None other than your mother

There were gifts and cards for all of us girls

We had an extraordinarily wonderful Mother's Day.

Truly perfect in every way. Beautiful weather and lots of togetherness.

Also we ate a lot.

Much to all of our regret, we did not get to see Brittany and Andrew for the day.

They are expecting a son in late August. Chad and Erica are expecting their second child in early October. Tomorrow they will find out the baby's gender.

Chad gave Erica beautiful roses from himself and Rhett

So we are at a heightened state of excitement in our family this year, when it comes to mothering and all mother issues.

We began our celebrations on Saturday afternoon with an extended party at Erica's house.

I arrived first with Dagny, who had been at our house that morning, helping TG with yard work.

She earned ten dollars and added to that some money she already had, and we went shopping for her mother's Mother's Day gift.

Our Mother's Day party at Erica's house was on the day before

We found just what Dagny wanted to give her mother, along with an appropriately sentimental card featuring butterflies, at TJ Maxx.

That task completed, we headed out to Erica's and got there in the mid afternoon.

She had Honeyjubu on a loop on the TV and I relaxed and watched it mesmerized, for at least an hour.

Don't judge until you have binge-watched a homemaker in Seoul, South Korea, make food you'd probably never eat and relentlessly clean her already-immaculate house.

There were hamburgers and chicken done on the grill

There are a number of these types of channels and somehow these ladies make housework soul-soothing. I'm in because domesticity is basically my middle name.

(Another of Erica's favorite channels to stream on YouTube throughout the day is Bread Story. Yeah. Your mouth will water watching Japanese bakers do their thing but it will be enjoyable.)

In due time Audrey arrived, followed by Chad and then TG, and we started thinking about having supper.

There were chicken breasts and hamburgers cooked by Chad on the grill, plus a huge green salad and potato salad and corn on the cob.

Erica had made a lavish green salad, plus potato salad

I had again created my from-scratch vanilla pound cake with amaretto icing, and Erica had whipped up Lime Dessert from a legacy recipe made in decades past by TG's mother.

The only difference in the way Grandma (and Erica) made it from the original recipe of Grandma's old friend Anna Funk, was that they both used graham cracker crumbs for the crust, instead of chocolate wafer crumbs.

(Erica had contacted her Aunt Ruthie, TG's sister, to acquire said recipe, which Ruth provided in a text of a picture of Grandma's actual recipe card.)

There were fresh strawberries to put atop your slice of pound cake, if you desired.

Erica's sideboard was laden with gifts

Along with a dress given to me for Christmas by Erica, I wore my mother's diamond earrings and one of the two Ginger Snaps necklaces I had given her over the years, which she loved.

The meal was divine and when it was over all except for the dessert, none of us could yet face dessert.

Chad and TG went out front to sit on the porch and watch Rhett play in the yard.

We ladies lounged in the living room and chatted while the Japanese bakers on TV made enough bread and rolls and cakes and donuts to feed the Spanish Armada.

I have made a habit of making this vanilla pound cake

In due time the men came back inside and we decided it was time for presents.

We girls all give and get presents on Mother's Day. Do they do that in your family?

In my version of events, this whole thing was started by my late mother. I don't remember the year, but I do remember being touched the first time my mother gave me a present on Mother's Day.

None of my daughters were married or mothers at that time.

Since I love buying and giving presents, I knew that henceforth and forever, when my daughters did become mothers, I would buy them gifts on Mother's Day.

We will use just about any excuse to give presents to one another

And I have always done so.

A few weeks ago, TG went on his annual golf trip at Hermitage Golf Course in Nashville, where he and some longtime friends have a four-day tournament named after one of their members who has passed on.

They stay in the cottages at Hermitage, where a herd of Scottish black-faced sheep roam the golf course at will.

He left home late on a Tuesday and traveled to Knoxville, where he played a pre-golf tournament game of golf with our Andrew, and then had dinner with him and Brittany and Ember.

I had prepared Brittany's Mother's Day gift and sent it along with him. I also sent fresh-baked bread.

Erica provided fresh strawberries to put on your cake or eat by themselves

For my girls I typically buy kitchen-themed gifts, since we all love dishes. Audrey got a necklace and a mug.

In fact, so that I and each of my three daughters could have one, I bought a set of Calamity Ware Things Could Be Worse mugs.

To remind all of us that as bad as things are on any given day, they could always be ... you guessed it. Worse.

Everyone (except Stephanie, who hasn't got hers yet and I hope she's not reading this) thought those were really funny and useful.

My gift from Andrew and Brittany was in this pretty bag ... the hot-pink mailer was from Stephanie

The idea for that gift was hatched when, in mid-April, we had gathered at Cracker Barrel in Fort Mill, South Carolina, right on the North Carolina line, for Allissa's fifteenth birthday party.

(I have yet to tell you all about that party, but I will do so.)

A few of us were served our meals on Cracker Barrel's classic Blue Willow plates.

Audrey commented on how much she loves blue and white dishes and Blue Willow in particular.

Our friend Andrea from church was smiling by the time services were over

It was only a few days later when my consciousness was raised (hint: if you have something to sell, Instagram advertising works) to the existence of Calamity Ware.

It's a particularly meaningful gift coming from me, because I do (ahem) tend to envision the worst-case scenario first, before relaxing and considering a better-case outcome.

(I mean, I'm pretty sure it behooves a pirate to see the blackest angle to begin with, so that everything after that looks rosier. And there IS a pirate ship on the Things Could Be Worse mugs. I figure it's coming to the rescue.)

Four cards: one from each of my four babies

As they are every year, my children were especially generous to and thoughtful of me. I am a fortunate mother.

Then it really was time for dessert. I enjoyed a thin slice of vanilla pound cake with strawberries, as well as a square of Grandma's Lime Dessert.

Scrumptious.

We didn't want the party to break up, but eventually it did and we all went home to get a good sleep in preparation for Mother's Day.

From the Kitchen of Anna F, who was a dear friend to TG's family: TG's mom's decades-old recipe card

At our church there is a lavish breakfast for ladies only, during the Sunday School hour on Mother's Day.

We were all there and sat at a table together with our friend Andrea, whose mother was not with her.

(It takes some effort to cheer Andrea up on Mother's Day every year because she longs for her mom to join her, and there were some tears, and she refused to eat, but Dagny got her some chocolate milk and she drank that and perked up.)

Then we had a church service in which, as every year since 1986, the Mother of the Year was recognized and given a beautiful commemorative plaque and other gifts.

Cousins: Dagny and Rhett

This year, the Mother of the Year was the daughter of our church's first-ever Mother of the Year thirty-seven years ago. I thought that was special.

Other mothers were recognized as well, and then there was a sermon and it was over.

We took some pictures in the parking lot before going home to change into more casual clothes.

Little Mama: One in her arms and another on board

Then we all met at Waffle House.

I know! Two breakfasts in four hours! But we managed it, and it was super fun.

(We did it for Chad and TG, who had not eaten yet that day. We weren't about to cook for them, haha.)

My sister, Kay, was never far from my mind on Mother's Day. She would be starting chemo the very next day.

When I was in Greenville the week before, we had gone to the store for fake flowers and then visited our mother's grave.

Mother's Day 2023: Me with two of my three daughters and one of my four granddaughters

I'm glad my mom isn't alive to see Kay, her firstborn, go through cancer treatments again.

She would have been devastated.

But my sister is a trouper and if I know her at all, she will weather this storm with grace and aplomb as she has done before.

I'm in touch with her every day and so far, she is hanging in there.

She needs your continued prayers and I covet them for her.

Kay and I placed flowers at our mother's grave last week

Now it's on to the next event, which for me is in a few weeks and I cannot WAIT to tell you about it, once it has taken place.

But you will have to wait because it's still in the future and even the Pirate cannot write about what has yet to happen.

Meanwhile, how was your Mother's Day?

I'm anxious for the details.

And that is all for now.

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Happy Thursday

Going with the ebb and flow

I told Audrey: It's a great privilege to turn forty

On March twenty-fifth (this past, haha) we all met in Asheville, North Carolina, for a double birthday party.

The only one absent was our Joel, who is a pastor and does not take off on Saturdays (for it was a Saturday).

