Mamaw's Pies

Four Generations of Girls

I have a lot to be thankful for this year.  And one of those things is that my mother is still baking her pies.  If you know my mama, you know that she loves to bake.  And she loves for you to eat what she has baked.  And  if you stop at just one piece of pie or cake, she will hound you to eat another piece until you either stuff yourself or hurt her feelings with a refusal.  It's all or nothing  I'm telling you.  Mama has been baking and delivering her goods to neighbors, folks in nursing homes, shut ins, accountants, doctors, and  bereaved families for decades.  She has loved to bake as long as I can remember, and she has a penchant for baking  pies.   She knows everybody's favorites in the family, and in days past has always had a cherry pie or two in the freezer ready to go on a moment's notice to a family member who drops in or someone who just might need a pie for whatever reason.   Why, she even sent me pies UPS in college!!!  My entire dorm floor knew when I got a package from my mama, because I was handing out pieces of cherry pie at all hours of the night while we studied.  When my mother has not been in our midst for a holiday, her pies have represented.   And if I am the recipient of a random cherry pie, I usually save it for a dinner party or an event where I need to take something delicious and don't have the time to bake.   I can remember proudly gifting my teachers a pecan pie for Christmas every year of my elementary school years ---so many people have been awarded a pie for decades, and I don't think any of them have gone to waste.  Mom has a menu as long as Mrs. Smith's, and enjoys making every one.  I'll go out on a limb here and say they are quite tasty---her crust is from scratch and her fillings have just the right amount of juice and fruit.   But, since she has been feeling bad the last few months, I invited her to our house for Thanksgiving and we decided we would bake just one apple pie together the week before Thanksgiving.  After all, we really didn't need too many pies for just 8 people for dinner.   Now here is where her problem lies:  she can't  make just one.  Mom called me the day before I was supposed to come to help her make the apple pie and told me she felt good enough to bake by herself and she would be fine in the kitchen......she told me she knew I had a lot to do to get ready and one pie would not be a problem.   The next day the phone rang.......
Mama:  Hey honey.  I fixed the pie.  Well, I fixed two apple pies.  And two chocolate pies and a chocolate cake and a coconut cake--well, two coconut cakes because the first one fell apart.   
Me:  MAMA!!!!  You have been feeling terrible and we decided one pie would be plenty for everybody!  I just hate that you probably did not feel like making so many pies and cakes and besides,  how are we going to eat all of those desserts?  
 (And this is definitely not the first time I have asked her this question)  I know you must be sooooo tired and worn out from cooking!  I'm so sorry!
Mama:  Well, I wanted everyone to have their favorites , so when you come and get me, make sure you have plenty of room in the car for the desserts.
Me: (not wanting to sound ungrateful for the wonderful but over the top baking) Thanks so much,mom.  I'll be there Thanksgiving morning to get you and the pies and cakes.  I hope you feel like coming, because we would rather have you than your pies!! 


And then she called me the day before Thanksgiving and told me that she just did not feel good enough to travel and that I should come and get the pies and leave her at home.   (no wonder)  So, we had a greatgrandma shortage and a pieless Thanksgiving , but traveled to see her today.  And we hauled all the desserts back with us.  She told me that sending us the desserts makes her feel part of the holiday even though she can't be with us.   But if she had just made one, could she have made it for the holiday?  I'm just sayin.   And so I have a refrigerator full of sugar and mama.  And I'm thankful.          

An Accomplishment

Because she was preoccupied with a couple of mallards in the lake, I was able to click off a photo of my quirky dog.  

I decided to take along my camera on our daily walk today.  When I stopped to shoot something, I would ask Ellie to sit and before I could finish the picture, I could hear her dragging the leash in an attempt to sneak away.  Just because I had the camera out, the girl started freaking out!  This small lake is two blocks from our house, so I am very blessed to be able to enjoy this fall scenery on a daily basis.  I am sharing some of my shots below, but my biggest achievement of the day was to catch Ellie as she was watching some mallards in the water.  As soon as she heard me click the camera, she jumped down, but I did get this photo of her.  And if you have read my former post about Ellie and cameras, you know how excited I am to have a good picture of her.  Happy fall everybody! 

