My First Fish

My First Fish

Robert seldom took time away from farming chores to go to the creek. After he acquired two ponds on his farm, he still didn’t have time to fish. It is ironic that Tom and I have memories of fishing with him.

The Sand Banks of Cohay Creek.
Photograph by David Dees

“Can we do it now?” I shook the shoulders of the two sleeping bodies. 

           “Go back to bed, sweetheart.”  Mama read the alarm clock. “It’s two o’clock in the morning.”

          We went on a camping trip when I was a tiny girl, no more than four. I can remember myself with two ponytails, rosy cheeks, and freckles. This was the only time my father went camping during my childhood. 

          After carefully rigging our equipment–poles, lines, sinkers, hooks, and corks–we joined the group. Several friends, neighbors, and uncles loaded their families into trucks.  Everyone took cane poles, earthworms, wieners, Nehis®, sardines, cold fried chicken, blankets, and pillows down along the gentle rolling hills of the Powells’ place. We were invited to camp out on the sandy banks of the curved creek that flowed through Old Man Powell’s land before emptying into Cohay Creek.

They set up camp in a clearing where the sandy banks dropped low and the water ran gently. After a half day of delight, I turned into a restless, sunburned, chigger-bitten whiner. My cousins and I walked from one group of fisher-persons to another.

“Come here, Littlun’.” Pa couldn’t suppress his twisted grin.  “I’ll help you catch your first fish.”
Even though I could feel the pole moving and see the line going all over the little pool of water, I played along with him because I wanted to believe him.

“Be careful, Littlun’.” My father placed his hands firmly on the cane pole.  “Look at that bobber. It went all the way under. Now come on and pull your fish out. Pull hard! No, not too hard. Gentle.”
It was the most beautiful fish in the world–a huge bream with red-orange sides. 

Pa strung him onto a forked stick for her.

“Stay away from people who are being quiet and still, Baby. Don’t upset any serious fishermen. The fish can tell when you’re walking on the bank,” Mama said.

Careful not to go too close to the grouches the rest of the day, I carried my fish around and showed him to the people who were laughing and talking. Periodically I dipped him into the water to get a drink, but eventually he became stiff. I did not comprehend or accept the fact that my fish was dead.

That night Mama put my older sister Ruth and me, along with two of our cousins, to bed in a pickup truck with sides on it. She strolled away holding hands with Pa to a secluded spot where he had parked. Mama would sleep with him after dancing horizontally in the back of their flat-bedded 1937 Chevrolet truck.

The world was a wonderful place. As I lay in the truck bed and waited to go to the land of Nod, I found three things amazing:

(1)   The scratchy brown-striped blanket under us that my Pa’s mother, who claimed Native American ancestry, made using a spinning wheel, loom, and black walnut-shell dye to fashion the fleece she sheared from her own sheep into wool

(2)   The endless stars telling secret stories from above as they all talked at once

(3)    And most of all my magnificent fish, the biggest bream anyone had ever caught, lying on the running board of the pickup truck.

The next morning the fish was gone. 

Pa said, “The bream started missing his mommy during the night.  I took him back to her.”

Travelers in Painted Wagons on Cohay Creek

Tom’s Fourth of July Recollection

Cohay Creek near Hot Coffee, Covington County, Mississippi, photographed by David Dees

Each year when the Fourth comes around it reminds me of one of my fondest teenage memories, which is:

Our pappy bought his '37 Chevrolet truck from Magnus Jones from Mize, Mississippi, when it was too worn out for Magnus to use it as a log truck anymore, but it would still run, barely.                

On the Fourth Pappy would load all his family, a few farm hands, and a few relatives on his truck and carry us all to the Will Rogers Bridge across Cohay Creek for a day of fishing and a picnic.  We all had fun fighting the mosquitoes and moccasins even if we did not catch many fish.

I always remember the smile on Pappy's face when he was very proud of himself for his accomplishments at entertaining us all in such a grand fashion.

My brother Tom wrote this memory about our dad, Robert. The community of Hot Coffee is located near the Will Rogers Bridge over Cohay Creek. 

Travelers in Painted Wagons on Cohay Creek

The Reason Why Uncle Dan Quit Going to Church

Uncle Dan, had a personality of many facets. Although Dan sometimes had a harsh temperament, he had a charming side when visitors sat with him in his living room or on his front porch. Although he could behave in a peculiar fashion he could react normally when friends and family took the time to talk with him.