Instead, he visits church members and potential visitors and prepares for Sunday.

But everyone else was there -- even Andrew and Brittany and Ember. 

Audrey, Dagny, Chad, Erica, and Rhett had driven from Columbia that morning, as had TG and I.

Stephanie, Melanie, Allissa, and Little Andrew came from Lenoir. They brought their adorable puppy, Piper.

We were prepared to party

The occasion was the birthdays of our Audrey, who turned forty, and our Andrew, who turned thirty-four.

They were born exactly six years and one week apart.

This particular weekend fell right in the middle of their two birthdays, so it was the ideal day to meet.

We had found the ideal place, too. After deciding on Asheville as a doable distance for everyone to drive, I did some research and narrowed down our choices of parks in the area to the French Broad River Park.

It has a beautiful gazebo with just the right number of picnic tables for our party. There were two grills on its edge, and the restrooms were nearby. The scenic French Broad River flowed about thirty yards away.

I had several conversations with an exceptionally kind and courteous lady named Nora at the parks department, in the process of making my selection. She could not have been more helpful.

My apple pie baked beans got a grill all to themselves

As for that gazebo, we claimed it by all pitching in to pay the cost -- very reasonable -- although it is first come, first served for free if you want to take a chance that it will be available when you arrive.

We didn't want to take that chance so we paid our money to reserve the space, and I started planning.

The weather on the day was gorgeous, just warm enough, just cool enough, if a trifle more windy than I prefer.

Of course there were hamburgers and hot dogs. In addition, I had brought apple pie baked beans and potato salad and corn chips with plenty of salsa.

I had made a Mexican Chocolate Loaf Cake with powdered sugar sieved on top, and a Vanilla Pound Cake drizzled with amaretto icing.

It was a tad too windy but we made do although we did lose a few of those balloons

Stephanie had brought Watergate Salad and Erica contributed even more chips and dip.

I had made two huge thermoses of hot coffee, and we even had heavy cream and an assortment of mugs from home to drink it from.

I had also baked all week so I could bring fresh homemade bread for each of the families to take home. Like a party favor. I asked myself, what kind of party favor would I like? And bread sprang to mind, so bread it was.

When we got to the park and found our gazebo in the late morning, I started setting everything up and TG got the grills going.

Pretty soon everyone was there, and the kids were enjoying running around in the sunshine on the plenteous grass, and going down to the decking built out over the river.

Piper was prepared to party too but she wanted out of her crate

The park is only about ten miles from Olivette, where Andrew and Brittany were married five years ago.

We were pretty excited about celebrating Audrey's fortieth birthday, because that's a milestone.

I had encouraged everyone to get her what she really wanted: An assortment of higher-end stackable beaded bracelets that are so popular right now.

The girls all enjoyed conferring and sending links back and forth amongst themselves and to me, while deciding on which ones to get her.

TG and I took advantage of a January sale at Swarovski online, and bought her a ring and a necklace.

Melanie is in the habit of sitting off to the side and observing the action

She loves jewelry. We all do.

As for Andrew, I took a chance on a new bottle of cologne for him.

It all started when I got to talking to a new friend at church several months ago. In short order, we bonded over the subject of perfume.

We both love perfumes. Her name is Susan and, like me, she has older children. Her son, though in his early twenties, still lives at home and she told me that, as a young single working man can do, he'd treated himself to a bottle of Creed Aventus.

I was impressed because I know how expensive Creed fragrances are. I wanted to get TG some for his seventieth birthday but I quite literally could not afford it.

Ember gets right in the middle of things

Susan told me that likewise, she had wanted to get some Creed Aventus for her husband, after smelling it on her son.

But they quite literally could not afford it, either.

So she said, they ventured out into the unknown, took a chance, and bought a bottle of Fragrace Club Inspired by Aventus. On Amazon.

A knockoff, as it were.

I was intrigued and said so. Susan offered to bring me samples of each. 

I had to bring everything but the kitchen sink with me

Sure enough, she did that, and I opened two baggies -- one containing a a large card spritzed generously with the real Creed Aventus, cadged from her son, and a spritz of her husband's Inspired by Aventus (which costs ten times less) on another card -- one at a time, and sniffed with eager enthusiasm.

Heavenly. Both of them.

But it gets better. Not only were the two fragrances nearly identical, but I almost thought that I liked the Inspired by Aventus better than the actual Creed Aventus.

I'm not sure that I could, even now, tell the difference between them.

For several weeks I kept opening those baggies and sniffing those two cards, thinking something in the back of my mind but afraid to really invite it to the front of my mind, where it may have led to action.

My MacKenzie-Childs enameled bowl travels well

As in, the purchase of a bottle of Inspired by Aventus for my son Andrew's thirty-fourth birthday.

Why would that be such a big deal, involving so much thought? You may be asking.

Because after the inevitable Axe Body Spray phase that hordes of young men went through if they were teens in the early aughts, Andrew, when he went away to the military and to college, began wearing Liz Claiborne Curve.

And never stopped. You might say it is his signature fragrance. It's inexpensive but it smells wonderful on him.

So even though my investment in a bottle of Inspired by Aventus for him may not have been a big one, it was still his birthday present and I didn't want to get it wrong.

There was plenty of hot coffee with cream, and real mugs to drink it from

When he opened it, there under the gazebo at French Broad River Park, a few days before his birthday, I was anxious. 

Let me tell you why I got you that, I said. And I told him that to me, while Liz Claiborne Curve smells very good on him and is so strongly associated with him that it IS him, I felt during all those weeks of sniffing Inspired by Aventus that it was even more him.

I told him that to me, Inspired by Aventus (and the real Aventus too, if I'm being brutally if not frugally honest) smells like grown-up Andrew.

That when I smell it, it brings to mind adventure and aviation and a handsome family man who is smart and strong enough to pilot the KC-135 Stratotanker but gentle enough to play dolls with his three-year-old daughter, and take her outside and make a fire and teach her how to roast marshmallows.

Audrey was thrilled with the bracelets her siblings chose for her

Anyway I was so distracted while watching him open his gift and waiting for the moment that he sprayed it and sniffed it -- and that Brittany did the same, because let's face it, she had to like it too in order for the present to be a success -- that I forgot to take a picture of him.

He loves -- LOVES -- Inspired by Aventus. His wife does too. Andrew has called a few times since then to tell me that he's wild about it, and will likely never go back to wearing Liz Claiborne Curve. At least not after he finishes his current bottle.

I'm hoping that when he turns forty, I can afford to get him a bottle of the real Creed Aventus.

Meanwhile I need to get TG some of that fake stuff (maybe for Father's Day) because when Andrew sprayed it into the air at the party, I got a whiff and was reminded of how truly magical it is. Off the charts, as a matter of fact. Spectacular and marvelous.

This was only one of our food-laden picnic tables

Worth every cent although it certainly did not break the bank.

So it was that, festivities concluded, we all packed up and left for home at around four o'clock, full and happy and tired. The birthday honorees loved their presents and that was the best part.

The children were tired out from playing, but in a good way. Maybe Rhett would sleep on the two-hour drive home (he didn't).

At the time of that party we had already embarked on a remodel of our bedroom and master bath.

It took seven weeks total and it was harrowing, but it's done now and it looks rather beautiful, but I hope I never have to do that again.

A few weeks after that party, we had a party for Allissa's fifteenth birthday. I'll tell you about that next week.

There was cake and plenty of it

I would promise to do it later this week, but I have to go to Greenville for a few days. When I get back, it will be time to prepare for our Mother's Day celebrations.

My beloved sister, Kay (fifteen months older than me), who survived breast cancer nearly ten years ago, has now been diagnosed with non-Hodgkins Lymphoma.

We are brokenhearted because that's scary and potentially devastating, but the report is guardedly optimistic and we are counting on her receiving excellent care as she did before.

I haven't see Kay since her birthday in December (she's in that post; you just have to scroll down), so I'm going to Greenville to hang out with her and provide whatever support and assistance I can.

I'm not going empty handed. Today I made a huge pot of potato corn chowder, four loaves of homemade bread (two for Kay and two for Henry) and another one of those vanilla pound cakes drizzled with amaretto icing.

It's always a hit. I'll take everything with me and get there in time for lunch on Wednesday.

