CLAIRE’S STORY


As the morning sun shone into the bedroom window, Claire rose from her pillow. She glanced to her right to see that her daughter had once again fallen asleep in the chair next to her bed. At such a young age, just turning 20, she should be vibrant and full of life; but dark circles surrounded her eyes and lines were creased into her young face; making her look tired and years older. ‘Let her sleep,’ Claire thought, ‘Today I’m going to let her sleep.’ She eased out of the bed as quietly as she could without disturbing Mary Dean. She quickly changed into a dress and took a long pause to watch her only baby curled up in the chair. A long blonde strand of hair curled around her cheek and flowed out then in again as she breathed to a slow rhythm. Claire smiled as tears welled up in her eyes, for she looked so beautiful, yet so exhausted.

She closed the door tightly, finished dressing and tiptoed out of the house. If felt good to have the sunlight on her face. It had been so long since she felt like going outside, and today was the perfect day to re-emerge. The sky was a clear blue with not a cloud in sight and the birds were already serenading one another in the trees. Claire took a deep breath and headed to the store.

“Why, Claire, it is so good to see you out and about. “How are ya?” Mrs. Wayno yelled from across the street. “Thanks. I feel pretty good. Just going to the store to get a few groceries while Mary Deans a’sleepin.” She walked on down the street, waving at passing cars and old neighbors working in their gardens. Claire was born and raised in Cornwell, Mississippi. The only time she had spent away from home was during her stint at Ole Miss; but as soon as she had her diploma, she came home to stay. She loved Cornwell. Only in such a small Delta town like this could you walk up town and know everyone you meet.

Here, you could always depend on the church ladies to fix you a good home-cooked meal when you were sick and you never had to bother with locking your doors at night. Despite the lack of adventurous career opportunities, Cornwell was the perfect town to raise a family. And, so, that is just what Claire did. She found a teaching job at the high school from which she had graduated and watched her daughter graduate from there as well. When her husband had died, Mary Dean pleaded with Claire to move to Cleveland with her; but she refused. Cornwell was Claire’s home and, in some ways, the security blanket she had always needed. It felt good to see it again one last time.

When she walked into the door, Stanley came running from behind the counter. “Claire, what in the world are you doing? Does Mary Dean know you’re out?” She rolled her eyes. “I’m fine, Stanley. Just came to get a few things for the house. Mary Dean’s sleeping; I just thought I’d let her be.” Stanley rushed to get a buggy for her, “Tell me what you want and I’ll get it for you, and then take you back home. You don’t need to be out and about like this.” Claire looked at her old friend as intensely as she ever had. She looked him straight in the eyes. “Stanley, please just let me do this, okay.” Without saying any more, Stanley understood exactly what Claire meant. He forced a smile, gave his dear friend a hug; and let her go about her shopping.

As she walked up and down the aisles, smiling at the other shoppers, a renewed strength beginning to build up inside her and Claire began to feel like a regular person again. “Thanks and come again, Claire. It was great seeing you.” Stanley said as he bagged her groceries for her, as he had done a million times over the years. “It was great seeing you, too, Stanley.”

With her bag in her hand, filled with fresh lemons and chicken, Claire started back home. She came upon the drug store and paused. For the past year, Mary Dean had been getting her medicine for her. Though the medicine was always in stock, the medicine bills had stopped coming months ago. When she asked Mary Dean about them, she just said that Walter wasn’t worried about it. She and Walter were high school sweethearts. Everyone in Cornwell thought they were going to get married. After graduation, they went to Ole Miss together. Walter majored in Pharmaceutical Medicine; Claire in Elementary Education. But, they soon found that outside of being the sweethearts of Cornwell, they didn’t have much in common. They departed as friends and went their separate ways. Walter married a girl from Greenville; and she married Frank, one of Walter’s best friends.

“Hello, Walter,” Claire spoke to the gray haired man behind the tall counter. He looked up from his pills and his mouth fell open at the sight of her. He held out his arms as he came around the corner. “Claire, how are you, honey?” He squeezed her so hard he was afraid he was hurting her; but she just held him even tighter. “I’m fine. I thought that maybe you and I could share an ice cream together. That is, if you have the time?” He looked around the drug store. It was pretty slow except for the same group of retirees that came every day for a game of checkers. “For you, I always have time.” “Why haven’t you been sending me a bill for my medicine, Walter?” Claire decided to get straight to the point, as they sat in front of the ice cream parlor at the front of the store. “You know I have the money. I have always paid my bills. I don’t like to owe anyone.”

Walter took a deep breath. Claire was never the girl to be reckoned with. She was as stubborn as a mule and he knew it all too well. “Honey, I know you have the money. I did not mean to offend you. I just wanted to do something for you. That’s why I haven’t been charging you. I just care about you, that’s all.” “Well, let’s settle any debt I may have with you, now. Tell me how much I owe and I’ll write a check.” Claire got her purse out. “Thank you for the sweet gesture, but I will pay my dues, thank you very much.”

“Write a thousand checks if you want; but I will tear every one of them up. Let me do this for you, please Claire.” Walter looked around the store and lowered his voice. “Thirty years ago, you broke my heart. The least you can do for me now is to forget about that damn medicine bill. Please, honey, let me do this for you.” There was a short silence, and then he pleaded once again. “Please Claire.” She rolled her eyes and sighed. “Fine, but I’m paying for the ice cream.” They spent the next hour laughing about old times they had shared and catching Claire up on the latest gossip. My, how she had missed so much. Life had just gone on without her for the past year.

Though she felt somewhat conceited for thinking it; she had never imagined that Cornwell could live without her. She had depended on it for so many years, and she thought that it, too, depended on her. As strange as it may sound, she felt betrayed by it, her dear friend, Cornwell. After they finished their ice cream, Walter walked Claire to the door. “Come back to see me, honey. It was great talking to you.” Claire gave him a kiss on the cheek, and then looked up at him. “I’ll always be around, Walter. You can’t keep me out of Cornwell.” She turned and headed back home.

As she came back up to her house, she stopped to take it all in. She could smell the honey suckles in the air, stirring with the scents of the rose garden she had planted when she was pregnant with Mary Dean. In a distance she could hear the roaring of a tractor out in the fields that bordered the city limits. A light, warm breeze from the gulf was blowing, offering a slight relief to the Delta heat. She took a long look around the neighborhood that she had lived in for so many years. This street, with its trimmed hedges and flower gardens, had seen her grow up to become a woman and raise a child of her own. It had heard the sound of children’s laughter as they played in the yard and a woman’s cries as those she loved had gone away. If she were not Claire Montgomery of Cornwell, Mississippi; who would she be?

