GRANDMOTHER'S FRIED CHICKEN

My Willett grandmother lived in a small Texas town near Lubbock. I stayed with her sometimes in the summer and she made the best crispy fried chicken, velvety smooth mashed potatoes and thick cream gravy that I have ever tasted—makes my mouth water just thinking about it! Grandmother’s meal planning began in her back yard where she kept the hens that laid eggs for the family. I can picture her now, in a dress with an apron covering the front, marching out the kitchen door and into the chicken yard where she grabbed a plump hen by the feet. In a deft maneuver, she popped its neck and left it to run circles around the back yard until it dropped. Next the hen went into a pot of boiling hot water on the back porch. The smell was awful, but soon the wet feathers were plucked off and set aside to dry for a pillow-in-the-making.

Grandmother then gutted the chicken and cut it into pieces. She coated each piece on a big cutting board covered with flour, a pinch of salt and a shake of pepper. Meanwhile, a big cast iron dutch oven on Grandmother’s stove was heating up the oil to cook the chicken. I believe Grandmother used Crisco to fry her chicken—and for lots of other recipes in her kitchen. She might also have added a bit of the bacon drippings that she kept in a metal container on the back of her stove.

After Grandmother had the chicken pieces well covered in flour, she carefully lowered them into the popping hot grease in her dutch oven. The pieces were cooked and turned until they became a crispy golden brown. Meanwhile, Irish potatoes that had been boiled were mashed with big pieces of butter, a dash of milk, a pinch of salt and a little pepper in them. Grandmother mashed them with her electric mixer until nary a lump could be found.

When the chicken was done, Grandmother took the pan and threw flour into the leftover oil and began adding milk as she stirred it over a low flame. Small crunchy bites left over from the fried chicken were stirred into the mixture and it all became wonderful cream gravy to be spread over the mashed potatoes.

Somewhere along the line, Grandmother had time to slice tomatoes from her garden and warm up some of her home-canned green beans. All of this made up a delicious meal on a warm summer’s evening in West Texas—without air conditioning!

Grandkids Are Here = Fun!

Soph is feeding the deer. Little One LOVES standing at the living room window and watching the deer.

Granddaddy found the Big Wheel for Little One--she loves riding on our patio. Granddaddy also found bikes for both Em and Soph in the shed.

We enjoyed a trip to a Lavender Farm yesterday. Kara and Little One were looking at the lovely rows of lavender plants. Em and Soph tried out their pink tractor and suggested that their dad paint his John Deere pink since they had mostly girls in the family. He said, "Ah, NO!" Then we sat at the picnic table and had root beer before we left.

A visit to the state capitol, but first, feeding the squirrels on the capitol grounds like Son # 2 remembers doing when he was a boy.

THANKFUL THURSDAY

Today I am thankful for grandchildren. I have had more laughs, fun, and enjoyment in the last few days than I have had in a month of Sundays (that used to be an expression of my Grandmother's!).

There is nothing like the smile of a one year old to cheer me up! And there is nothing like a having a religious discussion with a five year old. And, best of all, there is the wonderful reward of having an eight year old and a five year old help me cook dinner! They are wonderful! They speed up the preparation process immensely because they have grown up in their parents' kitchen and know how to chop, slice, dice, and cook EVERYTHING! What a joy that has been! The only critical moment came when the eight year old looked at the serving plate and said, "Our dad would have added a bit of garnish before putting that plate on the table." Oh, well! Not everything around here is perfect!

Em's Story

My eight-year-old granddaughter, Em, is visiting and she has written a story that she would like to share with all of us:
LEPRECHAUN

One night I dreamed that I saw a Leprechaun! Then I woke up.

Hi, my name is Emma--Agent Emma. I work for the CIA. I am a secret agent. My job today is to find a Leprechaun! I wish I could do real CIA stuff. Well, I was driving down the road and I heard someone say, "I wanted green potatoes, not white potatoes!" I stopped. I got out of the car, and I went to where I heard the sound. I found a little man who was talking to a woman. He was arguing about the color of potatoes. I went over there and I said, "What are you doing?" They both walked away. I followed the little man, ignoring the lady. I asked the little man why he was so little. He said in a mean voice, "What's your problem?" I was surprised! ~Nobody had ever been that mean to me. And then he said, "I am a Leprechaun, don't you know?" So I grabbed him. I got back in my car and drove back to the CIA. I showed the head boss! He said that I could be promoted to be Manager! It was the best day of my life! I soon became friends with the Leprechaun! And we all lived happily ever after.

The End.

