Do other folks out there do what my family does? All get iPhones and set up a little Family Group Messaging System? Well, my two daughters Amy and Emily, along with Donna (even though divorced now, we remain the best-est of friends) have done just that. And it’s such an incredibly efficient strategy for staying in touch, bothering each other constantly and having SO MUCH FUN!
The other night, daughter Amy (and mother of grandsons Daniel, 7 and Gabriel, 4) sent us this text.
I LOVE faith-stretching strategies such as that! My response:
A bit more of Amy’s explanation:
Me:
End of discussion until a couple of days later when we received this text from Amy as she, Orte and the boys were driving down to Florida for the weekend:
Okra is BY FAR my favorite summer vegetable. I grew up in north Georgia having to take a knife out to the garden nearly every evening, wearing a long-sleeved shirt in the summer heat, and cut the star-shaped veggie off its itchy stalks. But, oh my goodness! The taste! After my fried okra plateful, and then the gumbo, I was life-long-hooked.
Okra: Herbaceous, hairy, annual plant of the mallow family (Malvaceae). It is native to the tropics of the Eastern Hemisphere and is widely cultivated or for its edible fruit. The leaves are heart-shaped and three- to five-lobed; the flowers are yellow with a crimson centre. The fruit or pod, hairy at the base, is a tapering, 10-angled capsule, 10–25 cm (4–10 inches) in length (except in the dwarf varieties), that contains numerous oval, dark-coloured seeds. It may be prepared like asparagus, sauteed, or pickled, and it is also an ingredient in various stews and in the gumbos of the southern United States; the large amount of mucilage (gelatinous substance) it contains makes it useful as a thickener for broths and soups. In some countries the seeds are used as a substitute for coffee. The leaves and immature fruit long have been popular in the East for use in poultices to relieve pain.
— Encyclopedia Britannica (Well, not the pictures.)
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I LOVE chopping okra–the smell, the texture, the soul involved.
Just finished chopping this mess:
And my gumbo from the other night:
Just look at a few of the Health Benefits of MOKRA (my okra):
The pods are among the very low calorie vegetables. They provide just 30 calories per 100 g, besides containing no saturated fats or cholesterol. Nonetheless, they are rich sources of dietary fiber, minerals, and vitamins; often recommended by nutritionists in cholesterol controlling and weight reduction programs.
The pods are one of the rich sources of mucilage substance that help in smooth peristalsis of digested food through the gut and ease constipation condition.
The pods contain healthy amounts of vitamin A, and flavonoid anti-oxidants such as beta-carotene, xanthin and lutein. It is one of the vegetables with highest levels of these anti-oxidants. These compounds are known to have antioxidant properties and are essential for vision. Vitamin A is also required for maintaining healthy mucus membranes and skin. Consumption of natural vegetables and fruits rich in flavonoids helps to protect from lung and oral cavity cancers.
Fresh pods are the good source of folates; provide about 22% of RDA per 100 g. Consumption of foods rich in folates, especially during the pre-conception period helps decrease the incidence of neural tube defects in the offspring.
The gumbo pods are also an excellent source of anti-oxidant vitamin, vitamin-C, providing about 36% of daily-recommended levels. Research suggests that consumption of foods rich in vitamin-C helps the body develop immunity against infectious agents, reduce episodes of cold and cough and protect the body from harmful free radicals.
The veggies are rich in B-complex group of vitamins like niacin, vitamin B-6 (pyridoxine), thiamin and pantothenic acid. The pods also contain good amounts of vitamin K. Vitamin K is a co-factor for blood clotting enzymes and is required for strengthening of bones.
The pods are an also good source of many important minerals such as iron, calcium, manganese and magnesium.
One medium onion, a few cloves of garlic, some okra, a few vine-ripe tomatoes (emphasis: vine ripe)
Sautee your chopped onion in a tad of olive oil. Add the chopped tomatoes and either a couple cups of vegetable broth (I make mine when I’m boiling corn or other vegs–don’t throw that nectar away!) or water. Simmer a few minutes. Then add the sliced-pretty okra. But not too long. You don’t want it all mushy. 10 mins is great. Don’t add much salt-you want to taste the okra!
