Showing posts with label family. Show all posts
Showing posts with label family. Show all posts
Christmas Traditions
For many years now after the Thanksgiving feast is over and football games are but a distant memory attention turns to setting up for Christmas. An integral part of the set up is the Dickens Village figures. Over the years the collection has grown significantly as has the time required to set it up and to take it down (more required for the latter step). Lest the efforts be lost to history, these photos will hopefully keep the memory fresh.
Single at 50 - Reflections at 60
Talking with a friend recently we broached the subject about how long I had been single - 10 years. The conversation focused on what surprises I'd encountered and, quite honestly, the list was fairly long. As I thought back on our conversation, I came up with my top list of life lessons from that decade.
1) Can’t split an egg
Cooking takes on new dimensions when trying to cook for
one. Halving a recipe can be an option,
but at some point scaling it down hits a roadblock – the egg. I can halve a banana, a cup of flour, even a
tablespoon of milk, but one-half of an egg still results in one whole egg. So, the dilemma in cooking is not one of
creativity and culinary skill, but one of managing leftovers and testing the
boundaries of endurance eating the same meal for dinner 5 nights in a row.
2) A naked friend is a necessity
Not to be confused with having a friend who is naked, this
is the person who can come to your house and pull you from the tub when the back
spasms kick in and you’re trapped. In
some cases, this might push the boundaries of friendship, but having someone to
take that call beats the heck out of spending the night on the floor where
strangers can find you naked.
3) It is always where you left it
Gremlins (also known as children) did not sneak into the house last night and move
the car keys. As is always the case
when you live alone, the keys are where you put them. In the refrigerator by the leftovers created
by the egg that couldn’t be halved – that’s where you put them and that’s where
they will be.
4) Just use the good stuff
Eating from the pot on the stove or surrendering to the
temptation to simply grab paper plates might seem efficient, but nothing says
you have be a slob when you’re single. Washing
dishes is not criminal and takes only a few minutes. Use the crystal and the china, then let it be
a reminder to you of how special you are as a person and at the end of the day,
you are worth it!
5) Morality is a lost art
This surprised me more than I would have expected. Far too many people I know (especially older
ones) find more excuses to jump into bed with the “new” one. My favorite ‘excuse’ is the social security
game. It goes like this, if we get married, we’ll lose some of our social
security, so, we’re just going to live together instead. I can only shake my head on this one.
6) Trouble with the two-brain theory
Although researchers have debunked the idea of discreet
two-brain system (left vs right), I have discovered it might still have a
little merit. Without a lot of detail,
soon after I became single again areas in which I lack talent became glaring
shortcomings and all of them came from the right side.
7) Traveling is weird
Going it alone is okay and there is a lot of freedom in
scheduling, but the alone part can take over.
Traveling in groups can offset some of this, but it’s not difficult to
be alone in a big crowd of casual friends either. Choices are limited – stay home or brave the
weird stuff and go anyway….I go!
8) Divorce was not death
Although in the beginning it seemed as if life was over, it
wasn’t. As human beings, we are highly
adaptable and with the passage of time new events overcame the old. It took a while, but slowly the haze that
seemed to surround me and siphon the life out of me began to lift. As it did, it revealed a brand new world
waiting to be discovered.
9) Being sick sucks
No way to get around this one. The stomach bug that attacks in the middle of
the night is a party of one. What I have
learned is to be a little better prepared; keep water on the nightstand and the
cell phone handy – just in case.
10) So much to be thankful for
My family and church family, my friends, a great job,
reasonably good health, kids who are all happy and settled, healthy grandkids,
a nice house and reliable car, respect from the people I value most, money in
the bank, and even an optimistic look toward retirement. Life really is good!
Stuffed Mushrooms
Stuffed Mushrooms
Ingredients
2 packages baby bella mushrooms (28 – 30 mushrooms)
¼ c. minced celery¼ c. minced green bell pepper
¼ c. finely sliced green onions
¼ c. diced tomato
¼ c. white wine
3 cloves minced garlic
1 minced shallot
6 oz. minced Andouille sausage
½ c. roasted garlic bread crumbs
Parmesan cheese
Olive oil
Stuffing:
Clean mushrooms and removed the stems to a bowl
Finely dice mushroom stemsBrown Andouille sausage in 1 tablespoon olive oil
Remove the sausage to a bowl and set aside
Do NOT wipe the pan
Add the celery, bell pepper, onions, tomatoes, and shallot to the pan
Cook the vegetables until begin to soften
Add the mushroom stems, garlic, and red pepper flakes
Continue to cook the vegetables until the mushrooms have given off their liquid
Add the wine and simmer until the liquid is nearly cooked away
Return the Andouille sausage to the pan
Add ½ of the bread crumbs and stir to combine
Remove the mixture from the heat
Mushrooms:
Lightly oil a baking sheet or dish with olive oil
Place the mushrooms on the sheet (sides not touching)Sprinkle the inside of the mushrooms with a few drops of olive oil
Spoon the stuffing mixture into each mushroom
Sprinkle the remaining bread crumbs over the top
Sprinkle a layer of parmesan cheese over the top
Bake in a preheated 375 degree oven for about 30 minutes (tops
will brown)
........... To Friendship
Should you go first and I remain to walk the road alone,
I’ll live in memory's garden friend with happy days we’ve known.
