Weird, Fun & Random Childhood Memories

 Blame this one on Reddit. I saw a post about weird soda beverages and had a flashback to my younger days.

Whenever we kids visited my grandparents in Arkansas, I loved going to the corner store. It was a really old-fashioned family-run place. As bad as my memory is sometimes, I close my eyes right now and remember details about that store (except what it was called!)

On the counter, there was a huge carboy-style jar of dill pickles on one end. There was a big basket of lemons and little jars of fat peppermint sticks. One of my cousins and I would each get a peppermint stick. I would get a lemon and my cousin would get a pickle. We'd insert our peppermints in the center of the sour treats and suck the pickle or lemon juice that was sweetened by the candy. 

I also remember that this store had a little of everything. We'd pick up things for my grandma - borax soap flakes, butter, milk, and eggs, cleaning rags, liniment, aspirin powders, etc. For us kids there was candy and soda like I never saw in Alaska: Black Jack and Beeman's chewing gum, flavored wax (in the shape of lips), candy cigarettes, and little packs of black, licorice-flavored chewing tar. The sodas were the most amazing, in flavors like chocolate, peach, and apple. 

It's a wonder I had such good teeth (well, until I hit 60!). When I think of being young and dusty-kneed, I mostly remember the candy and treats. Laffy Taffy, string necklaces made of sugary candy, rock candy suckers, Tootsie Rolls, plastic rings with huge candy "stones", and - one of my favorites - little cloth bags filled with little "gold nuggets" of candy-coated gum.

One of my older brothers has always had a sweet tooth and when he and my other brothers and I went back for my dad's funeral, he made sure to stop at that corner store on the way out of town. He loaded up on sodas - chocolate, grape, and peach -  peanut patties, and honey buns for the long drive back to the airport. I got a stomach ache just watching him. This is pre-9-11 so he could pack his carry-on with all his goodies. Speaking of my dad, he loved those cinnamon toothpicks from his youth. He somehow always managed to find a place to buy them, no matter where we were stationed.

For a long time, I thought I would never be able to enjoy those treats from my childhood. Then along came the internet. Over the past 8 or 9 years, I have been able to track down most of those things.

• This is one website for old-fashioned treats
• This is another (I've ordered from them in the past but just right now noticed that they have cinnamon toothpicks)
• Amazon carries Dickies peanut patties (I'm not sure if that's the brand of my youth though)
• Here is a place I also just now discovered. I might have to see about getting my brother some "soda water", as we called it!
• Or I could buy Grape Nehi soda here...
• And, of course, you can shop for weird & crazy soda & retro candy at Blooms.  If you're into strange soda flavors, this is the place. They have the bacon-flavored soda mentioned on Reddit. Also... peanut butter and jelly soda???

Really, for just about any "retro" items you can think of can be found on Amazon or one of those other sites.

Since Christmas is soon to be here, I might have to find something retro and edible for my brother with a sweet tooth. Give him a map to a walk down memory lane.

Peace

--Free

Doing Coffee the Way Mama Did It

Why I'm mad at my Keurig

My Keurig ~sigh~ that freaking thing... it's been acting really crazy. It sometimes doesn't put out but about half the amount of coffee I select. It's supposed to brew 6, 8, or 10 ounces. I always select 10. I get about four and a half. And every time it brews, it takes a looong time to start. 

This started happening a few months ago and I read up on all the "fixes" for a sulking Keurig. I've burped it, let it rest for a few days between uses. I run vinegar or citric rinse through it about once every couple of months. The coffee I get from it is of unreliable strengths and flavor. I've taken really good care of that thing. But I'm kind of over it now.

The discounted 59-dollar price tag I paid at Walmart for my Keurig K-Classic when I moved here 4 years ago is not worth the aggravation. Plus, apparently, the price has gone up to around $90+. That's a nope from me.

What I've been using in the meantime

I went on an instant coffee binge. I love Aldi's store brand (which gets high marks) when I can't afford Nescafe. They are great but, really, they can't completely replace coffee coffee. Know what I mean? Thankfully though, I keep some around because I've been making a lot of messes trying to brew ground coffee without the Keurig.

I've used my favorite large tea strainers. These are useful but tedious and I can never get the measurements of coffee to water just right. I pulled out the old one-cup machine I'd packed away. It works but it's messy and, if you forget that it's still hot and try making another cup of coffee, it's dangerous. I am always forgetting and trying to add more water for a second cup too soon. The reservoir will shoot steam out with a horrific, heart-attack-inducing hiss.

