When I looked at the photos I took today, I noticed how Nathaniel’s shirt stole the show. He and I ran an errand in town, then walked along Richland Creek which runs through Waynesville. He jumped on the rocks near a tributary stream, stood beside a shallow area where it would be easy to wade, and agreed to pose at the overlook.
We had an exciting first for lunch. We went to a restaurant the very day it opened! Willie Brooks BBQ had been under construction for three months. It replaced a Mexican restaurant that son John $ and I went to once. Enough said. There had been a lot of activity the last few days, so John pulled in yesterday. A tiny sign said it would open the next day. The place was crawling with employees, all smiling and asking how we liked our food.
The afternoon’s activity was burning the Christmas tree, which had been lying in the burn pit. There is no ritual for this winter chore yet. Both Grandpa and grandson like to tend fires, so I called them pyromaniacs. They had smoky grins.
Grandson Nathaniel usually makes a cake when he visits. Last summer he made an Eclipse Cake for us the day we saw the total eclipse of the sun. He baked a Black Forest Cake at Christmas over a year ago, knowing it was one of John’s favorites.. I suspect he was guided in the same direction, because Grandpa told him he’d bought several jars of cherries. 24 hours after his arrival, he baked the three layers of chocolate cake. The following day he soaked the cake with cherry liqueur, and the third day he assembled the dessert.
The photos show the progress, starting with layers and whipped cream filling. He took breaks between each step, letting the cake chill. We were the lucky ones, getting to lick the bowls as he finished with them.
When the cake was finished, Nathaniel added a pink candle, announcing the cake was for us in honor of Valentine’s Day. It was absolutely delicious. Just so you know, we are eating it slowly, but it cannot be mailed.
Last summer I was reintroduced to MoonPies, a Southern favorite I hadn’t had since I was a child. MoonPies were invented in Chattanooga TN in1917. The story goes that a miner asked for a filling snack as big as the moon that would fit in his lunchbox, and the rest is history. We bought a box of them. Our grandsons were not impressed, and I have to admit, I thought the sweets had more chocolate taste years ago. The snack is a sandwich – two graham cookies with a marshmallow filling, coated with chocolate. The boys said Mallomars were much better.
We looked for Mallomars and discovered they are not produced during warm-weather months. Hot weather would melt the treats. At long last, I remembered to look and found Mallomars at our local supermarket. We also found a knock-off at Aldi, the German grocery chain. Now the contest was on. Would either of the sweets beat MoonPies? The answer was, yes, hands down! As soon as Nathaniel tasted the Aldi brand, he said MoonPies were out of the running. Tennessee, you lost.
Note: We ate lunch on the porch!
The next contest was between Mallomars and Aldi’s brand. According to the Mallomars box, they were invented by Nabisco in 1913 and sold in West Hoboken, NJ. They are still a Northern treat – 70% of all sales are made in the New York metropolitan area. I was glad our local market made the 30% cut. With no dramatic drum roll, we put one of each on our plates. Nathaniel and John made quick decisions in favor of Mallomars. They liked the darker chocolate coating. I held out for the Aldi’s brand for two reasons. The base cookie was chocolate, and it cost about half the amount of Mallomars. I knew I was a miser, but I had no idea miserliness could direct the taste buds. It will be interesting to see where David will cast his vote in a couple of weeks.
Neighbor Logan wanted to show us how he could pop up off the floor from a kneeling position without using his hands. I had seen grandson David rise up from a sitting position hands-free, but Logan’s stunt was entirely different. He seemed to concentrate all his strength, put his hands back, and leap up using the momentum from his arms.
He readily agreed to demonstrate this in front of the camera, not once, but twice! Surely this cannot be construed as being stalked with a camera.
Grandson Nathaniel is normally on an early schedule for school, so he was dressed and ready to go walking with us. I was glad the little cat came running out to greet us, because Nathaniel likes cats. She stayed with us half way to the stop sign, frequently stopping us to rub against our legs. When neighbor Bob stopped his car to speak to us, young Logan hopped out. He wanted to be with Nathaniel.
Father to son, “Are you going to run all the way to the bus?”
Logan was already dancing around Nathaniel, and the two of them began to walk.
Logan challenged our tall grandson, saying, “I can beat you!”
Nathaniel replied, “I’m not going to run, but I’ll walk.”
I fumbled getting the camera out and took a video as quickly as I could. Nathaniel had a fast pace, with Logan flapping along beside him. It wasn’t until I looked at the clip that I saw Marla in a green jacket standing with Albert. All the commotion on the road made Albert walk toward them. At the same time, Bob turned his gray car around and started back home.
All the walkers reached the bus stop. One of us wondered if there were school, because we never had President’s Day off. I missed the photo of the week – Logan’s face when he thought for a split second there might not be school for him. The bus came chugging up the hill, and Logan waited for the driver’s signal to cross the road. Albert pulled Marla away as we continued to the creek.
Quick-thinking John had his hand out for the camera when I mentioned posing with the rushing water. That’s the first time he has pulled that on me.
Nathaniel is more resigned to being in front of my camera, so I got two shots of him. In one he had just dipped his hand in the water to see how cold it was, and then he turned to climb back up the rocks.
