Witches, Ghosts, Goblins....and Highlanders

One of the traditions I love best is the Halloween parade at the Lower School.  JT is in the 4th grade and this is his 7th year in the parade.  In that parade, he's been a dinosaur, a prince, Peter Pan, an Indian, a black cat, an alien, and a Scottish Highlander.  This last costume, perhaps his most extravagant ever, was a joint production of JT''s imagination and his grandma's sewing skills.

Watching the parade around the old copper beech tree is one of the best parts of the day.  This year, Grandma came to see the glory of her creation in motion.  The day wrapped up with trunk-or-treat with his buddies, a festival of trick-or-treating that is the most efficient candy delivery system known to child-kind. 

JT sorted the candy when we arrived home and sternly warned the grown-ups to leave it be.  But, hey, that's why Mama created a bedtime.

Food Friday: Creamed Spinach

I have a great fondness for spinach and earlier this week I wrote about some creamed spinach that I made.  I promised the recipe and here it is.

1 package fresh spinach (I like the baby spinach)
2 cloves garlic, minced
1 small onion, finely chopped
2 tablespoons butter
1/4 cup heavy cream

salt and pepper to taste

Heat skillet on medium-high heat, melt butter and then saute garlic and onion.  The goal is to soften them up, not to brown them.

Add the spinach and stir well to cover with the butter.  Keep stirring as the spinach wilts; it should take 3-4 minutes.

Wilting looks like this:

And then like this:

When it wilts to your satisfaction, pour in the cream.

Salt and pepper to taste and serve immediately.  This will provide two servings and it can be doubled; tripled, etc as needed.

Tastes amazing, I promise.

Bounty From Home

Yesterday afternoon, my parents flew in from California.  Their visit is a highly anticipated event here at Sassafras House ---- JT couldn't wait to talk their ears off and I'm happy to have a full seating at the supper table each night. 

In addition to bringing themselves, they arrived with produce.  There are some beautiful limes from Dad's backyard tree:

And some Calvado avocados (my favorite).  My mother reports they cost just 50 cents.  Information like this makes me swoon with envy.  I see a large bowl of guacamole in our immediate future.

Last night, Grandma, who used to teach the 4th grade, helped out with math homework, a very welcome respite of my regular duties.

And JT got to watch some baseball with his Grandpa.  In all probability,  this means JT will learn some new and handy ways to use profanity.

All is well.

Handy Uses for Your Nine Year Old

My parents arrive in town later this week and, of course, that means we've abandoned our normal slatternly lifestyle and have engaged in the sort of careful cleaning required when one's mother comes to town.  Dust bunnies everywhere have been vanquished.  The playroom is looking remarkably civil.  The wood floors are brightly shining.

Cleaning the light fixtures in my kitchen requires someone to climb on the counter to get the job done.  I knew just who to call for that sort of job.

It's not often that I invite the boy to climb on the counter tops --- in fact he looked a bit incredulous when I suggested that he go ahead and stand up there.  But he quickly got into the spirit of things and mugged for the camera.  He's Super Cleaning Boy!  You may rent him by the hour if you are not equipped with your own.

Real Life Conversations with JT: Local Color edition

The backstory: On the drive to school the other day, we were temporarily behind a shiny black car with a large sticker in the back window which read "Italian Princess."  JT had questions.

JT: What is an Italian Princess?

Mama:  It's an Italian girl from New Jersey.

JT:  But what makes her a princess?

Mama:  Big hair, long shiny fingernails, and an attitude.

JT: You forgot good pizza.  We have good Italian pizza in New Jersey.

The boy makes a valid point.

Final Harvest

About 10 days ago, the weather forecast for the night ahead included a frost warning.  That afternoon, JT and I went out to the garden and picked the last of the onions, carrots, and beets from the garden, heaping them all in the basket.  We grabbed up some flowers for bouquets and then brought everything inside.  For supper that night I served roasted carrots, beets, and creamed spinach; I used one of the onions to make the spinach.

Though the final harvest was a lovely closing to the garden season, I always find the final picking bittersweet.  I'm a little sad to think I won't be marching out there to grab up a tomato for my supper.  But today, I plan to plant some bulbs that will bring flowers for the spring.  In the next few weeks, I'll be getting things ready to winter over and soon enough I'll be looking at the seed catalogs and making plans for the spring. 

And that's the lovely thing about a garden: sometimes there's work to be done and other times there's work to be imagined.  And at all times the promise of growing things makes life richer.

Update: Creamed spinach recipe will appear later this week.  And, sigh, JT would have nothing to do with said creamed spinach. 

Food Friday: French Onion Soup

The arrival of cooler evenings has inspired me to start making soup again. I make all sorts of soups but one of my favorites is French Onion soup. I like this recipe for onion soup so much that I almost never try French Onion at a restaurant.....I know that it won't be nearly as good.

And the very best part of this recipe is that it is so incredibly easy.

2-3 tablespoons butter
4 cups thinly sliced onions.......and thinly sliced is key, so don't mess around here
4 cups vegetable broth (cubes or pre-packaged...it doesn't matter)
2 tablespoons red or rose wine
1 teaspoon Worcestershire sauce
4-6 slices garlic toast (see my recipe)
1-2 cups shredded Swiss cheese
ground pepper
ground oregano

A note on onions: I usually use yellow onions, though sometimes I mix red and yellow. If you have a red onion on hand, use it. If not, yellow will do quite nicely.

And about the broth: I prefer vegetable broth because it's sweeter; traditional onion soup uses beef broth and that may be more to your liking.

