Once, when I was little, I was in the car with my Pawpaw Aderholt and we pulled over for a funeral procession. He looked over at me and said, “Pay your respects, Wee Wee (that’s what he called me). That was a good man they’re laying to rest.” “Did you know him,” I asked. He shook his head and said, “Nope. Don’t need to know. Look how many showed up for the funeral. With that many people, he had to have been a good man.”
I guess my pawpaw had a point. When a good person is laid to rest, the funeral is the final act of kindness and appreciation that we can show him. We often think about those being buried; but rarely do we think about those working behind the scenes of a paying the final respects.
I’ve had the pleasure of knowing Dr. Smith of Smith Funeral Home for quite some years now and often wondered why someone would choose to own a funeral home. What I found out was that, more often than not, it isn’t the person that makes that choice. It is God’s will. It takes a special soul to bury those we loved and lost. They have to be stronger than we are at the time, gentle enough to tend to our pain, and respectful of every variation of human emotion that comes along with the death of a loved one. Dr. Smith is all of these things and then some.
Upon first sight, you will immediately be intimidated because he is a giant! But as soon as Dr. Smith speaks the first word, in his low gentle tone, you are comforted and almost feel safe and protected around him. His love for God, love for others, and lifetime of wisdom cannot be hidden away; and he chooses to lead with love each day. He will pray with you or for you at the drop of a hat. He has the patience of a Saint; and exudes a gentleness that can only be compared to a new mother with her baby.
I knew that Dr. Smith owned the funeral home in Belzoni. But what surprised me and inspired me was the story of faith that brought him to be the owner. My friends and I are 45; and we were just discussing how disappointed we are in ourselves sometimes, because we really felt that we would have our careers lined out by this age. I guess it’s time we all realize that we are not running by our watches. Everything happens in God’s time; and he will put us where we need to be when he gets ready. It wasn’t until at the age of 47, with 5 kids and a wife in tow, that God directed Dr. Smith on the path he was meant to take!
Dr. Smith started working as an laborer for Johnson Funeral Home in 1965. At first, the thought of working with the dead scared him to death (pun intended). But, he needed the money for his family and decided to take the job. There he worked, year after year, decade after decade, learning every aspect of the funeral home business. As time passed on, the funeral home changed hands and changed names. Dr. Smith kept working and learning the business, attending to more and more of the needs of the community.
Finally, the opportunity came to buy the business himself. This was a great opportunity for him and his family. There was just one problem. He would need a college degree and money! He had neither. What he did have was a devoted wife, a father that believed in him, and a friend in Paul Townsend (the local banker). And FAITH!! If nothing more, he had faith that God would open the doors for him.
So, there he was at the ripe old age of 47, embarking on a new career and education. He had enough faith to put his home, his father’s land and the funeral home up as collateral. “I fasted and prayed and kept my faith through it all and just made it.” And made it, he did. He’s been in the funeral home business for over 50 years, and been the successful owner for over 35 years, retiring this year; and passing the business on down to family.
As I said, it takes a special soul to hold the responsibility and honor to serve our loved ones one last time. Dr. Johnny Smith has that special soul; and Belzoni has been blessed to have him.
Let his story be a lesson to us all. We may not be in life where we think we should; but we are where God needs us to be. In HIS time, not ours, we will discover our true purpose in life.
Apparently Dr. Smith is not only an expert in the mortuary business; he’s also an expert in cooking! Below is his special turkey recipe that he serves for his beloved family gatherings:
Wash turkey let it dry, need onions garlic bell pepper celery cut up fine to put on the inside and outside of turkey, granulated garlic and lemon pepper mixed in separate bowl, buy meat injection a bottle and a half inject thighs breast back and legs, put cut up veggies inside out in pan lined with foil rub seasoning and rest of cut up veggies on turkey, wrap it up good in the foil back at 350 for 3 1/2 hours!
So, it’s a known fact that one of my favorite places in the world is New Orleans. I think what makes it so special to me is the bombardment of culture that immediately attacks you once you step foot in the city limits. You have the blues, jazz, rich antebellum heritage, poor struggling street performers, voodoo, vampires, the Catholic Cathedral, horse-drawn carriages, casinos, the Riverwalk, the drinks and the food attacking all your senses all at once!! It’s glorious for an ADD sufferer such as myself. When I lived on the coast, my family and I went to New Orleans on a regular basis, and, for me; each time was just as mesmerizing as the first time there.
When my daughter was in first grade, she had project titled, “Getting To Know Me”. She made a poster board up with pictures and graphics telling all about Jane, her family, her hobbies, and what she wanted to be when she grew up. It was adorable… until I read her goal in life was to be a “street worker in New Orleans”. Hmmm…. this was cause for a discussion with my sweet baby girl. Exactly what kind of street worker did she want to be? It was with a sigh of relief when she explained that she wanted to be an artist on Jackson Square, selling her paintings, not anything else! I had to admit, that I too, always thought it must’ve been a pretty cool job to work in Jackson Square. But, the writer in me always wondered what the story was behind those performers. I always wanted to know what brought them there.
