BLOG POST MOTHER'S DAY BLACKBERRY PEACH COBBLER

BLOG POST      

MOTHER'S DAY BLACKBERRY PEACH COBBLER 

It is Mother’s Day Weekend. To feel closer to my Mom when I miss her, I cook something.

My grandmother, Janie, whom I called Granny, is my namesake. Or am I hers? I am named for her.

Granny taught me to bake my first cake. I was five or six.

I still remember the recipe:

1 cup of butter

2 cups of sugar

3 cups of flour

4 eggs

Add a little milk, but not too much and do not beat the batter too long: it would make the cake tough.

We mixed the items one by one and we beat the mixture with a big spoon and …woman power. This was 1959 in the summer. We had electricity, but no luxuries like mixers or AC. Even if we had had such things, it would have been too expensive to use them.

While the batter was resting a bit, we prepared the pan. We applied Crisco – white lard—and then sprinkled flour and turned the pan around and shook it so that it the Crisco was well coated with the flour. Then, we put the batter into, what I now know, is an angel cake pan.

The pan had a cylinder in the center attached  to a bottom that was removable. I used to marvel that the batter did not leak out: it did not.

Then, we put the cake in the oven and went out on the front porch for coffee. Granny drank her coffee. But I had coffee too. She had these lovely tiny teacups. They held, perhaps 2 ounces, if that. 

My "coffee" was evaporated milk with spoonsful of sugar and drops of coffee. However, my coffee looked like hers: café au lait. 

She was café au lait, and so am I.

As I write this I am wondering: is that why I am a coffee drinker? My mom did not drink coffee. 

I am not sure if any of my siblings drink coffee. But I am a daily at least one cup and most often two cups. I do not use sugar anymore, but I want my coffee to look… café au lait.

This morning, I wanted one of my comfort foods that Granny used to make for me: blackberry cobbler. But... I had no blackberries. 

Last year-- or even three months ago--I would have just jumped in the car, gone to the 24-hour grocery store and bought frozen blackberries. But this is the Coronavirus Pause.

So, no 24-hour grocery store and since I am on self-quarantine, no blackberries for me. Then, it occurred to me: I have peaches!

Mama made peach cobbler. Now THAT was comfort food too.

 Mama’s peach cobbler combined the best of both worlds.

Granny’s blackberry cobbler was made with three simple ingredients: blackberries, sugar, and water, with dumplings added. 

      The blackberries were freshly picked from Granny’s garden. Oh, what fun that was! 

Sunshine light breeze and singing birds while Granny and I – just us two—picked blackberries VERY CAREFULLY to avoid the tiny sharp fine briers that come along with the berries. 

When we had perhaps 3 or 4 cups of berries, we washed them. Into the large pot they went.  We added sugar, probably 2 cups, and just enough water to cover them, and to allow the sugar to turn to syrup. 

Granny made biscuits from scratch. I am not the patient type so that is not something I learned to do. 

But my mother’s idea was to do some things from scratch and then enhance them. So, I use canned biscuits for my dumplings.

So, this morning,  I poured canned peaches into the big pot; I think you would call it a Dutch oven. I poured a cup of sugar into a Pyrex measuring cup, added water and heated it in the microwave for 2 minutes, 30 seconds at a time, checking it in between.

     I had not done it that way before. But I am a scientist, so I knew it would work. I did not know how long it would take; so, in this , I took my time. I am working on developing patience, see?

     While the sugar water was turning to syrup, I put the canned biscuits in a layer on my cutting board. I cut each one into six pieces. 

     I started out flattening them and rounding them into thin dumplings by hand. I like doing that sometimes. 

And moms,  and Grams, this is something that small CLEAN hands would delight to do, to help you cook.

But, my patience today only goes so far. So, I used my metal cylindrical water bottle as a rolling pin . 

I flattened the rest of the cut up biscuit pieces and put them into the pot with the peaches, along with the simple syrup that the sugar water cooked in the microwave had turned into. I added some butter, perhaps one fourth of a stick of butter. 

I started out cooking the mixture in the Dutch oven. But I have more experience with and much prefer cooking with gas. You have heard that expression?  "Cooking with gas"?  

If you were born in the 1950’s you have. But it means, for you younger readers,  NOW you are COOKING! 

Gas is preferred; but you use what you have. Twice I had to remove the pot and allow it to cool a little  because it was “cooking too fast.” 

I let it cool a bit and then I put it back on the burner.  But I was not going to do that every 15 minutes, so plan B. 

I lined a baking pan with aluminum foil and poured—yes, poured—the hot mixture into the pan. I used a large spoon for the first spoonful, but here again, impatience. 