A long while back, someone sent me a French press (like this one) to review. It's a beautiful piece of equipment but not for everyday use, in my opinion. I rarely even have the right grind of coffee around for it anyway.

What I wanted to replace the Keurig

Getting another Keurig would have been an option if I hadn't requested other things for my birthday. I don't want to be that greedy, needy sister and auntie. And I really am over the Keurig right now. Seriously. K cups are pricey, The machines take up a lot of counter space. There's a lot of cleaning and maintenance to keep the machines in top shape. Yeah, Keurig is done for me.

I wanted a Bunn. My mother used to have one. We got it for her. I can't remember what it cost but I think they were cheaper back then. The prices are kind of out of my range - even though I did find a cheaper one after some hunting. Besides, I don't want the kind Mom had. It used a glass decanter or carafe or whatever it's called. Mom loved hers because she drank gallons of coffee with her friends and the Bunn was always ready to spew out another 10 or so cups at a time.

Looks just like Mom's

When I looked at machines similar to Keurig, I thought they would probably have the same problems eventually. Besides, I didn't see any that I really liked in my price range.

What I wanted was something that would make good coffee. Something that didn't cost a lot to buy or maintain. Something that would look decent on the countertop. I knew I didn't need anything that made a lot of coffee but I was not down for another machine that uses pods. 

After the first day of looking, I gave up and continued using the instant coffee. In the meantime, I thought about the several partial bags of coffee in the freezer. People in my life know how I love coffee so I get a lot of it. Don't let them find bags on sale! I also still have some random pods around. When I woke up the next day and was about to make another cuppa instant, inspiration struck.

Why I settled on a percolator

Before I ever heard of Keurig and before my mother had a Bunn, coffee in our house was made using a percolating pot. Mom had a plain one that I remember from when I was really young, then Daddy or someone bought her a nice shiny one that plugged in. She used electric percolators from then until they went out of fashion.

I remembered watching the little plops of coffee hitting to glass at the top of the percolator. I remembered the smell of coffee that wafted all around the kitchen and living room first thing in the morning.

That was my answer. Percolators come in all price ranges. There is a lot of discussion among coffee snobs  , uh, connoisseurs about percolated coffee not having the flavor nuances... blah blah blah la-di-dah... I don't need to taste every molecule of the different flavors of a coffee. I need it good, strong, rich, and tasty. Period. And I'm too dang broke to even mumble about being a connoisseur. I can't stand weak coffee, bitter coffee, or artificially-flavored coffee. 

Anyway.

With an electric percolator, you are gambling with parts giving out or having other problems.  They aren't made like back in the day - and what is? With the stove-top machines - like the first ones Mom had - your only worry is about leaving it on the burner too long.

I thought of the other pros and cons of electric vs stovetop.

A lot of the electric ones I saw had Keep Warm and Auto Shut Off functions. They came in all sizes, shapes, and colors.

The stove-top ones came in a lot of sizes but ran mostly around 4 up to 12 cups. And the prices were better.

I decided to try one that was nice-looking, a decent size for my needs, and that had a lot of good reviews. And that wouldn't lop money off my grocery budget. This is what I chose:

Did I make the right choice?

I like the look of this one. I also have liked and trusted the Farberware brand in the past. And this one has an 8-cup capacity that works well whether I am solo or have company over. Oh, and I made sure it was returnable - just in case I hated it. But I don't.

Percolating my first brew was so soothing. (I will review it in another post - there are pros and cons - but I'm happy with it.) There was something comforting about taking my time to make the coffee. Of course, I have a lot of happy memories tied to coffee and my mother, and my youth. They all flooded back and I wallowed in them while I enjoyed that first delicious cup. 

As I said, I will be doing a review of the particular machine I got but there are a lot of different ones out there. For anyone with the time to use one, it's worth taking a look at them. I am also going to be looking at an electric percolator. The funds I set aside to replace the Keurig might allow for that, depending on what I can find...

For too long, coffee has been another rush-rush addiction. With this percolator, I have gotten back to enjoying the process of making and drinking a good cup of coffee. I highly recommend taking time - at least every now and then - to get back to the basics.

Peace

--Free

Milestones, Markers, and Guideposts

 A credit card company sent me an "anniversary" letter today. I applied for their card to save on my flight when I was moving here 4 years ago. Four years? Already?

