Changing with the times

Baby Elliot has settled easily into home and hearts ... and his mother's arms

A thousand pirate apols in advance.

I realize that you lot are not even remotely obsessed with my new grandsons or with my seasonal decor.

But as bloggers we do enjoy the odd family-home-hearth slide show; do we not?

So let's get started.

This is a mulled cider candle

Yesterday I went to Erica's house and sat holding Baby Elliot for an hour or so. 

He was mostly asleep but when I first started holding him, and again towards the end when he woke up and was hungry, he was alert and looking all around.

Quoth the Raven: "Nevermore."

For an eleven- (now twelve) day-old, it was extraordinary. By my reckoning, he was acting like at least a two-week-old. Which he will in fact be, come Thursday.

As for Baby Guy in Tennessee, he recently got almost two weeks older (he will be seven weeks old on Thursday) while his dad, our Andrew, was serving his country by refueling fighter planes over the Pacific Ocean nonstop for eleven days.

Oh hi ... that you, Dad? Photo courtesy Brittany Weber

From Hawaii to Japan and back. Rinse and repeat. He touched down in East Tennessee early in the morning a few days ago, and rushed home to see his wife and children. Baby Guy was probably wondering who the grinning mustachioed pilot was, but I'm sure that pretty soon he figured it out.

This wreath will greet you if you're invited in through the garage

Dear old Dad! Welcome home.

Meanwhile, fall (If you mentally corrected the lower-case "f" ... don't. Contrary to popular belief, it's not supposed to be capitalized except at the beginning of a sentence, or when used metaphorically.) is progressing as it usually does in South Carolina: warm -- some might say unseasonably so, but not for us -- during the day, pleasantly chilly at night and in the early mornings.

A little graveyard humor for your October enjoyment

We haven't had a whole lot of rain lately and I get the feeling that I say this every year, but the drier the weather is during this crucial time, the less likely that we will have "real nice" fall color when it finally does develop, which is usually in November.

But we shall see.

Dagny found the vampire gnome at Dollar Tree ... note his red-lined cape

Despite the warmer climes (albeit with pleasantly low humidity), we as a family had our first chili supper last Friday. At our house.

I've shared this before, and I have also eaten better chili than mine, but for EZPZ you cannot beat my recipe:

It's a fool-proof recipe. No fooling.

Brown three pounds of extra-lean ground chuck or sirloin. To that add three cans each of chili hot beans and chili ready tomatoes, plus one packet of chili seasoning. Stir it up.

There you have it. Allow the flavors several hours to "marry," serve it piping hot, and I promise, your large crowd of chili-eaters will not be disappointed.

This wreath adorns the door in the TV room which leads to the master bedroom

Of course you can amend this recipe to make smaller (or larger) batches. One pound of meat to one can each of the beans and tomatoes, for example. Adjust the seasoning to your taste. 

But the smart money is on making my three-three-three-one recipe and freezing what you don't need, for the next time you feel led (not lead) to serve chili. Work smarter, not harder.

I like lots of twinkling lights on my table

Anyway.

The chili -- which I made this time, to my exacting can-and-packet-opening standards, in my Lodge Dutch Oven instead of in the Crock Pot -- was delicious and of course I served it with the usual accouterments: Fritos (no apostrophe between the "o" and the "s") Scoops, hand-shredded extra sharp cheddar, sour cream, and mild banana pepper rings.

I give you Cassius Crow

For dessert I baked a Marie Callender's Cherry Crunch pie.

The reason for the party was that I wanted Baby Elliot to come to Mamaw's house for the first time since the last time he was here, at which time he had not been born yet.

This little fella sits on the hearth in the TV room

I also was keen to show off my October decorating.

After easing into late summer with a sunflower theme towards the end of August, it is my habit to transition during September to more sunflowers, plus the first wave of orange-and-brown autumnal decor.

This is the second year for the black cat gnome

As in, I break out some of my fall stuff but not all of it at once.

That's because in between September and November comes October, and although I do not "do" Halloween in any true sense of that word, I admit to a fondness for the funny, campy decorations for October.

The glass skull glows eerily with the help of a tea candle

And I have a real affinity for skeletons and skulls (year round, actually), which I find humorous. The skulls and skeletons, that is; not my affinity for them.

You know I'm a card-carrying, rank-and-file, dyed-in-the-wool taphophile, so I'm into cemeteries twelve months out of the year too, but in October I let that child out to play, as it were.

I've got owl S&P shakers, and also sugar skulls

In fact, on Temu I recently found (and duly purchased) two new tees: one with sleeves and one without, but both in black and both with skeletons.

I got this one (I'm wearing it as we speak) and this one.

Skelly in the house ... when October goes

I mean who could decide between those two? Not the pirate.

I've already got (have had for years) not one but two versions of the classic I've Got Your Back skeletons, with one brandishing the other's vertebral column.

I showed you my new front-door wreath before, but here's a close-up

That's a classic.

At any rate, for the nonce I have put away much of the overt orangey autumnal stuff and brought out my black table runner with silver studs in a spider web pattern.

Do ye? Well do ye? Aaarrrgh! I do!

At one end of that I put my hearse and my pirate bride and groom.

Out came my graveyard-themed salt-and-pepper shakers from Cracker Barrel, and my heavy solid glass skull tea light holder. I added my cream-colored ceramic pail with a repeating pattern of skulls in black.

I've had these fall-leaf-shaped tea light holders for years

From the front room where he stays the rest of the time, I brought out Cassius Crow in his cage. There is also my raven.

Dagny found me the vampire gnome at the Dollar Tree for a dollar and a quarter, about a month ago.

The old-timey hearse is rich in detail

I already had the black cat gnome from last year.

Then there is the usual lineup of pumpkins and owls and various and sundry other homey decorations that work for both October and November.