I, carefully ,with mitts,  poured the mixture AWAY from myself into the pan. I added butter, cut into pats, to the bottom of the pan.  Then, I put the pan into the, oven set at 350 degrees. I baked it for 45 minutes, or as Mama would say, "till it was lightly browned"

.

Now, if you like cobbler the way Mama made it, you would need a pre-made pie crust. Not the ones that come with pans but the kind that is next to the canned biscuits and comes in a roll.

Here is what I do:  I take the first roll and lay it into half the baking pan. Repeat with the other one. 

Using a butter knife cut off the excess dough. That is what you do if you are using an oblong baking pan. 

If you are using a pie pan, prep the pan by using flour plus spray cooking oil.  In this case, you use only one crust on the bottom of the pan.

     Put the crust in the prepared pan. DON’T cut off the excess crust. 

     Instead crimp it using your fingers into ridges all around the pan. When you do that,  your guests will marvel at your delicious “home-made pie”,  because,  it will look so much better than the crusts that come frozen in the aluminum pie pans. Your crust will also taste better.

By the way: your pie is home-made. You made it, right? You made it at home, right? Well, there you go.

You could also, if you like two crust pies, use the second pie crust to place on top of the pie pan containing your peaches and dumpling mixture over the bottom pie crust. Press the two crusts together crimping them around the edge of the pie pan.  

Finally, as another alternative, you can eliminate the dumplings and use the peaches and sugar as the filling between two pie crusts. 

OR, you can, for the top of the pie, get real fancy (looking). Put  the top crust  on your cutting board, and using a sharp knife cut  it into strips about an inch or so wide.   With these strips of dough, you can make a cross hatch top crust.  

I have done that occasionally, but generally speaking the generous crimping around the pie pan edge makes enough of a “home-made” impression.  Bake uncovered in a 350-degree oven for 45 minutes or until lightly browned. 

Allow to cool … it will be VERY HOT, even  if it does not appear so.  So, allow it cool thoroughly. No point in spoiling your treat with scalded lips!

You can always warm it more if you like.  And, of course, some of us will be topping it with ice cream, or Redi Whip.

Thank you for walking down memory lane with me. Thank you, Mama. 

Thank you Granny. Miss you both.  Love you both.

#EasyQuickDeliciousPeachCobbler

#GrannysPeachCobbler

#MamasFamousDeliciousPeachCobbler

#BlackberryCobbler

#Mother’sDayEasyQuickPeachcobbler

#Mother’sDayComfortFood

#MissingMyMomSoIamBakingComfortFood

#PeachCobblerForTheImpatientCook

BLOG POST RETURNING TO NORMAL: HOW GOOD WAS “NORMAL” FOR YOU?

BLOG POST      RETURNING TO NORMAL:      

HOW GOOD WAS “NORMAL” FOR YOU?

The people who want things to return to “normal”:  are you one of those?  Let me guess. Let me tell you about you.

You are able to work from home.

You are tired of staying inside:  you are “suffering” from “cabin fever”.

You miss your hair stylist.

You miss your nail salon.

You miss your massage therapist.

You miss your housekeeping service.

You miss having dinner at nice restaurants.

You miss going to the movies.

You miss shopping at Macy’s, Bloomingdale’s, Neiman Marcus, outlet malls

You miss going to your gym.

You miss your kids going to school.

You miss your afternoon free time when your kids are going to:

Soccer practice

Choir practice

Football practice

Swim team practice

Music lessons

College SAT or ACT prep course classes

You miss birthday parties at bars

You miss your sports: baseball, basketball, football, cricket, soccer, golf – the sports that you play

You miss Broadway or off-Broadway theater performances

You miss rooftop parties

You miss weddings, receptions, bridal showers, baby showers

You miss browsing at bookstores

You miss Sunday Brunch with your friends

You miss going to your church

You miss band practice, choir practice, play practice

You miss parades: Mardi Gras, St. Patrick’s Day, Gay Pride Day

You miss Disney World, Busch Gardens , Six Flags

You miss planning your vacation

You miss traveling on your vacation

You miss hanging out with friends

You miss family reunions

You miss weekend trips to the vineyards, the apple orchards, the wineries

You miss … you miss…you miss… your former life.

Is that you? Is that right?

You may not miss your pre Covid 19 life if…

You ride the subway, the El, the Marta, the bus to work.

You are an “essential worker”.

You did not know you were an “essential worker” till Coronavirus Pause.

You work for $1.80 an hour … and tips…if you get them.

You wait tables, wash dishes in a restaurant kitchen.

You deliver pizza.

