be patient. Add enough sugar so that mixture is very sticky and runs slowly off the tip of a spoon.

Assemble cake: On a cake stand with a lip (essential), layer first cake layer, and poke surface well with thin round skewer. Use a large spoon to spoon syrup over cake. Repeat with each layer. Use several spoonsful per layer, giving time between applications to allow syrup to soak into cake – this will take about 1 hour.

Allow syrup to run down sides and onto plate. As needed, spoon up syrup off the plate edge and spoon over cake again. Use as much syrup as possible. (Reserve remainder in refrigerator and use on cupcakes or orange quick bread.)

Add orange zest curls to top of cake as garnish, if desired.Serves 16-20 (cake is very rich).

Keep cake refrigerated; cake freezes very well.

First Born

2009-08-30T14:36:00.001-07:00

Tom was the oldest, born May 7th, 1953. Died six days short of his 17th birthday, May 1st, 1970.
If I am truthful, I have to admit, I don't remember Tom. His death occurred 3 days after my 6th birthday. He was in a car wreck, a single car accident. From what I understand he lost control on a curved road and veered off the road and down an embankment.

After the accident Tom was taken to Greenville Medical Center in Greenville, SC. Surgeries were performed, but to no avail.

As Tom lay in one hospital bed in South Carolina, mama lay in another in Georgia. Just a year earlier mama and ma-ma had been in an accident that left them both mangled and broken. Mama had several surgeries after that wreck and was recuperating from her most recent, when Tom had his accident.

Daddy was a hero during this time, he travelled back and forth between the two, but spent most of his time with Tom as mama was stable.

Throughout High School Tom played football, he was a running back. Daddy was his head coach. As Tom's condition worsened it wasn't apparent which of his faculties he still had control over. After consulting with Doctor's daddy found a way to communicate with Tom. He held both of Tom's hands and would call out football plays. It was Tom's responsibility to squeeze Daddy's hand on the side he should run.

Tom died soon after that final game between he and daddy.

In the days that followed, all of God's Country came to our sides to comfort my family. It isn't every day that a High School Senior with such promise dies. It isn't every day that a High School Senior and son to two respected teachers dies. Tom's death shook our small town to the core.

I don't have a lot of memories about the days leading up to Tom's death, but I do have memories that have lasted for almost 40 years of the days that followed.

I remember being sent to my neighbors house to play when Sam and I returned home from Church that Sunday morning.

I remember being called back to the house a short time later and daddy taking Sam and I into our bedroom to tell us Tom was dead. I don't remember what was said, I just remember my daddy holding Sam and I.

I remember mama being wheeled into the funeral home on a hospital stretcher. I remember seeing Tom and crying. I remember my Aunt Beck held me until I saw my kindergarten teacher and then she held me and let me cry.

The funeral was held in an overflowing Clayton Baptist Church. My only memory from that day was sitting beside Sam, at one point I looked up at him and a single tear was streaming down his face, that is a memory that has been ingrained with me forever.

A child's death could destroy many marriages and families. I won't say our was unharmed because that would be a lie, but our family stayed together. The Spring of 1970 was the most bitter of my life and it is one that I have the least memories of ever.

During the months that followed Tom's death we marked our first Christmas without him, we watched as his classmates went back to school and then graduated. We marked birthdays and holidays and every day in between. Mama and Daddy have marked those same dates on the second year, 5th year, 8th year, 12th, 16th, 20th, 25th, 28th, 30th and this May they will mark the 40th.

Mama and Daddy mark Tom's death with quite reverence and dignity, but I know they mark the date and all the other dates they wish he were here for.

For me, Tom became an oil painting that hung over our sofa. From time to time someone would mention his name and something he had done and we would all smile, but for the most part Tom wasn't discussed in our house for many years.

Several years ago, I felt like it was time for me to know about Tom. I had been told how much he loved his baby brother, how we doted on me, what a great athlete he was, how smart he was, but I never really knew him, so I decided it was time for me to meet my brother Tom.

Mama and Daddy were coming to Florida on a vacation and I told them before they came that I wanted to talk about Tom. One night during their stay, the three of us sat on the balcony of their condo overlooking the ocean. For hours we talked about Tom, we laughed and we cried, but after that night I knew my brother.

I will always remember that night as one of the most important in my life.

Tom's death broke us, be it didn't destroy us. Through it all we have persevered as a family....together.

I am grateful to mama and daddy, Sam, our grandparents, extended family and the family of God's Country for bringing us through.

I am sure Tom would be proud of all of us.

Notes from A Southern Kitchen, 10 Questions.... Hollis Gillespie

2009-08-26T06:30:00.000-07:00

Hollis Gillespie is a hilarious southern writer, whose ability to weave a tale is reminiscent of the late-great Lewis Grizzard.

I first heard about Hollis Gillespie when she made an appearance several years ago on "The Tonight Show with Jay Leno." She cracked me up and the back and forth moments with Elijah Wood were some of the most genuine I have ever seen by guests on a talk show.

After her appearance, I picked up a copy of "Bleachy Haired Honky Bitch" and read it cover to cover, laughing all the way through. Since her first novel, she has written "Confessions of a Recovering Slut: and Other Love Stories" and my favorite "Trailer Trashed: My Dubious Efforts Towards Upward Mobility." Trust me, not only are the titles enticing, but the books are as well!

Ms. Gillespie was named the "Breakout Author of the Year" by Writer's Digest in 2004. Today, she is a featured speaker, columnist and novelist. Additionally, she shares her wisdom in the fields of publishing, book pitches and becoming a paid author through seminars she teaches.

Hollis Gillespie may not have been born a Southerner, but she has adapted well. This week, it is my pleasure to present...

10 Questions with Hollis Gillespie:

1) Where were you born?

Burbank, CA, but I never went back until my appearance on The Tonight Show and notice the hospital where I was born is located across the street.

2) Who is the greatest influence in your life and why?

My mother. She built bombs for a living and supported four kids plus an alcoholic husband with low self esteem. It took guts for her to get a job at IBM in the 50's straight out of college and pregnant with my big brother. Plus, she was a klepto and huge gambler. She could count cards even from a 6-deck shoe. I used to stand at her elbow in Vegas (back when they let kids in the casinos) and she would impart all kinds of wisdom, like, "Kid, you gotta put your chips on the table.:"

3) What is the one thing that you cannot do without in your Southern Kitchen?

Cake mix, chocolate chips and dough of all form.

4) What is your favorite holiday food?

Birthday cake.

5) What makes you a Southerner?

I've lived in Atlanta for 20 years and I've perfected the accent.

6) Biscuits or Cornbread?

Depends. If it's the cake-kinda cornbread then it's that. If it's the cake-kinda biscuits then it's that. The best would be a corn-biscuit cake with honey-butter cream frosting.

7) What is your favorite memory?

Selling my first book to HarperCollins and watching the offer with my advance come through on the fax machine.

8) Who taught you to cook?

My mother, if by "cook" you mean add water to a cup of chemicals.

9) Banana Sandwich or Tomato Sandwich?

Banana with peanut butter and honey on whole grain with, like, chocolate gelato . . . made into a cake.

10) What would you serve, or have served to you, for your FAVORITE Southern meal?

I don't eat meat, so I serve mac-n-cheese, collards with balsamic syrup, sweet potatoes with cinnamon and marshmallows, mushroom stuffing, cheese grits and cake.

Thank you Hollis Gillespie for your participation. For additional information on her books, her columns or her seminars, you may visit her website at http://www.hollisgillespie.com/

Y-Camp

2009-08-23T08:58:00.000-07:00

Mama and daddy felt it was important that we develop an independence growing up. Part of that independence was going away to overnight camp during the summer.

Athens Y-Camp was less than 20 miles from our house. It had a reputation for being one of the best boys camps in the south-east. A tradition began in our family, when Tom was young, that each of us would go.

The first year of camp was 2 weeks, second year 2 weeks. Two years of overnight camp were mandatory, after that you had the option of going away for four weeks and on up until a summer job at Y-Camp could be yours.

Tom and Sam both loved Y-Camp. Me, not so much!

Tom went away every summer, first as a camper, then Counselor in Training and finally a full-fledged Counselor.

Sam, same thing. They both loved the Camp experience and the opportunities it gave them to meet boys from all over the country and develop leadership traits that would help them in life.

As the summer of 1972 approached, I knew it was now time. Eight years old and time for overnight summer camp. I wasn't excited, no matter how hard Sam or mama or daddy tried to convince me that it would be fun, I wasn't buying it.

Mama needed me at home, who would she watch Days of Our Lives with? I couldn't go away to camp, mama and daddy wouldn't have anyone to talk to. A million things went through my mind, tons of excuses, but the tradition would not be broken by me, I was going to Athens Y-Camp, two weeks, end of story!

Sunday morning, first day of camp arrived and I loaded into the car with mama and daddy for our journey to camp. Just a short drive from home, but for me an agonizing trip to a land of mystery, with people I didn't know, activities I couldn't imagine and no mama or daddy anywhere in-sight, the next two weeks were going to be the worst this little 8 year old had ever experienced!

Upon our arrival, I was greeted by my counselor. (No, not the kind that would put me in a padded room with a white coat, but the guy who would be my mentor for the next two weeks.) We were led to my home away from home. A wooden cabin, with wooden floors, wooden walls, tin roof and NO BATHROOM! The cabin was filled with bunk beds, separated into two rooms, 12 boys all my age and a counselor would now occupy this cabin for the next two weeks. It was immediately obvious, there would be no turn down service or mints on the pillow at this place, we were roughing it.

Once I was settled into my new accommodations, the first big test of camp was at hand. Put on your bathing suit and head to the lake for a swimming test. The lake manifested every fear I had about overnight camp. For years I had heard my brothers talk about how cold it was, how high the diving board was, how the Vandiver Man used it to put bodies in....over and over again, that lake! Now, I was about to dive into that lake, headfirst and prove my manhood. An eight year old proving that I could swim from one dock to the next, approximately 25 yards, all for the right to be anywhere other than the beginners swim class.