Home Again

We traveled to see Son #4 and played with Miss Ella Bella for a couple of days while her mother rested on the couch with doctor's orders to stay immobile until Grandchild #7 is ready to enter this world. Miss Ella Bella is so wonderfully delightful! We spent time outside blowing bubbles. When we went to put on her shoes before we went outside, I got out her socks and she said, "No socks! Just feet!" She wore her shoes without socks. She spent time reading the morning newspaper with her granddad, and she showed us her new baby brother in her mom's tummy.

We also went to a wedding in a beautiful church and watched a friend walk his daughter down the aisle. The bride was lovely and we had a great time visiting with a number of friends who attended the wedding and reception. Before we left for home I got to walk in the sand and dip my toes into the water with the waves splashing on my legs for just a few minutes. What a marvelous feeling that was! I picked up a perfect shell to bring home until the next time!

THANKFUL THURSDAY

As I look at today's news and all the flooding in the Midwest, I am thankful that I am on dry land this year. Just this time last year our part of the country was in the midst of a "rain event" that had parts of our area under water--not to the extent of the Midwest, but bad enough for those experiencing the flooding.

How quickly things change. Last year we were experiencing too much water and this year we are talking severe drought, water rationing, and excessive use of electricity. I am so thankful that we have air conditioning and that my outdoor plants are still alive. However, this is just the end of June and I don't know how much longer the plants will hold out, but--so far, so good!

I just have to remember to be thankful for what I have TODAY!

Happy Father's Day

My father was a quiet man, but very interesting. He worked almost his whole life for a wholesale hardware company where he began in the warehouse stocking inventory for shipping materials out to a five-state area. He moved up to salesman and traveled a large territory in the upper Texas Panhandle for many years. In his later years with the company he moved to the main office as head of the buying department.





Daddy loved to read. As I learned to read, he took me to the library where I was allowed to check out two books. I could not go back to the library until I had read both books--usually in two weeks, when they were due. Daddy loved mysteries and westerns, especially Louis L'Amour, Zane Grey, and others. As I grew older, I was allowed to ride my bike to the library by myself and pick out new books even if Daddy was not ready to return his own books. I really felt grown up then.


The best vacations that I can remember are the ones that Daddy used to plan for us. His company gave him two weeks of vacation each year and he always “put in” for the last two weeks in July. In his job he drove miles and miles each week to cover his territory. However, for his vacations, he always took us on marathon trips throughout the Southwest. We visited national parks and stayed in small motels along the way. Most of our trips west followed the now famous Route 66 from Texas to New Mexico and across to Arizona. We also took trips up into Utah, Wyoming, and Colorado.




My sister remembers our trips to the local train station and how Daddy depended heavily on the local trains to deliver his carefully completed orders to his company by Monday morning. On Sunday evening, we would all pile into the wood-paneled station wagon and head for the local depot which was built up on an incline surrounded by green, grassy slopes that provided us with the perfect playground to roll or slide down. Sometimes we walked down the brick platform and jumped onto the tracks to practice balancing with our arms outstretched like graceful gymnasts. We were never far from Dad's long reach, and he always knew when the train was approaching the depot. He thoroughly enjoyed explaining to us the facts and pitfalls of business along with his life's wisdom. Mailing his work orders to the company and getting them there on time were very important to him. He had marvelous work habits that left lasting impressions on all of us children. He let us carry the large manila envelope containing his purchase orders for the week to the depot's mail room where he paid the postage so that the envelope would be placed on the next freight train headed for Amarillo.



We could hear in the distance a faint whistle as the train approached and we could see it stop at the water tower to fill up on water. I then chugged slowly into the station area. Many times a passenger train would roll into the station dropping off travelers coming home from an exciting excursion or picking up new passengers headed somewhere beyond Pampa. We watched fascinated as men unloaded baggage onto carts that could be pushed from either end. We liked to play on the baggage carts, and Dad at times pushed us up and down the brick walkway while waiting for our train.


The mail car usually followed the engine at the front of the train and had a double Dutch door located at the rear of the car. The top half of the door would be open, and we could see the lighted interior that contained a wall of small cubicles where mail was sorted. The mailman positioned himself at the open door where he leaned out and grabbed the mailbag hanging on a hook over the tracks. As the train left the station, we could see the red light on the caboose twinkling and dancing as it disappeared into the night. We returned to our car where mother was patiently waiting and sometimes we headed to the local Dairy Queen for a brown derby before heading home for bed.


My sister says that she treasures those moments spent with Dad when he offered his bits of wisdom. These talks with Dad are now gone with the passing of time--never to be repeated but only to be relived through family stories.



Happy Father's Day to all fathers who might read this blog today.