I asked Mother why he quit going to church. She explained to me that he had some embarrassments.

When he was a young man, he had a tender soul. He taught the adult Sunday school class at Fellowship Baptist Church. One Sunday he was standing before the class, which was so large that it met in the sanctuary. People enjoyed Dan’s teaching.

The problem was that his wife Etta, who was eccentric also, had stored her hair net pressed between two tissue-thin leaves of his Bible. Just as he was reaching the climax of his lesson, he turned to a favorite scripture passage and his fingers became tangled in the hair net.

Lifting it high and showing it to the group, he asked, “Does anybody know what thoos is?” The class had a good laugh, but he lost interest in teaching Sunday school and in attending church. As the years passed his heart hardened.

Uncle Albert: Memories Are Fireproof

Memories Are Fireproof

This morning before my John woke up, I walked to the closest fast food restaurant and purchased two egg and English muffin sandwiches. On the way home, I tried to sort through the notes to single out the individual birds calling to their mates.

It must have been a morning like this when Uncle Albert came for a visit about five years before I was born. On a bluebird spring day two Saturdays before Mother’s Day, Albert missed his mom and dad.

He decided to go visiting. He seldom visited Robert (my father) and Myrtle (my mother) because most Saturdays they passed his house on the way to and from town. They’d always pull into his yard and park. He’d say, “Get out and come in.”

Robert and Myrtle and the youngun’s—John Edwin, Thomas, and Ruth—hopped out and found seats on the side of the porch. He wanted to go to their house though for a change.

Albert got up early, filled the kettle, and built a fire in the stove. After milking the cow, feeding the chickens, and checking on his mules, he went inside and fixed his breakfast. Every morning he ate two hard fried eggs and some thick slices of bacon with fresh biscuits. He was a good cook, that is, he was good at preparing the same meals over and again. Heaven knows, he had practice.

“I guess I better clean myself up.”

Myrtle was a neat, clean woman. Every time he saw her, she had on clean clothes and her hair was fixed. She kept Edwin, Ruth, and Tom in clean clothes and it was clear to be seen she made them wash their faces. She even made Robert clean up before they went to town on Saturday. Even though she was almost ten years younger than Robert, she made him a good wife.

From what Albert could surmise, she was helping his baby brother take good care of the old homeplace. All the brothers and sisters had agreed to let Robert buy out Ma and Pa. Albert was next to the oldest and batching. Robert was next to the youngest child and having a herd of children.

On the back porch, Albert stripped off his shirt, stropped his razor, and shaved while more water heated on the stove. Then he poured water into the washtub. stripped off all his clothes and took a bath. Dressed in a fresh blue shirt, overalls, and high-top shoes, he combed what hair he had. He plopped his straw hat on top of his head. Toting his stick, he took off walking.

It was a mile and a quarter, up hill most of the way, to Robert’s house. Some of Albert’s farm was Leaf River bottom land. He and his oldest brother William had the best farms. After passing William’s place, he turned up the gravel road and walked by Dan’s and Hinds’ farms before arriving at what was now Robert’s house.

