SUMMER TIME... STILL

Everything I read says it is Fall. The magazines proclaim it and the catalogs sell it. QVC has been talking about Fall since the first of August. 

Yet, those of us here in North Texas know that Fall is a very long time away. In fact, we wait until after the State Fair in October to think about pulling out the Fall things from the closet, much less actually going to a store and trying on something for Fall. It is simply too hot. When the temperature is over 100 degrees every day, it is really quite difficult to think about anything heavier than a nice cotton tee, soft jeans, and sandals. That's enough.


Once, a very long time ago... as in the early fifties, a friend went off to Baylor to begin her freshman year. Now, she had read Seventeen magazine (that was the fashion bible for college women in those very unsophisticated days) and she dressed for her arrival at the dorm as she had been told was the correct way for a very prim and proper young woman to make that important first impression. She wore a well tailored camel  colored suit with pencil skirt at mid-calf, three inch brown leather pumps, short leather gloves, and a golden felt hat with veil.

And moved into the dorm. By the time she had taken all of her suitcases up the stairs, loaded the trunk onto the freight elevator to get it to her floor, she was what we would call these days "a hot mess." Fashion dictated that she be dressed in Fall fashion and she was. 

Five years later when I moved into the dorm at Mary Hardin Baylor, at least, I knew to skip the dictates of Seventeen and I wore a simple cotton skirt and blouse. But because it was 1955, that skirt was a big, full gathered skirt with multiple petticoats. It was perfect for riding down to Belton and for moving into the dorm.

I was cool in every way, but those petticoats proved to be too much of a good thing. I flounced up the stairs to the dorm and that very wide skirt hit the shrub near the steps and sent yellow jackets into the air. Five steps and six yellow jackets later I was on the floor, covered in whelps and more or less unconscious. Welcome to college life.

Eight Septembers later when I married, I changed from my wedding dress to a suit... even though we were only going to go out to eat and then drive one hundred miles to "get away." But fashion dictated that the bride put on a going away suit and so I did. Even though it was still summer, it was September; and so I wore a suit I made from silk noil.  Although it was lovely, it wasn't the best thing for wearing to ride for a hundred miles in a Texas summer.

Straight skirt, three quarter length sleeves: not the best choice for summer wear. But we did it. No woman would put on a suit like that, pin the orchid from the bouquet onto the lapel and ride for two hours these days. And so often we wore these gorgeous garments without the benefit of any air conditioning. Can you imagine such? But it was Fall and everyone knows that Fall fashion is the very best fashion change and you 'have' to do it!

Texas women have better sense these days. And so when the magazines proclaim that it is Fall and begin to show everyone wearing boots and tights and jackets, we sit back and smirk and continue to wear those things that feel best in the summer heat. You all up North may call it Fall all that you want; we know it is still summer. Even the calendar knows it will be summer for three more weeks. We follow fashion, but we know these days how to temper it with good sense.

And so, QVC and Vogue and InStyle, you just keep telling me it is Fall; just keep trying to sell me those tights and those high boots. I am not ready for all that, not yet. Today, the temperature will go over 100 degrees and that will be the way it is for another week or three yet. When the weather cools somewhat, maybe then I will head out to the mall and see what fashion has in store for me this year. 

Until then, please understand just why I have far more summer clothes than winter things and I always will. That is what I wear. If I wear a coat 4 or 5 times this winter or pull on the high boots more than a couple of times... just to look sharp....  then it will be a typical winter for me. Until cooler weather, please know that I do enjoy fashion, but I am so glad that I finally learned what to wear when, what colors to wear, what styles I need to avoid, and how to put it all together.  And Regina, thank you for teaching me.

      
  

ONE MORE TIME.... AGAIN!

Well, I shall try again. It seems that every time I again begin writing this every day, something comes along that takes me away and that is all it takes. I go away and just never come back. Well, here we go again.

You know I have opinions on everything.... or, at least, comments.

You know I like to write and let everyone else know my opinions.

So .... why am I not writing? I think that perhaps, I let Facebook have too many of my comments and opinions since many more friends read there than here. So, does that mean I prefer an audience and that my writing is more about performance than mere expression? Probably so.

And so this comes with the promise to do better. In 2006, I wrote many things. 2012 has had not so much. Then, I wrote about the sewing I was doing... for myself and for others. What should my topics be this year? fashion? politics? the weather?

