No Time for Hibernation

     It would be easier to hibernate. You know, read the paper, drink morning coffee, go to the gym, come home, sweep up some caked dirt from someone’s boots, do a little laundry, test the thawing progress on next week’s main dishes, admire the Christmas trees, order some things through Amazon, follow through on a brainstorm or two, and ignore the invitation to the Christmas party.

             It’ll mean a holiday outfit, heels, and a smile. That might be a bridge too far.

            Then, I flip the switch for some music to elevate the attitude and David Foster’s orchestra plays “Carol of the Bells” a rendition that lifts my mood immediately. Before I can blink twice, John Williams “Merry Christmas, Merry Christmas” from the Home Alone soundtrack raises the roof. “Christmas Eve in Sarajavo,” the signature piece for the Trans-Siberian orchestra, rings through the rooms and I’m a new creature, ready for Saturday night and a Christmas Party, the first of the season.

          Getting ready for Christmas parties means dressing up, saying Merry Christmas, Y’all!, and seeing new friends in what have become familiar locations. My Scroogie Christmas fault is I long for Christmas Past. It can’t be. This is Christmas Present.

            I vow to enjoy every day of this Christmas season. I will wear my Christmas jewelry and jingle all the way. I’ll make Gordon Christmas Rocks and celebrate RockFest; I’ll also try a few new recipes. Christmas music will fill my house and I’ll laugh when Aubrey sings “Up on the Housetop” at full tilt. What a joy to share Christmas with a four-year-old angel.

            Soon the Christmas presents will start to accumulate in their secret hiding places and one day, I’ll conduct a Wrap Session, to the beat of “Grandma Got Run Over By a Reindeer.”

            I love Christmas and everything it represents. Christmas music at church reminds us the Manger is waiting. The advent candles are lighted as we anticipate the Christ Child’s birth. That blessed time is magically blended with Santa’s promise to Virginia and children of all ages.

It’s my favorite time of the year and I won’t spend it in hibernation.   

Sugar Lovers Go Cold Turkey

              Imagine Buddy the Elf’s startled look as he chows down on a whole roll of Toll-House cookie dough. His reply to the FDA and their findings regarding sugar and health might be surrounded in a cloud of…cotton candy. He’d find a way to smile through the upstart suggestion that Americans “cut back on sugar.”

The Food and Drug Administration has gotten well into the sweet-toothed consumer’s business now. Cutting back on fats came first. Cutting back on carbs came next. Cutting calories, cutting red meat, cutting this, that, and the other. Now, it’s sugar.

            Empty calories like empty words may fill a void, but are not satisfying and the body knows it. With few nutrients and few real, meaningful calories, added sugar, such as sugars that are in soda, fills a body for a brief time, but evaporates like a puff of smoke, leaving the consumer unsatisfied.

            Grandma’s secret ingredient for whipping up the best green beans is not really a secret: she adds a “pinch” or two, or three, or more of sugar. No wonder her vegetables are such a hit with the family; even the kids will eat Granny’s green beans.

            Thanksgiving dinner is past and Christmas treats’ aromas lurk around the next bend. Kitchens are busy places; holiday chefs don festive aprons and whop up family recipes of cookies, brownies, candy, and treats designed to satisfy Santa and all his elves.

Health conscious cooks buy low-fat, low-calorie, low-carb, sugar substitutes, all in an effort to satisfy the craving for delicious confections. However, low on one side means high on the other side. Low-fat is laden with sugar.  Low-sugar bursts with fat grams. There is no win, it seems.

            With a picture of fruit on the packaging, one would assume the product contains fruit with its natural sugar content. Drat it all! Fooled, again. Just because a picture is on the label, don’t count on there being much fruit; instead, the strawberry yogurt is loaded with added sugar so the taste will be palatable. Same with fruity drinks, fruity cookies, dried fruit, fruit cocktail, and the like.

            It’s healthier, of course, to cut back on added sugars. Our heart health demands that we sit up, pay attention, and make changes. So, what’s a good Southerner, those of us with a seldom-satisfied sweet tooth, to do? We will look for other ways to satisfy sweet cravings.

