November 02 '02
Volume 335
Mom's Day 2002
Traditional Feast
Last Sunday
marked
my family's fourteenth observance of Mom's Day. Mom might have
referred to it as her birthday dinner, but I like to think she'd okay our
calling it Mom's Day. My wife should be credited for our faithfulness in
observing the family day, as she was the first to suggest we continue a tradition
Mom established many years ago and has taken it upon herself to propagate
the festivities.
I've explained it before, but here it is once more. My mother, Frances Crausby
Carter, loved the holidays of winter, particularly Thanksgiving and Christmas.
Traditionally, she served up chicken and dressing for the main course on
those holidays. We may have had turkey, also, but the cornbread dressing
was always made using the broth from a baking hen, never a turkey. Sometimes,
deboned chicken was buried in one end of a pan of dressing, but more often
than not it was served separate from the dressing. For Mom, chicken and dressing
was cold-weather food, and none of us ever remember her serving chicken and
dressing in the summertime.
Mom's birthday was October 27th. I should also correct an earlier
mistake I made in stating the year of her birth as 1917; it was 1918. As
a child, my family enjoyed one big meal per week, and it was always on Sunday.
The traditional Sunday dinner (lunch) typically consisted of country fried
chicken, creamed potatoes, English peas or green beans and maybe a second
or third vegetable, cornbread or biscuits or rolls, and always a dessert.
I'm sure there were years when less was available, but I don't remember them.
In my youth, I ate my share of fried bologna, fried Spam, brains and eggs,
salmon patties, canned chili, vegetable beef soup, Vienna sausage, and other
meats that came in cans. I can remember eating oysters during months that
had an "r" in the name of the month. However, other than an occasional pork
chop or pounded piece of round steak, I don't remember our family having
fresh meat very often through the week, but we generally counted on having
chicken on Sunday. Okay, Mom did make a lot of hamburger steaks with additives
of ketchup, flour, and eggs poured into them to stretch the ground beef.
But, I remember those days from my high school and college years, not my
childhood and early youth.
My purpose in mentioning the above foods is to relate that Sunday was our
main meat-day. Sunday was the day to put on the dog. "Eating out" was not
part of our vocabulary, unless it meant we were to eat at my grandparent's
home at Thaxton. If my family had a big-meal, it was a Sunday meal. Thus,
Mom chose to have her birthday dinner, not on her birthday, but rather on
a Sunday. And, yes, sometimes her birthday fell on Sunday, but usually it
did not, so she picked the Sunday in October nearest her birthday.
Some family members question why we don't celebrate a Dad's Day in honor
of our dad, William Henry Carter. I suppose it's because no tradition was
ever established for Dad's birthday. We surely didn't have a cold-weather
food like chicken and dressing in the middle of July. We observed Dad's birthday,
but it was not an event. It never developed into a family tradition. Barbara
has a birthday, and I have a birthday. We have them every year, but neither
of us have a birthday tradition, except we both traditionally like to receive
presents. Neither of us is expecting our children to celebrate our birthday
beyond our respective deaths, because our birthdays are not established
traditions. I doubt Mom ever thought about her birthday celebration becoming
a family tradition, but as time went by it became just that, and since my
family is big on traditions, we continue to observe Mom's Day.
Were our traditions not so firmly rooted, we might not have done Mom's Day
this year. Barbara was off on a trip to Independence, Missouri and was not
expected back until late Saturday or possibly Sunday. Sara Sue had to work
Sunday morning, and Rayanne's calendar was full until Sunday afternoon.
I've watched enough programs on the Food Network TV channel lately to now
qualify to cook most anything. I reasoned that, with a little help, I could
get most of the meal preparations accomplished Saturday. Rayanne was committed
to attend Anna's band competition in Booneville, Saturday afternoon but Sarah
was available. Thus, on Saturday morning, I stewed a chicken, baked a batch
of cornbread, chopped up a large onion and several stalks of celery, and
bought out most of a local supermarket to replenish our pantry.
Sarah came over Saturday afternoon to help with the assembly of the dressing,
to put together a casserole, and do her magic on some sweet potatoes.
Imagine Sarah saying, "I don't know why Mama made such a big deal out of
all the work involved in making chicken and dressing."
"Ha, I can see why you think so, sister Sue. But, the hard part was done
before you got here. All you've had to do is mix it up," I responded.
