Do Too Many Cooks Spoil the Broth?

My mother is an amazing cook. She's especially incredible with candies and desserts which is probably why I've never bothered much with those items. She does them to perfection and she shares.

I like to cook, especially when it's my idea. I like to try new things but like most of us, I rely on certain stand-by menus that I've made for years. I've also adapted many recipes over the years to make them easier. For instance, I refuse to boil a whole chicken, skin and debone it, etc. when I can poach a couple of chicken breasts and voila! .. on with the recipe.

Since living with my oldies recently, I have tried to help out. My mother works long and odd hours. She's picking up her nightly tapes around the time I used to start trying to figure out what to make for dinner. My offers of help are well received but it is also very clear that I do not do things her way. (It's a funny look on her face that gives me vivid flashbacks of my childhood.)

I also like really exotic things like mushrooms, which is repeatedly pointed out to me that I did not grow up eating. I steam vegetables and eat them crisp. Well, I used to. I do not like Miracle Whip. Ever. In Anything. Ever. I'm used to different spices that she swears I could not possibly like. If I use oil, it's usually olive oil. I don't think I've ever used that congealed Crisco in a can. (Of course, I'll eat whatever is cooked in it.)

As I said before, she is an amazing cook so no one in this house will ever be hungry. I'm still trying to help out but I'm paying attention to how it should be done.

We seem to have it down. She's happy to have help in the kitchen and I like to do it. In our case, two cooks in the kitchen make a tasty broth ... or whatever we decide to whip up.

Yee Haw! Going to the Fair!

My mother and I were having a conversation the other night and trying to compare calendars so we could book our date at the Indiana State Fair. We're both slightly overbooked (it makes us sound important but we're not.) Finally she said, "Well we might have to skip it this year."

Whoa Doggies! Skip the Fair? I don't think so.

My aunt is visiting from Utah and she is going with us. My other aunt has cleared her schedule so we can have a girl day. (If my Florida aunt could be here, it would be complete.)

We're going tomorrow. I overuse this word but I am officially giddy. We all have our tickets. I have instructed one of my aunts that I will not acknowledge her or stand next to her if she wears a fanny pack. My aunts tolerate me and my quirks but hey, I tolerate theirs.

The husband does not do the Fair. It doesn't matter to me; he would just get on my nerves. My mother and I have it down.

Joker

As of today, the movie "Dark Knight" is still obliterating box office records. I won't see it. It's not my kind of movie. But I've seen the trailer and read the interviews. Heath Ledger plays the Joker and some say he may be nominated for an Oscar. Another Joker struck down too soon.

We play Joker too. My parents and several of their friends have a standing game on Sundays. My mother discovered this game and ordered it or gave the information to all of us.

We crashed the Joker party on my mother's birthday. I was shocked about several things:

We managed to surprise her.
I managed to get the husband off the golf course.
They are super serious about this game. Even as people came in and out to wish my mother a happy birthday, players would zone them out as they plotted their "strategery."

The most fun for me was playing with neighbors and friends I don't see very often. It's amazing how those relationships come full circle.

Stopping at McDonald's

Many times after a charity event or a band gig, the husband and I are headed home and realize we're hungry. Whether he's been playing in the band or we've both been working the room, we didn't eat very much. Suddenly, White Castles or McDonald's seems like a grand idea.

We had a Father's Day dinner here last night. I knew my mother would hate the menu -- I warned her in advance and tried to compensate. I also knew the Ahi tuna, shrimp and mussels would be a big hit with my father, Big Daddy and the baby. Veges and pasta rounded it out. I tried to please all. Plus, we had strawberries, ice cream and brownies for dessert. Yum.

My father said, "Oh shoot, we just had this last night."

My mother does not have a poker face. Her expression at the mussels and the rare tuna ... well, "Yum" was not the word floating through her mind. I may not be a big eater but I am open to (almost) anything. She always marvels at my love of crisp veges, any kind of seafood and especially mushrooms. We did not eat these things in my childhood.

We had a small storm so I called to make sure they were home safely. She swears they didn't stop but I would've bet something like a hamburger was in order.

Walk the Walk

My mother and her sisters had two sets of parents. The first were their birth parents (Wild Bill and my Wacky Grandmother.) The second were their aunt and uncle (Bobbie and Pa.) Have I told you that Pa and Wild Bill were brothers AND Wacky Grandmother and Bobbie were sisters? Is this something that just happens in the hills? Having no siblings, I have escaped this fate.

It's the holiday season and I am flooded with memories of my grandparents. This is mostly about my mother's side of the family but I actually spend a teensy bit of time thinking about my dad's father and his wife. Then I get the willies and move on. (That's probably not fair. I do have some fond memories but they are overshadowed by the way my father and his sisters were treated.)

So, this is about Bobbie. Technically, my great-aunt but really and truly my grandmother. (The sane and stable one.)

In my childhood, holidays meant we went to Bobbie and Pa's... Christmas, Easter, etc. Farm living instilled in her that there had to be five kinds of meat and at least twelve side dishes.

As she aged, we were more likely to find something forgotten in the oven.

Forgetfulness also came in other visits. One year she gave my father and both of my uncles beautifully wrapped nightgowns. Some years she couldn't remember where she stashed the presents so we got them later.

Pa was in charge of the tree. As he grew older (and more creative) he could find the most interesting way to erect his version of a tree. My personal favorite is the year he found a gnarled tree limb, painted it and hung various ornaments on it. We have an absurd amount of ornaments and Christmas decorations in this house -- nothing will replace my memory of the gnarled, painted tree.

Bobbie and Pa lived in a house that was originally purchased by her father. As time went by, urban issues (like theft and murder) came to visit and my mother was often concerned about her safety, especially after Pa died. She was not fazed.

She was not only my grandmother -- she was the neighborhood mother and grandmother. She didn't just read the bible every day. She lived the lessons every day.

When my mother tried to explain that she shouldn't open the door for unknown people or let the errant neighbors in, she was adamant:

"It might be Jesus at the door."

At my house, it's more likely to be Elvis at the door but I still remember the lessons she instilled and modeled for me.

Purple

If you met me today, you might be a little suspicious.

The dog and I had a collision. Her head with my shin and it's now a lovely color, almost like eggplant. Big Daddy was thrashing in bed and now I have an equally colorful bruise on my other leg.

I was trying to help the oldies by browning a big ol' piece of meat before putting it in the oven for them. (Yes, I try to help.) Some oil splashed and I have two burn marks that are healing. They're also in the purple family.

I'm not that big but I'm pretty hardy. On more than one occasion my mother has threatened to snap me like a twig. There are two reasons that would never happen:

1. She would have to catch me. Although my lungs might turn purple, I would win.
2. She's my biggest fan and champion. We would just fall down laughing and hugging. Then, we would both have new bruises.

When I got married the first time, my bridesmaids wore a lovely shade of lilac/lavendar. My mother wore a deep purple color. I didn't realize it was destined to be my color for life.