On your birthday and every day, I wish you all the precious gifts

I've also got a Mother's Day gift to leave with Kay.

Please pray that the Lord in His wisdom will guide my sister's doctors in the best course of action to help her.

For he knoweth the way that I take: when he hath tried me, I shall come forth as gold. (Job 23:10)

And that is all for now.

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Happy Tuesday

As you lime it

Recently I got these Pioneer Woman mini pie plates. Cute, no?

We had a truly wonderful Easter holiday, and a particularly spectacular Easter dinner.

I don't say that to brag; I am a competent but not a gifted cook. I just do what's easy and tasty and basically foolproof and it works almost every time.

A lilac-scented candle decorated the air around our Easter dinner table

For our meat I decided on London Broil. I put it in the Crock Pot semi-frozen the night before, sprinkled the top with one packet each of au jus mix and Ranch dressing mix, and dotted it with a whole stick of butter, in pats.

I used a slow cooker liner for zero cleanup, popped the lid on, and put the crockery part back in the fridge.

Our London Broil, done in the Crock Pot, Mississippi Pot Roast style

On Sunday morning I reunited the crockery with the heat-up part and set it to high. It took a total of five hours to go from semi-frozen to fork-tender and mouth-wateringly delicious.

For sides, we had Crock Pot creamed corn: One two-pound bag of frozen sweet whole-kernel corn, one 8-oz block of cream cheese, half a stick of butter, three tablespoons of sugar, one-half teaspoon of salt, one cup of milk, and one-half cup heavy cream. Put it all in at once; you don't even have to stir until later.

Dagny swoons when she sees this Crock Pot creamed corn

I cooked it on low for about four and a half hours.

We also had mashed potatoes -- a staple -- but this time, I added a twist: To my usual big potful (about three pounds) of soft-cooked potato chunks I added one stick of butter melted with a generous splash of milk, some salt and pepper, a very large dollop of sour cream (I add a lot ... it may be as much as two cups), and a packet of onion soup mix.

My mashed potatoes are rustic: I leave the skins on and sometimes serve them right out of the pot

The onion soup mix is the new twist. I've never done that before but I will be doing it again.

The idea developed during a recent impromptu family meal that we all enjoyed at Erica's house.

Rhett was sick and I was at Erica's, helping her out. The rest of the family were at Wednesday night prayer meeting. Dagny was on spring break and did not have school that week so we decided to feed everyone when church was over.

I made my pineapple casserole in the charming deep-dish pie plate that Stephanie gave me for Christmas

Erica had some hamburgers in the freezer so we decided to bake those in the oven. I got started on the mashed potatoes. 

When they were cooked and it was time to mash and season them, I discovered that Erica did not have quite enough sour cream to make mashed potatoes the way I usually make them.

She poked around in the fridge and found some onion dip that she had made with sour cream and onion soup mix just a few days earlier.

This bunny holds up these ceramic petit-four salt-and-pepper shakers every year

I added all of it to the mashed potatoes.

Wow. You'll want to be trying that.

So anyway, on Sunday I added the onion soup mix to our mashed potatoes and again, it was a big hit.

I nestled my lambie rubber stamp into this tiny Longaberger basket

I also made the traditional Easter pineapple casserole using this Southern Living recipe. It's fabulous and if you've never made it, you should correct that omission as soon as possible.

Generally speaking that dish is meant to be paired with ham, but we did not opt for ham this year and I can assure you that it's just as delectable served alongside London Broil and onion mashed potatoes.

Two of our precious beautifuls, in front of the Easter cross at church

(When making that recipe, I will say that I don't measure the cheese to one cup. I add more. I add less sugar, though. Just a sprinkle will do.)

I had made fresh bread and it was cut into slabs, with real butter to put on it.

For dessert I made two things: A vanilla pound cake using this recipe (only, I use three eggs instead of two) and glazed with confectioners sugar mixed with lemon juice; and

There may be better pound cake recipes, but none that are easier to make

Lime Cracker Pie. Which is basically the reason I am writing this post: to tell you about Lime Cracker Pie.

I happened to see this recipe on Instagram and knew instantly that it was my destiny to make it.

Since I'd never made it before and wasn't sure how it would turn out, I had the pound cake for backup.

This little pink wicker bunny comes out every year

It wasn't necessary. Lime Cracker Pie is one of the most heavenly desserts I have ever tasted.

You'll want to try this for one of your summer spreads. Maybe your Memorial Day cookout!

Without further ado, I give you:

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LIME CRACKER PIE

HERE’S WHAT YOU NEED:

A bagful of limes. The bag I bought had nine limes and I used them all.

1 box (the kind with four sleeves) Original Ritz crackers. You could use club crackers.

2 14-oz cans sweetened condensed milk

2 and 1/2 cups heavy whipping cream

About 1/4 cup Nellie & Joe’s Key West lime juice

HERE’S WHAT YOU DO:

Zest the limes until you’ve got at least one cup of zest. More is better.

Juice the limes and if necessary, add bottled lime juice to make one cup.

To a large mixing bowl add the sweetened condensed milk, the heavy cream, the lime juice, and a bunch of the lime zest (reserve enough for garnish). More is better.

Whisk the mixture by hand for about two minutes. It will thicken into a custard-like consistency (that will thicken a lot more in the refrigerator).

Coat the bottom of a baking dish with one cup of the lime custard mixture. 

The dish you use is up to you but I used my 8x12 Pioneer Woman baking dish and it was the perfect size. I guess you could use a 9x13 dish but I think a slightly smaller one is ideal because it affects the thickness of the dessert.

Arrange a layer of Ritz crackers atop the custard layer. Put the crackers as close together as possible. (I used about 3 and 1/2 sleeves of Ritz total.)

Do another layer of custard and another layer of Ritz crackers and so on, until you have just enough custard to make the top layer.

Garnish with the remainder of the lime zest mixed with Ritz cracker crumbs. 

Cover lightly with plastic and refrigerate overnight.

NOTES:

This recipe can of course be halved, and in that case would probably be just right for a deep dish pie plate or even an 8x8 baking dish.

I saw some versions of this recipe using cookies instead of crackers. Nope; too sweet. 

Substitute lemons to get the same basic idea, lemon flavor … but the lime is sublime, haha.

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Lime Cracker Pie: I would rate it among the top three desserts I have ever made

Our weather on Easter was ideal: sunny and cool. A trifle breezy.

The day before, Saturday, we had a winter day. Seriously. The high was about forty-five degrees and it rained pretty hard for twelve hours straight. I had to turn the heat back on in the house.

I enjoyed it so much. I stayed in my comfy-cozies and baked and cooked all day. 

In my next post, I'll tell you exactly how I make this irresistible no-knead peasant bread

On Easter morning it was still only in the forties when we left for church, and I did wear my faux-fur jacket and opera-length leather gloves, but when we got to church and TG let me out of the car at the door, I took those off because the sun was out and it was up to fifty degrees.

You can see by the picture of TG and me that it had warmed up considerably by the time we left to go home.

TG and me: This was our forty-fifth Easter together

After dinner with Audrey and Dagny, Cherica and baby Rhett stopped by. They'd been with some of Chad's relatives for Easter dinner.

Chad had some coffee and hung out with TG while the girls and I entertained the children.

Once Cherica and Rhett left, Audrey, Dagny, and I took a walk in the glorious spring weather.

Kiss another Easter goodbye

And now April is on the wane and I am already planning for Mother's Day.

But first, Allissa has a special birthday this weekend, and on Friday night we'll be meeting together in Charlotte for her party.

I'll tell you about that next week.

But first please tell me about your Easter, and the many blessings it held.

That will make me so happy.

And that is all for now.

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Happy Weekend

Moonlight and magnolias ... and murder. But no pizza.

The Colleton County Courthouse was built in 1820

Ugh ... I bet some of you thought that the Pirate had left the chat. Permanently.

Not so fast! And not so fortunate.

Someday I will tell you about the past month in my life. But not today.

Today I want to tell you, as promised, about our family's trip to Hampton and Colleton Counties, South Carolina.

It's been a few weeks ago and these names may not sound as familiar to you today, as they would have then.

Newer, more gruesome and heartbreaking news stories have supplanted the horrors of the Murdaugh murder trial.