The sugar skull S&P shakers were a gift from my friend Andrea

On November first we will switch out the October layabouts for the all-out autumn ones, adding turkeys and like such as, for the Thanksgiving holiday.

What a foofaraw! You may be saying.

I've had this scary-funny decoration for many years

If you're confused, don't worry. The pirate will take care of everything. And there will be pictures. You'll get to where you know my decorations so well, you'll think they're yours.

You may have noticed from my last post that I did buy a full-sized skeleton (it's plastic) this year, and poised him on the apple-green bench beneath the white oak just a few feet from our front steps.

This pail will hold something or other before it's all over

Name of Skelly. He wears a pirate hat.

I plan to bring him inside after October, and put him on the bench in the sun room, and dress him for the seasons.

This wooden leaf was a gift from my friend Marsha

Or something along those lines. We'll play that one by ear.

Speaking of ear, you should hear the sound when an acorn pops off the aforementioned white oak which towers over our house, and strikes the metal roof of the sun room, where I am usually sitting.

I gave this leaf-and-bird dish to my mom many years ago

It sounds like someone has lobbed a boulder at us from ten stories up. Sweetness does not flinch but Rizzo nearly jumps out of his skin.

When it happens I feel like quoting Rhett Butler in the library when Scarlett, in a fit of pique because her romantic overtures to Ashley were not repaid in kind, throws a priceless decoration across the room, which objet d'art shatters on the fireplace mantel.

I bought this jack o' lantern at Walgreens for $3 at least 25 years ago

Has the war started? the urbane Rhett inquires sarcastically as he makes his presence known. It's one of the greater cinematic moments.

Be that as it may, I am convinced that it's not too early to declare a mast, or boom, year for the acorns. We're getting a bumper crop, as it were.

This glass pumpkin holds treats for those who need such things

On Sunday I sat on the front porch for a while and watched a squirrel poised at the base of the white oak, munching acorns as fast as his little jaws would allow.

I'd do that with the candy I put in that pumpkin jar, but neither my waistline nor my dentist would appreciate that. So for the most part, I'll stay out of it.

It's for the kids anyway.

And we're having another party this coming Friday for those same kids, so I'll tell you all about that next week, Lord willing and the creek don't rise.

And that is all for now.

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Happy Tuesday

Belay that

Baby Elliot ... going on five days old

Urgent.

A retraction has been issued.

Allow me to elaborate.

First, the back story:

In the weeks leading up to Erica's due date, she and Chad were having trouble choosing the name.

I would say that perhaps half a dozen names were considered as strong contenders.

But as time went on, two names (first and middle) emerged as the finalists: Jack, and Elliot.

Erica was team Elliot. Chad was team Jack.

While Chad was not at all averse to one of the child's names being Elliot, he wanted his son to be known as and referred to as Jack.

While Erica was not averse to one of the child's names being Jack, she had zero interest in calling him Jack and could not agree to that.

So if it ended up being Jack Elliot, the understanding would be that he would go by a double name.

No Jack without Elliot.

But then, maybe ten days out, Cherica reached a different consensus. Jack was removed from the mix. They would name their boy Elliot Stanley.

(Stanley was TG's father's name. Erica, more than any other of my late in-laws' grandchildren, resembles her paternal grandfather.)

Erica was thrilled.

While Chad was obliged to give up the name Jack, he agreed to it and seemed all right with it and, for a few days at least, the matter seemed settled.

Here's your sign

But a few days after that, he changed his mind. He wanted the baby named Jack Elliot and consulted with Erica about the likelihood of that happening.

She semi-reluctantly agreed, but on a provisional basis. As in, the only way she would agree to name the child Jack Elliot is if he were known by and called the double name: Jack Elliot.

Not Jack, by itself. She would not agree to that.

So it was that just before six o'clock in the morning last Thursday, the baby was born. I was present and, moments after the birth, wanting to send pictures of the baby to family members, I checked with Cherica one last time.

Is his name Jack Elliot? I asked.

Erica looked up at Chad, who looked down at her. She nodded and he nodded. 

Later that day, in the afternoon during a quiet moment when it was only she and I in her hospital room, Erica told me that she was having misgivings about the baby's name.

Specifically, she regretted agreeing to name him Jack Elliot since it would mean always calling him that and having to gently correct anyone who called him merely "Jack" without bothering to add the Elliot.

Which we all know would have happened, and it would not have been anyone's fault. It's just the way these things tend to go.

I told her she needed to talk to her husband and tell him how she felt.

She didn't have a real chance to do that until a day or so later, when they were at home. There was a discussion but no immediate resolution.

Erica was miserable. Chad did not realize that she was miserable, but as it turned out, neither of them were enjoying calling their baby Jack Elliot.

Yesterday afternoon, they had another private conversation.

They acknowledged the dilemma, weighed their options, and came to a decision: they would change their son's name to Elliot Jack.

And call him Elliot.

Final answer.

The subject of the naming controversy slept through most of it

Right away, they were both visibly happier. Erica suggested that Chad use the name Jack as an endearment, or private nickname, for Elliot.

Chad agreed that that would be acceptable.

The takeaway: Decide a new baby's name before it's born.

If you can.

So there you have it.

Welcome to the world, Baby Elliot. As your loving family, we may find ourselves sojourning in a state of confusion from time to time, but we will make every attempt not to take up permanent residence there.

And that is all for now.

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Happy Monday

The boy baby parade

Rhett posed by the hospital fountains on the day his little brother was born

He's here.

I refer to our latest addition to the grandkid lineup.

Introducing Jack Elliot Porter, born a few minutes before six o'clock on the morning of Thursday, September 28, 2023.

He weighed seven pounds, one ounce, and was a touch over nineteen inches long.

Jack Elliot Porter

He will go by Jack Elliot. Double name. Call him merely "Jack" and risk incurring the pirate's wrath. Not to mention, don't let his mother hear you. If you're short on time, in commenting or texting you have my permission to type JE. 