In spring I’ll watch for roses red when fades the lilac blue,
In early fall when brown leaves call I’ll catch a glimpse of you.
Should you go first and I remain to finish with the scroll,
No darkened shallows shall creep in to make this life seem droll.
We’ve known so much of happiness; we’ve shared a cup of joy,
And memory is a gift from God death cannot destroy.
Should you go first and I remain for battles to be fought,
Each thing you’ve touched along the way will be a hallowed spot.
I’ll see your face, I’ll hear your voice and though blindly I may grope,
The memory of your helping hand will bore me on with hope.
Finally, friend should you go first, one thing I’d have you do,
Walk slowly down that long, long path for soon I’ll follow you.
I’ll want to know each step you take, that I may walk the same.
For someday down that long path, you’ll hear me call your name.
I’ll live in memory's garden friend with happy days we’ve known.
In spring I’ll watch for roses red when fades the lilac blue,
In early fall when brown leaves call I’ll catch a glimpse of you.
Should you go first and I remain to finish with the scroll,
No darkened shallows shall creep in to make this life seem droll.
We’ve known so much of happiness; we’ve shared a cup of joy,
And memory is a gift from God death cannot destroy.
Should you go first and I remain for battles to be fought,
Each thing you’ve touched along the way will be a hallowed spot.
I’ll see your face, I’ll hear your voice and though blindly I may grope,
The memory of your helping hand will bore me on with hope.
Finally, friend should you go first, one thing I’d have you do,
Walk slowly down that long, long path for soon I’ll follow you.
I’ll want to know each step you take, that I may walk the same.
For someday down that long path, you’ll hear me call your name.
Adapted from lyrics recorded by the Cathedral Quarter “Beyond the Sunset”
Lindsay on the Television
This is the video clip of my daughter's appearance on Great Day St. Louis.
Grandma's Hands
As I watch my grandson growing up, it is fun to watch his unique personality emerge. Observing his mannerisms and how they frequently seem to mimic those of someone else in his life serves as a reminder of the myriad influences that shape what we are. Often the source of such influence is invisible to the casual observer – even the individual. This point was driven home some months back.
When experimenting with recipes it is not uncommon for me to estimate the measure of ingredients using my hand rather than seeking the precision of a measure cup or spoon. Over the years I've developed some accuracy using just my palm and crossing my fingers over each other to form a small bowl. Although I don't remember who first asked the question about how I held my fingers when measuring, it seemed at first to be an odd question. However, after thinking about it for bit, I wasn't really sure why I held my hand that way either. Observing the gaps between my skinny fingers led me to conclude I'd probably developed the habit to safely hold ingredients in my hand rather than allowing them to slide through the gaps to the floor. If anyone asked why (and some did), that was my answer.
Not so very long ago, while visiting with my mother, we were preparing something (biscuits, I think) in the kitchen. Looking down at her hands, I saw the same cup formed in her palm that was oft formed in mine - palm up, tip of the ring finger slightly over the edge of the index finger with the middle finger resting behind them, and the pinky dangling alongside. Given that I was not the one who taught her to cook, it seemed I now had an answer as to the source of my measuring technique. There it was, the invisible influence – her. More correctly stated it was me as a child observing her in the kitchen. Although that answered one question, it created another: why did she hold her hand that way? As one would expect, it was her mother who passed the technique to my mother.
Realizing the technique must have been passed from generation to generation in the same manner, I became quite curious as to why we did that. Were we too poor for generations to afford measuring utensils? Were we so uneducated that we didn’t understand basic math concepts – like fractions? Were we culinary wizards that evolved beyond the need for man-made kitchen gadgets? Had our family been cooking for so long that we pre-dated measuring devices? Any of these reasons would have made a great story, but none would be true. Due to an unfortunate farming accident as a child, my grandmother lost the two distal joints of her middle finger retaining only a nub. The only way she could keep things in her palm was to cross the index and ring fingers over the nub – thus – a tradition was born.
So, now I look at my grandson and wonder how he will hold his hand someday when it is time to measure ¼ cup of sugar. I wonder if he will be curious as to why?
Notes from the front
This is an email sent from my brother John in Afghanistan - didn't want it misplaced.
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In the last five days my unit has seen four soldiers killed in action. Tomorrow morning we will have our third Ramp Ceremony for the week. The Ramp Ceremony, by design, is performed to show the highest level of respect for those who have died in battle as their bodies are loaded on the plane that will fly them home. There is an intensive effort here to bring honor to these men and women who gave the ultimate sacrifice for their country. While the ceremony is designed as a tribute to the fallen soldier, deep down I know that it is actually for me. With each ceremony, I have realized that its personal impact on me is cumulative. Each event brings a point of closure, but at the same time, an intensifying reality check on how fragile life actually is. I am surrounded by a constant reminder that we have no promise of tomorrow, much less next week or next year.
On a normal day I sit at my desk and listen to people complain; I have to walk too far to use the latrine, there aren’t any paper towels, the a/c is not cool enough, or someone tracked dirt in my office. All of this absurd whining takes place in the safety and the security of our office building. Meanwhile, our soldiers are putting on their gear and fearlessly driving into the local towns and villages to face a hidden enemy. Their only goal is to do the right thing. Every day they go out. Sometimes, they come back.