“What are you thinking about, Momma?” Mary Dean had stood at the screen door, watching her mother. She was standing on the edge of the lawn, looking as though she wanted to scream out something to the entire neighborhood. “Are you okay, Momma?” Claire closed her eyes and took a long breath, trying to draw everything in. She slowly headed toward the house, trying to take in still more of her beloved neighborhood. “I was scared to death when I woke up, Momma. Why didn’t you tell me you wanted something from the store? I would’ve gone for you.” Mary Dean lectured as Claire walked into the den. “Mary Dean, honey, you were sleeping. I am your mother and I didn’t want to wake you. I’m a grown woman. I decided to take a walk to the store and so I went. I didn’t need anyone’s permission to do so. I’m sorry I worried you.”

Mary Dean lowered her head and bit the bottom of her lip, just like she always did when she knew she had made her momma mad. “Stop biting your lip, honey. I’m not angry with you. Look, I feel good today. Just sit back and relax for a change and let me cook for you. How does fried chicken, mashed potatoes and okra sound, topped off with fresh squeezed lemon juice?” “Sounds wonderful. I don’t know how long it’s been since I ate that good. Let me start on the chicken.” Mary Dean went to get a knife. “Absolutely not. Sit your end down in that chair. Read a book or something, just stay out of my kitchen. I’m cooking this meal for you, honey.” Mary Dean gave a slight laugh and retreated to the library.

An hour later, as they feasted on their Southern meal and sipped on their lemonade, Mary Dean couldn’t help but notice a difference in her mother’s eye. For the past few months, she had only gotten out of bed to use the bathroom. She couldn’t even sit up to watch television. It had gotten to the point that Mary Dean had begun counting the days until she would finally succumbed to the cancer. But, today, her mother had the spunk she had when she was younger, her eyes were bright and her long blonde hair looked soft and lush as she ran her fingers through it. For the first time in a very long time, Mary Dean had hope that her mother would beat this after all. She wanted to freeze time and stay in this moment with her mother at the kitchen table forever.

“Mary, have I been a good mother to you?” This question caught her completely off guard. “What! Don’t be silly, Momma. Of course you have. Why are you talking like that?” “I don’t know. When you get old, honey, you just start thinking about stuff like this. I know it’s a little too late to ask now, but I was just wondering. So, can you tell me the most important advice I have ever given you?” Claire pushed for some sort of confirmation. “Momma, please. I don’t know.” Claire’s lips began to tremble with disappointment. “Wait. Let me think for a second. It’s hard to pin point just one thing, especially when I’m put on the spot like this. Let’s see. Probably the best advice you gave me was to enjoy myself completely. Because you taught me to completely enjoy myself and the wacky things I always get myself into; I’ve never done anything I’ve regretted. You taught me that if I found some enjoyment in my life, then I must be doing something right. You know the saying you’ve used so much, ‘If it makes you happy; it can’t be that bad?’ So, I’ve learned to trust my instinct. I owe that to you, Momma. So, thank you.” With a slight smile, she added, “Satisfied now.”

Claire breathed a sigh of relief and grabbed her daughter’s hand. “Yes, honey, I’m satisfied. Now help me with the dishes.” Mother and daughter spent the rest of the afternoon sipping lemonade under the shade tree, watching the neighborhood children play a game of street hockey. As the sun passed behind the oak trees, Claire decided the time had come to call it a day. She took her medicine and headed upstairs. When she got to the top, she turned around. Just as she figured, Mary Dean was watching at the bottom of the stairs. “Goodnight, sweetheart. Momma loves you. Get some rest, now, you hear?” “Okay, Momma.” Claire headed up the staircase; but stopped and turned around again. With a slight smile, Claire looked at her baby still waiting at the foot of the stairs. “Just enjoy yourself, honey.” And, with that, she went to bed.

As she closed her eyes, Claire took a deep breath. “Okay, okay… okay,” she whispered, as she drifted off to sleep. Two days later, all of Cornwell closed down to honor the memory of their most beloved child. Upon every store’s door hung a black wreath, and hundreds of roses adorned her gravesite, many of which Mary Dean had picked from the garden her mother had nurtured for so long. This town had watched her be born, watched her grow and watched her die.

    Not Just A Pastor’s Wife

    I guess I should start this blog off with a Public Service Announcement. I have written my entire life. Therefore, any conversations or visits you may share with me may very well be written about at a later date. It’s just something I’ve always done. Mrs. Dorothy Wiman came by to visit and cook with me the other day and had no idea that I would write about it. I think that’s what makes our visit and Mrs. Wiman so very special. She didn’t come over and visit with me for the blog. She called and wanted to visit with me because she’s such a mom; and felt I could use a little “loving on”.

    I sat on my window seat and Mrs. Wiman baked. I listened and she talked. This woman has been around most of my life; but we had never visited like we did yesterday. Frankly, I had always just thought of her as the preacher’s wife. But yesterday, I got to see a different side. I got to know the woman, the dreamer, and the silly young girl that resides behind that porcelain face. While she separated egg yolks and sifted sugar, I got to learn a lot more than how to bake a chocolate pudding meringue pie. I got to get the full picture of a young girl’s dream manifesting into reality. You see, when Mrs. Wiman was barely a teenager, while other girls were dreaming about the cute boy in the back of the class, she was dreaming about traveling the world as a missionary. While other girls prayed that Billy would ask them to prom, she prayed that God would send her a man that would also want to be a missionary with her.

    God answered her prayer on a blind date with Richard Wiman. Just a few months into their relationship, he was called to be a missionary. As excited as he was, he proclaimed, “I’m not going without you.” That was it. That was the proposal. Within a short amount of time, they were married and spent their honeymoon at missionary training! They spent their newlywed months serving as missionaries on the island of Grenada. Afterwards, they came back to the states; served in Mize, Mississippi and then got called to serve at Belzoni’s First Presbyterian Church. They expected to be here for about 5 years; but I guess God had different plans; because here she was 34 years later.

    As a mother, you can recognize when a child needs a little special attention. Often, though, we don’t recognize that same need in adults too. That is what makes Dorothy Wiman such a gracious missionary; and more than just a preacher’s wife. Like the mama bird, shielding its young from the rain, she will quietly stand next to you and offer you shelter from the storm. Life is hard and complicated. And it is certainly a blessing when someone calls you, offers to come bake you a pie; and takes your mind off your problems for a little while. As she delicately frothed the meringue for the pie, Dorothy shared stories with me of women all over the world that she had shared her life and heart with. And when my girls and I sat down and around the kitchen table shoveling that chocolate pie into our mouths, I realized how special I felt that she shared a few hours of her day with me too. Quietly and graciously, she had missioned to me.