It's Hell Getting Old, but Go Ahead and Laugh

Mama who is 5'1" and her youngest grandson, Jackson, 6'4"

Well, it's here.  I turn 60 tomorrow.  But this post is not about my growing old.  What's on my mind is my mother.  She stayed with us for about 9 days,so that she could see doctors in Memphis for various conditions you might imagine an 87 year old might have.  I took her back to her house yesterday, and on the drive back to Memphis, I thought of the week we had had.  What stood out to me during all of her doctor visits and needle pricks is that she has a great sense of humor, and that has helped her through awkward medical moments, rude and cold nurses, and doctors' comments which would not win them any bedside manner awards.  I continue to be amazed at how harsh a diagnosis can sound just by the way it is worded.  And then there are the health care professionals that you would like to take out to dinner because you enjoyed your brief encounter with them so much.  And that's what is so concerning to me.  You wait and wait and wait ---in our case 3 1/2 hours for one appointment and 2 hours for another.   And you actually see the doctor a little over 10 minutes if you are lucky.  And most of us would prefer the doc to be kind and attentive for those 10 minutes.  ( and some are )  But I noticed when the bedside manner went south, Mama would go into lockdown.   I can't help but wonder how often that happens with other patients.   I can still tolerate a doc who is not the sweetest person on the block, but when you are old and tired, and you feel old and tired, I think the bedside manner is HUGE.   So, on the way back to my house, we would try to find something funny about the appointment, or how neither one of us could remember where the car was parked in the cavernous parking garage, and we would laugh.  Or we would pretend to reverse roles and show that doctor how to speak to a patient the right way.  I just wonder if health care professionals realize how much their attitude affects the attitude of their patients.  Some just don't "play well with others".  And it is disappointing, not to mention a heap of trouble to take a chance on another doctor who may or may not have the same personality drawbacks.  It just makes me think about how much more pleasant it would be to have an uplifting, positive doctor, nurse prac, or staff member accompanying you as you make your way out of this life.  Because the doctor's office is about the only place you go when you are elderly and you feel bad.    

So I'm hoping that if I make it in this life another 27 years, I will be able to laugh at myself and at the people who are foolish enough not to show empathy to an octogenarian who feels like crap.  

 "A cheerful heart makes good medicine, but a crushed spirit dries up the bones." Proverbs 17:22 

Do I hear an "Amen"?

Everybody Cut Footloose

   My whole family loves to dance: my sisters, my mom and dad, my kids and their kids.  I think it is so very cool to be able to express yourself that way.   My first memory of dancing was at the age of 5 out on the Blytheville, Arkansas football field at halftime with head majorette, Gail Brogdon, and loving every minute of it.  I took tap and ballet for more than 10 years at the infamous Rockie Smith Dance Studio and wanted to be Shirley Temple for most of my elementary school years. I danced a lot at home and put on my tap shoes almost every day just to hear them click on the floor.  My mother was always fussing about the scuff marks, but she continued to let me do it.
 When I got to junior high and high school, I really wanted to go to the dances, but back in my day, you had to have a date in order to participate, and that just wasn't happening for me.  I probably had less than a dozen dates in my entire high school career which was a huge disappointment socially, not to mention stifling my dance moves.  I love that kids go out in groups now.  You shouldn't have to have a guy ask you out in order to have some fun!  When I got to college, anybody who wanted a date could usually get one, but you had to take your chances.   And you could have the worst time of your life on a blind date---I know that first hand---but that's for another post. 
   We always had live bands at Ole Miss in the late 60s and early 70s, and part of the great football weekend tradition was to hop from fraternity house to fraternity house after the games.  Most of us loved the weekend live bands at Ole Miss better than almost anything.  You could walk up and down fraternity row and get into any party free.  The frat guys had a social chairman who would book some of the coolest local and regional  bands in the area.  I remember when one fraternity booked the "Hot Nuts", and they got into a lot of trouble, because the band's lyrics were considered lewd and distasteful according to the University.  Those lyrics were so extremely mild compared to the music lyrics of today.   Funny how some things evolve into worse.  
My husband, Clark, was and is a very good dancer.  He was at ease on the dance floor, and really enjoyed kicking up his heels.  During college, he would grab a girl, even if she had another date, and off to the dance floor they would go.   And one night, Clark evolved into "Chicken Man" because he could dance with that head moving like a chicken long  before the "Funky Chicken" came into being.   And the name, "Chicken",  stuck.  Lots of people including me still call him "Chicken", although I try to avoid it in business and family situations.  Until recently, if we were at a party and there was dancing, you can believe that Clark was one of the first and last on the dance floor, and any lady who wanted to dance (and some who weren't sure) would end up in front of the band with Clark.  It has been so much fun to be married to a guy who likes to dance. 
Anyway, we don't really dance as much as we used to.  We just like watching the younger folks at weddings and get togethers.  But on our last night in Alabama with all of the boxes packed, Clark cranked up the music on the patio speakers and we danced to Etta and a few others.  But you know what?  Beale Street is a few miles to the west of our house here in Memphis.   And we can get into B.B.King's without a fake ID anytime.  And it might be fun to go.  But I think I'll be watching.  I have seen people my age on the dance floor trying out the new moves, and it just isn't pretty.  Yep, I'll be having just as much fun tapping my foot.........well....... maybe.

