My Observations on Men & Cooking and Dad's Coffeecake Recipe

I have observed several different attitudes that men have about cooking:

1. A feigned or real ignorance - "Just bring me a plate."
2. Keep an omniscient distance - They think they know all about it and they'll tell you what you're doing wrong, but they won't be trapped into doing it.
3. Grill Master - It's like a Broadway production, the man and his grill have to be center stage, but he won't cook a thing in a kitchen. 
4. As needed - he will cook if he needs to and sometimes just because he wants to.

#4 is the most balanced, I think, and is the attitude of most of the men I know. And it's usually these men who have a secret talent for cooking!

My dad has always been a #4. He cooked for us because it was usually just the 2 of us. He has his specialties like creamed chip beef on toast (he was in the Navy and they called it SOS - *hit on a shingle). I would eat my weight in it on Saturday mornings! He was always on a quest to make peach cobbler just like his mother. After trial and error, he finally found a cobbler pan and was satisified that he had mastered it.

When I visited him, I took some fresh blueberries and he taught me how to make this simple coffee cake, though it's not really like a cake at all.

2 pkgs cream cheese, room temperature
2 cans of crescent rolls
sugar (amount depends on how sweet you want it. Add, taste, adjust.)
fresh fruit of choice

Cream the cream cheese and sugar together.

Roll one can of crescent roll dough into the bottom of an ungreased shallow pan. I used metal because I was taking it to some friends.

Spread the cream cheese mixture over the dough. Then layer the fresh fruit over the cream cheese.

Finally roll the second roll of dough on top of the blueberries. I tried to seal up the seams but it didn't work very well. I sprinkled a little sugar on the dough to give it a bit of sparkle. Bake at 350 degrees until golden brown.

It was good, everyone enjoyed it.

Occupation: Wimp

Steave's hands after fixing the car.

I just got back from visiting my 88 year old father and my 78 year old stepmother. My stepmother is in the hospital recovering from lung cancer surgery. My father is legally blind, uses a walker and wears hearing aids in both ears. He's living in their house, toughing it out on his own until my stepmother can return or until they can move into an assisted living facility together.

Our 6 1/2 hour return trip took 10 hours because we lost a belt and Steave had to replace it at the truck stop in 102 degree heat. He's the man!

I told you all that because I don't know about you, but trips set me to thinking. Upon my return, I have come to these 3 conclusions:

1. Growing old is not for the weak, cowardly or frail of mind.

2. I would never make it as a pioneer. I would get that cough or fever and die about 50 miles or less from where I started.

3. I can get tired of eating barbecue.

Here's how I came to those conclusions:

1. I watched my Dad take on a flight of stairs with as much courage and determination as it would take for an explorer to tackle Mt. Everest. I watched my stepmother, like Andre the Giant, mentally wrestle with the knowledge that she can't go home. And if you know me, you know how much I love my home, so that idea is practically unbearable to me. A line from John Mayer's song, "Stop this Train" totally sums up my frame of mind as of late: "So scared of growing older, I'm only good at being young." What really stinks to me is that I was under some crazy Nordic delusion that as you got older and grew in knowledge and experience that one would conqueor insecurity and fear, colonize, order and control ones life and in later years just be able to sail into the setting sun like a victorious Viking ablaze on his pyre. Boy was I wrong! I'm not sure I'm going to be any good at this getting old thing. I'm reminded of Shakespeare: "sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything." The grand adventures and challenges of growing old are the very same as when we were infants: eating, walking, talking and finding joy in small things. I'm not sure I'm going to grow old gracefully. I am a wimp.