Long story. For another day.

Now TG and I have eight grandchildren: four girls and four boys.

Oh so you like statistics? Here you go:

In the last six months, my sister Kay and I have greeted four new grandsons.

Hers: Andrew Sebastian, born on March thirty-first in Cleveland, Ohio, son of my niece Joanna and her husband Jacob; and Leland Cameron, born on September twenty-second in High Level, Alberta, Canada, son of my nephew Marc and his wife Whitney.

Erica is grateful, relieved, and flourishing

Mine: Guy Preston, born on August twenty-fourth, son of our Andrew and his wife Brittany; and Jack Elliot, (A/K/A new kid on the block), born five weeks to the day later, second son of our Erica and her husband Chad (Cherica).

(Both Leland and Jack Elliot were due on October second but couldn't wait that long.)

It's what they call an embarrassment of riches.

But no one is complaining.

Erica and Jack Elliot are doing spectacularly well. They are at home. Chad and Rhett are faring splendidly too.

Dagny Clare is beside herself with joy at her new cousin's birth

And as soon as I hit publish, I'm going over there to hold Jack Elliot, who no doubt is wondering where I am.

It's a good thing that I know where I am. I met Cherica at the hospital at midnight Wednesday night and Jack Elliot arrived six hours later. 

Three hours after that, I went home to freshen up and feed my pets, then went back to the hospital.

(Someday I will tell Jack Elliot that he was born on the first truly cool morning of a shining new autumn -- overcast and breezy early, partly cloudy, mild and continued breezy as the day waned.)

I went to bed at eight thirty that night, having been up for more than thirty-six hours.

And I hope you saw that because I will not be doing it again.

Such a wee lad to have caused such a kerfuffle

Mercy. Sleep deprivation: what a concept. The struggle is real.

So it's a good thing these beautiful mamas have the bairns while they are young and can handle such things.

Thank you for your prayers and well-wishes -- both the ones we have already received, and the ones that are sure to follow.

And that is all for now except to say, goodbye lovely eventful Sepbember, hello beautiful and long-awaited October.

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Happy Saturday

Falling

The children frolicked in the gorgeous weather

OK so here's how it went down.

Last Wednesday, our Andrew was all set to go to Alaska for eleven days with a flight crew from his unit.

Andrew is a KC-135 Stratotanker pilot attached to the 134th Air Refueling Wing of the Tennessee Air National Guard.

He and his buddies travel the globe to refuel military planes while in flight.

I got out my dollar-store clear glass plates and five-dollar goblets

And so it was that he packed up and left Brittany with both children on her own for the first time, Baby Guy one day shy of four weeks old, and reported to the base.

Only to be told that the trip to Alaska had been canceled and he would instead be going to California this week. He's there now.

Imagine Brittany's surprise when Andrew showed back up at home, his country not having required him to fly to Alaska that day after all.

We're dreaming of a new baby ... Cherica with Baby Guy

They got to talking and decided that it would be a lovely weekend to come to Columbia and show the baby off to two of Andrew's three sisters. The two who live here.

Our Stephanie and her family still have not seen Baby Guy in person.

Andrew contacted me to make sure that it would be all right for them to come and I said of course it would, and we decided to try and make it a surprise for Cherica and Rhett as well as for Audrey and Dagny.

Hey Punkin' ... you know me and my Cracker Barrel salt-and-pepper shakers

I quickly planned a spaghetti supper for Thursday evening and invited the two local families, not telling them of the special surprise guests of honor.

Then I got busy making the house ready and doing all the things, to include planning menus for the weekend, and shopping for the groceries.

The girls readily agreed to have supper with us on Thursday night and did not question the unexpected nature of the summons.

L to R ... Rhett, Skelly, Dagny, Ember

On Thursday at about five thirty, Andrew and Brittany arrived with Ember and Baby Guy. Andrew parked his truck down the street so that the girls wouldn't see it.

Erica was the first to arrive and she was all, like, whhaaaaat? when she saw Brittany standing in the kitchen, holding Baby Guy.

Audrey and Dagny came along about twenty minutes later and Dagny's jaw practically hit the floor when she saw her baby cousin for the first time.

I got these little darlings last fall

We had a splendid dinner of homemade spaghetti with meat sauce, salad, and spicy toast.

For dessert, I had bought a Marie Callender's Lattice Apple Pie -- which I baked that afternoon while making the spaghetti sauce -- and also an Edwards Cookies and Créme Pie.

What with the new Keurig and plenty of K-cups, it was EZPZ for everyone to make their own coffee.

We'll always have candlelight

It all went off without a hitch. After the festivities, Ember went home to spend the night with Audrey and Dagny while everyone else toddled off to bed here at the house.

The next day we got organized and went to CostLess Outlet Store and then hit the Costco. Two exciting destinations. Do you have a CostLess? I think it's only local here but I'm not sure.

At any rate it's a place where you can find great deals. TG found two pairs of tennis shoes -- one Puma and one Skechers -- for well under thirty dollars a pair. In his size of 13, which is not as easy as you'd think.

Baby Guy will be five weeks old tomorrow

I got a luscious fall wreath for my front door.

Later, at Costco, we enjoyed sample bites and picked up some essentials.

That night we enjoyed our standard cookout with hamburgers, chicken, and corn on the cob done by TG on the grill, together with baked macaroni and cheese and an assortment of chips and lots of varieties of soft drinks.

For dessert, Erica had brought a Costco pumpkin pie (those are excellent, IYKYK) and there was leftover apple and cookies and cream pie from the night before.

It seems I can't get enough of ceramic pumpkins

Ember went home with Audrey and Dagny again.

The next morning we hung out and drank coffee, and eventually everyone gathered to spend last moments with Andrew and Brittany and Ember and Guy, and to say goodbye for the nonce.

The weather was perfect. Gentle sunshine, low humidity, a breeze. The first day of fall.