You are a hospital cafeteria worker, a caretaker in a nursing home, a guard in a federal prison.

You are an EMT, a paramedic and you work without health insurance for you and your family.

You are food insecure: you do not know where your next meal is coming from.

You are worried that your child is sick, but, since you work two or three part time jobs you do not have medical insurance or health benefits. Because you work two or three part time jobs,  your child does not qualify for Medicaid.

You live in  a state that refused the Medicaid expansion.

You were stopped and frisked and given a ticket for jaywalking, but since you could not afford your bail, you have been sitting on Riker’s Island for 2 years…without a hearing… without a trial…you have NOT BEEN CONVICTED OF ANY CRIME, but now your life is in danger—not just because you are a juvenile high school student who had a B average and close to perfect attendance before your incarceration, but because you have no PPE, or ability to social distance or physical distance in your cell designed for four men which houses five men.

Besides, you do not have hand sanitizer, masks, face coverings. You have had asthma since childhood, making you at high risk for contracting COVID 19. You have not been tested but the guards have tested positive, 75 of them.

You are a hairstylist, a nail tech, and you pay rent for your station in the salon, only now, you do not have any clients due to COVID 19. 

Your boss could not get the PPP, so you have no income.  You have stood in line for hours at a food bank to feed yourself and your children only to find, that just before you reached the entrance to the Food Bank store, they announce they are sorry: they are out of food.

You are a cleaner, of the gym, the hospital ER, patient rooms, ICU, nurses’ stations.  You have to reuse your mask and you do not have PPE enough. 

You do not work for the hospital as a hospital employee.  So, you  don’t have a pension, health insurance, or benefits.

You work as a contract worker for a company that charges the hospital $100 and hour for your work.  The company provides no health insurance, or benefits for you.  You feel sick, but if you do not come in to work, you will be fired. You have to work sick. Someone said the other day, you are a part of the “Work Sick Culture.” Huh?

You are paid $20.00 an hour.  If you miss work , since you have no sick days, you go to work sick. You hope there will be PPE today. There was none yesterday.

You work in a hospital, but you cannot see a doctor or get a test for COVID 19. You have no health insurance or benefits.

You are a teacher with 35 kids in your class. You have been using your own personal funds to buy paper, art supplies, pencils, notebooks, books, software for your students whom you love.  You miss seeing your  students.  You are teleteaching.

You have not had a raise in 5 years. Before COVID you had to moonlight, taking tickets at a movie theater to make ends meet.  Only now, the theater is closed, and that source of income has evaporated.

You  have been running  out of food stamps before the month ends.  Now, you have to find the food bank and you are worried there may not be food there for your family.

You live in a nursing home on Medicare and your social security. You  were a smoker. You have COPD, emphysema, diabetes and arthritis.

You are at high risk for contracting COVID 19. You have not been tested.

The nursing home staff does not have masks, PPE, and there is not much hand sanitizer. You are unable to socially distance.

You are lonely because your family cannot visit. You do not own a smart phone or laptop so you cannot FaceTime, or Skype, or ZOOM, or Duo.

 You are really scared that you will get COVID 19 and you will wind up suffering on a ventilator for 3 or 4 weeks before you lose your life to COVID 19.

You are a firefighter, police officer, transit cop, public school educator. You are paid by local and state governments, only since the State and the City have had to spend all their money to support hospitals treating COVID 19 patients, you are being laid off.

You do not qualify for food stamps. The unemployment office is backlogged. 

You do not know how you are going to feed your kids. You have a cough and you feel feverish.

You are worried that if you go to the ER, you might endanger your family by contracting COVID 19. You worry about that all the time.

You are unhomed. You live on the streets of New York City. Since Covid 19, you have been able to sleep on the subways.

Only now, the trains and the  subway stations will be closed from 1:00 a.m. till 5:00 a.m. so the trains and stations can be deep cleaned.   You have no water, or soap, or hand sanitizer.

You have no fixed address.  Your income is from coins you pick up from selling aluminum cans. 

You have no health insurance. So, you have not seen a doctor, dentist, psychologist, psychiatrist in 16 years.

You are afraid you will not be safe in the shelters. You eat from the neighborhood church soup kitchen , but now the lines are so long, they have run out of food. They say they are sorry; you have to come back tomorrow.

That is normal for you. You would rather not have things return to normal.

Governor Cuomo said, something like, “We don’t want to go back to “normal”. We can do better than this.

The introduction to the  TV show “Six Million Dollar Man”, the voice-over said: “ We can rebuild him. We can make him better than he was.”

I do not want us to go back to “normal”. “Normal” was great for some of us, but not for all of us. 

