Lots of Luck Coming My Way!

            Ever wonder why extra good fortune has not come your way in double handfuls. The explanation is simple, really: no black-eyed peas and no cabbage. In addition, Christmas decorations remain throughout your home and on your lawn and upon your house, laden with the dust and trappings of 2014. There’s still time to correct the ‘faux-pas.’

To ignore this good luck protocol is like defying the Southern Lady’s Handbook Rule regarding the wearing of white shoes after Labor Day.

           Since the cradle, I’ve eaten black-eyed peas on New Year’s Day.  Imagine what my life would have been like had I not eaten them! I shudder to think!

One December day, a friend asked me if I ate Cabbage for Cash on New Year’s Day.  Alas!  Alak!  I don’t even like cabbage, I told her. She explained with patience and understanding how to make nasty smelling cabbage morph into a delicious side dish.  It involves butter, onion, bacon, and a black iron skillet.  She furthered her comments to assure me that cash had not been withheld from me, but, “Imagine how the dollars would dash into your life if you would begin your year with cabbage!”

            Each New Year’s Day those seated at my table gobble black-eyed peas, cabbage, cornbread, and ham or pork chops.  My 2015 is destined to be lucky and rich!

           

        Furthering my good fortune is the removal of all Christmas decorations PRIOR to New Year’s Day.  Removing the glitter, sequins, Santas, and sheddings from 2014 leaves plenty of room for all new, good vibrations for the New Year.

       Preparations for welcoming New Year’s Day include beginning work on a humongous jigsaw puzzle.

       New Year’s Day traditions celebrate the future, new beginnings, and optimism!

Let's Go Christmas Shopping...for Mom

             Remember those Christmas presents we shopped for as children. One story lives in my family lore:  a bulky wool-knit brown sweater with an over-sized cowl neckline. All along the large sweater neckline hung some kind of imitation animal tail, soft and fuzzy .

“Oooooh, Nana,” said David with delight. “This is beautiful. I’m going to get this for my mommy.” Mother directed his eyes elsewhere and he brought home a surprise that was wonderful and not quite as itchy.

Mother would love an Evening in Paris

            I imagine the same “gift-redirect” happened when I was a gift-giving child. My mother didn’t receive the “Evening in Paris” perfume I wanted to give her. I’d seen it displayed in all its glory at the drug store. The bottle was a deep blue and the stopper displayed a blue-fringed tassel. The advertisement pictured a glamorous woman in a deep blue ball gown.

           The perfume represented my belief that my mother deserved an “evening in Paris.” The fragrance was divine, an extra shot of Eau de Toilet. Daddy told me that it was very pretty but Mother already had plenty of perfume. “Let’s look for some pretty jewelry,” he advised.

           Rarely was Daddy out in left field, but he missed the point that time, just as my mother did when she directed David away from the animal-tailed, brown sweater.

          Mothers deserve the best gift their children can give them, something beautiful in the eyes of the children, something as beautiful as Moms will always be.

I've Got Rocks in My Head, and Visions of Sugar Plums, Too

In an old 1920's Presbyterian Cookbook from my grandmother's collection is a recipe for Christmas Cookies containing candied fruit.  But, it's not a recipe for Rocks. Only the Gordon Girls have a recipe for Rocks.

Handwritten on the back page of this cookbook is the family recipe, with the title "Rocks" inside quotation marks.  It's in my grandmother's handwriting. I can see her write it. I can sense the warmth of the kitchen at the big house. I can see my mother and my cousin cutting the fruit for the batter. Pecans need chopping and I'm up for that.

Rocks in the Raw

The Gordon Girls were Tea-total-ers and never drank liquor, except for medicinal Mogan David wine, Bourbon laced Egg Nog, and splashes of Jack in the recipe for Rocks. It's the bourbon that gives the rocks their darker color: the more liquor, the darker color. Bourbon flavoring purchased from on-line sources can do the same.

Wal-Mart, however, can ruin a full batch of Rocks. The major retailer sells pre-cut candied fruit in large tubs. I bought some, as I have done in previous years. Trouble is, the fruit was dry and old.  I discovered this fact when as I tasted a cookie, fresh from the oven. I had not taste-tested prior to dumping the entire tub into the batter. What a big mistake. The fruit was like...pebbles...ah, rocks.