    The spirit is the fuel tank to life. If filled with high-grade joy and enthusiasm, we can go full speed ahead. If filled with low grade, melancholy and regret, we will find ourselves broken down. My tank was almost empty, but Dorothy Wiman and her chocolate pie filled it right back up!

    As I said, she had no idea I would be writing a blog about our visit. Therefore she didn’t come prepared with a written recipe. As she spoke from her heart, she baked the pie from memory. I tried to jot down the instructions as she was cooking; but I know I would never get it right. So, unfortunately, I don’t have a recipe to share. But, if I know Mrs. Wiman, just when your own tank starts to get low; if you’re lucky; she will show up at your backdoor to bake one for you too!

    Living As A Second Choice

    The other day I was watching the beloved movie, “Forrest Gump”. I swear, if you don’t tear up when Forrest asks Jenny, “Why don’t you love me, Jenny? I’m not a smart man… but I know what love is,” then you don’t have a soul. At some point in our lives, we’ve all been in that situation. For me, it started in fourth grade. We were in Mrs. Kelley’s class. Matthew Guthrie was the only other student as short as me; and he wore glasses too. It was destiny. We were meant to be together. But we had a new student, a beautiful brunette named Bonnie that came in and ruined it all! Just like all the other boys in our class, Matthew fell for those long, flowing locks with just a slight curl at the end. As soon as she walked into that classroom, all hope with Matthew flew out the window. I was crushed! Fast forward to fifth grade, the excitement of Bonnie’s arrival had worn off; and Matthew and I were the cutest couple in elementary school. No, I wasn’t his first choice. But I damn well was the Second Choice; and I was gonna make the best of it!

    Baby Matthew, Baby Tracy, Baby Todd and Baby Paige

    Life is not fair. In fact, life can be pretty mean at times. We are all going to be the second choice at some time or another. Watching “Forrest Gump”, you could never imagine John Travolta saying, “Life was like a box of chocolates. You never know what you’re gonna get.” But, in fact, John Travolta was the first choice for the role of Forrest Gump. He passed the role up; and they went on to choose Tom Hanks. Even though he was the second choice, Tom Hanks took on that role, made it infamous, and won an Oscar! He didn’t pout. He didn’t use the fact that he wasn’t the first choice as an excuse to do a poor job. He accepted the situation for what it was, saw the opportunity as it was presented; and made the best of it.

    It’s been over thirty years (OMG, really thirty?!) since I was Matthew’s second choice. And, I know I’ve been second choice in several other situations since. I’ve gotta admit, there were times when I have thrown my hands up and proclaimed that if I couldn’t be first choice, then I wouldn’t be a choice at all. Of course, there are times when that is appropriate. There are times when our pride and self-worth should take priority and we should not budge. But I feel like, in today’s society, if we aren’t made to feel the most special, we don’t want to participate. If we can’t have first place or be MVP, we don’t want to play the game.

    I’ve told my children time and time again, “We are all special one day. But no one is special every day.” I think we all need to be reminded of this often. We cannot always be First Choice. There will be times when we will be Second Choice. It is in these moments, when our pride is bruised, when our feelings are hurt, that we can really see who we are. In these moments, we have to decide what is top priority to us; and continue to march on. I am raising my niece. I am most definitely not her first choice. Her mother, despite her regressions, will always be her first choice. I get my feelings hurt so very often because I know that no matter what I offer her, no matter what sacrifices I make for her, I will always be her second or third choice. These moments are when I have to remind myself to keep my chin up, and continue to be the solid foundation she needs to rebuild her life on. I will never be her MVP, but I play one heck of defensive end, and I’m gonna stick this game out until this child makes it to the end zone.

    This is the cruelty of life. No matter how deeply and purely we love someone; or no matter how badly we want the job, there will be times when we are just the second choice. It takes a lot to keep your chin up, swallow your pride, and continue to pursue what is important to you. But, if it is truly important to you, you will take it however you get it; and in whatever manner- even if it is because someone else didn’t want it. We have to let our passion override our pride at times.

    There’s that famous saying, “let something go; and if it comes back to you, it’s yours.” that we often rely on when we are facing a loss. How about we start a new saying, “They let something go; and it came to you because it was truly yours all along.” Second choice isn’t always about pride. Most often second choice is about destiny. Nothing worth having comes easy. And there are times when we have to be second choice to fully appreciate the opportunity.

    So, for this week’s recipe, I am choosing a leftover recipe. It works best as a second choice for a meal!! Enjoy and take full advantage of every opportunity given to us, no matter what order they are offered!

    CHICKEN CHIMICHANGAS (www.allrecipes.com)

    Ingredients:

    • 2 cans cream of chicken soup
    • 2 cans diced green chiles
    • 5 pitted green olives
    • 1 jalapeno pepper, chopped
    • 2 tablespoons fresh lime juice
    • 1 (8oz) pkg. cream cheese
    • 1/2 (1oz) pkg. taco seasoning
    • 1 pound left-over cooked chicken
    • 8 flour tortillas
    • 1/2 cup vegetable oil
    • 1 cup chopped green onion
    • 1 (8oz) container sour cream

    Directions

    • Pour the cream of chicken soup into a blender along with the green chiles, olives, jalapeno, and lime juice. Puree until smooth, then pour into a saucepan, and warm over medium-low heat while proceeding with the recipe.
    • Step 2 In a large bowl, stir together the cream cheese, Monterey Jack cheese, and taco seasoning until well blended. Fold in the chicken. Evenly divide mixture among the 8 tortillas. Fold each tortilla into a rectangular packet around the filling.
    • Step 3 Heat the vegetable oil in a large skillet over medium-high heat. Fry 4 chimichangas at a time until golden brown, then drain on a plate lined with paper towels.
    • Step 4 To serve, place a chimichanga on a plate, and ladle the warm sauce overtop. Sprinkle with Cheddar cheese and green onions. Finish with a dollop of sour cream.

    Breaking ‘Em In

    New shoes!!  Those two words just got the attention of almost every woman around.  Why do we love new shoes so much?  I am sure men around the world are dying to understand this small mystery too.  The answer is simple.  A new pair of shoes is a new opportunity for us to shine.  A new pair of shoes can bring life back to an old outfit, build up a woman’s confidence and force her to walk through life with a little more grace if the heel is high enough.

    There’s a lot of unspoken power in a new pair of shoes.  Of course, as with most things in life, there’s no pleasure without a little pain.  They may look vogue; but, first you’ve gotta break them in.