Well, through chanced and probably a bit of circumstance, I was able to talk to a New Orleans Tarot Card Reader and get to know his story. Imagine my delightful surprise when he told me that he had ties to Mississippi. But, really, don’t all the beautiful weirdos and artist of the world have some tie here?
August Wyrd Eshu was raised in Seatle, Washington. His mother was from Mississippi (just south of Memphis). In Seatle, she read tarot cards for her friends, married a Native American named Royal Bullbear who saw August’s natural spiritual gifts and initiated him into shamanism at the age 10. Participating in sweat lodges and ritual after ritual, Royal Bullbear noticed that August’s connection to spirit was stronger than his connection to the realm of the living. However his mother divorced him and denounced all things occult and became a born again Christian after a short period of time. So by the age 12 I stole his first deck of tarot cards from Spencers.
For about the next several years, August suffered rejection and ridicule from other tarot card practitioners as his gifts were denied by others in the pagan community. It wasn’t until he was given a chance to read cards at a small shop at 16, that he was taken seriously. From there, he continued to pursue his craft, while also trying to conform to the expectations of society. He battled belittlement from those he loved, judgment from those that couldn’t understand him; and a constant pressure to hide his true self to gain respect from others. It wasn’t his husband’s terminal battle with cancer that August finally received the acknowledgement and support he needed to fully commit to reading cards. After his husband’s death, he relocated to New Orleans, where he set up shop in the infamous Jackson Square and began to share his ability.
So, I was curious, “What it a typical day like for a New Orleans Tarot Card Reader?” Well, apparently, it’s not much more different than any other working person in America. You have set hours you work, you show up, do your job to your best ability, pay your bills, run some errands, and call it a day! The only difference is that what you share with others can have either a fleeting or significant impact on their future, according to how they take your advice. But, according to August, he tries to focus on the positive aspects of the cards, projecting that positivity onto others.
So, where do these gifts come from? August believes he was born with these gifts, that they don’t come anything dark, only light. This is how he tries to live every day in the Jackson Square and in life. “I love helping people and giving them messages of the divine.” These are times of uncertainty. Everyone’s lives have been shaken to the core; and we are all grasping at any source of positivity we can grasp. With so much negativity in life, it’s always nice to see some light in the darkness.
If you are ever wandering around the Jackson Square in New Orleans, look for the man in the top hat. Have a seat and give the cards a shuffle and see what’s in the cards for you!!
William Faulkner once said, “To understand the world, you must first understand a place like Mississippi.” No truer words have ever been spoken in regards to understanding our fellow human beings. People are strange, complicated, even contradictory at times. These character flaws are what makes each person so beautiful. And it is also what makes my beloved state such a unique, unapologetically mutinous part of history and culture that simultaneously pulls you in and pushes away.
Mississippians have never shied away from controversy and revels in rebellion. Our upbringing in the mist of struggling and growth, heritage and progression seeps into our soul, like the rain seeping into the fields, yielding a unique perspective on life. We, in turn, carry this perspective out into the world beyond our state lines and always seem to find that we are just a little different than the rest.
It is my theory that all the weird and wonderful people out there have a 7 degree separation from my beloved State. My new series of blogs will be called “7 Degrees of Mississippi”. In this series, I will talk to those people that you may pass on the street and think to yourself, ‘how in the world did they get here?’ Or you may have met someone and thought, ‘Wow! This person is totally different from anyone I’ve ever met!’ And, if that’s the case, I’m sure they have some ties to the Mighty Mississippi.
So, if you know of any wild and wonderful weirdos that you would like featured, please let me know! I’m searching the world over! Hope you enjoy!!
As most of you know, my mama was sick her entire life. Even her “best days” consisted of oxygen tanks, doctor’s consultations and medication. On one of her not-so good days, we were in the grocery store and a local lady came up to ask her how she was doing. We had just gotten word that she would have to undergo a small procedure in the upcoming days and were actually preparing for her hospital stay, making sure my sister and I had enough food and all. But when the sweet lady asked mama how she was doing, she looked her dead in the eyes and said, “I’m fine. We’re all doing good.”
After we left the store, I had to confront my mama about lying to the sweet lady. “Why did you tell her you were fine when you clearly aren’t?” What she told me stayed with me for the rest of my life. “She doesn’t wanna hear my problems. Most people don’t really care that much. They’re just being polite. The one’s that really care don’t have to ask how I’m doing.”
I realized that she was probably right. Most people don’t really care about others outside their circle. I carried that with me and began to live my life with that one specific line in the back of my head from that moment on; ‘Most people don’t really care that much.’ Unfortunately, now I see that this was wrong. This was an injustice to myself, as I built a wall around my heart; and I passed that ill advice on to my own children. I can see the walls they’ve built around themselves now and it tears me apart to see what I’ve done to them.
For years and years, I prided myself on the fact that I had 2 REAL friends and my Aunt Tammy in my life and that was all I needed. I actually bragged about it. It wasn’t until one of those REAL friends, Eden, died suddenly and shook my world that my outlook changed. After she died, I was completely lost. I was angry with God for taking one of the few sources of joy that I had in my life away from me. I was the most lonely I had ever been. I was 4 hours away from the other two people I counted on; and I was the saddest I had ever been in my life.