About to rid the house of the contents of a large cookie tin of Rocks after sampling cookies from random batches to prove that all the fruit was bad, I was stopped at the trash can by a hand. Marvin said, "Don't throw them out. They are not that bad; we just have to be careful not to crack a tooth! You know I'll eat anything you cook and call it delicious. So will your boys."

"But," I said, "I can't serve these to the general public! And I won't serve them to Santa!"

Cookies for Santa (Gordon Family's Rocks)

So, I bought more candied fruit and cut it up myself and made a fresh batch of Rocks.  They are delicious. Perfect. The Family Rock Recipe for Christmas has been Preserved.  The Tradition is Secure.

Christmas Day may march forward. Santa can fill his sleigh and head our way knowing that the little plate "Cookies for Santa" will have those few special cookies:  Rocks in the old-time Gordon Tradition!,

Press-on Nails, False Eyelashes. and Sticky-Bows

            Sticky bows are similar in aesthetic to press-on nails and adhesive lashes. Cousin Eddie wears blue leisure suits, a dickey under a V-neck sweater, and wraps presents with sticky-bows. His wife wears a sticky bow as a hair ornament.

            A friend and co-worker raised my consciousness concerning the inadvisability of any faux beauty technique, except subtle hair color. She not only decries the use of “sticky bows” but also gives a deep sigh when addressing the topic of bargain priced, easy-rip wrapping papers.

            For those uninformed about “sticky-bows” digest this morsel of education. Sticky-bows are fashioned of thin, shiny ribbon in various colors and are in no way kin to delicious sticky-buns.  They are created by looping ribbon around and over with a well-positioned staple plus a peel and stick backing. Available in all colors and sizes, sticky-bows also may be purchased in bulk. Like Twinkies, their shelf-life has yet to expire.

Christmas Candy Theme

              My friend, who alphabetizes her spices and canned goods, orders her wrapping paper to coordinate with her Christmas Tree and home décor. She has never worn an ugly Christmas sweater in her life, even when the rest of the world wore them, unaware. She purchases ribbon in various widths and in blending hues, again festively matching the overall theme of the home’s Christmas trees. 

               I was inspired, but not before I was shocked, aghast, in fact. I never imagined how out of touch I had become. Guilty of purchasing bags of bows for ease in wrapping many gifts in the wee hours of the morning, I had no idea that I had participated in a great holiday faux-pas.  Our collective group of educated women and power-mamas was equally unaware. We became hysterical in thinking about our gaffe.

                So, since she deserved it so richly, we fixed her right up with a Sticky-Bow extravaganza, all in good-natured fun. We sticky-bow’d her office in its entirety. Every flat surface was pasted with a sticky-bow, including the computer monitor. The plants grew sticky-bows on each branch.  We poured them from the bag into her filing cabinets and covered her office door from bottom to top with a multitude of varying size sticky-bows. It’s one of the highlights of our Christmas memories and lives in office lore. She was still finding sticky-bows at Easter.

                   My conscience was raised nonetheless. I have delighted in creating a different kind of Christmas Tree that I place in our living room/hallway area.  It is themed “White Gold” which in the Arkansas Delta translates as Cotton. At Target I found several wrapping papers that also coordinate:  white flocked paper, brown textured paper, a snow-glittered copper colored paper. 

The ribbon is wired, glittered  in gold, silver, white, brown, and highlighted with green and turquoise, accent colors on the tree and in the living room/den.  To add the final touch, several packages have cotton bolls attached. 

                   

            Our Christmas Tree and the packages underneath are beautiful, inspired, tasteful, elegant, and color-coordinated.

                         I owe the inspiration to a sweet friend, The Sticky-Bow Gift-Wrap Queen.

Listen up, Santa Baby: Now, that's what I call Fun

"Come and trim my Christmas tree
With some decorations bought at Tiffany;
I really do believe in you
Let's see if you believe in me

Santa baby, forgot to mention one little thing, a ring
I don't mean a phone, Santa baby,
so hurry down the chimney tonight

Hurry down the chimney tonight"

Santa Baby is looking like I've worn him out with Christmas shopping. Here's the truth: We went on a MAN'S SHOPPING EXCURSION yesterday. This is how it works: Go into store, get the item discussed, pay, leave.  Boom.  It's done.
That's not even fun.

Here's a sample of fun: Santa Baby and I went with a group of retirees to the Hickory Log Restaurant in Dexter, MO. The Christmas Decorations are astounding.  It's worth the drive to experience the immersion in Holiday Lighting:  How to Over-do to Perfection. The barbeque ribs would be a bonus.


