Ladies Day at the Spa

When any one of my granddaughters is here, we have fun. But when all 3 of the younger girls get together, there is never a dull moment.  I may leave a few prompts or props for them to find (new stuff in the dressup trunk, empty boxes, beads and shells with the art supplies, and plenty of fresh fruit and veggies for creating snacks), but the ways they come up with to use those things never fail to keep me laughing.

Last weekend we were grateful for heavy afternoon rains on both days.  But climbing trees and dancing in the rain changed to indoor play when thunder and lightning deemed it necessary.  Undaunted, they retired to the bedroom where the dressup supplies are kept.  A few minutes later, when I checked on them, I found Skye with her turban wrap reclining on the chaise lounge and was told they were having a Spa day!  Furthermore, they needed cucumber slices for their eyes.  What's a grandmother to do but slice up a garden fresh cucumber and deliver?

, 

Maddie and Jordann added their veggie beauty aid and lounged on a mountain of pillows.

But apparently the under 10 set does not require lengthy lounging.  In fact, it makes them hungry!

So they ate their cucumbers, which probably beat anything else for a refreshing treatment!

I love being a grandmother! Who needs a day at a real Spa?  I don't need cucumbers to make me glow!

Tea Parties

This tiny china tea set has been mine since I was a little girl. I don't remember when I got it,but  most likely it was a birthday gift or a Christmas present. My granddaughters have loved using the tea set for birthday tea,  princess tea, and tea parties for no special reason at all other than our delight in each other. Lauren  wrote invitations to the little girls next door and we set Grandma's table with a cloth, made tea sandwiches and cookies and poured tea out of a teapot.  Skye has had countless tea parties with me, her PapaJoe, her Duckle Ben, and her best friend Anna.  Maddie has tea parties when she comes to stay, and Jordann has tea parties with her sister and cousin now.  I was proud that Maddie wanted her 7th birthday party to be a family tea party!   (See post for March 21)

One Cat

This is our cat Angel, who loves to pick a pretty spot and pose.  We have had other cats like that. Once we had a Persian cat who loved to pose on our only Turkish rug. Another cat preferred to curl up in an antique wash bowl with a turquoise rim that matched his eyes.

A few weeks ago, Angel's playmate, our cat Bella, disappeared - we looked and looked but there is no trace of her.  We miss her but for now, Angel is our one cat, and I think she likes it that way.  Goodbye, Bella.  If Angel knows where you went, she is not telling.

Legacy

The roses covering this arbor are Peggy Martin Roses, also called the Katrina Rose, because this rose was the only one of hundreds owned by Peggy Martin and her husband before the flooding and destruction caused by Hurricane Katrina.  Surviving after being submerged under 20 feet of salt water, this plant endured.  It reminds me of the quality of endurance I consider my legacy exhibited in my great grandmother's story.


    I have included stories about my great grandmother, Ernestine Curley, in past blog posts, but recently wrote this poem.  I believe her legacy of  deep faith, strength, perserverance, and fortitude showed in both my grandmother and mother.  I am thankful for them all.


 Legacy of Endurance

Clara and Bienvenue Paschal Augier boarded a ship in the south of France

Sailed with their children to the port of New Orleans,

 Charles, Josephine Antoinette and little Ernestine Matilde

who began to speak English when she was three

Her mama never learned

Her papa was a saddle maker

trapped in a burning building

he jumped to his death

then the family moved -

 Old Finn Castle, Henderson County in Texas

Ernestine went to school

with a handsome boy named Matthew

October 30, 1872 they were married.

Six children were born

William, Charles, Ozark and Osro who were twins

Othinet Josephine they called Jessie,

Matthew Ann

this youngest a baby girl with a boy's name

December 1979, Matthew, shot

while on a hunting trip by his best friend,

never saw his youngest.

His dying request was that the baby

Ernestine carried be given his name,

and, if born a girl, to be given to

his sister Victoria.

Young, widowed, with

6 little children

Ernestine married again

a man rumored to have been

a fugitive from justice

Three more babies conceived

When James Curley died

six years later, once more

Ernestine again buried her husband

 while preparing to birth another child.