For months I went through life on “auto-pilot” mode; just doing what I had to get through the day; and I would cry myself to sleep. It wasn’t until one day when a girl I worked with forced her way through that wall that I had built so long ago, that life began to change for me. Kristy Scobee had worked with me for a long time. We talked every day at work, and she knew I was struggling. She could see the hurt in my eyes and reached out to help. She told me that I needed to do something fun and get my mind off things. She suggested I hang out with a friend. “I had a friend and she died,” was my reply. But she wouldn’t give up.
“Let other people be your friend. Let me be your friend. Lets go do something,” she urged. We went to Roller Derby and our friendship blossomed instantly. I became more open and willing to give pieces of my heart away. The little crack in my wall she broke through grew wider and wider. Now I consider Kristy and Laura May (my other co-worker at that time) two of my most special friends. Years later, I feel confident enough in their sincere love for me to call on them whenever I need to.
Let other people be your friend. Let me be your friend. Kristy probably doesn’t even remember that conversation. But it was profound advice for me. I understood why my mother didn’t let people in. She was sick. She was dying. Building a wall around her heart was a survival mechanism. She couldn’t take the strain of allowing someone to get close and get hurt. It worked for her. And when the children and I were in such a toxic environment, it worked for us too. Don’t let people in, they will only let you down because most people don’t really care. That was how we lived our lives.
Once I opened my heart to the world, things changed drastically for me. I found that when you approach people (even perfect strangers on the street) with openness and genuine love, they too tend to break down their own walls. It’s a beautiful thing to have an intimate and honest conversation with a complete stranger.
I love my mama with all my heart. She taught me strength and dignity in the face of the storms life brings. But she was wrong that day at the grocery store. And for years after that, I was wrong and I robbed my children of alot of love. Now, I think most people do care. Most people are good and genuinely care about others. The problem is just those damn walls we’ve all built to protect our hearts from being broken. If we could learn to let some of those walls down just a little; and let others try to be our friend; maybe there wouldn’t be so much anger in the world today. Maybe we could learn from one another, hear each others’ pain, and help heal just like Kristy and Laura helped me years ago.
Will your heart get broken? Will people still disappoint you? Of course they will. My hearts been broken and disappointed many times since I let my wall down. People are still human. Life is still hard. People will make mistakes. They will hurt you. Life will bring you sorrow. But by approaching life with love and offering forgiveness to those that seek it, I’ve learned that I can heal a lot quicker and build new relationships in the process. One of my favorite lines from Steel Magnolias is this, “I would rather have thirty minutes of wonderful than a lifetime of nothing special.” The same goes for an open heart. That little love is so much better than a lifetime of building walls.
Someone recently told me he “has more hate than love”. His walls are high and his heart is still mending. Years of living his life with the mentality that most people don’t really care has helped him survive life; but it has hardened his heart to the point that he is in the exact situation I was years ago. Every night I pray to God to heal his heart and help him let others love him. There are people out there that love him, if he will just let them. But it will take a lot of prayers and forgiveness for those walls to come back down.
Living in Belzoni, Mississippi, you can always count on a couple things to happen at any kind of gathering (whether it be a formal party or just Sunday lunch at Papas aka The Varsity: 1)Pat Pearson is going to have the latest gossip at all times (even about you sometimes), 2) There’s a good chance BJ Hawkins will break into song no matter where you are and 3)Brookie Duett will probably show up with his suspenders on. Today, the town of Belzoni had to say goodbye to Brookie. No function around here will ever be the same. As I was sitting there in the crowded funeral home, squeezing in with people of every race and social status, I saw how beautiful it is when people break those walls down. Love was in every heart for just a short time to honor the man who’s suspenders had become a town landmark.
As I go to sleep tonight, I will pray for that little boy’s heart that has more hate than love. And I will pray that Jennifer, Savell and Dewayne will pull down their walls just a little and let people love them- because I genuinely feel that most people do care. You’ve just gotta let them.
In honor of my sweet friend Jennifer- who refuses to let me do her laundry because she tries to be so strong and stoic (but accepts my cookies) I am including my easy peanut butter cookie recipe that I know at least puts a few cracks in the walls built around the Duett’s. Keep them in your prayers. Let your walls down. Approach one another with love. And find that most of this world does truly care.
Peanut Butter Cookies:
1 cup smooth peanut butter
1 cup sugar
1 egg
Mix, spoon and heat at 350 degrees for about 6 minutes (until they are barely brown on the bottom and still soft)
As most of you know by now, my family moved into a very old and much-loved home a year ago. The home is beautiful and we love it so much; but it sure is a heck a lot of work! It seems like each week, I am starting a new project in a somewhat futile attempt to make it my own. This week, in an attempt to distract myself from several bad days that come along with having a complicated family, I decided to strip the many layers of paint off our front doors and bring back the original wood.