Thinking of the stupid credit card anniversary had my mind sliding right into corners I try to avoid at times. I start to think of my life's milestones as mile markers. Let's mark the year this person died or that person. Let's mark the year since this or that. And when I am in a certain kind of mood, these markers that dot my life don't make me feel better.

I moved here a couple of years after my sister died. Another "anniversary" reminder. 

There is a piece of notepaper taped to the inside cover of my Bible. When I put it there about 2014, I started adding dates I was having trouble remembering because of the sarc that was creeping into my body. I had the marriage, birth, and death dates of my parents and grandparents. Birthdays of some of the nieces and nephews. Not too long of a list, really because I was adding things as I could recall them correctly.

2015 was the year when my list began growing. I had to add my sister's death, then a "play" sister, then aunts, uncles, ex-husbands... 

I hate to even look at that list now. I play a pointless and silly game with myself called "If I Don’t Look at It, the List Won’t Grow". I feel so faithless when I play that game.

Today, I caught myself about to play the game again and I stopped by asking God for comfort. When I made the brief prayer, I realized that not all is said and bleak. There are those wonderful points in life called Guideposts.

We saw this SOOO many times!

Guideposts - or what my dad used to call Travel Signs or something like that during the days we drove so much. We drove a lot. Whenever Daddy was given a new assignment, we drove from one Air Base station to another. We drove to visit family in Texas, Louisiana, South Carolina. I remember (very vaguely and with a dreamlike haze) driving through Wisconsin, Utah, and maybe even Florida? 

In those days of our family travels, there were no Google Maps or GPS. Mama was the navigator for Daddy, reading maps and watching for exits and turn-offs and signs that might be hidden behind branches or something. We ate bologna sandwiches from meat kept in a cooler and sometimes were given little sweets that Mama pulled out of her purse and handed around. It was during these years when I fell in love with Honey Buns. The Honey Buns back then were not the pitiful and puny little additive-laced things I sometimes pick up these days from around the store's checkout aisle. The packaged, ready-to-eat Honey Buns of my youth were never as good as what my mom and aunties could bake but they were so danged good. Thick and rich and gooey. The closest thing I can come to the taste now is packaged butter cake treat that Walmart sells.

So we would ride and eat bologna sandwiches and honey buns and get road-schooling. Daddy gave history, geography, and math lessons using scenery, locations, and travel mileage. He would often point out a marker or guidepost and tell us something about a place off to the east, west, south, or north of our location.

Even with my poor short--term and not-much-better long-term memory, I can recall some of the guideposts of that time. And I realize that my life - all our lives, really - are marked like any other journey.

What life sometimes feel like: 
beautiful and scary

I can't go in reverse to any of the markers in my life. I sometimes wish I could. For now, I just think back on them. 

That email from the credit card company bummed me out until I started writing this post. I came here to whine and then all the sad stuff in my head got knocked out by all the good stuff I can recall. There are going to be more markers in my life - good and bad. But isn't that beautiful? Isn't it just life? Even though it makes me sad sometimes, I'm glad for my life. One day, there will be Heaven and I won't even mourn the mortal markings and ditches and tears,

Peace

--Free

P.S.: I'm not the only one missing food from the '70s. I found a recipe here for a honey bun. I am going to have to call my almost 90-year-old auntie to see if she has a For Dummies recipe I can use! I couldn't even find one in my reliable cookbooks - 2 of them fairly ancient!

The top one is a heritage cookbook; the middle one (blue-ish) was given to me by a neighbor born and raised here in Iowa, and the bottom one is my favorite because it has so many dishes from before my mother's time.

Cookbooks and Memories

It is said that smells trigger memories. I believe that. I can smell a fresh-baked cinnamon roll and I instantly transport back to primary school days. We were staying temporarily near family in Arkansas while Daddy was overseas. One of my aunties worked in the school cafeteria and (this is back when they served a great breakfast in schools) she made sure that I always got a cinnamon roll and the chocolate milk.

Certain sights can also send me back into my vault of memories. This can sometimes work in a strange way. If I see an elderly woman posturing in a particular way - holding her purse just so, or fanning her face with a piece of paper - I think of all the church ladies from my childhood. Don't even let me see some old lady wearing a bad wig! I immediately remember a specific church sister who I'll leave unnamed.

