Wisdom

This past weekend we took a trip to Arkansas for a family reunion and brought along our 6-year-old nephew, which is always good for a few laughs.

Our trip would take us though Southeast Missouri (through the boot heel), so we decided to stop in Sikeston at Lambert’s “throwed rolls” restaurant. The server took our drink order, and when she walked away, Nathaniel asked me, “Does she have an accent?” I said, “Yes, she does.” A different waitress took the food order at the table next to us, and Nathaniel said, “She’s got the SAME accent! Why does she have the same accent?” I told him it’s because they both live here in the same area. He thought about that for a few minutes, and then said, “I think I know why it took them so long to open this restaurant. It’s because they had to find a whole bunch of people with the same accent.”

After we got back on the road, we heard a shout from the far back seat in the mini-van, “HEY GUYS…. Don’t ever taste rocks! I didn’t want to taste them, but they put them in my mouth, and made me taste them, and they don’t taste good!”

Easter Dinner... Katie-style (Greek)

I really wish that Grandma Boulicault (Eva) could have been with us today. She would have been so proud. Not only did we use her soup tureen, but Queeny did the dishes.

Background: Grandma collected dishes. Dishes of all sorts. Fancy cup and saucer sets, relish dishes, toothpick holders, dinner bells, whatever caught her eye. She had more oddball items than you can imagine. When she moved from the family home (and not counting the dishes in the kitchen) she had 3 china cabinets full and the back stairwell which was never used was stacked all the way up the stairs. Before she died she gave my dad a beautiful soup tureen and covered casserole dish, a matching set, of Limoges/Haviland china. They’ve been in my parents’ china cabinet ever since.

After Grandpa died, my dad made a point to have Grandma over for dinner 2 or 3 times a week. When everyone got up from the table Mom would start washing the dishes, and Grandma would say to my mother, “Why don’t you have Queeny do it (pointing to me). She doesn’t do anything around here.”

This weekend she would have busted a couple buttons. My daughter, Katie, likes to “take things up a notch”. We’ve gotten pretty lazy over the last decade or so, using paper plates, plastic cups, plastic forks, knives, spoons, vinyl tablecloths, etc. Many times we served the food out of the pans we cooked it in. Over the last year or so, Katie’s been vamping things up a few levels. We put the vinyl tablecloths underneath to protect the table from spills, and we’re using damask tablecloths and fancy-folded napkins. A couple Christmases ago I talked Mom into letting us use the fancy drinking glasses that were on display for 40+ years.

Today we bumped it up even further. We served in courses. Soup, salad, dinner, dessert. Katie decided to make a Greek dinner for Easter. She roasted a leg of lamb, with potatoes, carrots, and celery. She made a Greek salad and spanakopita (spinach pie). When she started talking about making avgolemono (lemon chicken soup), I said, “Great! We can use Grandma Boulicault’s soup tureen!”

It’s been a long time since I washed so many dishes. The soup tureen had to be washed, since it had been in the china cabinet for over 30 years. I washed a dozen china soup bowls last night, since they’d been in the buffet for over 20 years, and a dozen salad bowls. I set the table (including soup spoons) and folded the cloth napkins like a bird-of-paradise (Katie taught me). Today I washed the 16 glasses, because they sit out all the time. All this before we ate.

Joe smoked a turkey and made three loaves of homemade bread (without a recipe). We also had mashed potatoes, fresh green beans, and Katie made 2 pies. So, add it up. After dinner I washed 10 (EACH) soup bowls, salad bowls, plates, forks, knives, spoons, soup spoons, and glasses. Add to that the serving platters, bowls, forks, spoons for each food item. Oh, and the pots, pans, lids, bowls, measuring cups, knives, strainers, spoons, cutting boards, etc. used in preparation/cooking. Whew! Too bad Grandma missed that. If I could tell her, she’d think it was an April Fool!

P. S. I didn’t say a word when they got out the disposable dessert plates. 

Live your life so the preacher won't have to lie at your funeral

Our preacher used to tell a story about a guy that nobody liked. He was mean, hateful, selfish… you name it.

There was another guy in town that never said an unkind word about anybody. Let’s call him Jim.

One day the first guy died, and a group of men were sitting around talking, whittling, etc. One by one, they took turns bad-mouthing the guy, talking about how nobody would even want to go to his funeral. Then it came around to Jim. Everybody was waiting to see what Jim would say. It got real quiet. He thought for a minute and said, “He sure could whistle.”

Arkansas!

Last weekend we went to Arkansas for a family reunion. We took along our 3-year-old nephew for entertainment. Actually, we just thought it would be fun if he got to go; and we thought his parents might enjoy a break since they had just moved and were trying to get settled. For us, it turned out to be fun and entertaining.

My brother dropped him at our house about 9:30. We loaded up his gear and went inside to get my stuff. He picked up a pair of swimming goggles and tried them on. “Cool… everything is blue. Can I borrow these?” We were in the house for about 3 minutes, in which time he borrowed a small stuffed animal and the goggles.

Grandma (my mother) rode with us, too. Our first stop, and a major priority, was for hearing aid batteries. Then we were off. Every now and then we would ask Nathaniel, “Where are we going?” and he would shout, “Arkansas!” Obviously, the irony of such enthusiasm about a trip to Arkansas was lost on him, but it made the rest of us chuckle.

