Just Peachy

                 While the phrase, “everything’s just peachy” can be a facetious  remark in an off-handed slap to the day being a bit less than hoped, allow me to comment that, indeed, all is “just peachy.”

               We have Peaches!  It’s July, right?  Late in their arrival by a few weeks, the orchards have been suddenly laden with peaches in various stages.  Some ripe, some firm, we purchased a bushel of each. 

               What can beat fresh peaches over vanilla…frozen yogurt?  And, I cannot allow a summer to go by without my famous peach cobbler.  Not the dump it all in a casserole with something from the bottom coming to the top, but my fabulously foot-stomping, slap-yo-mama delicious, family peach cobbler.  It’s prepared first and foremost in the peach cobbler pyrex dish.  Just the right amount (or more) of the secret ingredient is added to the sliced syrupy peaches before pouring them into the prepared crust in the prepared dish and placing the divine creation into the prepared oven.

             Peaches in the morning, peaches in the evening, peaches at suppertime!

"Anyone doing tasteless or vulgar movements will be immediately disqualified!"

               Ballroom Dancing lessons. Just like learning to play bridge to be eligible for Junior League membership, young ladies and arm-twisted young gentlemen learned to waltz, tango, cha-cha,  twirl and dip. Some dancers were more talented than others, don't ya know. Those couples were our Bobby and Sissy (if you have to ask, don't), Lawrence and the Champagne Lady, our very own Johnny and Penny ("don't put Baby in a corner").
                On assigned evenings, at Miss Connie's Dance Studio (very close to Miss Maud's house), about 20 barely-teenagers reluctantly walked into her living room, cleared of all furniture and turned into a dance studio.  This was the venue for 7th and 8th grade young people to learn refined dance moves.  The teens had the Bop, The Twist, the Hully-Gully, Walking the Dog, and the Stroll to perfection, so how come, they wondered, were they back in the 40's with Glenn Miller and Stardust? They were told they'd thank their parent later.
                I was one of those teens at Miss Connie's. After we'd learned all we possibly could learn, we practiced a routine showcasing all steps, while going around in a giant circle. We participated as a group in a Spring Recital! Reflecting, I cringe for us, but humiliation for me came after the performance. My attempt to add filler to the poofy upper portion of my dress had met with disaster.  Long prior to the catch-phrase "wardrobe malfunction," my own rendition occurred as wads of tucked away Kleenex had worked their way upward, white folds peeking through the sky blue lace covering my de'colletage. I'm just glad they didn't scooch up so far as to actually escape.

            That same summer, to appease teen egos, our parents threw us a dance party!  A neighbor's carport was lighted with Christmas lights, flashing bulbs and wired for stereo. A revolving Christmas tree multi-color spotlight aimed on the dance floor added pizazz, prior to the disco-ball. A fine dance-powder gave the concrete a festive sheen and a fabulous sound as we all danced to records spun by our host's  much older brother and his girlfriend. This couple had dance moves we'd never seen.  Several in our neighborhood troupe could really do the
bop and the twist!  Iconic Sandy and Danny would not have won that Dance Contest.
              Teen-Town, where Judy danced circles around Jerry, and Panther Prowls after home ballgames filled our teen years, meeting our need to dance, even if we didn't know which guy was our partner (Hey, Am I dancing with you?). Kevin Bacon (Footloose! 1984) would have felt more at home in Camden than that two-bit town somewhere in Texas. 
                Come on, Everybody! "Let's Dance!"