    If you think about it, life is a lot like one big shoe closet with each season in our life represented by just a pair of shoes we wore as we travelled our ever – changing path.  At first, change may look fabulous!  We imagine all the new stuff we will do and dream up a whole new life- with a newfound spirit filling every space.  But, real change, like a great pair of shoes, can be hard to break in.  Once we make the commitment to the change, we immediately feel the pressure as our new world pinches a little tighter than we are comfortable with.  We may have a little “buyer’s remorse”, even wishing we could just go back to our old sneakers with the hole in the big toe. But if God wanted us to wear holey sneakers for the rest of our lives, he never would’ve created such cute stilettos, right?

    I’ve been thinking a lot about change lately.  I went to church this Sunday, and Jonathan McGuire’s sermon was also on change.  So, I read the neon sign God was showing me and decided to share my thoughts!  Life comes at you fast and sometimes can make you feel like a desert tumbleweed, being tossed down a dirt road in a wind of change.  Other times, things grow stagnant and boring and you crave a change to breathe new life back in.  And, then there are times when we outgrow our favorite pair of shoes; or they’ve run their course, and God forces our hand at change.   This change is usually the most painful new pair of shoes to “break in” because we’ve gotten too comfortable; but is also the most defining.

    Change doesn’t always have to be the end of something, though.  There are times when God brings us through change to help us evolve and grow to better serve Him and His plan.  God forced my hand at change almost six years ago so I could fall in love and marry the best dad my kids could ever have during their teen years; and come back and serve the community I love.  This was also true for my buddy Sidney Cobb.  As an artist and musician, Sidney craved changed and inspiration.  He moved to the coastal area of North Carolina and made a living playing music at beach restaurants and in graphic design.  For years, Sidney was given the chance to fine tune and expand his artistic expression.  Now he’s back home serving his beloved town as the Director of the Humphreys County Library.  With his talents, Sidney is able to inspire our youth to explore their own creative spirit and fuel their imaginations toward a better tomorrow.  American publisher Sylvia Beach once said, “Fitting a person with books is about as difficult as fitting them with shoes.”  How wonderful is it that God gave Sidney a new pair of “shoes” to spice up the old wardrobe that was our library; and the talent to help fit our youth with new shoes of their own?

    Each change we experience in life, like our shoes, should be worn proudly and used purposefully.  Then we can put them on a shelf to be taken down when needed to repurpose our life.  And, just like a pair of stilettos, wear the change with grace and appreciation for its beauty.  Break those beauties in!!!

    In celebration of Boot Season, our wonderful Library and Change, I’ve included Sidney’s Belzoni Bourbon Vanilla Sauce recipe!  It’s perfect over a bowl of ice cream or bread pudding!

    AND DON’T FORGET TO GET YOUR LIBRARY CARD!!!

    Belzoni BOURBON Vanilla SAUCE

    • 1 cup heavy cream
    • 1 cup half-and-half
    • 2 tablespoons of butter
    • 2 teaspoons pure vanilla
    • 1/2 teaspoon ground cinnamon
    • 6 tablespoons sugar
    • 1 tablespoon cornstarch
    • 3 tablespoons bourbon

    Heat the cream, half-and-half, vanilla, and sugar in a saucepan over high heat, stirring, for 2-3 minutes. Dissolve the cornstarch in the bourbon. When bubbles form around the edges of the cream, add the bourbon mixture while stirring. As the cream boils up, remove the pot from the heat and continue stirring heartily until thoroughly blended and slightly thickened. Place over low heat and simmer for about a minute. It makes 2 cups!

    Mountain Adventures 2019

    Anyone who knows my Slingshot (my husband) knows he treats life like an extreme sport!  He loves passionately.  He fights passionately and his motto is “I’ll just wing it!”  So, when he said he wanted to take a family vacation to the mountains this summer, I approached it as I do all things with my husband-  stock up on Dramamine and get right with the Lord cause someone may not make it back alive and there’s a fair chance we may wind up having to take on aliases (David has also been known as Daniel Flanagan).

    We loaded up early Wednesday morning with my brother-in-law, Randy following behind, and set out to conquer all the adventures America had to offer between Mississippi and North Carolina.  And, yes, we drove the ENTIRE way!  With Walker’s foot resting on my shoulder, Jane hogging 75% of the back seat, and the everyone knocking the heck out of each other (David included while driving), screaming “Yellow Car!!” it was an awful long drive.   But it was well worth every minute of car sickness.

    We visited Six Flags over Georgia and Stone Mountain before making our final stop in North Carolina.  Our stop at Six Flags was a perfect indication of how the rest of our trip would go.  In every photo taken from the roller coasters, Walker’s face was stone-faced and white as a ghost as if looking the Grim Reaper straight in the eye, Jane had a death-grip on her brother, my face was distorted, obviously screaming obscenities, Hallie’s eyes were closed because she didn’t want to know what was happening, and David was just grinning from ear-to-ear!  He was in his element.

    Once we made it to our little secluded cabin, far away from society and cell phones, we spent the rest of days hiking, exploring water falls, white water rafting, kayaking, zip lining and paddle boarding.  We spent our nights eating, playing board games and soaking our poor worn-out bodies in the hot tub.  And it was glorious because we were all together.

    The memories we made together on our adventures will last a lifetime. We will laugh forever about Jane losing her shoe in the river and David and I taking turns hiking the rest of the mountain barefoot so she could wear our shoes.  And I am sure the French family that ran off in the ditch rushed straight back to France to tell their story of meeting a real-live machete wielding American Paul Bunyun after David cut a small tree down to help clear the road for them.  They must have thought they were about to be murdered on the mountain when they came to our cabin asking for help and my hairy, tatted up, scary husband came out and pulled out this machete without a moment’s hesitation (they were grateful in the end, though, and left us a case of beer on the porch the next day).  And, I am positive the kids will taunt me for the rest of my life for having a panic attack and having to be helped off the obstacle course.  Yeah, the memories of those adventures will live on long after the vacation.  But, the bond we strengthened over those five days will be there long after I am gone.  And that is why I will always love this trip.

    White water rafting was exciting.   But, watching my son and husband sit and talk by themselves in the hot tub was wilder.  There was a time when my son didn’t want me to ever date again; and wouldn’t allow David in the house.  So watching them have their one-on-one time was way more exciting than any rapids.  I may not have finished the obstacle course, but sweet Hallie did!  And proudly watching her be so brave once again, even if from the safety of the ground, made my heart flutter more than hanging from a rope.  Jane may have lost her favorite shoe in the river, but watching her big brother hold her hand and help her across, gave her the assurance that I know will carry her through life as she’s about to enter her last couple years of high school and enter the real world.  All three kids grew so much during those few days, whether they realize it or not.  And our family only grew closer.  I guess day after day of death-defying adventures can do that to a family!

