My husband came into the house the other day, triumphantly waving something he'd apparently plucked out of the recycling bin. "Aha!" he said. "I finally have proof that you actually do throw money away." He quickly explained, however, that it was merely the glint of the shiny dime on top of the recycling that drew his attention -- he does not go through the bins to see what's mistakenly landed in them. That's his story, at least.
It was a party at the courthouse on Saturday afternoon in
Corinth, Mississippi, for the election-year tradition of speakin’ on the square. In near-100-degree heat, folks hugged the shady spots under trees and awnings as candidates took to the podium and promised … well, all sorts of things. (One candidate said, “I promise you can always get me on the phone and ask me anything you want. You may not like what I have to say, but I’ll always give you an 
answer,” which I thought was probably the most honest thing said all day.) Campaign workers manuevered through the crowd, graciously offering water and fans while a trailer from the local BBQ restaurant sold a steady supply of ribs and smoked chicken. It was hot, sweaty and miserable — and we all ate it up. How could you not love an event where folks come up to you and say, “Remember me? We talked in line at Wal-Mart three weeks ago? My uncle’s girlfriend’s cousin is running for office and would really appreciate your vote.” As a dedicated people-watcher and eavesdropper people-listener, I’d hit the jackpot here. What I especially liked was all the wheelin’ and dealin’ going on in the background while the candidates speech-ified. That’s where the stories were. Such as the two men in the photo above right, standing belly-to-belly and intensely discussing … well, they could have been exchanging recipes for all I know (we eavesdroppers do observe some boundaries, you know) or arguing over which sides of the square had the most shade (west and south were generally the top vote-getters) but these two sure seemed to be wrangling with something important. So if you’ve got the chance to vote in an election coming up soon, take it. You wouldn’t want all us Mississippi folks to have sweated in vain.
This past Friday night, my husband and I took a romantic stroll through the carnival that’s part of the eagerly anticipated annual Slugburger Festival set up for the weekend just a couple of blocks from our house, in Corinth,
Mississippi. We smooched on top of the ferris wheel and he won me a stuffed animal in the football toss and we walked arm-in-arm-in-cotton-candy and … aw, okay, you know that is all a big fat lie. I can’t fool you. Forget the romantic stuff. We did go to the festival, but naturally we bypassed the family fun and potentially romantic area and headed straight for the beer garden, where we loaded on Bud Light and rocked out to some great blues. But the carnival looked fun, in a scream-your-head-off-and-feel-your-stomach-do-flip-flops sort of way. And I know some of you are just now rejoining me after getting stuck at the words “Slugburger Festival” and wondering what, exactly, we and the good folks here in Corinth are doing and, more importantly, what we’re eating. I hope you read the link and learned that slugburgers are in fact an innovative and popular Corinth food item that people travel hundreds of miles for. And no slugs are harmed in the making of this sandwich, so it’s okay. But you’ve got to eat them hot and fast and please do not ask for catsup. That marks you as a non-slugburger connoisseur — or a Yankee. Not sure which is worse. Anyway, the festival continues tonight with country music, more carnival rides and all the beer and fried food your gall bladder will allow you to have you can eat.
This spring I’ve been helping my husband John Pitts, sports
editor for the Northeast Mississippi Daily Journal in Tupelo, cover local races. I think he mainly wants me involved so I’ll make sure he gets up and out to the starting line in time, since runners and sportswriters seem to have different interpretations of what “early in the morning” means. (One thinks 5 a.m. and the other thinks 10 a.m. You be the judge.) But I’ve honestly enjoyed the up-close-and-personal perspective I’ve gotten from helping cover both the Corinth Coca-Cola Classic 10K and Tupelo’s Gum Tree 10K Run. I mean, I do not run. It hurts. It makes me cry. It’s painful. I do not understand why people do it. I remember somebody who ran explaining it to me once. She said, “You know that feeling when you can’t move your legs and you feel so sick and dizzy and you have to stop and throw up? I love that!” This is 
madness with a capital “C” for crazy, too. Because whenever I feel like that, I immediately go lie
down. And perhaps call the doctor. I do not think, “Only four more miles to go!” That’s the difference, I guess, between those who run and those who buy a pair of Nikes maybe once every five years. Or the difference, perhaps, between those at the front of the race pack, poised to spring into record-breaking action as soon as the gun goes off, and those at the back, who are, like, “Has it started yet? Are we supposed to be moving?” As an experienced race reporter now, I can tell you that there’s quite a contrast between the intense anticipation at the front of the line and the relaxed gathering going on in the back. But that’s one of the most surprising things I learned: There’s room for all. Maybe even for folks who don’t even like to run.