Grandtwins Matthew and Madison turned two last Saturday. Here’s a memorable moment from the party when Matthew’s balloon got loose and floated to the ceiling.
So this morning I decided to “do church” by driving twenty minutes south from my place in Savannah’s historic district to Tybee Island. Even though the dark clouds kept threatening to open up, I communed with nature and thanked God for the beauties of creation.
(I wanted to take up an offering, but the obviously heathen beachcombers just would not cooperate.)
So I walked.
And looked.
And listened.
And then, lo and behold, at one point I glanced up from checking my stock portfolio …
… and all of a sudden JUST KNEW what my Tybee trip this morning was Really All About:
“Look! I am meant to Be a Lifeguard!”
And, clearly, the island is in dire need–the lifeguard stand stands sadly empty.
“Hey you! Yes you!”
“I’m talking to you!”
“That swimming suit looks ridiculous on you!! What were you thinking?!”
And a little later:
“Oh gosh, someone’s in trouble! I gotta take action!”
After the life save, I hurried back up to my post 14.
And then this “official” rescue personage came driving up …
… and asked me what the heck I was doing on a condemned life guard stand. Like it wasn’t crystal clear that I was saving lives while he was golf-carting around and looking at girls.
“Sir, for future reference, please do not climb on these old structures. And be careful climbing down.”
(As if a fit lifeguard like me would have any issues.)
If you need me at the beach, rest assured, I will be on the lookout.
1.Happy Chinese New Year 2014!The Year of the Horse. (The new year starts today, Jan. 31!)
2. Speaking of celebrations, as some of you know, the #%*! birthday of Yours Truly occurred earlier this month. What you don’t know is that, for some reason (which I should probably discuss with my therapist), I HATE being sung Happy Birthday to at restaurants. It just SO embarrasses me. I turn beet red. So when daughter Amy suggested La Parrilla for my family bday celebratory meal, I IMMEDIATELY said, “NO!” (probably too loudly) because of the huge sombrero …
… which must be worn as ALL the staff gathers round and screamingly sings, “Feliz Cumpleaños a ti!” I quickly chose another restaurant where I knew they did not serenade patrons.
And my %+&! bday passed by without the public festive vocalization.
Tonight after the gym, I went to La Parrilla for chimichanga. Feeling brazen, I ordered a mojito. And as required by restaurant rules (as opposed to simply glancing at my graying hair), the friendly, delightful waitress Kimberly asked to see my ID. I smiled and showed her my driver’s license, to which she seemingly sincerely and joyfully replied, “Oh! Happy late birthday!” I thanked her and went back to seeing how much salsa I could get on one tortilla chip.
A delicious meal later, I heard clapping hands, MANY thunder-clapping hands, and looked up to see a sea of La Parrilla employees–waiters and waitresses, the hostesses, the bartender, the manager, cooks, dishwashers, janitors, the owner, the business partners, the accountants, the CEO, the CFO, most of the diners (okay maybe I’m exaggerating a little, but not much) –walking (skipping?) from the other side of the restaurant. I thought to myself, “Whew, gosh, somebody’s in for it!” but smiled and pretended to join the revelry as the loud little army marched forward. I looked around to see who looked bithdayish. I spotted a chubby man with long dreads, eating a tamale but looking up and grinning at the clappers. “This is kinda fun,” I thought, ready even to clap and sing a tiny bit. The guy looked so happy.
But then, the musical marauders didn’t turn toward tamale’s table. They stopped at mine! Total confusion. But then it happened. The big sombrero …
… gingerly landed on my head (placed there by the CEO, I think). And louder than loud: “Feliz Cumpleaños a ti!” over and over.
But to my utter amazement (and probably because I wasn’t expecting it and it happened so quickly) I found myself actually ENJOYING the impromptu celebration.
So when the crowd left my table (looking winded and exhausted), but while tamale was still gazing (a little envious, I think), I threw the sombrero down on the floor and expertly performed the traditional Mexican Hat Dance.
That showed them. And I thought it was a good way to thank Kimberly, as I sat back down to enjoy my complimentary sugary sopapillas.
