Category Archives: friends

Friends, Books and Ice Cream All are Good for You

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My friend Susan is the most amazing cook and hostess ever. Our four-woman book club met at her house this past week and she served us a meal so healthy and delicious we didn’t want to stop eating long enough to discuss the book — which was Winter’s Bone, by the way, and excellent. Susan started impressing us with bruschetta (roasted garbanzo beans, onions, tomatoes and other fresh veggies on grilled bread) and then went on to a cup of chicken soup with pita-chip croutons. Entrees were beautifully grilled salmon steaks with roasted potatoes and vegetables. And then there was dessert. And I know you’re thinking when you look at this ice-cream delight, “But I thought this was a healthy meal.” It was! Susan, with her shopping skills, found these low-fat and 140-calorie ice-cream sandwiches from Skinny Cow and topped them with heart-healthy walnuts, strawberries and blueberries. I’d never had any Skinny Cow products before since I tend to walk very fast past the ice-cream aisle at the grocery to prevent being irresistibly drawn to the Ben & Jerry’s section, where I usually stand there with the cooler door open wondering how many calories and fat grams Chocolate Fudge Brownie ice cream actually can have. (Denial. I’m in denial.) And I have to admit I’ve had unpleasant low-fat, low-calorie, low-whatever ice-cream experiences. Haven’t we all? But I’m telling you: Skinny Cow is good. And when it has the Susan seal of approval, you know it’s a winner.

Mississippi Grocery Stores

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I don’t know what it is about Mississippi and restaurant names, but any eatery in the Magnolia state that has the word “grocery” in it is bound to be a winner. Examples: City Grocery in Oxford, Pizza Grocery in Corinth. And Romie’s Grocery in Tupelo. A meat-and-three by day, Romie’s turns into a warm and friendly dining experience at night featuring a creatively eclectic menu of fresh Southern favorites. And then of course there is the ladies’ room — you know that’s one of my top priorities for a restaurant. And Romie’s gets top grades for its home-like decor, cozy lighting and whimsical art work. Also: I sort of want to take this sink and the bathroom counter home with me, but a) that would leave a huge hole in the Romie’s ladies’ room and b) my Dear Husband consistently turns his nose up at bowl sinks. I say they’re an imaginative way to add some personality and style to a bathroom. He says, “They’re just weird. And wrong.” But I believe, with all due respect, that in this instance he is wrong. I mean, doesn’t the contrast of textures among the sink and the mirror and the counter just make you believe that the whole world should be this cool?  Imagine, if you can, what it would look like with your typical white bathroom sink. Ugh. However, Dear Husband and I do agree that Romie’s is delicious and we should eat there as often as we can.

I ‘Heart’ My Dad

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This is the view I’ve been looking at for the past three days. Well, this … and my 75-year-old dad in a coronary-care unit hospital bed. But he’s getting better! Friday morning he was walking on the track at his town’s recreation center when he … I guess … sort of died from cardiac arrest. His heart just stopped. But he’s getting better! He was in the right place at the right time and the right folks were there to do CPR and operate the defibrillator. If he’d been walking on the outdoors trail or working on the tractor on his tree farm? Not so much. A helicopter brought him from his hometown hospital to this big city hospital, where he was sedated and cooled down for 24 hours to reduce brain swelling. Doctors kept saying, “IF he wakes up, then we’ll address the heart issues.” Um, yes, please? But he’s getting better! He woke up and practically instantly started complaining about being in bed and wanting to get out and go walk. That’s my dad. Of course, as Older Daughter said, when he starts asking how many people work at the hospital and when it was built and how many people it serves every year — then we’ll know he’s back to normal. So I’m hanging out here with my mom and my middle brother and all the wonderful wonderful dear friends who’ve come to help and the incredibly caring and skilled medical staff. And two Starbucks within walking distance. So it’s all good. And now, test your knowledge of Southern city skylines and tell me where we are. The “Batman” building on the right is the best clue.