            Perhaps humming songs from Mary Poppins would help. She recommends keeping a spoonful of sugar handy to make the medicine go down. Another remedy would be to make sure the kiddos and grandkiddos are around so they can fulfil the request to “gimme some sugar!” An over-abundance of affectionate terms like “Sugar” might spill from the lips of strangers who are not flirting, but who are in the throes of sugar deprivation and crave to speak the word at every opportunity. Perhaps listening to oldie, goldie tunes such as “Sugar, Sugar” or “Sugar Shack” could supply the satisfaction.

            Cutting back on sugar might be impossible, especially as the candy-cane season approaches. Watching the movie Elf is the only solution. Everyone knows that Buddy is addicted to sugar. He says, "We elves try to stick to the four main food groups: candy, candy canes, candy corns, and syrup." He pours maple syrup onto his spaghetti. With a flask of “yes, there’s sugar in syrup” kept with him at all times, concealed up the sleeve of his green, fur trimmed coat, Buddy’s antics provide sugar-sensory overload, a sure-fire remedy for sugar cravings. After watching Will Ferrell as Buddy the Elf, sugar-lovers will head toward the refrigerator for cold turkey.         

The Southern Pecan: the Critical Ingredient for Holiday Baking

            Tis the season to harvest pecans. That skill I have honed since I was able to toddle along behind my mother and grandmother, picking up pecans that had fallen from the pecan trees canopying the corner of Harrison and Jefferson in Camden, Arkansas.

            Tuesday afternoon, we gathered pecans from Mrs. Gatewood’s trees in her back yard and were able to gather about half a bucket full. The trees are still heavily laden with the delicious symbol of fall harvest.

Rock Fest 2008

            Every holiday dessert I was raised on contained pecans. Even fruit salad had chopped pecans. Cookie tins brimming with salted pecans were a constant throughout fall and into winter. Fondant ovals colored deep pink and mint green were sandwiched between two pecan pieces. Karo Nut Pie, erroneously called Pecan Pie by my northern friends, Pineapple Upside Down Cake, Icebox Cookies, and the Gordon family’s famous Rocks are filled with the nutty delicacy. Oh, pecans!

            I’ve used all the pecans I had in the freezer, so I purchased a bag of chopped pecans, a bag of pecan halves at each of my grocery store ventures. Now, any recipe calling for any amount or style of pecans is under control.

            Until today, that is. I’d read a recipe in the newspaper during early November. The ingredients of a delicious sounding pecan pastry were listed and knew I had all items available and was ready to bake today. It’s a good thing I was planning a day at home because what I did not read was “this recipe will take you the whole live-long-day.” The newsprint continued with “pulse until the mixture looks like coarse meal…” “You may have to divide the recipe into two parts,” the fine print suggested.

The dough formed quite well as did the filling, but here came the kicker. “Cover the rolled out dough with plastic wrap and refrigerate for 30 – 40 minutes before transferring the trays to the freezer for another 15 minutes.”  After all that rig-a-ma-role, I was instructed to roll out the dough into a rectangle at least double the size and shape it originally formed. Spreading the filling and folding the dough came next and then another stint in the refrigerator for the two crescent shaped pastries.  “Refrigerate the formed crescents for between 4 and 12 hours.” 

Say W H A T!  Will I be awake?

            I gave the critters 4 hours and then brushed them with an egg wash and popped them into the preheated oven, rotated them, turned them, flipped them alternately every 15-20 minutes for a total of 40-50 minutes. After they came out of the oven, they were to cool on a wire rack for another 30 minutes then be glazed and “allow the glaze to set” for 10 additional minutes. Whew!

            They tasted great. As they baked, they gave the house a holiday aroma. But, when God made pastry dough and filling, He also made pastry chefs and bakeries.  As long as I can throw a few fingertips of flour in my face, as long as I can heat a pan of water with delicious smelling cinnamon sticks, and as long as Wal-Mart and Bath & Body Works make caramel vanilla and cinnamon spice heat activated aroma devices, I’ll use my time to harvest pecans and prepare for making Gordon Rocks, 

            It's almost time for Rock-Fest 2015!

The House on Harrison Street: The Ritchie Files

Just when I thought it might be safe to upload my creative nonfiction book to the cyberworld of CreateSpace by Amazon, I decided I better check one more time with the cousins. Someone might have one more thing to share.That one thing could be a major game-changer.

.

Today, I was able to speak with my cousin from Ruston, Louisiana. Not only does she have photos, she has journals.These journals are like nothing I’ve even imagined I could touch. The one from which she read seems to be an accounting of finances and donations to various charities around Camden.