Tomorrow is Friday! I'm going to be wrapping gifts, baking cookies, listening to Christmas Carols turned up loud for all to hear.
Now, that's what I call fun.

A Dream Remembered: Christmas Eve - 1966

           As Rhett and Scarlett maneuvered through back alleys and collapsing buildings, the inferno that was Atlanta radiated in orange and red to cover the cinema screen. The horse and buggy made it to the edge of town.

          Prior to that moment, Rhett waxed prophetic.

“Get a good look, My Dear. You can tell your grandchildren one day how you watched the Old South disappear one night.” Rhett was talking about the end of the ideals the Old South stood for, the way of life, a South that became “no more than a dream remembered.” 

           Christmas Eve, 1966. Camden, Arkansas, my hometown. Ferdinand, the alert system for the fire department, sounded the downtown code. We counted the blasts but continued to unwrap our “one present” on Christmas Eve. Seated in our robes around the aluminum tree decorated with single color red glass balls, we were distracted, but not deterred until another blast from Ferdinand, indicating a 2 or 3 alarm fire.

           Downtown. 

           Daddy pulled back the sheers at the front window and peered toward town.  The glow was unmistakable.“Downtown is burning,” he said, “Get dressed.”  

         

           We had primary interest in downtown Camden. The drugstore was not far from that intersection. The Post Office, the Court House, the Library, the Methodist Church, and all downtown businesses were in jeopardy. The drive to the scene of the fire escalated my fear. I shook, trembled.

          We parked blocks away. I did not want to get out, but Daddy was not leaving me alone in the car. Our family joined throngs of huddled citizens witnessing fire departments from Camden and surrounding towns as they battled a fire that consumed at least 4 buildings in a downtown city block. Their task became keeping the rest of Camden from burning to the ground.

         Tears streamed down my face, because I knew that from this point on, we were not safe from unnamed villains who could attack anyone, anywhere, when we least expected it.  Life as we knew it changed. 

        Christmas Eve, 1966: The night I watched as the Camden I had known and loved disappeared.

The Grinch's Lesson

Last night I selected 5 Angels from the Angel Tree.  Written on each Angel were items to fulfill a child's Christmas Wish List. Nowhere on any of these lists were visions of sugar plums. No Peace on Earth, Goodwill to Men.

Instead, one Angel identified a "Ninja Turtle Bike."  Granted, that was all that was listed, but still...specifically a Ninja Turtle Bike. A young mother standing next to me wondered aloud if the child would be too disappointed in "any bike" since all the Ninja Turtle Bikes are sold out - even online. I did not choose to fulfill that wish.

My, oh my, how times have changed. The 5 Angels I chose had wish lists such as tops and pants for a 3T, nail polish for an 11 year old, some hair bows for a 6th grader and some art supplies.
One toddler boy wished for "fire-rescue" items.  A young girl wanted a "Frozen" DVD. What is a DVD doing in the Frozen Food department, I pondered!  (I know, I know.)

Today, I'm heading to the store to fulfill the wishes of some needy children in this area.  When the gifts are delivered to the parents, wrapping paper will be included so the Moms and Dads can "have a part in creating the wonderful morning" for these children.

I'm so taken aback by the expectation and must give great effort to keep my spirit one of generosity. God's commandment is that we Give, as He gave, without reservation, giving throughout the year, not just at Christmas time.

And so, it's off to the store so that my Christmas spirit can also know, "Christmas...indeed, means quite a bit more!"

And the Grinch, with his grinch-feet ice-cold in the snow,

Stood puzzling and puzzling: “How could it be so?”

“It came without ribbons! It came without tags!

“It came without packages, boxes or bags!”

And he puzzled three hours, till his puzzler was sore.

Then the Grinch thought of something he hadn’t before!

“Maybe Christmas,” he thought, “doesn’t come from a store.

Maybe Christmas … perhaps … means a little bit more!”

The Elf at My House

"I don't want that Elf coming to my house!" said the three-year old little girl.

I can just hear her wheels turning, "Mommy, Santa Claus, and the Elf must be in cahoots.  She keeps talking about Elf and how she tells Santa stuff. Like whether I'm bossy or have a little 'snip' in my voice."

"Come to think about it," thought Nana, "I don't want that Elf coming to my house, either!"