 I am not condemning anyone for enjoying the fruit of your labors. 

But this is America. America is not perfect, but American can be better than this.

I was born in 1954, five months after The U.S. Supreme Court ruled in Brown vs. the Board of Education of Topeka Kansas . Kansas Board of Education lost their lawsuit to keep Kansas schools white only.

I grew up in Selma, Alabama , the city that made it possible for you to go to McDonald’s and eat inside any restaurant in America, and won for you – through the blood of martyrs—the right to exercise your right to vote.

I went to the back door at a dentist’s office. I rode in the Colored section – the back-- of the bus in Selma Alabama.

I was spat at and called “nigger” while walking alone in broad daylight on Broad Street when I was twelve years old.

I went to the University Of Alabama. I decided to do that the day I saw and heard Governor George C. Wallace’s “stand in the schoolhouse door”. He said, “Segregation Today. Segregation Tomorrow. Segregation Forever.”

I graduated from the University of Alabama.

I was the second Black woman to earn the Doctor of Medicine Degree from the University Of South Alabama College of Medicine in 1981.  I  completed a three -year Residency in Family Medicine at the University of South Alabama College of Medicine. I am a Diplomate of the American Board of Family Practice.

My life experience tells me that America can be better. America, in some respects, is  better now than when I began my life. But this is not the best America can be.

Each generation has its own mark to make. Each generation has its time to fight, to work, to earn, to advance the American Dream.

The American Dream is not for us alone. It HAS TO BE for the least of us… too.  If not, what good is it?

BLOG POST STARS!

Lest you think too highly of me, when I was five years old, I lived in my own world.  I did not look at people or things that I was afraid of.  That would include the big kids who played on the playground.

One day, I was walking my little sister Marcia-- 31 months- two and one half years essentially younger than I --was home from vacation Bible school. It had been held at Brown Chapel Methodist Church—the same church where Dr. King held Mass Meetings, in preparation for the Selma to Montgomery March held in March 1965.

So, we are walking home. The shortest distance between two points is a straight line.

So, I walked in a straight line…straight across home plate… just as   a batter was at bat. He swung—he did not miss.

The bat cut my left eyebrow. The blow from the bat across my forehead completely knocked me out!

 But you know what? Just like in the cartoons, I really did see stars!

I think my sister ran home and got Daddy. When I came to, I had the worst headache, but by the grace of God,  but both  my eyes and all my facial bones were intact.

They put an ice pack on my head as I lay on the couch. If they scolded me to watch where I was going… I don’t remember that. I am sure I had been told that any number of times.

Mark Twain once  said, “A man learns something from carrying a cat by the tail that he can learn in no other way”.   That is also true-- of walking across  home plate during a playground baseball.

BLOG POST IT’S NOT THAT HARD--KEEP IT SIMPLE, SWEETIE

BLOG POST      

IT’S NOT THAT HARD--KEEP IT SIMPLE, SWEETIE

When you have a problem to solve, keep it simple.

 So, the problem to be solved here is to get immediate urgent literally lifesaving, business-saving, job-saving MONEY to MICRO SIZED BUISINESSES, so that those MICRO businesses can keep their employees with a job--even though the employees will be staying home to physically distance; and so they can keep their business going--even though the business owners will also be staying home to physically distance.

It is ESSENTIAL  to the common welfare for the United States Federal Government to provide MICRO BUSINESS owners and their employees with money to pay for essential personal BASIC NEEDS: FOOD, UTILITIES, GAS FOR VEHICLES, SHELTER, TOILET PAPER, CLOTHES,HANDSANITIZER, LYSOL liquid spray and  WIPES;  INTERNET ACCESS,  and MULTIPLE LAPTOPS that all of us need during  the CORONAVIRUS PAUSE.

The EASY  way to solve this problem is to go to the top floors of skyscrapers across the country, open the windows, and throw out hundred-dollar bills.

Or,

 For the U.S. Treasury to purchase $2000.00 GIFT CARDS and throw those out the windows.

For smaller cities with no skyscrapers, go to the top of the highest local building, open the windows, and throw out hundred-dollar bills.

For towns and villages, go to the churches, court houses, post offices  and have folks line up six feet or more apart and allow the people of and in America to walk up to a table, so they can pick up $2000 gift cards, one,  for each adult in the household.

This will solve the problem of getting money to people who desperately need it RIGHT NOW.

TODAY. THIS COULD BE DONE TODAY.

People are hungry, worried, anxious, and they do not know where to turn. The United States of America is OUR country and that means that the Federal Government is OUR SERVANT, our PUBLIC SERVANTS who are there, whose job it is to do for us what we can not do for ourselves.