2. Our car broke down on our return trip. It wasn't a surprise nor was it unusual. But as I sat there on the curb of the truck stop in 102 degree heat, drinking my water, watching Steave sweat all the fluids out of his body as he crawled in and under the car, I realized I would never make it as a pioneer. I imagined us heading out from Georgia in our covered wagon, 8 kids, Junior pulling the cow, the little ones fighting over the beef jerky and hard tack that I spent months to make, all wearing clothes that I had to make, wondering how long the water would last and hoping we'd come to a river soon when the wagon wheel broke! "No phone, no lights, no motorcar, not a single luxury." That's it!! I would contract that cough that kills everybody in the movies. I don't know how you get it, but I would. I'd die right there. Steave would have to bury me and take the kids on and find himself a more stouter wife than me. I am a modern day, convenience junkie wimp.

3. I didn't think it was possible but I got tired of eating barbecue! I set out on my trip with 3 restaurants in mind: Carolina Barbecue, Lexington Barbecue and Short Sugars. I only got to 2 of them. The 2 were good, but I just couldn't eat any more. I am a barbecue wimp.

Can Barbecue Really be the Second Objective?

I'm off today to visit my father and my stepmother in Virginia. I haven't seen them in 5 years. My stepmother is recovering from surgery for lung cancer and still in the hospital. My father is 88 years old. We're going to eat and watch television. We will eat barbecue and peach cobbler. That's what we do.

From here, we have to go through South Carolina and North Carolina to get to Virginia. If you go to South Carolina you MUST pick up some peaches. And if you go to North Carolina you MUST eat barbecue. North Carolina is known for its barbecue with a vinegar based sauce. I will also eat barbecue in South Carolina when I pick up the peaches. I will also eat it in Virginia. There's a place near my father's house called "Short Sugar's." I think it is my favorite barbecue, ever! Then Dad and I will make peach cobbler in his cobbler pan and eat it while watching something historical on television.

The prime objective: visit with the parents. Second objective: eat barbecue and peach cobbler.

More Adventures in British Food - Blood Pudding!

I was so happy with my culinary success at mastering Beans on Toast, that I decided to keep exploring British Food. So, I went back to the Corner Shop on Marietta Square and asked Tina's Mum what I should try next. They both keep touting "The Full English Breakfast" with fried eggs, British bacon, sausages, fried mushrooms, fried "toe-mah-toes" (she chuckled at my saying "toe-may-toes") and beans. I told her that it wasn't much of a novelty for me since Steave throws everything he can find in a frying pan for breakfast. A bit irritated, I think, at my dismissing her Full English breakfast so quickly, Tina's Mum turned and said with a gleam in her eye, "What about blood pudding?"

The gleam was a challenge and I said, "Ok!" The gleam left her eye and was replaced with shock which slowly melted into admiration, "So, you'll try it then?" she asked. "Yes!" I said confidently even with the lump of disgust in my throat. But I couldn't back down.

She pulled the frozen roll of pudding out of the freezer and quickly talked me into a package of British bacon which looked like thin sliced pork chops. I took them both. "Steave will eat anything" was the justification for my purchases.

Several of my friends were with me on the outing to the Square and when I told them what I bought they all moaned, put their hands over their mouths and took a step away from me. I clearly saw that I had crossed a line. What line it was, I don't know, but I crossed it. I smiled nervously and said, "I'm gonna try it!"

One of my friends asked why it was called pudding. I went back in the store and asked Tina's Mum and she laughed loudly and we all joined her, not really knowing what was so funny, but suspecting that it was our American ignorance. Taking a breath, she said, "I don't know. Why don't you look it up on the internet."

So, I did and the first definition was "a sausage with various fillers" then came "a sweet dessert." Ok, so I didn't know that. I mentioned it to my brother-in-law and he said that he used to eat blood sausage when he was little. I found out that it was really the same sort of thing. Well, thinking of it as sausage rather than pudding made it a little more bearable. There's just something gross about putting blood and pudding together.

So, today was the day of the trying. I let the pudding thaw in the fridge and pulled the roll out today.

It was a little disturbing to read "beef blood" among the list of ingredients. But I went ahead and cut the pudding into discs as instructed by Tina's Mum.

It was deep red. That's ok, I told myself, I kept my focus and fried it up.

It smelled pretty good as it was cooking. Then the moment came. With a tight throat and the most horrid suggestions of how it should taste running through my mind.....I took a bite.