Today another American soldier was lost. I wonder if his baby daughter will ever understand why her daddy died in Afghanistan. Will she ever be able to grasp the complexity of war? Can she tell the difference between an insurgent and one who fights for freedom? Will that little girl care about the politics or will she just cry when her daddy doesn’t come home for Christmas? What peace will that beautifully wrapped Christmas present bring her, when she holds it instead of holding her daddy? But, in the end, her daddy is gone and he won’t be home for Christmas.
The Ramp Ceremony brings a momentary lull to an airfield that operates at full capacity 24 hours a day, seven days a week. There is a sense that time stands still as the massive C-17 Cargo plane pulls into place. The plane sits on the tarmac in an eerie silence as the rear aft door slowly drops. In the distance you can hear the vocal commands of the honor guard and you can almost feel each step as 30 soldiers march their way toward the rear of the plane. They methodically separate into two columns and cordon a path of honor for their fallen comrade.
The order is given to “Present Arms” as a vehicle slowly pulls forward with one more American hero. Arms are raised in salute as eight fellow soldiers, in drilled precision, move forward and take charge of the casket. As the flag draped casket is slowly marched toward the plane, the drum like sounds of boots echo across the airfield. You hear the voice of the detachment commander, “left, left, left…” as he leads the procession toward the rear of the plane that will take this soldier home for the last time.
As these days have passed, I find myself almost feeling guilty if I laugh or smile. Yet, I remember the words of John 10:10 when Jesus said, “I came that you might have life and have it abundantly.” I often ask myself where the realities of war and the call for abundant life come together. I pray that someday, I will find that answer.
Tonight I will pray for a mother that I do not know. Tonight I will cry for a child that I have never seen. Tonight my heart will break for a world that does not realize the magnitude of what they just lost.
- MAJ John D. Parker
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In the last five days my unit has seen four soldiers killed in action. Tomorrow morning we will have our third Ramp Ceremony for the week. The Ramp Ceremony, by design, is performed to show the highest level of respect for those who have died in battle as their bodies are loaded on the plane that will fly them home. There is an intensive effort here to bring honor to these men and women who gave the ultimate sacrifice for their country. While the ceremony is designed as a tribute to the fallen soldier, deep down I know that it is actually for me. With each ceremony, I have realized that its personal impact on me is cumulative. Each event brings a point of closure, but at the same time, an intensifying reality check on how fragile life actually is. I am surrounded by a constant reminder that we have no promise of tomorrow, much less next week or next year.
On a normal day I sit at my desk and listen to people complain; I have to walk too far to use the latrine, there aren’t any paper towels, the a/c is not cool enough, or someone tracked dirt in my office. All of this absurd whining takes place in the safety and the security of our office building. Meanwhile, our soldiers are putting on their gear and fearlessly driving into the local towns and villages to face a hidden enemy. Their only goal is to do the right thing. Every day they go out. Sometimes, they come back.
Today another American soldier was lost. I wonder if his baby daughter will ever understand why her daddy died in Afghanistan. Will she ever be able to grasp the complexity of war? Can she tell the difference between an insurgent and one who fights for freedom? Will that little girl care about the politics or will she just cry when her daddy doesn’t come home for Christmas? What peace will that beautifully wrapped Christmas present bring her, when she holds it instead of holding her daddy? But, in the end, her daddy is gone and he won’t be home for Christmas.
The Ramp Ceremony brings a momentary lull to an airfield that operates at full capacity 24 hours a day, seven days a week. There is a sense that time stands still as the massive C-17 Cargo plane pulls into place. The plane sits on the tarmac in an eerie silence as the rear aft door slowly drops. In the distance you can hear the vocal commands of the honor guard and you can almost feel each step as 30 soldiers march their way toward the rear of the plane. They methodically separate into two columns and cordon a path of honor for their fallen comrade.
The order is given to “Present Arms” as a vehicle slowly pulls forward with one more American hero. Arms are raised in salute as eight fellow soldiers, in drilled precision, move forward and take charge of the casket. As the flag draped casket is slowly marched toward the plane, the drum like sounds of boots echo across the airfield. You hear the voice of the detachment commander, “left, left, left…” as he leads the procession toward the rear of the plane that will take this soldier home for the last time.
As these days have passed, I find myself almost feeling guilty if I laugh or smile. Yet, I remember the words of John 10:10 when Jesus said, “I came that you might have life and have it abundantly.” I often ask myself where the realities of war and the call for abundant life come together. I pray that someday, I will find that answer.
Tonight I will pray for a mother that I do not know. Tonight I will cry for a child that I have never seen. Tonight my heart will break for a world that does not realize the magnitude of what they just lost.
- MAJ John D. Parker
The Alamo
Davy Crockett was quoted as saying, "You can go to hell, I am going to Texas." Having lived there and visited several times, it would at times be a difficult distinction to make. With that little disclaimer out of the way, I'll tell my tale.
As I mentioned, I've visited Texas several times and lived here for a few years, but this week I made my first trip to San Antonio compliments of the ASBDC convention. My first trip into this area surprised me in that the city seemed devoid of people. On my daily walk between hotels, I don't recall seeing more than a dozen people and not many more cars. After several days of trying to assess where the people of this city spent their days, I finally found them hanging around the Alamo, which appears to be the cultural and tourist attractant for the city.