The old home place made him feel sentimental. He didn’t like to go up there because it made him miss Ma and Pa. He didn’t like to remember Mary, his sweetheart, but he wanted to see the pictures.

~~~

About a month before…

Myrtle kept the old farmhouse the best she could not because of anything Robert’s brothers and sisters expected. She did it for herself and to provide a desirable home for the children. Coming into his teens, Edwin brought friends home with him sometimes. Tom and Ruth would want to do the same.

She still missed Bobby Joe. All she had of him was a photograph nailed to the wall above the bedroom hearth. He was twenty months old when he died of diphtheria. She looked at his picture often and wondered what he’d be doing if he were still alive on this earth. The mantel below him was a special place, which she kept tidy.

Also, the mantel over the fireplace in the living room on the opposite side of the house needed to look good. Now that the weather was warm, she wanted to cover the black sooty fireplaces with some attractive screens.

The Sears Roebuck catalogue had some like she wanted. She’d seen them in the neighbors’ houses, and Knights’ store carried some. All the money needed to go for buying the essentials. She and Robert had no money for frills.

Myrtle was an excellent manager, and Robert didn’t care what she did as long as she didn’t ask him for money he didn’t have. A clever woman, she could always make do with whatever was available.

On the walls of the living room were two large square pictures. The identical frames were thirty-four inches square. Susan, known as Sukie, and Nehemiah, nicknamed Chobe, posed for pictures, which were professionally framed. They covered a hard surface painted tan and brown. The wide borders had fancy designs pressed and painted on them. Instead of having square edges, the pictures had curved sides. Each picture was lightweight wood about two inches thick. Around the edges, frames held the glass in place.

The pictures were already starting to fade. Robert didn’t seem to care about them, and she needed some fires screens. Using whatever tools that were handy, she removed the frames and set the wood aside. In the process she dropped one of the glass covers. She’d take the pictures and roll them up. Eventually she’d find some other way to reconstruct the frames.

But no, the pictures were stuck. Sukie’s picture was stuck to the board, and Chobe’s was stuck to the glass. Taking the mountings apart, she managed to tear up both pictures. Quickly she hid the evidence. She put away the tools. Behind an outbuilding, Robert kept pieces of glass to be used for window panes leaning against the wall. She hated for him to leave the glass out there because she was always afraid the children would cut themselves. She placed her three pieces of glass in the pile next to the building. It might be possible to cut it and use if for something. Myrtle had no choice except to build a trash fire and burn the pictures. Now she had some pretty fireplace screens, which she wiped clean.

When the children came home from school, they didn’t comment on the screens. They didn’t seem to miss the pictures. Instead they went to the kitchen and filled their mouths with molasses teacakes.

When Robert returned from the field where he’d been preparing the ground for planting, he didn’t seem to notice the absence of the pictures or the presence of the screens. As usual, he was cursing because he needed all the hands to help him with the chores. As they did every day, Myrtle and the children silently went to work. Cows always waited in the pasture for Tom, Edwin needed to see about the mules and horses, and the chickens wanted Ruth to give them corn. Myrtle led out in the milking so she could get back to finish cooking supper.

The next day Myrtle went exploring in the woods near the house. She found some pretty vines and tacked them onto the screens. Still no one seemed to notice.

~~~

Continuing the walk…

Albert turned down the lane toward the old farmhouse he knew as home. Myrtle had the yard looking fine. Flowers from his mother’s bulbs bloomed, and the roses over on the east side were the way she’d left them. The only difference in the yard was grass. Ma kept a sand yard, which she used to make the kids sweep for her. He didn’t know how Myrtle managed, but Bermuda grass grew over most of the yard.

He knocked on the porch floor with the stick and called, “Anybody home?”

Myrtle came to the door. “I’m sorry. Robert took the kids with him to the field. He wanted to get in a few hours’ work before we head to town.”

He placed his hat on an empty chair and propped his stick against the hedge. “I see.”

“I’ve got fresh cobbler. Fried chicken’s waiting on the stove. Rice and gravy. Turnip greens. Wait around a few minutes and the rest of them will be back. Sit and rest a spell. Then we’ll have dinner.”

The smell of the food made his mouth water. “It sure is tempting.”

She sat down in a straight chair, placed a dishpan in her lap, and went to work snapping beans. “I’ve got some early snap beans. They don’t take long to cook.”

Was he imagining she wanted him to stay on the porch? He started to open the door to the living room. He didn’t want to seem too forward, but he came to look inside at his parents’ faces once more.

Myrtle followed him. “Go on in.”

The wall seemed bare, but his eyes needed to adjust. When he could see normally inside, he looked all around the room. “Where are the pictures?”

Myrtle had pink skin to go with her red hair. When he asked the question, he noticed she first turned white and then broke out in red splotches.

“The pictures?” She laughed. “Oh, they were starting to fade. I took them down and made fire screens out of the wood they were mounted on.”

“Fire screens? Who needs fire screens anyhow?” He was of a good mind to slap his sister-in-law, but he’d never do that. “The very idea. You need to be more responsible. I shouldn’t have come up here.”

Albert slammed the door on the way out. Grabbing his hat and stick, he headed home.

The Dream Bucket

How was Uncle Albert ever going to get married if…

…he didn’t go to town or to church or to taffy pullings? Back then they didn’t have social media or dating sites.

He sat on his front porch and watched the world go by. He was a pleasant sort of guy, and the world came to him. I can still remember his pleasant smile. Women came to him. My brother Tom had some wild stories about those women.

Here I am beside a sign near Uncle Albert's old home site.

Tom may have been wrong though. It seemed from my point of view Uncle Albert had only one girlfriend, an incredibly rich, well-heeled widow from town. She spent her Saturdays with him. Most of the time they sat on the front porch. Sometimes we’d pass his house and find her car in his front yard parked by his well, but they were nowhere in sight. Mama said they were probably picking pears in the back yard.