It is the Federal Government’s job to TAKE CARE OF US DURING THIS CORONAVIRUS PANDEMIC. If it is  not the Federal Government’s job,  then, I ask you, whose job is it?

Is it a governor’s job? A mayor’s job? Your neighbor’s job,

Is it your churches job? Is it YOUR job?

WE THE PEOPLE…established this government. IT IS US. IT IS OURS.

We established OUR FEDERAL GOVERNMENT to provide for the common defense. We are under attack from COVID 19.

So here is my question? Where is Grover Norquist?

He wanted to “shrink the federal government till it was small enough that he could drown it in a bathtub.”  He coerced Republican office holders to sign a no tax pledge… but then,  Trump became President.

With the SURPLUS that President Obama left in our government coffers, Trump moved to make his millionaire friends richer…with the budge- busting tax cut, that made millionaires and billionaires richer and the rest of us got either a couple of bucks or …not one red cent.

What happened to all that Deficit is dangerous, too high, we cannot spend any money for anything needed by:

POOR PEOPLE, MIDDLE CLASS PEOPLE, THOSE WHO WANT TO WORK THEMSELVES INTO THE MIDDLE CLASS, THE UNHOMED AND THE MENTALLY ILL, UNEMPLOYED, UNEMPLOYABLE, ALCOHOL ADDICTED, DRUG ADDICTED, HUNGRY, CHALLENGED IN A HUNDRED WAYs: that is, WE THE PEOPLE.

ANYTHING THAT WE THE PEOPLE NEEDED, THERE WAS NO MONEY FOR THAT. Any tax cut and means of enriching themselves and their donors and cronies, THAT we could afford.

Take what just happened with the PPP. The money disappeared before the MICRO business owners could get in line. It was gone!

BIG BANKS gave it to their friends. The BIG BANKS put their corporate customers at the head of the line, and before any MICRO business owners--you know, your barber, your local  pizza restaurant,  bar and grill, your nail salon, your local florist, or bowling alley, BEFORE ACTUAL MICRO BUSINESS OWNERS OULD EVEN GET IN LINE…THE MONEY WAS ALL GONE!

Where did it go? To Ruth’s Chris, to professional sports teams, to mega sized corporations, with connections to the BIG BANKS. They did not NEED the money!

They have assets for many months. They have assets they could sell or use as collateral. They could coast for months even years on the money they have in the bank. IF they NEEDED a loan, they could pick up the phone as they did to get to the head of the line, call their BIG BANK friends and get a loan over the phone without even a handshake being necessary! THAT is how they got their hands on ALL of the PPP money before the MICRO business owners had any chance at all.

 I know it was legal: but was it just? Was it right?

Was its kind? Or was it greedy, selfish, me-me-me and to hell with anyone else?

So many hurdles were written into the law by the lobbyists who support Republicans and who because of their donor status with those Republican office holders CALL THE SHOTS. There was NEVER a level playing field!

Micro businesses do not bank with the BIG BANKS. They are either UNBANKED or they use small banks, credit unions and the like.

THOSE smaller institutions did not have a chance, either. BIG BANKS NEVER HAD TO  BE INVOLVED IN THE FIRST PLACE!

When people are hungry and not working, when they are staying home to keep all of us safer from a deadly viral pandemic, WHY ON EARTH WOULD YOU HAVE THEM APPLY FOR A LOAN?

They do not need LOANS : they NEED cash money right now and no loan is necessary. It was not the banks’ money by the way: it was guaranteed by the U.S. government. They Banks were making “bank” on money that was not theirs that they could loan to their friends and get paid on both ends. Some gig if you can get it.

The U.S. Treasury is going to pay the money. Just like the IRS can send you your tax refund, they can send you MONEY. NOT A LOAN.

The money in the U.S. Treasury, by the way, is OUR money! It does not belong to Trump, though he held up your check till he could have his name --his signature – printed in the COMMENT LINE on the checks.

So why involve the BANKS? Why do we need middlemen?

 Because they are TRUMP’S MIDDLEMEN! They are Trump’s friends, supporters, donors, backers, cronies, and fellow millionaires.

If there is a way for his friends to make money, he is all for it. No matter what it means for American  citizens and American workers and workers in America, no matter what their ethnic origin.

The money in the U.S. Treasury is OUR money. Why do you need a loan to get a hand on YOUR OWN MONEY?

No, the plan was not to get you money right away. In this age of digital technology, that  could be done INSTANTLY.

Zelle, Venmo, PayPal, Gift Card are just a few of the dozens of ways to put cash in the hands of the hungry, who are staying home to stay alive.