The Alamo, as you may know, is a shrine preserved in remembrance of the valiant few that fought and died between the period of Feb. 23, 1836 and March 3, 1836 in a failed attempt to defend the borders of a fledgling republic. Led by Colonel William Travis and others including the American cultural icon Davey Crockett, the siege which set upon the the small Catholic cathedral overcame the resistance of the group who, save women and children, were killed as the battle wained under the onslaught and of the Mexican nationals.
What struck me about the Alamo was the size. For the perceived enormity of its importance in the annals of Texas' history, the church building is a small place. The church, which served as the entry point into the complex of housing and military barracks, was not more than 100 feet from front to back. Its layout was similar to that of the Vatican with a central corridor which would have housed the altar and other vestments and smaller rooms to each side accommodating the diverse needs of the worship experience. Although the entire complex of buildings stretches across several acres, the central historical focus is on the cathedral.
What may be the best representation of the battle is a diorama in the center of the gift shop for visitors. Constructed from the historical records of the buildings, the commodious complex springs to life as hundreds of miniature figures reenact the battle of 1836. Looking at the battle from an omniscient view can only lead one to consider how futile the defenders of the Alamo must have felt their efforts to be as members of the militia, international in their origin, died one by one.
There was listed among the fallen patriots one Christopher Parker of Mississippi. Given the personal roots that stretch into that state, this will be a person I must research further. Since we've already established some lineage links to the infamous Bonnie Parker (of Bonnie & Clyde fame), it would be nice to find someone with a more reputable background.
Glad I made the walk to see the place and grab another little slice of American (Texas) history to which I can say -- been there, done that.
As I mentioned, I've visited Texas several times and lived here for a few years, but this week I made my first trip to San Antonio compliments of the ASBDC convention. My first trip into this area surprised me in that the city seemed devoid of people. On my daily walk between hotels, I don't recall seeing more than a dozen people and not many more cars. After several days of trying to assess where the people of this city spent their days, I finally found them hanging around the Alamo, which appears to be the cultural and tourist attractant for the city.
The Alamo, as you may know, is a shrine preserved in remembrance of the valiant few that fought and died between the period of Feb. 23, 1836 and March 3, 1836 in a failed attempt to defend the borders of a fledgling republic. Led by Colonel William Travis and others including the American cultural icon Davey Crockett, the siege which set upon the the small Catholic cathedral overcame the resistance of the group who, save women and children, were killed as the battle wained under the onslaught and of the Mexican nationals.
What struck me about the Alamo was the size. For the perceived enormity of its importance in the annals of Texas' history, the church building is a small place. The church, which served as the entry point into the complex of housing and military barracks, was not more than 100 feet from front to back. Its layout was similar to that of the Vatican with a central corridor which would have housed the altar and other vestments and smaller rooms to each side accommodating the diverse needs of the worship experience. Although the entire complex of buildings stretches across several acres, the central historical focus is on the cathedral.
What may be the best representation of the battle is a diorama in the center of the gift shop for visitors. Constructed from the historical records of the buildings, the commodious complex springs to life as hundreds of miniature figures reenact the battle of 1836. Looking at the battle from an omniscient view can only lead one to consider how futile the defenders of the Alamo must have felt their efforts to be as members of the militia, international in their origin, died one by one.
There was listed among the fallen patriots one Christopher Parker of Mississippi. Given the personal roots that stretch into that state, this will be a person I must research further. Since we've already established some lineage links to the infamous Bonnie Parker (of Bonnie & Clyde fame), it would be nice to find someone with a more reputable background.
Glad I made the walk to see the place and grab another little slice of American (Texas) history to which I can say -- been there, done that.
It's a just a convertible
It looked like this in the beginning when the yearning to drive a small convertible first became a part of my psyche. I don't really remember the first time the Triumph TR-6 caught my attention, but it was sometime around 1973 after returning from my first cruise onboard the USS Mount Baker. As we disembarked. a shipmate took delivery of his new car. Although his was green, it looked just like the one in this picutre. For a number of reasons, both real and imagined though, I continued to talk myself out of buying one for my entire tour of duty. It always seemed to me a bit silly to live on a ship and have need of a car. That was a decision I've reflected on with some regret for the past 37 years as school, family, career, etc. gave ample cause to continue to opt out of buying a small convertible in favor or more important things. For many years, my primary mode of transport was marked by one word - functional. Even within that rather limiting descriptor, I've enjoyed a variety of vehicles although they all shared that one common trait.
Not too long ago, my most recent minivan rolled past 175,000 miles. Over the course of 10 years, aside from tires and routine maintenance, the vehicle was only in the repair shop twice. By any reasonable measure it was a reliable vehicle and well worth its $25,000 purchase price in April 2000. However, the years of wear and tear marked by soccer and softball tournaments, family vacations, and commuting to/from school took a toll on the vehicle. While nothing was 'broken', things were signalling that trouble was ahead - broken exhaust manifold bolt and an odd humming noise from the transmission topped the list. Repairs (and money to effect them) loomed in the not to distant future. Even knowing there was some expense coming in the future, it was hard to make the decision to get rid of it. The bigger question was what to buy next.