Since Uncle Albert didn’t go to town, how did he get his groceries, “supplies” as he called them? This morning in Lectio Divina our pastor, Rachel McConnell Switzer, read Matthew 6: 1-4.

These verses caution us to be careful not to brag or call attention to ourselves when we’re doing acts of kindness or giving gifts to others in need. If we go around bragging about what we do so others will notice us, this attention will be our only reward.

You’ve heard the metaphor of not letting your left hand know what your right hand is doing. It’s in this passage. The promise is that if we do good in secret, our Father will reward us openly.

These verses made me think of Uncle Albert, who made a habit of being kind to others.

It also reminded me of going to town. We always drove by Uncle Albert’s house. Daddy would say, “Albert, I’m taking corn to the grist meal. You want me to take your corn for you?”

Uncle Albert would give him a sack of corn, and Daddy would have it ground into cornmeal. Then on the way home he’d stop and deliver it.

Mother would say, “Albert, what do you need from Arrington’s store?”

Albert would give her a list with specific instructions and enough money to pay his bill. We’d deliver his groceries too.

My parents never bragged about these acts of kindness, but their actions taught my brother Buddy and me how to give in secret.

Uncle Albert would have been a great husband. 

Mary Lou Cheatham's most beloved book: The Dream Bucket

One more theory about why Uncle Albert never married:

Albert had planned to get married, and he bought a used Model T. His bride-to-be had let him know that she thought highly of the new Ford automobiles that were becoming more popular around Smith, Jones, and Covington Counties. She let him know she thought a lot of the Ford cars.

After some research he found one, not the latest model, but a recent model. Not too worn, and he bought it to surprise her. The occasion had to be a special one not to be rushed into. 

The wedding date was approaching. So he planned an evening out on the town in his new car, and the news of an approaching severe thunderstorm did nothing to dampen his spirits.

On the night they were planning to go out, thunder clouds were gathering and hard showers began just at dark, followed by hail. The storm didn’t last more than half an hour, but every exposed piece of metal showed the effect of the hard hail. Metal roofs, feed troughs, silos—nothing escaped the fury of the hailstorm, not even his shiny Model T.

What would he do? He decided to leave the Model T in the barn, hitch up his mules, and take his wagon out on the town. He knew his bride-to-be would enjoy the starlit sky of the evening. The old standby would do just fine. He knew his love would never complain. They were so in love.

But after the evening was over he could feel the coolness of disappointment in the air. The whole deal eventually chilled off the romance. The hailstorm brought more disappointment than his optimism could rule out.

They didn’t get married.

Going forward, instead of a car, he drove a wagon pulled by his quality mules; therefore his vehicle was never hit by hail and he didn't have to suffer the humiliation of riding around with dings.

He used to say, “Life is not a pool. It’s a flowing stream filled with stones, which make it engaging. We're always going somewhere, and we bump along the pebbles. The Master of all Creation knows where we're going but we don't. We never know which way the stream will flow, but we have a vision of our final destination.”

Uncle Albert had a reputation of being a wise man. 

Promises, Promises

Good Grief

In my writing, I've made promises to continue in one series or another, but sometimes life takes me a different direction. For example, I promised to write more books about grief. I worked halfway through another book, which was an interview with someone, but the person being interviewed had other projects. So did I. I should get back to sharing thoughts about grieving. I apologize for not doing so sooner.

Although I have written only one little e-book about grief, a dominant theme in many of my books has been grief on some level.

I'm Choking . . . But Life Moves On Along the Path of Grief (Insights about Grieving Book 1), I've written about grief in most of my other books.

Shame on me. The title says it is Book 1. I'll try to write Book 2 soon. This week someone wrote me a note asking to read Book 2. Grief is such a large part of life, and it seems as I grow older, it hits hard and often. I don't toughen up or become philosophical about it though. It's just there,
and we have to cope.

No one has written more eloquently about grief than David and the others who wrote Psalms. The Psalms help. Grief and many other negative emotions are laid out in plain view with no effort to sugar-coat the pain. Then at the end of most Psalms, there's a resolution. It's good to read these at bedtime with the assurance that God has a plan and he's taking care of each of us in the unique ways you and I need.