Two husbands, neither of whom lived

to see their last child born.

She moved the the

five living children from her first marriage

and three children of second, pregnant again,

to her sister's home.

She knew about endurance.

While these battles happened in her life,

she witnessed  traumas of her adopted country:

 the Civil War,

 Reconstruction

the Spanish American War

World War I

Hitler's invasion of Europe

Ernestine's strength and goodness shone

One son said she was the best woman

he ever knew

With so many children, there were

many grandchildren.

She was present at the birth of every one.

Bringing hand stitched caps and blankets.

When Ernestine could no longer live alone,

she moved in with her youngest daughter, Clyde

She knelt at her prie dieu everyday

Treasured a tiny holy water font

She patched and mended pants, shirts, and socks

turning collars and darning heels

Her tiny stitches could hardly be seen.

She taught her granddaughter Opal to say

Yes Ma'am and No Sir

She rocked her great granddaughter Mary Ann.

Tribute

The year 2006 was a year of both great loss and great gain for me.  My mother died in September of that year, which is a loss I am still acutely aware of.  But in the months before her death, even as I helped to care for her and ease her transition from this life to the next, I received two immensely important gifts, gifts of sight. Only a few months earlier I was diagnosed with a degenrative corneal disease which quickly robbed me of a great deal of my functional vison.  I had Fuch's Corneal Dystrophy, for which there is no treatment or cure.  The only option was to have my own corneas removed and replaced with corneas from a donor:  cornea transplants.  This week marks the 7th anniversary of my first gift.  On May 15, 2006, I had surgery to receive my first cornea, in my left eye.  Two months later, in July, I had the same surgery for my right eye. I am eternally grateful to the families whose choices made that possible for me, and I urge all who hear my story to consider electing organ donation and making that known to your family.

The very first realization I had that my surgery had indeed been successful came as I sat in the shade by the little fish pond in our garden. All landscape had been blurry for long enough that what happened was quite like pointing my camera lens, zooming, and focusing.  I suddenly became amazed that I was seeing with brilliant clarity, and the object was a small purple iris a few feet away.  I was and am so thankful to see. In tribute to my donors and to all who are challenged with impaired vision, I am sharing some more garden photographs with you.  These flowers grow in the gardens at Antique Rose Emporium near Brenham, TX.

        

Magnolias

When the Magnolias bloom again each year, I reach to pull a creamy cup down and inhale its sweetness. I may cut a few to bring inside and float in bowls, but they brown and wither soon.  They show off best in their  boughs of waxy green leaves.  They remind me of the trees that lined the edge of my elementary school yard, which happened to be adjacent to my own yard.  We often played in the shade of the trees, loving the spectacle of their blooms.  When the petals dropped, leaving cones with scarlet seeds, we played with those, creating, imagining, giggling.

In 1963, a bank of magnolia leaves was the only floral decoration at our December wedding. Many years and many places later, I stood by a Magnolia tree in the gardens of a sultan's palace in Bogor, Indonesia, and wondered if its twisted trunk and sprawling branches flowered.  Now, once again, my yard fills with the fragrance of Magnolias in Spring.  They seem to grow sweeter each year.

Our Garden

April showers might have brought May flowers, but so far May is bringing record setting low temperatures. Here on the Gulf Coast of Texas, by this time we are usually working to keep cool instead of wrapping up to stay warm.  Yesterday another cold front literallty blew in.  Wind gusts took my patio umbrella up and away, and tree branches have been whipping so hard the new leaves are hanging on for dear life.  I put on my coat and did a quick walkabout to check for garden damage, and am pleased to say it is slight.  Here is a photo walk through!

As in the photo of above, our antique roses are thriving in the cooler temperature. The colors are intense.

             Petunias, not to be outdone by the roses, but they will never muster that kind of fragrance!

      Tuscan Kale and Swiss Chard - ornamental, but also edible. Organic gardeners, we can eat our        borders!  We already have tomatoes on the vines, and a big bed of hot peppers.

