Turkey tale!

For some reason, today I thought of the Thanksgiving day in the home when I was 14. The matron told me and Mindy that we were going to help with the Thanksgiving dinner that year. I was kind of excited, but had no clue as to what to do, so I decided that I would ask lots of questions and try to make as little trouble as possible. The day before Thanksgiving, Mindy and I and some of the other girls, along with Mrs. T got up early to start making desserts. Remember now, that we were in the deep South, and pie was the backbone of Thanksgiving dessert. We made a list of the pies we would make. Lemon merengue, chocolate merengue, coconut, sweet potato, pecan and of course, pumpkin. The reason that we were to make so many is that we were going to have members of the Home administration dining with us. In addition to the pies, we made a prune cake, crumb cake, and apple crisp. All day we peeled apples, whipped egg whites, cooked pie fillings, shelled pecans, peeled sweet potatoes, soaked prunes rolled pie crusts, (made with lard of course) and washed and washed bowls and utinsels over and over. I became a true Southern woman that day, I learned to make merengue. That is something of an art in the South, if you don't make it right, it well separate and make your pie look ugly. I began the process by separating room temperature egg yolks from the whites, making sure not to even get a tiny bit of egg yolk in the whites! Next you add a small bit of cream of tartar and start beating. Fortunately we had a large mixer, and that was a blessing as it would have taken hours to beat those whites into stiff peaks! As it was, it took some time, and I had to stand there scraping down the sides of the mixing bowl and watching the whites carefully. After a while, they actually started to form stiff peaks. Then, I added sugar and beat some more. Believe it or not, the merengue was perfect! I forgot to tell you about the pie crusts from scratch and the cooking of the pie fillings, but others did that; my job was the fluffy white merengue topping. I piled the merengue on top of the cooked pies lying enticingly in their golden brown crusts, (remember, southern women make a science of pie making) and put the lofty topped pies into a hot oven. In a few minutes, the merengue was lightly browning and ready to come out. Now, the secret to having perfect pies to present at Thanksgiving, is to make extra to sample the day before. That way, the dinner pies will actually make it to the table, since the sampling pies held us over until then. After the pies and cakes and crisps were done, and the bowls were licked and washed, we set about making the homemade rolls. That took some time, but those rolls too, turned out great. For the rest of the afternoon and evening, we chopped celery and onions for the cornbread dressing, and made sure we had everything for the most perfect Thanksgiving meal ever! The next morning, the kitchen was humming with girls and matrons cooking dinner. Someone had to peel the mountain of potatoes for mashing, assemble the dressing, decorate the dining room, fix the vegetables, (corn, green beans, turnip greens with bacon) and make the deviled eggs. The turkey had been washed, salted and placed in a huge roaster, and by then was baking away at the perfect temperature. The giblets were simmering on the stove, and it was an orderly scene of chaos. Before I knew it, it was almost time for dinner. Huge crockery bowls were filled with the vegetables, the mashed potatoes had an indention with golden butter that ran down the sides like yellow lava, the rolls were in a wicker basket lined with a tablecloth, the gravy waited majestically in lovely gravy boats, one at each end of