Tag: memories

Stickered


Earlier today while I was preparing my breakfast, I suddenly remembered that in every house of my childhood–and there were many, thank you United States Army–we always chose the inside of one cabinet door to put all our Chiquita Banana stickers. I don’t know who started that, although it was as likely to be my mother as my brother, even though she was the one who’d eventually have to scrape all of them off when it was time to move again.

Do other people do that?

Being a writer = being at least a little crazy

The other night I was proofing a cookbook for someone–into the wee hours of the morning–and it was making me so hungry. Not hungry for any of the recipes in the cookbook, but for a specific meal from a specific place.

It was about thirty years ago. Lynne was managing a restaurant and going to school, and I was working three jobs. Yeah, that’s right. We were five. Girls have to grow up fast in small Southern towns. Shut up.

Basically, we never slept. Sometimes late at night we’d go to a little all-night diner because they had the best freaking hamburgers and French fries. I’ve never tasted any others that came close to either. The diner was managed by this guy who vanished one night. Rumor had it that he was connected to some criminal types and had skipped town because he was in trouble with them.

A year or so later, both Lynne and I had moved–she to Texas, me to a different city in Alabama–and I went to a sort-of dive restaurant with a guy I was dating. Who should be there–not managing, but waiting tables–but Mr. Crime Guy. My paranoid switch got flipped to overdrive. I was sure he knew I recognized him and he was going to snuff me so I couldn’t tell the bad guys where he was. I demanded of my date that we leave IMMEDIATELY, and then I wouldn’t just drive back to my place. We had to take this complicated, circuitous route so I could be sure we weren’t being followed.

A few months later I found out I had a thyroid disease, and my doctor asked if I’d been having panic attacks, imagining myself in dangerous situations, apparently a common symptom of my illness.

I thought it was just part of being a writer.

The good, the bad, and the ugly


Starbucks rises “bold and stark/kids are huddled on the beach in a mist…” *


Aaron, first lured into a life of crime by Lynne, gets a leg up to score some pearl beads for his Aunt Debby.
I promised Aaron not to publicize his more lawless acts. For now.


Palm trees in the dust
No one has confessed to this message rudely scrawled on Jellybean, member of The Compound Limo Fleet.

*Lyrics lifted from Bruce Springsteen.

A thank you to friends

Growing up, my family was not one who had desserts all the time. But we did have them occasionally, and everybody had their favorites. I’ve mentioned before that I planned to make my brother some chocolate bread pudding like our mother used to make when he was here last fall–then I forgot to do it.

The recent visit from my siblings fell between my sister’s birthday and my late mother’s, and I decided to lay out, along with meals, some of our favorite desserts as part of the celebrations.

For my sister, it had to be a coconut cake (that’s what my mother always baked for her). Some of you may remember the last time I made her a coconut cake and the dire consequences. There were no catastrophic repercussions this time, but as you can see, there’s also another cake in the photo. Since some of us are wheat intolerant, and some are downright allergic to wheat and gluten, I snagged a Betty Crocker gluten-free yellow cake mix and some Duncan Hines gluten-free dark chocolate frosting. It was an experiment and it worked; the cake was delicious. It just didn’t rise the way I’m accustomed to cakes rising.

Along with the two cakes, my sister made banana pudding–another of my brother’s favorites that my mother always made for him (and I don’t make because bananas are something I can stand in only small doses). And he finally got his chocolate bread pudding (which I overcooked, but it was still good).

My family’s all safely back in their homes now, and for Craft Night, I decided to try the Betty Crocker gluten-free chocolate cake mix. Everyone thought it tasted good, but again, it didn’t rise very much. If any of you use this mix and know a secret for getting fluffier cake, let me know.

Tom asked if the Craft Night cake was for a special occasion, and I said no. But of course, as I mentioned earlier, March 4 is my mother’s birthday. And it was kind of cool to realize, as I sat around the table with Tom, Lindsey, Rhonda, and Kathy, while we drank coffee and had cake and ice cream, that we were all together with my mother on her last birthday, when we took chocolate cupcakes to her hospice room.


Photo by Lindsey

I figure it’s time to mention again how much I love my family and friends, who are here with me through the fun times and the sad ones. You’re all great.