HAND ME DOWNS - A FAMILY TRADITION

By Vernalee

There has always been a tradition in our family of passing down possessions. It is funny how the little things in life mean so much! Allow me to share a cooking story that occurred a few years ago in 2016. Lemon juice can be used to jazz up many dishes. Its tartness enhances the flavor. Squeezing those tiny lemons can be a chore. Not anymore! I inherited the perfect kitchen utensil that makes the job spontaneously effortless. Using my Mother’s recipe, I made a delectable cherry cheese cake utilizing an old fashioned lemon squeezer (pictured above). The squeezer belonged to my Grandmother Eleonora. It worked perfectly! I never knew my Granny. She died when I was two years old. I have always heard family recant stories about how she had me “spoiled rotten” by holding me continuously, picking me up when I fell, and gingerly wiping every tear away from my crying eyes! Go Granny! I love it! Emotionally and ironically, my Granny and I cooked together yesterday when I used her vintage appliance. It was as if she was standing in my kitchen looking over my shoulders! Imaginatively, I could hear her say, “Dash a pinch of vanilla flavor to liven up the taste. Grating a tad bit of the lemon peel won’t hurt!” Those Southern cooks who knew how to put a meal on the table from scanty ingredients are something else! Aren’t they? Perhaps, you could say that my Grandma’s hands guided mine. Alright, the judgment was still out. The proof is in the pudding! Let’s see if I passed the taste test. I cut a slice for my Mother, Miss Phoebe! Understand this! Miss Phoebe, a master chef, can detect a 1/2 teaspoon of salt missing from a three layer German Chocolate cake. If she liked it, you were “home free.” Drum roll, please! Momma loved it and said, “Job well done!” Of course, I couldn’t “leave well enough alone.” I kept going! So, I made lemonade. Upon taking a swallow, Momma said, “Girl, this lemonade is entirely too sweet. Cut back on your sugar! In fact, put a little warm water in first to crystallize the sugar and then add the remaining lemon juice, rinds, and sugar from there!” I did and it salivated off my tongue as I drank it!

I give a shout out of thanks to my late Momma and Granny! Though neither walk this earth, their guidance and presence will never leave! Some folks say “too many cooks in the kitchen” will never work. Well I beg to differ. With this cooking experience several years ago, I had it just right - the memories and the ingredients! Photo credit: www.gritsandmagnolias.com

BRINGING HOME THE BACON

By Vernalee

To bring home the bacon means to earn money, particularly for one’s family; to be successful, especially financially successful; to supply means of subsistence; earn a living; attain success or reach a desired goal. For years, the man held the distinction of being the primary wage earner and the person who made the most money. That trend is changing. Women nowadays not only take care of the household but also bring home the bacon. According to the NY Times, the median household income for married women who earn more than their husbands — more often white, slightly older and college educated — is $80,000. When the wife is the primary breadwinner, the total family income is generally higher. Check out this statistic: One fourth of women earn more than their husbands. What happens to the family when the woman rises to the top and assumes this role? Here is where the debate and varying opinions occur. Some say that it is a recipe for disaster. Others say that the family is better off. A selected group contends that it’s not just about the dollars. Some men find not being the breadwinner a little unsettling. They feel that their role is being threatened. Some women breadwinners allege unfairness in that they still bear the brunt of child rearing and the abundant housework. Let’s not forget the traditional theory that children turn out better when the Mother stays home. Before a gasket is blown, there is as much agreement as there is disagreement. Where is the balance? It is a tug of war. Is there a universal answer or does it depend upon the individual family? It remains to be seen. Here's what we do know.

When women “bring home the bacon and is the top breadwinner,” it’s too much for some traditionalists. What do you think? A penny – and a slice of bacon on toasted bread with yummy grape jelly – for your thoughts! Photo credit: www.slate.com

A HOUSE IS NOT A HOME

By Vernalee

Song writers Burt Bacharach and Hal Davis in 1964 penned, “A House is not a Home” that became a signature song for Dionne Warwick. Symbolically, the words came to life last week as I toured a home that I shared with my family, but vacated over 30 years ago. As I walked through the completely gutted colonial, the rooms seemed much smaller than I remembered, but the memories were “bigger than life!” Instead of seeing walls, my mind instantly did a flashback to the scenes of my then life. In the living room, my eyes were drawn to the fireplace. My memory captured a tiny squirrel that ran down the chimney while my husband was away on a business trip. My young son transformed into a superhero to annihilate the creature while protecting his frightened little sister and terrified Mother! What a man child! That was the same chimney that my little daughter (who sucked her bottle way too long) stuck her baby bottle into the crevices without remembrance as she cried all night while we searched all night ram-shacking the house looking for it! (For inquiring minds, that incident occurred long before the convenience of 24 hour stores)!

Walking upstairs, my eyes visualized my son’s chalkboard toy chest which was filled to the rim with every Star Wars battleship and action figures …which coincidentally I knew all of the characters by name! It is an absolute must, that he sees the recently released Star Wars movie!

Entering the next room, my mind captured the moment that the baby bed collapsed. My now trimmed daughter fell through the crib, because she incessantly drank Similac baby formula spiked with her favorite Gerber’s Apple cereal as if the “milk was going out of style!” Calorie conscious she was not!

The huge wooden model airplane’s historic voyage from the attic (that was more his Daddy’s toy than my son’s) imaginatively zoomed over my head as I stepped on one of those tiny Hot Wheels that were everywhere as they inconspicuously laced the floor! Next my eyes spotted the place where the makeshift wire hanger that was transformed into a basketball hoop once hung. I could visualize my adolescent son‘s face as he worked up a sweat shooting two pointers because he wanted “to be just like Mike” (Michael Jordan, that it)! Adding to my imaginative vision, my daughter’s favorite doll, Chatty Patty with the little pink bottle was sitting on the floor. “Pick up your toys,” were my favorite four words then!

Ironically, I had a son who was fascinated with striking matches and oppositely a daughter who loved running water until it spilled out of the sink. Thus, the spankings occurred more than once. Spare the rod and you’ll spoil the child!

Let me not forget, the backyard looked fantastic as it showcased a new aluminum sided garage! Attempting to put my black Grand Prix in our garage, my son who was not nearly old enough to turn the steering wheel drove that car straight through the garage's back wall! OMG! That same garage stored his bright yellow three wheeler that his Daddy bought way too early and that my son took his joyfully grinning teeny weenie sister for an unauthorized ride to my friend’s house who lived several miles away! Frightened they were not; excited they both were; Livid was I!

My mind ran wild with many, many fond memories as I realized that our former house was just a brick and mortar structure, but the walls contained life and vivid/unforgettable memories; memories that will fondly live in my heart and mind forever and a day! Reflecting back to the song's lyrics, our "house was indeed a home" because it was filled with our collective and everlasting love … and we are ”still in love“ with each together! Photo credit: www.cmhpf.org