I walked out onto that white dock and stood, looking at the other end, I knew I could make it but every ounce of doubt I could muster filled me up! The water is cold, the diving board is too high, and there are dead bodies in this lake! There was nothing I wanted more than to be in the intermediate swim group, but as much as I didn't want to be classified a beginner, I certainly didn't want to go in that lake.

After some minutes of nudging me closer and closer to the water, my counselor finally got me to jump in. For the next five minutes or so, I kicked and paddled myself from one end to the other, just like a beginning swimmer would do. It was obvious, I would be in the beginning swim class, no intermediate for me. I let my fears get the best of me, something I should have done and could have done easily was overshadowed by fear of the unknown.

Now after the swim test, it was time to say good-bye to mama and daddy. For two long weeks they would have to be without me, no one to talk to, I know they didn't want me to stay at camp, but the left me and made their way home anticipating the day they could come and retrieve their baby boy.

During those two weeks at Y-Camp, I learned a lot. I had never shared a room with 12 other boys before, it was interesting.

Each morning we would wake up to the sound of a bell that spread throughout the whole camp. 7AM, wake up, in your pajamas, underwear or whatever you sleep in, run to the top of the hill and meet the camp directors for morning exercises. I would have much preferred morning cartoons, but I adjusted.

At Y-Camp, I learned to clean my plate, it was a requirement. Sometimes not knowing what you are eating is a good thing, a special breakfast called DVOT taught me that lesson. A life-lesson I still carry with me today.

Camp was filled with activities, I took part in archery, arts and crafts, canoe, soccer and every day I went to swimming lessons.

At night, the entire camp would gather in the Lodge after dinner. The lodge was an old wooden building, with tin roof and wrap around porch, anchored by a large rock fireplace on the north wall. Sitting on long hard benches in the lodge we would sing hymns, camp songs and listen to stories of men who made a difference in the lives of others.

Surrounding us in that Lodge were hundreds and hundreds of handmade signs nailed to the walls and ceiling. Each sign had the name, hometown and camp years painted on them. These signs represent the history of Athens Y-Camp and the men who made a difference in the lives of others in big and small ways.

Every day I got more and more comfortable jumping into that cold lake filled with dead bodies that the Vandiver man placed there. Every day I got stronger and stronger, I wasn't a beginner swimmer and I knew it, I was an intermediate and I was going to prove it to everyone!

More than anything else, my favorite part of Camp was the trips we got to take. There were three trips. A day trip to "Frontierland" in Cherokee, NC. A small amusement park with rides and shows and candy!

The second trip was also a day trip, this one I was a bit more concerned about. It was a hike into the bottom of the Tallulah Gorge for an afternoon of skinny dipping at slipper rock. Now, the hike really didn't concern me, but I don't think it takes a rocket scientist to know, sliding down a rock, bare-assed and into a pool of water may not be the best idea. Once again, my fears were unfounded and I had a great time sliding down slippery rock with my fellow campers, free as the wind and naked as a Jay-bird!

The big trip all campers took was the most anticipated of all. A hike into the woods and overnight camp-out. We would cook hot dogs and eat potato chips and be allowed to drink Coke, but before any of that we would have to hike into those mysterious woods that surrounded Athens Y-Camp.

The woods, the very same woods that were the home to the Vandiver man, the very same Vandiver man who had put all those dead bodies in the lake.

Throughout my time at camp, I had seen group after group go off into the woods and come back unscathed, but the thought of having to do it for myself wasn't something I was looking forward to. When the time came our little group of 8 year olds made our way into those dark woods, led by our counselor, who by this time we had come to trust. We walked and walked until we came upon our official campsite.

After we had set up camp, it was time for hot dogs and fun by the camp fire. We ate, we sang songs and we laughed, then it happened. One of the camp workers who had accompanied our group to the campsite began to tell a story.

He told a story of a man who used to live nearby, who was disfigured and made fun of. A man who grew bitter and mean, a man they called the Vandiver man.

The worker told us this story and it grew more and more gruesome. Our tiny band of eight year olds clung to each word, scared to move, scared to breathe and even more scared that we wouldn't hear the entire story.

As the story of the Vandiver man was reaching its climactic high point, out of the deep dark woods surrounding Athens Y-Camp came a voice, a horrific voice....."I AM THE VANDIVER MAN!"

With that, our tiny band of eight year olds collapsed into a screaming, laughing, horrified mess; because instantaneously we knew, we knew there was no Vandiver man, there weren't bodies in the lake, it was all a story, a ghost-story passed down from generation to generation. A myth that taught its young listeners about respecting differences in others, overcoming fears and tradition.

Finally, as my two week adventure at Athens Y-Camp was coming to an end, it was time to showcase what I had learned to my counselors. I presented my works in arts and crafts, archery, trampoline and all the other various skill classes I had participated in.

Now, on the final day, it was time to prove to myself and everyone else that I had overcome my fears. My fear of a mythological figure who put dead bodies in a cold lake that had prevented me from being my best in swimming. It was time to overcome the fear that had held me back from a summer of learning to jump from the high dive into a cold lake, fear that kept me from being my best.

On that day, I walked out on that white dock and peered across the 25 yards to my destination. I was going to swim to that far dock, turn around, come back to my starting point and prove that I had overcome my fears of the lake. Without hesitation, I dove in and I swam, I swam to the far end and came back. I conquered my fears and I swam.

As I went home that year, overcoming my fear of a cold lake, with a too high diving board, filled with dead bodies placed there by a mythological ghost story character didn't seem like that big of a deal. But looking back on it, I realize that lake symbolized much more than swimming, it symbolized a belief that fear is an emotion like any other, it can paralyze you or it can make you stronger, during the summer of 1972, fear made me stronger.

I went back to Athens Y-Camp the next year, this time, no longer part of the baby group, but a 9 year old expert. I didn't just conquer the lake that summer, I passed up intermediate swimming and moved straight to advanced. I jumped from the high dive and hit bulls-eyes on the archery field. I may have started out slowly, but in year two, overnight camp was my thing!

At the end of my two weeks mama and daddy came to pick me up, Sam came with them. When they arrived, I was given a handmade sign, with my name on it. Together we made our way into the Lodge and found the perfect spot for my sign to hang, close to Tom and Sam's.

I haven't ever been back to that old Lodge since that day, but I am confident my sign still hangs there.

If you ever find yourself on the Campus of Athens Y-Camp, do me a favor and go in that lodge, look on the western wall, about 3/4 the way up. If you see a sign that says "Ken Rumsey, Clayton, Georgia, 1972 & 1973." Know that sign represents something, it represents a young boy who overcame fears, who learned something about himself and a man who was made better by his two summers at Athens Y-Camp.

Notes from A Southern Kitchen, 10 Questions.... Barbara Dooley

2009-08-18T11:28:00.001-07:00

When I began the "Notes from a Southern Kitchen" blog, in addition to telling stories about my life, one of the things I wanted to do was interview famous Southerners.

I think everyone has a story to tell and hearing from people that we know and respect often gives us insight into our own lives.

I came up with a format to interview these famous Southerners..... "10 Questions."

The "10 Questions" interview concept if quite simple, I ask the same questions to everyone and post their responses.

I have sent out the questionnaire to a variety of celebrities, athletes, politicians and the like and have been surprised by some of the responses I have gotten back.

When I made my list of people I wanted to interview, one of the names near the top of the list was Barbara Dooley.

For any good Southerner, especially a Georgian, Barbara Dooley is an icon! She is the wife of former University of Georgia Football Coach Vince Dooley, but she is MUCH more than a coaches wife.

Ms. Dooley is a humorist, author, motivational speaker, and business owner. She is revered by University of Georgia fans and others around the country. I am thrilled that Ms. Dooley responded to my "10 Questions" request and present her responses below.....

10 Questions with Barbara Dooley....

1) Where were you born?

I was born and lived in Birmingham Alabama all of my life.

2) Who is the greatest influence in your life and why?

The greatest influence in my life on home making skills was my Aunt Barbara. I was named after her, she was my mother’s sister who never married and she gave me the love of sewing and cooking. She was the most talented lady that I have ever been around and nothing was better than waking up to her fresh, home- made cinnamon rolls in the morning. She could sew without a pattern and she taught me at a very early age to enjoy the art of sewing.

3) What is the one thing that you cannot do without in your Southern Kitchen?

In my Southern kitchen the one thing that I don’t want to be without is garlic!

4) What is your favorite holiday food?

My favorite holiday food is an apricot casserole. I absolutely adore it and my daughter Deanna tend to eat the whole casserole when it’s on the table. I will have to say that corn pudding runs a close second.

5) What makes you a Southerner?

Everything about me is Southern………..I love the southern accent……….I love all southern foods, I love southern men, I love the strength and grace of the southern woman, there is nothing better than a southern author, and southerners have a great ability to weave a story and make it great and there is nothing better than southern humor! ……. I truly wouldn’t want to live anywhere else in the world.

6) Biscuits or Cornbread?

Cornbread

7) What is your favorite memory?

One of my favorite memories is my Dad bringing home bar be cue ribs every Saturday night. He owned a restaurant and behind his restaurant there was a black community and every Saturday they would cook ribs. My dad would always stop and buy a rack and bring them home to us. Every Saturday night we had the exact same menu for the twenty years that I lived at home……..Hamburgers, Hot Dogs with Kraut, French Fries and Ribs! I can still taste our Sat night suppers………….delicious.

8) Who taught you to cook?

My Aunt Barbara tried to teach me but I was too busy with other things to really learn. I learned by doing when I got married. Vince ate some awful meals until I figured the stove out……………..Now, I love it!

9) Banana Sandwich or Tomato Sandwich?

Tomato Sandwich with Dukes mayo and a Vidalia Onion is the BEST

10) what would you serve, or have served to you for your FAVORITE Southern meal?

I have served one of my favorite Southern Meals:

Pork Tenderloin
Cheese Grits
Collard Greens
Sweet Potato Casserole
Squash
Green Salad
Corn Bread
Peach Cobbler with Vanilla Ice Cream

What a thrill for me that Ms. Dooley participated in this questionnaire, I want to thank her for her time!

I look forward to presenting more "10 Questions" interviews with famous Southerners in the future!

