MAYA ANGELOU

R. I. P. Maya Angelou, Beautiful Shining Soul.  

 

The inspiration and hope which came from that overflowing heart, brilliant mind and cavernous, Delphic voice will resonate and echo.

 

A Rock.   A River.  A Tree.

. . .

 

Here, on the pulse of this new day

 
You may have the grace to look up and out

And into your sister's eyes, and into

 
Your brother's face, your country

And say simply,

Very simply,

 
With hope –

Good Morning.

AND THE WALTZ GOES ON

A sunny moment as we move onto the cusp of June---two of my favorite “entertainers,” though they could each and both be called Maestro.   Just the recent learning that such a consummate, immensely gifted actor could have such a sweet depth of talent for composing music---it’s like learning that a quiet relative who makes his living carving exquisite furniture also  plays weekends at Carnegie Hall.

I’ve lately become addicted to the sweeping melodies and flowing pastels of Andre Rieu’s orchestral presentations, getting lost in the grace of another time when the music just swept us up into a magical place.   Sometimes I sit here, caught in the notes, as the glow of this screen is the only light in the midnight room, and I’m transported through the lens of my childhood viewmaster, into those fairy tale vistas so bright and vivid and enchanting.  It’s as if Belle and Cinderella and all the Princes Charming took up their shining instruments long learned at the feet of fairy masters, and gathered in the palace for an evening musicale.  

And now to find that my favorite Terrifying Teddy Bear has all these exquisite melodies spilling from his heart and hands---I’m just smiling to think of it.   I smiled all the way through the piece just now, and wanted to share it with you.

Do have a moment with Andre Rieu presenting Sir Anthony Hopkins’ composition AND THE WALTZ GOES ON.   And I dare anyone, even the most regal, staid Mama and Papa Charming, not to sway a bit in that spindly gilt chair.

 

WINDOW TABLE, PLEASE

We’re debating taking down the table, putting on the spring covers, adding a floral swag over the door from the kitchen, and since this has been the scene of MANY of our loveliest times for the past year, we’re not really ready to part with this wonderful setting.

These are most of our brunches and dinners up in Caro’s half of the house---some planned, some splash-decided on Saturday night for Sunday brunch, some quick-fired when one or another mumbled sleepily up/down the stairs, “Shall we have brunch?” or "Have you eaten yet?" and both started calling out what we have handy to cook.   Mine was usually “Got the Grits and the Gravy!  I’ll do the asparagus/bacon/slice some ham!”

 And Caro’s---as always, a masterpiece of convivivial conjunctions of food and conversation and what-goes-with-what.   She makes up all her meals for the week on her days off, and keeps her fruit and salad and yogurt handy in the fridge, along with all the Tups of nice dinners.

She put up the table for Thanksgiving, as there were just the three of us, we took it down briefly for our Christmas tea gathering, then we've met often, both planned and impromptu. 

Christmas Morning brunch:

The square dish holds the leftovers from a fabulous Cheese Ball, made by DDIL for our Christmas Eve gathering the night before, and that similar dish in the background is tiny fingerling potatoes from same, rinsed of all their rich  sour-cream-and-butter sauce.   That delectable fruitcake loaf and the dried figs on the plate were a surprise parcel from our dear Lil and Ben.

New Year’s brunch:

Our UnSuperbowl Party (downstairs, this time, as we watched a movie while we munched and just checked back on the game occasionally).   I'd gone through closets and shelves looking for "Team Colors"---Peyton's gone, but never forgotten---and isn't it surprising what you can unearth in the most odd combinations:

Ham, Grits and Gravy Brunch for Chris’ Birthday.

There was a Valentine one in there somewhere, but can’t find the pictures. 

Dr Seuss’ Birthday---she made a Chicken Pot Pie---we DID have green peas and devilled eggs.

 Isn’t that the most perfectly Seussian PYE you’ve ever seen?   And see---over there on the bench---that's The Sneeches and Other Stories, one of our very favorites, often read, more often quoted.    After dinner, I read them The Bippolo Seeds.   We like to read to each other, and we all love Dr. Seuss.  (Sometimes after one of these reading sessions, I unthinkingly speak in it for an hour or two, to much levity and teasing).

Another COLD night she made some scrumptious Asian chicken with peppers and pineapple, some fried rice with bean sprouts, and a bowl of deep, dark soy/sesame mushrooms.   I made the rice---wow.

A March snow called for Chicken and Dumplings, green pea salad and creamed corn, with fresh pineapple for dessert.

A little plate with cheese ball and tomatoes to nibble as the dumplings simmered.

Another cold and stormy night:  Pork roast with glazed pineapple, baked beans, mac and cheese, cranberry sauce and pickled onions.

 

St. Patrick’s Day Brunch on Sunday:  A lovely pot of Steel-cut Porridge, with Turbinado sugar and honey and a little moat of cream, along with Irish Bread, butter and cheese and some thick bacon.   We "made our moats," consulted our fortunes, and checked out the chocolate coins in the Pot of Gold.

Crispy leftover baked potato nuggets topped with soft-yolked eggs and scrambled eggs.

St. Pat’s dinner:  Corned beef, cabbage, little potatoes, beets, bread, cheese and several mustards.  

Our Easter Lunch was on Monday, with Chris’ wonderful ham, mac and cheese, Asian green beans, devilled eggs, beets, baby carrots, and a snappy salad with mandarins and an orange vinaigrette.