The kennels at Moselle. Click to embiggen.

Be that as it may, it occurred a scant two-hour drive from our doorstep, in the South Carolina Lowcountry, and thus generated more interest for me than it would have, had it taken place in a less familiar location.

It was our own homegrown Southern gothic murder mystery, that we've lived with since the news was broken that Margaret Branstetter "Maggie/Mags" Murdaugh, 52, and her son Paul Terry "Paul-Paul" (if you know, you know) Murdaugh, 22, were shot to death outside their hunting lodge's dog kennels on the hot, humid night of June 7, 2021.

In planning this excursion so as to stand in, and breathe the air of, the places where the drama unfolded -- both the crime and the world-famous trial -- I was reminded of a trip TG and I took to Fayetteville, North Carolina, in the summer of 1984.

I had read, in the previous year, Joe McGinniss's riveting true-crime classic Fatal Vision, and become fascinated by the crime.

Jeffrey MacDonald, convicted in August of 1979 of murdering his pregnant wife Colette and two small daughters during the cold, wet night and early morning of February 16-17, 1970, had by then been locked up for just shy of five years.

Audrey, the miscreant, after nearly getting thrown in the hoosegow

Due to the ineptitude of Fort Bragg military police, detectives, and prosecutors, he went free for nearly a decade after the murders.

At any rate, on an afternoon in June of 1984 (we were in Fayetteville for a wedding), TG and I sat in our car outside 544 Castle Drive, on Fort Bragg, facing the dwelling where the little family had lived right up until the end.

The windows and doors were boarded up; although the Army sent someone in to defrost the refrigerator (remember those days?) every couple of months, no one had ever lived there again.

Using my Kodak Instamatic I took a picture that, if I could find it, I'd show to you. But you can see one nearly identical to it in the link below.

The apartment-like housing unit is now gone, demolished in 2008.

The fancy entrance to Moselle

Fast forward nearly forty years to the hours just after the conviction and sentencing of Aleck/Alecks/Ellick Murdock/Murdaw/Murdah (if you know, you know) at the Colleton County Courthouse in Walterboro, South Carolina, and we were headed in that direction.

But first, Moselle.

If you watched and/or listened to Aleck/Alecks/Ellick's lying-dog testimony at his trial on February 23 and 24, 2023, you heard the recording on which he frantically told the 911 operator on the night of June 7, 2021 that the address where the first responders would find him (and the corpses of his wife and son) was 4147 Moselle Road.

That's located in the map dot of Islandton, South Carolina.

On the day of our trip in early March, a few days after the jury found Aleck/Alecks/Ellick guilty (they deliberated for less than two and a half hours) and Judge Clifton Newman sentenced him to two consecutive life sentences in a maximum-security prison, the weather was fine -- even going towards a little too warm.

Dagny in the gazebo at Hampton Cemetery

(We've had plenty of cold days since then. Then a few more hot ones. Tomorrow -- Saturday, the day before Easter -- is forecast to be cold, high of 50 if we're lucky, with a driving rain.)

(Easter Sunday will be cold too. I've had to tweak my Easter outfit to include hosiery, plus my Calvin Klein faux-fur jacket with elbow-length sleeves, worn with opera-length leather gloves, as it will be in the forties when we leave the house for church.)

(I'll have someone take a picture to show you.)

On this day we all headed for the Lowcountry -- all being TG and me, Audrey and Dagny, Chad, Erica (Cherica) Baby Rhett, and our friend Andrea from church (otherwise known as the usual suspects) -- in two white SUVs.

We like to keep it pure and simple.

Maggie Murdaugh is not buried here ... but you can leave flowers for her. Click to embiggen.

When we arrived at 4147 Moselle Road, which if you know, you know, has two entrances -- a fancy one leading to the house and a more utilitarian one leading to the kennels, lying perhaps forty yards apart -- we were not the first to arrive.

Several cars were parked on the side of the road -- both sides -- and maybe a half dozen folks besides us were milling about.

TG parked on the verge a respectful distance from either of the two driveways. Chad parked behind us. We all got out.

I had my Nikon DSLR with the zoom lens and I walked towards the kennel entrance, where there is an ordinary black plastic mailbox.

On the mailbox was a tired, dusty ribbon -- with streamers, like you'd put on a large present -- and a small black sign that said NO TRESPASSING in orange lettering.

Paul-Paul's passing is commemorated in the same way as his mother's. Click to embiggen.

I saw the sign and stopped several feet before the mailbox, and started snapping pictures. It's surprising how close those kennels are to that entrance. I was not trespassing. Three or four steps back and I would be in the road.

Audrey was pretty close behind me and she must not have seen the NO TRESPASSING sign because she kept walking, going a few steps past the mailbox. She was sort of mesmerized by her surroundings.

I was about to say something, tell her to come back, but I didn't have a chance.

IF YOU TAKE ONE MORE STEP I WILL ARREST YOU AND TAKE YOU TO JAIL!!!

This from a loud, angry, booming, rude, hateful male-type voice behind us, in the road.

Paul-Paul was planning to plant new sunflowers in the dove field at Moselle

I turned around. There in the road was a Colleton County Sheriff's Office vehicle.

The officer seated in said vehicle had directed his angry words at our Audrey.

I didn't see the officer's face but she later told me that he had red hair. A glut of gingers inhabit that part of the world, apparently.

Then:

EVERYBODY LEAVE THE PROPERTY. NOW!!!

We -- our party plus the other gawkers -- all walked back to our cars and drove away. Chad and Erica didn't get to see anything. 

Maggie's and Paul-Paul's metal signs are easy to find because of this massive marble Murdaugh marker

I got a few pictures of the entrances, is all. But that's all I really wanted. Well -- I wanted to stand there beside the driveway for a few minutes, just taking in the vibe.

But we were not allowed to do that -- although again I stress, we were not trespassing. I don't care who you are or who your daddy or granddaddy was or how much money you've stolen or how many family members you've killed, you don't own the public road in front of your house.

The seventeen-hundred-acre property has been all but deserted since the night of the crime. In the weeks since the trial, it has been sold.

About a week after this incident, I wrote a nice letter to the Sheriff of Colleton County.

I politely pointed out that although my adult daughter had wandered a few steps beyond the small NO TRESPASSING sign (which she did not see, which I realize is no excuse, but still), she wasn't going to walk onto the property.

Dagny and Rhett: Cousins who love to be together anywhere, any time, anyplace

I said: All your officer had to do was get out of his car and say: Folks, I understand your curiosity but everyone needs to just move along. And that's all. Everyone would have moved along.

No need for belligerently bellowed threats delivered in an unchivalrous, downright churlish manner. No need for scorched earth.

I reminded him that one of the primary lawyers (either Jim Griffin for the defense or Creighton Waters for the prosecution; I can't remember which) whined near the end of the trial that on the previous weekend, people were crawling all over the kennels and even taking selfies in front of the feed room door where Paul-Paul's body was found.

Where were the angry, threatening police officers then? It was private property then too and those people were ACTUALLY trespassing.

I also pointed out that I thought it interesting that just after a trial during which it was revealed that for more than a century, the Murdock/Murdaw/Murdah clan have gotten away with everything from intimidation and illegal fixing to embezzling to drug addiction, to rape, to underage drinking resulting in deaths, to suspected murders and actual murders, with the full cooperation and collusion of local law enforcement, it was us they decided to threaten with jail.

Relics from the famous trial remained on the courthouse property

Yes! Ordinary hard-working, law-abiding, church-going taxpayers, longtime citizens of South Carolina, were threatened with jail for simply standing by the side of the road and walking a few steps past a mailbox.

Not members of the Lucky-Last-Name Club, though, who for decades have flouted the law with impunity.

I get it.

Sheriff Guerry L. "Buddy" Hill responded to my missive thusly:

Mrs. Weber, thank you for your email. I will certainly look into this as I do not tolerate our Deputies being rude or disrespectful to anyone. 

Enough said.

Moving right along.

Walterboro has its charms

Our next stop was Hampton Cemetery, where Maggie and Paul-Paul are not actually buried (they were cremated and no one has told me who has the ashes but I would imagine it is Buster or perhaps Maggie's parents, Grandmawr and Papa T -- if you know, you know), but where there is a grave of sorts, beside the actual grave of Aleck/Alecks/Ellick's father, Randolph Murdaugh III, who passed away three days after the murders.