the table. Cranberry sauce waited in a bowl with a silver spoon, and blocks of real butter had silver butter knives next to them. The table was set with a spot right in the middle absent of anything, waiting for the turkey. I was to have the pleasure of bringing the bird from the kitchen, and I could just imagine the applause as I carried the porcelain platter, (with a painted turkey on it of course) loaded with a perfect turkey to the table. The turkey would be centered just so, surrounded with green lettuce leaves, it's skin golden brown, the legs in their little white paper booties. I waited until everyone was seated, the girls, the matrons and the guests and announced that the turkey would be out in just a moment. I swept into the kitchen, got the platter and walked to the stove to remove the turkey from the roasting pan. The roasting pan was sitting on the stove top. Well, here goes. Someone had placed a kitchen towel over the turkey to keep it warm. I still remember those red kitchen checks on that towel. What they did not know was that when the gravy pan was removed from the stove top, someone also forgot to turn off the flame. I saw the smoke rising up from the side of the roaster with the turkey still inside, and it took me a second to realize that the turkey was on fire! Actually, it was the dishcloth that was burning, but in a panic, you don't take the time to separate the facts. I grabbed two pot holders, gripped that turkey by it's little white paper bootie covered legs and yanked it from the pan. My intent was to flop it onto the platter, but I missed because I was hysterical and over slung the bird. The next thing I hear it- the sickening sound of a huge turkey slamming to the kitchen floor, and see the sickening sight of two turkey legs with little paper booties still in my hands! All of this time, I have avoided screaming like a fool, and good thing too, because I don't know how I would have explained everything. To make matters worse, when the bird hit the floor, it slid over to the door that was closed between the kitchen and the dining room. I could hear the talking and conversations going on just on the other side of that door- so, praying that the floor had been mopped recently, I set the severed turkey legs on the counter, and took the porcelain platter and placed it on the floor next to the turkey. I scooped up the carcass, (it actually looked pretty good) put it on the platter and then stood up and set it on the counter. I arranged the carcass as best as I could and set the disjointed legs next to the turkey, making a rather presentable Thanksgiving offering. Quickly arranging the lettuce leaves around the turkey, I swept into the dining room as though I was one of the wise men bringing gifts to the baby Jesus. Everyone began to applaude as I set the bird on the table and took my seat. The legs of the bird flopped to the side, and now it was apparent that they were no longer connected. The head Administrator thanked me for the lovely turkey, but I had to keep my face down because I was trying not to cry. The Administrators wife said, "well, you call tell this is a juicy tender turkey! Look, the legs have fallen off! That always means the turkey is perfectly done!" Agreements passed around the table, with some saying that they were tired of dry turkey, and glad that this one was so juicy. Okay, okay, no I never told anyone that I had dropped the bird on the floor and scooped it up to serve it anyway. My policy is, don't ask, don't tell! Anyway, that bird couldn't have been on the floor more than 5 seconds- isn't that the rule? Dinner was wonderful, and I received compliments on my lovely merengue pie and the turkey too. More tomorrow, love, nanasee