Served in the old Grandma's Kitchen way---from the kitchen counter.

Only two to go, if anyone’s still here.   Pasta night, with Farfalle Bolognese, Linguini Alfredo, and crudite.

Cinco de Mayo:  Chicken Fajitas, Quesadillas, Rice, Pico de Gallo, and Guacamole. 

A fun dessert of stuff to dip in Mexican Chocolate sauce.

And right back around to Mothers’ Day---overtold below, as well. 

I wish you all good gatherings, good talk, good food, good folks to share them with, and I SO wish you could have been here for every one of these.

SOUTHERNISMS IV

ROASIN’ NEARS---fresh-picked corn, from “Roasting Ears,” and what could be better alongside a pot of Black-Eyed Peas, a black skillet of Cornbread, some Home-Grown Tomatoes, and a little slice of Sweet Onion?

This one’s not a saying, but sort of a question:   If emerald green is the NEW COLOR FOR SPRING, why is it the lady in the green satin dress always looks as if she got the bad seat in the limo?

 

A couple which need no defining:

 

Not a lick a sense 

I could just hug your neck.

Come gimme some sugar.

 

TACKY and UGLY---can both be unsightly, disheveled or slipshod or badly-matched or fitted, or just plain ole Pure-D awful, like three plaids in one outfit or a hairbow with a permanent.

 

And they can both refer to behavior:  Don’t you ever go to a party you’re not invited to---that’s just TACKY.

 

You give him back his Legos---we’re going home if you’re going to act ugly.

 

CARRYIN’ ON---a lot like takin’ on, but usually not in as mournful a  way, as in, “Mrs. Pund is too much of a lady to go carryin’ on when they broke her good punchbowl at the shower, but she didn’t ever forget it.”

 

CARRYIN’ ON could also refer to Harliss MacIntire’s exploits up Highway 61

 

FULL AS A TICK---have eaten too much

 

TIGHT AS A TICK---same as above, or could refer to having had too much to drink, OR to being stingy.  Just plain TIGHT is also used for both these conditions.

 

HIGH AS A KITE---Drunk

   

DEAD ON FOOT, WORKED DOWN, AND BROKE IN TWO IN THE MIDDLE---Various stages of exhaustion.

 

 

PUT ON---host or stage.  You can variously put on a party, a wedding, a show, a pageant, a cantata, a concert. 

 

But when you get somewhat above yourself, Putting on airs and spending entirely beyond your means on any of the above just to make a big show, you’re PUTTIN’ ON THE DAWG, and not fooling anybody.   

 

BESWIZZLED--confused

 

One of the very best lines in all Southern usage:

 

I’d love to buy her for what she’s worth, and sell her for what she thinks she is.

 

And one which just came out of my mouth the other night, without even thinking---if it ain’t a SOUTHERNISM, it oughta be:

 

Wouldn’t that just make you mad enough to go out in the yard and shoot Peeps off a stump?

 

 

MOTHERS' DAY BRUNCH

 

Our Dear Caro outdid herself on Sunday, setting out the most splendid brunch I think we’ve ever had---everybody’s “favorite thing” was on the buffet, and it was all perfect.

 

The tulips were the tiniest of buds when she put them into that old McCormick Aladdin teapot on Saturday night, and by morning in this windows-open house, they were blooming their little hearts out. 

 

 

The dishes are our Spring Plates---they had a little sticker that said “Chop Plates” when I picked them up at a roadside flea market years ago, and they’ve served on many a colorful table since.   I’d like to know what they are, if anyone knows---I can’t find anything like them online.

 

 

 

The buffet was served on an old dresser, amongst the usual lamps and candlestands and leftover-flowers-from-last-week, a tiny watering-can of petunias from Sweetpea to Caro, and even a little unnoticed container of birdseed.

 

 

We had Eggs Benedict---good hearty Bubba version of the dish, with peppery fried eggs, awaiting the anointment of the Hollandaise and the piercing of those golden yolks to form one of cuisine’s perfect unions.   The sauce was the one thing I did make, the 3-2-1 method that uses three ingredients and takes just a minute in the blender.

 

 

 

My favorite---thick spears of poached asparagus, still firm and bright, and eminently dippable.  Small nuggets of filets mignons, one of Chris’ favorites, as a savory counterpoint to all the rich fare.

 

 

A cushion of crispy potato-shreds, done in the wok and flipped left-handed in the air to float perfectly back into place as we all watched amazed.   Golden peppers and onions add their savor as a topping.

 

 

 

An unexpected plate of French Toast, christened "absolutely scrumptious," by Sweetpea---crisp and tender all at once, like a lovely sweet vanilla butter-crust all around a creamy pudding center. 

 

 

A cake stand of pastries from her store, by my request---the Pineapple Danish are my favorite.  And that IS a little fridge-dish down there---just because Paminna Cheese.

 

 

Sugared Strawberries for the French Toast and that sumptuous lemony sauce---that’s been the Hollandaise Boat since I can remember.   And the St. Andre’ and Roquefort, along with their Marconas and a lovely honey-currant granola, were left for another time.

 

We had a laughing, talking good time, staying long at table in the Sunday sun, remembering and talking and just savoring the time together.   I so wish you could have all been at that tiny table, up there in the sun, with all the good food and laughing and love.   You’d have been SO welcome.