Columns

Only the Recipe! I’ve always loved Mexican Cornbread but have never (ever) had good results. I know the theory and all the different good ways to make it – Heck, I can cook up a plain cornbread pretty darned good. But I always get carried away. The last time I added baking powder AND baking soda to the self-rising meal and had a beautiful, puffed up, fissured brown top …. With an underdone middle. Yep, when I dumped it out on the chopping board the middle just kinda oozed out. Of course the top few inches and the bottom were done but we all had to just laugh. This recipe from Bill

This recipe from Bill and Cheryl Jamison called “Spicy Jalapeno Cornbread” looked so good that I thought I’d try it with the big pot of chili I was planning on making during the weekend. For fun I’m going to list the actual ingredients that their recipe called for and in parenthesis what I’d planned on adding or substituting;

In an over - heard conversation the other day (not a participant), “Old Geezers” was being discussed. Not being familiar with the term, it interested me; therefore, I set out to find out more about what an Old Geezer was.

Most everyone is carrying a “chip on their shoulder” about nick names. This word sure sounded like one of those bad names. So this is what I found by asking people and doing some real “serious” research about “What’s an old Geezer”.

At a sporting event when the National Anthem is played an Old Geezer stands and holds his hat over his heart and believes every word in the song. An Old Geezer might have been born in the Great Depression or his parents were and he knew what a penny was. Gosh – an Old Geezer might have gone bare footed in the summer to save his shoes to wear to Sunday School and Church.

An Ack-a-neyam?

My funny friend really has a way of butchering words but, somehow, it turns out right. She was talking about a “Word” that is made from the first letters of its name or of its members – or, in other words – an “Acronym”. Think “SCUBA” or ‘Self-Contained Underwater Breathing Apparatus’ which is what my friend, Bill Olive, called a “Latin word for diving” in his Speech Class presentation. Oh, Ha Ha! AND this all is actually going somewhere but, first, let me tell you about the unusual but good dish I created last weekend.

Arlington Cemetery has been in the news for the past few months without many of us knowing the tremendous history involved. As Paul Harvey said, “Here’s the rest of the story.”

George Washington’s adopted son – his wife Martha’s only son – bought the land know as Arlington in 1778 to be closer to his mother at their beloved Mount Vernon home. General Washington advised him on the purchase in correspondence from his winter camp at Valley Forge. However, three years later her son contracted fever at Yorktown and died leaving a six-month-old son. George and Martha raised the six month of boy whose name was George Washington Parke-Custis and nicknamed “Wash”. Wash became of age and inherited the Arlington land his real father had purchased but his lifelong mission became to honor his adopted father.

The Presentation is so important for so many things and I was reminded of that this past weekend when I tried a good sounding recipe by Angela Latimer on the All Recipes website. How could you go wrong with a recipe called “Creamy Lemon & Garlic Shrimp Over Penne Pasta”? Well, if you have me making the sauce you have a huge chance of messing it up! When will I ever learn? When will I remember to just buy a jar of Alfredo Sauce at the Supermarket and just add any of the special ingredients to that??

I don’t want to waste precious column space detailing the recipe but will get it to you if you respond to reechjr@yahoo.com with the title “Shrimp?” or call 318-540-7500 or just come by the Mansfield Female College Museum on Monroe Street. I am in the Director’s palatial corner office – the “New Versailles” in Mansfield! ;-)

One thing that has spanned the decades as a popular teen pastime is toilet-papering houses.

“Going rolling” was pure fun in my day, and now it’s apparently still the rage.

When I was a teenager, we “went rolling” pretty regularly, perfecting our “silent laugh” while tossing the cheapest brand of one-ply toilet paper into the oak trees of various friends in Stonewall.

Sometimes “rolling” also included “forking,” which meant sticking hundreds of plastic forks all over someone’s yard. Lots of meticulous work just for a real good chuckle!

I recall how the mom of a friend caught us rolling and forking her yard one night. We all ran away like crazy in the pitch-dark down Collinswood Road in Stonewall.

“You girls get back here now!” she bellowed in her robe from her front porch.

We dove into the ditch and laid as still as possible. She never found us, but the fire ants found us on her behalf.

Probably the most successful article that I have written is the paper on Louis Moses Rose, the only deserter of the Alamo. A doctoral candidate from Rice Institute of Houston sent a small clipping to the Logansport Interstate Progress newspaper desiring information on Moses Rose who was buried in the Aaron Ferguson Cemetery six and half miles northeast of Logansport, La. Koy Pace contacted me and the search was on for the Ferguson Cemetery and Moses Rose. No one that we contacted had ever heard of either but around the turn of the century the name had changed from Ferguson to Whitten Cemetery. The article written on Moses Rose ran in the Shreveport Times, featured by Bob Griffin, and I gave a speech at St. Augustine, Texas. The Historical Group from there placed the article in the Alamo.

I didn’t watch the soldiers exiting the plane. I kept my eyes on my new hero. I scrutinized her face as she searched for son. There was no doubt when she spotted her soldier; the look of pure joy gave it all away. She gasped, then started to shake and cry. I couldn’t take my eyes off this woman; I was mirroring her feelings in my soul. I also started to cry as the jumble of emotions rushed through me. I felt bonded with my fellow mother as we shared the same emotions. I felt the relief and joy that he was home, and the pride for that soldier in uniform who was really just a little boy back in his mother’s embrace. I felt gratitude for my hero who had also sacrificed while her soldier was serving our country.

I stepped back to allow mother and child their time together, but my memory of that day has been profound. I wonder how their story progressed; how many times had she visited that airport to welcome home her hero?

The history of DeSoto Parish is intimately connected to the men and women of the past years. Yes, they made DeSoto with their dedication and hard work. Several men and women have been written about in this column most of whom this writer knew and felt should be remembered. Of course, there have been hundreds of people who should be remembered but you understand all cannot be written about – only a representative group.

It may sound old-fashioned, but learning how to actually write a letter is a dying art. We are so dependent on email, texts, and phones, that many of us never write more than a reminder on a sticky note.

There are times, though, when a personal note takes on more value than an email. You would never send a condolence card through email. Instead, you pick up your pen and write a message from the heart.

It is a given that a hand-written note is more appreciated by the recipient. But it can also be a chore for the writer. As with most chores, it helps to find simple ways to make it more enjoyable.

Albeit a bit old fashioned, one of the first things you need is a selection of stationery. This can be as elaborate as personalized paper and cards, or as simple as a lovely, but still generic variety.