What I thought would be a simple task, proved to be extremely tedious and exhausting. Things are never quite as simple as they seem. As I was standing there, biceps bulging from hours of stripping away layer after layer of paint, sweat dripping down my brow, I couldn’t help but think of my family and our lives. Just like the doors of a nearly 100-year old house, the time has come for us too to strip away what we’ve used as cover -up and get back to what we originally loved.
Just like the home that sits at 209 Oak Street, a family is beautiful from the street, but is made of a million complicated and intricate parts on the inside. Over the years, we see things that we want to change/improve on. After looking at the same thing year after year, we start to grow bored and spot little things that can be “better”. We start to feel like what worked so easily before is now not good enough and want to switch things up. So, we throw a fresh coat of “paint” over the original.
At first, the change is welcomed. We are refreshed, even delighted at seeing something new! We may even wander what we ever saw in the original to begin with. As the years go by, we may even forget altogether what the original actually looked like. And, who even really cares, right? Things are so much better now! Things are so much prettier now, so why bother even thinking back on how things were originally? Any little thing that wasn’t quite right to begin with is now covered up with something pretty.
Therein lies the problem. Over time, just like the layers of paint on those doors, every family will start to see some “peeling” and “cracking” and what was originally there will start peeking out. No matter how pretty things may seem from afar, the past will always peek through original. And this is when you have to make real decisions. Do you roll up your sleeves, gather materials and deal with the original woodwork and bring it back to its original glory? Do you just brush over the peeling with another coat of pretty paint and hope no one can see its imperfections? Or do you decide that it’s too much trouble to even bother with the original and just buy a whole new “door”.
What is the depreciated value of the original? Maybe the original family was so rare that it actually sees an appreciated value. As a family grows and thrives, these are decisions each family member will have to make at some point in time. Do you scrap the old and start with something new; or do you put in some elbow grease and scrape away years and years of “pretty” to bring back the original beauty?
My family is no different than any other family. Each is beautiful in its own special way. Each has multiple facets of love and laughter and hurt and pain. Each family has its strengths and weaknesses. Just like this old house, each family has a door or two that could use some work, but it always has something special that makes it “home” to its inhabitants.
I can tell you, that I have often passed by different homes and thought to myself ‘I wonder if that family is as crazy and messed up as mine?’ And though ya’ll may be crazy in a slightly different way than we are; and your scars may not be as deep as ours, I take comfort in knowing that everyone, at some point in a family’s history, has to take a time out, stop their daily lives, and make an emergency trip to the “hardware store”. Everyone has to strip the paint eventually. Just make sure you get the right tools and take careful steps to not cause any more damage to the original woodwork. Remember what you loved about it in the first place. Remember the joy it brought you years before. Remember what made it feel like home.
The world is crazy out there. We must make it better. And, we must start with the few doors in our own home.
If ever there was a time when a hair cut was appreciated; it would be now!! I had the pleasure of sitting down with one of Belzoni’s most popular stylists; Tami Hawkins. It’s not just her skills on hair they make her such a beloved beautician, but her endearing spirit and genuine kindness that will melt away any walls built up and having you pour your heart out as she clips away.
While most eighth graders were scrapbooking, chasing boys and looking forward to high school, Tami was cutting hair for anyone brave enough to let her. She never had any other dream in life; and pursued it immediately after high school, getting her license in 1979. For over 40 years, she has brought out the best in each client, both aesthetically and personally.
There is never just a hair cut or blow out at Tami’s. When you sit in that chair, traffic passing by on Jackson Street, it all begins. As she clips and combs, you are her entire world for those few minutes. Tami is there to talk, to listen; and being a preacher’s daughter, she’s there to even pray with you if you want.
Being so close to her clients, Tami has shared some of the most precious and memorable moments with the citizens of Belzoni throughout the years. There have been weddings, funerals, and shaving heads in the mist of a cancer battle. Tears of happiness , of despair and of faith have been shed in the little shop on Jackson Street.
Over the past 40 years, Tami has witnessed every trend you can imagine. When I asked her the craziest trend she remembers there was no hesitation, “Giving men perms in the 80s.” Of course, that trend faded out; just as most of today’s trends will. That’s the beauty industry…. ever changing. Perms may have left its mark; but it’s nothing compared to Covid-19.
In over 40 years, the only time Tami has taken off more than a few days was when she had twins. The mandatory shut down due to Covid brought the beauty industry to its knees. Though they received unemployment benefits, many stylists are in the fight for their livelihood. It will take the strength and faith that long-time stylists like Tami possesses to survive this quarantine and thrive.
So what sound advice does Tami have for those anxious students about to embark on their new career in the beauty industry? “Show up. Pay your dues; and be available. People are fickly but trust in God.” It’s may seem simple, but it’s this simple mantra that has made Tami’s on Jackson street the landmark it is today.
Some say that Hollywood is the “Land Of Dreams”. I would disagree. Anyone who has ever lived in the Mississippi Delta would surely know that this is truly the land of dreams- figuratively and literally. Right now, it’s planting season. Within each perfectly lined row, lies dreams of a good harvest and possibilities. I dare say that a Mississippi Delta Farmer is the biggest dreamer of all. After all, if it weren’t for their dreams, there wouldn’t be any crops to be harvested.