Prove It.

 That's what we read online in preparation for obtaining a Tennessee driver's license: bring two documents that prove your new address and one proof of U.S. citizenship.  And that's what we took.  ha

We knew going in that the Tennessee Department of Safety is not the most efficient department in Tennessee.  We also knew we were going head to head with them, because there is no other way to get a new driver's license.  We were hoping to get it done with the least hassle possible.  yeah, right
  Clark took off work early, so we could get a head start on the Friday afternoon sixteen year olds.  We researched  online where to go and what to bring, so there would be no problems.  whatever
Mistake # 1. going to the nearest Tennessee Department of Safety Office suggested online--it is no longer open---- 20 minutes wasted
Mistake # 2. going to the NEXT nearest office and getting turned away because the line was already forming outside.  A young lady in line overheard us saying that we were new to Memphis, and she told us that we were about to REALLY miss being wherever we came from.  A little foreshadowing there, aaaaaand--- another 20 minutes wasted.
So we drive about 20 more minutes to another TDS office and arrive about 3:00.  We are already an hour behind before we begin!  We queue up and wait another 20 minutes just to get inside, but at least we do not get turned away here.  When we get to talk to a real person, she looks at our documents and tells us that I have the correct papers, but Clark does not.  We had brought our lease agreement with our signatures and new address, the change of address verification from the U.S.Post Office, and my personal credit card bill with our new address.  We also brought along our passports.  We thought that would do the trick and when the lady behind the desk who I will refer to from now on as the License Nazi, told Clark he did not have the correct documents, we were baffled.  You see, the U.S. Post Office document had only "Burnett" as the addressee and not our first names, so it didn't count as proof.  The credit card bill was in my name, so no luck there for Clark.
License Nazi:"Uh, do you have your marriage license?"
Clark:"No, I don't happen to have it on me."
License Nazi: "Well, if you had it, then you could prove that you were married to Mrs. Burnett, so that her credit card bill would be your other proof of residence."  Makes perfect sense, right?  Because Clark could have found that U.S. Post Office card that was mailed to us with the name Burnett on it  ANYWHERE, or he could have stolen it out of a mailbox or some such thing.  I mean COME ON!  But we can tell the License Nazi is not going to give in, so Clark asked how long they would be open so that he could make the 30 minute drive back home to get a copy of our marriage license and get back before closing. 
Mistake # 3:  I left my cell phone in the car because we were not allowed to bring them in, so once Clark left, I could not update him on how long it was taking  to get your number called. 
Mistake # 4:  Leaving my glasses at home. Since the cell phone was in the car with Clark making the trek to fetch the marriage license, there was no way to tell him to bring them back with him, in order for me to SEE TO PASS THE VISION TEST!
My number is finally called, and I go up to another section of the counter and this lady is very nice.  She makes copies of my documents and asks me to put my chin in the vision machine and I stall a little and then decide I'll just go with my prescription sun glasses, because, for heaven's sake, I don't want to stop this process, and there are lots of people still behind me licking their chops to have their turn.  I put on my shades, stick my chin on the rest, and begin to read the letters.  I miss one... or two.  The lady asks me to read another line.  I miss one... or two.  She tells me I have one more chance to read the line correctly, and by the grace of God, I nail it.  So now all I have to do is wait for my photo in yet another line, and of course, wait for Clark.......who is taking a very long time to get back.  
I keep looking at the door, and I'm watching people inching forward for their turn with the License Nazi, and I keep looking at the clock, because the Nazi told Clark the cut-off time was 4:30 and it is getting close to 4:00.  Finally, finally, Clark comes in looking a little distraught, so I join him at the counter thinking maybe he couldn't find our marriage license, but all was well.......or so I thought.  Here's how it went down: ( it's like something out of SNL ) 
Clark: "Here's my paperwork you said was necessary."
LN: "You are here too late.  We have closed for the day."
Clark:  "What? You're kidding, right?  You said you would be open till 4:30!  You said 4:30!"
LN: "Do I look like a fortune teller to you? I am not a fortune teller."  And she is not making eye contact---very bad sign.  "Too many people showed up and we are not taking any more today.  You can come back on Monday." ( I am about to jump in here, but Clark gives me the don't do it look.) 
Clark: "Look, you told me 4:30 and I am here a little after 4:00.  You knew I was going home to get the marriage license.  Couldn't you just let me in?"
LN: repeats the fortune teller line and then she says, "The lady in charge told me not to let anybody else in here and that's what I'm going to do."  
Clark: "Could I please speak to that lady, or could you tell her my circumstances?"  
LN: 'You don't want to talk to ME?" repeats question.... at which time I wanted to jump the counter.  But of course, that was just in my mind.  She could have taken me and besides, there was a policeman listening in and agreeing with the LN.  are you kidding?
So the LN went to the back, "checked" with whoever was in the driver's seat, and came back with a go ahead.  THANK GOODNESS for power over power mongers.  
By this time I had finished the entire process, and Clark had not begun. He and I watched practically every person finish and leave, but when his turn finally arrived, it went without a hitch.  So, we got what we came for......
Mistake #5: Thinking that we could get a driver's license in Memphis and walk away having had a good experience, because we were prepared.  We just weren't prepared for the License Nazi. 

