Back by popular demand...

I received a phone call a short while ago. It was Bek. She was in the grocery store, and wanted the recipe for a meat loaf I made for one of our famous, and long ago Thursday nights.

One of a kind soup...

I have a friend. We've been friends since we were 19; that's 37 years, but who's counting? Herman and I wouldn't be married if I hadn't met her first. She set us up on a blind date.

Over the years we have helped each other through many rough patches. We've shared sorrows about our kids, husbands, losing our parents, divorces and on and on. We've attended weddings, funerals, graduations, birthday parties and exercise classes together. We've gone on more diets and self improvement programs than I care to remember. We've rocked and diapered each others babies, and scolded each others children. We've gotten pedicures, gone apple picking, taken our kids trick or treating together, and bided our time in hospital waiting rooms, waiting with bated breath for children and grandchildren to come into the world. Once we were even loaves of Wonder Bread together. We have called each other in the middle of the night to share our fears and joys. We have cheered each other on and cried for one another.

You don't make a friend like this over night. It takes years of simmering and slow cooking, with many additions over the years, until you have a soup that has layers and layers of subtle flavors. It is a soup that will comfort your soul, sustain your will to go on, and warm your heart when the cruel world has turned it cold. The aroma is so unique that it can never be duplicated by anyone else. Eventually the stew is so complex that even the chefs themselves no longer remember all the ingredients that made it what it has become. They could never give anyone else the recipe. It's a very rare thing, indeed, and everyone has to make their very own.

Most of the time during our lives, through some miracle, we have managed to only have one crisis at a time. She has one and then I have one. We have always had the time to devote to the other's crisis. This is not the case now. We are both going through a very difficult time. Life is hard for each of us right now. We will live through it and come out the other side, but life is more difficult now because we are not able to give each other the full time support that we usually do. We give each other a quick call or send an email, and then each of us goes about our day with the knowledge that we are in the thoughts of the other. That is the best we can do for each other right now.

Still, I know she's there and she knows I'm here.

Better days will come again.

Until then, I'm thinking of you.

As for anyone else who reads this today, I wish for you a soup with an aroma as sweet as mine.

As Alice once said.....

I'm late, I'm late for a very important date....but I have just enough time to write a short post.

Last night Patsy, Bek and Jacob came over for dinner. It was wonderful to see them. It has been far too long. Jacob and Herman were so happy to see each other.

Bek cooked dogs on the grill, and we had deviled eggs and baked beans that I made. We mostly just talked and watched a little television, but it was nice to be together again. Herman and I have truly missed our weekly dinners.

We love you guys.

The Deep End

Yesterday was Thursday and that means Patsy, Bek and Jacob came over for dinner. We're in the deep end of summer now, with August almost upon us, and that means it's long past time for the pool. So, Bek blew it up....as in blowing hot air into it.....not as in bombing it, but you knew that, didn't you? Bek turned the water on and filled up the pool. Jacob took a swim and seemed to enjoy it. I think we all would have been in there with him if the pool had been a little bigger.

It was their turn to cook and Patsy brought over some green beans, and a London Broil that she had slow baked. She thought it was dry but I thought it was good. I made some mashed potatoes with butter, sour cream and sharp shredded cheese, and frosted Patsy's incredible strawberry heaven cake, and *bam*, we had ourselves a nice supper, just perfect for the deep end of summer.

To share or not to share? That is the question.

Okay, here's a post for you that will reveal my true character. You don't get many of these, so pay attention.

There are a few things we truly love here in the South. We love our iced tea and you can get it in any restaurant all year long, and as many free refills as you like, unlike up north where you have to pay for each glass, and can't find it at all in a restaurant during winter. (What's up with that? I love it up there, especially New England, but no iced tea?) We love our smoked hams, blue crabs, barbecue and black-eyed-peas. We also love our pecans and our butter beans.

Now here's the thing about pecans and butter beans....they have to be shelled. Now, I'm not saying they aren't worth it. They damned well are. I'm just saying it's a bit of a chore.

My best friend used to have a garden. I can remember how she used to pick all those butter beans, and then shell them, and bring them to me all bagged up and ready to cook. I used to tell her that I couldn't believe that she did that for me. I told her that I would shell them myself, but I never refused them when she brought them to me. I loved them and I loved her for doing it.

I visited my father on Sunday and he took me into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator door and said, "Now, Bonnie Ann, just you look at that." Well, I did, and my eyes got very, very big. *Gasp* I made the proper sounds of amazement and envy as my eyes feasted on the largest jar of, ..... and this is the important part.....already shelled.... pecans that I had ever seen in my entire life. The jar was positively huge. The kind in which kids can make a terrarium for a school project, the industrial size that school and hospital cafeterias get their mayonnaise in. You could fit a baby in one of those jars. I'm not suggesting that you should try...I'm just saying. (Photo: I tried placing an apple beside the jar for scale. It's still hard to tell how truly large the jar is, but I think you get the point.)

I said, "Dad, where on earth did you get those?" He said, "Well, I grew 'em, of course." When we moved into the house in which my father still lives, back in 1961, my father planted three pecan trees. These were pecans from those very trees, and my 89 year old father had shelled them himself.
.....and now the best part.....drum roll, please.......he then said, " You take 'em home with you now, when you leave. You hear me, don't cha forget 'em." **Hee, hee, not much freakin' chance of that**

I could not believe my luck. Both my sisters are coming to visit next week. He could have given them to either of them or divided them among us. Now, do you think I was going to suggest that to him? All together now.....nooooooo! My father didn't raise any idiots.

Now don't think for one minute that I don't know how long it takes to shell that many pecans and don't think I don't appreciate them. That's my whole point. I really, really do and that's why I'm the one who truly should get them. Right? Right? Isn't that right?

I'm even going to make a couple of pecan pies for my two sisters when they come next week.

How sweet am I? Sweeter'n shuuga!