A sweet Tale

During that school year, we had a fund raiser to sell candy for one of the auxilliarys. Now, when I was little, I was mentored by the best salesman of all time; my dad! I watched him time after time sell something to someone, and after the deal was made, the purchaser was ever so grateful that my dad had talked them into it. He could sell ice to an eskimo, he could sell religion to the pope, well you get it, he could sell stuff. He had such confidence and I learned that speaking out and making someone feel good about themselves for buying your product was the way to successful sales. I tell you this, because when I received my allotted amount of candy bars to sell for the fund raiser I immediatley remembered an incident that had occurred when I was only 10 years old.
That year, before the children's home, before I was separated from mother and grandmother, before so many things, I attended a school in Atlanta Georgia. I was in the fifth grade and we also had a fund raiser to pay for new playground equiptment. We were selling those chocolate almond candy bars, and back then they went for the outrageous price of fifty cents each. In those days, a child could go door to door to sell candy without worrying about being accosted. In the neighborhood where we lived, most of the houses had formerly been huge Victorian houses, but had then been converted into apartments. Some of the houses were still single family dwellings, and all in all, the neighborhood was quiet and uneventful. There were huge oak trees lining the streets, making a canopy overhead that invited quiet walks in the cool shade. The yards were well groomed and sidewalks and walkways well tended and attractive. On occsasion a family cat would greet you at the edge of a yard or a dog would bark in greeting as you walked by. It was a very pretty area. I decided that I would start out early on a Saturday morning to begin to sell my candy. They were offering incentive prizes, and I wanted to be sure and get one. After all, how could anyone resist inviting chocolate candy bars that were going for such a good cause? Well, lots of people resisted my candy, but on and on I trudged selling one now and then. The day grew warmer and the time passed. I found myself with most of my inventory, and began to worry that maybe I would not be able to sell all of the candy. As I walked along, I noticed a really large house, bigger than all the others. It was a huge white house with three stories, white pillars from roof to porch bottoms, lots of beautiful windows with shutters open on each one. There was lovely landscaping and plants placed artfully next to the wicker furniture that sat further down the porch away from the front door. I thought to myself that those people must have lots of money, and maybe they would like some candy. Remembering my dad and his success, I walked up to the door with confidence. I took a moment to straighten my hair, smooth my dress and arrange the candy in the box. I picked up the box by it's little handles, and rapped smartly on the door. In only a short moment, an attractive man dressed in golfing clothes answered the door. For a second, he seemed very surprised to see a little girl standing there, but then he beamed a megawatt smile at me and cocked an eyebrow. I jumped right in before he could say anything, looking him square in the eye. "Hello, my name is Jodie and I am selling candy bars to raise money for our school to buy playground stuff. I thought that since you lived in such a big house, and let me tell you it is a lovely house, that you must have lots of money. I knew you would want some of this candy, because if you didn't buy any, tonight when you went to bed you would have a hard time getting to sleep thinking about how you let me and the school down. I wouldn't want that to happen to you, so how many of these candy bars do you want?" With each sentence, the man seemed to grow more incredulous. Still smiling, he said he would take the whole box! Then he said, "say little girl, you are quite a salesman! You are very convincing- have you ever thought about what you wanted to do when you grow up? How about politics?" I snorted, "Politics? Shoot, politicians are nothin' but crooks!" (I was repeating what I had heard so many times from my dad). The man roared with laughter and told me he hoped I would change my mind someday. I told him, "fat chance" and then offered my hand to shake in thanks for his generous purchase. As I skipped down the stairs without my box of candy, I thought of the prize I would win for selling the candy. I went home and bragged to my brother about the sale. Later that night when my mother got home, I happily told her about selling the whole box to just one person. She asked who had bought it, and I told her it was the man in that really large white house a street over from us. She looked surprised and asked me exactly which house I was talking about. I clarified the location and she just flopped down on the couch. It turns out that the house I had been to was the Governors mansion. It seems that Governor Carl Sanders himself had answered the door! No wonder he asked me about politics! I haven't changed my mind much about politicians, although there are some good ones, (they are definetly in the minority!), but I will always remember the day that I talked a Governor into buying candy. It turns out that the gift to sell has been handed down to my daughter Jessica, and probably her kids as well. I don't remember how I did with the candy in high school, but I will never forget the candy in grade school!

