Cowards and cow’s churned cream.

Spent the day with my mom. She is having her house on the local Christmas tour. I ferried her up to Athens to procure garland, redbirds, wreaths and a case of Charles Shaw.

While having lunch, I ordered the baguette with my salad.

And then I buttered my mini baguette and . . .


I heard a voice that has haunted me for over three decades.

“Only cowards butter their bread!”

Oui?  I was 20ish and having dinner at a professor’s house. I adored her and her husband and took every class each one taught. It didn’t matter I could care less for medieval history, I practically minored in it just to sit in one of their classes.

Well, my classmates and I were seated around an almost Elizabethan table in a darkened room and all eyes were on me.

I who had been called out for buttering her bread.

I take it the French don’t butter bread as much as use it sop up everything else on their plate.

For me, you could throw every chocolate truffle in the Seine — or in the Thames for that matter. Give me warm fresh bread and soft unsweetened cream and I am as a wee clam in tons of salt water.

Still not sure what she meant. “Only cowards butter their bread?”

Believe me I twisted that mental Rubik’s Cube it for almost 30 years. All the while buttering and eating my bread.






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Mom, What’s for Dinner? Oh really….Heaven help me.

My mom was a pretty good cook.

At least she cooked.

We had a meal on the table half-past Walter Cronkite every night. Not that the TV was on. EVER. Heaven forbid. (Minor exception when University of Florida football playing at 6:35 on a weekday night.)

*   *   *

It’s almost Thursday and like a compass needle drawn to that big N in the sky, I find myself looking over MamaKat’s prompts.

1.) What’s for dinner Mom? Describe a meal your Mom cooked that you dreaded eating growing up.


Within seconds of reading that prompt two words popped into my head:

Chipped Beef.

There will be no need for an accompanying photo because Chipped Beef looks exactly like you vomited on a piece of toast.

Imagine that and you’ve got your 8 X 10 glossy worthy of a Martha Stewart cookbook.

Except with Chipped Beef you eat it.

It was warm.

Just like vomit.

It was a spectacular aromatic blend of creamy and chunky.

Just like vomit.

Amazing thing was I ate it every time and it always stayed down.


What did your mom fix that looked like the contents of your stomach?

Or maybe just tasted like it?

P.S. I love you mom. I know you cooked all that Barfed Beef because Dad had a thing for it.

Mama’s Losin’ It



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What’ll Ya Have? The Varsity.

Nephews and my sister visiting from Florida.

This always puts me in a quandary.

What are uniquely Georgia things to do?

Atlanta, Marta and The Varsity. That’s what I decided to today.

We drove into hubby’s office for the kids to see.



Right after I took this picture, a nice security guard came and told me not to take anymore pictures and to put my camera away.

I’m not kidding.

So I flashed my press pass — covering the fact that it expired in 2008 with my big thumb — and told him I was a super important blogger on assignment.

No, I didn’t. I just put my camera away.

The view from husband’s office.

That’s not downtown Madison in case you weren’t sure.

Afterwards we caught Marta and headed for some food.


We made it.


What’ll ya have? The Varsity is the world’s largest drive-in restaurant but my crowd just went inside to eat. You can’t really pull the Marta train up to the curb.

I had hotdog and onion rings.

I can’t remember the last time I had a hotdog. It was good.




And on the way out of town we stopped by IKEA.

I bought things.

I felt like my brain needed a little teasing with putting a few chairs and a lamp together.

It was a grand day. And an even better hot dog.

What do you gotta have at The Varsity?


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Musing on the Impossible. Too much Moe’s.

“Welcome to Moe’s.”

I love to be greeted like I’m a celebrity. Some has-been, washed-up child star of a 1970’s pilot that never made it to a network regular lineup.

That’s why I love going to Moe’s. The robust greeting I receive walking through the door.

No, silly.

I love going to Moe’s because I love FOOD.

Especially Tex Mex.

And here in lies something very odd.

I’ve lost my Moe’s mojo.

Tragic really.

Let me back up.

*    *    *


My husband has a mediation company. They do lots of meditations all day long. Since people tend to get hungry in the middle of the day, his company provides lunch.  Lots of places cater: Chili’s, Olive Garden, California Pizza Kitchen, Panera, etc.

The other day they ordered lunch but two mediations settled early so he brought home the extra food.

This was a Moe’s day.


Or so you would think.



Black beans on top, grilled onions and peppers on bottom. (Just in case you are curious.)

I’ve eaten Moe’s for the last eight meals.

I just think of a cold, limp, grilled onion and shutter.

It’s not Moe’s – though at this point it is three-day old Moe’s.

It’s just old.

Finally get how the Israelites could complain to the Almighty about manna for 40 straight years.

Thank goodness our emotions aren’t as fickle as our tastebuds.

You’re a three-day old husband.


Not much else to say, but that I’m over Moe’s till at least middle of next week.

How is that possible?

What about you? Can you eat peanut butter sandwiches every day?


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Musing on school lunches. Canned green beans take me away.


Open a can of green beans and faster than you can say “Jolly Green Giant,” I am transported to my grade school cafeteria.

Not only do I dip my steak in ketchup but eating (and sniffing) green beans from a can makes me happy.

I joined my daughter today for lunch.

Say "no" to the hand.


My daughter is tiring of being the subject for blog posts. Or so she protests.

Back in my day, you had to try everything on the plate and drink your milk.

I can’t drink milk. Never have, never will. (This provided lots of angst for me as child at lunch.)

If I didn’t drink most of the carton still ice cold from the chest, there was no way. If the lunch room monitor shook my carton and decided I needed to drink more of — at this point — warm milk…


I tried some of her pork and gravy.