John Campbell Ritchie 

The writer was either former Mayor John Campbell Ritchie or cotton merchant George Louis Ritchie, as the writer listed an entry about “sister Ella" and the Ouachita Valley Bank. Since J.C. Ritchie is Susan’s great grandfather, I’m thinking these journals are his, once in the possession of his son, Stith Bearden Ritchie, her grandfather.

She is boxing up these photos and journals and putting them on the road to my house via Wilderness Express. I've promised to copy them and return the originals to her. She has a treasure and did not know it. It may be that a major re-write in some sections of the book will be forthcoming.

Waiting for the box to arrive is like waiting to meet a long-lost relative, someone I’ve known but have not made contact with in years.Touching what they touched, reading what they wrote, learning what they believed to be important all make these ancestors come alive to me.Their decisions, the names of the individuals in the journal, the places mentioned give life to historical genealogy.

To affirm that the book I'm putting together is important for our family and for Camden, I recognized the names and knew their relationships and how they were significant to the family and to Camden. The failure of the Ouachita Valley Bank during the 1930s impacted the brothers and the family and there is information in the journal about the bank. She did not know what I have learned through research. That is the focus of the book; if I don't share the stories and the information, everything will be lost, because the information is fragmented, scattered among the cousins.

What my grandmother would have possessed went up in smoke from the fire in either 1941 or 1959.

I’m so grateful to these cousins who have unearthed the archives and have chosen to share what they found.

Way Back with Arkansas and Ole Miss

"I'm old enough to remember the Arkansas-Ole Miss games from the 1960's; in fact, I remember the 1960 game. No I was not there. I was hiding in my grandmother's bathroom, waiting for the final score, fingers in my ears because the radio volume was turned up full blast. No amount of wishing and hoping changed that result. Even Lance could not save the day and I'm sure I cried from disappointment and coming face to face with a flagrant violation of the rules of fairness.  

                         Ole Miss 10 – Arkansas 7

The 1960 contest between the teams was won by Ole Miss 10–7 at War Memorial Stadium in Little Rock, Arkansas, on their way to a final record of 10–0–1 for the 1960 season and the second of their three claimed national championships. Sometimes called the Tommy Bell game by Arkansas fans, he called a timeout in an attempt to quiet Razorback fans. Rebel Allen Green did not hear the whistle and kicked the ball through the uprights. After the timeout, fans swear Bell signaled that the kick was good as soon as Green connected with the ball. Fans also swear that the kick was no good. Fighting broke out all around the stadium and because of this, the annual series between the two schools was played the next year in Jackson and then canceled until the two teams renewed the series in 1981.

It seems no Arkansas-Ole Miss game is without some kind of down-to-the-wire heroics or villainous call by referees paid by scoundrels. Remembering seven overtimes with Matt Jones and a one point victory comes to mind in the arena of heroics.

Like the victory being savored tonight, this win is one Hog fans will be celebrating and Ole Miss fans lamenting for years to come. Our old family friend Billy Newton in Heaven called on many Razorback Saints, including my parents, to avoid a tragedy that almost befell the team when a throwback flip was caught and Alex Collins piled up more yardage during the overtime period.The RazorSaints in Heaven danced a jig and helped conclude the game. I'll say this, "It was a flagrant face-mask violation and Brandon Allen did go for two and make it!"

Hogs Win Again in Overtime

The House on Harrison Street: The Gordon-Ritchie Saga

It’s time. Time to launch my new book: The House on Harrison Street: The Gordon-Ritchie Saga

It’s not a novel. Neither is it a non-fiction recounting of dates and events on a timeline.

The book contains speculation and stories which are “just a tad” subjective. It’s told from a narrator’s point of view: I am that narrator. My cousins have provided incredible insight into portions of the family story that I did not know. I’ve written letters and received responses along with their insights. Several cousins have provided photographs for use in the book.

The family tree has reached into history, dating to the mid-1600’s.  Neither you nor I ever met any of those individuals, but you, like I, have heard their stories, time and time again, so many times that we feel as if we know them personally. I’ve brought that feeling to the manuscript.

Perhaps you’ve read about the Tooke family from England who arrived in the Virginia plantation to begin a new life. It was the Tooke ancestors who were some signers of the Magna Charta, The Great Charter.