I think I will begin with a complaint against myself. You see, I had a birthday in August and so received about half a dozen or so coupons and gift certificates from various places in the area for money off.....  Sonic, Taco Bueno, Le Madelein, El Fenix,  and on and on... even 10% off at Damon and Draper, my favorite little dress shop.  This happened and that happened and I was here and there; and I did not use any of them! Nope. Not one. 

That is two years in a row I have not spent my BD coupons. Of course that also means I did not go and get any soft drinks or fast food; but I could have at least bought something cute at the dress shop. Suddenly , it was September and I had missed all chances.

Of course, I did get a 30% off coupon from Draper and Damon to use on September 1 or 2 and you know? I used that one! I filled in some things I no longer have, but need, such as navy pants; and I found a jacket that will serve two different ensembles.... I hope. The colors of things from Damon's are quite consistent and so I believe the jacket can be worn with both the purples and the teals. We shall soon see. More about fashion in my life later.

FEAR AND INTIMIDATION BY CHILDREN

There is a problem in the Florida case that no one has mentioned. Oh, they have talked about Zimmerman 'looking' for blacks while also fearing blacks. That is not what I want to talk about. You may know that most adults are intimidated by teens. I have seen it over and over, particularly among seniors. You may have noticed it at malls or movies. Adults really try to avoid teens, especially if they are in groups or look threatening. They are actually fearful to get near them. They are afraid the teens might do something to them. They will cross to another side of the street to avoid being close. You have seen it too. Too many adults are afraid of teenagers. Now, having been in the high school classroom forever, I walk right on by and usually say something to them. That often almost intimidates them. They simply are not used to an adult saying something as simple as "Good morning" or "Did you see the movie?"

I have seen adults walk into a high school cafeteria and, when seeing 800 kids, begin to back out...  I don't understand it and neither do you; but so many adults are afraid. This is not an excuse for Zimmerman; it is rather something that all teen's parents need to know and teach to their kids. Kids need to learn that if they are in no way threatening, they need to make that obvious. That is a sad fact of life. People shouldn't react so quickly to their immediate thoughts, but we all do; and if something threatens us, we react... even if the threat is not real.

Home invasions are real. Is that what Zimmerman feared? We have no idea what went through anyone's mind; but one felt threatened by the other. I don't think we can ever stop people's fear of the not known, but perhaps we could prevent some of the problems if we taught everyone about the fear that is there and the things all of us do that not only intimidate others, but makes them fear us. It is not about right or wrong clothing or right or wrong music or anything like that. It is about the things that intimidate other people. You know, some like the power they feel when they intimidate others, whether with a hoodie or a gun.

Yes, Zimmerman had that gun in order to intimidate; and Trayvon probably had no idea that hoodies intimidate. And that is what is so sad. Understand.. I have hoodies; my niece wears hoodies; I have nothing against hoodies. But most adults see the hoodie as threatening, the sign of hiding something, symbol of rebellion, anti-social behavior. Worse, a black male plus night plus a hoodie plus anything else whatever is truly threatening to many adults. For days after Trayvon was shot, everyone wore hoodies in support. I wondered whether the sight of all those young people in hoodies didn't make some even more fearful of young, black males.

All we know right now is that something caused fear that night and we may never know what truly happened. But can't there be some way to remind all of us that sometimes we have to walk on the safe side, no matter just how unfair all that may seem? Perhaps, young black men should avoid wearing hoodies over their faces when walking at night. Hey, young white men should avoid wearing hoodies particularly if they also have certain haircuts, sport certain tattoos, wear specific boots. This fear of the unknown person is not limited to one young man in Florida. It is everywhere and everyone needs to be aware of the things we do that frighten others.

BTW, everyone talks of Trayvon as being a child. I have a thought about that you might also address. Yes, he was a child. But at his age, he was already making adult decisions and being allowed to make adult decisions. He, and every other young person of that age, makes decisions every day about smoking, attending school, alcohol and drugs, sexual behavior, driving practices, all kinds of decisions that affect them every day.

I always tried to teach with every piece of literature taken up in my class, the idea that every decision we make makes some difference in what happens next. Decisions made about serious life principles need to be thought about and even made well ahead of time so that when the moment comes, there is no stammer, but the individual known what he will do. When offered drugs, he will.....  Does anyone tells kids that anymore? Did anyone tell Trayvon that being out after dark with his face covered with a hoodie might cause him a problem? Did he ever think about it as he put on his favorite hoodied shirt? Probably not. But that's something we need to think about. Every decision brings along the results with it. Sometimes it matters and sometimes it does not.