Nathaniel was hungry about half an hour into the trip, but we had to drop the dog off before we could stop to eat. We asked him what he wanted to eat, and he said, “A CHEETHEBURGER!”. Mark asked if he wouldn’t rather have buzzard, and he just said, “No, I want a cheethburger… and French frieth”. Throughout the weekend whenever we were discussing where and what we would eat, the same buzzard conversation came up. Sometimes he preferred a grilled cheese sandwich … and French fries. After we dropped off the dog, we went to the Hitchin’ Post in Pilot Knob and he got his cheeseburger and fries. The smallest one they had was 1/3 pound. He ate half of it – must have been starving.

On the way into the restaurant there was a large bubble gum machine. Uncle Mark promised him he could get some on the way out if he ate good. When I heard about this, I made it very clear that there would not be a 3-year-old with a big wad of bubble gum in my car. So we agreed upon Skittles, which were to be rationed.

When we saw the “Welcome to Arkansas” sign we hooped and hollered, “Yay, we’re in Arkansas! Yay!!” Just a piece down the road (hey, I AM in Arkansas now) we stopped at the Welcome Center. We took pictures by the big rock that had “Arkansas” carved into it. The ladies inside gave Nathaniel stickers and a lapel pin, and he was in hog heaven.

There were a few phrases we heard repeatedly. “Whatever you do, DON’T TOUCH DADDY’S MAIL” and “Get it in second gear”. We didn’t ask.

On the way home as the sun was going down, Nathaniel turned to Grandma in the back seat and prepared to take her dinner order.

Nathaniel: Grandma, what would you like to drink? Would you like a Sprite?

Grandma: Yes, I’d like a Sprite.

Nathaniel: What would you like to eat, Grandma?

Grandma: I think I’d like a cheeseburger.

Nathaniel: Would you like some French fries?

Grandma: Yes. Thank you.

Nathaniel: Okay, I’ll get that ready.

Nathaniel: Aunt Denise, what would you like to drink?

Me: I’d like a Sprite.

Nathaniel: Okay, and what would you like to eat, Aunt Denise?

Me: I’d like a cheeseburger and some French fries.

Nathaniel: Okay.

Nathaniel: Uncle Mark, what would you like?

Mark: I’d like a Sprite.

Nathaniel: What would you like to eat?

Mark: What do you have?

Nathaniel: We have buzzard.

“Y'all ain't from around here, ere ye?" #1

Last weekend I traveled to Memphis for a football game and a mini-vacation. After finding our favorite barbeque spot (Nelly’s) had a 45-minute to an hour wait we decided to head in the direction of the game and return for barbeque the next day.

We hadn’t gone very far when my “Low Fuel” light came on, so I stopped at the first gas station I saw. I swiped my card at the pump and set the handle on the slowest auto-pump setting. Being a city girl and knowing I wasn’t in the best of neighborhoods, I kept looking around, checking people out, watching my back. 8 gallons… 9 gallons… What’s that guy doing by the front door of the gas station? Oh, he’s lighting his cigarette. Great. Smart guy. 17 gallons… 18 gallons… 19 gallons… then splash. Gas pours out of the tank, onto the ground. I quickly grab the handle and turn it off.

Then the genius with the cigarette calls out to me, “Hey! What you doin’?” I told him the thing didn’t shut off like it’s supposed to. He makes some comment about me wasting gas – like I did it on purpose – and starts walking toward me while he’s saying it. I said, “Don’t be coming over here with that cigarette! You shouldn’t even be smoking here.” His retort: You ain’t from around here, are ya?” I said, “No, where I come from the pumps shut off like they’re supposed to.” What I wanted to say was, “No, where I come from people are smart enough not to smoke at gas stations.” I wanted to say that, but it would have been a lie.

Elvis Is Alive Museum, Wright City, MO

The tackiest roadside attraction I've ever seen was the "Elvis Is Alive Museum" in Wright City, Missouri. One side of the building was a "greasy spoon" hamburger joint. The other half of the building, separated by an OPEN doorway, was the museum (and I use the term loosely). On display, for all the world to see, and touch, was a white outfit with rhinestones that was supposedly worn by The King.

Now, I've got to ask you, if you were in possession of anything worn by Elvis Presley would you not keep it stored in such a way that nobody could get their greasy, ketchupy, mustardy, pickled fingers on it? Not too bright, the owner. Not to mention that due to this open door policy the "Elvis outfit" resembled the topside of a range hood... or anything you have on a shelf in your kitchen that you haven't cleaned in a few years. You know what I mean? That coating of grease with dust stuck to it?

There was a section at the back of the room that was separated by a picket fence. Beyond the fence was a casket and graveyard. This area, of course, was dedicated to the oddities surrounding his un-death. Just weird.

The most interesting thing about this museum was the list of reasons they believed Elvis was not dead. I'm not kidding - they might have done something with that.

I almost forgot to mention Elvis' Cadillac that was parked out front... in the weather... year-round.

It's hard to believe this museum has closed - died, per se. But, at least, Elvis is still alive.

Long live The King!

I Survived

Monday night I watched (for the first time) a program called “I Survived”. There were three stories: a lady held hostage in a gas station for 18 hours or more, a man attacked by a mountain lion, and two ladies randomly shot while driving down the highway.

The stories were told by the survivors themselves, not a narrator. The program was compelling, but jumping from story to story was very annoying. Do they think we’ll lose interest if they tell a whole story all the way through? If that’s the case, they better do away with commercial breaks.