My biggest memory tweaks come from food and cooking. My mother was a wonderful cook. She was a natural in the kitchen. I don't think I ever saw Mama measure anything. Many years back, one of my sisters-in-law decided that she was going to write down Mama's recipes. The only way she managed to do so was to wait until Mama visited. My sister-in-law would stand by with pen and paper while Mama cooked just so she could eyeball the measurements Mom used in her dishes. Thankfully, my sister-in-law did get down a lot of the recipes and I have a copy that I left behind with the nieces in Anchorage. I'm going to need them to send me another copy!

I was thinking of my mother the other day when I unpacked a cookbook I bought a long while back. I had to order another copy because I want to share it with some relatives. Going through this cookbook is like flipping through a mental photo album of memories.

 I tell people that this is not just a cookbook for African Americans but a cookbook, history course, and cultural gem for all people. The collection is from the Tuskegee Institute and there are a lot of historical photos and little anecdotes included. But it's the recipes that stir my memories...

My mother was from Texas and she and her Mexican friends would joke about the blacks and Mexicans boosting the rice economy every time they shopped. I myself preferred (and still do) pinto beans and rice.

I love neck bones. I can skip the rest of a  meal and just eat some neck bones. When I was in Anchorage, I'd pick some up at least once ever couple of weeks. It was such a habit of mine that whenever I took my little nephew  DJ with me to the store, he'd ask if we were going to get my neck bones! 

 Salmon croquettes was never a favorite of mine, but all the rest of my family really likes them. You can bet that the Alaska fam makes croquettes whenever they snag some fresh salmon.

 I have tasted pickled pig. Can't remember if it was a foot, tail, or toe, but I did taste it. I'm not a fan, but I have an uncle who will make a sandwich with pickled pig parts. Ugh.

The whole "Aunt Bay Bay" thing made me do my Jeff Foxworthy imitation. "If you've got relatives named Bay Bay, Peaches, or Skint, then you might be a black Southerner." I'm being silly, but I bet that barbecue sauce is the business though!

One of my favorite "Mama dishes" was navy beans served with hot water cornbread. Another was smothered potatoes and onions with hoe cake. I know how to make the navy beans and hot water cornbread, but trying to find a hoe cake recipe made the way mom did it is driving me crazy. Most recipes I've seen use cornmeal or cornmeal and flour. Mama's bread was made with flour, no cornmeal. Basically, Mama's cakes were similar to Naan only a bit heavier. I don't ever remember eating a cold hoe cake; Mama always served them warm right out of the skillet. As a child, I ate hoe cake with those potatoes or with gravy or even with just some butter and syrup.

Probably good, but it's not
 my mama's recipe...

Mama's hoe cake recipe was simple, from what I recall. Just flour, water, and some lard. I always thought they should have been called "Po' Cakes" as in cakes for poor people. Here's a fact about military families of the past: a lot of us were just as poor as some civilian families.

My mother was truly a genius at feeding 6 kids and 2 adults. We ate a lot of greens - collard, turnip, mustard - and potatoes fixed in more ways than you could imagine. I remember a lot or meals where the main dish was cabbage or one of the "greens" and a ham hock or smoked neck-bone was the only meat. When we did eat meat, it was mostly chicken - smothered, fried, baked, or boiled with some dumplings. I do not remember eating very many hamburgers unless we were having a backyard cookout. (I also didn't eat McDonald's until I was in my mid-teens. What-a-Burger was my childhood "fast food" treat.)

Anyway, I was going through that cookbook and feeling all emotional until I remembered that it had no recipe for my mama's style of hoe cakes. (The one thing it does get right is the way hoe cakes got their name.)

Just like my mama told me

I've recently ordered a vintage cookbook and it's taking 2 days short of forever to get here.  I don't mind the wait though because I snatched up a spiral-bound first printing copy for $17. One day, you won't be able to get near a copy for under around $100-$150, I bet. I don't even want it for the potential future value. The first reason I wanted it was because the cover photo reminds me of my aunt (the one with the cinnamon rolls and chocolate milk!).

The other reason is because of the title. I remember my mother saying something similar - not about food, but life and people in general: "Be of a good heart and a light hand."

My best and favorite memories of my mother are those of her in the kitchen. If she wasn't cooking, she was sitting at the table, sometimes with friends, having coffee. Or she'd be reading her Bible while waiting for a cake or pie to come out of the oven. I used to tell people that my mother's Christian ministry was in feeding people. She would feed anyone. As poor as we sometimes were, my mother could stretch a meal. It would seem she had just enough food for us until someone dropped by, then she could feed twice as many people. I don't know how she did it.