Yes, I could also write on and on about the decision Zimmerman made, but my concerns are always for the kids. They have my heart. I don't want them making wrong decisions when information could make the difference.

            

I SHALL WRITE AGAIN

Fibromyalgia is absolutely no fun. Ever since I restarted this blog, I have been interrupted by flairs of fibro. So, please, know that I shall again write. Now, if I had a laptop, I could sit on the sofa and not move, but write. Just do not feel like or want to get up and come back here and write. I want to remain curled up under the blanket with the heating pad (many of you saw that my last few years in the classroom). Only then am I comfortable. But I want to write about how wonderful my life has been and is and how blessed I have been not to have the problems that so many people these days seem to have just getting to adulthood. Live my childhood with me a little longer and enjoy Camp Bowie a little more and then I shall celebrate.....  and write.  Again.

THE PERFECT CHILDHOOD

Yes, as I now think about it, I must have had the almost perfect childhood. I began school at 6 and we lived close enough that I could walk around the block to the school. You will notice that I said, "the school" and not the elementary school. That was because all of the school was in one building with the first and second grades in the basement, along with the high school science lab, the typing classroom, the restrooms, and the cafeteria. On the first floor were the classrooms for grades 3 through 8 as well as the superintendent's office; and on the top floor was the big auditorium with two classrooms on each side, on one side the Home Economics lab and on the other the English classroom. Everything else was in one of the other two rooms. And that was our school. First graders saw high school students in the cafeteria, the auditorium, and on the playground. Seventh graders talked to high school juniors and the superintendent talked to everyone. It really was a very nice way to go to school.


Of course, now that I know about schools and about learning, I know that it wasn't the best educational setting that might be provided. After all, a system that small couldn't provide either a selection of electives or advanced classes that would only serve a few. We had basic biology, but not advanced anatomy and physiology. But the classes that we had were excellent. I often said that I majored in English in college based on what I had learned during those years in that small school.


My home was also almost the perfect home in which to live. My parents were so good. I really never heard an ugly word spoken between them, much less one directed at me. Although my mother worked when I was very young, I was surrounded by family and family friends until we moved from Fort Worth to that very small town when I was four. Then, my mother was at home every day (except when she was organizing the PTA for the school or the WMU for the church and then I was either with her or at school). It was a lovely time for me. Mother could do anything ... and she did. She baked (even during the war when there was no sugar); she sewed (everything I wore  including underwear and coats during that same war); she entertained (the visiting ministers always stayed at our house); and she mothered, teaching me either to do all the things I do today or the fact that I could do those things.


It always seemed to me that everyone I knew led the same quiet, idyllic lives. I now know that surely someone in the group had problems at home that no one knew anything about, but it was never evident. Everyone seemed to live as happy and contented a life as I did. We went to school and in the summer, we all went to Vacation Bible School. Birthday parties came along every year and it seems that everyone was invited and we all seemed to get along together, at least until we went to high school! Doors were seldom locked and our small town didn't even have a policeman. I don't remember anything ever happening. Everyone (almost) went to one of the three churches in town, even the Presbyterians who didn't have a church and so went to the Baptist Church. And all in all, everyone treated everyone else as they should.


Looking through papers after the death of my dad, I learned that about the time I was in the sixth grade, my daddy earned about two thousand dollars a year. I think that must have been good. I really don't know. We had whatever we needed with mother making all of our clothes, and the Sears catalog providing our shoes for the year (how exciting it was to read the catalog in August before starting the new school year.) We had a garden and a locker downtown filled with the beef . The grocery store had  apples in the fall and peaches in the spring; but because strawberries weren't grown anywhere near, we only had those on rare occasions. Food wasn't picked early and shipped green across the country all year round. We had what was grown within a few hundred miles and was brought to us ripe and filled with nutrients.Our life was completely different from that of children today.                             


It seems that my memories of my small town growing up are everything anyone would want them to be. It was all very happy and easy and done with very little money. And kids today would hate every minute of our quiet, easy going existence. But I remember it with love and joy and all the fun I could imagine. In fact, you might say that my imagination was my favorite toy. It was the perfect childhood.

THE VERY BEST ENCHILADAS I HAVE EVER EATEN

About this time last year, I was with a friend in Roy Pope's Grocery while a woman and her mother were demonstrating their enchilada sauce in hope that the customers would like it enough to interest the store in adding their product to the shelves. When I tasted the offered product, I was immediately thrilled as it had the taste that I had been looking for since 1970, a wonderful blend of everything that everyone else seems to use, but mixed in such a way as to be better than any enchiladas I have ever eaten. And I have eaten a lot of enchiladas in the 60 years or so that I can remember eating Mexican food.