3. Another great winter soup, made with (among other things) beet stems and beet greens
So last night good friends Donnie and Kinzie (Donnie is at SCAD–the Savannah College of Art and Design–studying film, and Kinzie is a talented photographer) texted me from their holiday soiree in hometown Urbana, Illinois:
Donnie in pic below:
My response:
(Maybe I shouldn’t have included that part of text about crying over Tiny Tim IN A MUPPET MOVIE. It’s a little embarrassing, mainly because it’s true. Then again, maybe I shouldn’t have confessed that part about truth. Oh well, water under the bridge now.)
The next interchange between Kinzie and me:
You see, I live in Savannah, GA. That’s right, the deep South, and we ain’t never hearda snow. But, if you can believe Donnie and Kinzie, it’s this white, frozen stuff that falls out of the sky. Ha! Right! Like I’m falling for that. And it seems you can make “snow men” out of it. Ha! Right! The only snow man I can make is outta socks:
So, professor that I am, I decided to do some serious research about Donnie’s and Kinzie’s “snow.” Of course I headed straight to UrbanDictionary.com. And, looky here, Donnie and Kinzie. Here’s what snow means:
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1. Snow — Something that is radical, cool, or otherwise awesome. Something that is snow is generally the sh_t, being top score, bitchin, etc. The word is derived from the fact that snow is generally off the hook in its beauty, power, and pimpery.
“Duuuuude I just saw Predator and it was sooooo snow.”
9. Snow — It is the process of adding lots of small hole-punched papers into a nuggeted back pack.
“Who snowed my back pack?”
10. Snow — Mislead, especially by overwhelming with (mis)information. Deceive. Hoodwink Bamboozle.
“The teacher was snowed by the seemingly endless barrage of students’ questions and failed to realize what was really occurring in the classroom.”
25. Snow — Snow is a racist term used to describe white people in general, mainly because their skin tone is white as snow.
“Damn, look at that snow whitey, he’s white as snow.”
32. Snow — To shed excess amounts of dandruff on another person.
“Mary was disgusted when John came over and snowed on her shoulder.”
Last Saturday, loaded down with a big stack of research paper first drafts, written by my delightful and intelligent international graduate students in our Research, Reading and Writing in Art and Design class at SCAD, I escaped down to Amelia Island, Florida. My Distinct Intention: sitting, for the next two days (since Monday was a holiday) on the patio of the condo, listening to the crash of waves …
… and occasionally eyeing a sea turtle meander up onto the lawn from the protected dunes …
… (this one’s about sixteen inches long) while Determinedly, Professorially marking up student texts. And even though the papers are on fascinating topics, such as the spread of memes through websites, the commercialization of global opera, color’s impact on productivity in the work environment, and how video games make our lives better, can anybody besides me see a potential problem here?
I had no excuse.
But, to be honest, and to defend myself a little, the BETTER part of Saturday had really already vanished by the time I arrived at the condo, unpacked (I ALWAYS unpack–my mama says not to live out of your suitcase), took a much-needed barefoot walk on the beach to calm my nerves after the hour-and-a-half drive from Savannah (okay, maybe I stopped at Starbucks in Brunswick for a quick Salted Caramel Mocha), washed the shells I found …
… thought a while about whether I should make a hip Christmas sea shell wreath or just put them in a glass jar, ran to the Lucky Wok for a spring roll and Balsamic Vegetable Medley, rushed back to the condo and soaked my feet in bath salts–thus it was simply too late to think about grading. Seriously.
So Sunday morning I got up energized–ready!–but, discovering there was nothing in the condo for breakfast except some peanut butter which had gotten beach sand it in and several pints of old strawberry ice cream, I had No Choice but to hightail it over to my favorite historic district Fernandina Beach breakfast place, Bright Mornings Café. (Isn’t that a cool name?)
As soon as you sit down, the FRIENDLIEST wait staff rush over with a variety of muffins, jam, marmalade and coffee. (I wish I lived inside that place.)
(I forgot to take the above pic until after most of the muffins were gone.)