I spent a lot of time looking at crossover vehicles, SUVs, pickup trucks, and even some traditional vehicles. Yet, each time I drove by the Mazda dealership, this little silver MX-5 would catch my eye and turn my thoughts back to early 1970s. At some point, the issues of rational and functional gave way to desirable and entertaining - and, as new cars go, it really wasn't that expensive. Those seemed like good reasons to buy one. And while I'm not yet old, I'm certainly closer to the finish line than the starting gate. So, it also seemed like a good idea to buy the little convertible while I could still get in and out of it without help. Amid the laughter and comments about mid-life crisis, I took this item off my 'bucket list'.
My only regret -- should have done this years ago! 
Thanksgiving 2009
Sitting alone, sipping coffee, and looking over the Internet headlines in the pre-dawn hours this Thanksgiving morning I am reminded of how quickly the year has passed to join the other unrecorded pages of history.
Marked by both high and low points, the year has given so many things for which to be thankful. In what is without question the high point of the year my first grandson arrived in January. Finding words to express the joyous feelings of that day elude me. I've likened the emotion to that of attempting to describe the color green - it simply must be experienced to be understood. I've been reminded of how quickly life changes as he learned to sit up, then crawl, and began to take his first exploratory steps. In the days that passed after his arrival my life has found a renewed since of meaning and purpose. It is something of an irony that an event which creates such joy occurs at a point in life where the finish line is closer than the starting gate. Still for the blessing of having him in my life, for his health, and for the happiness he has given me, I'm truly thankful.
2009 marked the third year of teaching in my church Life Group. The affirming support of this group of the friendships I've discovered over the past years is so very special. The challenges of trying to teach the weekly Bible study to a group that has studied the book longer than I have done are daunting. However, this has only inspired me to research more, pray more often, and work harder to bring something of value to them each week. Amid the kind remarks and many complimentary thoughts they have given to me, one truth stands out - for all they may think I've given them, they have given me so much more to be thankful for.
Even in the low points, there is still much to be thankful for. Although each of them faced personal trials during the year, my children are all now safe, working, and growing. The overwhelming life events that forced me to leave the doctoral program (for a while) opened the door to a new job has provided much needed income and security. The surgeries and health problems faced by my parents helped all of us to remember how precious and short the time we have together really is. Although an unfortunate meeting with a car tire forced me to end the life of my cat, for 20+ years he was an ongoing source of memories and mayhem. A 55th birthday reminded me of all the new and wonderful friends I've made in that past few years from all parts of the world and that there is still so much time left in which to enjoy life.
Even the simple things like shelter from the elements, a way to get from one place to another, food, clothing, and even the quiet peace that comes when watching a small bird begin its day sitting on the porch rail as the sun breaks over the horizon give pause to be thankful.
We are so blessed.
Marked by both high and low points, the year has given so many things for which to be thankful. In what is without question the high point of the year my first grandson arrived in January. Finding words to express the joyous feelings of that day elude me. I've likened the emotion to that of attempting to describe the color green - it simply must be experienced to be understood. I've been reminded of how quickly life changes as he learned to sit up, then crawl, and began to take his first exploratory steps. In the days that passed after his arrival my life has found a renewed since of meaning and purpose. It is something of an irony that an event which creates such joy occurs at a point in life where the finish line is closer than the starting gate. Still for the blessing of having him in my life, for his health, and for the happiness he has given me, I'm truly thankful.
2009 marked the third year of teaching in my church Life Group. The affirming support of this group of the friendships I've discovered over the past years is so very special. The challenges of trying to teach the weekly Bible study to a group that has studied the book longer than I have done are daunting. However, this has only inspired me to research more, pray more often, and work harder to bring something of value to them each week. Amid the kind remarks and many complimentary thoughts they have given to me, one truth stands out - for all they may think I've given them, they have given me so much more to be thankful for.
Even in the low points, there is still much to be thankful for. Although each of them faced personal trials during the year, my children are all now safe, working, and growing. The overwhelming life events that forced me to leave the doctoral program (for a while) opened the door to a new job has provided much needed income and security. The surgeries and health problems faced by my parents helped all of us to remember how precious and short the time we have together really is. Although an unfortunate meeting with a car tire forced me to end the life of my cat, for 20+ years he was an ongoing source of memories and mayhem. A 55th birthday reminded me of all the new and wonderful friends I've made in that past few years from all parts of the world and that there is still so much time left in which to enjoy life.
Even the simple things like shelter from the elements, a way to get from one place to another, food, clothing, and even the quiet peace that comes when watching a small bird begin its day sitting on the porch rail as the sun breaks over the horizon give pause to be thankful.
We are so blessed.
Crawfish Etoufee
This is my favorite version of this dish.
To make it, you will need the following ingredients:
2 lbs. peeled crawfish tails (frozen ones do just fine)
2 lg. onions
5 ribs celery
5 toes garlic
1 bell pepper
1 can cream of mushroom soup
1 c. white wine (I prefer to use Pinot Grigio by either Cavitts or Little Black Dress)
2 tbsp. tomato paste
Black pepper
Salt
Tony Chachere seasoning (this has a lot of salt in it - just a caution)
3 c. boiling water
3 tbsp. flour
8 ounces cream cheese
1 bunch green onions
1 stick unsalted butter
This is how I make it:
Total cooking and prep time is about 1:45.
Finely chop the onions, celery, garlic, bell pepper, and green onions.
Set the green onions aside for later.