It Feels Like Christmas, Just Like Christmas

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This Exhibit A why I’ll never ever ever be an interior decorator and/or marvelous hostess: These photos illustrate the way the holidays are supposed to be done, as opposed to my method of tying a few bows on light fixtures, opening a box of fancy Ritz crackers and hoping for the best. Thankfully, there are people like Mary Katherine Butler, an interior decorator and lover of all things colorful who owns a shop called Kates and Co. in downtown Corinth, Mississippi. She carries the slack for the rest of us … well, slackers. This was the Christmas open house at her shop a few days ago, and it definitely put everybody in a festive spirit. How could it not? I smile just walking into her shop. In the hands of folks who know what they’re doing — like Mary Katherine and several of my good friends — a bunch of stuff on a table turns into something gorgeous and magical. But if I arranged a bunch of stuff on a table, it simply would look like a bunch of stuff on a table. But at least that’s better than a bunch of cat hair, which is what’s usually on our tables. Sigh.

Thanksgiving Dinner — or Why I’m Glad We’re Honorary Behels

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I’m not going to embarrass myself by telling you how many of these desserts I sampled at Thanksgiving dinner, but let’s just say I can tell you without a doubt that every one of these yummy pies and cakes and cookies and trifles was absolutely delicious. My daughter’s in-laws always have a big Behel-family feast — and luckily they consider my husband and me as family. My daughter’s mother-in-law made the chess and pumpkin pies from her grandmother’s recipes and her brother-in-law’s wife made the dark chocolate and buttercream cupcakes. As you can imagine, my husband and I started out sharing a plate of dessert goodies but quickly realized that we each needed our own. And there was my husband’s favorite: Green bean casserole. And my daughter’s famous corn casserole. And Paula Deen’s broccoli casserole. And light and soft homemade rolls. And now I’m making myself hungry all over again.

We’re still unpacking and settling in to our new house. And that’s good, because I’ve wrung two newspaper columns out of the experience and I’ve got a couple more percolating. When that last box is empty, I’m not sure what I’m going to write about. Maybe that’s why I keep putting off tackling all those boxes in the garage.

No Stress Allowed

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I’m not very much of a nature girl. I mean, if it’s a choice beween curling up with a good book and a cup of good coffee versus lacing up the hiking boots, I’m taking the book and coffee every time. But sometimes, nature just sort of demands that you put the book down and unplug the computer and forget where you put your cell phone and simply be still and appreciate. Which is what some girlfriends and I did this past weekend when we rented a house on Smith Lake in Alabama and then proceeded to do not much of anything else. No, that’s not true. We ate and talked and laughed and drank and talked and laughed. And reveled in the peaceful and utterly quiet surroundings that demanded absolutely nothing of us except to enjoy. We’re making it an annual tradition to get away on the weekend before Thanksgiving, before all the holiday craziness — which we wouldn’t give up for anything, by the way — makes us … well, crazy. It’s like filling up your tank with super-extra-serene fuel to get you through the next few weeks, topped off with a refreshing oil-change of quality friend-time.

Moving Day

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I am so embarrassed to show y’all this, but we’re all friends here in the blogosphere and I know you won’t hold this against me even though I cringe every time I look at this picture and think about all the stuff we accummulated through the years that now is going to end up in a landfill. After 15 years of living in this house and raising two daughters and four cats here and then getting married to my college sweetheart who so graciously and patiently tried to fit himself in a house that never really was his, we have moved. One of the biggest parts of getting ready for the move was decluttering and cleaning out. And everytime I thought I had done that sufficiently, more stuff somehow magically appeared. Such as this pile we pulled out of the Scary Spider/Stink Room. I promise you that all this — and more — was stuffed into an under-the-stairs basement storage area. And it all had great meaning and value at one time, such as my daughters’ Sesame Street and Pound Puppies sleeping bags, which kept them safe and warm through many evenings of cuddles and TV watching. But they’re 26 and 24 now and really don’t need their old Sesame Street and Pound Puppies sleeping bags. The memories — and photos — are enough. I hate adding to the world’s trash load, but maybe somebody came by and at least rescued the sleeping bags from the curb before the trash truck came by. I only hope the rescuers washed the bags very very well in steaming hot water first. And as you can see, even with all our decleuttering, we still managed to fill a moving truck with Essential Items We Can’t Live Without. I shudder to think how many trucks we would have needed if it weren’t for the three yard sales and numerous clean-out campaigns we waged during the year our house was on the market. Jeremy — our moving guy in the photo top right — would not be smiling in that case.

And speaking of moving, Older Daughter graciously took over my newspaper column this week to give me an unpacking break. She is an awesome writer and did an homage to this house she grew up in as a farewell/break-up letter. Brilliant!

How To Move, or Has Anybody Seen My Mixer?