       These flowers make a tasty addition to salads.  Nasturtiums, a favorite in my herb garden.

Daylilies hold up their reputation of blooming in spite of temperature - but usually that is a reference to hot!

This amaryllis has had more blooms this year than anytime since I planted it.  

Look at the blooms on this Yesterday, Today, Tomorrow bush my friend Debbie gave to me.

Sweet little nosegays of Forget-Me-Nots

This pot of geraniums on the porch makes me smile.

There are tiny Meyer lemons, the Satsuma is blooming, and the fig tree bravely sports baby figs!

Post a comment and tell me what is greening and growing in your garden!   

Greening Continued

A new coat of paint can do wonders for old stuff.  Our outdoor furniture was way beyond shabby chic.  Nearly 20 years of Texas sun and wind had almost stripped it of any orginal finish.  It was clear something needed to be done if we were going to be able to keep using it for outdoor dining and sitting.  Several cans of spray paint gave it renewed approval from everyone.  In the process, I wore a good deal of the paint myself!  On one trip to get more paint, I remembered on the way in that I had forgotten to write the name of the paint down.  By this time all I could remember was the paint I had used on the porch swing a week earlier.  The mission was accomplished when I proudly held up my arm and pointed to the splotch of green there.  Spruce Green, that was it!  Sometimes being messy is not a bad thing.

before

                                                                             after

Now all we need to do is pour some lemonade and enjoy our "new" furniture.  By the way, the paint did wear off - no one has asked me about my green feet in days.

Nana's Recipe for Chewy Crisps

No, I didn't mix up the posts for my blogs.  Although this might seem to have been intended for  Kitchen Keepers, my cooking and recipe blog, it is posted here intentionally.  Today, just like most other people, I print out recipes from websites, or save them to my documents file for use at a later date.  I do still prop up a cookbook (I have many more than I have shelves to store them) or lay a printed recipe nearby when I am cooking.  I like being able to use my mini Ipad to bring up a recipe I know I have already posted.  That is very convenient, and portable!  But my most cherished recipe collection is handwritten, like the one above.  Chewy Crisps were peanut butter treats my mother, Opal Terrell Teal, made in our kitchen on Sunset Street in Jacksonville, Texas when I was growing up. I could enter it in my computer and print it out (and may very well do that for other reasons) but I thrill at being able to hold it in my hand, trace Mother's lovely, even, measured handwriting, and cook from her "book."  This recipe has a checkered ribbon threaded at the top since I use it, along with a few others, every year on a small kitchen Christmas tree where it hangs along with Mother's cookie cutters, the first ones I ever used.  I cherish other recipes written down by my Grandmother, or my mother's best friend Gertrude, our neighbor Mrs. Adams, even one from Mrs. Fay Martin who was mother's friend when they lived in New Orleans over 70 years ago. Recipes on the back of my 4th grade spelling test, an  envelop, a paper napkin.   I have some in my own handwriting, a collection of family recipes made as a third grade art project, complete with a fabric cover edged in blanket stitiches.

Next time you are asked for a recipe, why not write it down with your own pen?  Someday, there may be someone else who collects more than cookbooks and cooks with a heart beyond the cooking channels on TV!

Leaf Rise

Two summers ago when Joe was recovering from a knee surgery and our back porch was torn up for some repairs, I gave him a porch swing for his birthday.  I thought to hang it on our small front porch so that he would have a place to sit outside in the mornings. Problem 1:  I ordered a lovely oak swing online which was delivered free of shipping charges, unassembled.  So , it languished in its box until long after the back porch was back in service. Problem 2:  Several surgeries later, almost a year to be honest, I had the swing assembled and hung, with plans to paint it soon. In its unfinished state, the wood soon began to look like it had been drying in hot Texas sun and molding in the humidity (as it had).  I occasionally sat with my granddaughters  to swing, but knew it had to be painted.