Well, the neatest thing happened next! I was lucky enough to have the World’s Best Waitress, Laura, who, after recommending the breakfast potatoes (boy, was she right!) shared a terrific story. Actually, she shared after I complimented her on her interesting necklace:
She told me that her daughter had given her the necklace, and it represented the body’s chakras. You know about them? Energy distribution centers throughout the body. The lower one is the root chakra, which seems to be powerfully related to our contact with the earth, helping us to be grounded into the earthly plane. Also it represents the center of manifestation, especially with the material world. Anyway, after getting the necklace, Laura explained that she took off her shoes and enjoyed feeling the ground, the earth, with her bare feet. The next day she received a large amount of money. Wow. Whatever we may believe, material increase came to Laura. So cool! I haven’t worn shoes since hearing the story, and ain’t planning to anytime soon! (Kidding.)
Leaving Laura and Bright Mornings (darn it), I thought I should probably go back and start grading, but as I walked down 3rd Street in Fernandina Beach, I saw this sign …
… and it pointed in the opposite direction from where my little car Skedadler sat waiting for me. So, being the lawful person I am, I traversed the way of the sign, and within minutes started hearing people (bunches of people) speaking French and Spanish and Deep Southwest Georgia Drawl and other languages I couldn’t understand.
Well, lo and behold, I stumbled upon a major national sports tournament!
I found myself smack-dab in the middle of the International Petanque America Open Tournament! How exciting is that?! One of the biggest tournaments in all of Petanque!
Okay, okay, I had no clue what Petanque is either. Other people, from all over the world, apparently DO know what it is. Before I explain, a few pictures:
Petanque (pronounced “pay-tonk”), I found out, “is one of Europe’s most popular outdoor games, a cousin of both horseshoes and of the Italian bowling game called ‘bocce’. The game originated in the South of France in the early 1900’s. The aim is to toss, or roll a number of hollow steel balls (‘boules’) as close as possible to a small wooden target ball, called ‘but’ or ‘cochonnet’ (French for ‘piglet’). Players take turns and the team that ends up nearest to the target ball when all balls are played, wins” (petanque-america.com).
Players must stand with both feet firmly planted in a circle when tossing their balls. (Why did I just giggle like a seventh grader?)
Those petanque folks were all SO friendly, even when I kept mistakenly walking onto the playing courts or talking to the players in the middle of their games. (It was all just a bit confusing to me, like Harry Potter’s quidditch, but then again, I never quite got the hang of horseshoes.)
I discovered that the only store in the Americas dedicated to petanque was right there in Fernandina Beach, Petanque America, owned and operated by Philippe Boets, an emigre from Antwerp, Belgium. Doesn’t he have the coolest name, Philippe? I’m thinking of changing my name to something hipper than “Neal.” Any suggestions?
Here I am sitting on the sidelines, trying my best to stay out of trouble and wondering where that man standing in the circle got his shirt and whether or not I should roll up the legs of my pants to look a little more European.
And here I am with Rosemary Szczygiel, a Fernandina Beach petanque enthusiast, who filled me in on the basics of the game.
Such new-discovery fun!
P.S. I had the papers marked by the time I headed back up the road to Savannah.
Here are five things I’m happy about this warm July Friday in South Georgia.
1. My newfound love of KALE–here sautéed with onions and garlic.
How else can you eat it? Anybody know?
2. Six-year-old Grandson Daniel pretending to be part of an Office Depot sales associates meeting yesterday. (He got bored when his mother and I were doing some shopping.) (And he has his grandfather’s sense of humor.) (I thought it was a lot funnier than the Office Depot folks did.)
Right after I took that picture, Daniel asked me if we could go look at speaker eggs. Huh? What? I’d never heard of such a thing.
How does a kid know about such devices?! When I asked him, he said that EVERYBODY knows about speaker eggs. I couldn’t decide if I was proud of him or wanted to spank him. A little while later, when he asked, “Abu, how old will you be when I’m twenty?” I knew I wanted to spank him.
3. Eating dinner in a balcony.
(At Sage. Historic District Savannah.)
4. Lying down in your bed at night, putting your head on your pillow, and going to sleep.
NealEnJoy 