Here's a list of some of the other ways I've talked about grief. Having mentioned the beautiful Psalms, I hesitate to offer my books to you, but they are what I've been led to write on the level of inspiration given to me.

SECRET PROMISE is a story about a young woman whose mother died when the main character was so young she cannot remember much about her mother.

THE COURTSHIP OF MISS LORETTA LARSON is the story of a young woman who lost her sweetheart and parents in an epidemic.

THE DREAM BUCKET is the story of a mother and her daughter dealing with the death of the husband/father.

MANUELA BLAYNE is a story about the same little girl in The Dream Bucket. She has new grief.

TRAVELERS IN PAINTED WAGONS ON COHAY CREEK is the story of a young boy who nurses his mother. She has terminal cancer. (co-authored with Sarah Walker Gorrell, author of Tales from the Porch.)

HOUSE OF SEVEN is primarily a comedy, but it deals with some profound losses. Those were all in a series taking place in the early 1900's.

ABI OF CYRENE, occurring in the first century A D, is about a young woman, Abi, who grieves over the loss of her mother.

AS DOVES FLY IN THE WIND is a romance set in modern south Louisiana. Both the hero and the heroine grieve over lost mates and regrets about failed marriages.

All of my novels listed here are on Amazon as recorded books, paperbacks, and Kindle EBooks.

By the way, an enlightening book about grief is called GOOD GRIEF by Granger E. Westberg .

Christmas is coming. God bless you.

I'm taking off time for Christmas with family, and my eyes are taking a brief intermission.

Merry Christmas!

Predators

#Me  Too

You Too?

• ·        When you were a teenager, were you the victim of a sexual predator?
• ·       Or when you were a young child…
• ·       Was he a serial predator?
• ·       Did you tell anyone?
• ·       If you had told adults, would they have believed you?
• ·       If something like this happened to you, how vivid is it in your mind now?
• ·       How do all the stories in the news affect you?
•         So it’s the news of the stars and celebrities. What kind of sexual behavior have you endured  in your work place or in your home?  
•         Why should you not tell? And why should you tell?

I have a story to share with you. It’s a short story published as a Kindle short read on Amazon. You can read it on your computer without buying a Kindle device.

Does it remind you of anything that happened to you or any of your friends? Perhaps you knew a pastor like the one in the story.

Go here and read it. Liza Yates Too

Decorate olive oil for dipping bread for the Christmas table

Something festive for your dinner party.

Select some delicious Italian or French bread.

Fix plates of oil for dipping the bread. Select some tasty herbs. Since this plate needs to look festive, select a white plate and pour extra virgin olive oil into it. Be sure to add something red, such as a small amount of cayenne pepper mixed with a larger amount of paprika.

Flavor it according to your tastes. Experiment, but don't overdo the spices. Suggestions: rosemary, garlic roasted or powder), basil, oregano, thyme, black pepper. Add some sea salt.

Decorate your plate with strips of red bell pepper to make a star, and add some sprigs of parsley.

Christmas is coming...

The Last Time I saw Uncle Albert

When I was a freshman at Millsaps College, my family sent me a message that Uncle Albert was in the Baptist Hospital down the street.

He was dying. Everybody dies sometimes, but it seems sad when death is hastened by some behavior earlier in one's life.

Oral Cancer. Metastasized to his brain.

When he was young, he chewed tobacco several years, but eventually he decided it was bad for his health. "You want to know how I quit? I got a handful of dried beans and chewed them whenever I wanted tobacco."

Although Uncle Albert still looked tall and filled the bed lengthwise, he was shriveled into his rack-of-bones frame. He was never overweight, but he was a big muscular farmer. I said, "Uncle Albert, you used to be a bigger man, didn't you?"

Contemplating the question, he said, "Yes I used to weigh 700, 800, or 900 pounds."

"You used to have some good pears behind your house."

"Go around to the backyard and pick you some of those pears."

We miss him still.

A #Me Too Story.

Story about inappropriate sexual advance on a young girl

Read about the way she was forced to cope. 

Discover what happened forty years later. 

"Forty years is a long time," someone says. 

"Me Too," Liza Yates says.

"This story leaves me wanting to read more," a reader says.

https://www.amazon.com/Liza-Yates-Too-Mary-Cheatham-ebook/dp/B077Q913XF/ref=sr_1_4?ie=UTF8&qid=1511746957&sr=8-4&keywords=mary+lou+cheatham

REMEMBER NOVEMBER

With Christmas around the corner, I don't want to sound like a Grinch, 

but I do think we should stop a second and remember autumn..