When David and I lived in Quanah, Texas, we used to drive to Vernon on a weekend night, eat at the Santa Rosa Cafe, and go to the movies. The Santa Rosa has long been gone from Vernon,. but I can still remember the taste of their food; and their enchiladas had a very special flavor. And now, here in Fort Worth were two women making a sauce with near that same flavor. I had thought of going over there and buying the sauce and making enchiladas several times, but had simply never done it. But this week, I decided that this was to be the week. And so, this morning I went to Pope's hoping the sauce had been a hit and would be on the shelves.

I walked into the store and asked about that product I had seen demonstrated so long ago and the woman at the desk brightened and said, "Enchilada Ole! Oh yes, we have it." She seemed as excited as I was that I was about to purchase the sauce and not stopping to tell me where to find it, she hurried down the aisle, me trailing behind, and handed me two jars.which I paid for and brought home as if it were a precious gift. I could hardly wait to try it.

Good sense directed me to shred the cheese and chop the onions before I did anything else and I was so glad to have a food processor that made very short work of shredding two pounds of cheese and chopping two onions. And now, I was ready. I tossed the cheese and onions together in a third bowl, opened the package of corn tortillas, and heated the sauce. Soon, I had a huge baking dish filled with enchiladas which I topped with more cheese and onion and another layer of the sauce. As a final touch and remembering the enchiladas at the Santa Rosa, I added more cheese to melt on the top, stuck the dish into the oven, and waited for the cheese to completely melt into the sauce.

Now that I am thinking about it, I am sure that at the Santa Rosa, they stuck the customer's plate of enchiladas under the broiler to get that last good melt of the cheese so that it practically became a part of the sauce, but this was wonderful without the broiler!  I took the enchiladas to the table and served them onto my bright red plates, added a salad of tossed lettuces, onion, tomato, and avocado topped with sour cream and salsa. And we ate. Oh my! Did we eat. I had made 18 big fat enchiladas using two pounds of cheese, a quart of the sauce, and adding two sliced avocados. Oh yes, there were chips for scooping up every last bit of the sauce and cheese. We did everything but lick the plate.

Everyone who had a taste of these enchiladas loved them and no, it wasn't anything I did. It was that delicious sauce. I understand that the women are putting their products in other stores as well. I believe it is in Central Market both here and in Dallas and they have plans to put      Enchilada Ole into Albertson's. Surely, one day, it will be on a shelf in a super market near you. If so, try it. It's delicious.

http://enchiladasole.com/

LIFE AS I KNEW IT

One thing is very true: I learned for more from my students during all those years of teaching than I taught them. Not that they knew any more about the English language or about literature than I, but that I walked into the classroom so naive, so innocent, so protected, so unenlightened about the realities of the world, that every day brought something new into my experiences that I had never dreamed existed.


As I was 'growing up,' I had no idea that not everyone lived like my family and those of my friends. I must have lived the perfect, idyllic life as a child, surrounded by very loving parents and a host of extended family members, the friends of my parents, and the members of our church. I knew nothing of the ugliness that existed in the world outside out little town. Now, I wasn't uninformed. I read the newspaper as soon as I could read. I heard the news on the radio and knew all about World War II (not that I had any idea what that was all about.)


In my family, my daddy got up and went to work every day and came home every night at 5:30, ready to eat supper. And supper was on the table at our house, ready to be eaten. Mother was a terrific cook, preparing all those things that families in the south ate in those days. You will have to take my word for the fact that most of the things on the grocery shelves that we take for granted every day today didn't exist when I was a child. There were canned goods and Wheaties, Cheerios, and Post Toasties, oatmeal and Cream of Wheat. But the shelves and shelves of ready-to-eat snacks of every kind had not yet been thought of and all of the processed foods from Hamburger Helper to cake mix wasn't yet in the stores. Jello was there; but ice cream was not yet.