My grandfather, Pawpaw Aderholt, was a farmer; and he embodied the dreaming spirit of one. Being the father of six kids, he was always reaching for the stars, dreaming of big money, and trying his had at any side adventure he could; and I was always riding along with him. We thought we were going to get rich on rabbits one year. They didn’t sell like we had dreamed; but seemed to multiply ten times over. One year, he thought we would get rich with pigs. I loved going to feed them. But, one night they got loose and we chased them all over the fields for hours. After that, we gave up and got rid of them- still not rich. Before I was born, he moved the whole family to California to make it big in the orchards. After selling oranges on the street corners for a while, he gave up and they headed back to Mississippi. Another side gig gone wrong. But he knew how to make it in Mississippi.
He was a farmer. He was a dreamer. And it was those dreams that kept him hustling all his life. It’s those dreams, season after season that keep all the farmers and farmhands going. Will Rogers said it best, “The farmer has to be an optimist or he wouldn’t still be a farmer.” One must have complete faith in themselves and God to spend weeks planting a crop, in hopes that it’ll be a good harvest months down the road.
Those seeds of dreams must be nurtured and cared for. They must be kept alive in order to reach fruition. My Pawpaw Aderholt taught me to dream. He drug me along with him, in the cab of his pick up, so that I could experience the adrenalin rush of pursuing a dream. He made me work and sweat right along with him, so that I could know that if I had a dream, then it was up to me to make it come true.
The Mississippi Delta has a long, complicated history. Some hate it. Some love it. Some born here are dedicated to it. Others born here can’t wait to get the heck out of it. All learn from it. We are not Silicon Valley. We are the Mississippi Delta and we have produced the some of the most talented writers and artists and most revolutionary activists known to the world. I personally think those rows of dreams planted each year; and those dreamers tediously tending to them are the driving force behind every success. After all, how can you live among the real “land of dreams” each year and not be inspired or driven to pursue your own?
I am always trying to come up with a new adventure. I have a hundred ideas swimming in my head at once. I want a coffee and sandwich shop. I want a newspaper. I want a farmer’s market. With each new idea that pops in my head, I see my Pawpaw Aderholt giving me a wink and nudge, saying, “Sounds like a great plan, Wee Wee! Let’s do it!” (that’s what he called me, never by my name).
Every year, those seeds are meticulously planted and take root. And there, in straight lines reaching for the horizon, lies a man’s hope for a better tomorrow. Some may think a bare field of freshly plowed rows is plain and ugly. But, where they see dirt, I see hope and it’s beautiful.
The recipe for this blog is one of my favorite dips to take to family occasions. It’s Mississippi Caviar. Like I said, we ain’t California. We are the damn Mississippi Delta and we do things are own way!
MISSISSIPPI CAVIAR:
1 bottle Italian dressing
1 can kernel corn (drained)
1 can black olives (drained)
1 can Rotel tomatoes
1 can black eye peas or pinto beans
1 bunch of green onions (chopped)
Mix all together and chill overnight. Serve with your favorite dip chip.
Everyone knows I love to cook for my family and friends. After all, discovering my love of cooking inspired this blog. It brings me much joy to cater to them. It’s a small gesture of love for me. When they are being extra sweet to me, I bake them cookies or cook their favorite casserole. But, when they piss me off, they get a frozen pizza and I get a bottle of wine. What can I say, it be’s that way sometimes.
I love to cook. But what I don’t love is cleaning the kitchen afterwards. It seems like this is the same with everything in life. We love the good stuff in life, relish in its deliciousness; but don’t want to get our hands dirty cleaning up the mess. I include myself in this scenario. As I’m griping to myself, loading up the dirty dishes in the dishwasher, collecting half-empty glasses from around the house, I have to remind myself that this is the price I have to pay for being blessed with such love. I’m no saint, so I am also simultaneously reminding myself that killing your family is frowned upon, orange is not my color, and I’m not tough enough to start my own prison gang.
We are a selfish and self-centered society. We want the good job without the essays and tests. We want the money without putting in the elbow grease. We want the roses without being pricked by a couple thorns. We want!! We Want! We Want! And, with each scenario, we are trying to get it without putting in the work.
Of course, everyone is deserving a little catering to from time to time. Everyone is worthy of a strawberry cobbler-kind -of-day without having to do the dishes afterwards. But, we must remember that there are days when we will have to clean the kitchen! And, some days we may not get dessert at all. That’s just how life is. We can get all we want, but it won’t be free. And, anything worth having, calls for a little (or a lot) of work.
You receive what you reflect. If you spend your life just chowing down all the greatness life has sent you without cleaning up your mess, you will eventually wind up fat and bloated in a life full of mess, with nothing new to offer you. If you take the time to appreciate each gift, bite-by-bite, put in the work, care for it and clean it up, you will find that with each “meal” life has granted you, you’ve accumulated ingredients to create “meals” you never even imagined. Life can bring a lot of messes your way, but if you dig in there and clean it up, you will find that among the crumbs, life also leaves you the tools you need for the future.