So, this week was a swing week!  I shopped for paint. Confession:  The deciding factor for any paint choice is the name of its color.  Makes sense to me.  This lovely shade of green is called Leaf Rise.  Very appropriate I think.  I masked the chain and hardware, spread cardboard underneath, gave it a good scrubdown with vinegar and water, and let it dry in the first sunshine we had in several days.  Then I sprayed Leaf Rise on every nook and cranny.  And did it again.  The best admiration of all that work will be swinging and enjoying the sunrise in the mornings.

I grew up in a house with a front porch swing.  We spent many happy times in that swing. There were rose bushes at one end of the porch and cape jasmine at the other end. Don't you think I need to add some fragrance to this scene?  That will be my next project.

Eggs and Easter

Dozens of suggestions for decorating eggs, complete with pictures and directions, are offered during the weeks before Easter.  I am glad my granddaughter agreed with me that the old fashioned water, vinegar, and food coloring in a cup method is still the best.  Skye spent Good Friday with me, so we added egg coloring to our time in the kitchen. She enjoyed doing all the mixing and color concoction and so did I.

Every cup held magic and every egg was unique. Even the vinegar smell shouted "Easter!"
We boiled extra eggs to have plenty for deviling.

I am pretty sure we will be having other egg dishes too: maybe egg salad, spinach salad with boiled egg slices.

                                               Perfect!  (Tiny cracks don't spoil the pleasure.)

                                                All sizes welcome!  Beautiful.

All the Easter Dresses

One of the many things I love about this time leading up to Easter is the re-emergence of color as seeds sprout and flowers return to bloom.  When I was growing up in East Texas, the dark wintertime evergreen woods began to dot with dogwood and redbud trees. Daffodils and narcissus and azaleas drifted across front yards. And little girls and their mothers planned Easter dresses!  I am not sure the above photo was the Easter dress the year I was three, but it might have been.  And it would most certainly have been made by my mother on her Singer sewing machine although I suspect the crocheted lace on that collar would have been crocheted by my grandmother.

Stitches in Time

at Christmastime I hang a wreath, braided circle of  cloth

 made almost half a century ago from scraps found in my fabric stash

one strand of the braid is green velvet

bits left from creating a dress

with beaded cummerbund that circled my then tiny waist

a second strand cut from scraps of snow white brocaded cotton

my high school graduation dress

woven  with the green and white is red corduroy,

my first maternity dress

there would have been nothing left to make the wreath if not for first

 you,

the sewing

and the clothes.

I remember sundresses, circle skirts with petticoats, pleated skirts,

tucked blouses, mandarin jackets, peter pan collars,

puffed sleeves, vests, and weskits

a squaw dress and a poodle skirt

all made after I helped pick a pattern

Simplicity, McCall's, Vogue

you even collected last year's pattern books

from fabric shops where we bought

yards of gingham, calico, organdy, dotted swiss,

eyelet, dimity, poplin, corduroy, worsted and flannel

I remember plaids, checks, polka dots and stripes

pin-wale, herringbone, and tweed

one of a kind made just for me

a red checked dress for a play

always a new dress for first day of school

pink eyelet with ruffles for my piano recital

black suit with red velvet bow for my ride

 in the parade as a duchess

school dresses and play clothes

Sunday clothes, Easter outfits, nightgowns

I remember prom dresses -

clouds of billowing scarlet chiffon,

net the color of hyacinths, shiny satin

pale pink organza, and creamy peau de soie

bolts of rustling taffeta and black velvet

sacks of heavy ribbon and lace

measured with a yardstick on a cutting table

in a shop that was more fun than a candy store

by then I could sketch my dress and it happened!

I remember hours you spent preparing cloth, spreading it

with tissue patterns, cutting with pinking shears

the love that bent you over the humming Singer

with its one tiny bright light

when you said “let's try this on” and tucked

at my waist or lengthened a hem

I don't remember smiling and saying “thank you”

I hope that I did

 I did learn to sew

 I remember when I designed and made my wedding dress

you were proud to help me sew on pearls

I remember writing letters to tell you how my 3 little boys

played when I tried to sew

one standing behind me with his arms

around my neck

And when my granddaughter wanted a princess gown

we picked out a pattern and she helped me cut and sew

I remembered how you made me feel like a princess.

Sad only because you could no longer remember any of it.