Heat skillet (I use a covered electric skillet at 300-325).
Lightly brown flour in butter.
Add onions, celery, garlic and bell pepper - salt and pepper.
Saute until onions are translucent.
Add tomato paste and cook for about 5 minutes.
Add water. Cook for 30 minutes.
Add soup (do not dilute), wine, crawfish and green onions.
Add Tony's powder and black pepper to taste.
Cook for another 30 minutes.
Add the cream cheese and reduce heat to a simmer.
Stir and allow the cream cheese to fully incorporate.
This can be served over rice, baked in petit pie shells, or as the filling to crawfish pie.
It is also very good served over slices of buttered toasted french bread, or, as I learned last night, olive oil and black pepper Triscuits.
To make it, you will need the following ingredients:
2 lbs. peeled crawfish tails (frozen ones do just fine)
2 lg. onions
5 ribs celery
5 toes garlic
1 bell pepper
1 can cream of mushroom soup
1 c. white wine (I prefer to use Pinot Grigio by either Cavitts or Little Black Dress)
2 tbsp. tomato paste
Black pepper
Salt
Tony Chachere seasoning (this has a lot of salt in it - just a caution)
3 c. boiling water
3 tbsp. flour
8 ounces cream cheese
1 bunch green onions
1 stick unsalted butter
This is how I make it:
Total cooking and prep time is about 1:45.
Finely chop the onions, celery, garlic, bell pepper, and green onions.
Set the green onions aside for later.
Heat skillet (I use a covered electric skillet at 300-325).
Lightly brown flour in butter.
Add onions, celery, garlic and bell pepper - salt and pepper.
Saute until onions are translucent.
Add tomato paste and cook for about 5 minutes.
Add water. Cook for 30 minutes.
Add soup (do not dilute), wine, crawfish and green onions.
Add Tony's powder and black pepper to taste.
Cook for another 30 minutes.
Add the cream cheese and reduce heat to a simmer.
Stir and allow the cream cheese to fully incorporate.
This can be served over rice, baked in petit pie shells, or as the filling to crawfish pie.
It is also very good served over slices of buttered toasted french bread, or, as I learned last night, olive oil and black pepper Triscuits.
Legacies
My grandfather died on June 23, 1943 about 12 years before my birth. By profession, he was a dentist; by hobby he enjoyed his 'white lightning' on a regular basis. Other than a few bent photographs and an abandoned dental office, there was very little I knew of the man.
However, I was reminded today through chance meeting that the things we do on any given day shape the opinions of those we impact in a way that may extend well beyond our lifetime. While eating lunch today, I caught a glimpse of a person who had visited my life group class at church a few weeks ago. Leaving the restaurant I stopped by her table to say hello and was introduced to her parents. Her parents, as it turned out, lived in a small town just south of where my grandfather lived and worked in his dental practice. As it often done in the south, our initial conversation explored who our relatives were looking to establish 'kinfolk' relationships or at least a shared basis of relations. After tossing out the name of my grandmother and a couple of aunts without any recognition, I paused for a moment, then told the older gentleman that my grandfather had been a dentist. He immediately asked for my last name again and was surprised to know that Alfred was both my grandfather and his mother's dentist. As I stood there thinking how interesting it was to always find common acquaintances in the south, he began relay the story of the last time his mother saw the dentist (my grandfather). Alfred pulled the wrong tooth. So, for 65 years his legacy, at least in the mind of this one person, is captured in that single event - pulling the wrong tooth.
Moral of the story is simply this, be kind, be fair, and be gentle to everyone you meet. You never know who may be telling your life's story after you're gone.
However, I was reminded today through chance meeting that the things we do on any given day shape the opinions of those we impact in a way that may extend well beyond our lifetime. While eating lunch today, I caught a glimpse of a person who had visited my life group class at church a few weeks ago. Leaving the restaurant I stopped by her table to say hello and was introduced to her parents. Her parents, as it turned out, lived in a small town just south of where my grandfather lived and worked in his dental practice. As it often done in the south, our initial conversation explored who our relatives were looking to establish 'kinfolk' relationships or at least a shared basis of relations. After tossing out the name of my grandmother and a couple of aunts without any recognition, I paused for a moment, then told the older gentleman that my grandfather had been a dentist. He immediately asked for my last name again and was surprised to know that Alfred was both my grandfather and his mother's dentist. As I stood there thinking how interesting it was to always find common acquaintances in the south, he began relay the story of the last time his mother saw the dentist (my grandfather). Alfred pulled the wrong tooth. So, for 65 years his legacy, at least in the mind of this one person, is captured in that single event - pulling the wrong tooth.
Moral of the story is simply this, be kind, be fair, and be gentle to everyone you meet. You never know who may be telling your life's story after you're gone.
Thoughts about fireword
In Proverbs, the wisdom imparted from Soloman instructs us to consider the ways of the ant. Without leader or ruler it stores its provisions in summer and gathers its food at the harvest. I was reminded of this passage several times over the past few weeks after having a tree felled in the yard. Although still technically living, the tree began to show some signs of decay and internal deterioration over the past few years. To protect my house and that of my neighbor we partnered to have the tree taken down with the intention of converting it to firewood.
