Thanksgiving and the egg


I went to my small town grocery store where on holidays there is a musician positioned over/on top of the freezer section like close to the ceiling, playing whatever holiday songs are in season. My list looks as long as Santa Claus’and half of what I need I won’t find there because they have never heard of most of it, Edamame is one such item.I am in charge of stuffed eggs this year for Thanksgiving, and if I forget to say it, Happy Thanksgiving! Southerners love their stuffed eggs and everyone thinks their recipe is the best, like chicken salad and pimento cheese, grits and dressing. Finding just the right egg is important. The egg can’t be too fresh because it will stick to the shell, even if it has been boiled just right, I KNOW and I’m not arguing this point, so forget it.

Thanksgiving and Christmas need to be spread out a little more, if you ask me. I can’t get over the first high cholesterol dinner before its time for the second one and then there’s New Years and lots of cold, fattening weather, you did know that your body retains fat during the winter didn’t you? Its a fact that I concluded after 62 years of eating. Trust me. But there is one perfect dish in the Thanksgiving equation that is the “perfect food” and that’s the egg. That’s also my observation, some argue for the Turkey, but I say the Egg came first and I’m sticking with it. Onward. To the egg section of this market to search out the perfect eggs for boiling, peeling and making stuffed eggs, which some people dare to call deviled, I’m assuming because people fight over them. Yes, that’s another fact known in the south, people fight over eggs and especially bacon, divorces have been known to occur when one mate discards the bacon grease.

Back to the egg section where there are Egad! Brown eggs! small eggs, medium, large, extra large and JUMBO
really Jumbo! I said to myself. They are off to the side like something you aren’t supposed to show the children.
I opened up a carton and found out why, Well! these eggs are HUGE! like really large and all of a sudden I’m feeling fainty, in my mind just imagining some poor ole Hen trying to deliver one of these out of her, well, ahem, I’m not sure where it comes out, but I’m sure its not big enough! and then she has to deliver more. I wonder if there is a Save the Hen project somewhere i could sign up for. really. So what did I go home with?

all for the hen and the stuffed egg too.  Gobble!

Newsbreak! I just watched on utube a Rhode Island Red laying an egg. It appears to hurt worse than I thought.  ouch.




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With Thanksgiving approaching I would like to say thanks to Five Minute Friday friends who have brought me back into the world of blogging. This Friday’s prompt word is Notice.


Years ago   My mother left notes on our back door for as many years as I can remember, and especially during my High School years.  She suffered from depression which was not something diagnosed at that time.  Notes would say   QUARANTINED!!!  or   DO NOT DISTURB! or  GO AWAY!   That was really fun coming home to after school.

I tore down those notes and for some reason I kept them, stacked up, one after another, in a small pile for years.  I would have loved to model my life after my mother, but instead it was my Grandmothers that gave me whatever it is that made me become  Me.  All that I remember about them is their unconditional love.  At some point in life it occurred to me that all anyone ever needs in life is – for one, just ONE person to really love them, and lucky me, I had two!

As a Grandmother now, my role models are still my Grandmothers, my notes posted on our door say   ~ NOTICE!   BEWARE OF HUGS AND KISSES!!


I’m becoming my MOTHER!

OMG, I threw on my favorite clothes to run errands and ran to the mirror to check myself out in case I had something on insideout or upsidedown. There standing in front of me was the very image of my mother, and I was not particularly fond of her dress style.  I’m becoming my mother!  In more than one way.  Has she crept from the grave into my being? or Is this what they mean about life after death, you keep on keeping on within your children?

I immediately ran back to the closet and changed, noticing all the while that most of my clothes are similar to what I had on before, all gray, black, brown, or white.  Now I was totally frustrated and all that could help was a shopping trip.  So I threw on my little snuggy tank that helps  firm up all the baby fat that I never lost after 4 children 37 years ago, which likes to ruin a shopping experience, especially for bathing suits, but I’m thankfully not going there.  Anyway, breathe, I’m off, on a mission, gonna find me something fun, colorful and cool.  Where to begin?  Not J.Jill where I usually shop and end up looking like my mother.  2 stores down is Anthropologie, and so I go there.

This store is ART, I wish they served tea so you could just sit and experience the act of being there and have time to let your eyes rest before you try to shop and behold the wonder all at the same time, its very confusing.

Rule # 1. Never walk into this store and try to shop without walking all the way around it first.  You have to get acclimated to the store and realize you have a lot to see.

Rule #2.  Be sure to check out the sale room first.