It was absolutely delicious!! It reminded me of the sausage I am familiar with. It was much richer, however, and I am sure that is because of the blood. But it didn't taste like blood, it was surprisingly good.

I was on a roll! I quickly put the bacon on to cook...

Absolutely brilliant!! Where has this been all my life? I am used to thin, mostly fat, strips of bacon. This is mostly meat and not as salty as our bacon. It looks like our country ham, but not flavored like it.

America! This is the way bacon should be!!

Ok, 3 British food victories. What's next?

The Healing Elixer - Sweet Tea

Just not feeling yourself? Just feel blah? You need a glass of tea! In my family, we call it "The Healing Elixir."

I took the photo above last week because I knew I was going to write about sweet tea, eventually. You can't live in the South and not have an opinion about it. When my daughter-in-law texted me yesterday, I knew that my next post would be about sweet tea.

Sweet tea is a staple in the South just like grits, cornbread, and being able to insult someone but totally reverse the insult by adding, "...bless their heart." Example: "Mary is as dumb as a stump, bless her heart."

Down here, when you say you want some tea, it is automatically assumed that you mean sweet iced tea. If you want hot tea or unsweetened tea, you must specify. It's just like in Atlanta, if you say you want a drink, you mean a Coca Cola.

My brother has traveled up and down the east coast many times and he knows exactly the last spot to get iced tea on his way up North. It's somewhere in Virginia and that is why "it is questionable as to whether or not they are actually part of The South."

Everybody and their grandma have their "special" way of making tea. A great debate. The amount of sugar is always an issue. Some people like what I call "tea flavored syrup." Some make it so weak it's like drinking plain sugar water. There are also "Tea Makers." I have had one, but the tea never tasted right. Some people make their tea in the microwave - I think the microwaves are too harsh on the tea leaves, it tastes a little bitter to me. Some make their tea in their coffemakers. Sacrilege! You never mix the bean with the leaf! There is also a question as to whether or not you squeeze the tea bags. See? Many, many variables in the making of sweet tea.

Just like everybody else, I have my special way. And since I have had many a sweet tea connoisseur come to my house and compliment my tea, I'll give you my recipe. I have never read a recipe for making sweet tea and out of curiosity I looked on line at some. Oh my Lord! It is so complicated! The one that came closest to mine was The Goddess of Southern Cooking Herself, Paula Deen. She, however, adds one step more than I do and we use different brands of tea and different amounts of sugar.

My Sweet Tea
(for the person who likes the flavor of tea and doesn't want to go into a sugar coma after drinking)
Heat tap water in a saucepan to boiling on the stove.
Remove from heat and wait until the boil stops.
Add 4 family size Lipton tea bags. (Most swear by Luzianne, but I prefer the taste of Lipton)
Let the bags steep for at least 5 minutes, more for stronger tea. But don't let the water cool down totally.(If you let it cool down, then you'll have to dissolve your sugar in hot water to combine it with tea. Sugar won't dissolve in cool liquid and you'll have mountains of sugar at the bottom of your pitcher, gross!)
While the tea is steeping, put 1 1/2 cups of sugar in a gallon pitcher that has a cover. (Paula says 2 cups)
Pour hot tea over sugar in pitcher and stir until sugar has dissolved.
Add cool water to fill the pitcher, stirring to combine with tea/sugar mixture.
Cover and let the tea sit out until it is room temperature.
When it has cooled, cover and put in fridge.
If you don't cover, it will absorb all the nasty odors in the fridge. If you don't refrigerate it, it will spoil quickly. After the tea has been refrigerated, it will be sweeter. So, the next day, you might want to add water to your glass if you don't like it that sweet.

Now, one of the greatest cooks in the world, Rosie Michael, had a secret ingredient: baking soda. She would add just a pinch to her tea and people swear that it made it better. Her grandson, my nephew, Troy, does that and people rave about his sweet tea.