Give Aunt Audrey a kiss ... Ember was unwilling to be captured

Dagny, Ember, and Rhett found broken tree boughs and ran all over the yard hoisting them aloft, as though they were flying kites.

Eventually it was time for leavetakings, and as you know those are always difficult moments.

As you have no doubt begun to do, we are looking forward to the holidays when we are all together again.

Here's that new door wreath I was telling you about

Our number will have swelled to seventeen by that time, when all are present and accounted for. Two of that number will be tiny infants.

We'll be creative in how we deal with the accommodations and all the rest.

But first, today and for the coming days we are on baby watch, with Erica due for her second son on October second.

Ember was already unhappy to see the party come to an end

No plans have been made to force the issue. As of now, nature will be allowed to take its course.

However, at her appointment this Friday Erica plans to ask the doctor whether she can be admitted and induced on the baby's due date of next Monday, provided he has not yet been born.

No one knows how it will go. And that is part of the thrill of anticipation.

It's a waiting game

One thing is for sure: I will give a comprehensive report when there is something to tell.

With pictures and all appropriate commentary.

You know full well that the pirate is as good as her word.

And that is all for now.

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Happy Wednesday

Tidbits

Ever know a kid who looks like an angel but occasionally walks on the wild side? Here's one.

We're back.

Well, we have been back for a week.

From our trip to Knoxville and points north.

Allow me to elaborate.

The reason for our four-day excursion was twofold: to see our new grandson in Tennessee and to attend the memorial service of our brother-in-law in Ohio.

Since the route from Columbia, South Carolina, to Toledo, Ohio, takes one right through Knoxville (well; it can ... there is an I-77 route but we don't take that one, preferring I-26 West to I-40 West to I-75 North), it's handy to break the journey at the home of our son, Andrew, and his wife, Brittany.

And now in addition to their daughter Ember, who will turn four in December, there is Baby Guy, who was two weeks old the first time we saw him.

We stopped at the new Buc-ee's at Exit 407

We left on Thursday and made a few stops on the way so as to coordinate our time of arrival with the time Ember had been fetched from preschool and everyone was at home.

Our main detour was at Buc-ee's, which has a brand-new outlet at Exit 407, Sevierville.

We stayed thirty minutes and spent eighty dollars.

Mostly that was for presents for the girls and their families back at home (because they care for our pets in our absence) but I must say, Buc-ee's is good at separating people from their money, no matter what your intention.

Don't go there unless you are prepared to part with some cash.

Back on the road, we arrived at Andrew and Brittany's at about two thirty in the afternoon.

Ember with her brand-new pirate crab squishmallow ... home run, Mari

Almost the first thing they told us when we walked in the door, was that they had just received a package from my precious friend Mari, whom they have never met in person.

In true Mari fashion, she had sent outfits for Guy and a pirate crab squishmallow toy for Ember.

Ember was holding on tight to that squishy pirate crab. I tried to get it away from her and was unsuccessful.

Isn't that the kind of sweet friend story you like to hear? It's my favorite kind of story. 

Then I got to know Baby Guy -- that was easy -- and in due time Andrew threw some chicken and corn on the cob onto the grill and I made my semi-famous semi-homemade baked macaroni and cheese, and we had a nice meal.

The next morning we were not in a big hurry to leave, because I was still busy holding Baby Guy, but by noon we were on the road to Ohio.

Baby Guy and I settled into a routine within moments of my arrival

We were checking into our hotel room by about eight thirty that evening.

Therein lies a tale. I guess if you travel at all, you know that hotels feel no need to service your room at all during your stay -- unless, in the case of Hilton hotels, you stay for at least four days.

That means that your bed will go unmade and the trash cans will overflow and the towels will be damp for four entire days. Floor vacuumed? Bathroom cleaned and restocked? Haaaaahahahahaa. Ha.

Unless you say something. Which I did, at the front desk of what is actually a beautiful Hilton property in Perrysburg, Ohio.

I was told that we could be put "on the board" if we wanted any attention paid to our room, but that in the absence of an actual request, nothing would be done to see to our comfort during a two-night stay.

We asked to be put "on the board" and when we returned to our room after a long day at the memorial service and visiting with family, the bed had been made and the trash cans had been emptied, and we had each been given one fresh towel.

TG and his brother, Ron, comparing their tall, slim, trim frames

By the time I got back home a few days later, the Hilton property in question was badgering me to complete an online survey.

And so I did, and I said how I felt about the way they do things now. As in: I don't like it. We are being conditioned in all areas of life to pay more and expect less.

Let me rephrase: I vehemently dislike it. Some resentment may enter into it as well.

A day later, I received an email from the nicest lady named Maria, who is in management at that property. The email was followed by a call.

We had a nice chat, during which Maria told me that it wasn't that the people managing the property don't want to service the rooms.

It's that they simply don't have the housekeeping staff to do it.

I placed the official MLB Seattle Mariners baseball on the table beside Johnny's cremains and his effects

Maria apologized, saying that she realized it was not up to any recognized Hilton standard anyone may have in the past been used to enjoying.

She gave us ten thousand Hilton Honors points and we parted as friends.

Folks, things are never going back to the way they used to be. In acceptance lies peace.

At the memorial, we saw TG's only sister and only brother, as well as several nephews and nieces and great-nephews and great-nieces.

Everyone was holding up pretty well, but there were moments. Ultimately the reason for our meeting there at that place at that time, was accomplished.

Since my unofficial motto is "Never go empty handed," TG and I took along an official MLB baseball stamped with the Seattle Mariners logo. Johnny was a huge baseball fan and the Mariners were his favorite team.

TG and me with my sisters-in-law Ruth and Marcia, and my brother-in-law Ron

I placed the baseball on a table next to Johnny's hat and a wooden box containing his ashes.

Throughout the memorial, but especially afterwards, I and others made sure that we took plenty of pictures, for posterity.