Rule #3.  Take a friend, a brutally honest friend who will let you know if you look cute or stupid in these sometimes overly dramatic clothes.

Rule #4.  Don’t let the cute young girls who these clothes are made for intimidate you, even if you are 62.

Rule #5.  Don’t try on anything less than a size large.  Oh, and be sure to wear that tummy tamer, sometimes a hip squeezer is required too.

Rule #6.  Don’t obsess over your hair or makeup in the dressing room and always turn your back to the mirror while you dress.

Rule #7.  Be optimistic, there has to be SOMETHING in this store that will look good on you.

Rule #8.  Be persistent! Walk around the store for the 10th time and look again. There are also great finds underneath the tables.

Rule #9.  Be aggressive, especially to your brutally honest friend when she tells you that you look stupid in your favorite find.  Sometimes you just have to use those two words – SHUT UP!

Rule #10.  Buy a teacup and go back to J.Jill.


I was sitting in the cafe at the Botanical Gardens after spending 3 hours alone with only my paints and paper and the beauty of nature as my subject. Hungry and alone I found a small table and sat. A young and beautiful woman walked in with her baby in a carriage and sat close by. The Cafe was busy and tables were filled but for that table next to me. The young mother lifted her baby from the carriage and sat him on her lap to feed him his bottle. His skin a beautiful creamy color of chocolate and vanilla blended, with lovely green eyes and curls that covered his head.

One table over, a group of ladies, out to lunch, eagerly awaited as the mother revealed her baby. I watched their expressions expecting smiles and nods of sweetness. Instead their eyes told the age old story of racism in the South, one that does not even exempt babies. In our ever changing world, the south seems to manage to stay in the dark ages of evolution, will we forever be fighting the Civil War? Will prejudice continue to draw the ” I dare you” line in the sand? The rules of Southern Society were made for the means of exclusion. I could write an entire blog on Southern Society and its rules, and it was clear, in this restaurant, that one of the rules had been broken.

As I write, I see a mother and her child and the love between them. I see in them Love, without compromise, even in the midst of an unloving setting! Thankfully I know that the world continues to turn and we, humans continue to evolve, hopefully toward the peace filled side of civility. My night prayers approach as I write and I know I will pray more for the table of women, who need prayers for love and acceptance than the mother and child.

May our hearts and minds always be open to love. Always!


Hello again, Five Minute Friday groupies. I’m here again and today’s prompt word is TURN. I’m thinking and ready to have a go at this. Check it out on the Five Minute Friday site and for 5 minutes it is YOUR turn.


Let’s get one thing straight, I am direction dysfunctional, meaning I am never going the right way at any time, and if you are ever behind me, I am sorry. There should be a red flag behind my car or better, a red flag over my car that warns people from all sides to stay clear of me. In my own defense, it is hard to drive and try to look at things at the same time. Thankfully someone smart invented the voice in my car who tells me where to go and when to turn, and she has not once been mad when I miss the turn. Instead she, my “guidance voice” politely tells me how to correct my mistakes.

For a huge part of my life, I have spun around like a wind up toy spinning aimlessly. When the spinning stopped I was still not sure which direction I was going. I have taken too many wrong turns in lots of ways. There is always one wrong turn that makes the guidance voice calmly says “Make a U-Turn as soon as possible” or something like that. I need her daily, sometimes in a bolder voice to remind me that I am going in the wrong direction, to use my brain and for Heaven’s sake turn around as soon as possible, get back on track and get to my destination.

MY ultimate destination is Heaven and with or without a GPS I’m going to find my way there for as many u-turns as it takes.


Babies or Grandchild #9

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The Carr family just welcomed our 9th grandchild, 3rd grandson into the world on a wet, cold and wintry Thursday night. The night before Halloween when wind was whipping up so much havoc that I had to lean into it to get into a hospital 200 miles away from home. There was nothing that would keep me out, a baby was about to be born and I was going to be there. I was already 6 hours late! Thirteen very l o n g hours later, I heard his cries, wailing from all the trauma he had been through the whole day, being squeezed out of his nest and all, well its just not fair. I would cry too, and I did, those tears of joy.

When it was my turn to hold him, after I graciously let his parents have him first, I was able to inspect him and do the traditional counting of the little toes and fingers. He has his mother’s finger toes, long and thin, capable of picking up anything hands can’t get to. It’s a wonder isn’t it? That all of this little human was miraculously made in only 9 months. You know that boys smell different, it has to be the testosterone, or maybe its the snakes and snails and puppydog tails, but whatever it is, its a boy smell.