Well, there you go, honey. (another Southern thing: calling everyone honey or sweetie) I hope you enjoy. Please let me know your "special" way of making sweet tea. But let's do promise not to argue - let's appreciate each other's differences. I mean, after all, let's not start another "Silver War" over iced tea! Even though I am sure yours won't be as good as mine, bless your heart!

Boo B Trippin' to The Blue Willow Inn

Steave and I took at trip today to Social Circle, GA about an hour east of ATL. Social Circle is home of The Blue Willow Inn Restaurant. It is named for - you guessed it - blue willow china - because the Van Dyke's, a previous owner had quite a collection of it.

The restaurant is in a beautiful old southern mansion

Even though the temperature was in the 90's, the front porch was comfortable.

The grounds around the restaurant were beautifully landscaped...

I suppose they just had to plant a willow on the grounds!

Lovely entry complete with blue willow plates on the wall.

The buffet was incredible! I have to say (even running the risk of being cursed by the Goddess of Southern Cooking herself, Paula Deen) it was even better than The Lady & Sons. There, I said it!  

Southern Fried Chicken, chicken livers, country fried steak, mashed potatoes (the best!), crowder peas, pole beans, candied yams, corn on the cob, and much more. The dessert bar had peach cobbler, various cakes and pies. There was a little dish of banana pudding on the cold salad bar. It was fine, but I will one day, give you the recipe for the best banana pudding you ever put in your mouth!

Beside the restaurant there was a small gift shop and more gardens. Very pretty.

If you're hungry for some real southern food and terrific sweet tea, Blue Willow Inn Restaurant is well worth the trip.

Summer Firsts

First sunflower...

First green beans...

picked...

First blueberries...

First gift from my neighbor, Mr. Mac, gardenias smell heavenly.

Places, Longings, DNA and the Primordial Urge for Clean Clothes

This photo is from Fisher Park, a place where I spent a lot of time as a kid. I don't know who took the photo, I found it on line. Lots of memories there - sledding, burying treasure, dating.

I think about places a lot. Why do people live where they live? Why do they move or not move? It's part of my obsession with figuring people out.

I think it's also my obsession with figuring myself out. I grew up in North Carolina, but never felt at home there. I never quite fit in. I moved to Florida, the same. Then I moved to Georgia and I have felt more at home here than anywhere else. Probably because I've lived here longer than anywhere else. But also, I think, because both of my parents were from here. It's funny, while I never came here to visit as a child and didn't move here for family reasons, I have found myself right in the middle of where my people are from. It's like I gravitated here.

When I moved here I understood the people immediately. I understood how they talked, their sense of humor, I just naturally knew how to move and maneuver in this place. (I mean in a social, emotional way) But still - I don't fit in because I'm not from here.

I've always wondered how if feels to really belong somewhere. To have legitimate claim on a place. My family has done genealogical research and found that I'm from Scotland (my grandfather Hay) and Ireland (my grandfather Kennedy) both on my mother's side. My father's family is from Holland (van Horn) and the Alexanders have only been researched back to Virginia, not out of the states. Then there was an event or events concerning some slaves which throws some African blood into my veins. I know because there has been a book written about it with my family mentioned in it. (I have a friend who's from Nigeria and she teaches African dance. I was dancing with her one day and she said, in her beautiful accent, "I know you have Africa in your blood!" I didn't tell her, she could just tell. I'm sure it was my love of the drums and not my dancing ability, haha!)

I've never been to Ireland, Holland, Scotland or Africa but when I read about those places or see photos, I feel something. More so than Russia or China or any other place. Maybe it's my imagination or wishful thinking.

This idea is so on my mind that I included it in a novel that I wrote for Katie while she was in college last year. Here's an excerpt:

“I don’t know.” She walked over to the tree limb and picked off a leaf. She looked at the castle as she spoke. “All my life, Ireland has called to me. Every picture I saw, everything I read. Even music or Irish writers I would read, there was some familiar strain or thread, something I understood in my soul. I’ve been dreaming of this trip for – well – forever. And I just knew that when I got here, Ireland, that I would feel something. I thought it might feel like coming home, being connected, it’s hard to describe. I just knew that it would feel like the land itself was happy to see me.”