A shocking surprise!

When I last wrote about the Children's home, I told you that I had finally met my father again after he was released from prison. He had moved to the Dallas Texas area and was working at a local paper. I had a fatalistic attitude that just because he was out, we would not be a family again, not now, perhaps not ever. I had actually become so enmeshed in the life of the Children's home, that I didn't really care. I was happy in the home. I didn't know any other way to be, as that was all I had in my life; the Children's home. When my friends at school talked of their family life, a part of my soul clicked shut, so that it was only words I heard, not meanings. I could not risk believing that life was like that, or perhaps I would lose my security. My family was Mindy, my cat and my brothers. I found comfort in the daily routine. There was order, things were very uncomplicated and I was not expected to do anything that would constitute a risk. I say these things to bring you to the following experience.
In the fall of my fourteenth year, some of the older children in the home were given an opportunity to go to Six Flags Georgia. Prior to the trip on a Saturday, we were informed of the trip and told what was expected of us. I waited anxiously each day for Saturday to come, knowing that Mindy and I would have so much fun. We would be allowed to go off on our own, as we always followed rules and could be trusted. On the big day, we woke early, did our chores, ate breakfast and dressed for the trip. It was a very cool day, so we wore jeans and sweat shirts. I ironed Mindy's hair so that it would be straight and she ironed mine. If you can imagine, we would actually lay our head on the ironing board and let the other person run a hot iron over our hair. This would assure that our hair would lay down and not fuzz around our heads. We chose our makeup, earrings and chunky jewlery(the kind that was so popular then) and critiqued our appearance. We were good to go! The ride to Six Flags took about an hour, and we grouped with other girls in the seats front and back to sing silly songs, (99 bottles of beer on the wall). Then, we got serious, and began to sing songs by Joan Baez, the Beetles, and other groups. Finally, we sang some selections from the Monkeys, squealing over our choice of the best looking member. Before we knew it, we were there. To my surprise, as we exited the bus, the director gave us each 5 dollars to spend while we were there. In 1968 five dollars was a lot of money! The huge gates were colorful and welcoming. We could hear the music blasting over the loud speakers, and as we walked through the turn-stile we were enveloped in the crowd. It was very crowded, even though it was a Saturday in the fall. We didn't know where to go first, but soon found ourselves walking down the little lanes and going in and out of the little shops. One thing I remember so well is the wonderbread store. Insude you could buy little wonderbread souveniers, but best of all, they made little loaves that cost a quarter. It smelled so good! Mindy and I each bought a small loaf, and nibbled as we continued through the park. We rode the rides, and snacked on goodies. We had our pictures taken, and flirted with some guys. The air was crisp, and the day was ours. Finally we began to tire and decided to get a soda and just sit and watch the crowd. I told Mindy that I would get the sodas and walked to a concession stand. I am a friendly person, and tend to start conversations with those around me. As I waited for my order, I began to talk to the girl behind the counter. She had only recently come down from the Dallas area to work and go to school. I told her why I was there in the home, but that my dad had just been released from prison and he would probably get us out anyday. ( Of course I was just making that up, but you know how teenagers are!) She got very serious, and told me that her mom had just married a guy straight out of prison. He was really nice, but she didn't know him very well. Wait a minute, didn't she just say she was from the Dallas area? My mind began to work. I asked her what the guy's name was that her mother had just married. She said it was Kent. KENT!!!! That was my dad's name. Kent what? I asked her. She said, "uh, Kent Forrest". The world went blank for a moment. How many Ken Forrest's could there be just out of prison and living in the Dallas area? My voice quivered as I asked her how long Kent and her mom had been married. She said not very long. I asked her if she knew if Kent had ever talked about having children. She knew that he had a daughter and two sons living in Georgia somewhere, but he had not seen them in a long time. Now I knew. My dad had married someone and was living with another family while we were in the home. He had another family! Another family! Something shut hard in my heart. I felt it slam. Now, I did not know for absolutely sure that the Kent Forrest that was just out of prison and living in the Dallas area who was married to her mother was my dad, but in my heart, I believed it. That girl and I could be step-sisters! What a small world! We exchanged information and promised to keep in touch. Mindy came and asked what was taking so long. Seeing my face, she became alarmed. She asked me what had happened. I told her and she didn't believe it. She told me not to jump to conclusions. But I had not only jumped, I had leapt the canyon, and there was no going back for me. It was the nail in the coffin. At that very moment, I decided that I was entirely alone in the world and from then on, to hell with all of it. Later in my life, my father married another wonderful woman who had 4 children. My brothers and I went to live with them, and that started another chapter in my life. But there is much more to tell about the children's home. I will continue tomorrow.

It has been over a year now-

Indeed, it has been over a year since Bobbie Jo left us. How can time fly so quickly? We do miss her so much, and I still expect her to come in and just be Bobbie jo. I am thankful for all the growth that has taken place in the past year. I am happy. I did not think I would have been able to say such a thing, but I am. I have learned to understand that I s hould not take it personally that Bobbie Jo died. At first, I thought, "how can this be happening to me? Dear Father, why are you allowing this to happen to me?" But you know, it was not directed at me, not at all. It was a natural part of life that I had a role in. Heavenly Father did not do this "to" me, but rather allowed me the strength to walk through it and help Bobbie Jo while I could. I have found peace in the sure knowlege that my life will yet find me in situations that will require the experience that I have found during this experience. I hope that I can be strong, confident and sure of my testimony when it is required. I would tell all of you that I would do anything to spare you the pain of separation of a loved one, but instead, I can tell you that I will do all I can to share my knowlege and experience to help you through it. Bobbie Jo gave me so very much while she resided here on earth, but most of all, through her passing, as when my son Otto passed, I have learned how much strength I have and how much more I am capable of learning. Tomorrow, I will continue the story of the Children's home. The story begs me to continue and to be shared. Until then, love, nanasee

Once again, I am back!