Mary Ann Teal Parker  March 23, 2013

Written for my mother, Opal Auntionette Terrell Teal

who suffered from Alzheimer's the last years of her life,

 and died in 2006, one month short of her 93^rd birthday

Tea, Tree, and a Tooth

Maddie celebrated her seventh birthday at our house last Saturday with a tea party, complete with butter cookies and lemon tea served in tiny china tea cups that were mine when I was seven!  She knows how to dress up in a pink swirly dress and drink from dainty cups but she spent more time climbing trees and helping in the garden than sipping tea while she was here.

 Look at her smile in the top two photos.  Then notice what is missing in the next picture...
She pulled her own front tooth to finish a big day of celebrating!

The evening she and her mom and sister left to go home, Maddie released some ladybugs in the garden. The ladybugs are still hanging around on the roses and mint.  Maybe they miss her.  I do!

Good Times

We spent the night at Maddie and Jordann's house last week, and they modeled their new tops for me.  Maddie will celebrate her 7th birthday next week while they are here for Spring Break.  We have a list of things we want to do that includes planning a birthday Tea Party, having fashion shows from the dressup box, pressing flowers, doing leaf rubbings, making cookie press cookies, having a picnic in our Secret Place,  going ice skating, picking strawberries, planting new herbs in the garden, going to the American Girl Doll Store, and having lots of play time with cousin Skye. I can't wait!

I'm Here!!

Each year, one of my favorite harbingers of Spring is the sudden appearance of Redbud blooms on the gray scraggly branches of what has been an almost unnoticed small tree in someone's backyard or the woods along the road.  In the Piney Woods of East Texas where my husband and I spent our growing up years, the first blooms seemed to signal to dozens of other early blooming trees that it was Spring again. The woods lining the highway between Jacksonville, Texas and my grandparent's smaller town of Bullard seemed to come alive in a patchwork of wild plum, dogwood, and various shades of purple from the Redbud trees. We see fewer here south of Houston, but the fact that they bloom even earlier in the slightly balmier climate makes them stand out even more.  The first blooms bring my biggest smile.  I like being reminded of the joy they brought me as a child.  And they bring fond memories of my mother and daddy and grandparents who first taught me to watch for them.

The Redbuds are blooming.  Easter is on the way.

Trio

This trio of scissors is not a matched set. They are all pinking shears, those zig zag edging tools which at one time were in the sewing basket of every serious seamstress because using them helped keep the edges of seams from raveling and fraying.  The pair on the left belonged to my Mother, those on the right were my grandmother's.  My own pinking shears are the ones in the middle.  Now they all belong to me, and I haven't used any of them in years.  But recently, I took them to be sharpened.  I was not surprised when the scissor man told me Grandma Terrell's pinking shears could no longer be sharpened enough to make a difference in the way they cut.  He was able to sharpen the other scissors, however, so they will be ready if and when I decide to choose fabric and pattern, lay out the tissue pieces, and cut the garment sections before stitching seams.

It is strange to think that an art I once practiced regularly has become only occasional for me.  In fact, the only times I plug in my electric sewing machine are when I want to mend or alter something, or stitch up a doll's dress for my granddaughters.  I only know of  one or two women who still make their own clothes.
Because fabric and sewing accessories are expensive, off the rack clothing is often less expensive and less time consuming.  But I miss honing that skill.  My 10 year old granddaughter has asked me to teach her to sew. I think I had better practice before I do.  The pinking shears are sharpened and ready!

Marriage in a Model T, a Love Story

   

My parents were  married on December 27, 1931, sitting in the front seat of Daddy's

 Model  T! My mother said their first kiss involved the car, too. She described Daddy standing there in his overalls, getting ready to light a cigarette.  When he started to strike a match on the car's windshield, Mother told him he could not strike a match on glass. He bet her a kiss that he could, and he won!.He wanted to wait until she was 18 to ask for her hand in marriage. Three days after Christmas in 1931, they decided while eating Sunday dinner after church to ring up their best friends (Gertrude and Herod Bickerstaff) who were at Gertrude's family's  home feeding the preacher his Sunday dinner.  They told them they were  coming over and would like Brother Shuttlesworth to marry them.   