In the same story, I wrote another similar scene:

He first had to focus and strain to begin, but then he fell into what Jess knew was a song that he knew from his heart. Jess leaned back as he sang what must have been an old Irish melody. His voice was rough, but he stayed on tune. And Jess thought that the ruggedness just added genuineness to the song. The words flowed from him without effort. He was connected to this place. It was like the heart and soul of Ireland rose from the ground and came up and out of Aiden’s mouth. This was the moment that Jess was waiting for. She wanted to experience Ireland and this was it. It was at that very moment that Jess heard Ireland call to her soul and welcome her home. She closed her eyes and imagined the scene that she drank in that afternoon right outside the house. The warmth of the earth, the scent of the moss, the green that sank into every pore. She opened her eyes and watched the man that was singing a tune that struck a chord of harmony within her, a haunting melody that she was remembering from ancient days.

As I reread what I just wrote above, it sounds awfully dramatic. You'd have to read it in the context of the story to see how she got to this point. But I would like to believe that people have a connection to a place, not just because of likes and dislikes, preferences or years spent.

I want to get my DNA tested to find out where I came from. There are tests that can be done that links you to your haplogroup: http://www.dnaancestryproject.com/ydna_intro_ancestry.php
They give you pie charts telling you what percentage you are, let's say of European, African, Asian, etc. I would love that!

Well, enough of thinking of other places and times. The laundry room is calling to me, beckoning me to come- and I will go out of a primordial urge to wear clean clothes. So, I'm off - wish me well!

Katie's Handmade Purse & Pants

I caught Katie as she was flying out of the door on the way to work and snapped this picture. I wanted you to see the cool things she's been making. She has been zizzing away on the sewing machine! She made the bag and pants that you see here. She made the bag out of her old prom dress...

This is the dress from Prom 2008.

Now a cool bag, 2010!

She also made these great, airy, comfortable muslin pants! Great for summer!

Katie is cool. I want to be like her when I grow up!

A Little Bit of Painting

This is a painting that I did today. I was inspired by an old photo of my grandmother. They tell me that I only saw her once when she was very ill and I was very young. I don't remember. I wonder if she would like that I put real earrings in her ears?

Really Cool Person Day - Dr. Corky Alexander

Yesterday, my brother was awarded his doctorate. It's a big deal. Really big. But he won't make a big deal out of it. I want to make a big deal out of it, so he is my Really Cool Person of the Day!

This is Corky in his robes on a street corner in California. He's crazy! 

His name is Jack (and I'm Jill, what was my mother thinking?) Our mother gave him the nickname Corky. I've never heard anyone, anyone call him Jack. He's 9 years older than me and 9 years younger than our sister (who's passed away some 16 odd years now). 

He was about 11 years old when "The Wreck of the Hesperus" happened: our mother died. I was 2 and our sister older. I believe it was harder on the older two than myself. After she died, things were just not right. My brother dropped out of school, got into drugs and alcohol. During that time, however, he honed his musical talents. He can play about any instrument, but my favorite is his awesome guitar playing. I love to hear him play blues on an electric guitar! Years later, at the bottom, Jesus found him. He got things straightened out, he got his GED and went to Bible college. He got married and began to pastor. He went back to college and got his master's. He started a church in Smyrna, GA and one in Rhode Island. After many years, he decided not to pastor formally and began to work with the mentally impaired doing music therapy. Yesterday, he got his doctorate from Fuller Theological Seminary, the School of Intercultural Studies. His work has been in Native American studies.

So, it's been a long road for him and I'm sure a difficult one, but he's done it!

He is happily married has 3 daughters, my beautiful nieces, 2 sons-in-law, and 2 grandsons.

He is one of the most interesting people you will find. He can talk to you about theology, barrel racing, music, BBQ, and the chupacabra, just to name a few topics.