The church provided a meal catered from Chick-fil-A and that was stellar in every way -- have you had their macaroni and cheese? It puts mine to shame -- and after the meal, we went to the new home of TG's sister, the newly widowed Ruth.

You may recall that in May of last year, Ruth's house burned. It was a total loss.

The house was the one built by TG's late parents in 1957, when TG was five years old, and in which TG and his siblings grew up. 

So it was strange to see a new house sitting exactly where the old one had been, oriented the same way on the corner double lot, surrounded by the same neighboring houses that have sat in the vicinity for sixty-five years.

Same place but different house

The entrance of the driveway in the foreground of the picture above is unchanged from when the old house stood there, but it used to lead straight ahead to the side of the house.

The new house projects out farther on the right, making the rest of the driveway curved where it once was straight.

Where there once stood an old but treasured house full of memories, there is now a fresh, modern house that, despite having no history, will be cozy for our Ruthie as long as her life lasts.

We rejoiced about that and congratulated Ruthie and tried not to think too much about a loss that still hurts. We talked and visited with relatives to our hearts' content, before heading back to our hotel and a night of rest.

The next morning, we got up and got organized and drove the seven-or-so hours back to Knoxville. We arrived in the late afternoon and went out to dinner with Andrew and Brittany and Ember and Baby Guy.

Baby Guy is the sweetest, most content baby I have seen in a long time. He's pretty special. He slept throughout the meal and never made a peep.

This is Baby Guy's preferred mode of daily life. Photo courtesy Brittany Weber.

The next morning was Nine Eleven and we drank coffee and watched several episodes of a documentary about that sad event, on its twenty-second anniversary. Still dumbstruck by what transpired, even after all these years.

About one o'clock we headed for home. I contacted the girls en route and asked if they wanted to come over that night for supper (even on the road, I had a plan).

They readily agreed, and so that night we congregated to share stories about our trip and to give them their gifts.

We got the tee shirts for the kids at Buc-ee's. When I saw NEARLY FERAL I about died because although our Rhett looks like a cherub, he can be quite fierce.

Dagny got NO GUTS NO GLORY with a hapless skeleton because I have a ridiculous weakness for funny skeleton stuff.

Good times.

My beloved sister keeps on keeping on

A few days later my brave and remarkable sister, Kay, sent me a picture of herself with her husband and two of her daughters, holding aloft her Bachelor of Perseverance degree.

She -- who already survived another cancer eight years ago -- has completed her radiation treatments, which followed three chemo treatments, for gastric lymphoma.

We are waiting now for a good report. Your continued prayers for her are appreciated.

Later in the week I'll show you my fall decorations. The process has begun in earnest but must be ramped up before any kind of decent reveal.

I am equal to the task.

What am I reading? Well I am glad you asked because I have put down two other books to read The Bootlegger's Other Daughter by Mary Cimarolli.

An excellent memoir

In recent days, through this blog, I have made a new dear friend with whom I have a connection that goes back many decades. She is a lifelong Texan who lives near Dallas.

It's a long story but the takeaway is that she and I have enjoyed some fine fellowship via text, touching on the many things we have in common.

One thing that my new friend told me is that over the past year or so she had the opportunity to spend many Saturdays sitting with an elderly lady who is an accomplished author.

She told me the author's name and the title of her memoir, and I wasted no time in securing a copy.

I found it online at Thriftbooks, where I get most of my books. So far I'm enjoying this simple story of an American girl a great deal and can recommend it unreservedly.

Oh have you had Aldi Specially Selected Super Premium Ice Cream? Audrey told us about it. We are not among those who shop regularly at Aldi but my girls tend to be.

It's real ice cream in flavors you can get behind

This ice cream is not a half-gallon carton (that's among those things that are never going back to the way they used to be) and it costs six dollars per, but it is REAL ice cream.

Not a lame "frozen dairy dessert" with thirty-five unpronounceable additives.

There are five ingredients in this ice cream. And yes, you can taste the difference.

Chocolate and Vanilla seem to be the only varieties that meet this stiff criteria, but that's okay. I like those flavors. TG and I picked up one of each yesterday, after church.

That night after evening services, we had a houseguest. I served up the real ice cream into three generous-sized bowls, and all three of us augmented our scoops of Choc-Van with sliced almonds, Hershey's chocolate syrup, whipped cream, and maraschino cherries.

It was a bit of all right.

No Guts No Glory :: Dagny and Rhett

Before I go, one other thing I want to show you is my new Keurig.

OK here's what you need to know: One, I am fussy about my coffee; and Two, I am usually the last woman in the Western Hemisphere to latch on to a new trend.

I don't follow the crowd and jumping onto the cleverly marketed Keurig bandwagon was no exception.

Besides, until a few days ago, the only exposure I had had to coffee made in a Keurig was in a hotel room, where the Keurig made a weak, tepid swill so unlike actual coffee, that I laughed out loud.

I've said it before and I'll say it again: I drink one cup of coffee per day and it must be hot, fresh, strong, and laced with heavy cream frothed with my frother.

As a result, I travel with my own French press, my coffee, my favorite mug, my heavy cream, and my frother. I heat the water in the microwave with a large Pyrex measuring cup that I also bring along.

Papaw wanted a picture with Baby Guy, who did not bother to wake up

That way, I can make my coffee in the hotel room and it will taste as much like what I get at home, as possible. The only difference is the water. Yes; I use tap water to make my coffee.

But on our first layover at Andrew's house this trip, I noticed that they had a clever slender Keurig on the counter.

Their counter space is limited. This was a K-Slim machine -- less than five inches wide. But with multistream technology.

Which means that what punctures the K-cup is not a single needle through which the hot water flows, but five needles. An important feature because it affects the strength of the finished cup.

No one was up yet that first morning and although I had all of my own coffee gear with me, I decided to make a cup in the Keurig and see what happened.