The cemetery is not all that large and we located the graves right away. We saw the fresh flowers that Buster Murdaugh, accompanied by his girlfriend Brooklynn White, left only a few days before, stalked by photographers all the while.

Buster was, I mean. Not us. In this instance we were not stalked by anyone. I was the only photographer on the day we went.

After spending several minutes there in that quiet and undisturbed but rather pitiful place (there are no grave markers but only the metal signs put there nearly two years ago by the funeral home), and paying our respects, we walked over to a gazebo and sat for a while.

Dagny wanted to pose beside the courthouse, amid the blooms

A gentleman who had been visiting a few graves and was leaving, struck up a conversation with me. Turns out that, like me, he is a taphophlle (one who enjoys wandering amongst the tombs). We had a lot in common.

TG talked to him for a while after I had gone on to take some pictures of Dagny and Rhett.

After we'd rested for a bit -- I must admit that our confrontation with the law had put a damper on our spirits and we were struggling to get back into the swing of things), we opted to drive the twenty minutes to Walterboro -- billed as The Front Porch of the Lowcountry. Their symbol is a red rocking chair.

The red rocking chair motif is ubiquitous

Once there, we parked and walked around the bridal-white antebellum Colleton County Courthouse. Crowd restraint barriers and orange cones were still positioned in its immediate proximity, relics of the just-concluded trial.

At the courthouse's back corner, on the street, there was a fountain where Baby Rhett, watched over by Chad, played and cooled his fingers.

We decided to walk east on East Washington Street towards the Walterboro Water Tower, one of only three standpipe water towers in South Carolina, which in years gone by doubled as a county jail. The sidewalks were deserted.

Can you imagine, looking at the pictures, being incarcerated in such a place as that stone tower, during a South Carolina summer?

After making the most of that, we walked some more and then decided it was time to eat.

Baby Rhett busied himself in the streams of cool water from the fountain. Click to embiggen.

A friend who lived for many years in Walterboro had recommended Castillo's for pizza. We were all excited. The children were starving.

Andrea warned that she was so hungry, she was fixing to eat her own skin.

We were seated in the decidedly plain establishment, and in due time a young man shuffled over and took our drink orders.

It took a pretty good while for those to be delivered to the table; they came in two distinctly separate batches, many minutes apart. There was no urgency whatsoever to get us served in a timely manner.

Until another couple came in and were seated, we were the only dine-in party. Pretty soon we figured out that Castillo's does the majority of its business in takeout orders. Diner-inners are an anomaly, and it would seem not a particularly welcome one.

The water tower juts skyward at the end of East Washington Street, amid a welter of wires

But we'd been assured that the pizza was stellar, so we settled in to wait. It was just a little after five.

A while later, the young man came back to take our orders. That was a process, since there were so many of us. I watched him, at the conclusion of the exchange, shuffle back to the far end of the restaurant where he stayed most of the time.

He did not veer over to the kitchen where we could see the pizza chefs preparing food. Our order ticket was still in his hand.

I watched carefully to see whether he input our order into a computer or something. He didn't.

Twenty minutes (at least) went by. We were getting antsy. Rhett was reacting. Dagny was deflated.

Imagine Audrey's face peering out from behind the bars

Somewhere in the world, as we cooled our heels on the linoleum floor of Castillo's in Walterboro, fortunes were made and squandered. Old dreams died and new were born. 

Eventually the young man returned to our table. I just turned your order in, he announced.

I was agog. Just now? We ordered nearly a half hour ago! How long will it be before it's ready?

He was unfazed by my dismay. About twenty-five minutes or so, he said. It's all fresh ma --

I looked around the table. Erica was shaking her head no. Then she got up.

We can't wait that long, she said. Rhett had had enough of crackers from his diaper bag, washed down with water. He needed a hot meal.

No air conditioning ... just sit and swelter, and think about what you did to get there

We all got up. We went to the window where the chefs were visible, canceled our orders, and paid for our soft drinks.

As we were leaving, the young man hollered after us that there was a Domino's and a Little Caesar's nearby.

I said: But we were recommended to eat here, and we wanted to eat here, but we've been here an hour with no sign of food.

He just looked at me. No apology of any kind was offered.

We left.

And ended up at a Cracker Barrel, which was not only not what we wanted, but turned out to be only marginally better. To begin with, there was no jelly -- no jelly AT ALL -- to go on the biscuits.

It was five o'clock when we sought food but much, much later when we finally got some

I know. First-world problems. But still.

And I sat for fifteen minutes after everyone else had been served, waiting for my grilled chicken tenders with cole slaw and green beans.

When they arrived, I ate fast because I was the only one eating.

Overall the trip was, perhaps not an unmitigated disaster, but certainly not a resounding success.

However, we were all together on a beautiful day and we saw some things and gained perspective of a few other things, and made a few memories, albeit not all of them pleasant.

Spring blossoms were abundant at the Colleton County Courthouse

I can think of worse scenarios -- like, for example, being embroiled in the unfortunate family dynamics that resulted in the terrible tragedies that had brought us there in the first place.

Thanks be to God, I don't know what that is like.

Which brings us to this: I wish anyone who has dropped in, a happy and peaceful Easter holiday.

I think about you every day and wonder how you're doing. I'll be by soon to visit you.

And that is all for now.

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Happy Saturday :: Happy Easter

Marching on

We always say it with balloons ... among other ways

Spring has arrived in the midlands of South Carolina (actually it's old hat by now; we've practically moved on to summer), and along with it our annual parade of family birthdays.

Erica has put a quote on the letter board which hangs in her living room: Never yet was a springtime when the buds forgot to bloom.

In January we had Crock Pot Baked Ziti for TG's birthday

It is attributed to Margaret Elizabeth Sangster, an American author who, as it happens, shared a recent birthday with our little Andrew.

In researching a few things about Margaret Sangster, I found another quote which I found so fitting:

Let every birthday be a festival, a time when the gladness of the house finds expression in flowers, in gifts, in a little fête. Never should a birthday be passed over without note, or as if it were a common day. Never should it cease to be a garlanded milestone in the road of life.

Along with it, we had Mari's Bruschetta recipe

Our first birthday of the year is always TG's, which takes place in late January. Yes! We had a party.

I made Crock Pot Baked Ziti (with penne pasta). With it we served one of Mari's Bruschetta recipes which was so amazing.

For dessert I made Nanny's Black Midnight Cake with Foolproof German Chocolate Frosting.

I made this cake from scratch

In late February each year we celebrate the aforementioned little Andrew ... not so little anymore, as he just turned eleven.

He was born on Two Twenty-Two Twenty-Twelve at Two Thirteen in the afternoon. You may recall that I begged the doctor to put down that he emerged at Two Twelve -- just liking the symmetry of that -- and she refused.

On February twenty-fourth, it was Andrew's turn for a party

Ever since then I think of her as Doctor Killjoy.

So then in early March -- the seventh, to be precise -- it's my turn. You just missed it.

On the twenty-second we celebrate Audrey's birthday, and a week later, on the twenty-ninth, our Andrew's.

Cousins: Allissa with Dagny and Rhett

We'll be headed to Asheville for a big family meetup on March twenty-fifth, to make the most of both of those at the same time.

But on this past February twenty-fourth, we all (minus Andrew and Brittany and Ember) met at the Cracker Barrel on the South Carolina/North Carolina line, for little Andrew's birthday bash.

Our Stephanie, his mother, was mildly frustrated because Andrew does not get excited or enthusiastic about the usual trappings of his birthday. As in, he doesn't really care about a theme the way the girls do.

He seemed pleased with his baseball cleats

He did specify a few things about his cupcake flavors, so she brought an assortment along. 

We had a delicious meal and got all caught up on news -- the girls at one end of the table and the guys at the other, youngest children in the middle.

Generally after the meal is cleared by our server (alas Essie no longer works on Friday evenings but there was an equally wonderful server in her place), we light candles and sing and then watch as the birthday person opens their presents.