Great Southern Kitchens.... The Varsity

2009-08-11T15:54:00.000-07:00

When you think of great restaurants, fast food establishments don't always come to mind. That is unless you are a southerner.

In the south, we treasure our fast food, sometimes you just need some grease!

One of the greatest fast food restaurants in the world is The Varsity! A Georgia tradition, with six locations in the Atlanta metro area and Athens, The Varsity is unlike most any other restaurant you will visit.

Guests place their orders at a large stand up counter, spanning the length of the main atrium. Boisterous attendants take your order and shout the requests back to a kitchen in a lingo all their own. With terms like "naked dog" for a hot dog the attendants at the counter offer an entertainment all their own.

As a child, one of my favorite stops on College Football Saturdays would be a visit to The Varsity. We would pull up to the curb-side stand and place our orders. The food we ordered at The Varsity would then turn into our tailgate party once we arrived at the stadium.

The menu is quite simple, hot dogs, chili dogs, french fries, onion rings, pimento cheese sandwiches, chicken salad sandwiches and the like. In addition to the traditional fast food fare, you can also get some of the best fried pies and frosted orange drinks you could ever ask for.

The Varsity is such a tradition in the south, that any serious politician running for national office always makes a stop there. Celebrities, sports heroes and common folk mix and mingle within the confines of The Varsity.

Today, when I fly into Atlanta, my first stop is usually The Varsity. Without fail, when I begin to plan for a trip home, I always get a craving for the fare of my favorite fast food joint. Daddy used to ask if I wanted to stop, now, he doesn't even have to open the conversation for discussion he KNOWS I want to stop.

The restaurant is broken up into "TV rooms." Small dining areas with 10 -12 tables each. Inside each dining area, the TV is tuned to a different station, hence the name.

On our stops at The Varsity, I have run into family members, old friends I haven't seen in years and past acquaintances, it never fails, you will always see someone you know at The Varsity.

My choice of food at The Varsity is always the same. (Now if you are a calorie counter, you may want to skip this part!) I order a hamburger, chili dog, onion rings, french fries and large diet coke.... yeah, I know the diet coke part is kind of defeated with the other items!

Nothing at The Varsity is typical. The onion rings are made from authentic Vidalia onions, the french fries are individually cut from real potatoes and the chili is homemade....nothing frozen here, all made the day of for cooking.

The next time you travel through Atlanta or Athens, do yourself a favor, stop in at The Varsity, one Great Southern Kitchen!

Dream Big Dreams

2009-08-09T14:56:00.001-07:00

Zack is my nephew. In addition to that he is one of my favorite people on the planet.

Zack is 16 and when he was born he was the first grandson after the first granddaughter in our family. Being the youngest is hard enough, imagine being the youngest to the first girl ever, double tough!

Of all my family members, I guess Zack and I are more alike than any of the others. I imagine if I had been blessed with a child he would be a lot like Zack.

He is, and always has been, the sensitive one. Wearing his heart on his sleeve, lover of the arts, a fashionista with big dreams for his life. Daddy even made the comment the other night to me that Zack reminds him a lot of me when I was his age. He reminds me a lot of myself as well.

He has a bond with mama (or as he calls her dada) that is beautiful to see. He dotes on mama and she dotes back. He worships the ground she walks on and that admiration is returned to him ten-fold. Mama loves all of her children and grandchildren, but Zack holds a special place in her heart. I love it that he takes care of her and makes sure that she is ok and stops by to see her almost everyday, they are both creating memories and a bond that they will have forever.

I kid Zack all the time by telling him that I will always be my mama's baby, but he is quick to let me know that since he came along HE is her baby. I guess we will both have that honor from now to eternity.

Zack and I have a close bond, he calls to check on me. We text each other. We are buds. We also argue like cats and dogs sometimes, but we always make up.

Like me, Zack loves the beach. He loves the hot weather and the feeling of the sand between his toes. A couple of years ago, Zack asked if he could come visit me during his Spring Break, he did and we had a great time.

This year, Zack asked if he could come down for a few days before he started back to school. Last week was that visit. We had a great time together. Miami, South Beach, Palm Beach, mansion cruising, shopping and general good times.

For me, the highlight of the trip was our morning Para sailing adventure.

Both of us have an aversion to heights and the thought of being 750 feet in the air being pulled by a boat while attached to a parachute was a bit scary. We laughed through our nervousness leading up to the flight. But once we were in the air, it was one of the most peaceful adventures I have ever been on. I can't think of anyone I would have rather shared it with than Zack.

Zack is the dreamer of our family. He has big dreams and plans for his life! While in South Beach he decided that this would one day be his home (or one of his many homes.) Zack plans on being rich and knowing Zack he will do just that.

Deep down he knows that the financial rich isn't what will make him happy, but as he puts it, being wealthy won't hurt.

Zack informed me that when he moves to South Beach he will take care of me. We will travel on his private jet to all the most glamorous places on earth and I can come and stay in his penthouse condo on the beach.

I encourage Zack to keep dreaming, dream big and dream often. Don't ever let anyone or anything stand in the way of those dreams. Age will shatter some of those dreams, but the most important thing is to keep dreaming, don't ever give up.

I look forward to shuttling around the world with Zack on his private jet, taking in the sites and being a part of his dream! But more than that, I look forward to watching him grow, mature and see that his greatest wealth is in the person he is and the person he will become.

Thanks for dreaming big Zack!

I love you,
Uncle Ken

A Recipe from My Southern Kitchen....Cornbread

2009-07-29T12:55:00.000-07:00

What is the deal with cornbread? Why are people afraid of it? I used to have the same problem, while I love eating cornbread, it just seemed so complicated to make.

Before I learned just how simple it is, I used to buy mixes. Now after learning the secrets to a good cake of cornbread I wouldn't dream of using a mix, it is just too easy to make yourself.

A couple of years ago, while on my summer pilgrimage to God's Country, I finally broke down and asked daddy to show me how to make cornbread.... he did and now I probably eat it more than I should!

One of the most important lessons I learned when making cornbread is, you must have the right pan. As we learned in a previous post, the preferred pan in any good Southern Kitchen is the black iron frying pan, or as we may refer to it in this instance.... a skillet. There is just something magical about those old iron pans that transform food like today's new fangled metallic pans can't.

The first step in making good cornbread is to heat the pan. After spraying your iron skillet with no-stick spray, place it in the oven to heat to 375 degrees.

Cornbread is made with just three ingredients..... yeah, three, how could it be any simpler?

Ingredients

Self Rising Cornmeal
Eggs
Buttermilk

(Some people like to add ingredients to their cornbread and that is all well and good. Peppers, onions, chilies, cracklins, and cheese can all be added to the mix, I just like to keep it simple.)

Mixing the cornbread is where people get confused and it really is just a trial and error kind of thing. In a bowl pour about 1 cup of cornmeal, add one egg and buttermilk. Mix together and you are looking for a "not to wet", "not to dry" consistency to your batter. If you need to add more meal then do so, or buttermilk to take your batter the other way. When adding eggs, I have found that one egg per cup of cornmeal works best.

After you have the right consistency for your cornbread batter, pour it into the hot iron pan. Bake at 375 until golden brown, approximately 30 - 35 minutes.

Serve with butter, crumbled up in a bowl of soup, dripping with syrup, or as daddy likes it in a glass of buttermilk.

Cornbread is an easy accompaniment to any meal!

Short Notes...Five Easy Budget Savers

2009-07-28T12:47:00.000-07:00

I published this in another venue several months ago, but thought it was still relevant today, so I decided to share.

Five Easy Budget Savers

The economy is in the tank and we are all struggling. I have been searching for as many cost savings tactics that I can successfully implement into my own household.

Today I share 5 easy cost-savings steps that you can put into practice in your own household to help get through these difficult times. I am always searching for more, so if you have any ideas, add them down in the comments section for others to read.

Dump the Dry-Cleaning

Until recently I was spending 40 - 50 dollars per week on dry-cleaning. I sent all of my work clothes out to be laundered. When the economic crunch hit, this was one of the first things I cut back on. Now, I am laundering all my work clothes at home. I have started ironing while I watch television and it isn't so bad. One of my biggest worries when I started doing my own laundry was wrinkles, I love heavy starch in my shirts and can't stand wrinkles. A friend told me about a great product, Downy Wrinkle Releaser, it really works and gives the clothes a nice fresh smell as well.

Weekly Savings $40

Yearly Savings: $2,080

Save Your Change

For years I have saved change. I don't ever spend it under any circumstance, I only spend bills. At the end of the day I have a large jar I put the change in. I average at least $1.00 per day in change. During the Spring I emptied the jar because it was full, imagine my surprise when I had $1,368.49 in change saved!

Weekly Savings $7
Yearly Savings $365

Internet Coupons

We all know about coupons in the newspaper, but in today's culture one of the most important marketing tools any company has is their website. Before I go to the grocery I make my shopping list and then check out websites. Product websites often feature coupons that you won't find anywhere else, check it out, on my last visit to the grocery I had $12 in Internet coupons, I am a single person household so I don't buy as frequently as most, you can do much better than $12.

Weekly Savings $12
Yearly Savings $624

Hang It

As a child I loved the smell of sheets that had been hung out to dry on the line. I have reinstated the clothes line tradition in my own backyard. I am fortunate this time of year it is still warm in south Florida, so I can hang year round, but whenever available I highly recommend it, a clothesline is a great cost cutter and it is good for the environment as well! As in the last hint, remember I am a single person household so my cost may be lower than yours, I usually do 5 loads of laundry per week total, I know people who do that many per day, but if you save just 50 cents per load, that comes to $2.50 per week.

Weekly Savings $2.50
Yearly Savings $130

Brown Bag It

One of the best cost savings tools you can do on a day to day basis is brown bag your lunch. I have started cooking roast and turkey breast that can be extended through the week, this helps keep lunch interesting and tasty. I can't brown bag it every day, but I am doing 4 days per week, I usually spend 8 - 12 dollars per day on lunch. Over 4 days at just $8 that is $32 per week, brown bag it and eat in a nearby park, you get some exercise walking to the park and save money in the process!