If worse came to worst and the coffee was awful (as I fully expected), I could always pour it down the sink and no one would be the wiser.

But I suspected that at the very least, the coffee would be drinkable. Because Andrew would not tolerate weak, tepid swill passing for coffee.

Keurig K-Slim with Donut Shop K-Cup in a Krispy Kreme mug

I made the cup. I heated my cream first and frothed it, then put the cup on the machine and grabbed a Donut Shop medium roast K-cup. I pressed the 10-ounce button and then the big K button.

A few minutes later, I stood amazed.

It was delicious. That cup of coffee was strong and hot and just the way I like it. It passed muster.

That very night, in the hotel room, I ordered a machine just like Andrew's, and a supply of Donut Shop medium roast K-cups.

It's exciting. I'm sure the lustre will subside but as it stands now, I can hardly wait to get up in the morning, to make my coffee.

I got some refillable K-cups too, so that instead of pre-filled pods I can use my own brand of coffee, i.e. Cafe La Llave or Folgers Black Silk.

So far, it's going real well.

If you're a coffee drinker you probably already have a Keurig or have had one and don't use it anymore, or whatever.

Ember, zeroed in on a rock beside the cacti, moments before we left Knoxville on Nine Eleven

I stand beside you pleasantly surprised -- and more than a little awed. Two thumbs up.

OK enough product reviews. That should hold you for a while.

What is next on the horizon? Cherica's new baby is due to arrive within the next two weeks.

We are organized and energized and more than ready for that event.

Tell me what you think about that, or about anything else I've said.

I want to know.

And that is all for now.

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Happy Monday :: Happy Week

Hey Luvvy

I am unable to come up with anything new today -- there are actual reasons -- but in the depths of my own pirate blog, I found this post for you.

To my mind and heart, it is worth reading again. Especially if you have grandchildren.

And even if you don't.

Please enjoy. And please overlook the way I edited Dagny's pictures. I would never airbrush her face today and I should not have done so then.

We live and learn.

And that is all for now except, from October of 2016, a post I entitled Luvvys Gonna Love:

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It was one of those things that happen when you're not expecting anything to happen.

Much less what happened.

Good grief, you may be thinking. What on earth happened?

It won't seem like a big thing to you. But then, you weren't there.

Allow me to elaborate.

A couple of weeks ago Dagny and I were out back by the pool with several other family members. The two of us were sitting on the new black swing in some early-fall, late-afternoon shade.

As we swayed, she was mentioning her notice of avian activity in the area.

Saaaaaa birdie, she said. Pointing up for emphasis.

The wingy things flitted and perched and called and twittered, happy in the sky and in the branches of the tall pines and especially the big oak.

Then my own little thing turned to me. I glanced down at her. She looked straight into my eyes.

You want a kiss? she asked, matter-of-factly. With no warning or preamble and within no particular context. I'd give anything if you could have seen her face.

(And heard her voice. She has a southern drawl; "kiss" is two syllables mashed into one. Keeyus.)

I said I sure did.

Dagny neither puckers nor smacks. She simply lifts her face, lips parted. Her kisses are so brief, you have to be paying attention or you'll later think you imagined it.

No more than a whisper-touch. But so sweet, too much would be almost unbearable.

We settled back and swayed a time or two more. She looked up at me again.

You want a hug? she said. Like, to go along with that?

It happened pretty fast but my eyes had a chance to mist. I said yes.

Up drifted her tiny white arms. Like her kisses, her hugs at such times are minimalist, sometimes barely qualifying as an actual embrace.

(When in extremis, she clings and can become quite the barnacle. In non-alarming times, she's much more ephemeral.)

But Dagny's pretty squared away in the display-of-affection department. She knows to put her hands around your neck and bend her head so as to ensure hug-like pressure from her cloud-soft cheek to yours.

That was it. That's what happened.

I hope you won't accuse me of hyperbole when I say, it was a profound experience. It was only later, after Dagny had gone home, that I realized how profound.

While drifting off to sleep that night, I relived it. A few tears of joy may have dropped onto my pillow. Much like the ones in my eyes right now. And I knew I would never forget Dagny's two questions, and that I wouldn't trade the memory for any amount of money, or even for more time in which to remember.

So that's pretty much it.

But in perilous times when so much is at stake; when there is so much to be gained and so much to be lost hinging on the actions of so few, so soon; when merely cruising by a news channel for less time than it takes for a Dagny kiss makes you feel as though you require not just a shower, but to be hosed down with industrial-strength antiseptic, it's memorable to encounter innocence.

And it's necessary to remember every day as we encounter the mercy and grace of God, Who blesses us as Americans with more peace and freedom before breakfast than many people of the world experience in their entire lives, that in this very moment and a few critical moments to come, there is a great deal to be fought for.

And a whole lot to be fought against. Don't forget that part.

I love to sit on my front porch, which gives me a lofty remove from the street, and watch the cars go by. There aren't many; ours is a quiet neighborhood for one so large.

The boughs of the just-orange-yellow-reddening oak sigh while acorns pop off by the handfuls and dive-bomb the roof. The hummingbird feeder hangs still and ruby-like, no tiny beaks nosing around. Although we're having Indian Summer, the hummers have all gone for this year.

When I'm expecting one or more of the children to arrive for a visit or a meal, I watch as each car approaches around the bend for the make and model I recognize.

I thrill to see the gray Honda with the pink backseat front-facing car seat containing the only grandchild (of four) that I get to see enough of. The other three, I'm forced to miss most of the time although they are never far from my mind and always in my heart.

Audrey tells me that Dagny has taken to saying Hi dawling, when they come around the bend and she sees me waving from the porch. 

That's because when she walks through our door, often the first thing I say is Hi, darling!

Unless I call her by one of her other many pet appellations: Sugar, Sugarlips, Little Love, Angel Heart, Sweet Thing, Punkin' Girl, Peanut, Precious Beautiful, Poppet, et cetera. You get it.