You have read of the Ritchey family (also spelled Ritchie) along with the Caldwells and Calhouns of South Carolina. Dig into your US History class notes and conjure the vision of John C. Calhoun, noted SC senator. His middle name was Caldwell. Old District 96 in South Carolina was home to these ancestors. Find out how the Caldwells, Calhouns, and Ritcheys are related.

How about the Gordon family? Revolutionary War soldiers, plantation owners from South Carolina and Georgia. Then, learn about the Campbell family of Virginia who emigrated to Tennessee and then to Alabama. From Alabama’s Black Belt came groups of pioneers and settlers into south Arkansas. Learn why they chose Arkansas and why Ouachita County which was formed out of the once larger Union County.

These four families combined to establish a lineage of greatness that eventually provided leadership and substantial influence in Union County and ultimately Ouachita County, Arkansas.

In this book are stories told from my perspective, based on research as well as family lore. Included are end notes, a full bibliography, a Family Tree, photographs, and an index.

My brother and I agree that the book should be made available to family members, extended family members, the Ouachita County Historical Society, the Arkansas History Commission, those interested in genealogy, and Ouachita County residents who have even a minor connection to the county’s history. It is not a book which would command a commercial audience, however.

Look for its release before the first of the year, hopefully around Christmas.

What a wonderful gift it would make! Wouldn’t you like to read an oration by Professor Charles T. Gordon? Would you like to glimpse the wedding of John Campbell Ritchie to his second wife Minnie Barker, the young socialite who came to Camden to help care for her brother’s child and remained, marrying the former Mayor of Camden?

Be present at the Oil Boom in Union County and Ouachita County. Witness the results of the horrific gas explosion that claimed the life of three young Camden ladies, one of whom was a cousin, Margaret Ramsey. Meet for the first time as a young teen our little known aunt Janie Gordon. Grimace at the demise of a family brought on by the untimely and tragic death of an only son. See Camden change and grow from photographs taken in the front yard of The House on Harrison Street.

Those stories and more are included in The House on Harrison Street: The Gordon-Ritchie Saga.

A Visit With Aunt Betty

            What is it called when the opportunity comes to look into the eyes of a close relative and the decades fade into oblivion? The hands of the person are also the hands of her mother and her brother (my dad). What is that phenomenal occurrence? Is it a form of time travel? Is it transference? Or, is it a soul-satisfying emotional connection, comfort, and a rare privilege?

            My aunt is 94 years old, born in August 1921. She’s the only remaining family member of my parents’ generation. She is three years older than my dad who died in 2001. We Dansbys have the same brow, nose, chin, shape in the face. I wonder, should I live to be her age, if I will look like my Aunt Betty?

            When she realized that seated before her, indeed, was her niece, her brother’s daughter Margaret Jane, all the way from Arkansas, we embraced. I felt the arms of my family wrap me in love and heard them say, “I’ve missed you so much.” I cried; the tears were spontaneous. I was not sad, except I miss my dad so much and I felt his presence in his sister's arms, the arms that enfolded me.

            Sometime during our conversation, which was more like a monologue with response on her part, she commented, “I’ve been looking forward to your visit for such a long time.”

           

               She has been my female hero, always. When, as a child, I learned she was a nurse, I wanted to be a nurse. She convinced me I did not. “You don’t want to clean up slop jars, darling girl. And you have to give people shots…” she continued. She’d convinced me with ‘slop jars.’ The point, though: she was independent, savvy, smart, beautiful, and a powerful woman who was, I believed, making her own way in the world. I wanted to be like my Aunt Betty.

            While she hated the strict nuns at St. Vincent’s School of Nursing in Little Rock, that school was her ticket and she punched it with relish. She was happiest, her daughter and I have discussed, when she was an Army Nurse, stationed in various areas in the South Pacific during WWII. After her tour of duty, she went to the University of Illinois and then transferred to Northwestern where she met and married Uncle Bill Stanton and became a wonderful mother to Kathleen and Bill, Jr.

            When I looked into her eyes, the years vanished. Her voice was the same as I remembered. The feel of her hands in mine and the lingering hug we shared answered a longing that I attribute to a deep desire to be in my parents’ embrace once again. It was a deeply satisfying emotional connection for which I will be eternally grateful.

            I’d intended our visit to be mutually satisfying, but I think I received the most profound blessing from our connection.