Second, third, fourth, and fifth grandchildren ... Melanie (first) not pictured

But this time, before we could do it that way, our server brought Andrew a piece of chocolate cake with a scoop of ice cream beside it, and started the strains of Happy Birthday for us.

We were all so surprised and delighted, and Andrew seemed truly pleased with the attention.

Not to mention the cake and ice cream.

Melly keeps to herself ... I always bring her a cookies 'n' creme chocolate bar

But then the party sort of fizzled and people began wandering away from the table to pay their bill and look around in the general store. He had not opened his gifts yet.

So as it was a nice night weather-wise, we opted to go outside for the presents. Andrew sat in a rocking chair and seemed to enjoy opening each gift.

Before we know it each year, it's March again

Cherica gave him batting gloves and a new baseball. TG and I gave him baseball cleats.

He plays in a youth league each summer.

Then as usual, we talked and talked and talked and were reluctant to leave, but eventually we did.

Erica put this charming quote on her letterboard

It had begun to rain by that time, and had turned substantially cooler. It took us ninety minutes to get home, and by then it was eleven o'clock and pouring rain.

Audrey and Dagny had ridden with us and I convinced them to stay the night rather than drive the fifteen minutes to their house in the rain, tired as they were.

My friend Marsha came by to see me after work

I was surprised when they accepted, and soon everyone was tucked up in bed preparing for a cozy night of sleep.

The next morning -- Saturday -- we had coffee and breakfast together and laughed ourselves silly at old episodes of The Addams Family on YouTube, before they left to continue their day.

As is also usual at the end of February, I begin thinking about what I want to do for my own birthday.

Rhett was more excited for my birthday party than he looks

Last year we were in Oklahoma the first week in March, to see Andrew graduate from pilot training.

This year, since we just took a trip a few weeks ago, we had no long trip planned.

But as last weekend loomed, I cooked up a plan to take a weekend day trip.

Once more it has rolled around

I asked everyone if they were in, and they all agreed that they most definitely were.

Our destination was Walterboro, South Carolina -- site of Colleton County Courthouse, where the trial of Alex Murdaugh had just concluded with his conviction of double murder.

Audrey had brought a tiny birthday cake

I won't go into this any further right now because I want to tell you about it in my next post, but I will say that we were all fairly obsessed with the trial.

I'll also divulge that our trip was a disappointment, but that'll have to do you for now.

And then it was my birthday -- this past Tuesday.

We had Erica's excellent white chicken chili

The girls wondered whether I wanted to go out to eat, or have a party at home.

I said I'd like for us to gather at Erica's house, and for her to make her famous White Chicken Chili.

(I don't know that that's the exact recipe she follows, but it sounds exactly as she described it to me, as the way she makes it.)

I brought homemade no-knead peasant bread

That way, baby Rhett would be at home when it was his bedtime, making it a little easier on Erica.

She was more than happy to do that, and I offered to bring fresh-baked bread and corn muffins. Audrey said she would contribute the cake.

And I made these corn muffins from Jiffy Mix ... with buttermilk and an extra egg

It was hot that day -- like summer. In fact I wore a summer dress and went shopping. We are getting ready to remodel our last of three bathrooms, and I was hunting for new towels.

I found them at TJ Maxx and also scored a few items at Hobby Lobby.

I wanted a big cookie so the guys went and got us one

Before we left for Cherica's house, my friend Marsha dropped by after work and brought me some balloons and several thoughtful gifts.

(I don't know what I did to deserve my wonderful true friends. You know who you are.)

At Erica's the crock pot was humming with the White Chicken Chili and it smelled so good, and everything had been prepared for a birthday party.

Dagny wanted to pose with me on my birthday

The meal was delicious. It was not technically soup weather but it didn't matter. The bread and rolls were perfect with it, and everyone was satisfied.

The cake was tiny because we don't like to have leftovers, but I wanted a big cookie with frosting so TG and Chad buzzed around the corner to the Food Lion and got me one.

I got so much cool stuff ... including a Queen Elizabeth pillow

Then I opened my gifts and was a trifle overwhelmed with everyone's generosity. It was a good birthday.

The next day, I made TG a vanilla pound cake using this recipe and the Nordic Ware Wildflowers cake pan he bought me as one of my birthday gifts. He was most appreciative.

Now the cooler, more normal weather has settled in and although everything is blooming -- including the dogwoods and wisteria and azaleas -- it's a tad bit chilly. I like it, for as long as it lasts.

Dagny gave me a card with this sentiment written on the envelope

Which -- as the dog said as he sat with his tail on the railroad track -- won't be long now.

After the March birthdays we have Allissa turning fifteen on Tax Day in April -- her golden birthday.

TG gave me a Nordic Ware Wildflowers loaf pan ... so I made him a pound cake

At the beginning of May we celebrate Joel's birthday, and at the end of May, it's Erica's turn.

In June we have Dagny and Chad. In July, baby Rhett will turn two. In late August, Andrew and Brittany are expecting a son.

Erica's front door, garlanded for the season

And on and on and on it goes. And as long as I am on the green side of grass, we will observe each such occasion with the appropriate amount of fuss. We will garland every milestone. We will let every birthday be a festival, never to passed over without note.

And that is all for now.

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Happy Friday :: Happy Weekend

It's a love thing

TG got me this huge balloon at the Irmo Kroger

Needles to say (yes, I on purpose put needles; I am making fun of the term needless to say, which I find unbearable because if it doesn't need to be said, why say it?), I didn't realize it had been so long since I posted.

TG and I took a trip but we've been back for ten days. 

So I guess it's time I told you about it.

We left on a Thursday and made our way to East Tennessee -- Maryville, to be exact, which is basically Knoxville -- where we spent the night with Andrew, Brittany, and Ember.

The next morning, we made our way up I-75 to Northwest Ohio, taking our time and arriving just as darkness settled over the region.

After supper and a good night's sleep, we woke up to a sunny, windy day in the forties, with a bright blue cloudless sky.

We went shopping, taking our time because the reason for our presence there was to attend a party with a start time in the late afternoon.

The occasion was the fiftieth wedding anniversary celebration for TG's only brother, Ron, and his wife, Marcia.

The Ron Weber Family: L to R Todd, Angie, Marcia, Ron, David, Dan

They were married on February 16, 1973.

Their four children were responsible for putting on the party, which was held in the event room of a beautiful library in Temperance, Michigan (a stone's throw from Toledo, Ohio) and included a dinner catered by Olive Garden.

Ron and Marcia were one hundred percent surprised, having been told by their daughter that they were going on a scavenger hunt which would begin at the library and end at a restaurant.

We did the whole darkened room and yelling SURPRISE! thing in thunderous unison, and it was sweet to watch their reaction.

After a delicious meal, Ron and Marcia's daughter, followed by each of their three sons, got up and said a few words in tribute to their parents' long marriage.

Then Ron said a few words, and then TG spoke for about ten minutes.

Then there was a flurry of picture-taking and lots of laughter and catching up with everyone, before the party concluded.

Afterwards a bunch of us went to Ron and Marcia's house, where we sat around talking for a few more hours.

The picture of Ron and Marcia was not taken at their wedding but rather at a high school prom

The next morning we headed back to East Tennessee, where once again we spent the night with Andrew and Brittany, to break the long journey home.

I can't remember if I told you, but Andrew and Brittany are expecting a little sister or brother for Ember at the end of this summer.

The next day we made our way back to Columbia, where Dagny had been pretty sick with a stomach flu that was making its way around our church's child population.

She was wretched all of Sunday night and into Monday, and even missed school on Tuesday -- Valentine's Day -- because by that morning, she had not been able to keep food down yet.

But she improved quickly as the day went on, and at lunchtime she ate half of a bowl of jasmine rice. She and Audrey were at my house, but I had to leave for a two o'clock doctor appointment.

I promised Dagny that when I got home from the doctor, we would go shopping for valentines and a few snacks to have with the pizza we planned to order that night, and enjoy together.

So it was that at about three thirty, Dagny (who was feeling great by that time) and I set out for the Dollar General store a scant two miles from my house.

I told her that if they did not have Tostitos Hint of Lime at the DG, we would have to go another half-mile down St. Andrews Boulevard to the Kroger, to get some.

TG appears pugilistic but he was just making a point

When we walked into the Dollar General, the wall of chips was right there. I looked and looked but did not see the Tostitos Hint of Lime.