I knew that something would happen to knock me out of my lethargy and emotional down spiral, (Dont' know why I had a down spiral anyway) and today it did. My sense of humor has come to my rescue, and now I have all of you to share it with. I will get back to my story of the children's home, but today, I just want to relish the feeling of being able to write again and enjoy it. So, here is what happened.
This evening, I decided to go to Walmart to get some things for the week. Over the last few months, with my blood pressure being very unstable and also having hurt my ankle, I have been using a motorized cart to do my shopping. I have never wanted to stoop to motorized cart shopping, it seems such a cop out to me, especially if there is nothing obvious as to why you are in a motorized cart. Be honest folks, usually it is a very heavy person tooling around in one of those, and perhaps the thought is that they are too lazy to get up and walk through the store. I am sure that most of you are more benevolent in your thinking, more charitable, but before I began to use a cart like that, I will admit, that I had those thoughts. Those carts are for the elderly, the handicapped, the impaired- not for the chubby shopper! But, to my shame, I had resorted to the use of a motorized cart and tried to ignore what I felt were the stares of the judgemental. Sadly to say, the more you use a cart, the easier it is to just get in one and go. You began to recognize the ones powered up, the new ones with more leg room and which ones will be more comfortable. The store seemed to grow larger and the aisles longer if I contemplated actually walking through to shop! But, my ankle healed and I no longer had that for an excuse. I do have difficulty with excercise, or even walking a distance as I get dizzy, perspire heavily and get crushing headaches. I am being evaluated for these things, but recently I made the vow to stay away from the motorized carts and push a regular cart. I figured any little effort could only do me good. I have done well too, but today I went to baseball games, and a chili cookoff at church. By this evening I was pooped out, and walking into Walmart I felt the motorized carts calling to me, enticing me, " Come to me, I will give you a ride and you will enjoy your shopping trip! Just this once, c'mon, it's okay!" So, I gave in and chose one that looked well charged. As I puttered across the store, I tried to justify my being in the cart. Next time I shopped, I would walk all the way! First, I went to the meat department and picked out some really lovely pork chops to make a special dinner for my brother Ken and his family. I was excited to have them over after church. I went to produce and caressed the yellow squash- I pinched a mango, admired some cherry tomatoes and took a right turn to go and get frozen bread dough for Sunday dinner. As I took the right turn, the cart jerked, shuddered and stopped. With concern, I checked the power button. It was charged up full. I tried to go forward, and the poor cart moaned and shuffled at a snail's pace. Well great! I thought the power was low and the cart was not showing it. I continued to try to go forward, and went at a really slow pace with a grinding noise beneath the cart. It was official, I was too fat for the cart! It was working, but very slowly, so I continued on to get my few items, crawling along with my face flaming. I hoped that I could find an empty push cart to transfer my groceries too instead of having to leave them to walk to the front to report the dead cart and look for another basket. I figured as long as the thing would go, I would keep shopping. Sooner or later I would probably run into Martin and he could help me. I picked up a few more things and was about to get to the back of the store where I hoped Martin might be. Suddenly, I heard someone calling, " Excuse me, hello!" I turned to see who was calling and found that a very elderly lady was trying to get my attention. She was walking over to me as fast as a very elderly lady can walk, (not fast at all)the whole time waving and calling to me. I turned and smiled, acknowleging that I had heard her. When she reached me, she said very loudly, "did you know you were dragging a rug behind you?" What? A rug?!!! And sure enough, there was a large rubber mat stuck under the cart and I had been dragging it all through the store! Well, that explains the sudden slowing of that stupid cart! I started to get up to pull the rug out, and the lady said, "No no honey, let me do it! You just sit there and I will get it out!" With that, she bent over and began pulling at that mat with all her strength. By now, we have attracted a crowd. Another younger lady began to help the elderly lady telling her that she was going to hurt her back if she kept pulling at the mat. "Oh no" says granny, "I am pretty strong for my age, and thank goodness that I am not forced to use one of these carts to get around! I hope the day never comes that I can't help myself shopping and have to scoot around everywhere!" Of course by now I have indeed gotten off the cart and am attempting to assist the ladies with the mat that seemed to love being right where it was. Finally, with the help of all three of us and another gentleman, the mat is released from under the cart. If I am not embarrassed enough, now I have to get back on the cart in front of all those people and super granny. With profuse thanks and mortification, I get on the cart and go forward. Well, it shot forward at an amazing pace, rattling the groceries and leaving the crowd in it's wake. All I could do was scoot around another corner to the aisle where the diet drinks were sold. Fortunately, there was only one other person there, and they had not witnessed my shame.
See- that is what I got for not honoring my vow. From now on, I am not going shopping unless I am well rested, well fed, and ready to walk on my own. Yes, indeed, here is one chubby honey that will not have to endure the stares of the uninformed- and if I have to get a motorized cart, it will be at 2 in the morning when no one will care anyway! Love, nanasee