For just this week, we can enjoy being creative with our leftovers, 

If therre aren't leftovers, somebody's going to be sick.\
such as turkey gumbo, fritters laced with stuffing, and turkey salad sandwiches.

This afternoon we took a walk through Calemondia, named after the fruit that grows wild there--calemondin.

Calemondin fruit growing wild in the woods. Can you see the long sharp thorns?

In fact, we took two walks today. The time has come to get serious about weight.

REMEMBER NOVEMBER

Walk through the woods on a Sunday afternoon in the Louisiana fall. 

Look carefully to see the spider web.

Soon all the leaves will turn brown and winter will whirl in. 

Take a minute--reach to the ground and find as many colors as you can,

Claim them in your memories.

Isn't life good?

A Featured Home in the Ransom Canyon Chapel Christmas Tour of Homes 2017

33rd Annual Ransom Canyon Chapel

​Christmas Tour of Homes 2017

​      Thursday December 14th  

       6:30 pm - 9:00 pm

   This Year's Theme: Make a Joyful Noise unto the Lord!

Brandt & Christie Underwood, whose  home has been called "The Louisiana-Texas Line House" are inviting all those who attend the Ransom Canyon Tour of Homes to come by for a visit.

 Brandt and Christie Underwood welcome you into their Spanish style home with elegant arches and classic stucco. This home was an early arrival home in Ransom Canyon, being built on Highland Drive in 1974. The Underwoods' home features true West Texas style rustic décor, family heirlooms, and majestic mounts harvested in  West Texas. Look for Louisiana styling accents and a Fleur de Lis theme, as Christie hails from the Bayou State. Be sure to view the elaborately decorated banister that is a focal point in their home. The Underwoods are excited to open their home to share in the Christmas spirit as it is their favorite time of the year.

Forty Years Is a Long Time

Forty years is a long time. For Liza, it feels like it happened fifteen minutes ago when she encounters the sexual predator. He had the audacity to show up and comfort her family during a day of grief forty years after he...with all his compassion for them, how could he forget what he did to her when she was a young teenager? She suspects he has moved in on so many young girls he can't remember whether she was on his list. She has to know!

Forty years is a  long time, but it has lasted an eternity. What her pastor communicated to her within a couple of minutes was that he was a despicable human being.  She has lived with moment after moment--day after day of waking up to remember the morning of the attempted attack. She learned that she was merely a thing, a girl not worth much.

Liza Yates Too

She's glad she's lived sixty more years and heard the phrase,
ME TOO. Now she can speak up without feeling guilty, even though she was the one who received the offense. Now she can begin to turn around and face the world about this issue. She feels the support of  the outraged.

Liza Yates Too

Christie and Brandt Underwood's house in the Ransom Canyon Parade of Hones

During the Christmas season folks who live in and around Lubbock, Texas, ride around to look at the lights. One of the popular places to go and look at people's houses and yards decorated for the season is Ransom Canyon, a village near Lubbock.

Christie Marie and Brandt Underwood, my daughter and son-in-law, are opening the doors of their home, which will be featured in the thirty-third Ransom Canyon Tour of Homes, December 14, 6::30-9:00 pm.  The proceeds from the tickets will benefit the Ransom Canyon Memorial Chapel and Gardens.

Christie and Brandt have been decorating since Halloween. Here's the picture of them that appeared in the Slatonite. (Slaton is a small town near Ransom Canyon.)

And here's Ron Cox's story that appeared in the Slatonite, November 23, 2017:

Christie and Brandt Underwood have a lot in common. Christie grew up in Ruston, Louisiana, and raised calves as a youngster.She earned a MS and a PhD in dairy science from LSU.

Brandt grew up in Shallowater, was active in 4-H, and cared for a herd of 25 cows. He earned a BS in agronomy at TTU. Both have successful careers in the agriculture business.

Brandt works for the U.S.Department of Agriculture. His territory includes the Panhandle and South Plains. He helps farmers and ranchers with soil and water conservation.

Christie works for Purina Animal Nutrition. She provides dairy farmers with counseling on dairy herd nutrition. She covers all of the U.S. and travels to China.

A good friend of Brandt’s worked at Purina and said, “I have got someone you must meet.” Christie and Brandt hit it off and have been happily together ever since. Both love their work. They said, “Taking care of plants and animals is a very big responsibility.”