Gertrude and Herod had tied the knot a couple of weeks before, with  Mother and Daddy (Opal and Howard) standing up with them. So when they  heard the Model T coming on the red dirt road, the preacher and the  friends headed out to the car and started the ceremony before Opal and  Howard could even get outof the front seat!  Maybe Preacher Shuttlesworth couldn't wait  to get back to his fried chicken!

In 1927, after selling over 15 million Ford Model T's, the Henry Ford Motor Company replaced the Model T with the Model A. In 1928, the song, "Henry's Made a Lady Out of Lizzie" was about the new Model A. Its lyrics make the Model A into a female, and make much of the car's attractiveness: "Have you seen her, ain't she great? she's something you'll appreciate."  The song made fun of the rough ride of the Model T, and the bruises you'd get from driving one, then went on to favorably compare the Model A's features to the old Ford standard. The photograph below is of the piece of sheet music owned by Mother that became mine, so in 1931, others were already singing the praise of a newer kind of Ford.   But Opal and Howard never talked about the old car or the rough ride.  After all, that car was their wedding chapel.

                                                           

The Journal Keeper

When I read a book which I know from the beginning I will read again, I like to encourage others to read it, too. I have chosen not to advertize or monetize my blogs, so this is not a pitch to go out and buy The Journal Keeper, but it is so worth reading.  I think your public library will have a copy.  I know that I identify strongly with Theroux because I value journaling, and have done so for many years.  I admire her journey of faith and smile knowingly at her adventures with her aging mother, remembering my own and our long farewell with Alzheimer's. Of course, there are many elements in her life far different from mine, but I really do think Phyllis Theroux and I could sit down with a cup of tea and pick right back up even though we have never had the beginning of the conversation.

New Orleans

Street cars. St. Louis Cathedral. Jackson Square.Canal Street. Lacy wrought iron gates. Beignets.  Coffee with Chicory. Boiled Shrimp.

Before you decide this will be another blast of Superbowl hype, let me correct your impression by adding another item to the list - Lizardi Street, where my parents and I lived after moving from Texas around 1942 for Daddy to work in the shipyards during World War II.  Located just north of the Mississippi in what is now the Lower Ninth Ward, the tiny house was owned by Mrs. Castaine, who rented part of it as an apartment for us. Two years old at the time, I have memory only of what I was told about the way we lived there.

Daddy worked the night shift at the shipyards.  Mother took care of me and cooked the shirmp he bought from shrimp wagons bringing in fresh harvest on his way home - his supper, my breakfast!  Then she dressed me in a pretty dress or striped overalls and took me out to play or walk, anything to keep the little rooms quiet enough for Daddy to sleep before heading off for another night shift.

 My Texas grandparents missed me and wrote long letters telling my mother so.  Phone calls were a luxury and limited to brief exchanges only when necessary.  Once for  a birthday present they sent me new house slippers, filled with orange slices. Rarely, we made the return trip to East Texas, always a glad reunion.

Years later, I would visit New Orleans on business trips and enjoy wonderful meals at Antoines, Glatoire's, and Commanders' Palace. I would walk down Bourbon Street and explore antique shops in the French Quarter.  I would photograph wrought iron  balconies and gates, and once again ride the St. Charles street car.  We would stop for beignets, coffee, and shrimp po-boys.  I would fall in love with he foods and learn to cook them.  My mother never wanted to return to New Orleans after they left.

Katrina changed the city forever.  I am glad to see the rebuilding and restoration of neighborhoods and many of the city's treasures although I am unable to discover whether Lizardi street has recovered much.  I am glad for the attention New Orleans is receiving from being chosen for the location for Super Bowl 2013.  I won't be watching the game, but I have enjoyed my view of the city.

And I still love shrimp, any time of the day.

                    Dressed in a grass skirt to model the shell jewelry and rattan bag brought back as a gift for me                                          from my Uncle Travis, who served in the Navy in the Pacific Theatre during WWII.