In a large saucepan, melt the butter over medium heat. Stir in the onions; make sure they are coated in the butter. Then liberally sprinkle pepper over the onions; stir and then add a bit more pepper. Turn heat down to medium low, place a lid on the pot and let it be for 10 minutes. seriously....don't even think about lifting that lid.

While you are waiting, heat the oven to 425 degrees. Grate the Swiss cheese. But leave that pot alone!

After ten minutes, stir the onions and give them a generous sprinkle with dried oregano. Add the 4 cups of broth, the wine, and Worcestershire. Bring to a rolling boil. Then reduce heat, put the lid back on, and simmer for 10 more minutes.

Your kitchen now smells amazing. At ten minutes, ladle the soup into oven-proof bowls. Top each bowl with a garlic toast or two and then the swiss cheese. Place the bowls in the oven and broil until the cheese is melted and bubbling (about 7-10 minutes).

The bowls and soup will be very hot....be careful not to burn your tongue. Serves 2-3 supper-sized servings or 4-6 appetizer servings. Yum.

Note: These pictures loaded up easy-peasy.  If only I could figure out why.  Sigh.

The Birds AND the Bees?

For a while now, JT has been in possession of the facts of life.  Several pressing questions from him resulted in me laying out the sordid details about how babies are born.  He took the news well, though he remains incredibly skeptical about such an arrangement.  When our talk finished, I issued the standard Mama closing statement, "let me know if you have other questions."

So every once in a while, at moments when I least expect it, he asks for clarification.  One morning last week, as I was getting lunches packed, he asked, "How do cats have kittens?"  So I explained the process but, before I could finish, he said incredulously, "They have sex too?"  I confirmed.  He shook his head.....and then said, "How do they know that's what they are supposed to do?  Because, honestly, Mama, it doesn't seem obvious to me."

So I went with the Mother Nature response: "When they are ready, their bodies tell them what to do."

He contemplated that and then asked the obvious next question" "What about dogs?  Horses?  Cows?  Snakes?"

"They all have sex to make babies," I explained.

More incredulous head-shaking ensued as he wondered who, exactly, thought this insane arrangement was a good idea.

A Statement of Southern Legitimacy

My good friend S sent me this link, from a Southern literary journal, The Dead Mule Society, which requires submitters to offer up their statement of Southern Legitimacy along with their literary submissions.  S wondered what my statement might be.  I am not a writer who submits things to journals of poetry or fiction.  But (of course) I loved the challenge of drafting my Southern Legitimacy Statement.  So I set to work.

Being southern means looking for daffodils in February, magnolia blooms in May, and lightening bugs in July, a month that you pronounce as jew-lie.

Being southern means having a front porch and a rocker.

Being southern means having your picture made as in "Y'all stand still while I make your picture with my camera."

Being southern means that when you walk through the door to the steamy outdoors in the morning you expect to have your glasses fog up .

Being southern means understanding the difference between "y'all" (a group of people) and "all y'all" (a real big group of people).

Being southern means you understand that all soda is known as "coke."  From there, distinctions may be drawn, as in "Yes, ma'am, I would like a coke.  I'll have a Dr. Pepper."

Being southern means understanding that macaroni & cheese is a vegetable.

Being southern means an expectation that homemade corn muffins or biscuits will be served hot and fresh with most every meal.

Being southern means eating supper, not dinner.

Being southern means knowing the difference between bourbon and Tennessee whiskey.  And having a preference.

Being southern means there is a fresh pitcher of iced tea on your counter all summer long.  It's called the tea pitcher.

Being southern means you can make fried chicken without a recipe.

Being southern means that grits and cornmeal are staples in your pantry.

Being southern means your baby calls you mama and when that child is a handful you sigh and say, "child, you wear me out."

Household Happiness: Garden Bouquets

Usually, the 15th of each month features a post that I call household happiness.  It's something in my home that I really love.  Last week on the 15th I was yammering on about politics and so I missed my regular  household happiness posting.  But this is my blog and I make the rules, so I've decided that a delayed  household happiness posting is just the ticket to start out the week.  The pictures you see are various flower bouquets that I cut from my garden over the course of the past summer.
The very first garden I planted, on my apartment balcony when I lived in Nashville,  featured a few tomato plants and several pots of flowers.  Each week, I would cut some of those flowers for an indoor bouquet.  Almost 20 years later, my garden is a lot larger but it still includes flowers.  I continue to cut bouquets for the indoors.

One of the parts of summer I enjoy the most is picking flowers for fresh  bouquets each week.  I plant scads of zinnias of all sorts; they are old-fashioned, hearty, colorful flowers which makes for a bouquet that can stand up to rigor of cat attacks.  I plant lots of other flowers as well: marigolds (they are natural pest protection for the garden), cosmos, gladiolas, dahlias, and lilies make regular appearances in the flower beds at my house.

But the zinnias are always my favorites.; their appearance in my home is a sure sign that summer's garden bounty has arrived.  As the cold weather arrives, I will pour over seed catalogs picking out the zinnia varieties that will see me through the next summer.

The seed packets will arrive by December and I'll tuck them into my kitchen cupboard, right next to the vases I use for flowers.  There they will serve as a welcome reminder that spring and summer flowers are just around the corner.

Note: For the past month, I have been experimenting with a new host site for this blog.  It's a long and boring story, but the upshot is that I'm not finding Blogger a great host for photo uploads.  So there is another Sassafras Mama underway, over at Wordpress.com.  You can find it here.  It's been up for a few weeks, featuring the same posts that you can find here at the Blogger site but with easier (and better photos).  If you're inclined, please pop on over.  Right now it's still an experiment to see which format I like best.  If you have an opinion, please let me know.

And thanks for reading.