    My cabin came equipped with dozens of cookbooks!  I guess it was just serendipity!  Of course, I scoured through them, looking for the perfect mountain-top recipe.  I found a simple one with the cutest name!

    Gold Mine Muffins

    1 egg

    1/2 cup milk

    1 can (8 1/2oz) cream corn

    1 (4oz) pk shredded cheddar cheese

    1 1/2 cup Bisquick

    1/2 cup corn chips crushed

         Beat together egg and milk, mix in corn and cheese.  Stir in Bisquick til just moistened.  Spoon batter into greased muffin tins.  Sprinkle with corn chips.  Bake at 400 degrees for 15-20 minutes.

    Enjoy a couple pics from our vacation!  Randy was horrible with maps!  But he was fantastic with the camera!

    If Those Bleachers Could Talk

    School is back in full swing!  Long gone are the afternoons where you can just go home right after work.  It’s time for cheer practice, softball practice, football practice and long hours sweating in the bleachers, counting just how much money the kids are spending at the concession stand and cursing yourself for forgetting your stadium chair yet again!  But, for women like me who lack a real social life, sitting in those bleachers is the only time I have to visit old friends and actually catch up.  And, boy do I love cheering on our Rebels!

    It’s funny how some things never change.  The faces may be have aged a little and the last names have changed (once or maybe twice) for some of us, but put us back in those bleachers- and it is almost as if we go back in time.  Some of us are still quiet, while others are still obnoxiously arguing with every call the umpire makes.  And you can never really take the cheerleader out of a true Lady Rebel.  As soon as the first note of the fight song starts, an overwhelming sense of home takes over me.

    The other day, a group of us moms was talking about how time flies; and it seems so strange that our own babies are about to graduate.  One of the moms made the remark that she wished she could go back in time and do a lot of things differently.  I had to speak up, “Not Me!”  This may sound strange, but I love who I was as a teenager.  And I don’t mean that I was perfect, either.  I’ll be the first to admit that I was a hellion.  As a matter of fact, I probably almost died a couple times on Woodyard Road from alcohol poisoning.  I was a little redneck kid who wouldn’t turn down a dare and would do just about anything to bring some excitement to our Friday nights.

    I stole cars (sorry Wes Claburn and Daddy).  I stole street signs.  I stole every CD that was in my car.  I should probably apologize now to every friend of mine who ever had a CD come up missing.  I admit now that I use to steal CDs and write my name on them.  I was VERY, VERY FAR from perfect!  But, boy was I free.  We all were.  It didn’t matter if we were in a new vehicle or my raggedy blue hatchback, if we were in a car- we felt as if we ruled the world.  And we kinda did.  We made our own rules and those rules changed almost daily as we made one bad decision after another.  Those mistakes and rebellion are what makes growing up so damn beautiful.

    Life gets you down.  The older we get, the bigger our families grow and the bigger the responsibilities we have to take on.  Before we know it, we find ourselves giving up a little bit more of our own dreams and desires to help bring our kids’ dreams to light.  That’s okay, though.  It’s when you find the beauty in that sacrifice and are fullfilled by watching their success, that you can see your life come in full circle. When you sit in those bleachers and watch your own kids walk up and down the field on a Friday night, planning on where they’re going to go after the game just like you once did, you get a little glimpse back at your old self- your younger and freer self.


    Those little flashbacks always bring a smile to my face and maybe just a little tinge of embarrassment.  Sure, I may have made out with boys that I wouldn’t even talk to now.  But I do not look back in regret.  A little kiss never killed anyone.  I may have broken a heart or two, and had my own broken; but I think we’ve all fared well in the marriage department now. At this point in my life, there is nothing but love in my heart for the boy who let me ride shot gun in his car.  

    So my advice to today’s school kids is this- LIVE IT UP- make every moment a memory cause one day that may be all you have.   And to the parents of those school kids, I must say-  regret nothing; but remember everything- especially the little white lies you told your own parents who thought you were asleep in the bed when you were most likely dying of alcohol poisoning on Woodyard Road. That’s how we stay ahead of the game!

    Speaking of games- let’s bring back the days when the streets of Belzoni were empty on Friday nights from 7pm-10pm because everyone was at the County School or The Academy watching the kids play ball.  Let’s be those loud parents screaming that can be heard from the school parking lot.  And lets relive some of those old school memories every week- even if just for a few hours!

    GO REBELS!  GO COWBOYS!  See ya’ll Friday!

    Below is the recipe for the famous HA Rebel Chili found in the Festival Cookbook.

    HA’s Original Chili

    4-1/2 pounds ground chuck

    4-1/2 onion, chopped

    4-1/2 cloves garlic, minced

    3 (6 oz) cans tomato paste

    3(16 oz) cans tomatoes

    4-1/2 teaspoons salt

    1-1/2 teaspoons pepper

    6(16 oz) cans red kidney beans

    3 cups water

    Brown meat onion and garlic; drain well.  Add all other ingredients and mix well, adding beans last.  Simmer for 1-1/2 hours.

    Chicken-Hypnotized or Glazed

    When you grow up piss poor in the Mississippi Delta surrounded by nothing but dirt roads and fields as far as the eye can see, you have to be creative in passing the time away.  My mom was OCD in every sense, which basically meant we were not to move too much once we got up and made our beds.  This is why I loved going to the Beckwith’s house.  There was always an adventure there!

    Louise Beckwith (aka Grandma Chicken) had 14 kids.  Yes, you read that right; she had 14 freaking kids!  With so many people crammed into a little wood house in the middle of nowhere, something crazy was bound to happen.  What was most impressive is as crazy as things got, Grandma Chicken never got her feathers ruffled (pun intended).  That is- until you messed with her chickens.  After all, there was a reason she was referred to as Grandma Chicken.  She loved chickens and birds of all kinds (except Emus) and always had them running around the yard.

    Us being the little redneck hoodlums we were, often these chickens were the source of our entertainment for the day!  Before your minds wander off too deep in the gutter, let me stress that no chickens were harmed during our escapades.  In fact, I like to think it was just the opposite.  They weren’t harmed, they were well rested.  I say that because we hypnotized them.  Yep!  You read that right too!  Often, when the long summer days became to cumbersome, we would resort to hypnotizing the chickens!  Please don’t send PETA for me.  We were young, wild and bored out of our damn minds!  And, like I said, the chickens didn’t really mind too much.  They just sat there, beaks pointed to the ground, in a trance, until we erased the lines in the dirt.  That is how you hypnotize a chicken.  You hold the beak to the ground and draw a line in the dirt.  There they will stay, frozen, until the line is erased.  And to see multiple chickens lined up in such a way is a sight to be seen; and great entertainment for little redneck kids like us.