Hospital Hotties: The parakeet tells all

“Have you had any previous surgeries?”
                Tonsillectomy in 6^th grade and I got a Barbie Doll and “Friday Night Date” outfit for her.  Does that count? And I’ve had all my reproductive innards ripped out in 1994 and then more cut out in 1999. 
                I chirped like a parakeet tell-all personality, filling them in on details for the next Hospital Hotties Tabloid publication.
               I learned several things myself. The medical arena has changed in 20 years.  My fears and flashback horrors never materialized.  Nurses are not only competent and kind, but they listen and these nurses encouraged me rather than drag me from my bed only to collect me in a puddle of fainting pain.  In addition, medicine itself has improved.  Doctors and nurses, anesthesiologists and auxiliary staff are patient-centered and recognize concerns and act accordingly.
                   A few things remain the same: 1. Everyone needs to see stiches, glued parts, and general frontal landscape, so modesty is totally out.  Tell Victoria that there are no Secrets!   2.  Hospital Gowns are clean and utilitarian, made in Russia and underwritten by the National Organization of Ugly Women. 3.  Measuring Input and output are nice ways of asking if you have pee-pee’d or poo-poo’d lately, how much did you eat and what do you weigh.  These numbers are important. 
                        Girls can only do so much to combat these Hospital Truths:  1. Pretend there is a geriatric hospitalization centerfold audition and these ogling examinations are your audition for a photo op: Playboy (the first-ever version for the blind.) 2. When the nurses agree that you may don undies, choose those that color-coordinate.  It’ll give them something to laugh about as you sashay down the hallway for exercise or make your way to a bed-side potty-chair. 3. Choose peaches, water, and chocolate soufflé at each meal, after you step-up from broth, Jello chunks, and frozen fruit delights.  4. Girlfriends will bring make-up, tweezers, and shampoo.  Use everything.
                                          Be assured that, given my particular situation, I am fully cognizant of the following statement:  Difficult as it may be, I have only this surgery to recover from.  No chemotherapy or additional bodily assaults.
                                As they say in these parts, “I’ve Had Worse,” and I know to be grateful.

Janie Scarlett Talks some Smack

            Gerald O’Hara: “Do you mean to tell me, Katie Scarlett O'Hara, that Tara, that land doesn't mean anything to you? Why, land is the only thing in the world worth workin' for, worth fightin' for, worth dyin' for, because it's the only thing that lasts.”

            I dreaded it.  It was not my idea of a good way to spend a Sunday afternoon.  Forgive me, Gerald O’Hara and Saints of the Oil and Timber Industries!  I confess my short-sightedness.

           Sunday afternoon drives south from Camden, past Mt Holly, in Union County, AR, only signaled that I might get to drive, learning to clutch, shift, gas, and brake.  Even if I hit a tree, the tree would suffer far more damage than the car. My brother and I squirmed in the back seat as most of the time our grandmother rode with us. This land was her father’s home place. 
             The tasks for the day were usually two: 

1. Pay homage to the grave site, for the marker had not yet been moved to Camden. Under a small stand of trees below and to the left of where the house had been located was the gravesite of Mary Sue Gordon, my grandmother’s aunt. 

2. Walk the lines of timber.  My brother and father walked the lines, with Daddy explaining to Thomas how all this one day would be his to manage.  Pine trees were just tiny green sprigs needing a good growing season as do cotton, corn, or soybeans.  Saplings were nurtured into mature trees which were then marketed for timber, a good cash crop.

                    Daddy petitioned the heirs to expand his role as Sue Gordon Estate manager to develop the acreage into prime timberland.  He and his brother-in-law and another of the uncles had offered the family a nice sum for the land.  My grandmother (only 1 of the 4 living sisters) and the other heirs did not want the land out of the direct-line, so they voted not to sell to Daddy. To say that this vote changed the dynamic within the family is an understatement.

                         Ultimately and for multiple financial considerations for the  Gordon sisters, Daddy brokered a deal for the family and got the sisters an excellent price for the acerage. The land was sold to a timber company, but the family retained ½ the mineral rights.  Mineral rights are important in south Arkansas, important in Union County, 16S/17W.

               In 1921, the South Arkansas Oil Boom spewed forth almost 30,000 barrels of oil to begin, just east of El Dorado. About a year later, Sid Umsted of Camden and partners (some of whom were relatives) struck a gusher outside Smackover.  The towns of Camden (Ouachita County) and Smackover (Union County) and the entire south Arkansas landscape changed overnight from a sleepy agriculture and timber area to a major player in the oil and gas economy of the state. 
              Our heritage is tied in knots in this story. We have mineral interests in south Arkansas. With the renewed interest in the Smackover Brown Dense or the Smackover Shale, within 16S/17W, I say, bring on the oil.  I’m ready to be a Baroness with black gold and green dollars.

