Quiet Time

 It's Thanksgiving, y'all...a time that is usually busy at my house, with family, food, friends.  I have a large extended family, and through the years everyone has gathered in our home on Thanksgiving Day.  Its not unusual for us to host 18-20 family members on that day.  But...this year, I'm breaking tradition.  I've decided to have a quiet, intimate family gathering.  Several of our family members are traveling, and going in several different directions.  Our older children are visiting other parents, girlfriend's grandmothers...ahh, the joys and trials of blended families.  So, I looked at my husband, and I said, "Why don't we skip the large, organized, crazy dinner this year, and just do something small and quiet?"  "Sounds like a stellar idea, my dear."  So, I'll cook a small dinner, and we've told all the kids to just drop by whenever they want, after, or in between all their other commitments.  I have a smoked turkey.  I'll make dressing and gravy, and all the other fixin's, but simpler dishes, in smaller amounts.  My table will be simple.  This year I crave quiet.  I crave simplicity.  I crave informality. 

Of course, this guy will come out.  Several years back, my sweet sister gave me this depression glass turkey bowl.  I use him for cranberry sauce.  He is indeed a treasured possession and a part of our holiday traditions.

 And, I can't forget about these two.  Would it really be Thanksgiving without them?

Wishing you a peaceful and joyful Thanksgiving holiday.

Fall

What I like about Fall in the North Georgia Blue Ridge.....

The way the morning clouds hang low in the valleys and hollows of  the mountains~

Pumpkins~

Mums~

Visits to the Apple Farm~

Apple Bread~

Apple Crisp~

Caramel Apples~

Boiled Peanuts~

(Ummm, seeing a trend here?)

Warm coffee on cool mornings~

Red and Gold trees reflecting on the lake~

The smell of wood smoke from a distant chimney or campfire~

Scarecrows~

Old cemetaries~

My camera~

Blankets~

Football~

"Every leaf speaks bliss to me, fluttering from the autumn tree."  ~Emily Bronte

Happy Fall Y'all!

Summertime

and the livin' is easy.  My heart is not in my blogging this summer.  My heart is down on my island, crabbing off the pier, and fishing in the creek.  The rest of me wants to be there too.  Hopefully I'll get around to posting some pics from my last trip there.  I just need to tell my head (and my heart) to come on back home.

"If nothing ever changed, there'd be no butterflies."

My mom told me that one time.  Seems she said someone long ago had said the same to her during an uncertain time in her life.  My dad had accepted a new position in broadcasting, which would move them to a new town, where she had limited acquaintences. With four small children, she would be leaving behind her own mom and siblings.

I made a change this week.  I decided to accept a new job, that puts me back in the fulltime workforce.  I remember blogging here several years back, when I decided to stop working fulltime and step away from the pressures of management and responsibility.  I needed to slow down, to breathe, to rest.  I took a part time job, teaching as an adjunct faculty member at a local college and working with a domestic violence center. 

Sometimes things run their course, right?  Sometimes a time comes when you have to weigh out the options, the pros and cons, and make a decision; decisions based on need and on your heart's desires.

So...in a couple of weeks, I'll be back at it.  It will be a change...new...different.  Somehow I feel like I've just closed my eyes, held my breath, and jumped into the deep end of the pool. 

But I know how to swim. 

My new gig...   http://www.northgeorgia.edu/

Good Friday

"He grew up like a tender shoot, and like a root out of dry ground. He had no beauty or majesty to attract us to Him, nothing in his appearance that we should desire Him. He was despised and rejected by men, a man of sorrows, and familiar with suffering. Like one from whom men hide their faces He was despised, and we esteemed Him not.

Surely He took up our infirmities and carried our sorrows, yet we considered Him stricken by God, smitten by Him, and afflicted. But He was pierced for our transgressions, He was crushed for our iniquities; the punishment that brough us peace was upon Him, and by His wounds we are healed. We all, like sheep, have gone astray, each of us has turned to his own way; and the LORD has laid on Him the iniquity of us all.

He was oppressed and afflicted, yet he did not open his mouth; he was led like a lamb to the slaughter, and as a sheep before her shearers is silent, so he did not open his mouth."  Isaiah 53:2-7

Hoping you remember why your Good Friday is so good.  It may be Friday but Sunday's coming!

White Gloves, Lace Hankies, & White Wicker Purses

Amid the horrific beauty of the Cross, the power of Christ's resurrection; amid the Easter eggs and chocolate bunnies, always at Easter creeps in the memory of my Mama's white gloves. As a young girl, growing up in the South, white gloves at Easter were as common as eggs in our baskets. Each Easter Sunday morning, my Mama would pull out new boxes of white gloves for my sisters and I to wear along with our new Easter dresses. I remember fingering the soft fabric of my Mama's gloves, running my fingers over the artful design and embroidery. I always loved holding Mama's hands when she wore her gloves. I wish ladies in the south still wore white gloves at Easter.
Ladies carried handkerchiefs at Easter too. My grandmother and Mama had beautiful lace handkerchiefs, often scalloped along the edges, or embroidered in white thread with beautiful scrolling designs. I wish ladies still carried white scalloped or embroidered hankies.

Along with our new Easter dresses and little white gloves, we always received a pretty little white wicker purse to carry on Easter Sunday morning. Mama would give each of us girls a small white hankie, often embroidered with small colorful flowers. In our purses we would carry our new hankies, and the quarters Daddy would give us for the Sunday School offering. Sometimes I would slip a few chocolate Easter eggs in my little white wicker purse. My new purse was also a good place to store my new white gloves should I be overcome with temptation to eat said chocolate eggs. This week I paid a visit to my parent's home. I rambled through my Mama's chest of drawers, gingerly fingering her old jewelry, thumbing through her old journals, and smiling at long ago cards made by the hands of her growing children. I stumbled upon her white gloves, and a small box of white scalloped handkerchiefs. This Sunday I'll carry a white scalloped hankie. It won't be carried in a little white wicker purse but instead in a grown up girl's new purse. Do I dare wear Mama's white gloves too?

Pear Salad Memories

Isn't it funny how sometimes a memory, from way back in the back of your mind, perhaps a memory not thought about in years, will suddenly pop into your head totally unprovoked? Maybe you're just moseying along, thinking some mundane or routine thought, totally unrelated to the suprise visit from your memory.
This happened to me the other day. I believe I was dwelling on upcoming assignments for my students, engrossed in the subleties of business writing...and WHAM! Into the forefront of my thoughts charges the memory of my mama's pear salad. "Where did that come from?" I thought. I haven't thought about or even had Mama's pear salad in ages. I was taken aback by the sudden memory, and then the longing for a bite of that sweet pear yummy-ness.
I've never seen or found this version of pear salad outside of the South. I believe there was once a generation of women who, at one time or another, routinely served this pear salad on their table. It was a staple of Mama's spring and summer menus, and always served at Easter.
So, this year, for the first time in many years, I'll be serving it on our Easter table. I'm afraid this old fashioned, southern Pear Salad may be one of those dying recipes from our past. I'm determined to keep it remembered, as generations of the women of my family did. Its simple, its good, its southern.
Pear Salad
1 can of pear halves, drained. (Save the pear juice for something else.)
Mayonnaise (preferably Dukes or Blue Plate)
Shredded sharp cheddar cheese
Maraschino cherries (whole or half, I like halves)
Simply place the pear halves on a pretty plate. Add a dollop of mayo to the little pitted center of the pear. Sprinkle with shredded cheddar. Add the cherry on top.

Sweet...tangy...tart...yum!