    I am sure, that at this point, lots of you are doing just like my friend Kristy Scobee did when I first shared this with her.  You are on Google right now, looking up “can you hypnotize a chicken”.  But, I assure you, it can be done. It was done multiple times at the Beckwith’s when we were young.  Hey, don’t judge us.  We could’ve done a lot worse.

    Hypnotizing chickens.  This is one of my most favorite memories of my childhood.  I don’t really know what that says about me.  I don’t necessarily dislike chickens; and I haven’t had the urge to hypnotize anything else.  There are many more “normal” memories that I have of growing up in the Delta.  But, this is one of my most favorites.

    I think growing up as one of the kids in “hand-me-downs” and limited outlets forces you to embrace what lies in front of you and makes you find happiness in the most simple things.  Your imagination runs wild.  What some people would see as just a pile of trash, we saw a make-shift tree house.  Where there was an empty fish pond, we poured some sand down and made our own “beach”.  None of us had the best of anything- except friends.  We had the best of friends in each other.  And we made the best of what we had- even if it meant just sitting around the yard, with dusty bare feet, watching chickens being hypnotized.

    Believe it or not, September is National Chicken Month.  I immediately thought of Louise Beckwith and all my cousins when I read that.  I am sure she is in heaven right now, chicken under her arm, celebrating!  There’s an old saying, “sometimes it’s the small things that count”.  That is so true, especially when the small things are all you really have.  Those Beckwith kids taught me so much more than swear words and chicken shenanigans.  They taught me the most important lesson in life- that it doesn’t matter what you have.  God will give you all that you need; and it is up to you to find your happiness- even if that means holding a couple chickens down.

    In honor of National Chicken Month, I am including a recipe I found on nationalchickenmonth.com.

    Ginger Glazed Chicken

    Ingredients

    • 1 package (about 1 pound) PERDUE® FIT ‘N EASY® Fresh Skinless and Boneless Chicken Breasts

    • Salt and ground black pepper to taste

    • 3 tablespoons butter or margarine, divided

    • 2 tablespoons brown sugar

    • 1/8 teaspoon ground ginger

    • 1 package (14 oz.) frozen baby carrots, partially thawed

    • 1/2 cup chicken broth

    Cooking Instructions

    Season chicken with salt and pepper. In large nonstick skillet, melt 1 tablespoon butter over medium-high heat and cook chicken, turning once, 10 to 12 minutes or until golden brown and cooked through. Remove to serving platter; keep warm.

    Over medium heat, melt 2 tablespoons remaining butter, brown sugar and ginger, stirring frequently, until sugar is dissolved. Add carrots and broth; bring to a boil. Reduce heat and simmer, stirring frequently, 5 minutes, until sauce thickens slightly and carrots are heated through. To serve, spoon sauce and carrots over chicken.

    Ready In: 20 minutes

    Red Rum and Rum Cake

    “Red Rum!  Red  Rum!”  I’ve been fighting “writer’s block” all week and could see myself going stark-raving mad, just like Jack Nicholson in Stephen King’s The Shining.  I’ve explored a thousand topics to write about, but nothing stuck.  For a writer, who has no other passion projects going on, this is the worst thing that could happen!  For me, writer’s block is equivalent to a football quarterback not able to get a good grip on the pig skin.  And, just like The Shining it is pure horror for me.  Then I realized just how fitting it was to be so scared during this spooky season.

    I love the spooky season!  I love horror movies, haunted houses, corn mazes and ghost stories!  My fascination probably has a lot to do with the adrenaline rush I get out of being scared to death, heart racing, pits sweating, head pounding, and then surviving and laughing about it afterwards.  I love that feeling!  And I love the idea of the unknown.  We will never realize all the possibilities of this great world.  There will always be a mystery lurking around the corner; and I LOVE IT!

    Even if they don’t dive right into the ghosts and goblins of the season, people still get so weird this time of year.  I’m a major weirdo, so I welcome you all to the dark side-even if just for a week or two.  It’s fun here!  There are no judgments.  There’s only fun!  So, wear that wig and nose and be someone else for a night.  I’ve dressed up as Punky Brewster before just to go eat and sing karaoke.  Sure, I got some strange looks.  But mostly, people were more concerned with my husband.  He was dressed as a Care Bear!  No, it wasn’t Halloween.  No, it wasn’t a costume party.  No, no one else in the entire county was dressed up.  Yes, we had strange looks and maybe a couple SnapChats.  We are weird.  But, we have a damn good time.

    How fitting that I’ve been living my own version of The Shining this week.  Stephen King is a very complicated man.  He once said that most people think he would be one to kill spiders for fun; but in reality he is one that would have nightmares about the spider’s family coming back for revenge if he did kill it.  He has lots of irrational fears.  Those fears have formed his entire life and made him one of the most revered horror fiction writers since Edgar A. Poe.  This is not a typical outcome.  Usually it’s our fears that hold us back from reaching our destination.

    Some of us fear rational danger- such as snakes, heights, and wasps- that can legitimately cause physical harm.  I have a deep fear of dolphins.  What looks like a sweet, smiling water mammal just wanting to swim with you and be your friend is actually a raging, hormonal water maniac that even sharks fear!  But, that’s a story for another time.  Just Google if you’re curious.

    Others’ fears are deep-rooted emotional handicaps often derived from past traumas.  It is these fears that hold us back from who we are supposed to be.  You’re a beautiful, dedicated friend with such a fear of people that the social anxiety keeps you hidden from the rest of the world.  You’re a naturally God-gifted artist, but your fear of rejection keeps you from ever showing your work.  These fears not only rob you of yourself; they rob the rest of the world of your gifts too.

    I used to write every day of my life.  I wrote for the Delta Democrat Times, and Life In The Delta magazine.  When I was a teenager, a poem I had written for my mother won national recognition from the National Poets Society.  I had a novella published when my daughter was born.  But, over time, my self-esteem was damaged to the point that I was too afraid to write at all.  So, for years I didn’t write a single word.  I had thoughts and ideas; but was too afraid to put them to paper.  Because writing was my passion;  I eventually forgot who I was.  It took a lot of encouragement from my Slingshot for me to start back.

    God separates us from the other animals with passion.  It is our passion for each other and our passion for creativity that sets us apart.  When we allow those fears creep in and kill our passion, we are also killing a part of ourselves.  Sometimes we are able to revive that side of us.  Sometimes, we lose it forever and only catch glimpses of who we use to be through fond memories.  I was fortunate enough to revive my creativity once; so when I was struck with writer’s block; I was terrified!