               Where is that Prissy, anyway?

Ugly Ducklings

             Yesterday was John Deere (and John Deerest!) Day.   I finished the JD Collection of Aprons for Voila’!  Today, friends, is “Camo” Day. Even lace and a gathered yellow hem cannot make Camo pretty. Coordinating pocket trim will help, but even that can’t break them free from the Ugly Zone.

FLASH!  Surely WalMart in Kennett has Duck fabric. To rescue these Ugly Ducklings, I’ll tweak the design and Voila!, they will become Duck Commander Aprons.  And….I’m off to Walmart!

Egg Elegance: The Gordon Family Easter Egg

               Plastic eggs constitute a plebian way to provide color and capsuled confection to the celebration of Easter.  Easter Bunnies do not lay plastic eggs.

               Easter Bunnies do lay eggs, though.  Not regular eggs, but colorful and fragile Easter eggs: varied in color, filled with candy, and topped with a special “fluffy, bunny tail.” I never questioned this quirk of nature.
               Saving the shells for months prior to the dying ritual was a task, but one that perpetuated the tradition of our Easter Bunny. Pink, yellow, green, purple, blue – all colors of spring provided the spectrum for the weekly color fest, which must be performed in secret, as when children are at school or asleep.  That egg shell-dying egg-stravaganza, however, was only the beginning of the adventure for creating the one and only Gordon Family Easter Egg.
                   Family members began by buying or saving tissue paper or finding crepe paper such as the paper which creates the frills on a piñata….colorful, festive, and fragile, the kind that if wet or handled too much stains fingertips.
                Various hues of crepe paper (tissue paper) are cut into 4”x4” squares (could be a tad larger).  Don’t be stingy with the paper. It is folded, accordion style. You’ll have a “fan” about 4” tall. Cut ribbons down into the crepe paper, down to about ¾ -1”, leaving enough folded paper to fit snugly into the small open top of the empty egg shell. Scissors are used to curl the ends of each sheet of the crepe paper ribbon, like you would curl a ribbon for a package. Be careful not to rip the paper when curling it. The result should appear as a fluffy, puffy, curly “Bunny Tail” fashioned in a multitude of spring colors.  Match or Mix the toppers to the dyed egg shells.

                Fill the colored egg shells with candy corn, lemon drops, Hershey’s Kisses, jelly beans, M&M’s, and add a colorful topper.  With some degree of loving effort, you have created a masterpiece: a really awesome, authentic, and fragile, Gordon Family Easter egg.          (Photos are of my baby brother, Thomas Gordon Dansby, Easter, 1954.)

Barbie and Ken on the Cutting Edge of Excitement

           It’s not common knowledge, but Barbie and Ken have been married for 7 whole years today, March 9!  What a lot of living for them. Today's celebration includes a night on the town. The Dream Couple plans to scoot along in the Barbie-car to the Art's Council event: Clay County’s Got Talent Review.  Barbie will wear one of her couture outfits, minus the hat and gloves.  Ken might shrug the tux, but a sport coat is a must.  He’s just not dressed without one.
           This morning’s coffee and muffins were shared in the den of the Barbie Dream House, with Ken in his recliner and Barbie in her’s. Barbie checked her messages on her pink Barbie Smart Phone and her emails on the Barbie lap-top.   Fluff the Barbie-cat (who is “rare”) has not been seen for a very long time, rumored to be in a plastic bin in the Barbie-basement. Real-life Hershey prefers to sit at Barbie’s side every minute of every day and is much cuter.
           Later this morning, Barbie and Ken will work together on their various projects:  Ken will be tiling the enlarged dream-shower in the Master Bath and Barbie will be using the Barbie-sewing machine, making polka-dot and print fashion aprons for the Spring Crafts Fair.  Barbie and Ken live on the cutting edge of excitement!
           The Seven-Year-Itch has not been the subject of any conversations regarding Barbie and Ken.  No Monroe-Moment for this couple.  Should anything like that arise, Barbie would be shopping for a Ken-Kasket.