Weekly Savings $32
Yearly Savings (Based on 50 Weeks) $1600

Those are some easy cost cutting tools that have a big pay-off. Any idea how much we just saved with those 5 easy tips?

$4,799!!!

A Recipe from My Southern Kitchen.... HOT, Healthy Wings

2009-07-26T16:17:00.000-07:00

This afternoon I was craving hot wings. I didn't feel like going out for dinner, so I decided to make them myself.

I have never made hot wings before, so the whole thing was an experiment. An experiment that turned out AWESOME!

Not having a story to share today, I decided to share with you a recipe from My Southern Kitchen.

With thanks to The Neely's from Food Network, I took a recipe of Pat's and modified it to my taste.

I hope you enjoy my version of HOT, Healthy Wings!

Ingredients:

1 Tablespoon Salt
1 Tablespoon Red Pepper Flakes
2 Teaspoons of Black Pepper
2 Teaspoons of Poultry Seasoning
2 Tablespoons of Hot Sauce

12 Chicken Drumettes

Prep:

In a small bowl combine the dry ingredients and hot sauce. Stir until you have created a rub.

Place the drumettes in a Tupperware container and spread the rub over. Work the rub onto the chicken and place in the refrigerator for 1 hour to marinate.

Pre-heat oven to 350 degrees.

Cooking:

After the chicken has marinated for one hour, place it in a baking dish allowing the chicken pieces to touch. Pour the remaining rub over the chicken, cover with foil and place in the oven.

Let the chicken bake ate 350 for 35 minutes.

At the end of 35 minutes, remove the foil and turn the oven to 425. Allow the chicken to bake at 425 for an additional 15 minutes.

Serve:

After the chicken was cooked, I served with Blue Cheese Dipping Sauce.

In addition to the wings, I had an ear of steamed white corn on the cob. (Or as we call it in our family, sweet corn.)

Rounding out the meal was Publix Diet Sweet Tea. An ingenious invention of Publix pre-brewed tea made with Splenda, almost as good as mama used to make......almost!

This was a simple filling meal, but remember it is HOT, so if you can't handle the heat, you may want to pull back on the ingredients.

I hope you enjoy, this recipe from My Southern Kitchen!

P.S.... see those "ads" over on the right side of the page? Click on em, there is some good stuff there, lots of times with discounts and when you click, I get a little something in return from the companies represented!

Thanks and have a great week everyone!

Strawberry Fields Forever

2009-07-18T13:31:00.000-07:00

Daddy has always been interested in gardening. Both sets of my grandparents had gardens and today Daddy has two (he has always been an over-achiever!)

He enjoys the process of gardening. Laying it out, planting, weeding, harvesting and then freezing or canning what he has grown. I don't enjoy any of this!

God's country is ripe with gardens, the soil is good for growing most anything and the spring and summer weather are perfect.

One spring when I was in about the 7th grade, Daddy became enamored with strawberries. I don't know why they were his infatuation that year but they were. I don't even like strawberries, so for me it made no sense what so ever. Sam is the strawberry eater in the family, not me!

Strawberries need a lot of growing space, something we didn't have. However, daddy heard about a "pick-your own" garden in North Carolina that grew strawberries and decided that we should go up one afternoon after school and pick.

Being a typical pre-teen, the thought of being bent over in a field picking anything wasn't my idea of a good time. Being a typical pre-teen, I didn't have much choice about going. Daddy said we were going and we went.

After school, mama, daddy and I all piled into his two-tone Jeep Cherokee and headed to North Carolina on our strawberry picking adventure. As you can imagine I wasn't happy about going and was determined to make my displeasure known. I pouted, but to no avail, I WAS going strawberry picking and I was going to like it..... PERIOD, end of story!

Upon our arrival at the strawberry fields, we were each given a 1 gallon bucket. The owner advised us that we paid by the gallon. Looking out onto the fields, I decided to exert my independence and move to a far end of the field, far away from mama and daddy.

Daddy advised that we should be able to fill our buckets in about an hour, so to start picking and we would re-evaluate at the end of the time. I was bound and determined that I was not going to be bent over in that field of strawberries picking for an hour. I don't even like strawberries, let Sam come pick them, he is the one that likes them!

Off we went and I began filling my bucket, I picked and picked, cleaning off each plant I came across. Within about 20 minutes my bucket was filled, but I wasn't going to let anyone know, I was going to sit right here and soak up some sun.

I sat and waited until the hour had passed and began to make my way back to where mama and daddy were.

When I got back to the cash stand, I got THE LOOK. You know THE LOOK, it is that sideways glare that only parents have the ability to produce. THE LOOK is the worst thing a child can encounter, it means you have just ROYALLY messed up.

Being a typical pre-teen I asked the logical question "what?" After all THE LOOK deserved a response, didn't it?

After delivering my genius of a response, I looked down at mama and daddy's buckets and then back at mine..... uh-oh, now I knew what THE LOOK was for.

Mama and daddy both had overflowing buckets of beautiful red-ripe strawberries. Even for someone who doesn't like strawberries, I knew those were pretty.

Looking back at my bucket, I saw some pretty red berries, but mostly I saw half-ripe white plants that would eventually, if left on the vine, become something worth eating. For now, they were just unripened strawberries that were going to cost daddy money and not be used for anything.

Uh-oh, now THE LOOK made perfect sense. Daddy paid the man and we loaded back into the Jeep for a long ride home. Being a typical pre-teen, I thought I could make it all better by talking and making excuses, that didn't work well. I continued to get THE LOOK all the way home.

I don't quite remember how the story ended as sometimes it is just better to erase certain memories from your brain. I do know that this trip was my one and only visit to the strawberry fields.

To this day, if I am getting uppity Daddy only has to mention the strawberry fields and it shuts me down, no more uppity for me!

We laugh about my inept ability to harvest strawberries now, but at the time THE LOOK spoke loud and clear, thus ending my gardening adventures forever!

Andy

2009-07-12T08:51:00.000-07:00

My family loves the Georgia Bulldogs. We live and breathe red and black and during football season you never have to doubt where we will be, either in front of the television, radio or in Sanford Stadium. College football and more importantly the Georgia Bulldogs are a way of life for us.

As any good Bulldog fan knows, UGA, the team mascot is revered throughout the state and throughout football lore.

UGA comes from a long line of English Bulldogs born and raised in middle Georgia. Leading the team to victory, UGA is possibly the most pampered dog in America, even residing in an air-conditioned house "between the hedges" during games.

Our neighbors, the Rogers, shared our same passion for Georgia Bulldog Football. Mr. Rogers especially loved his Dawgs!

Sometime around 1978, Mr. Rogers and daddy informed our families that we were getting a new pet. It seems as though they had found a descendant of UGA and together, BOTH FAMILIES, would be adopting Andy.

I am not sure if Mrs. Rogers or mama were aware that together we would be adopting a dog, but by the time the announcement was made it was too late to turn back. WE, yes WE, as in BOTH FAMILIES were going to be adopting Andy, a pure-bred English Bulldog with a lineage back to UGA, the Georgia mascot.

Daddy and Mr. Rogers had worked out a scheme. Andy would live with us for one week and then the Rogers the next, rotating between the families on Sunday mornings each week. BAD OMEN #1!

On a Saturday morning both families, excluding Mrs. Rogers and mama, piled into Mr. Rogers' Jeep Cherokee and headed off to pick up our new family member. All the kids were excited about bringing home our new little brother. The shared dog, this was a pre-cursor to today's non-traditional family.

When we arrived at our destination we were all introduced to Andy. An adorable white bulldog with minimal brown markings. At just a few months old, he already let his presence known as he would strut back and forth through the room, rivaling any high fashion model's sashay down the runway, backside swaying side to side as if it would come disconnected from his body.

The gentleman we were adopting Andy from had several English Bulldogs, but he let it be known from the outset that we were getting Andy.

I distinctly remember him telling daddy and Mr. Rogers, "Andy is crazy!" He would tell us how Andy and the other dogs would play and how Andy would clamp down on the other dogs so hard that the only way he could get them to break the grip was to throw them in the pool. BAD OMEN #2!

One would think that by now, one of us, ANY of us, may have started to rethink the idea of adopting Andy, but NOOOOOOOOOOOOO, we were getting our Andy, an English-Bulldog with direct lineage to UGA, the mascot for the University of Georgia!

So after daddy and Mr. Rogers finalized the business part of our adoption, we all loaded back into the Jeep Cherokee. Two grown men in the front seat, three kids in the middle seat and a younger kid in the back section of the Jeep. A bulldog roaming throughout the SUV, wherever he wanted to go!

Upon our arrival home, all of us unloaded the Jeep with pride as we were prepared to show mama and Mr. Rogers our new family member. I don't think either of them were excited and that lack of excitement became evident immediately when Andy jumped out of the Jeep and took off running.

With leash in tow, Andy ran through the neighborhood, back and forth as the kids and father's chased him like a run away fullback, both mothers standing on the sidelines arms crossed, with a look of "what have we gotten ourselves into" on their faces. Andy's first run through the neighborhood was BAD OMEN #3, this would be the first of many escape runs.

I don't remember who took Andy the first week, but I do remember that when he was in our house, Andy always slept with me. As a child I was rather slight, I know you can't tell it by looking at me now, but this fat 45 year old used to be the runt of the litter.

I slept in a twin bed and when Andy was in our house he would rule the sheets. Outweighing me, Andy would move in the middle of the night and push me to the side, as I grew, he grew, until eventually we overfilled the bed.

Back and forth Andy would go, one week our house, the next the Rogers. Like a game of badminton he would be go from one side to the other.

Through the years we had Andy, he never got housebroken, can you blame him? He didn't know which house to break!

He would get out of the house and run through the neighborhood at least twice a week and during those years the newspaper usually only got read two weeks out of each month, because he would chew it up the weeks he was in our house.

Each year at Christmas, Mrs. Rogers would put up the most elegant tree I had ever seen. Red twinkle lights, gold ornaments and an ornate gold nativity scene, it really was stunning. One day Mrs. Rogers came home to find that stunning tree and lights strewn from one end of the house to the other. BAD OMEN #4, I think the Christmas tree debacle was the last straw for Andy.