My daughter, who I prayed for since hearing she was pregnant, had not one maternal instinct until now, which makes perfect sense. She put that baby right up to her breast like she had done this before and he latched on with an appetite. Oh the satisfaction a mother gets from seeing her child with her own child – there is nothing as joyous, except knowing that a new baby, a new soul has come into our family whom we already treasure.

Lord, please help me to be the grandmother you want me to be. Amen.


Here again with Kate and Five Minute Friday bloggers, to witness to another glorious earthly day.

Something you should know that I don’t dare tell most people because, most will not believe me, and I don’t really care if they do or not. I see angels, really see them. Not all of the time and every day, but there have been at least 10 experiences I have had in the last 30 years and that’s enough. They are amazing. Yes, they have wings.

They always come at night and it is during times of distress and grief, when I have cried myself to sleep or called out to God for help. My last experience was only a few months ago. It was a cool night and I had raised my windows for fresh air. I suffered much sadness that day and cried for another friend I had lost to cancer.
I prayed for peace that night before sleep. Something woke me and hovering over me were 3 Angels, transparent, and lovely, I could see straight through them but knew their features. The one in the center carried a sword and a shield, one to its right had eyes so bright I could not look into them and the one on the left held a flower. I did not dare close my eyes for fear they would leave. I sat up in my bed and said “Thank you God” and felt the greatest peace flow into my soul. My eyes became too heavy to keep open and I drifted away.


L o n g

For Five Minute Friday, I write this in memory of my uncle Ben who passed away on this night.

Uncle Ben is the last of a long line of Estes family members. There is one child left to carry out the family name, and it is his grandson. The rest of us are women. Not that it matters but it just seems strange to me that a family name could cease because the river damned up. I question the reasoning why women lose their last names when they marry.

In my small hometown in Mississippi, where I have lived for my whole life, I am still known by my maiden name even though I have been married for 41 years. Happily married, I might add. Had I been able to keep my surname, Estes, I would have children to carry out the family name. The question is why does a name have to begin and end with the male? Benton, Uncle Ben’s grandson, is a young single male, with two sisters. He carries the burden of the family name needing one day a baby boy.

Back to Uncle Ben, He was a slow talking, quick tempered man, who would shoot the lights out in his own business when they were left on at night. He repaired chain saws and was known to crank them up if the conversation was not “pleasing” to him. He drove a delivery truck that stated on the bumper…Slow delivery. He picked up every stray dog in Yazoo County and gave them a home. He was the best scout leader ever. Uncle Ben stood at least
6 feet tall, but was confined to a wheel chair and stooped in his last years. I imagine him in Heaven standing upright and tall with a full ray of light on him ~ he is casting a very l o n g shadow. May he rest in peace.

the art of patience

Mysterious things happen on a computer. Words poured out onto a page can all of a sudden disappear. As mine did today. I’m trying very hard to be a big girl about it and put on my “big girl panties”, no my “grandma panties” and not be disappointed. And so tonight I will expose something that is not my strongest asset…patience. I can be patient up to a point, but I am more likely to be frantic in general. I don’t like unexpected stuff to happen and mess up my day…I don’t like having to rewrite my post that was completed. I don’t know enough about blogging and all the pieces of ingredients in the Format section. I could try to learn about it but I don’t have the patience to sit and sift through it all. I look at the columns surrounding the page I write on and hope that I don’t make the mistake of hitting a wrong button, I don’t have the patience to learn how to undo it.

I do enjoy imagining uses for the delete and escape buttons. I wish I had one in everyday life.
I need to ESCAPE! Did I just say that? DELETE! I like the idea of the option button too. If i were the least bit obsessive compulsive, I would be all about Control and Command buttons. I’m boring myself. Time to go. commmand, option ESCAPE!


Fridays sure do come around fast. Here we are again with another Five Minute Friday! and the prompt word today is CARE. SketchGuru


Imagine for a second a world with no care for one another. I just wasted 2 minutes just pondering that one thought along with the visions that come to mind. Nothing frightens me for myself. I am ready for whatever comes my way, I have immunities built through years of living my life, but I care for my children and for my grandchildren, I care for you and for your children and your grandchildren – I care about what happens to you and to them.

I care in all my being when you hurt, whoever you are. I care when I read about those with no homes, no food, no clothes, no parents, no family, no health care, no hope. My heart swells with a feeling of despair for those I cannot help, for those far away from a civilized country, for those whose lives are ruled each hour and every minute. I especially care that some do not care, or “care less”. And so I pray and pray, to do what I can when I see the need, to give hope when I can, to trust that God will find us always willing to feed the hungry

I will always care.