MY NIGHT AS A STAND-UP COMEDIAN

I was minding my own business on a Thursday morning. The girls were still in high school so it was before 2006. 

I passed the bulletin board in the Bruno’s food store and this bright electric green notice caught my eye. It read: Comedians, Wanted!

According to the flyer, on that very nigh,t there was being held the equivalent of an open mike night-- only this was, not at a nightclub, but rather it was being held at the local state university, which was home to about 15,000 students at that time. The event was being held as a fund raiser to benefit  the YWCA (Young Women's Christian Association).  

A smile slid across my face at the thought of this. I reasoned, was I not meant to read this ad, since the event was tonight and not next week or last week?  

I went.  I am now backstage, waiting my turn. 

The comedian on before me is in clown makeup and costume with props no less.  I am in street clothes with my notes on a scrap of paper. 

I know about 3 jokes that I have practiced telling—I have to practice because I have this annoying habit of stepping on the punch line.  So, in order to prepare to avoid doing that – especially since, now,  all of a sudden I think—what am I doing?

But, I have told no one that I know that I am doing this. I am sure my husband or my daughters would have had an opinion:  and, I was not interested in anyone telling me "no", so I did not share till much later—after the whole thing was over.

The audience applauds so I know the other act is done and it is now my turn.  I walked onto that stage and I have to say…I loved it! 

I told them my first name and that I  was "omitting  my last name to protect the anonymity of my family". I told them, "We have these two daughters-- who tell me I am not funny—but I don’t listen to them." 

The audience laughed—out loud. I said, " I will tell you, audience, and  I will let you be the judge as to whether or not I am funny."

So, I tell the stuttering Bible salesman joke.  I am a really good fake stutterer! 

They howl! This is really fun and now I am warming up.

I don’t remember which joke I told next, but my last one, the finale is the one about the horse that only knows two commands and the guy is riding across the dessert like the wind, going west toward the Grand Canyon. 

The horse knows only two commands—on one he goes,  on the other one, he stops.  But the commands aren’t" stop" and "go".  The commands are “Amen” and “Praise the Lord”.

Only…. I get the commands mixed up and step on my punch line! As soon as I realize that I've done that, I tell the audience, "Oh, shoot! I got the commands mixed up!  I have dyslexia. Did I mention that?" 

Anyway, I corrected it the joke, getting the commands right this time,  and they laughed about all of it—my mis-statement, telling them about my dyslexia, my correcting my mistake—and so did I! 

I had the best time!  The whole thing was so funny --on many levels.  It was a really fun experience.

Oh, and I won second place! Evidently they did not expect many participants because my prize was a mug with the university logo. 

It is a good thing, too, that they gave me that mug, because otherwise, my family would not have believed me, when I told them about my adventure.

They kept looking at me as if they had never seen me before and asking me,

"Mom! You didn’t! "Did you?"

"You didn’t!  On stage? With an audience?"

"Did you tell them anything about us?", they wanted to know.

"I told them that you didn't think I was funny. I told them you did not want me to do this—or ,you wouldn’t have wanted me to do it, if you had known about it. They loved that too."

They were incredulous that I had done this wacky, spur- of -the- moment thing—but I sensed an admiration of sorts, too. I had my USA logo mug, my second place  prize ,as my proof for what was too incredible for them to believe.

In the service of full disclosure, I will tell you two things: first, I was way funnier than the clown. I know, because they howled at parts of my routine. 

But she won first prize—I think,  they felt a little sorry for her and did not want her to feel badly, since she had clearly prepared for this—getting costumes and all that.  

But, I also have to say this: while I absolutely did win second place… there were just the two of us comedians there!

We two got to stand near the door as folks were exiting.  Many people shook my hand and told me that  they loved  my act, and that I should not listen to my daughters—they agreed with me—
I am funny!

Epilogue

A few months later we are in a hotel room in Atlanta: our two daughters and two school friends of theirs.  We are there for a show choir camp. 

As we are just sitting around, just talking,  maybe, and topic of my night of stand up came up somehow.  All of a sudden,  one of the girls who had been lounging on one of the beds sat straight up and said 

“I knew I knew your voice! That was you! I was in the audience—I saw you on stage in that comedy contest—with just the two comedians, that lady in the clown outfit and you!”

I beamed! "See girls? I told you I did that… and now I have a witness!"

That girl went on to become best friends with our daughters throughout high school and college.   She roomed with one of my daughters and both my daughters were bridesmaids and singers at her wedding. 

So, if you need proof, there are living witnesses!

Remind me to tell you my Stuttering Bible Salesman joke…even if you have already heard it. It is really my best one!