Do You Have Your Blue Bag?

 This post is not for the person who is easily grossed out, so reader beware.  

The newspaper is delivered in a blue bag to our house every day around 6:30 A.M.  The first day I went out to get the news, I noticed my neighbor taking the blue bag off of the paper and stuffing it into her pocket.  I figured she was going to recycle it and thought nothing of it.  Well, the next day as I was walking Ellie girl, another neighbor stopped me and asked if I had my blue bag.  I told her that I had put it in the recycling bin and she replied,"Oh, no, we use them around here for our dog poo.  People get very upset if your dog poops in their yard, so we use our newspaper bags to pick it up."  And she showed me how to pick up  the poop, by turning the bag inside out. ( like I wouldn't have known that ) 

Now I TOTALLY get it that people don't want dog poop in their perfectly manicured carpet of a lawn. Really, I do.  Especially around here where there is not one blade of grass out of place.   Our neighbor's dog in Alabama was allowed to roam free, and he took a liking to our azalea bed, and when I weeded, it was disgusting, so I understand.  But here's the rub: Ellie's poop is rarely  "pickupable". She is a golden retriever with a sensitive stomach, and this is a new place, and when she gets nervous, her stomach is the first to go.  So, I'm finding myself RUNNING to the nearest common area (which by the way is still off limits to poop), saying over and over, "Come on, girl, you can make it, Ellie."  And we run and run and she looks over her shoulder at me like I am crazy.  I mean, we have just moved from the WOODS where a dog can find all KINDS of poop to sniff, and explore, and add to the variety with no bags attached.  I know this has to be some kind of torture for her, but imagine the  kind of walk I am having---it is so stressful.  Long gone are the strolls enjoying nature.   And for added stress,  I feel like everybody is watching us to see if we are following the "rules", and if Ellie makes a mistake, it will reflect on me.  You see, I'm a rule follower, and sometimes it comes back to bite me.  And I think this is one of those times.  I should just throw up my hands, and do the best I can, but I just know the neighbors are lurking near their windows ready to burst out of the door to chastise us if Ellie finds their yard the most attractive for her business.  So, I have resorted to practically dragging her to a semi-hidden spot, or a common area with trees and bushes to hide us.   And THEN, I am actually taking the blue bag out of my pocket and pretending to pick it up, because that's how paranoid I am.  And if I CAN manage to scoop the poop, who wants to continue on a walk with a big lump of smelly poop in the bottom of a bag swinging from your hand as you hit your stride?  Should I stuff it in my pocket?  I don't think so.  And guess, what?  I have done some lurking myself, and I am telling you that a WHOLE LOT OF PEOPLE are walking their dogs with a blue bag full of, well, you know--I'd like to say what I'm thinking but I'm trying to keep this blog clean.  It's just not a relaxing or therapeutic way to start my day.  I guess you can take the dog out of the country but .....you know the rest.  And I guess that goes for me too.   

Anybody Here Seen My Old Friend Bobby?