I guess each day we need to decide what role we will play in the kitchen of life. Are we gonna be the cook, catering to those we love? Are we gonna sit at the table and enjoy the meal given to us? Are we gonna leave an empty plate and bread crumbs for someone else to clean up? Or, are we gonna appreciate the day, roll up our sleeves and put in some work for a better tomorrow?
Today is Sunday. This is usually my favorite day to sit around my house, play in my yard and cook a big meal for my family. Today I will be the cook. Because everyone is being lazy, I will also clean the kitchen. But, tomorrow the girls will be rolling up their sleeves and putting in a little work because I will make sure that one day they will be able to manage a kitchen of their own without sitting at someone else’s table.
Today’s recipe is a strawberry cobbler that my sweet cousin, Margaret was kind enough to share. Even though she leaves in Arkansas and we only see each other at funerals and weddings, she’s got that Aderholt-girl stubborn spirit and can do make a good meal out of any mess life leaves her. It’s a quick and easy dessert to share with those you love to gather around the table.
Strawberry Cobbler
Ingredients: 2 qt strawberries 1 egg 1 cup All-Purpose flour 2 tsp baking powder 1/2 tsp salt 1 cup sugar 1 stick butter 4 oz cream cheese 1 cup milk
Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Melt butter and pour into 9×13. In a small bowl, mix together the egg, flour, sugar, milk, baking powder and salt. Pour directly over the butter in the baking dish, but do not stir. Add the strawberries, arranging in a single layer as much as possible. Sprinkle cream cheese pieces over strawberries. Place in preheated over and bake for 45 minutes or until top is golden brown and edges are bubbling.
There comes days when nothing seems to go as you want. Every door is closed in your face. Usually, this is a figurative notion. But in today’s society, literally every door is being closed. For many, in recent weeks, the opportunity knocking on their doors was snatched away before they could even get their hands on the doorknob. This pandemic not only took the opportunity, but the whole dang door. I’ve seen dreams taken and hard work gone right out the window.
Hope is the most valuable asset a person can possess. Success and failures come and go. There will be ups and downs in life. But if we don’t maintain some sense of hope to carry us over the hill, we will not muster the strength to see victory in the end. At this point in our lives, hope is about as rare as a 12-pack of toilet paper.
It was only a few years back that I was sitting in the floor, tears streaming down my face, completely hopeless. For months, I had on set-back after another. Everything I had worked for was being snatched away, one-by-one, slowly yet all at once. I had nothing but hope at one point, and then that was snatched away too. “Why is this happening to me?” I cried. And then I remember why- I had prayed for it.
Yep, you read that right. I had prayed for it. Did I pray to lose everything in my life? No. Of course I didn’t. But I threw my hands in the air and prayed for God to just take over; and lead me in the right direction. And, you know the saying, “Be careful what you wish for.” God knows me. He knows I can’t take a hint to save my soul; and that I am always, ALWAYS going in ten different directions at once. So, in order to get me where I was supposed to be (here in Belzoni with my Slingshot and friends), he had to take all the distractions and pipe dreams away.
I am just as scared, frustrated, and bored as the next person. But, I can’t help but feel like I’ve been here before. Just as a child has to go into “time out” to reflect on what they’ve done wrong, maybe God has given us all a “time out” to reflect on all the things we’ve done wrong, clear the clutter that has accumulated in our lives, and point us back in the right direction.
I’m craving New Orleans. I love it so much. I love the diversity, the art, the mystery of what lurks around the corner. But mostly, I love the food! There is a quote that I love, ” Gumbo is hard to get right…Like life, there’s no one way to do it,& a hundred ways, from here to Sunday, to get it dead wrong.”- Author: Kevin Young. He’s right. Life is hard, easy to screw up; and we are all trying our best to figure it out along the way. For many of my friends, they thought they had mastered the recipe of life, and then Covid-19 dumped a whole bottle of cilantro in the mix to ruin the dish! Now they are forced with the decision to try to fix it; or throw out the entire pot and settle for sandwiches.
Too many cooks can destroy the broth. When we are running in too many different directions and life becomes too chaotic, the Master Chef will run everyone out of the kitchen. Maybe our gumbo was on the verge of scorching. Maybe this pandemic is not taking the opportunities away; but pointing us to the right door where the real opportunity for us awaits. God is the Master Chef, He is the only that knows the perfect recipe for each of us. So, instead of scrambling around through the spice rack, trying to figure out how to make it better; why don’t we just give Him the wooden spoon, and let Him stir the pot as He sees fit.
In the meantime….we can enjoy this recipe I found online for a quick and easy seafood and sausage gumbo. Of course, everyone has their own recipe and preferences. Just like life, the diversity is what makes gumbo so special!
Shrimp and Sausage Gumbo:
Ingredients: (1) 4 tbsp. butter (2) 1/4 c. all-purpose flour (3) 1 small yellow onion (4) 1 medium green bell pepper, chopped (5) 2 celery ribs, chopped (6) 2 cloves garlic, minced (7) 12 oz. andouille sausage, sliced into 1/2″ pieces (8) 1 tbsp. cajun seasoning (without salt) (9) kosher salt (10) Freshly ground black pepper (11) 1 bay leaf (12) 1 (15-oz.) can fire-roasted diced tomatoes (13) 4 c. chicken broth (14) 1 lb. shrimp, peeled and deveined (15) 3 green onions, (16) sliced cooked white rice, for serving
In a large, deep skillet over medium-low heat, melt butter, then add flour. Cook, stirring constantly, until dark caramel colored, about 10 minutes.