Mama and Mrs. Rogers did not like Andy and I think they began to dread the weeks he would be in their houses. I wasn't privy to the conversations, but I have a feeling they let the men-folk know, it was time for Andy to go!

Eventually Andy did go, he was passed on to another family with Bulldog pride who had a farm where Andy could run. One family.

After he was gone I missed Andy, he really wasn't a bad dog, just a bit confused. Wouldn't you be confused if you lived in one house for a week and the next moved to another?

I never saw Andy again after he left our neighborhood, but from time to time we still laugh about his antics.

Mama made a rule after Andy moved away. NEVER, EVER, NEVER, NEVER, NEVER would she have another house dog.....NEVER! She maintains that rule still today.

The Rogers got another dog not long after Andy moved. A small dog, one that was housebroken and one that couldn't turn over a candlestick, much less a Christmas Tree.

Without a doubt, Andy was crazy. But he was ours (and the Rogers), he provided a lot of good memories and some not so good.

A crazy English Bulldog and our connection to the world's most famous college mascot.

We're Going to the Elk's Lodge

2009-07-05T08:56:00.000-07:00

My family is big on tradition. We follow the same routine for Christmas, birthdays were always a big deal, Thanksgiving dinner has been the same since I was a child and today I cook the same meal in my own home. I love the traditions that were set forth by my parents and in many cases their parents before them.

One such tradition was the Clark Family Reunion in Elberton each summer. Elberton is about an hour from God's Country, but it is where ma-ma and her brothers and sisters grew up. Known for its granite businesses, Elberton is a big producer of tomb stones. (Somebody has to do it!)

Ma-ma came from a big family and each year the descendants would descend on Elberton, The Elk's Lodge to be exact and reunion.

Going into reunions I was never excited. As the youngest of the grand-children I didn't have a lot in common with my cousins. More precisely I was closer in age to many of the second cousins, which kept me in limbo. I was too young to hang with my peers and the younger kids were too young to do much, which left me clinging to ma-ma and mama most of the day.

Reunion would begin early in the morning. These gatherings were pot luck, so mama would get up early and start putting together her contribution for the meal. With mama's penchant for extreme cooking, she would usually prepare enough for a small army, when it comes to cooking for groups she has never understood the concept of everyone bringing something, she always wants to make sure there is enough just in case someone isn't able to bring their share.

Daddy wasn't much into these family reunions, but he would always go and put on a happy face. By the end of the day, daddy would be in full spirit and entertaining the masses with his stories.

By the time mama was finished preparing her dishes the four of us would load up the car and start our trek to ma-ma and gramps house, about 30 miles away. Like mama, ma-ma would over indulge in the cooking department as well. There was always homemade chocolate cake, usually fried chicken, okra, corn from the garden and peas. Ma-ma would prepare for days for the reunions, these events were what she lived for. Getting together with her brothers and sisters and showing off their families.

Sam and I would always get a lecture in the car. No fighting and be on your best behavior, we were NOT to embarrass ma-ma in front of her family.

Off we would go, gramps, daddy and me in the front seat, ma-ma, mama and Sam in the back. Dressed in our new reunion clothes, a Bonneville filled with enough food for a third world nation and two kids threatened within an inch of our lives to behave.

Elberton is about 30 minutes from ma-ma and gramps house, not a far journey, but when it is made in a car that is over packed and over stuffed by six people in dress clothes on a summer day with the sun beating through the glass it isn't always a pleasant trip. By the time we reached Elberton, we were all ready to get out of the car and stretch our legs.

Family reunions were held at the Elk's Lodge, a rustic old building just off the main road. Without fail, the first person we would always see standing out waiting for the family would be Uncle Chester. If gramps would have had a twin it would have been Uncle Chester, although they were only related by marriage the two men were the mirror image of each other. Tall, lanky, distinguished southern gentlemen of few words, impeccably dressed with a sly smile and twinkle in their eyes. Gramps and Uncle Chester were the kind of men people gravitated to, not to be entertained but to learn from.

After the parking lot greeting, Uncle Chester would help us unload and move into the Elk's Lodge. The interior of the lodge was exactly what you would imagine, one big open room with a kitchen in the back, a large rock fireplace, linoleum floors and dark stained panelling.

Aunt Laura Bea would be busily working when we came in. Setting up the buffet with her load of food big enough to feed an army, she would stop the pace of activity just long enough to greet us all with a hug and kiss, always stating what fine young boys Sam and I were.

Like ma-ma, Aunt Laura Bea was short in stature but big in personality. Like ma-ma, immaculately dressed and with a quick catch up story of where all her family was, what time they would arrive and who was bring what. Between ma-ma, Aunt Laura Bea and mama, the buffet was arranged and in place before anyone else could arrive to help.

Throughout the late morning and early afternoon, the other families would arrive. Our glamorous Aunt Frances and her family from South Carolina, the Virginia Clark's and the Maxwell's.

As the families arrived and the buffet grew to embarrassing proportions the sounds of laughter would echo through the Elk's Lodge. Cheeks were pinched, kisses exchanged, hugs enveloped us all and the Clark Family Reunion would be in full swing.

Like other traditions passed down from generation to generation, Uncle Chester would round everyone up when it was time for the feast. Families would encircle the room, all holding hands and Uncle Chester would bless the meal.

Mealtime would find one big family, all mixed together around long tables in fold up chairs, enjoying the foods of our ancestors and recipes from the current Southern Living magazine. Laughing, joking, catching up and reminiscing about the years past and ancestors lost.

After grazing for what seemed like hours, the families would then move to the front lawn, games were played, conversations took place and pictures were taken. Instamatic cameras would be pulled from every purse in the crowd and every configuration of family was photographed. First cousins, second cousins, immediate family, family with grand parents, grandparents with children, grandparents with grandchildren.... pictures, pictures and more pictures. Creating memories that would carry us through to the next year's reunion.

After a long day, after the last picture was taken, the lodge was cleaned and the last hug exchanged we would once again pile into the Bonneville. Stuffed bellies and empty dishes but most importantly complete, filled with shared moments, family traditions and the love of extended family.

Staple of the Southern Kitchen - Buttermilk

2009-07-01T12:02:00.000-07:00

Wikipedia describes buttermilk as the liquid left over from churning butter from creme.

The southern kitchen describes buttermilk as a delicacy.

In the south, we love our buttermilk. A staple of the southern kitchen, buttermilk can always be found in the refrigerator. It is used in baking and general cooking.

One of daddy's favorite meals is buttermilk and cornbread. Not buttermilk IN cornbread, but buttermilk AND cornbread.

I can still hear daddy, after a long weekend proclaiming, "mama I just want buttermilk and cornbread for supper." (Daddy calls mama, mama too!)

Buttermilk and cornbread is something I have never eaten, but as served to daddy it was a big glass of buttermilk with cornbread broken up in it. Daddy loves that meal and still eats it today.

Mama always used buttermilk in biscuits, ma-ma used in when she baked cakes and I have seen people drink it right out of a glass.

Buttermilk is a true southern staple.

A couple of years ago, when I finally learned how to make cornbread I learned to appreciate buttermilk. Now, as hard as it is to find sometimes, I keep it for my own cooking purposes.

Although I have never done it, I have heard of people who dredge their chicken or country fried steak in buttermilk before cooking. Some people even dip okra and other vegetables in buttermilk before frying, since I am not much of a "dredger" I don't use buttermilk for such purposes, but I can certainly see how it would enrich the flavors.

Buttermilk, does the body good.

Hollywood Meets God's Country

2009-06-29T15:13:00.000-07:00

During the spring and summer of 1971, God's Country was a twitter, Hollywood had come to town.

Not a lot was known about what was going on, since most of the movie was filmed in the Tallulah Gorge and on the Chattooga River, but the locals were excited a big time movie was being filmed in God's Country.

Not only was a movie being made here, but some of the locals had been chosen to take part. Not just in background roles, but these characters had speaking parts!

Word had gotten out that the cast of the movie featured some pretty major actors, Ronny Cox, Ned Beatty, Jon Voight and a new guy Burt Reynolds.

The cast and crew was housed at a downtown hotel and star sightings became commonplace. It was an exciting time in God's Country.

During that same time, plans were in place for an annual summer gathering, the Frog Leg Supper. A tradition each year, daddy and his buddies would spend the spring and early summer gigging frogs for the feast.

Each evening daddy and his crew would load up in a paddle boat and make their way through the small lakes and ponds of the area. By the time frog gigging season was over, hundreds of pairs of legs were ready to be cooked.

The annual frog leg supper was a big deal. For folks in God's Country it was a prestigious invite. We were used to having cook-outs at our house, but the frog leg supper was the big one of the year and the summer of 1971 was about to get even more exciting.

Everything was in place, daddy and his cooker were in place, the men folk were all gathered in the garage and mama and the women were making their finishing touches to the meal inside.

As customary we gathered in a circle for the blessing and the feast began. Then it happened, Hollywood showed up for the frog leg supper!

I honestly don't remember who from the cast did show up, but I do know that one of the ones in attendance was Ronny Cox. I think Burt Reynolds and Ned Beatty were there as well but can't swear to it.

As with all of our gatherings, the evening was scheduled to end with picking and singing. Doug and Tom were tuning up for their serenade, and as legend has it, Ronny Cox joined in. Evidently Cox played for so long and so hard his fingers bled.

That frog leg supper remains legendary in God's Country, it was the night Hollywood joined in with the town folks.

As the summer continued, rumors began to stir up about the movie and a buzz started that it was going to be a big time feature film. A movie based on a group of men from Atlanta who were on a rafting trip down the river. The premise didn't sound very exciting but the buzz was it was going to put that Burt Reynolds guy on the map.

When it debuted in 1972, the movie Deliverance became a blockbuster. It was nominated for an Academy Award for Best Picture and won a variety of other awards. Indeed, after Deliverance, the Burt Reynolds guy became pretty well known.

I wasn't old enough to see the movie when it came out, but the finished product did make an impression on those who saw it.