BLOG POST YUCK!

BLOG POST                    YUCK!

Within half an hour of awakening this morning, I had had two cups of coffee. It came about this way.

I made a single cup of coffee with my Keurig. When it was done, my usual mug was less than half full.

I was baffled, but I simply put in another pod, and made a second cup of coffee that I added to cup number one. Even with the second cup added the liquid just barely reached the rim of my red coffee mug. I note that because I like to drink low volume, so I generally choose the small cup setting.

     I do a lot of puttering in the morning on my way to my writing desk, and MANY mornings I have to nuke my coffee again… and again… before I finally finish my first cup. I limit myself to 2 cups coffee per day and if I need more caffeine later in the day, I drink tea.

     So, I was puttering I put a load of clothes into the washer; emptied the top rack of the dishwasher and went through my home gathering up items that were not in their “home.”

     I find that I like very much being able as my mother used to say, being able to “put my hands on something.” By that I mean knowing where something is and being able to locate it right away. Being able to find things right away, THAT MAKES ME VERY HAPPY.

For example, years ago, I  used to see someone lose their keys when they visited my home. This happened very often.

I decided that I would have  designated place for MY keys. When I come in the door, I put my keys, now, in a shallow cut-glass bowl that, in its other life, I think, was an ashtray.

I believe in re-purposing things, using them to do a new job, to contain a novel item that is different than their original or intended purpose. I put my keys in that cut-glass ashtray/ key holder; and I do it ALL THE TIME, EVERY TIME.

I have not lost my keys in DECADES. That makes my life work: that eliminates the frustration of lost keys from my life.

Back to the coffee:

As I returned things to the kitchen that “live” there, I took a sideways glance at the coffeemaker as I put something on the counter. I did a double take.

There, in the water reservoir of the Keurig, was a grey cloudy substance floating in the water! I picked up the reservoir and examined it with better light: MOLD!

There was mold floating on the water in the reservoir of my Keurig… the one I had just drunk TWO cups of coffee from!

I did not panic. I took the reservoir, moldy water still in it, and I squirted four squirts of foamy germ-killing Dawn liquid soap into the container. 

I filled it to the brim with water. I left it to sit, while the Dawn killed and destroyed the mold.

The thing is, while it was yucky to realize I had drunk water drawn from mold, that was actually not the nastiest water I have drunk before. Understand now, I do NOT make a habit of drinking NASTY WATER.

I know you are saying, “Well , I would never do that.” I understand;  but, read on.

I was stranded on a small desert island, offshore from a larger, but still small, desert island. Islands, as you know, are surrounded by water. This water was exquisitely beautiful: the Caribbean Sea. Turquoise crystal-clear water.

When you stand in it, the white sand contrasts to the clear water , so clean, so clear you can see  your toenail polish color; or, if you are a  guy, you can count your toes.  BUT…it is salt water. So, while it is lovely to look at and swim or splash or play or float in, you cannot drink it.

You have heard the saying somewhere,

“Water, water, everywhere, and not a drop to drink”? Well, that was my situation.

We had been hiking on this desert island. I was completely unfamiliar with islands in general and desert islands in particular.  So, unlike my usual tendency, on this occasion I was so excited to be on this adventure that I left any thought of preparations for the journey to my companions.

We walked and explored, and I might as well have been on the moon! I was in awe of everything I saw.  There were herds of goats running wild; and squat, fat cacti with what looked like red hats on their round heads.

 They are called “pope’s head” cacti, as the red had looks like the head gear of a bishop.  Do not ask me why they are not called “bishop’s head cacti”: I did not name them, and I do not know.

There was a bay, with turquoise water, shallow inside the reef, excellent for swimming or sunning.  There  were no trees, except a rare, occasional grape tree. Grape trees are squat, and largely round but not tall.  You cannot get under them. They provide no shade.  There were low shrubs, scruffy and grey brown. I do not remember any coconut trees on the small island.

It was August. It was sunny and hot.

After some time, hiking, I became aware of becoming quite thirsty. Only then did I realize, I had nothing with me to drink.  I was not worried, though. Even though this was my first trip of this kind, my companions had made this trek many times over decades .

I turned to them and said, not as eloquently as our Savior did, but I said, “ I’m thirsty.”  When is the last time you have said that? Think. Ever?

         They said to me, “Oh.”

I asked, “What do you mean? I want some water to drink.”

Answer: “Er, well, we don’t have any.”

This came as a shock to me. Here we were, on an uninhabited desert island with only wild goats and sea gulls and an occasional lizard on the land, and, while there were literally plenty of fish in the sea, I was not hungry.   