Add onions, peppers, and celery, and stir until softened, about 5 minutes more. Stir in garlic and sausage, then season with Cajun seasoning, salt, and pepper. Stir in bay leaf, diced tomatoes, and chicken broth and bring to a boil. Reduce heat to low and simmer until thickened, stirring occasionally, about 1 hour.
In the last 10 minutes of cooking, add shrimp. Once shrimp is pink and cooked through, taste and adjust seasonings. Stir in green onions, reserving some for garnish.
“The score, ladies and gentlemen, is tied at the bottom of the ninth. We have two outs. It all comes down to our local hero, John Frank McKenzie. Can he get us a home run and save the championship title? The answer remains to be seen.”
“Good morning, sugar pie!” John Frank’s mom wrapped her arms under his and pulled him up. She already had his clothes laid out. ‘I hate purple. I always did.’ “Now, momma has a 9:00 o’clock perm to do this morning before the wedding today, so we gotta hurry, okay? Lift your arms up and I’ll put your clothes on you. That purple looks so good on you. Now there, lay back and let me change your diaper.” ‘God, what is going on? I don’t understand!’ His breathing increased and he began to shake his head back and forth. ‘Get the hell off me momma! Why are you doing this?’ “Now, now, calm down! Baby, I just don’t understand why you insist on fighting me every single morning. You know you have to get dressed. You know I’ve got to work. So, please, just cooperate with me! Please!!”
She hated to yell at him, but sometimes she just couldn’t help it. It had been a year since the accident and he seemed to be getting worse than better. He fought her when she dressed him, fed him and bathed him. She tried to be patient with him; but she was growing more tired everyday. She finally got him dressed and put him in the wheelchair; and only now did he calm down. If he had a choice, he would live in that damn chair. As soon as she unlocked the screen door, he was out. She would see him riding around town throughout the day, passing in front of the beauty shop at least a hundred times. She didn’t have to worry about him in Cornwell, Mississippi. In this town, everyone looked out for him. He was their fallen hero. She knew they wouldn’t let anything happen to him.
John Frank looked up at the sky. ‘Are you this blue and beautiful for the rest of the world; or just for me?’ he asked. He started down the street. He was only a block from down town and everyday, he made his rounds, seeing familiar faces that he could never quite place and talking to people who once knew but could no longer remember. “Hey Mrs. Lloyd, where’s Miranda?” he stuttered. Mrs. Lloyd was working in her prized flower garden trying to get the weeding finished before the Delta heat and humidity took over. “Good morning, hun. Miranda’s working down at the pharmacy this summer, remember?” Everyday he asked about his old high school sweetheart and everyday the answer was the same, only John Frank didn’t know it. ‘Poor thing’ she thought as he continued on down the street. ‘What a shame.’
‘Why didn’t Miranda tell me she was working at the pharmacy? I’m sure I talked to her last night.’ He had no idea who he spoke with last night or any other night for that matter. A red bird flew pass his wheelchair and settled on a branch of the oak tree on the corner of Main and Sunflower. John Frank stopped rolling and locked eyes with the bird. The bird seemed to be speaking to him with only his eyes. Not a chirp was made from the bird and not a breath was taken from John Frank. The two, like long-lost soul mates, just stared into each other’s eyes. ‘Red, red. I think that color is red.’ After a while, the red bird flew away and John Frank started back down the street, towards the pharmacy.
‘Why am I going here, again?’ Maybe it would come back to him when he got there, he hoped. “John Frank! Hey, man, how ya doing?” Michael called out from across the street. John Frank smiled back. He knew this guy from somewhere, but he just couldn’t place him. Michael crossed the street and was now standing in front of him. Tears came to his eyes now every time he saw his best friend. How could God let this happen? John Frank just stared at him with a blank look on his face. His mind began to wander.
‘You know what would be cool? If we were blood brothers. Come on, let’s do it.’ John Frank went first. He always went first at everything. That was one of the reasons Michael loved him so much. He took his pocket knife out and ran it down the center of his thumb. There was a burning sensation, then blood oozed down the side of his hand. He took a lick and tasted it in his mouth. ‘Now you.’ He handed the bloodied knife to Michael. “Don’t be a wus.” After minutes of just staring at him, this is what John Frank finally had to say to Michael. “Um, what, John Frank?” Now he realized why he hated to run into John Frank. It was always so frustrating trying to carry on a normal conversation with him. Again, John Frank just stared, settling back into the trance he now spent so much time in. Michael began to fidget. “Well, good seeing ya, man, but I gotta run.” With that, Michael crossed the street and made his escape and John Frank rolled on down the street.