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What I’ve learned about moving:

1) You must have friends who will help you. You cannot do this by yourself. And I’m not talking about the help you needed when you moved in your 20s and you rounded up your brother and his friends and other random males and fed them beer and pizza to move your couch. We’re way beyond that at this point. Because even though my husband and I are now mature grownups who can pay the professionals (who are still 20-something-year-old males, by the way) to do the heavy lifting, you still need friends. Friends to tell you to ditch the box of cross-stitch patterns you’ve carted around for years because you WILL do them someday. Friends to make you face up to the fact that you have eight wooden toast tongs, three cheese graters and a whole drawer full of kitchen gadgets you cannot identify. Friends who make you question if you’ll ever really wear that silver lame dress. If you don’t have friends like that, get some before you move. You’re welcome.

2) You must have a husband who is kind and patient and understanding, even when the contents of the storage pod everybody forgot about are unloaded in your new garage and you’re left with 25 — count ’em, 25 — plastic boxes of undetermined origin. You need a husband who simply sighs and smiles and clears out some more space. If you don’t ‘have a husband like that, get one before you move. You’re doubly welcome.

3) And, finally, you must have a sense of humor, a tendency toward flexibility and an unflappable sense of balance that is not thrown off when you can’t find your earrings, your hair dryer, any matching pair of shoes or your big Kitchen Aid stand mixer. I can understand how the earrings and hair dryer and shoes might be lurking in boxes somewhere, but I’m really baffled by the disappearance of the mixer. Stay tuned …

A Blue-Ribbon Effort, or Why Was Your 1994 Soccer Team Named ‘The SandSharks’?

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Thank you all for wondering where I’ve been the past few days. I think this photo says it all, and here are some clues: I’ve been collecting boxes and saving newspapers from the recycling bin. I’ve been comparing prices on new refrigerators. I’ve been trying to figure out what’s really up in the attic and is it worth bringing down. And I’ve been wandering through more than two decades of family memories. Yup, you guessed it. My husband and I are packing up and moving out. After having our house on the market for one year — that’s ONE FREAKIN’ WHOLE YEAR, people! — our always patient and optimistic Realtor has found the perfect family for it, and we’re outta here.  But as I keep telling folks, we’re not really moving away. We’re just sort of transferring our stuff a little bit down the road. We’re downsizing to a cute new house that’s an easy commute for both my husband and I — we don’t even have to get new library cards, so that’s a good thing. But we do have to go through all the Very Important Things we’ve accumulated through the years. And we’ve accumulated a lot. I mean, I’ve been decluttering and throwing away and simplifying for months now, and we’re still uncovering hidden treasures. Such as my two now-20-something-year-old daughters’ sports ribbons and trophies. I can’t throw them away. You can’t recycle trophies (I’ve tried). My daughters don’t really have space for them but don’t want to get rid of them. So they chose a few memorable ones (you know — pardon me while I brag here — record-breakers, high-point winners, first places) and we boxed up the rest and designated them as “Keepers.” So let this serve as a cautionary tale for all you young parents out there who are so proud of the trophies and plaques and ribbons and medals your children are starting to bring home. Warning, warning! You’re going to have to deal with them all someday. Don’t think you can just put them under the bed and be done with them. Oh, no! In fact, I think they multiply while we’re not looking.

Baby Showers

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When our friend couldn’t wait to tell us that she was going to be a grandma for the first time, the three of us couldn’t wait to start planning a surprise shower for her. We sneakily scheduled the party for our regular book-club night and pulled off the surprise with style — she truly never saw it coming. Other than her face when she realized what was happening — priceless! — the best thing about our shower was the decor. My friend who volunteered her home for the book-club meeting/surprise baby shower created a baby-boy-blue wonderland that we all oohed and ahhed over and didn’t want to leave. (And now I really should drop the pretense that we talked about the book that night, although we did spend a couple of minutes on it, I think.) She’s a master at using things she already has — mixing vintage with contemporary — to set the mood and then adding her own special touches. Her blue-frosted cupcakes were don’t-let-a-single-crumb-go-to-waste good. And when she kicked off the evening with a pitcher full of yummy icy-blue goodness to sip before we sat down to a cool and refreshing chicken-salad supper, we knew we were in good hands as we welcomed our friend into the Sisterhood of Really Cool Grandmas. And you can join, too, as long as you have Really Cute Grandchildren. And don’t we all? Plus, we’ll even waive the iniation rite of having to sing all verses of the “Thomas the Tank Engine” song.

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