Think fried. Think crunchy. Now think onions. Doesn’t that sound as if it would be a lovely combination — sort of like fried onion rings without all that pesky finger-licking grease? That’s what I first thought when I spied these “Onion Chips” at the Fresh Market in Huntsville, Alabama, recently: “Chips made out of onions! Genius! Why didn’t someone think of this sooner?” But the answer to that question was clear after one bite: No one had done this before because it’s a horrible idea. At least this version is. You know how when you accidentally eat some of the inedible onion skin and it literally tastes like paper — paper that tastes really really bad? Imagine that in crispy form and you’ve got these onion chips. Yuck. It’s sad that somehow the concept of fried onions got messed up so badly. I couldn’t even think of anything to do with them after everybody I forced to taste them politely declined to have any more. I mean, there’s your sign, right there. I’d
thought about grinding them up for breading crumbs or salad add-ons or something creative like that, but these don’t even deserve a second life.
So to offset such food awfullness, go out and buy/borrow/read/look at/check out Martha Foose’s new cookbook, “A Southerly Course.” Martha is a Mississippi native and personifies the best of the Magnolia State — open-hearted, generous, adept at storytelling, skilled in the kitchen and wrapping it all up with a wry sense of humor and an appreciation of all the cultures and heritages that make up today’s South. And the recipes are absolutely wonderful: Bacon Crackers. Sugarcane Sweet Potatoes. Honey Pear Salad. Pickled Crawfish Tails. Summertime Spaghetti Squash. Peach Shortcake. Dandelion Cracklings. And the photos! Gorgeous food close-ups using heirloom china and vintage linens combined with hometown shots of the Foose folks — Martha even reveals her messy refrigerator door — make this cookbook seem both a food-feast and a friend’s scrapbook. But “A Southerly Course” is more than a collection of user-friendly yummy recipes. Martha knows that the soul of good cooking is the love that goes into every spoonful — the sharing of good times with family and friends, the sharing of laughter around the table, the sharing of priceless memories with those you care about. Now, that is Southern cooking, Mississippi-style.
This is our backyard. Oh, okay, that’s a downright lie. You know that
our backyard actually is about the size of this patio table. And even if it were bigger, I still wouldn’t have the talent and skill to make our outdoor space look this cute and inviting. I mean, don’t you want to just pull up a chair and pour a nice cool drink? Love the bright red and green tablescape with lemon-yellow accents. So summery! This was only one of the dozens of inspiring “rooms” on this past weekend’s Corinth (Mississippi) Home & Garden Tour. Sponsored by Verandah House Friends, the annual tour raises money to restore Corinth’s 1857 Verandah House, a Greek Revival beauty where Confederate officers planned their Shiloh campaign. The tour included a flower show, a silent auction of amazing local art, a bake sale and a plant sale. But the stars, of course, were the homes and gardens. Three houses in one of Corinth’s historic districts were open to visitors, and it was a constant stream of admiring “ooh’s and ahh’s” as we peeked into interior rooms and wandered through outdoor spaces. I especially was impressed with the way the owners combined respect for their homes’ authenticity with modern individual touches — beloved family heirlooms were cozily comfortable sharing with cheerful 21st-century details. But, you know, that’s how we do it* in the South.
* I was going to say “that’s how we roll in the South,” but since that invariably would lead to “Roll, Tide!” references I went instead with a less inflammatory phrase. After all, this is a free and open space where we tolerate all opinions and where differences are welcome. On the other hand: “War Eagle!”