Well Dagny, I said. We are going to have to go to Kroger so let's pick out our valentines here and then we'll do that.

Meanwhile she had found a small bouquet of fresh flowers for her mother, so we grabbed those, then went to the greeting card aisle and located our valentines -- one for Audrey from Dagny, and one for TG from me.

I'd already bought him a small gift but I needed the card to go with it.

Then we went back around to the snack section because I wanted to get Dagny a treat, and she was looking for a small bag of Nacho Doritos.

It was on that pass down the chip aisle that I saw the Tostitos Hint of Lime, and marveled that I had not seen them before. They were big as life, right there. If they'd been a snake it would have bit me.

Shaking my head at my own absentmindedness, I directed Dagny to the checkout counter, where our purchases were rung up by an exceptionally kind and courteous young man.

By then it was almost four o'clock, and we were happy to be able to go straight home without going to the Kroger which would have been a madhouse at that hour on Valentine's Day.

Our beautiful and beloved niece Angie greets a guest

I already had an unopened jar of salsa at home, and we'd be ordering our pizza from Hungry Howie's.

We were all set.

The rest of the day was enjoyable as we hung out and eventually enjoyed our pizza, and watched several episodes of The Nanny from 1993.

It wasn't until three days later (we don't watch local news or get a newspaper), when it hit the national news, that we learned of the shooting in the parking lot of "our" Kroger at four o'clock in the afternoon on Valentine's Day.

Maybe you've heard or read about it.

I was trying to fall asleep on the night of the day I heard about this horrible crime, when I realized that Dagny and I had come within five minutes and a bag of Tostitos Hint of Lime of being in the Kroger parking lot when the shooting occurred.

Not that we would necessarily have witnessed it or been in harm's way -- it being a largish parking lot -- but still, I would not want Dagny to have seen any of the drama surrounding something so unthinkable happening at the store where she and her mother regularly shop.

TG and I drop in at the Irmo Kroger at least once a week, and often more than once. In fact he was there on Valentine's Day less than two hours before the shooting, to get my balloon.

(TG is in the habit of saying, when describing to someone the general location of our house, that we live in Irmo. We do NOT live in Irmo, I will instantly say if I overhear him. Irmo has its own Zip Code: Two Nine Six Oh Three. We live in Columbia. Two Nine Two Twelve.

Reading to Ember in the Three Seven Eight Oh Three

While it's true that if, when you make up your mind to come and see me, you decide to mix things up by skydiving, and you parachute into the geographic center of Irmo, you could more or less walk to my house. But you'd better be wearing comfy shoes, because it's a few miles and you'll likely have at least one suitcase. Let's save time by agreeing that I'll drive the five minutes to pick you up.)

But in this case? Close enough to be scary.

I don't mean to make light of a serious matter; I have spent days being appalled by what happened at the Kroger on Valentine's Day, and grieving for the young mom whose life was lost in a manner so senseless that it boggles the mind.

I've told my girls many times: When out and about, no matter who does what, no matter what is said or done, no matter who's in the right and who's in the wrong, do not react. Do not engage. If there's friction, just say I'm sorry. Smile and move on. That goes for whether you're on foot or driving an automobile.

Or as Audrey counsels: Keep your head down and your mouth shut.

Shame it's come to that, but whatever the issue, it's not worth getting into an argument with anyone and potentially being the subject of someone's angry target practice. I think we can all agree on that basic premise.

But wouldn't it be nice if everyone would just settle down and be kind to one another?

Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself. It really is a love thing.

Meanwhile I hope you had a happy Valentine's Day and that you're enjoying what's left of February.

Still a few more days for Valentine decorations. The TY note is from Ron and Marcia.

It's summer here; in Columbia and in Irmo. Our high today was eighty-one degrees.

Flowering trees are blooming all over town; daffodils are up by the hundreds, nodding happily in the warm breeze. Next will come the thick coat of yellow pollen.

And we still have fickle March to get through! This should be interesting.

Tomorrow we will have a big birthday party for our grandson Andrew, who turned eleven yesterday.

I'll be sure to tell you about it next week, complete with pictures.

And that is all for now.

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Happy Thursday

Tales from the soup kitchen

It was worth coming over just for the Mexican Chocolate Loaf Cake

You know too well the Pirate's penchant for pitching parties.

Said proclivity led to yet another semi-impromptu soirée at Casa Weber last week.

It all began with a question from Dagny on the previous Sunday, a deliciously rainy day, as we all had an après-church lunch together at a local brunch spot:

Mamaw, do you know how to make potato soup?

My valentine gnomes presided over the party from their place on the ledge

I nodded. Sure do, I said. But I call it potato-corn chowder. Do you want some?

She nodded back with an impressive amount of enthusiasm, her eyes getting bigger the whole time.

Finding this immensely gratifying, I began cooking up a plan.

It's supposed to be rainy all week, Erica pointed out, meaning, soup weather.

Here's your sign

I allowed the thing to simmer and by Monday evening I had issued an invitation to the girls:

Let's do potato-corn chowder and homemade bread on Thursday night ... February the second. Two Two Twenty-Three. Groundhog Day.

They agreed.

Thursday was forecast to be a cold, rainy day, and for once the meteorologists hit the nail right on the head.

You make this loaf in the Crock Pot and then brown it beneath the broiler

By the time the day of the party rolled around, I had decided to make not only potato-corn chowder and homemade bread but also a fairly spectacular dessert: Mexican Chocolate Loaf Cake.

If you make that cake, take my advice and use Hershey's Special Dark cocoa and Hershey's Special Dark chocolate chips -- no chopping necessary; just toss them in as they are.

And use a whole one-half teaspoon of cayenne. The heat with the chocolate is delectably different and shows up even more if you eat your slice of cake slightly warmed.

Erica made this lovely square valentine wreath

If you try this recipe, or if you already have in the past, let me know what you think.

But I should pull over and park here for a mo.

Sometime towards the end of January I saw this reel on Instagram.

The very next day, I made the peasant bread. It is as delicious as it is easy to do.

This little house wears its heart on its door

Over the next week or so I bought a big bag of organic flour with zero additives and did some research into various no-knead bread recipes.

The one I made for soup night with the family was this one: no-knead slow cooker bread.

It was insanely easy and -- everyone agreed as they slathered hunks of it with real butter and consumed it lustily -- scrumptious.

Stephanie gave me the pink heart-shaped pie plate for Christmas

Next I plan to try this recipe for no-knead bread. This is an exact replica of the New York Times recipe that went viral and supposedly started it all over a decade ago, although I'm sure people were making no-knead bread long before that.

I have bought a cast-iron Dutch Oven -- yes! I am perhaps the last pirate in the Western Hemisphere who until last week did not already own a Dutch Oven -- specifically to use in making this bread.

And I'll probably use it to make more soup, too.

I plumb forgot to lift the lid of my ancient pot and show off the potato-corn chowder

About that soup! Let me tell you how I do it. There is no real recipe so listen up.

During the week that you have potato-corn chowder on your menu, make some mashed potatoes. Be sure to have some leftovers.

On the day you want to serve the soup, cube some russets. I leave the skins on and you should too. The number of potatoes you use depends on the amount of soup you want to make. I was making a large potful so I used at least ten potatoes. Maybe twelve.

Rustic hearts in the lit trees carried valentine messages

Cut up some celery -- again, the amount of celery depends on how much soup you're making.

Boil the potatoes and celery to fork tender and drain.

Back into the soup pot add the potatoes and celery and some chicken stock. I used a whole quart.

Pop a steamable bag of frozen sweet corn into the microwave and cook it.

This wee angel is always in attendance

Drain, and add the cooked corn to the potatoes and celery in the chicken stock.

Heat through and season to taste. Use a wooden spoon to randomly push down into the soup on the soft potato chunks and make them crumbly and rough around the edges.

Now comes the fun part. To thicken the soup, add a quantity of the leftover mashed potatoes. Just use your best judgment. It's your thing; do it the way you like.

If you don't have mashed potatoes and don't care to make any, you can switch it up by making a béchamel (white sauce) and building the soup from there.