It didn't take a long time with the chain saw, even my small one, to realize this was work for which I'd long since become unfamiliar. After many days of cutting, splitting, stacking, and delivering wood to several friends, the job is almost done. The trembling muscles in my forearms served to further remind me of the ever present need to get more exercise. The aches in my back and hands remind me the days of youth are also long passed. Still, while it is much easier to make a telephone call and have firewood delivered and stacked, there is some genuine satisfaction in knowing that through our labor, we're prepared for winter - even a very cold one.
To Grandmother's house we go!!!
Set out this morning to take my daughter and grandson to visit my mother over the Easter weekend. Ten weeks have passed since my grandson's birth, but due to a number of issues, my mother was unable to make the 5 hour car trip to see him. So, this trip was a very special undertaking.
After completing what seemed like a pre-flight checklist: check the oil, feed the cat, set the thermostat, dump the trash, check the faucets, load the baby seat, load the playpen, load the baby, etc., we left the house only an hour or so later than planned. With everyone settled into their seats, we pulled out of the driveway feeling both excitement and some dread at the long drive ahead of us with the young baby. In less than one-half hour, the rhythm of the sounds on the road were replaced by the quick whop whop whop pattern so clearly reminiscent of a flat time. Easing the car to the shoulder, I found a parking space in the shade under an overpass. A quick glance at the visual evidence confirmed the left rear tire was, well, quite flat.
New plan:
Long ago, I'd anticipated such an event and stocked my repair kit with some 'flat fixer'. Following a quick shake of the can, I attached the nozzle to the tire valve and dispensed the solution into the tire. Unfortunately, the tire wasn't inflating primarily due to the fact the inside edge of the tire had pulled away from the rim. Rather than patching the hole tire and inflating the tire, the solution was simply blowing out the inside of the tire onto the ground.
New plan:
No problem, we'll use the spare --- oops!!! The spare was damaged beyond repair with the last flat tire and I never got around to replacing it.
New plan:
Still no problem, my brother would call his wife, she would take her truck to my brother's office, swap the truck for his car, come pick us up, and we'd take the flat tire and have it replaced. While we waited, it occurred to us the spare in his vehicle might fit the wheel on my van.
New plan:
If the spare fit, we could expedite the repair process and be back on our way in no time. She arrived, we tried the other spare, and it fit! As I began to lower the van off the jack, calm confidence was replaced by the painfully obvious reality, the new spare was also flat.
New plan:
We decided to leave the van sitting on the flattened spare tire, carry the flat tire into the town we had just passed (Rayville), drop by the Wal-mart and have the flat repaired, come back to the van, replace the tire and be on our way. Good plan! We load the baby, the daughter, my brother and I into the car with my sister-in-law (along with the flat tire), drove the 3 miles to the next exit, looped over the highway, then drove the 7 miles back to Rayville to the Wal-mart. We pulled in to the Super Wal-mart parking lot trying to get a quick glance of the tire center, but apparently we were on the wrong end of the building. A quick trip around the back of the building, then along the opposite side, and back to the front door confirmed the worst - there is no tire center at the Rayville Wal-Mart Supercenter.
New plan:
Buy an air pump, go back to the van, inflate the spare tire, drive all the vehicles back to Monroe at one time, repair the tire and start the whole trip over. Good plan! We spotted a truck stop just ahead and stopped to buy the air pump. Funny thing about truck stops, while they carry every device known to mankind with a cigarette adapter plug, they didn't sell an air pump. No problem, let's ask the checkout clerk; he's local and should be able to direct us.
brother: where can I buy an air pump?
clerk: auto parts store
brother: do you have an auto parts store here?
clerk: Auto Zone
brother: do you know where the Auto Zone store is?
clerk: in town
brother: where in town?
clerk: up the road - on the left
brother: thank you
clerk: (blank stare)
There's just something warm and refreshing about country banter.
A quick jaunt up the road and we located the Auto Zone store. Not only did they have an air pump, they had two. One a foot pump model for $10 and a 12-volt model for $50 which was capable of delivering 250psi of air pressure or inflate your water toys (your choice). Having experienced the foot model earlier in life, I quickly parted with President Grant. Then, with air pump in hand, we journeyed back to the van waiting ever so patiently on the flattened spare tire to inflate. Although the air pump said it was strong, it didn't claim to be quick. Success at last! We eventually managed to get enough air in the tire so we could make the trip back to Monroe to effect the necessary repairs.
Standing alongside the interstate highway this morning, though, waiting for the spare tire to inflate some thirty miles from our point of origin, I was reminded of how the simplest things lend so much richness to life. When the blew out, we were able to park in the shade of an overpass. A mile either way and we would have spent several hours sitting in the direct sun with a young baby. Even with the temperatures warming, a nice comfortable breeze was coming in from the southwest. It was just enough to keep the inside of the vehicle comfortable while we waited. The two good Samaritan's that stopped just to check on us while we waited reaffirmed there are still good people that do good things for no particular reason except to be neighborly. I was reminded how technology, especially the cell phone, has enabled us to remain so closely linked to assistance when we need it. A final reminder of the simple things is the strength and forgiving warmth of a good family. With my brother at my side, we were able to plot and plan while we reflected back on funnier days and even funnier relatives long since departed.