I don't know how I feel about Deliverance today. It was a great movie, but many, including myself have a problem with the depiction of the people of God's Country. For those who don't know us, you may think we are all toothless inbreds or backwoods rapist, which couldn't be further from the truth.

Deliverance was Hollywood make believe and as with many movies people can't separate fact from fiction, but the people of God's Country are kind, loving souls who had a brush with Hollywood, some brushes were good, and others not so much.

The Most Valuable Lesson I Ever Learned

2009-06-21T08:55:00.000-07:00

Daddy is a retired Football Coach and Teacher. If he had done every career assessment test known to man, he would never have found a more perfect profession.

For over 30 years daddy taught 12th grade American Government. He coached high school football for a number of those years. Literally thousands of kids went through his classroom and played football for him. You would be hard pressed to find any of those students who didn't learn at least one of his life lessons.

In daddy's classroom, the textbook was secondary. We would go through the curriculum, but the lessons that were learned often had nothing to do with what was in print sitting on our desk. A typical American Government session usually consisted of about 10 minutes of book study and the rest of the class was devoted to talking.

We talked in small groups, we talked as an entire class and more often than not, daddy would talk to us one on one.

Growing up in a small town, everyone knew everyone else's business. So when daddy knew a particular student was going through a hard time, he would take them out of the classroom, to his hillside perch overlooking the rest of the campus, and just talk.

For my entire life, daddy has been referred to by his students as Coach or Papa Ray, to this day he is still known by either name. Now in his later years, daddy has generations of the same family who know him by these terms of endearment.

I admit that for many years I resented this. Why couldn't my daddy just be my daddy, why did he also have to raise the children of everyone else in town? It took me a lot of years to realize it, but now I understand, his gifts as a teacher and coach, far exceeded what he could do for just Sam and I, they had to be shared with others.

Daddy provided counsel for kids who didn't have anyone else they could turn to. He listened, he lectured, he gave direction, but most of all he taught. Daddy is, was and will always be a teacher.

When I grew up, fathers were a lot different than they are today. They were not the touchy feely kind of men who show emotion and played with their kids every free second. Daddy was no different. I had my quality time him, but as I was growing up, he had two jobs, was trying to raise two sons, was mourning the loss of his oldest and had to care for his wife who was often ill. Daddy had more on his plate than most could ever imagine.

I have heard and read that parents who lose a child often divorce. Not saying that it was always easy in our house, because it wasn't, but daddy and mama hung in there, through the good and bad times to make sure that Sam and I had as normal of a childhood as possible.

When mama was sick, daddy learned to cook. He learned to keep house and he learned how to keep the family running. He often referred to it as "woman's work," but in our house it was the work of necessity. As much as he was different from today's fathers, in those respects he was a trendsetter.

Whenever mama was sick, or is sick today, he is the best person you can imagine to have at your side. I have seen my daddy spend hour upon hour and day upon day, sitting in a hospital room, just sitting making sure that mama isn't left alone.

Daddy always says the person who is in the hospital is much better off than the person who is at their bedside. The person who is sick is being taken care of, but the visitor is helpless to do anything for their loved one, other than being there.

Daddy sits bedside, he talks, he reads the newspaper, he watches tv, he talks, he walks, he talks and he talks. Most importantly he is there.

In our house there weren't a lot of rules. Mama and daddy let us have our freedom to learn about the world. I never had a curfew through high school, it wasn't necessary.

We had one rule in our house, the rule that is the basis of the most valuable lesson I ever learned. "Don't do anything to embarrass your mama."

That one saying was engraved into the heads of Sam and I, like the inscription on any monument you will find the world over. "Don't do anything to embarrass your mama."

With a commandment like this, why would a curfew ever be necessary. It was easy to give your kids freedom when the one thing that was always front and center was so simple, "don't do anything to embarrass your mama."

If we ever strayed from the commandment, and both of us did. Punishment was swift and severe, we may have strayed from the family covenant, but it wasn't long before we were on the straight and narrow again.

Seven simple words, often the last we would hear as we walked out the door, are what has led Sam and I through life. If you think about it, what greater lesson could a father ever teach his kids, "don't do anything to embarrass your mama?"

Today as a man of 45 years old, those words still echo in my head through many of the day to day challenges I face. I haven't been perfect, but I think for the most part I have honored that commitment to my family and the challenge that daddy set forth for me many years ago, at least I hope I have.

He isn't perfect, but he is mine, an example of love and life lessons. Still teaching me to this day, the lessons of life I carry with me always.

Papa Ray, Coach, Husband, Teacher and to me, most importantly DADDY.

Happy Father's Day Daddy.

Thank you and I love you!

The Go To Guy

2009-06-14T08:37:00.000-07:00

I am the youngest of three children... three boys. Tom, Sam and me. I am 11 years younger than Tom and 7 years younger than Sam, quite a gap.

I asked my mother once if I was a "slip-up," in her always eloquent way, her response was quick and without the miss of a beat "you are loved." That is all any child needs to hear, slip up or not.

By the time I entered the picture, my brothers already had an active life going, I can just imagine that a baby in the house was the last thing they wanted to endure. Much less a baby as cute and perfect as me!

My brother Tom was killed in a single person car wreck when he was 16, I was 5. I don't remember Tom but know from the stories I have heard that he was a good guy, smart, kind, good athlete, everything a parent could ever want.

After Tom died our family changed a lot, but mama and daddy, along with family and friends, did everything they could to give Sam and I an idyllic childhood. Sam was actively involved in school activities, sports and friends, I was still young and became the one who was sheltered and doted on.

With a seven year age difference, Sam and I didn't have much in common, OK we didn't have ANYTHING in common. I was the brat little brother who cramped his style, I was the one who got way too much attention and special treatment. Sam was the one from whom much was expected.

Naturally, Sam and I didn't get along as children. It wasn't so much that we didn't get along, we just didn't talk to each other or acknowledge each others existence.... typical sibling stuff. We would fight over the color of the sky, nothing was off limits.

Although we weren't "friends" as children, Sam's big brother role was part of his character even from an early age, he was the one who would wake me up early in the morning to see what Santa brought, he was the one who reluctantly drove me to and from school and the one who took up for me, even though he never said anything about it, when I was picked on by the bigger kids.

As the years passed, Sam went away to college and I stayed home to finish elementary school. During those days I began to miss Sam when he wasn't home, but I would never EVER tell him that! When he came home, usually every weekend, with a posse of college friends I would listen intently to the stories of college life, secretly wishing I was there too.

College wasn't Sam's thing, he was much better at the social aspect than he was the academic aspect. It isn't that Sam wasn't smart enough for college, it is just that he had too many other things to do. He needed to get out and make his way in life, Sam is more of a "School of Life" kind of guy than he is a bookworm kind of guy. After a few years of giving college a try, Sam decided to move on and get out into the world.

Sam worked all kinds of jobs and was successful at most of them. Never afraid of hard work, Sam took a job on an oil rig in the middle of the Gulf of Mexico. It was during this time that I finally realized just how much I loved my brother.

In the wee hours of the morning, during the Spring of 1980, daddy woke me to say that Sam had been hurt on the oil rig. They were rushing to Louisiana to be at his side. I would be staying behind at school and they would keep me posted and arrangements would be made for me to stay with friends.

As mama and daddy rushed out the door, I collapsed on the other side and cried, worried for my brother and praying for his safety, in that instant I knew just how much I loved my brother and knew that I couldn't be without him.

The result of the accident was internal bleeding and exploratory surgery to fix the problem. Sam's recovery took several months, but he did recover fully, except for the "stomach disorder" that he, still to this day, regales us all with whenever there is something that needs to be done that he doesn't want to participate in. "I can't wash the dishes, you know I have an "stomach disorder." Oh yeah, how could I forget.... the "stomach disorder."

In 1982 I went away to college, I was much better at the social aspects of college as well, but unlike Sam, I was going to ride that gravy train to its fullest, I didn't want to graduate to the "school of life," I was enjoying college and could have stayed there forever.

During my college years, Sam and I began to grow closer. We could actually have a conversation without one of us, usually me, heaped in the corner crying or tattling on the other to mama or daddy. As I entered my 20's we would just pick on each other, about anything and everything, but it was always done in fun and not meant to hurt.

Something else happened during those years, I began to depend on Sam for advice and guidance, he had the life experiences that helped me make decisions and I looked to him more and more to help me as I began to plan my entry into the real world.

Over the years, Sam has continued to be that "go to" guy for me on many of life's biggest decisions. I trust and value his opinion on most things and I know that he will guide me the best he can. With that said we are still complete opposites.

Sam is, in my words, a right wing wack-job. I am, in his words, a bleeding heart liberal. Our characterizations of each other aren't completely true, and we know that, but it is the basis for what makes our relationship fun today.

From children who couldn't be in the same room with each other, we have evolved. Now we can be in the same room with each other and usually only end up smacking each other with words instead of fist. But all of our battles are done in good-natured debate with respect for the other's opinions.

I don't see Sam as much as I would like to, usually only a couple of times each year. When I do see him, I know that I will have fun, he can make me laugh like nobody else, today we enjoy each other's company and we enjoy getting the other riled up.

Mama has a rule at family gatherings..... no politics, and she starts off each family meal with "now we are not going to talk about politics at the table." She knows as well as we do that she just opens up the challenge when she states the rule, because once it is on the table, we go for it, the battle for political supremacy is on. Before the debate is over, daddy is usually laughing his head off, Sam and I are both red-faced and riled up and mama is sitting there with an exasperated look on her face loving every minute of it.

Sam and I now talk on the phone at least once a week. Our conversations never begin with hello, they usually start something like "Nancy Pelosi is the biggest idiot on the planet" or "Dick Cheney is the anti-Christ." From there, the caller regales the other with the idiocy of the day. We actually agree on more than we disagree on, but this is our way of challenging the other to think more and know what is going on in the world.

Several months ago when I decided to enter the political arena, Sam was so proud of me. He would check in everyday to see how the campaign was going and he created the mantra for my campaign "don't let him out work you and don't let him out tech you." I didn't and I won. Sam was so proud when I told him I won the campaign and I can't think of any other right wing wack-job I would have preferred to have supporting me.

