Me and Mickey

i282600889615009223._szw1280h1280_Birthdays are a special gift in and of themselves. There is something breathtaking about making it to another milestone even when the road there may have been a bit rough. It’s one of those days when the greetings prove that you are never really alone. There is more love in your life than you may ever imagine. Birthdays are a time when you realize that you are probably a great deal tougher than you may have thought, especially when you get into the higher numbers that indicate that you are one of the senior members of society. 

I must admit that the events of this past year have been devastating at times. I have been so saddened by the amount of evil that exists in the world and I really do worry about how it will ultimately affect my grandchildren. My birthday was an opportunity to put things into perspective. Sure there were more terrorist attacks and I watched a Frontline production that was as frightening as anything that I have ever seen but the sun came out and the world kept moving forward. Besides, I learned that Mickey and Minnie Mouse share the same birthday as mine. Continue reading “Me and Mickey”

Pecan Festivals

i282600889613904374._szw1280h1280_We traveled to Seguin this weekend to see our granddaughter perform at the Haunted/Historic Magnolia Hotel and to attend the annual Pecan Festival. Unfortunately the rain drove everyone indoors and the festival was cancelled. I was disappointed because I had been looking forward to seeing what kinds of attractions there would be and also because I just love pecans.

Years ago we owned some property just outside of the little town of Brazoria. Every tree on the land was a native pecan tree. Come November of every other year we had a bonanza crop of small but incredibly tasty nuts. We would sit on the ground with boxes next to us and just move around picking up whatever had fallen from the trees. It was always a bit chilly but that actually made the work easier. We really enjoyed those times when we laughed and told stories and filled box after box. A long weekend might net us four or five big containers of booty from the trees.

Then the real fun began. We had to crack all of those pecans and store the meat in Ziploc bags. I used to set up a card table in our den crack nut after nut while watching television. At the end of a session my hands would be dark and dirty from the dust of the shells. Often they were cut as well. All in all it was always worth all the time and trouble. I’d freeze our treasure and use it at Thanksgiving and Christmas and throughout much of the rest of the year.

I usually gave several bags of shelled pecans to my mother. She was famous for her Pecan Pie recipe which she kept as a closely guarded secret. She made them only for Thanksgiving and Christmas and they were always the most coveted dessert. One time another lady brought her version of pecan pie to our Thanksgiving feast. One of my friends who absolutely loved my mother’s pie took a slice of the visitor’s pie and was startled. She realized that something was very wrong because the pie in her mouth was nothing like what Mama always made. She finally discovered her mistake and discreetly discarded the inferior pecan pie in favor of a slice of Mama’s.

My mother loved to retell this story over and over again as did my friend who wanted to be certain the Mama would continue to make pecan pies for her. Over time we begged and pleaded for her top secret recipe but she was reluctant to give it to the world. As she grew older she understood that if she did not finally share her special directions, one day the best pecan pie ever would be no more. The secret would die with her. Ultimately she entrusted the ingredients and the directions to my brother, Mike. He in turn gave it to my niece, Kim. 

When I decided to create another story and a recipe I immediately thought of Mama’s pecan pie. It will soon be the holiday season and I wanted to share this wonderful gift with everyone. The problem was that I did not have the recipe. I asked family members and my jokester brother, Pat, said, “Buy a bottle of Karo syrup and follow the directions.” My equally funny daughter, Catherine, chimed in, “What Pat said, but use extra pecans.” Imagine my total surprise when Kim sent me a copy of the recipe. I’ll let you be the judge as to why I was in total shock.

Pecan Pie (NiNi’s recipe) 

Purchase a  16 oz.bottle of Karo Syrup and 4 regular frozen pie shells. (No deep dish)

Follow the directions on Karo Syrup except:

  1. Use regular pie crust instead of deep dish.
  2. Make 4 pies instead of 2.
  3. Double the recipe on the bottle and use the whole bottle.
  4. Use 32 oz. of Pecans for the 4 pies. 

I suppose it might be argued that my mother had indeed altered the actual recipe on the Karo Syrup by substituting regular pie shells and using more pecans but that is a little bit of a stretch. Her pecan pie does not have all of that goo that is usually the stuff of pecan pie, so there is a real difference there. Hers is more crunchy and I have to admit that it is  more delicious than most that I get elsewhere. Still, I think I now understand why she never gave the recipe to me. She was able to convince all of us, except for Pat and Catherine, that she had indeed created the ultimate pecan pie. 

Kim laughingly admitted that she also thought that my mother had invented cheese dip made with Rotel tomatoes and Velveeta. She began to wonder what other family favorites were simply based on ideas that Mama had seen in a magazine or cookbook. What I do know is that my mother was a very good cook. When something didn’t taste quite right she always knew how to doctor it to make it better. So if you wish, try the Pecan Pie recipe as listed above. If it turns out right you will be delighted. 

Forty Seven Octobers

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My husband, Mike, once took one of those personality tests at work. When the results came back the psychologist announced that he was a quite an interesting man. He noted that Mike was highly principled and that he would maintain his ethics even in the face of unbearable peer pressure. Interestingly his profile also showed that he was a man of few needs who actually enjoyed working alone. The psychologist joked that if the company gave Mike a cardboard box with a lightbulb in which to do his work, he would be perfectly satisfied. In other words, Mike is the strong silent type. He’s John Wayne, Jimmy Stewart, and Gregory Peck all rolled up into one person. He is who he is and he doesn’t worry a bit about what others may think of him. He’s a great foil to my uptight, worried, sometimes easily swayed tendencies. Together we have somehow managed to forge a partnership of forty seven years that works beautifully. I suspect that if I were allowed to enter a time machine and relive all of them I would eagerly repeat our life all over again.   Continue reading “Forty Seven Octobers”

Boiler Up!

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Mike and I had a grand weekend that centered around our grandson, Andrew, and Purdue University. Purdue is located in West Lafayette, Indiana about an hour and a half from Indianapolis. The town is an interesting mix of people and lifestyles. On the one hand there is the academically charged area around the university that hosts well over forty thousand students and hundreds of professors. On the other hand, within that mix are the men and women who work in the numerous factories that are located nearby, many of whom never attended college. The more educated individuals tend to cluster around the university in West Lafayette and the laborers live in Lafayette proper. There is a noticeable difference in the two places.  Continue reading “Boiler Up!”

Kentucky Kinfolk

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Before leaving Arkansas Mike and I made one more attempt to find the road to my grandparent’s farm. Using Google Maps we found the Caddo River and the bridge that crosses it. As soon as we saw it I knew that we were on the right track. It was just as I remembered it. It seemed to be a place suspended in time. The old wooden bridge will one day be gone. Little is left of it but enough to bring back such fond memories. It was  so peaceful there. The crystal clear water looked clean enough to drink. Of course we knew better than to try it without some form of filtering. I learned that important lesson from my grandmother long ago and from all of our more recent backpacking adventures. I wanted to just sit along the banks in that quiet place and tarry for a long while but we didn’t have the time.  Continue reading “Kentucky Kinfolk”