After walking, we had practice biscuits for breakfast. Our biscuit-loving friends are coming next week, and I want to be ready. Recently I read again that soft flour is best for Southern biscuits, White Lily being the preferred brand. John is enthusiastic about this, because he prefers that I not use whole wheat flour. It’s only fair he should win once in a while, don’t you think?
Niece Julie and I had finished half our breakfast when John and grandson Nathaniel arrived from New York. It took them about 16 hours to drive here from Long Island. Julie and I eat slowly, so they soon caught up, and we had fruit together. To celebrate Nathaniel’s recent 18th birthday, Julie gave him a couple of baking gadgets. One I’d never seen before – a pastry marker.
After the meal, Nathaniel announced it was time for the mirror ritual. He pointed out where it should go so that he could see his face instead of his belt. After moving it up, he was satisfied. He will reverse the ritual when he leaves.
John had taken only two short naps on the drive down, so while he slept, we went to Waynesville to an art shop. Julie waited in the background as the artist signed the place mats she bought for her house-mate, Patty. The artist was a lot of fun, telling us that she is an up-and-coming artist. If we bought her work as an investment, we might make a lot of money. She also pointed out that burying a mayonnaise jar full of money in the backyard might be just as remunerative.
We couldn’t resist the photo board outside the shop, both of us women taking a turn with Nathaniel.
We laughed ourselves silly over a roast pork dinner. Nathaniel, who pretends to hate puns, declared he would not bake the promised Black Forest Cake if Grandpa made 20 puns that day. In a matter of minutes John racked up 13 points. He argued that each of Nathaniel’s puns should take a point off. By 9 pm the count was 18. John made one final pun that sent grandson reeling off to bed. They were talking about vintage cars. John said, in light of Nathaniel’s planned career, he should have a chef-fer for his car.
It was the day after Valentine’s Day, and John noticed the temperature was 71 F (21.6 C). We promptly took the last of our Valentine cake out to the porch to enjoy the warmth while we ate. My definition of porch weather begins at 65 F, so we could probably have eaten lunch outside earlier. Surely this was the earliest we’ve ever done this! Last year we were out there at least once in March and once in December when daughter Lise was here. Those are the fringe months.
Valentine prep began two days ahead. I prepared yeast dough that rose in the refrigerator overnight. I baked one set of strawberry rolls, washed the heart-shaped baking dishes, and baked another set so that all were ready by the afternoon of the 13th. The most difficult part was finding the neighbors at home to deliver them.
We wanted something special for neighbor Logan (7), something not edible. I picked out the mug decorated with hearts. Inside the red tissue paper was John’s choice – a black truck with a friction motor. I don’t know what happened to the mug, but Logan played with the truck the whole time we were chatting with his parents.
Do you ever give things away without tasting them? We had a rather late breakfast on Valentine’s Day, as we do most days. I assumed the rolls were edible. The thought just struck me that if the neighbors had been sickened, they could have been on the way to the hospital before I suspected anything was wrong. If you are really good at worrying, you can worry in reverse like I do.
John surprised me with a balloon and chocolates. He ran errands with our son the day before and hid the gifts in the garage. They were in the kitchen long before I went in to get breakfast ready. We had one bought donut each and a strawberry roll.
I apologized to John for not having bought him anything, and he said, “You did buy me something.”
My open-book face showed perplexity. “I bought you something?”
“Yes,” he said, “at the supermarket. When I commented on liking chocolate-covered raisins as a child, you threw the pack in the cart.”
Most Americans know the caveat about promising to do something “good Lord willin’ and the creek don’t rise”. Well, the creek did rise here! In fact, it’s the highest we’ve ever seen it. We’ve had rain off and on for days and happened to be at the creek shortly after a pause.
I can assure you, we would not be standing beside the creek if it flooded. Theoretically, that is the lowest part of the valley. If the water flowed over the banks, much of the land would be covered. The creek was quite muddy, but the roar was muted. It makes more sound if rocks are protruding above the water. The two tiny streams near our house made an inordinate amount of noise due to the increased volume of water. That’s when I wish we lived beside them. If I get desperate enough, I’ll play a CD of a mountain stream.
We hit it right and walked at rush hour in the ‘hood today. About six people were heading for work, and then there was the school run – Bob driving Logan (7) to the stop sign where he catches the school bus. Logan waited until we were almost to the car and seemed to be running before the door was fully open. How can one small body hold such extreme energy? As John chatted with Bob, I watched the boy run for the sheer joy of it. He jumped the ditch over and over, finally landing in the middle of it.
“Your shoes would be wet if water had been there,” I said.
Logan replied with a grin, “Nope! I waterproofed my shoes.”
As usual, I understood about 30% of what he said. Unbeknownst to me, the subject changed when he spoke of “lava shoes” three jumps later. “Firemen have clothes and shoes that won’t catch fire.”
“Do you want to be a fireman?” I asked.
Logan replied firmly, “No. I want to work at McDonald’s.”
I was sorry to see the bus chugging up the hill, because I was dying to ask WHAT he wanted to do there. Can you imagine him about twelve years from now? He’s the assistant manager, in three places at once, and putting out figurative fires at 70 miles per hour. McDonald’s will never be the same again.
My name is Suki, my human is a writer, and this is about my world. The world according to Suki The Cat. My humans smell funny, look weird, and I can't understand a thing they say, but they feed me, so hey, what are you gonna do?
Mehrling Muse 