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.
Sunday, June 14, 2009
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
Short Notes....
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.
Sunday, June 7, 2009
Man Vs. Hog
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!
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!
Monday, June 1, 2009
Staple of the Southern Kitchen ~ Black Iron Frying Pan
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.
Saturday, May 23, 2009
Great Southern Kitchens.... LaPrade's
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.
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.
Saturday, May 16, 2009
Pickin N Singin
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.
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
Sunday, May 10, 2009
Two Southern Ladies
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.
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.
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