There was no destination for him. He had no idea where he was going, so he just kept rolling. He looked across the street at the pharmacy. For some reason, he wanted to go in. He turned his wheelchair to the left and headed for the door. Johnny slammed on the brakes, coming to a screeching halt, his horn blowing hard. “That damn crazy ass kid. Someone’s gonna kill that damn fruit cake one day. He just needs to be locked away in the damn nut house.” John Frank never looked up. Something at the pharmacy was calling him; only he couldn’t understand what it was. Henry, who had worked at the pharmacy for the past three summers, noticed John Frank coming up after hearing the commotion outside. He held the door open for him. Miranda stood behind the counter. When John Frank rolled in, the room fell silent and dark. The only light she could see was in his face. Her heart began to flutter and she bit down on her bottom lip.
Her bottom lip was red and swollen, she had gnawed on it for so long. She couldn’t bear to look him in the eye. “I think I want to break up, John Frank. Maybe just for the summer. I care about you a lot, but I just think we should be able to see other people this summer.” Tears were streaming down both their faces.
“Hey, John Frank. How ya been?” He stared at her. The room grew smaller. ‘I’m gonna marry you one day, Miranda. Just wait and see. One of these days I’m gonna make you my wife. I don’t want to see anyone else; but if you do, I guess I can’t stop you. Call me when you realize that I’m the one for you and I’ll be there.’ “John Frank, I said, ‘How are you doing?’” Nothing. Miranda continued to bite down on her lip. “Well,” she cleared her throat, “you look well. Just as handsome as ever.” The tension grew. Then a glimpse of realization came across John Frank’s eyes. He looked down at the ground and sighed. He turned his wheelchair around and headed out the door.
All eyes were on Miranda, now. “Can I take my break now?” Her bottom lip was on the edge of bleeding. “Sure.” the pharmacist said. He knew how she felt. He had had a true love once, too. And, just like Miranda, he had lost her. Betty watched from the beauty shop’s front window, tears streaking her make up. Everyday her son went out seeking his one true love only to get his heart broken every time. She couldn’t understand what went on inside his mind, why he continued to torture himself this way. She waved to him as he rolled pass her; but he didn’t acknowledge her.
John Frank rolled around the corner to Magnolia Street, where the restaurant held all the action this Saturday morning. Amber was running from table to table, making sure the table cloths were starched and ironed to perfection and name cards were in place. John Frank parked his wheel chair at the table up front just as he had every day. “So, you sure are going through a lot of trouble for this reception. Are you sure it’s worth all the time and effort you putting in it? I mean, are you sure you getting paid enough? I don’t want you to get taken advantage of or nothing like that.” Cindy was Amber’s best friend and by far the nosiest person in the county. Amber wouldn’t give an inch. “I assure you, dear, I never get taken advantage of, not by nobody. John Frank, honey, I didn’t see you coming in. I’ll have your sandwich right out. Just been busy getting ready for the big wedding reception this afternoon. You better hurry up and get back home so your momma can get you ready to go. I know everyone’s gonna be expecting you.” John Frank never said a word. He just sat in silence, slowing eating his grilled cheese sandwich, sipping Amber’s famous mint julep tea and listening to the conversations people held around him.
It was amazing how they would say anything about anyone without fear of being overheard. They acted as if John Frank was deaf. Throughout his lunch, John Frank heard the farmers’ wives talking about who was cheating on whom, who had an abortion in Jackson, who was pregnant and who was going bankrupt. They probably wouldn’t have said as much in front of a three year old child; but, in front of John Frank, they had no problem gossiping.
After finishing off the last of his sandwich, John Frank moved toward the door. “I’ll put it on your charge account, hun. Have a good day! Now, hurry on home and get ready for that wedding, hear?” Amber called out as she stood in the doorway and watched John Frank head for the dollar store. A car passed on the street with the windows rolled down and the radio blaring. “Every Rose Has Its Thorns” by Poison was pouring out into the street. John Frank stopped his wheelchair.
“Every rose has its thorns, just like every night has its dawns…” Miranda sang along to the radio as they sat in the car. They were parked at the witch’s cove on the river side of the levee-their favorite hide-a-way from the rest of the world. John Frank leaned in a kissed her softly before she could sing any more. She pulled back and looking into his eyes. “I want tonight to be the night,” she whispered, “Go to the dollar store before it closes.” With a slight grin, he started the car back up and headed back into town.
John Frank closed his eyes and began to hum as he rolled toward the dollar store, a slight smile on his face. He looked up and saw his aunt. Still humming, he went up to her. She began to talk. He could see her lips moving; but couldn’t hear what she was saying. He kept humming. He looked up at the sky. ‘Are you that blue and beautiful for the rest of the world or just for me?’ “…for the wedding…” she continued. ‘Red. I think that color was red.’ He looked back up and she was getting in her car to go. ‘What did she say?’ She was waiting for some kind of reply. “Yes ma’am.” He began to roll on down the street.
She had said something about a wedding, but what? Who was getting married? ‘I’m gonna marry you one day. I’m gonna make you my wife.’ ‘Every rose has its thorns…’ ‘I want tonight to be the night…’ What was he doing here on side of the street? He had to go. He had to get dressed. He was getting married to his one true love today.
Lessons Learned From The Rainbow 