    Last week, a lady came up behind me at the football game and she said, “Excuse me.  I didn’t want to frighten you.”  I replied, “Ma’am, I’m raising three teenagers, nothing can scare me now.”  Well, that’s not entirely true.  After rebuilding my life from scratch at the age of 40 and finding myself again, I have a deep fear of losing her for good.  I suppose that fear is greater than my fear of dolphins!

    No matter how irrational and crazy your fear is, you must never let your fear decide your fate!  If that means you have to step over a couple tree frogs or roaches or whatever else you fear to reach your destination- than just do it!  The adrenaline rush that follows after surviving such a fright is indescribable!

    In honor of Spooky Season and the great Stephen King, I’ve included a recipe for rum cake from http://www.foodnetwork.com and picture of last year’s Halloween costumes (Bruce Jenner and Caitlyn Jenner).  Happy Spooky Season!

     Homemade Rum Cake:

    Ingredients

    Cake:

    1 1/2 cups pecan pieces, reserve 1/4 cup

    4 whole eggs

    1/2 cup water

    1/2 cup canola oil

    1/2 cup gold rum, Bacardi

    1 (18.25-ounce) box classic yellow cake mix (recommended: Duncan Hines Moist Deluxe)

    1 (1-ounce) small box sugar-free instant vanilla pudding mix (recommended: Jell-O)

    Glaze:

    1 cup granulated sugar

    1/4 cup water

    1 stick butter

    1/2 cup gold rum (recommended: Bacardi)

    For the cake: Grease a Bundt pan and spread pecans on the bottom of the pan. Beat eggs, oil, water and rum in mixer just until incorporated. Add pudding mix and cake mix and beat on med, about 3 to 5 minutes just until you get a smooth texture. Pour into pan and bake at 350 degrees F for 40 to 45 minutes. The cake should have a light golden brown color, but will darken with the glaze. 

    For the glaze: Melt butter in saucepan and add the sugar and water, bring to a boil. Once it starts to boil, take off the heat and add the rum. Pour into a large measuring cup that will hold that amount or more. Set aside. 

    Once cake is ready, take out of oven and leave in pan. Gently prick holes into the cake with a skewer. Slowly pour half of the glaze over the cake making sure to fill in all the holes. Once the cake has soaked up the glaze, turn cake over, removing pan, onto the base that the cake will stay on. Gently prick more holes on other side and slowly pour other half of glaze over cake. Fill the center of the cake with reserved pecans. Let cool and enjoy. The cake is best if left at room temperature.

    Modern Day Co-Parenting

    From 2000 to 2017, there was a 147% increase in foster care entries due to parents’ drug use, according to a study published in the medical journal JAMA Pediatrics.  The opioid crisis has taken its toll on so many aspects of the All-American Life, from marriages to employment rates.  But the most devastating ruin of them all- is the life of the All-American kid.  The truth is, these kids these days have no idea what life is supposed to be like.  They don’t have the foundation we had.  Their foundation is crumpled on the floor of a drug dealers house- a trap house.  


    As the opioids penetrated our families, more drug addictions crept in closely behind.  This created a whole new version of co-parenting.  After all- someone has to step up to take care of the babies.  More than once, I myself have had to ask the same question, “Do I choose the addict or the babies?”  I’m so happy that I always chose the latter.  It’s a hard life for us “Modern-Day Step Parents”- as in, we were the ones to step up to the plate and handle things when the addict couldn’t. It’s often met with resentment from both parents and the children.  You are, essentially, breaking up a family- no matter how toxic it may be.  You are bound to lose a loved one while trying to save THEIR own loved ones being side casualties of their own addiction.  The child often doesn’t see you as a super-hero that swept in and saved them.  They will look at you as the villian that took them from their parents.  And you did take them from their parents.  They aren’t wrong in their assesment.  And it may be years before they see you from as different perspective.  


    But, as with all things human, nothing is ever quite as it seems; and nothing is easy.  This brings me back to the modern-day co-parenting.  The term co-parent came about as divorce rates were on the rise and a father and mother had to navigate the best path for raising the children under two different roofs.  Now, with the peak of the crisis, a new version of co-parenting has been created to benefit both the addict in recovery and their children.  As the recovering addict reclaims the life they’ve lost to addiction, there’s a need to reconnect with the children they sacrificed for the next fix.  And so the navigating and negotiations begin.  Co-parenting has taken on a whole new meaning. In this case, you are not necessarily bickering with the ex about drop off times and holiday schedules.  These post-opioid days often have the children with foster parents or “step parents” of friends or family members that have stepped up to take on your role as parent.  

    So, here we are.  We are no different than millions of Americans.  We are modern-day co-parenting.  Days vary; but the issue is always the same- trust.  A trust that is lost to addiction cannot be built back up  on the same foundation.  It is much deeper than that.  A whole new foundation has to be carefully laid out and tended to delicately.  Every word will be doubted; and every motive questioned.  There’s no amount of apologies that can make it all better.  It is what it is.  If there is history between you and your children’s care-givers, there will more likely be a mutual desire to build a new relationship.  If your children are with strangers, then the co-parenting is totally up to them.  You are at their mercy.

    Our co-parent once was a brother to both me and my husband.  We each had on our individual bond with him.   Then life changed.  Addiction got deeper.  Life got harder.  Trust was broken.  Children fell to the way-side.  That’s when we assumed our roles as “step parents”.  It hasn’t been easy; or close to anything I expected- for the good and bad.  It’s been different.  Life no longer looks the same.  I have a whole new appreciation for both traditional and modern “step parents”.  I have a deeper understanding of the struggles for a recovery addict.  Trying to refrain from something your body is physically craving is hard enough.  Having to face your failures head-on on a day-to-day basis is something I never want to experience.  Yet, in order to survive and get thrive in the world sober- they must do both.

    Trust- it is as fragile as an angel’s kiss; but as strong as an eagle’s wing.  Once trust is built, a bond is formed that can withstand any hurricane.  Once it is broken, it is lie a chipped piece of fine China.  It may be mended; but it will never be the same.  As long as it took to destroy, it takes twice as long to rebuild.  And anything rebuilt is far more delicate than the original.

    But isn’t it lovely?  How beautiful it is to look at someone and know that they will never hurt you!  When you can feel someone’s love for you by looking into their eyes, you never won’t to let that bond go.  Knowing this, I most definitely believe that opioid addiction has to be the strongest hold ever imagined.  Otherwise, no one would ever choice their addiction over that kind of bond.