For the past few days, we’ve had storm evacuees at our
house: Older Daughter with our son-in-law and 3-year-old grandson, Capt. Adorable. Their neighborhood in Huntsville, Alabama, lost power and water from this past week’s deadly storms, so they headed east to stay with family for a few days. Husband JP and I got to have them first! Oh my cookies, you know it was blissdom to have the Captain (and his parents, of course) at our house. We played trains. We looked for trains. We crashed the wagon. (This only means I pull him around town in the red wagon I pulled his mom around in 25 years ago and I go really, really fast. When appropriate, of course.) We walked to the drugstore for an ice cream cone. We went to the doughnut shop and bought doughnuts. We chased the kitty cats. We ate oranges. We cracked pistachios. He taught me how to play Dinosaur Train games on the computer. He showed me a “castle” I didn’t even know was in our town. We went to the park. We went to a playground. We jumped, bounced, slid, tickled, crab-walked, ran and swung. I didn’t have time to do official workouts while they were here, but every morning I felt as if I’d done Jillian Michaels’ 30 Day Shred, Level No. 3. Twice. Consecutively. But also I got unlimited kisses, hugs and flowers from the Captain. It’s been a long time since I’ve had such a gorgeous bunch of hand-picked blossoms. That’s worth a few aches and pains, I think. And at the end of a week when unbelievably violent weather has, tragically, ripped families apart, I’m humbly grateful that it brought our family together in safety.
Thanks to all who have so kindly asked if my family and I are OK, after the deadly storms that swept through the South during the past couple of days. We are so thankful that family and friends made it through. In the towns where my husband and I live and work — the Shoals, Alabama; and Corinth and Tupelo, Mississippi, — there’s only minor damage from flooding and downed tree limbs. In Huntsville, Alabama, Older Daughter and her family are without power, and they lost tree limbs and parts of their back-yard fence. Of course, other places were not so lucky. A couple of nearby small communities are completely devastated and the death toll is climbing. Please join us in praying for those who are grieving and suffering today.
In an effort to impress y’all with how healthy and local and slow-food I am, I usually post photos of beautiful fresh vegetables that I’ve lovingly and barely cooked to release the best flavor and most nutrition. And I do eat like that. Mostly. Sometimes. Occasionally. But sometimes you just have to have meat. Such as these beautiful steaks my middle brother grilled this past weekend as the family gathered to celebrate the April 16 birthdays of our oldest and youngest members: It was my dad’s 77th and my nephew’s 1st. So, as always in the meat-atarian Wood clan, we marked the occasion with tender and juicy beef. Capt. Adorable — 3-y ear-old son of my vegetarian older daughter and her husband — could not get enough. My husband also is a fan of meat, such as these warm and melty Philly-style sandwiches we get at United Steaks restaurant in Corinth, Miss. We’ll always say, “Remember, we can just order one sandwich and split it,” but we’ll forget that plan as soon as we’re at the counter and smell the cheese and hear the onions sizzling. But we do share our sides — I always order the hand-cut potato chips and he always orders the fries. Vegetables, you know.
As much as I adore 3-year-old grandson Capt. Adorable’s 
wardrobe — cute cargo shorts, precious polos, oh-so-adorable blue jeans — I think that having a baby-girl granddaughter to dress up in clothes such as these would be fun, too. I mean, who else but a granddaughter can you talk into wearing bright-pink flowers, yellow kitty cats and a riotous mixture of vintage-style prints? With ruffles? The Captain does have long gorgeous blond curls and he has put on my boots and clomped around the house, but he draws the line at pink flowers and yellow kitty cats. And, admittedly, he likes my boots because he then goes around brandishing a pretend sword and muttering “arrrr” in a spot-onl Jack Sparrow imitation. He would not be interested at all in these darling outfits by The Whimzy Barn I found at the Green Market arts and crafts show in Corinth, Miss., that’s held every month in historic downtown. Check it out — it’s a great place to shop for young pirates as well as sweet little girls.
P.S. This is a great discussion in light of the controversy surrounding the pink-toenail-polish J Crew ad. Look, we all know that there isn’t a mom around who hasn’t at least thought about “prettying-up” her little boy. In the ad photo (which is a real mom and her child), it’s obvious that the mom and her son love each other and are having a great time. Why this strikes fear into some people’s hearts, I have no idea.
Coffee with Cathy 