When asked about the West Texas influence, they said, “People in West Texas have a strong work ethic and are well grounded in the world and how it works. They tend to have strong core values and a stronger faith.”

Brandt is a Ransom Canyoncity councilman, and Christie is on the POA board. Both are active in the Ransom Canyon Fellowship Churc

#Me Too

#Me Too. "Forty years is a long time. " Liza hears those words on television from a man in a leadership position. He implies that after forty years a woman has had enough time to recover emotionally from unwanted sexual advances when she was a teenager--a child. Forty years after being abused, something incredible happened in Liza's life. Now it's been sixty years. What can she do to help her cope?

Liza Yates Too

The news lately has revealed a number of accounts of young women who  have received unwanted sexual advances from older men, who had the power to do as they pleased. There's no doubt that some men have misused young women (or young men) who were helpless and often innocent. 

This abuse of young women knows no limits. Neither Democrats or Republicans can deny the guilt of this crime.

These stories have clouded out my sunshine. It reminds me of a young woman, whose real name will not be stated. LIZA TOO was the name of her story, but some popular shoes are called Liza Too. It became necessary to add her last name, Yates. Her last name is not really Yates. Her story became Liza Yates Too. 

It makes me sad to tell you that nothing in this story is fiction, even though it appears as fiction. The names are changed to protect the innocent and the guilty. It's merely a short story with no embellishment, and it has fewer than ten pages. Since it is so short, it cannot not be published as a paperback until I write more stories and assemble them in a book. 

A talented producer is already working on recording it. If you prefer not to read a Kindle ebook, you might consider listening to it. It isn't necessary to own a Kindle to read Kindle books. It's possible to read electronic books on a laptop.

Have you heard stories like this one? Perhaps you may feel like saying, "Me too." Speaking the truth can cost a large price. 

Picture from IStock,cscafeine  

Her story begins:

She owned a secret, too embarrassing to tell anybody, and it was popping to come out.

Even now as she recalls that summer, she bites her lip in the fear that if she tells, whoever hears her will have some kind of negative reaction.

Is she trying to have a me-too story because the news is full of women coming out with their stories of sexual abuse? She may face the danger of being told it wasn’t important—many women…and men…have suffered more intense distress, but this was her misery. If she’s lived with it this long, why can’t she just keep it to herself and take it to her grave? She should forget about that perv. After all, he contributed so much to her community.

He’s dead. 

Quick Tips to Make Thanksgiving Dinner More Flavorful

Every time  you sit down to your computer or check your cellphone you read some more tips. We all seem to know just how to prepare that traditional turkey dinner and make it the best ever.

From my house to yours: here are our tips.

1. Invest in disposable gloves to wear when you are handling poultry. 
2. Lift the skin of the turkey and insert slices of orange. Simply slice the orange all the way through and leave the peeling on. This little hint of fruit flavor will diminish the gamy taste. We learned this tip from the chef in the family.
3. A simple way to cook turkey is to wash it, pat it dry with strong paper towels that won't tear, and coat it inside and out  with olive oil, lemon juice, and sea salt. Bake it in a covered pan until it reaches the recommended temperature.
4. Mom, my first mother-in-law, used to say she loved to cook with fresh spices. Every Thanksgiving she went through her cabinet and replaced all the spices required to cook turkey. It's a good time to check the expiration dates. What a wonderful chore for someone who wants to help you cook!
5. John, my husband of two years, taught me something amazing about spices. Grind them. Mix the spices required in a recipe for dressing or anything else requiring a group of spices.  Use a mortar and pestle or any kind of blender you have. The flavor is much more intense. 
6. If you've ever lived in south Louisiana, you already know that a tiny bit of cayenne pepper  kicks up the flavor of most foods, including chocolate cake.

Happy cooking!

Turkey Gumbo

Chances are that you have an extra turkey in the freezer. Perhaps you bought an extra one for Thanksgiving, your boss gave you one for your bonus, or you received a free one for accumulating a mammoth grocery bill.

Preliminary Preparations

1 turkey (small to medium)

3 tablespoons lemon juice

2 tablespoons garlic vinaigrette salad dressing

1 tablespoon liquid smoke

1 tablespoon 

Cook it in your roaster or giant slow cooker with 3 tablespoons lemon juice, 2 tablespoons Italian salad dressing, 1 tablespoon liquid smoke, and 2 teaspoons Creole seasoning. Cover it with water.