    Trust.  Millions of children in our nation will never fully understand pure trust.  Already, there was a sense of danger walking to the park to play; or even going to a friend’s house because of the exposure to mainstream media’s scare tactics and heightened drama used to boost ratings.  But, now even the purest trust- the trust you have in your home is being lost.  I’m afraid this nation will have to rebuild a whole new foundation for the All-American Life.  The days of mom and dad raising their babies together; or as co-parents is fading away.  While facing this crisis, new family units are being formed to include an array of people coming together to give the children some sort of consistent care.

    While I can’t say, “I wouldn’t have it any other way,” because I most definitely wished it never had to be this way it all; I can say that we are all co-parenting as best as we can.  We are lucky in that we all sincerely want what is best for the children.  And we genuinely have a love for one another that is helping us rebuild.  I realize our fortune and pray for all the “step parents” and children out there who will not be able to rebuild a foundation at all.

    So where do we go from here as a nation?  While steps are being taken to address the issue of addiction, the kids are still falling to the way-side.  These children are growing up to be a generation of people who have no real sense of or value in trust.  If you view others as untrustworthy, than you place no importance on being trustworthy yourself.  Is this really how we want our future to be?

    There’s no recipe for today’s blog.  It is a tough subject that shouldn’t be sugar-coated.

    Purposeful Rebellion

    I am raising three kids, am married to who was once the town hellion, and have had a few shady moments myself.  So, I have had quite a bit of experience with rebellion.  Like most parents, I get frustrated with it; but I feel like, in a way I welcome it too.  As if it were a living, breathing creature of my past coming back to haunt me with all the long, sleepless nights I gave my poor mother; I face the rebellious act head-on, with bated breath I whisper, “Bring it on!  Been there, and done it all before!”  I always knew, in the back of my head, that the day would come when karma would kick my rebellious teenage self right in the freaking face.  Well, karma has come three-fold.  Each child is different; and rebels against my rules in different ways and for different reasons.

    It’s actually funny how the circle of life comes around.  David Rainey raised every type of hell there was to raise in this little one-horse town.  He thought he was getting off scott-free until he married me and inherited three children!  I, on the other hand, knew full well that the day would come when my kids would give me the same heartache I once gave my own parents.  I was expecting it.  I welcome it.  But, I don’t think anyone can ever be fully prepared for it- no matter how long we try.

    I always make the kids write an essay as part of their punishment.  I do this for a couple of reasons- firstly, I love writing and I love to see how others view things.  Secondly, I want to force them to think about why I may be upset by whatever it is they have done; maybe develop some empathy for the situation; and realize that rules are in place for a reason and should be respected.  Honestly, sometimes, after reading their essays, I learn a few things myself.  Between the three kids, we have written essays (with a cited bibliography) on various topics from sportsmanship, to the difficulties of being a single mom, to cheating, to the importance self- evaluation and responsibility.

    I think my favorite essay so far has been the last essay Walker had to write for me.  I think it was on being appreciative of others affection towards you; but I’m not quite sure.  What stuck with me on this essay was the last lines he wrote.  “I am sick and tired of you making me write these essays.  I get it.  I am still growing and will make mistakes.  You don’t have to keep on.”  At first, I was furious!  He literally rebelled against his punishment for rebelling!   This was equivalent to a boy laughing in the face of his dad trying to spank him.  What was I to do?!

    Then it dawned on me.  He got it.  He realizes what I was trying to force him to do.  He was thinking about what he had done on his own.  It was time for me to let him grow a little on his own and learn from his mistakes.  After all, isn’t that what rebellion is all about any ways~ learning and growing and branching out from the norm to start anew?  He never had to write another essay again.  He’s made more mistakes, for sure; but I’ve stood back and allowed him the time and space to think about these mistakes and take a lesson from them.  The other two, on the other hand, well…… they’re still writing essays and hate every minute of it!

    But, where would we be if a couple of us hadn’t rebelled against the norm?  Where would we be if Rosa Parks never said a word about sitting in the back of the bus?  Where would we be if Susan B. Anthony never thought her opinion mattered?  Elvis Costello sang, “I want to bite the hand that feeds me.”  He became famous for his rebellious behavior, even being banned from Saturday Night Live for about a decade for deliberately singing a song he was asked not to sing.  This act of rebellion cost him SNL, but cemented his place in pop culture history as one of the most beloved rock and roll rebels.

    Rebellion is an innate human psychological stepping stone.  Every person has to go through a rebellious stage in order to grow emotionally.  The key is to take a couple lessons from this stage to carry on to the next stage- adulthood.  Rebellion with purpose should be embraced.  It should be coddled, it should be groomed; but allowed to have space at the same time. After all, this country was founded by a couple young rebels; and continues to grow and mature through young rebels.  And, eventually, the time will come when the fun and excitement of rebelling will fade away; and the act of rebelling will become more purposeful.  Of course, a couple essays along the way never hurt anyone!!!

    “I want to bite the hand that feeds me.”  While this may be a poignant expression of rebellion to some; it should be viewed as a purposeful one.  The main goal of any parent, no matter what race, religion or creed, is for our children to have it better than we did.  In order for them to achieve this; there has to be some rebellion against the past- in order to make space for a growing future.  There must be a time when our own will rebel against our ways in order to have a future.  For us teenage parents barely making it through this stage of crying and fighting and (in my case) essay writing, our only light of hope is the future leaders we are raising.  And our only job, at some point, is to pray for them and let them learn without an essay.  Eventually, they all will bite the hands that once fed them.  Otherwise, we will be feeding them for the rest of their stagnant lives.  In the meantime, pray for them, love them, laugh with them, and cry with them when the lessons they learn are hard ones.

    This week’s recipe is a fun and quirky recipe that the teenagers will surely find delightful and is quick and easy for those long game nights.  Less stress for the long haul of teenage-hood!!!

    Waffled Pizza Dippers

    INGREDIENTS

    DIRECTIONS

    • Heat waffle maker with 8-inch-square cooking surface on Medium-High heat setting.
    • In medium bowl, mix both cheeses, basil and oregano; set aside.
    • In 1 1/2-quart saucepan, heat pizza sauce over low heat, stirring occasionally, until hot. Place in small serving bowl.
    • Unroll both cans of dough onto work surface. Separate each crosswise, making four (7-by-6-inch) rectangles; firmly press perforations to seal.
    • Place 1 dough rectangle on bottom surface of heated waffle maker, being careful not to open up perforations. Quickly sprinkle 1 cup cheese mixture evenly on top of dough. Place half the slices of pepperoni evenly over cheese mixture. Top with another dough rectangle; close waffle maker. Bake 2 to 3 minutes or until sandwich is golden brown.
    • With pancake turner, remove from waffle maker; place on cutting board. Cool 30 seconds before cutting.
    • Cut into square sandwiches or triangular snacks.
    • Repeat with remaining dough, cheese mixture and pepperoni.