I remember it was midnight when Sarah put her sweet potato pie in the
refrigerator and went home, and I remember wondering if she was ready to
recant her earlier remark. For Mom's Day, all that remained in the way of
cooking, other than baking the dressing and casseroles, was heating up the
English peas, slicing the cranberry sauce, making a pitcher of sweet tea,
preparing a bowl of creamed potatoes, and browning the rolls, basically stuff
I could do by myself, if necessary.
Rayanne phoned Sunday morning to say her mother would not be home until five
or six o'clock that afternoon. Sarah and I were expecting to eat around
two-thirty, until hearing the latest regarding Barbara's arrival. Sarah was
at work when Rayanne phoned, so I didn't update her. She was disappointed
when she called to see if the dressing was ready shortly after she got off
work at two p.m.
Rayanne arrived at three o'clock ready to do her last minute arranging and
rearranging. Thankfully, no furniture had to be moved, but she did scrounge
up enough flowers and ivy from the flowerbeds to make an attractive centerpiece
for the table. With time on her hands, Rayanne decided to visit her grandmother
in the nursing home, promising to return by four-thirty to get the Irish
potatoes cooking.
Meanwhile, Barbara arrived home around four p.m., earlier than expected,
and was instrumental in helping with the last minute baking activities. Aunt
Jo came over, bringing a chocolate pie and a plate of deviled eggs, but we
had to wake up Sarah from her nap to tell her supper was almost ready at
five-thirty. Anson was at work and couldn't make the gala; Merilese was sickly
and stayed with grandparents in Belmont; Felicia was at work in Oxford, but
she promised to come over to eat when she got off work.
After the traditional Mom's Day blessing by the head of the house, everyone
sat down to eat. All agreed the dressing was superb and Barbara remarked
she was glad to know she didn't have to be here for us to get it right. I
tried to eat some of everything, but failed to get a slab of Sarah's "Idiot's
Delight," an aptly named frozen dessert-type salad in that the idiots who
consume it's calories truly delight in it.
I don't know how many more years we'll celebrate Mom's Day, but given our
track record I'll say it's here to stay.
Good Decision
Heating And Cooling
About a month ago, my wife noticed our air conditioner was not cooling properly.
Barbara has a comfort zone that ranges roughly between 68 and 73 degrees.
Anything outside of the zone and she's either freezing or burning up. Depending
upon the relative humidity, she may well be uncomfortable even in her "zone."
Thus, by her noticing the air conditioner was not cooling properly, I readily
deduced she was burning up.
Two summers ago, the compressor portion of our central unit expired and had
to be replaced. The serviceman explained the cost to replace only the compressor
was almost as great as replacing the entire outside unit. We took his advice
and replaced the outside unit.
Most of us who've had air conditioner problems have gained considerable
experience in diagnosing problems. We know to check the air filter inside
the house, because a dirty filter restricts airflow across the cooling coil
and can lead to ice formation of the coil which restricts airflow even more,
and without air flowing across the cooling coil, the air conditioner does
not work properly. We also know that a properly functioning air conditioner
has a hot copper tube and a cold copper tube connecting the compressor unit
outside to the cooling coil inside, and we know to feel each tube before
calling a serviceman. Since both tubes were warm, I presumed the system had
somehow lost it's refrigerant.
I was out of town the morning Mr. Wally York came to check out the problem,
but when I called Barbara to check with her, she said it was working again
and the hot house was beginning to cool down. Unfortunately, the fix lasted
less than one week, and once again I found myself talking to Mr. York about
the air conditioner.
"Your coil is bad," he told me.
"That's the part of the unit that's inside my house, right?" I asked.
"Yeah, it's on top of the furnace. To replace it, I'll have to pull it up
through the attic," he relayed. "You may want to go ahead and replace the
furnace, too."
"What kind of money are we talking about?" I queried.
"Well, just the coil will run you about a thousand dollars and to replace
everything inside will cost twenty-one hundred. Plus," he continued, "the
new unit will bring you up to code."
Our house is less than fifteen years old and I would have thought it was
built to code to begin with, but apparently not. Mr. York explained the present
system opened into the attic and was not properly sealed off. Additionally,
there was something about the air intake for the gas fired furnace that didn't
pass muster. He also explained a new furnace would burn less natural gas,
due to its improved efficiency, and that I not only would save money on fuel,
I'd save money on labor if I chose to replace everything at one time.
My meager savings would allow me to replace the coil, but funds were insufficient
to cover the entire project that Mr. York proposed.