 Cook the turkey until it is tender, let it cool, and remove it from the bones. Extra meat not used in the gumbo can be used for sandwiches.

Strain the broth through a colander and save it for the gumbo.

 Gumbo

4 tablespoons olive oil

4 tablespoons flour

2 quarts turkey broth

A little more olive oil

1 green bell pepper

3 tender stalks celery

1 large mild onion

1 can tomatoes and green chilies

2 cans crabmeat (not imitation)

3 cups chopped dark turkey meat

1 pound frozen cooked shrimp

1 pound pork sausage

1 jigger high quality bourbon

1-2 tablespoons gumbo file

Rice

Make a roux by browning 4 tablespoons olive oil and 4 tablespoons flour.  Stir the mix as you brown it.  Keep browning it until it is very dark; then brown it until it is darker.  It will be lighter when you add liquid.  

Add 2 quarts of turkey broth and continue to simmer the mixture in a big pot.

Chop and sauté the bell pepper, celery, and onion. Add the sautéed vegetables, the can of tomatoes and green chilies, and crab meat, to the pot.  Slice and brown the sausage; add it to the pot. 

Simmer the gumbo on very low heat for about thirty minutes. Add the turkey and shrimp. It may be necessary to add more water.  Cook it until it smells like gumbo. You will know when it is done by the way it smells and tastes.  Add the bourbon and cook 5 more minutes.

Add gumbo filé as desired.  Serve over rice prepared according to the instructions on the package..

ANOTHER THEORY ABOUT WHY UNCLE ALBERT NEVER MARRIED.

Even though Uncle Albert never married, he had a girlfriend that my brother Buddy and I remembered when we were young. We watched him enjoy a special friendship for years.

ANOTHER STORY ABOUT WHY UNCLE ALBERT NEVER MARRIED.

This sign is near Uncle Albert's farm. 

Uncle Albert put two plates on his table, and every time he put something on his plate he put the same thing on the other plate. 

After a week, he decided it would cost too much to have a wife. She would eat too much.

This story circulated throughout south Smith County. My sister-in-law’s sister reminded me of it. Those of us who knew him well understood why this legend was untrue. Albert was generous with his extended family to a fault. 

UNCLE ALBERT HAD A REPUTATION OF BEING A WISE MAN. 

He invested his money carefully.

Many of the business people of Taylorsville spent time on his front porch because he was known for his wisdom and wit.  He would listen carefully to his friends as they told him their problems.  Shaking his head and grinning, he would offer his advice.  If he could see that someone was thinking erroneously, he would not hesitate to speak his mind.  On the other hand if he approved of a person’s ideas, he would say, “You’re the doctor.”

Although he lived his life on his country front porch, he knew what was happening in the world.

He subscribed to The Clarion Ledger, which he received in the mail a day late.  Every afternoon he read his newspapers, which he filed in stacks in an unfurnished room of his house.  Once Uncle Albert, dressed in his best straw hat, clean overalls, and a blue chambray shirt, rode to Jackson on the Trailways bus and went to his nephew John Edwin’s law office to offer counsel to the young lawyer.

My brother Buddy and I knew about his girlfriend. This relationship lasted as long as we could remember.

Every Saturday, Uncle Albert would clean up and change into his best overalls and blue chambray shirt or sometimes khaki shirt. He’d sit reading on his front porch.

Every Saturday afternoon, Mama, Daddy, Buddy, and I would go to town. It was a ritual. The country people went to Taylorsville and spent the afternoon. We had to pass his house to get there.  He and a certain lady sat on his front porch, and her car was parked in his yard. Sometimes we saw the car, and no one was on the porch. We assumed they went to look at his pear tree.

Every Saturday afternoon, an attractive, prosperous, and prominent widow from Taylorsville dressed in her finery and drove down to Albert’s house to discuss his investments. She didn’t need his money—we knew she wasn’t trying to gold dig. She was one of Taylorsville’s wealthiest citizens. When Daddy teased him, Albert grinned and looked away. “We’re just talking about the best way for me to save my money.”

My father, Albert's baby brother, wouldn't let it go. "She sure stays a long time."

These days, it seems wonderful that Uncle Albert enjoyed his life in some secret ways.

~~~

In HOUSE OF SEVEN  a mysterious character named Uncle Albert, has a completely different story. We’ll talk about this man, named in honor of my Uncle Albert, another day. Look for  a post soon called, “The Other Uncle Albert—Why He Never Married.”