A couple of days ago, I made some chicken and dumplings. I don't even particularly like chicken and dumplings! As the food cooked, I'd take the lid off the pot every now and then just to smell the memories.

Peace
--Free

UPDATE: The other cookbook arrived today (A Good Heart and a Light Hand) and I am so happy I could weep. There are 2 hoe cake recipes: one with flour and one with cornmeal. The flour hoe cake recipe sounds exactly like what my mother used. Others I found would use cold water to make the dough...

 When I cook some, I will be sure to let you all know how they turned out! And, you know what, I 'm going to go ahead and post a photo of the recipe. Couldn't help myself.




The book is a little beat up, but it is a first printing from 1968 (and a from the "Educational Materials Center Tucson Public Schools") so I'm lucky it held up as well as it did. I notice that it was originally meant to be priced at $3. So $17 isn't that bad all these years later. I am going to hold this book precious until the day I die.

Moving Means More Than Goodbye

                                                         
As I get ready to leave Alaska (no, really, this time I mean it!), I have been thinking what that means. 

I'm not just moving away from a place. I'm moving away from a routine. I am shedding and leaving behind places that evoke strong memories. I still can't drive past Lucky Wishbone Restaraunt without thinking of both my mother and sister. One day, I drove past a certain park and remembered a long-ago birthday party we threw there for one of the kids and I had to pull over because I started sobbing.

Leaving Anchorage means that I won't wake up and see myself surrounded by the mountain ranges. It means no more summers with 18 hours of sunlight. I'm not going to see moose just randomly strolling through the front yard. Leaving here means leaving behind the doctors and staff who saved my life and got me through these years of this disease. I'll miss those people so much. I will even miss the familiar faces of the clerks at the local Walmart and Carrs-Safeway. I will miss the way the air smells on a cool morning.


It's not just the people either. Leaving here means leaving sights and sounds and landmarks that I've known from the time I was about 7 years old.

Today, I sold my little travel trailer and, silly as it sounds, I was just so happy that the lady who bought it really appreciates it. Her face was lit up with joy like mine was when I got the trailer. I could see that she was making plans for how to use it and decorate it and fix it up. Although selling the trailer makes me so very sad, I was happy that it went to this wonderful person.

I'm going to be selling my car. I'll miss that car! It's going to be another familiar thing that I'm leaving behind. It's the last car that I will remember driving with my sister in the passenger seat.

The other day, my niece and I were talking and I told her that I hate change. It's true, too. I like having a familiar routine. I like knowing where my favorite places are to shop. I like knowing at least three different routes to get to the store or hospital or to a restaurant. I like knowing the weather patterns and the best and worst roads to travel on when it's snowing or raining.

So, yeah, leaving a place means more than saying goodbye to people you love. Leaving means starting over.

And yet...

                                            

I'm looking forward to being close to new people and places. Before long, I will have a new favorite place to get my clothes and food. I will learn the faces and names of my doctors and their staff.

                                                              

Before long, I won't just be familiar with a new place and new routines. I'll be calling another place "home".

Peace
--Free

A Visual Journey *UPDATE*

I went through and found more old (and some hilarious) photos. These are mainly for my fam.

That's me & my Mama, Miss Tootsie.
Don't remember who the baby is.

That's me being so "fast" & grown. With my hand on my back, as
my mother would say. Some of the other kids are the Rouzans. Still friends today.

That's my big brother, Chuck, looking like a black member of  Duran Duran.
So handsome & still is.
Me in background. And I still tag around him when I can!

Me with my little brother, Darrell & his dog, Scott.
He loved that dog.

My daddy. I'm the female "George".

I was talking with a good friend the other day. We are both making a lot of life changes and shooting for big futures - yes, even at my 55 and her 57 years. She said something interesting about how different everyone's life journey can be. Ours have certainly not followed normal paths!

So, I'm looking back on my years that ask questions and years that answer. The only thing any of them have in common are their echoes.

I've been up, I've been down. I've flown First Class, Coach, and Standby. My world has been full to bursting with joy, then plunged into a darkness close to Hell. I've been healthy, fine, arrogant, beautiful, desired and too full of myself. I've been broken and abused and discarded and forsaken and forgotten and vilified and sick unto death. I've had friends and enemies and people who simply never noticed.

I am blessed because I've lived a life and, God willing, I will make the most of the years I have left.

Peace
--Free