If we aren't arguing about the politics of the day, we are laughing about something mama and daddy have done. (EDITORIAL NOTE: Mama, it is ALWAYS Sam who makes fun of you.... you know that... I would never make fun of my mama or daddy!!!!!)

But more than any political debate or story about our families latest comment, we now talk to each other just to touch base, to see how the other is and what is going on in our lives.

Sam remains my "go to" guy whenever I need advice. He has more life experiences than I will ever have and he has learned lessons from all of them. Sam never got the college degree that I did, but his accomplishments in life are something I continually strive for. He is a wonderful father, successful business owner and one of the most creative marketing professionals I have ever met. His life experiences are more than I ever learned in a school book.

Where Sam got so much from his life experiences, I got the soft heart and wearing your emotions on your sleeve trait. Each Christmas I make sure to get the "Sam and Ken hugging photo." He acts like he hates it, but he knows it is going to happen and he grudgingly wraps his arms around me and fake scowls for the camera. I treasure each one of those pictures and deep down I know he does too.

At the end of all of our phone conversations I end with "I love you." His response is always the same.... yeah. For a kid brother who was a pain in the butt, who got all the attention and grew to idolize his big bro, that is enough, actually it is more than enough. I wouldn't have it any other way.

Thanks Sam for putting up with me, for guiding me, protecting me, challenging me and loving me. Thanks for being a role model, I love you!

Yeah.

Short Notes....

2009-06-10T13:12:00.000-07:00

From time to time I will post "Short Notes," these are follow-ups to previous post or quick questions.

Several of you have mentioned that you don't use soap in cleaning your Black Iron Fry Pan. You are right.... I was wrong! Water only.
Banana Sandwich.... Mayonnaise? Peanut Butter? or You have never had one?
Thank you so much for all the positive comments I have been receiving on the Blog, I am thoroughly enjoying writing it and sharing these stories with you.

Man Vs. Hog

2009-06-07T12:01:00.000-07:00

Daddy is an excellent cook. He is self taught and can cook almost anything.

I am sure he will tell you the only things he can't cook, are the things he doesn't want to eat.

With mama in the hospital a lot when we were younger, he often had to cook and clean to keep us on a regular schedule. It wasn't easy, but daddy did it. I don't think I ever heard him complain about it either.

The kind of cooking daddy did in those days was out of necessity, to keep the family going. The kind he would do in the kitchen with a black frying pan, preparing the day to day basics. Daddy tolerated basic cooking, but daddy loved to get outside and cook......cook over an open flame, like a man cooks!

Turn daddy loose on the grill or with his deep-fat fryer and he was in his element. However, if you ever wanted to see a man revert back to his inner-caveman, give daddy a fire pit and a wild hog and you have the makings of an epic battle between man and beast.

It would usually happen at least once a year, it didn't matter if it was an occasion or just a reason to cook, but once a year or so, daddy would cook a wild hog. When I say a wild hog, understand, I mean the WHOLE hog! Weeks of preparation would go into the battle of man vs. hog with the outcome always the same.... man won!

When daddy cooked a hog it was a spectacle. The pit had to be just so, temperature of the coals exact, the hog prepared for cooking with affection, cooking timed to the exact minute, daddy was the king of the fire pit and his audience appreciated his efforts.

As you can imagine, cooking a hog wasn't just a meal for the family. No, when you cook a hog it is an event, for the masses. I have seen daddy cook a hog in the blazing heat of a 4th of July, during Bicentennial events in Chamblee, Georgia; on top of Black Rock Mountain with snow falling from the sky and along side a small fishing pond beneath a gazebo while games of football were played in the fields nearby.

Daddy loves being in a group, his personality is at its best when he is the center of attention and cooking a wild hog over a pit has a way of putting that attention square on the guy in charge.... daddy. He would entertain friends, neighbors and family for hours on end during the cooking process with story after story, each tale growing bigger as the night went on. Oh yes, the night went on, you see, cooking a hog in a pit isn't a couple of hour process, no it usually begins in the late evening of one night and continues until supper time the next night.

Hour after hour, daddy would stand by the pit,turning and basting and rubbing and watching that hog turn to a perfect golden brown. Meat falling from the bones ready for the masses to enjoy.

Daddy always loved those moments when the hog was presented and everyone begin to dive in and enjoy the fruits of his labors. Congratulations were abundant, praises for the chef and slaps on the back, daddy was the center of attention and he loved every minute of it.

I started thinking about daddy and those hogs once and thought there was an analogy there that sums up daddy's life. Some parts of the pig roast aren't a lot of fun, the staying up all night, constant basting and turning and rubbing, it is tiresome work and often lonely. But when the meat is presented and the crowd is enjoying the fruits of that labor the hard work must all seem worthwhile as the man provides for his family, Man vs. Hog..... everyone wins!

Staple of the Southern Kitchen ~ Black Iron Frying Pan

2009-06-01T11:16:00.000-07:00

Long before Teflon, aluminum, stainless steel or copper the cast iron frying pan was an essential staple for any southern kitchen. Available in a variety of shapes and sizes, the Black Iron Frying Pan has been used for all varieties of cooking.

Often passed down from generation to generation, the Black Iron Frying Pan never looses its ability to cook a masterful meal. Mama used her fry pans often and for numerous dishes. She would fry chicken, pork chops or cubed steak and then use the remnants for gravy. There is something about those old frying pans that capture flavors and cook with an even golden brown, unlike the pans of today.

I have seen mama cook an entire meal in one fry pan, of course back in the day we fried most everything, but even with today's cooking styles, the old black frying pan can be used for stir-fry or a baking dish.

Several years ago, daddy picked up a number of fry pans at a yard sale, he gave me three. A small, medium and large pan. After years of cooking, I felt complete now that I had my own. You can buy them in the store, but honestly it takes years of use before a black fry pan is cured just right

When I got my fry pans daddy gave me a few lessons on how to take care of them.

Never, ever, never, never, never put an Iron frying pan in the dishwasher...NEVER! Always wash the fry pan with soap and water in the sink.

If you store an iron frying pan in the oven it will cure quicker. If I am cooking something in the oven I leave my stored pans there, something about the constant heat just helps them get better and better.

I use my fry pans for everything but my favorite dishes are fried chicken, okra and cornbread. The heat, the consistency and the versatility makes a Black Iron Frying Pan a Staple for any Southern Kitchen.

Great Southern Kitchens.... LaPrade's

2009-05-23T16:35:00.000-07:00

We weren't rich growing up, my parents had to work hard for us to have what we had and daddy had a second job selling real estate between the school year. We were a middle class family plain and simple.

We didn't travel a lot, other than to visit family and friends in Florida and South Georgia, but when you grow up in "God's Country" you don't really have to travel far to find everything you could want.

For a small town Clayton, Ga had some fairly well known restaurants, some of which can easily be described as Great Southern Kitchens. One such restaurant was LaPrade's.

LaPrade's was only open from Memorial Day until Labor Day, it sat high atop a hill on the banks of Lake Burton. Nestled between huge azalea bushes and rhododendron, LaPrades was a family style restaurant that attracted the Lake Burton well to do and the locals of the area each time the doors opened. Served all you can eat and at a reasonable price, LaPrade's was perfect for our middle class tastes.

We often found ourselves at LaPrade's for lunch after Church on Sundays. Ma-ma and Gramps would meet us there as Lake Burton was 1/2 way between my parents house and their house.

LaPrade's served two seating's for lunch and two for supper, one hour each, and the menu was basically the same ever day. People from all over would gather on the sweeping front porch of the lodge prior to going in for their meal time. The porch provided a gorgeous view of the lake and the boats speeding by with water skiers or fishermen.

When I was a child, daddy never let my brothers or I play carnival games, he said they were a waste of money, but when we went to LaPrades he would let us play the electric bowling machine and we would have family tournaments on those lanes with the miniature balls and pins.

Once the bell was rung and guests were admitted into the dining room diners would file in and find a seat at one of the 4 long tables lined with benches. Each table was probably 50' long and you never knew who you may be sitting by during the dining experience. The President of major corporations would be seated next to farmers and so on down the tables as approximately 200 people enjoyed each seating.

The food was served family style, huge platters of fried chicken, country ham, pork chops, fresh green beans, squash and fried okra along with corn, mashed potatoes, slaw and biscuits and gravy. Home made chocolate cake was always served for dessert. Everything was fresh from the garden, no frozen foods here, just good ole country dining at its best.

Servers ran a constant marathon back and forth to the kitchen bringing out platter after platter of deep fried, dripping in butter, stick to your ribs country cooking. Feeding time lasted for 60 minutes, so to get all you could eat during those sessions the eating was constant, but the conversation of the guests never wained and the families gathered together around this massive table became one.

Once the meal time was over, we would file out just as we came in, although stuffed to the gills and ready for a nice long nap, after a feast prepared with pride.

LaPrade's closed down in the late 80's as fast food and chain restaurants invaded God's Country, during the last year it was open my family made one last visit to our old stomping ground.

On that last visit my sister-in-law was very pregnant with my niece. After dinner we all took a walk down the hill, to the lakefront and back up the mountain, we did this in hopes that the exercise would encourage my niece to make her entry into the world, I don't think that walk made any difference in her arrival date, but it made one last memory for my family and I at LaPrades, a Great Southern Kitchen.

Pickin N Singin

2009-05-16T09:55:00.000-07:00

Saturday has always been my favorite day of the week. Growing up it would include Georgia Bulldog Games in the fall and early winter and snow skiing once it got cold enough to slide down the tiny hills of Sky Valley.

Daddy was a High School coach and our lives revolved around football. Friday night would be the games he coached and my brothers played in and on Saturday we would don our red and black and travel to Athens for the Georgia Games.

Daddy had a good friend who was one of the coaches on the JV team for Georgia. We would meet him at the gate where the players got off the bus and he would grab my brother and I and rush us onto the sidelines with the team. This was long before heightened security, when life seemed simpler.

After my brother and I were safely inside the stadium with Doc, my parents would make their way to their seats. We would enjoy the game on the sidelines and then meet mama and daddy back at the car after the game.