When Clark was a senior at Tupelo High School, he went to Washington D.C. as a page for Congressman Jamie Whitten.  One of his duties was to make deliveries to various senators and congressmen.  On the occasion of his delivering legislative documents to Senator Robert Kennedy, he noticed that Sen. Kennedy's office was filled with beautiful young women.  Clark told me that every single assistant and receptionist was gorgeous. And it certainly made his trips to THAT office exceptional. Clark asked one of the beauties to get him a personalized signed picture of Senator Kennedy, and she obliged.  He has had that photograph of Bobby Kennedy hanging on his wall wherever he has lived.   When we moved here last week-end (has it been a week?) we began to pull out pictures that we knew we'd display here, and of course, Bobby made the cut.  But he was not with the photos he had been hanging with in Alabama.  He was not anywhere in any box.  We began joking about where the photo was, and we even left a space on the wall for it.  Every day we'd check with each other to see if Bobby had surfaced, and every day was the same.   I even opened the Christmas boxes just in case.  no Bobby

This weekend, our goal was to go through every single picture or photograph, categorize them, and box them back up with labels, so that we know where everything is when we move out of our "flat" we are leasing now.  We are purging, and "Goodwilling" and lending, and tossing, even though we thought we had done that on the other end. 
 This move has definitely had its moments of frustration. For instance, the piano would not fit up these stairs and we had to make a quick decision what to do with it, and our entertainment center was too big to go through the door, so we had to put it into storage. (The TV is now sitting on top of a trunk, college style.)  And when we realized we had lost the key to the secretary, Clark decided to go to several antique shops and old furniture stores borrowing keys rather than paying for a locksmith, leaving the contents of the secretary all over the living room.  And the defining  sad Memphis moment: I found out bluebirds do not live in the city of Memphis but in the rural areas only, which led to another mini-meltdown.  But good ole Clark has held strong during this move, and has not wanted to show any disappointment, because I have needed his shoulder to cry on.   BUT I have seen it on his face every time we unwrap a picture that is the same shape and size as Bobby, and it is NOT Bobby.  So we have just looked at each other and have gone on to the next box and laughed about it.  But today it was no longer funny.  It was really bothering him.  So to add a little humor, we started singing Dion's song.   And then Clark noticed .....next to the couch.....was a box that we had overlooked-----for DAYS.  There were some items on top of the box so we had not seen it.  Clark grabbed the box, unwrapped a rectangular shape, and out came Bobby.    We made a big production of hanging him back among his friends, and Clark had the biggest grin on his face.  And then I started wondering, did he really admire Robert Kennedy that much, or did the photo remind him of all of those beautiful women in Senator Kennedy's office?  Either way, I'm OK with it because when I walk down the hall, I look at Bobby and smile.