Or I just say, Hey Luvvy.

Because when it comes to these little ones, the little ones with the great big hearts, the ones so as-yet unravaged by the things that will one day inevitably hurt them, that's what it's all about. Just love.

And that is what I wish you today.

And that is all for now.

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Happy Friday :: Happy Weekend

A Labor Day of love

These sunflower and bumble-bee gnomes went up on the ledge the first of August

As per usual when Labor Day rolls around, we had a big fancy to-do at Chez Weber on Monday.

Just as we celebrate our Erica's birthday each year on Memorial Day, we celebrate our Stephanie's birthday on Labor Day.

Those occasions sort of book-end the summer.

Once again, we had a birthday to celebrate

The grandkids and even a few of the adults enjoyed what will likely be their last swim of the summer -- and they swam and swam, for much of the day.

It's hot again. Not AS hot, and certainly cooler during these late-summer nights, but still hot and bright enough to find a multi-hour swim-and-play time refreshing and enjoyable.

Naturally, I was in the kitchen.

Melanie is happiest sitting off to one side, observing. Piper was a sentinel.

There was nothing exceptional about the meal (in fact it may have been a carbon copy of our Memorial Day feast): burgers, hot dogs, and chicken tenders on the grill; bacon to go on the burgers; barbecue beans and baked macaroni and cheese; an assortment of chips; deviled eggs; soft drinks and sparkling water.

It was all so simple but tasty and plentiful, and everyone was famished by two o'clock when we sat down to eat.

For Stephanie's birthday dessert, on Sunday night while waiting for them to arrive, I'd made an ice cream sandwich cake and popped it into the freezer. 

Yet another sunflower-bearing gnome sat his ground on the lazy Susan

Stephanie and her family, as they do every year, drove from North Carolina after Sunday evening services. Our Joel, her husband, is a pastor.

They got in around eleven o'clock. We sat up and talked until one o'clock in the morning.

There was no rush to get up early on Monday, but I was showered and dressed before nine and made a pot of coffee for Stephanie, Allissa, and me.

If you do not have an egg slicer like this one, at least you have my condolences

By one o'clock or so, everyone had arrived for swimming and the meal.

There had been one or two store runs for last-minute stuff. Most everybody ended up sitting around outside before lunch was served.

Meanwhile I had prepared all of the meat for TG and Chad to throw on the grill, but I had to make the sides.

Bees Wrap covered the freshly cooked thick-sliced bacon

Earlier that day I had put together the crock pot of barbecue beans. There is no recipe for this but in addition to the beans, it involves ketchup (some), mustard (a decent amount), Sweet Baby Ray's (lots), brown sugar (don't be stingy), and Creole seasoning (liberal sprinkling).

You make them with your heart. They are tangy and spicy. I do not serve bland food.

Then I cooked the noodles and assembled the semi-homemade baked macaroni and cheese.

Semi-homemade baked macaroni and cheese ... before baking

Next it was time to make the deviled eggs. I fired up my Dash egg cooker.

Oh and I have a new toy -- again, influenced to buy by a Korean housewife -- which maybe you already have.

But if you don't, you need one.

The birthday cake, aflame with golden candles

It's this multi-level egg slicer. It will cut your egg in half, or dice it, or slice it into pretty wedges.

I don't know what I ever did without it.

My deviled eggs were so precisely cut, they looked as though they'd been rent asunder with a laser beam. The velvety yolks practically jumped out of each half.

The birthday girl admiring her confection

I made the filling extra fluffy too. Probably my best work involving deviled eggs, to date.

Sorry but I forgot to take a picture of them after they were complete. And they didn't last long.

Another nifty kitchen tool I've had for some time, but never told you about, is Bee's Wrap.

Early evening and time to head for home

Audrey got me this for Christmas last year and I reach for it so often, I will definitely replace my supply once it has lost the qualities that make it so useful.

The package I got contained three pieces of Bee's Wrap. One is pretty small; you might use it to cover a lemon you've cut in half, or at most an apple.

The middle size sheet is larger -- ideal for placing over the top of a small container, maybe the dimensions of a cereal bowl.

The large size will cover a whole dinner plate and you have enough on the edges to fold it under.

TG and Little Andrew looking more pensive than they actually were

You rinse off and reuse your pieces of Bee's Wrap. They smell like honey.

I love them.

On Monday I used a sheet to cover the thick-sliced bacon I'd made in the oven, to go with the burgers.

So anyway we ate, and then everyone hung out while I cleared the table and made the dessert coffee. Then we had our ice cream sandwich cake.

Many conversations were going on at once

Stephanie loves pink so I had decorated the top with pink sanding sugar and festive sprinkles.

We put seven golden candles to add a little drama.

She blew those out and we sang to her, and then I carved out huge hunks of the cake for everyone to enjoy.

Then Stephanie opened her gifts. She got perfume and jewelry and a jacket, among other things.

Allissa and Dagny are never ready to say goodbye

Everyone pretty much dispersed then, for the next few hours. The kids got back into the pool. TG got in with them.

Melanie, who loves to simply sit and observe, spent much of the day seated at one end of the pool with Piper right at her feet.

It's as though Piper were guarding her.

Eventually it was time for everyone to think about leaving. I say think about, because we stood around in the yard for at least half an hour before anyone left.

Everyone gets a hug

It's sort of a tradition. Weather permitting.

Stephanie's group had a three-hour drive ahead of them, and Tuesday was a school day for little Andrew, who is in sixth grade.

Allissa, a tenth-grader, had the day off -- I don't remember why -- and was planning to go to the bank and open a checking account, since she now has a job and gets paychecks.

The Tar Heel bunch were the first to pull away

We waved and blew kisses as they drove away.

Cherica were next to leave. They still haven't chosen a name for that baby who will be here in four weeks. I've made many suggestions but for some reason they do not seem ready to let me name my fourth grandson.