I WAS THIRSTY. And, there was no water!  The hike went on. 

I tried to ignore my thirst as it would be some time before the boat returned for us.  

The heat and the brilliant sunshine, beating down on my head, with no shade anywhere, began to take their toll. We had been walking and walking, for at least , perhaps, two or more hours.

Now, the scenery was not so attractive. Now, I saw dry grass and scruffy cacti and goat droppings.

It was no longer exotic and fascinating. I was on a DESERT ISLAND with no water! This was no longer fun.

When I could stand it no longer, I complained to the leader of the expedition.  “I have GOT TO have some water. I am really THIRSTY,” I said.

“Well, honey,” he said, “There IS NO WATER here.” 

I began to do a slow burn, and not because of the sun.  I do not do well with frustration.

 I will admit that up front. I like control .

That is why I designate a place for my keys. I pack my purse and my car, like a girl scout, with everything I think I MIGHT need.

But, in this instance, I had abdicated all responsibility for my personal needs. I did  have even a drop of any liquid to drink.

By the way this happened in 1983 : water in plastic bottles? Not a thing then.

We walked on further. I began to feel faint.

I was lightheaded and the sun was unrelenting in beating down on my uncovered head. I vaguely became aware that my skin was tingling.

Sunburn was happening; but I could think of nothing-- except my parched throat and dry tongue. I did not even have spit.

When would that boat get back to get us? No, there was not a cell phone to call the boat. It was 1983, remember?

I sat down on something, a rock, I think, and I said, “I cannot walk anymore. I have got to have something to drink.”

“Well, … there is SOME water, a little way up the path… but, you won’t like it.”

“Where?”

“See that rock wall in the distance?”

“THAT far?”  Still, if there was water there…

 “Let’s go.”

With the little energy I had left, but with the desperation to quench my thirst, I reinvigorated myself. I got up and followed.

Finally, we reached the wall. On the other side was indeed water!

I was saved! Or was I? The water was a watering hole… for the goats!  

You have never been in my position: I know you have not. Maybe, if you’re a vet, who in war time was on a mission in a desert location… or, if you were a hiker who got lost and had drunk all your water… but most of you, for sure, have never been where I was. 

I could not see or think, I was so  thirsty. Every cell in my dry mouth was screaming-- for water!

I am fastidious. “Cleanliness is next to godliness,” I grew up with that. I wash my hands all the time. I inspect everything before I eat or drink it.

BUT… this was the only water around.   I looked at the goat watering -hole water closely.

The water itself was clear. But, the ground, and the rocks around the pool, were decorated with…goat droppings! 

Oh, you do not know what it took for me, using my hands, to scoop up water from that pool to drink. But… I did it.

That was the best water I had ever drunk in my life!  I do not know if it had a taste.  I know—surprisingly-- it did not have a smell. THAT would have been a deal breaker-- even in the desert!

My companions drank as if this were the most natural thing in the world, to drink water from a goat pond. I was too thirsty to be judgmental. I was parched and I did not care about anything but satisfying my thirst.

Eventually, the boat returned, and we went back to the larger desert island, where people lived and where there was CLEAN COLD FRESH water to drink. Ahhh!

Do I need to say that was the first and last hike that I took without bringing my own supply of something to drink? Soda in cans, beer, SOMETHING liquid.

And, because I like drinks COLD , when I could, I brought ice. This was, as I said, the desert.

Folks there did not generally drink things cold. They did not have ice, for example, in the small freezer inside the fridge.

No, Virginia, there were no ice-makers there. There were, however, ice companies where you could buy bags of ice. When I discovered them, I bought bags of ice.

I was looked at as  a crazy American. I heard them muttering, “She is spending MONEY on ICE!”

I did not care. Cold lemonade, cold iced tea--COLD anything liquid-- was refreshing and essential to me. I bought bags of  ice -- over and over.

There were very few insulated coolers of any type available.  So, in the desert heat, what do you expect?  You had to get the ice to a refrigerator quickly and you could not generally transport it without having some percentage of it to melt.

“More wasting of money,” my associates muttered under their breath. But--so be it.

Now then, my coffee this morning? Yes, there was mold in the water.

No, I did not see it till I had drunk the coffee. I am fine.  I do not expect any ill effects. Indeed, I feel fine.

Now that I have shared this adventure with you, I will return to my coffee maker, scrub the now disinfected water reservoir, and make a CLEAN cup of coffee.

And, I will be even more grateful: for CLEAN water, for ice, for bottled water, if need be; for insulated mugs and insulated boxes to carry bottles and bottles of : water, soda, mocha, beer, wine, and yes, water, water,  water --everywhere I go.