"Let me think about, and I'll let you know something by the early part of
the week," I promised.
"That's fine," he assured. "With the cool weather they're predicting for
the next week, you couldn't pick a better time to have an air conditioning
problem."
In fact, it was already cool, but our house is so well insulated, that once
it gets hot, it's hard for nighttime temperatures to cool it down. I knew
my best bet to cool the house would be to open all the windows during the
day and leave them open at night. After about a day and a half, the temperature
inside dropped to seventy degrees, and because of the cool nights that followed
we were able to close all the windows and still maintain a comfortable
temperature inside.
Barbara and I made arrangements with our banker to help us purchase a complete
replacement unit for both the coil and furnace. It was a tough decision,
but a good decision, for when Mr. York inspected the furnace after removing
it, he said it was badly rusted and filled with soot. Home repairs and
maintenance as well as appliance upgrades and repairs are part of the routine
we homeowners are required to endure. Death and taxes are generally accepted
as life's two greatest certainties. Home repair should also be near the top,
and while good decisions are often a hit or miss, sometimes homeowners bat
above five hundred.
Bodock
Beau Dusting Pledge & Forgive
I found the following quite truthful and at the same time amusing. Dena Kimbrell
passed it my way in an email.
I couldn't resist penning a response that stated, in part, "It all sounds
like a good plan to avoid housework to me! I suggest some middle ground is
needed. I believe cleanliness freaks need to lighten up, while those less
prone to neatness might want to stop smelling the roses long enough to tidy
up a bit."
Enough said. Here you are:
A house becomes a home when you can write "I love you" on the furniture.
I can't tell you how many countless hours that I have spent CLEANING! I used
to spend at least 8 hours every weekend making sure things were just perfect
- "in case someone came over". Then I realized one day that no one came over;
they were all out living life and having fun!
Now, when people visit, I find no need to explain the "condition" of my home.
They are more interested in hearing about the things I've been doing while
I was away living life and having fun. If you haven't figured this out yet,
please heed this advice.
Life is short. Enjoy it!
Dust if you must, but wouldn't it be better,
To paint a picture or write a letter,
Bake a cake or plant a seed,
Ponder the difference between want and need?
Dust if you must, but there's not much time,
With rivers to swim and mountains to climb,
Music to hear and books to read,
Friends to cherish and life to lead.
Dust if you must, but the world's out there
With the sun in your eyes, the wind in your hair,
A flutter of snow, a shower of rain.
This day will not come around again.
Dust if you must, but bear in mind,
Old age will come and it's not kind.
And when you go - and go you must -
You, yourself, will make more dust!
----------------------------------------------
Charitable institutions are forever in need of money. The following came
to us from Dusty Parker.
PLEDGE $100
The minister was preoccupied with thoughts of how he was going to ask the
congregation to come up with more money than they were expecting for repairs
to the church building. Therefore, he was annoyed to find that the regular
organist was sick and a substitute had been brought in at the last minute.
The substitute wanted to know what to play.
"Here's a copy of the service," he said impatiently. "But you'll have to
think of something to play after I make the announcement about the
finances."
During the service, the minister paused and said, "Brothers and Sisters,
we are in great difficulty; the roof repairs cost twice as much as we expected,
and we need $4,000 more. Any of you who can pledge $100 or more, please stand
up."
At that moment, the substitute organist played "The Star Spangled Banner."
And, that is how the substitute organist became the permanent organist.
----------------------------------------------
Ken Gaillard shared the following on the subject of forgiveness:
The preacher, in his Sunday sermon, used "Forgive Your Enemies" as his subject.
After a long sermon, he asked how many were willing to forgive their enemies.
About half held up their hands. Not satisfied, he harangued for another 20
minutes and repeated his question. This time he received a response of about
80%.
Still unsatisfied, he lectured for another 15 minutes and repeated his question.
With all thoughts now on Sunday dinner, all responded except one elderly
lady in the rear.
"Mrs. Jones, are you not willing to forgive your enemies?" the preacher asked.
"I don't have any." She replied.
"Mrs. Jones, that is very unusual. How old are you?"
"Ninety-three" was her response.
"Mrs. Jones, please come down in front and tell the congregation how a person
can live to be 93 and not
have an enemy in the world."
The little sweetheart of a lady tottered down the aisle, very slowly turned
around, and said:
"It's easy. I just outlived the bitches."
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