My heart-shaped plate is displayed with my Pioneer Woman ramekins

I've done it both ways. I prefer thickening this soup with mashed potatoes but the white sauce-based version is just as creamy and delicious.

As everyone piled into the house on the evening of Groundhog Day, with talk of Punxsutawney Phil having seen his shadow, presaging six more weeks of winter, it was cold and drizzly and set to rain all night.

In other words, ideal atmospheric conditions prevailed for enjoying homemade potato-corn chowder and no-knead slow cooker bread, with Mexican Chocolate Loaf Cake to top it all off.

We ate almost everything. I sent a little bit of soup home with each of my girls, for the children to enjoy the next day.

This chair was left empty in case you could join us

On the afternoon of the party, in between cooking chores, I decorated for the month of February. Red and white lights frosted the railing outside and heart-themed things assembled on the dining room ledge and on the table.

I had commissioned a valentiney wreath for my front door, from Erica. My crafty daughter delivered it on February first, and also gave me a sweet heart-shaped plate.

Dagny, who loves the heart motif above all others, was duly impressed with the table decorations as well as with the menu. She notices everything and is always appreciative.

Love is all you need

It made for a truly memorable family gathering, all the more interesting because it was planned around a single request for something as plain as potato soup.

Hearts and tummies were warm and full. As it should be.

And that is all for now.

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Happy Tuesday

When all was Wright with the world

This sign stands at the entrance to the road leading to Fallingwater

When TG and I left Pittsburgh that morning in early November, we drove about seventy miles southeast to Mill Run, Pennsylvania ... site of Fallingwater, one of the most famous once-private residences in the world.

It was designed and built in the mid 1930s by Frank Lloyd Wright, America's most famous architect, for the Kaufmann family of Pittsburgh.

They owned an eponymous department store: Kaufmann's.

(If you click on Chapter 3 of this site, you'll get a fascinating look into the lives of E.J. and Liliane Kaufmann, who in addition to being man and wife, were first cousins.)

Fallingwater is a masterpiece in more ways than one. Click to embiggen.

Fallingwater is situated in an area of Pennsylvania known as the Laurel Highlands. It is remote -- not conveniently near an interstate exit -- and one can only imagine what was involved in reaching it in the 1930s.

Pittsburgh was a major steel manufacturing center and was dubbed "Hell with the lid off" during the summer months.

One would need to be immensely wealthy and privileged to have access to a summer retreat at all, much less one like the fabulous Fallingwater.

When the Kaufmanns commissioned FLW to design and build the house on a property where for years they had had a casual camp-type dwelling, their intention was for the gorgeous waterfall to be visible from their windows.

The welcome center, true to the FLW vision, is at one with nature

Frank Lloyd Wright turned around and situated the house on top of the waterfall -- a considerable engineering challenge -- and refused to build the house anywhere else.

Some tense conversations ensued between client and architect, but in the end FLW got his way.

I think he made the Wright decision. When you stand at the overlook and gaze upon the house from what is undeniably the best possible angle, you know that had it been built anywhere else, you probably would not be standing there gawping.

Our tour guide. Most of the way to the house, he walked backwards while talking.

Straight from Wikipedia: At age 67, Frank Lloyd Wright was given the opportunity to design and construct three buildings. With his three works of the late 1930s, (Fallingwater, the Johnson Wax Building in Racine, Wisconsin, and the Herbert Jacobs house in Madison, Wisconsin), Wright regained his prominence in the architectural community.

When we visited Fallingwater, it was autumn -- again, past peak leaf time but still mind-boggling in its beauty.

(I happen to like it when lots of leaves are on the ground as well as a decent number left in the trees.)

If you ever get to go to Fallingwater, I would recommend going in October. I mean, I'm sure it's gorgeous in the spring too, but there is just something about a place like this in autumn that takes it to another level.

It is hard to tear your gaze away from Fallingwater

It's odd that the house's owners probably never saw it in the fall, having spent as much time there as they could in the summer months and their lives revolving around Pittsburgh society for the balance of the year.

On the day that we were there, Fallingwater would be open for just a few more weeks. Tours of the house are not offered in the winter months, but one can visit in January and February and take what they call Winter Walks on the property.

If you opt for that, be sure to bundle up.

There were many visitors too. I was happy to see lots of young people who were somewhat boisterously enjoying the house and grounds, along with the regular contingent of older folks like me and TG.

An elderly couple from Kansas City took this picture of us

Normally I don't like noisy people but the high-school and college-age kids' apparent joy at being at Fallingwater for the day, was rather charming. And they were very polite.

We also met an older couple who had flown in from Kansas City for a few days just to see Fallingwater and Polymath Park, another Frank Lloyd Wright attraction in the area.

It was they who took the pictures of TG and me at the overlook. We took identical pictures of them.

When we arrived at Fallingwater, we were considerably early for our tour. We'd bought the tickets weeks earlier, because the time slots sell out fast and we had to drive all the way home later that day.

The main living area was replete with fascinating objects

I approached a lady behind a window in a kiosk and told her we were there. Well did you want to take your tour EARLIER? she said. I would have put money on her finding my presence at her window annoying.

Oh dear, I thought. Hello to you too! I said, No, but is it okay if look around for a while before our tour? Like at the coffee shop and gift shop?

I am enthralled by coffee shops and gift shops in equal measure.

She sighed. All right. But make sure you're back in this area at twelve thirty.

The ladies room :: let this sink in

Yes ma'am, I thought. We certainly shall make sure of that, since our tickets are paid for and that is our tour time.

I checked out the ladies' room and found it at a level of architectural earnestness that one rarely sees. So I took a picture of the sinks and mirrors for you.

Then TG and I went into the gift shop and began looking around for gifts and souvenirs. To offset the curmudgeon I had encountered moments before, I made the acquaintance of a perfectly lovely and helpful young lady behind one of the counters.

Later I went down to the coffee shop and paid too much for a cup of average not-hot coffee, but I enjoyed sitting looking out at the trees of Fallingwater while I drank it.

The coffee was not good but the view was excellent

The house is nowhere near this hub of operations; you need a tour guide to approach it. There is, however, a path through the woods leading to the aforementioned overlook.

We set out for that and it wasn't far, and the weather was perfect and the scenery breathtaking.

And then we saw the house and I must say, it makes you stare. The pictures I am showing you depict what we saw, but it's more a feeling you get when you are there with the sounds of the waterfall and of birds, and the smell of the leaves.

I hope you get to go someday and see it for yourself. It's worth every mile and every penny.

I didn't go down the stairs but I wanted to

Later we gathered with our group to meet our tour guide, who turned out to be absolutely wonderful. He was funny and nice and personable and so knowledgeable about everything there.

When I finally stepped over the threshold of Fallingwater into a tiny staircased hallway (Frank Lloyd Wright was big on the concept of compression and release, i.e. a small area opening into a larger, more expansive area) leading to the living room, I was on the verge of being overwhelmed.

I couldn't believe that after so many years of wanting to see Fallingwater, I was actually there.

The view from Fallingwater's rooftop decks

The house, like all FLW-designed private dwellings, was designed to meld with its surroundings. It certainly does that, and if you like looking outside from inside through endless expanses of window, you would be in heaven here.

One of my favorite things about the living room was the steps leading down to a tiny deck that meets the wet boulders below.

I didn't walk down the steps but having seen a picture of this feature at least thirty years ago, I was excited to look on them with my own eyes.

It's just so original, so clever, so heartfelt, so playful and yet profound in its way. Amazing.

Loads of curb appeal. Must see to appreciate.

There is so much more I could say but Fallingwater is a place that should be experienced in person. It maybe is not for everyone but if you have a joint interest in American history and architecture, this would be a treat for you as it was for me.

Eventually we had to leave as it was going to be an eight- or nine-hour drive to home.

And it was not an easy drive, as the route involves traversing West Virginia from north to south, through much mountainous terrain.

This sign stands at the edge of the parking lot, just feet from the welcome center

But by God's grace we made it home safely and counted ourselves fortunate to have had a trip so full of happy events and gorgeous weather and beautiful places that speak to the heart.

We are taking another, different sort of trip in a few weeks and when it's in the books, I'll provide you with a rundown of its every aspect. Complete with pictures.

And that is all for now.

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Happy Friday :: Happy Weekend