This is the way I roll. Workout, clean out more of attic, come dusty and stinky to school for lunch.

A friend saw me at the Open House the other night said I looked pretty.

I think this was because I had showered.

After lunch, we headed to the Book Fair.

Jill Hill (who has an awesome blog) was dutifully volunteering and cheerfully ringing up sales.


While the brilliant writer and blogger Meg Ferrante was lifting the till while Jill’s back was turned.


Meg has a awesome annual blog during Advent. For those of us who love reading, she needs to think year-round or at least expand her blog by adding sacred liturgical favorites such as Lent and Halloween.

I love visiting my daughter for lunch.

I love chatting with her friends, waving at all my beautiful dutiful volunteering friends, and my daughter’s unabashed kiss goodbye.

What’s your canned green bean memory?

I’m going to get cleaned up.

Look forward to reading what made you vomit all over the mean girl. (If you had to vomit on someone, I hope it was the mean girl.)


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Musing on peaches. And the dump cobbler.

On the way up to Athens yesterday, my young son wanted to stop for some peaches sold at a road side stand.

I agreed to do it on the return trip.

We went all over that town.

We ate outside at Dairy Queen. Yes. Outside.  (You know the one…with no inside seating right next to the Varsity.)  I lobbied for the Varsity but he wanted DQ chicken tenders. Honestly, I think his motive was to garner a Blizzard.

It was hot. Later he said, “It feels like I pee-ed in my pants I’m sweating so much.”

We went on a mission and delivered some squash to a friend. It took a little doing to find her office but we perserved with her squash. It was the perfect amount for a casserole. I have yet to make a squash casserole this year.

Very sad for me.

Then we hit Target looking for white clothing — maybe save that for a later blog.

Then we headed home.

We stopped for peaches.
They are on the verge of being soo ripe. You can tell they are going to be awesome.
We’re making a dump cobbler.
Here’s a recipe from the New Perry Hotel. So easy and so good.
* 3 to 4 cups pre-sweetened fruit. (in our case, peeled and cut peaches with sugar.)
* 1 cup self-rising flour
* 1 cup milk
* 1 stick margarine. (I use butter. Because I’m bad.)
* 1 cup sugar
Melt margarine (butter) in 2 quart casserole. Pour fruit over margarine (butter). Combine remaining ingredients. Add to dish and stir slightly. Bake at 350 degrees until crust rises to top and is browned.

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Musing on Memorial Day. And Coleslaw.

Summer is here!

Okay not officially here for 24 or so days.

(I did that really quickly for those of you mathematicians who are now thinking how did she get 24?)

This is the start of my favorite time of year.

It’s a beautiful day. All my beautiful baby bird friends are off with the families…THANK GOD.

And thank God for all the service men and women who have fought for our country — since it became a country.

We have it so good.

We are the most clueless bunch of people (for the most part) about appreciating how blessed we are to live in this country.

I’m going to make the most awesome batch of cole slaw from a Kim Sitzman’s recipe — Kim gave it to me saying who she recieved it from. For me the chain of credit stops with her.

Easy and good. I’ve made it so much and it’s fairly simple. Surprising I have to look it up.

I guess with me that’s not so shocking….

YUMMY ———–>>>> EASY Cole Slaw

Mix together

* 1 cup mayo

* 1 tab vinegar

* juice from 1/2 lemon

* 1/2 onion chopped, sliced — whatever.

* salt n pepa

Add —

* Package Cole Slaw.  (That’s the surprise ingredient.)


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In Sickness and in Health. In French Fries and in Fruit.

Recently, my husband had an itsy health scare. One of those events that make you realize changes need to be made.

Perfect for me. Isn’t that what this year has been about? I’m up for changes in the way our family eats. I’ve been tending my garden and buying organic. Even though that makes a bigger dent each week in my tin cup, our family’s health is worth it right?

Good grief. This is work. (more…)

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Musing on casseroles.


Another dinner party last night.


Well, once I had a menu down I might as well give it another go. And since I am sooo behind in dinner parties, I am not going to reveal the menu.

Because I might spring it on you one upcoming festive weekend evening.

Last night, it was going so well, till I checked on the main dish.

I looked in and it (the casserole) wasn’t bubbling. So I set the timer to let it warm a bit more…and turned off the oven.

Of course I didn’t know that I turned off the oven until I looked in on my little casserole 20 minutes later and…

it looked dead.  I killed it.

Hmm. Nothing like a dead casserole to stick a pin in a rollicking evening when your guests have been sitting around for hours.

I had a dilemma.

Crank the oven, join my guests and leave them wondering if we were ever going to eat.

Or fess-up.

I confessed.

And everyone laughed. hahahahahahahaha.

Call me red faced – – and watch me take another sip of wine.

I am sooo not the party hostess. But I had a great time.

Dinner Party 2 Lessons learned.

* I still freak out and do something stupid when entertaining.

* Honesty is best.

* And my apron grew a half and inch last night.

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Musing on the perfect marshmallow.



This was Sunday night.

I was determined to roast the perfect marshmallow.

Actually, there is nothing more perfect than sitting by a warm flame. The marshmallow was just a little challenge to myself, a little diverson.

We have been studying “contentment” with my gals in Sunday School.

To my surprise, this study has impacted my thinking like nothing else we have done in a long time.

I can’t believe I haven’t blogged about it before now. Maybe because I’ve been thinking about it so much.

Oh how I wish I could just step back into the picture and be content as it looks. (to me anyway.)

To be at rest and at peace.

To exist yet be perfectly content.

Is that possible? (like for more than a half hour.)

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