When the Dawgs played away games, mama would cook a bit pot of stew or soup and the entire family would listen to Larry Munson on the radio call the games usually while watching it on TV as well. The announcers on TV did a good job, but they weren't Larry Munson!

After football season was over Saturdays would turn into ski days. From early morning until late afternoon I would go up those small hills and slide back to the bottom feeling the rush of the wind in my face and the slick man-made snow under my feet. Snow skiing was a passion, a time when I had total freedom and could excel at a sport of my own.

As much as I loved the Georgia Games and snow skiing, to me they couldn't hold a candle to the Saturdays of summer and spring.

When my parents built our house, it was designed perfectly for entertaining. I don't think they meant to build a party house, but it evolved into it. A great room encompassed the majority of the downstairs, kitchen, dining room and living room stretched from one end of the house to the other. During the spring and summer, this room was filled with friends and family for Saturday Night cook-outs and Pickin and Singin.

Mama and Daddy both loved to cook for others. A meal for our family was expected, but when they were cooking for 20 or 30 people they were at their best. Every Saturday mama and daddy would plan the menu. Fried fish, frog legs, chicken, steaks, whatever the main course for that night may be.

Daddy always handled the main course, he would stand out by his deep fat frier and cook fish for hours. Mama would be in the house preparing hush puppies, slaw and the other delicacies that would go with the nights menu.

When daddy cooks he has a method to it, everything is perfectly timed out and mama would fight each week to keep up with his time frame. Mama is a "love cook" she makes it take as long as it takes, putting every morsel of love she can into what she is preparing, it was a constant battle between them, but somehow they made it work.

Usually the Saturday night prep work would begin around 5PM. Friends would begin arriving with their contribution to the meal. The women would gather in the kitchen/dining room area for chit-chat. The men would gather under the garage while daddy cooked, to solve the problems of the world and the kids would run the neighborhood playing in our forts or tree houses or wading through the creek to the waterfall on the other side of the highway.

As the meal was prepared and all us kids had been corralled back to the house we would gather in the dining room for the blessing. All of us, the Galloways, the Rogers, the Singletons, the Stocktons and whoever else was with us that night would hold hands and say grace. These moments brought us together as one large family in fellowship moving through the good and bad times of life together.

After our dinner feast my favorite part of the night would begin. It was time for Pickin and Singin!

Tom McClure and Doug Stockton would pull out their guitars and begin to tune. Tom was a double amputee who had been in a wheelchair since he was young. I don't know what put him in that wheelchair, but I know it never confined him. Tom lived life, he enjoyed life and he enriched the lives of all of us who knew him.

Doug was my brother Tommy's age. After Tommy died, Doug became an older brother to my brother and I. He went on family vacations with us and was always a looming spirit in our house, he was someone we could look up to, a steady force in a childhood that wasn't always so.

Tom and Doug would pull up next to each other and the rest of us would form a large circle around them, in old beat up lawn chairs lit by the glow of lighting bugs and the moon. Once they began to pick their guitars, a warm spirit would fill the room. I never felt safer or more loved than when I was in that circle listening to the harmonies of Doug and Tom singing and joining in with the rest of our "choir" to sing along.

We would sing old hymns and country favorites of the day, "The Green Green Grass of Home", "I'll Fly Away", "A Boy Named Sue" and my favorite "Will the Circle be Unbroken".

All of us would join in the singing, going on for hours, until it was time for us all to return to our own homes looking forward to another week of Pickin and Singin. I loved those moments more than any others, the sound of music, the fellowship of friends and family and a Circle that would be Unbroken.

I was standing by my window,

On one cold and cloudy day

When I saw that hearse come rolling

For to carry my mother away

Will the circle be unbroken

By and by, lord, by and by

There’s a better home a-waiting

In the sky, lord, in the sky

I said to that undertaker

Undertaker please drive slow

For this lady you are carrying

Lord, I hate to see here go

Will the circle be unbroken

By and by, lord, by and by

There’s a better home a-waiting

In the sky, lord, in the sky

Oh, I followed close behind her

Tried to hold up and be brave

But I could not hide my sorrow

When they laid her in the grave

Will the circle be unbroken

By and by, lord, by and by

There’s a better home a-waiting

In the sky, lord, in the sky

I went back home, my home was lonesome

Missed my mother, she was gone

All of my brothers, sisters crying

What a home so sad and lone

Will the circle be unbroken

By and by, lord, by and by

There’s a better home a-waiting

In the sky, lord, in the sky

We sang the songs of childhood

Hymns of faith that made us strong

Ones that mother maybelle taught us

Hear the angels sing along

Will the circle be unbroken

By and by, lord, by and by

There’s a better home a-waiting

In the sky, lord, in the sky

Will the circle be unbroken

By and by, lord, by and by

There’s a better home a-waiting

In the sky, lord, in the sky

Two Southern Ladies

2009-05-10T12:52:00.001-07:00

My love of the kitchen was molded by two southern ladies, my mother and my grandmother. Mama and Ma-ma, today, Mother's Day, I think of them both.

As a child, and still today, I am a mama's boy, from my earliest memories I was with her whenever the opportunity arose. She is the greatest influence on my life. Growing up, mother was often sick and in the hospital, when she wasn't with me I was usually with ma-ma.

I can remember sitting at the kitchen table while ma-ma prepared lunch or supper, there was always something cooking in her kitchen and the aromas would fill the house with the smell of vegetables straight from the garden. Ma-ma was also an amazing baker, from her I learned to love watching the cake rise in a pan or how to dollop sugar cookies just so.

Mama was a stickler for making sure the family all sat down together at supper time. She was a teacher and would come home every afternoon to prepare a full meal. Meat, two vegetables and biscuits. Mama's biscuits weren't from a can, she would roll the dough every day and cut them out using an empty Vienna Sausage can so that each one was the same size and thickness.

Often on Sundays we could travel to ma-ma's house, about 30 minutes away, for lunch. On those occasions you could always count on the good china and white linen table cloth being on the dining room table. When we gathered together it was meant to be something special, not just an ordinary meal but one to be shared with family.... the best kind of meal.

When my ma-ma passed, I got that old dining room set for my own, today I use it to entertain my friends and family on. Like ma-ma and mama, whenever friends or family are here for a meal, it is meant to be an occasion, with the nice plates, a table scape and linens, after all it isn't just any meal but one to be shared with those you love.

Thank you mama and ma-ma for your love of the kitchen, your love of tradition and your love of family.

I miss my ma-ma and celebrate my mama every day.

Staple of the Southern Kitchen ~ Sweet Tea

2009-04-29T07:48:00.000-07:00

Every Southern Kitchen has staples and one of the most important is Sweet Tea. In the south, Sweet Tea is a delicacy, you don't have to even ask if it is iced, because when the temperature is 86 degrees and the humidity is hitting 117% it is a given.

The art of making sweet tea has been passed down from generation to generation. My mama made it and her mama before her and her mama before her, likewise with my father's side of the family. No good southern meal is complete without sweet tea.

Growing up our family would go through a gallon of sweet tea each day, we didn't have Coke or water in our fridge, we had sweet tea!

Mama had one pot she made the tea in, it was old beat up tin pot that was only used for making sweet tea. I assume the flavors of the tea somehow stayed in the pot after hundreds of preparations because mama made it clear, that pot was ONLY for tea, nothing else. Not a kettle, a pot. Through the years that pot got beat up, the handles came off and the tea stain couldn't be removed, but it always remained the sweet tea pot.

Some people add a swig of lemon juice or a squirt of lime juice to their glass and on special occasions when pineapple was used in a dish, the juice was saved for individual glasses of sweet tea, but most often sweet tea spoke for itself, nothing else was needed, just the nectar of a refreshing glass of sweet tea.

With the invention of the microwave, tea making evolved as well, no more steady boil, just 4 minutes in the microwave and it was done. For years I told mama that it was a scientific fact that water should not be boiled in the microwave as the waves were damaging to your health, unfortunately she didn't listen to me and changed her brewing habits forever. I still contend, stove top brewing makes the best tea and when I really want to transport myself back to my roots, I put on a pot and boil away.

As I said, sweet tea is a staple, just like butter, eggs, meat and vegetables, no meal or family gathering is complete without a big ole glass of sweet tea.

Recipe:

1 Pot

4 Family size Lipton Tea Bags (it really does make a difference, Lipton is best!)

1 Cup of Sugar

Boil one pot of water (about 2 quarts with the tea bags)

Add one cup of sugar to a gallon pitcher (yes, one cup per gallon)

After the tea has boiled for about 5 minutes remove it from the stove and pour the tea into the pitcher.

Using the same pot with the tea bags still in the pot, add more water and pour into the pitcher until you have filled the gallon jug.

Stir until sugar is dissolved

Refrigerate

That's it today from Notes From a Southern Kitchen, email me or send me a comment and until next time, pour yourself a glass of sweet tea and enjoy.

Welcome....

2009-04-28T15:00:00.000-07:00

Welcome to Notes from a Southern Kitchen!

This blog is intended to pay homage to three of my great joys, food, the south and writing. Growing up and living in the south my entire life has shaped the person that I am and food has played a major part in that development.

I grew up in a small town with a very tight-knit family, we ate dinner together every night sitting around the table and discussing our day, that time together was invaluable. Over 30 years later, many of my fondest memories revolve around that dinner table and the kitchen where meals were prepared. My parents still live in my childhood home and although they can't do as much as they used to, they still sit down together each night for a meal.

Today my own southern kitchen is a major character in the story of my life. My kitchen is where guests gather, where holiday feasts are prepared and where laughter is often found. My southern kitchen is much like that of my family members before me and the meals are often the same, the southern kitchen has numerous stories to tell and new memories to make.

As I continue through this blog, I hope it will be a space where I can share stories from my life in and around the Southern Kitchen. I will feature recipes, stories and profiles of great southern kitchens. Hopefully you will utilize this space to share your stories and comments as well, the kitchen, whether southern or not, is the pulse of a home and the lives that are lived there, I hope together we can make this a place to enjoy the memories.

Pour yourself a glass of sweet tea and sit for awhile, welcome to Notes from a Southern Kitchen.