Supper at our house meant a protein, a starch, a green vegetable, and a salad. Women's magazines blossomed after that war and all kinds of exotic recipes were printed. Mother made tacos. I know that isn't very exciting for you all, but we had never seen tacos at that time except at the El Fenix in Dallas where we ate when my aunts from California came to town. Oh yes, part of that extended family lived in very exciting places and when they came to town, there were big dinners with aunts and uncles and cousins everywhere. I loved it when Aunt Jessie came from Reno. She had a big, full length fur coat. I would put it on and parade all over the bedroom, looking at myself in every mirror and imaging the day when I would have my own fur coat and drive across the Golden Gate Bridge in my yellow convertible.


Life in my family was quiet and contented. We didn't have stacks of things, no electronic toys to keep us isolated from the rest. We had one radio in the house... AM of course... that played "The Early Birds" in the morning,  "Stella Dallas" and "Ma Perkins" in the afternoon, "Gunsmoke" on Saturday night, "Jack Benny" on Sunday night, and all kinds of programs all through the week. Yes, there was children's programming. On Saturday morning, we had "Let's Pretend" and on weekday afternoons, "The Lone Ranger" and "Sky King." We would sit around the radio or let it play while we worked in the same room with it and we were contented.


My daddy would bring brain games to the table at night, quizzes and other 'stump the kid' stuff. And I had the states and their capitals right along with my mother's home made hamburgers. I learned them too! And people from the Bible, the rivers in the United States, the countries in South America, and everything he could find in between.  And before I was ten, I could spell those rivers in the north, the Mononghela, the Susquehanna, and the Allegheny. All without a computer, just two very intelligent parents who made certain that we learned everything we possibly could.


Soft drinks were a true luxury. Once in great while, my mother would give me a quarter  and I would walk down to the little store and bring back a carton of Dr Pepper. One swallow of that strong, icey drink would tickle my nose while at the same time I loved that sweet  taste. Whenever my California aunts came to town, they wanted Dr Pepper and that meant I had some also. And when they came to town, we went out to eat. There was one cafe in the small town where I lived, one little cafe that served exactly what you think it did, chicken fried steak, fried chicken, pot roast, fried fish,  baked ham, and hamburgers with potatoes, peas, green beans, and tomatoes. There was absolutely nothing exotic in my life.


Life was very easy. We had no problems that I knew anything about at all. Our little town didn't even have a policeman. We didn't need one. While my daddy read the newspaper each night, I lay on the floor beside him and read the sections when he dropped them to me as he finished. My greatest ambition (aside from the yellow convertible and the long flowing hair blowing in the wind) was to live in one of the apartments that were always listed for rent in the Want Ads and have one of the puppies I read about being for sale. It was a wonderfully quiet life, filled with family and good things and I was a much loved and very happy little girl who loved strawberries and paper dolls and had never heard an expletive in her entire life. That was not what I found when I began teaching.

THE COMING OF SPRING

From long years past, I have loved spring more than any other time of the year. Everyone else longs for fall and sings of the glories of that time of the year. But for me, spring is the glorious time that makes the heart swell. I have loved spring ever since those central Texas college years when the coming of spring brought with it hills covered in bluebonnets, bright blue skies that stretched from horizon to horizon, and long darkening evenings warm enough to stay out and enjoy the sounds coming from open dormitory windows all across the campus. It is still a profound memory.  I loved those sounds in the night: bits of conversation drifting through the dark, the distant sound of a practice room piano mingling with a nearby radio, a dog's bark, an insect's whir, laughter, and the peaceful quiet that settled over all as night settled over us. That is how my love of spring began.


And now, on that first day when I see the silver green that lines the branches of the winter bare trees, I claim spring and begin to look for all the vestments that spring wears. All this I saw this week as I drove down my very favorite Fort Worth street, Ridglea Blvd. Ridglea is the artery that leads me from the area in which I live to Camp Bowie; and it is lined with lovely, older homes, built ins a time when the bathrooms were small but the lawns were large. I have driven that street now for nine years, weekly when not daily; and I seem to know every home, every tree, all the flowers that line the street. And Monday, the trees showed that silver green and by today, trees were filled with flowers and others were showing their leaves as green. I was excited by this coming of spring.


When spring comes, I  celebrate it in my way. What do I do? I buy daffodils at Tom Thumb. You  all get out and dig in the dirt, plant herbs and flowers, and consider your gardens. Not having a garden, I buy daffodils, lots of daffodils. When they sell for $2 a bunch of 10, I may buy as many as 50 to put in vases throughout my apartment and enjoy. For me, the daffodils are the sign that spring is here and the bleakness of winter is gone. It may yet blow wet and cold for one last time, but I do not care. Daffodils are in my house, spring is definitely here, and I am completely happy.