It would be easy to view the events of the day as having interrupted the trip. Yet, to do so, would be to miss the value in living. As the sun rises each morning, we are greeted by the unfathomable possibilities afforded each of us. How tragic it would be to see the flat tire as a problem and then miss out on the blessing of everything that followed. And even in retrospect, I wouldn't trade that flat tire for anything.
Quite road weary, we did make to mom's house before midnight cruising on two new tires from the Wal-mart Supercenter -- but how they got there, well, that's another tale.
After completing what seemed like a pre-flight checklist: check the oil, feed the cat, set the thermostat, dump the trash, check the faucets, load the baby seat, load the playpen, load the baby, etc., we left the house only an hour or so later than planned. With everyone settled into their seats, we pulled out of the driveway feeling both excitement and some dread at the long drive ahead of us with the young baby. In less than one-half hour, the rhythm of the sounds on the road were replaced by the quick whop whop whop pattern so clearly reminiscent of a flat time. Easing the car to the shoulder, I found a parking space in the shade under an overpass. A quick glance at the visual evidence confirmed the left rear tire was, well, quite flat.
New plan:
Long ago, I'd anticipated such an event and stocked my repair kit with some 'flat fixer'. Following a quick shake of the can, I attached the nozzle to the tire valve and dispensed the solution into the tire. Unfortunately, the tire wasn't inflating primarily due to the fact the inside edge of the tire had pulled away from the rim. Rather than patching the hole tire and inflating the tire, the solution was simply blowing out the inside of the tire onto the ground.
New plan:
No problem, we'll use the spare --- oops!!! The spare was damaged beyond repair with the last flat tire and I never got around to replacing it.
New plan:
Still no problem, my brother would call his wife, she would take her truck to my brother's office, swap the truck for his car, come pick us up, and we'd take the flat tire and have it replaced. While we waited, it occurred to us the spare in his vehicle might fit the wheel on my van.
New plan:
If the spare fit, we could expedite the repair process and be back on our way in no time. She arrived, we tried the other spare, and it fit! As I began to lower the van off the jack, calm confidence was replaced by the painfully obvious reality, the new spare was also flat.
New plan:
We decided to leave the van sitting on the flattened spare tire, carry the flat tire into the town we had just passed (Rayville), drop by the Wal-mart and have the flat repaired, come back to the van, replace the tire and be on our way. Good plan! We load the baby, the daughter, my brother and I into the car with my sister-in-law (along with the flat tire), drove the 3 miles to the next exit, looped over the highway, then drove the 7 miles back to Rayville to the Wal-mart. We pulled in to the Super Wal-mart parking lot trying to get a quick glance of the tire center, but apparently we were on the wrong end of the building. A quick trip around the back of the building, then along the opposite side, and back to the front door confirmed the worst - there is no tire center at the Rayville Wal-Mart Supercenter.
New plan:
Buy an air pump, go back to the van, inflate the spare tire, drive all the vehicles back to Monroe at one time, repair the tire and start the whole trip over. Good plan! We spotted a truck stop just ahead and stopped to buy the air pump. Funny thing about truck stops, while they carry every device known to mankind with a cigarette adapter plug, they didn't sell an air pump. No problem, let's ask the checkout clerk; he's local and should be able to direct us.
brother: where can I buy an air pump?
clerk: auto parts store
brother: do you have an auto parts store here?
clerk: Auto Zone
brother: do you know where the Auto Zone store is?
clerk: in town
brother: where in town?
clerk: up the road - on the left
brother: thank you
clerk: (blank stare)
There's just something warm and refreshing about country banter.
A quick jaunt up the road and we located the Auto Zone store. Not only did they have an air pump, they had two. One a foot pump model for $10 and a 12-volt model for $50 which was capable of delivering 250psi of air pressure or inflate your water toys (your choice). Having experienced the foot model earlier in life, I quickly parted with President Grant. Then, with air pump in hand, we journeyed back to the van waiting ever so patiently on the flattened spare tire to inflate. Although the air pump said it was strong, it didn't claim to be quick. Success at last! We eventually managed to get enough air in the tire so we could make the trip back to Monroe to effect the necessary repairs.
Standing alongside the interstate highway this morning, though, waiting for the spare tire to inflate some thirty miles from our point of origin, I was reminded of how the simplest things lend so much richness to life. When the blew out, we were able to park in the shade of an overpass. A mile either way and we would have spent several hours sitting in the direct sun with a young baby. Even with the temperatures warming, a nice comfortable breeze was coming in from the southwest. It was just enough to keep the inside of the vehicle comfortable while we waited. The two good Samaritan's that stopped just to check on us while we waited reaffirmed there are still good people that do good things for no particular reason except to be neighborly. I was reminded how technology, especially the cell phone, has enabled us to remain so closely linked to assistance when we need it. A final reminder of the simple things is the strength and forgiving warmth of a good family. With my brother at my side, we were able to plot and plan while we reflected back on funnier days and even funnier relatives long since departed.
It would be easy to view the events of the day as having interrupted the trip. Yet, to do so, would be to miss the value in living. As the sun rises each morning, we are greeted by the unfathomable possibilities afforded each of us. How tragic it would be to see the flat tire as a problem and then miss out on the blessing of everything that followed. And even in retrospect, I wouldn't trade that flat tire for anything.
Quite road weary, we did make to mom's house before midnight cruising on two new tires from the Wal-mart Supercenter -- but how they got there, well, that's another tale.
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