Country as Cornbread
Birthday Blessings
Birthdays come and birthdays go — I just had one so I oughtta know!
Yes, I'm one of those unfortunate people whose birthday falls a little more than a week after Christmas. Bummer dude! As a kid I usually got all the good stuff under our tree, and clothes or dainty unmentionables on my birthday. Not that I wasn't in need and happy to get them. I was, and I was! But it was sort of a letdown after the bounties of Christmas.
Looking back, I don't even remember having a birthday until I was in Junior High. Now to some of you that may sound strange, but I want you to know I haven't just blocked out the first dozen or so years of my life. They were wonderful years, full of laughter and love. It's just that we didn't have a lot of money, so my parents never made a big production of our turning a year older. It's quite possible that Mama might have baked a cake, but for the most part, birthdays just slid by unnoticed on the calendar — that is, until we got old enough to realize other kids sometimes celebrated with a big bash (i.e. “pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey, with presents, punch, and balloons.”)
So along about eighth grade, Mama put together a party for my brother, the lucky one whose birthday fell in the Fall, when the weather was not too hot and not too cold, and NOT a week after Christmas! If memory serves me well, I think everyone had a wonderful time of it, even me! After that, birthdays were a happening event at our house. Normally though, they happened around the supper table with just us, a cake, and a gift or two to open.
By the time I started college (and yes, probably to the amazement of all, even folks as country as cornbread were allowed in back then!) Mama had begun to pamper me on “my special day.” That ment I got to pick the supper menu and I always chose breaded and fried oysters, a big green salad, and crusty French bread. Finished off with a tunnel-of-fudge cake, it was a wonderful change from the usual winter fare, and I can still close my eyes and remember how good it tasted!
Now-a-days, kid's birthdays seem to have become elaborate productions, complete with decorations, a guest list of who's who, and a smorgasbord of taste tantalizing goodies. Children are treated to mind boggling, body tiring activities and entertainments. It's just not fair — why couldn't I be a kid again?! Oh well, having sailed past the half century point several years ago, I think it's safe to say that boat has left the dock never to return. But it doesn't matter. Given it all, I would still choose the way we did it way back, when Mama baked my cake with love and let me choose the supper.
This week, as the future begins anew on the calendar as well as for me, I find myself looking back over those forever finished times with contentment. The days of my growing up flowed into years of precious memories, perfected through the lenses of my mind. Back then we were everyday common people, with an uncommon wealth of family love. It was a good way to live the years, and I consider myself blessed by God to have had so many happy birthdays!
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Lois Marie Guymer of East Texas is the author of “Women He touched” and “To hear His voice”. The set can be purchased for $25. Mrs. Guymer can be contacted at 3817 CR 3, Douglass TX, 75943.
- Country as Cornbread
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Riding Persimmon Sprouts
Country roots run deep in our family and tend to sprout up all over the place. In fact, once they take a toe-hold on a body, it's nearly impossible to eradicate the pleasures derived from being born country to the core. At least it is for me, and was for my mother too.
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Quilt Tops
Grandma loved to piece quilt tops. Way over a hundred years ago when she was small, a little girl was set to sewing at a tender age. It was as much a part of every young ladies education as was learning to braid her hair and bake a pie. Once the art of making small, even stitches was mastered, usually by practice-hemming the edge of countless handkerchiefs, a girl was ready to begin her first quilt. More often than not this was the “nine patch” pattern, aptly named because of its simple nine squares sewn together in rows of three. When the aspiring seamstress had a sufficient number of nine-patch blocks to cover a bed, they were then pieced together with long strips of cloth and the resulting “top” was ready to quilt.
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Clucky the Rooster
I will never forget the last day of eighth grade, for it was my first venture into smuggling.
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Little Joe and the Rodeo
I have one outstanding, lasting memory of the summer just before I was about to begin first grade. Back then, we didn't watch much television. In fact, we only got one channel and the show selections weren't that great, with one exception — Bonanza! We watched it every week, and as a child it felt to me like Ben, Adam, Hoss and Little Joe were almost a part of our family.
- Love Is Like A Golden Rose
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Berry Briars and Cobbler Pies
Back when I was a kid, late spring mornings tended to blossom with bees and berry blooms whose pretty petals would soon shatter and give way to tiny green-growing fingertips of fruit. From then on we greedily watched their progress as the succulent berries ripened from red to black in the warm sun. Eventually, with Mother Nature's cooperation, by the time May arrived the berries were usually ready and just waiting to be baked into warm cobbler pies.
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The Old Brownie Camera
Recently, while over at my Papa's house I ran across a memory box of sorts. Not having seen or thought of the thing for years, I stumbled across it by accident while rummaging around in the top of a closet looking for something else. There it sat, way back on the top shelf gathering dust. With a sigh I reached in and hauled it out. Square and dull black, the old relic from by-gone days evoked a multitude of memories as I stood there in the sunshine, clasping its worn handle.
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Showers after supper
Yesterday when I was a kid (well, maybe day before yesterday!) we lived in a tiny town full of folks who had known my family from the get-go. My daddy, having moved there at the tender age of three months, decided it felt like home and stayed. As a child I never thought much about it one way or the other, but now I realize that growing up with roots deeply embedded in a community of country dwellers was one of the best blessings a body could have.
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Grandma's Jar
Above my sink
On a protected shelf
Sits an old fruit jar,
All by itself. - Easter Bunny Escapades In case you haven't looked at a calendar lately, this year April has barely arrived in time to celebrate Easter. But arrive it has, with all the dogwood and redbud blooms, not to mention azaleas by the zillions! Now that the time has changed and I'm happily arising with the sun (pretty much, anyway) my heart yearns to embrace spring with all its pastel eggs and chocolate bunnies. To that end, several weeks ago I brought out a few boxes of decorations and began sorting through the old things that I can't bear to throw away —things like my son's small plastic army helmet from years ago that so efficiently stores a handful of old plastic eggs; or the huge, colorful cardboard chick that used to adorn our door but is too faded to hang up anymore; or like. . . well, you get the picture. Actually there are some things in the boxes that I really enjoy displaying around the house, but by and large the most precious things stored in those old cardboard cartons are the keys to my memories.
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Riding Persimmon Sprouts