If you'd like to follow his exploits, and they are many, go to: http://www.facebook.com/#!/caiford

I love you, my brother and congratulations!

Pop-Pop and his two grandsons

Playing mandolin...

Me and my big brother

Social Networking, Summer Blogging and My Ego the Size of Texas

For a while I was a Xanga fanatic and I loved it. Then facebook lured me away with its abundance of people, especially family. That young, hip, social frenzy of activity has taken a while for me to get used to. I have now found my pace there. I'm slow, I miss a lot, but so be it. Then I went to wordpress for a short time. But I eventually neglected it and it felt like a ghost town. So, I left.
I love to read blogs. I love to get a glimpse of people's lives, what they are making, what they are eating, what they are thinking. It is inspiring, exciting - people are so creative!
I started "breathing creatively" because I wanted to join a community of bloggers that I had found who were artists and crafters. I quickly found that I am not making things fast enough to keep up with them. I mean, I make things, but I found I enjoyed just rambling about my lunch and a person I have met more. I like writing words and taking pictures. 
So, what is my purpose for blogging? What kind of theme would I have? I thought about it for a while and decided that my purpose was to just post words and pictures, things I think about and things I do - boring and uneventful as they are. The theme? Whatever I wanted it to be at the time of the post.

It seems rather narcissistic, doesn't it? It feels good to me to write words probably like it feels good for Steave to ride his bike for 100 miles or Katie to sew a new handbag or my friend Jennifer to make a new necklace. So, if they're being narcissistic, then so am I.

I am a summer blogger. I teach 6th grade, so during the school year I am pouring myself out emotionally, physically and creatively. I usually have very little time or brain power to blog. But in the summer - that's when I write the most. That's when I'll appear to be some sort of maniac. I'm a castaway come home, gorging on words and pictures and time - lovely time.

So, stop by whenever you can and I'll talk about stuff and show you some pictures.

"Boo B Trippin" Summer Excursion #1 - Marietta Square

I am a 6th grade teacher and during the year I am tethered to home and school. So, in the summer I try to get out and about as much as possible.

*NOTE: Last year, I took a day trip into Atlanta with my kids and I met a homeless man. I gave him some money and he held out his arms and said, "Give me a hug, Boo." So, that's where I got the name for my day trips - "Boo B Trippin." I am Boo and I am trippin' not in a drug related way, but in a "going on a trip" way.

So, today, I went to Marietta Square. The main destination was "The Corner Shop" where you can buy things from the UK.

I wanted to find out if I had truly made Beans on Toast correctly. I spoke to the store owner and she confirmed that YES! I had indeed made them correctly. So happy was I! She told me all about a proper English breakfast (which does include beans) and showed me where she was born on a map of the UK. She was born on an island off the coast of Wales. I met her friend who confirmed that Beans on Toast is classic British comfort food and told me of many other things you can eat "on toast." Nice ladies with great accents.

I then went to one of my favorite inspiration shops on the Square, Doodlebugs. Cute, trendy, crafty items for sale. You know, the kind of stuff you never buy because you think you can make it.

I poked around in a couple of antique shops. I bought Katie a magnifying glass necklace. I passed by Theater in the Square. The alley beside the theatre is so pretty, I had to take a picture of it.

There are a lot of cute, little shops on the Square. The center of the Square is a park where people eat lunch, they have concerts, people get married, and people get engaged - that's where Joel proposed to his Katie.

The Square is also known as Glover Park and many people contributed to its restoration back in the 70's. Two of its contributors were Paul Newman and Joanne Woodward.

Before I left the Square, I stopped by an antique store that has vinyl albums and picked a few for Katie from the $1 bin.

On the way home, I passed "The Brumby" which are loft apartments that are located in the old Brumby Rocker factory. They are famous rocking chairs made in Marietta, GA (http://www.brumbyrocker.com/)

And, of course, you can't go anywhere in or around Atlanta without seeing construction. Because, as they say, "After Sherman went through, Atlanta started rebuilding and they haven't stopped!"