I don't know why; I would do a good job at naming him.

Then Cherica and Rhett, with that as-yet-unnamed baby on board

Dagny and Audrey left last and it was only about seven o'clock.

I will admit that it's nice to retreat to one's chair and relax after so much sustained activity and action.

So it was a pleasant, quiet evening with some reflection on the events of the day.

The boy gnome has hold of a handy honey dipper

Autumn looms.

What did you do for Labor Day?

Are you enjoying September?

Tell me in the comments.

And that is all for now.

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Happy Wednesday

I'm a wreck for Weck

This cavernous glass jar holds four bricks of Cafe La Llave Espresso

The pirate's love for glass is well known. To some. 

Keep it glassy is one of my favorite sayings that I made up all by me onesie.

There's something about glass that just sort of sends me. I know I am not alone.

I alluded recently to a few YouTube channels to which my consciousness had been raised by my daughter Erica.

The first one was Hamimommy. The channel's content consists of no talking (I like that) but rather a South Korean (she lives in Seoul) wife and mother going about her daily tasks as a homemaker.

(Cooking, cleaning, shopping, and the like. Taking care of her home and family.)

There are English subtitles which you can choose -- handy because Hamimommy does add captions in her language.

These accounts include some of the cutest dogs you will ever want to hug and kiss, if only you could reach through your screen and grab them.

The strawberry motif is so endearing

Dogs are the same everywhere. They have no language. It is soothing and delightful.

Then Erica said that if I liked Hamimommy, I needed to watch Honeyjubu. She was right. 

Honeyjubu is a South Korean lady in a slightly different phase in life; as in, she has more than one child and they are older than Hami, who is for now a singleton.

Honeyjubu cleans things that are already clean, but I overlook that. Cleaning what is already clean will never enrapture me but it's her house and she can do what she likes.

I don't like much of anything these ladies cook, either, but that's not the point. It can be mesmerizing to watch them make kimchi, for example. Just go with it.

Food is incredibly important in this culture. Fresh food is much more important there than it is here. At least that is the conclusion I have come to. If I'm wrong, and you can correct me out of personal experience, please do.

Moving on. Since discovering the above two channels, I found the account/channel of Ssoberry, whom I find utterly bewitching.

And that's saying a lot because of all the things I despise in this world, camping is at the top of the list.

These jars are much larger than you probably think

When you read my memoir, you will understand why.

I shared Ssoberry with Erica. I see your Ssoberry and raise you Kitchen Story, she said.

And yes, we are all devoted to Hamzy. Hamzy predates all of the others.

Hamzy is a vibe all unto herself and you can't take it away from her. IYKYK.

There are dozens and probably hundreds of channels similar to these. If you go looking for them, you will find them there on YouTube.

I and my girls are nuts about the Koreans -- their zen culture is amazing. Much admiration for these women.

Not being by nature a very calm person (I dare you to snicker), I am drawn to their peaceful and purposeful demeanor. I love their dresses and especially their aprons. (I am a certified apron junkie).

It's the unabashed domesticity that gets me right where I live. As I often say, I am domestic to my core. I identify as a homemaker, haaaha. And a pirate.

You can use the gasket and clips if you need to

Just to clarify, it's rare (although it does happen) that we girls in our respective domiciles just sit and stare at our flatscreens while these videos are playing.

We like for them to play while we do other things. It's not like there's a plot; you won't miss anything if you go put the roast on and fold a load of laundry, then later grab a snack and pick up where you left off.

But for sheer relaxation that IS fun to just watch -- especially if you are stressed out -- try Seoul Walker.

Simply marvelous. Off the charts great. That is my kind of TV.

Another great channel gifted to my consciousness by Erica is Bread Story. It is the work of a Japanese baker. Must see to appreciate.

If I could just hang out at bakeries all day, that would be fine by me. With frequent breaks to visit a candy store.

Although I have little patience for social media in general and practically no respect for the term "influencer", let's face it: if you watch, if you read, if you pay attention to anything at all, sooner or later you are going to be influenced.

That happened a few weeks ago when I was watching a Hamimommy video. It was this one.

It's hard for me to resist cute glass jars from the dollar store

She was making milk pudding and placing single-serve portions into the most charming jars. These had white plastic lids but I had seen her use other, similar jars, that had glass lids.

I began to experience a deep need to know what kind of jars these were.

I'll spare you the gory details but shortly I got to the bottom of it: 

They are Weck jars. A German brand that is popular in Europe. Erica says that practically all of the Korean housewives use them.

My mouth began watering for a Weck jar.

And so I ordered one. It was this one.

When Erica came over several days after my Weck jar arrived, and it was ensconced on the workbench next to my Peugeot pepper grinder, holding the Kosher salt without which I can neither cook nor eat, she breathed a sigh.

I can't believe I am in the presence of a Weck jar, she said reverently.

Careful or you too will become a wreck for Weck

I know what she's getting for Christmas.

She said she didn't even realize that the Weck icon was a strawberry.

Adorable. Stunning. I wish you could experience this gorgeous jar.

It comes with a rubber gasket and two adorable clips in case you want to store something in it more important than salt.

But I like the glass-on-glass look and feel. I love lifting the large glass disc of the lid very carefully and dipping in to get a pinch or a measuring spoonful of salt.

I love the pale green color because bottle green may be the most beautiful color in the world.

Well. There is pink. Maybe I should stop right there. 

Anyway, there you have it. It's official: I am a wreck for Weck.

Call me nuts but I store my sliced almonds in this skull jar

Tell me what you are a wreck for (it does not have to rhyme) that you have been influenced to acquire.

And folks, that is it for August 2023.

Tomorrow begin my adored -ber months. Four of them, culminating in Christmas.

I hope you enjoy them to the fullest because they pass like the briefest of vapors, yet contain so much joy while they last.

And that is all for now.

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Happy Thursday :: Happy September