Memories

Not one day passes, without I reflect on how I was raised.
I was fortunate to spend endless hours with a grandma who loved to take me along wherever she went, as  a result of that,  I was able to experience a grown up world through a child's eyes..

My grandma Ciss owned a bakery for thirty six years, each morning at seven sharp, she began her bread-baking, and sweet confectionaries. The tea-kettle whistled on the hob all day long, serving endless cups of tea to visitors throughout the day.
Policemen (bobbies) walked the foot-beat back then, and "Cissy's" bakery was the place to offer a sit-down, and enjoy a custard tart and a nice cup of tea. She was well loved  for her generosity.
I helped in her bakery since I was old enough to walk, doing all kinds of chores, from peeling bucket loads of potatoes for the meat and potato pies, serving the customers,  to delivering the freshly baked loaves of bread each day.

On Monday, her day off, we would ride the double-decker bus into Liverpool, and deposit her weekly earnings into the Littlewood's Bank. My grandmother loved Liverpool, it was her place of birth, a bustling city, with all that a city has to offer.

After shopping and eating lunch in John Lewis department store, we would make our way to the Pier Head at the River Mersey, and board a ferry boat to New Brighton, I'd play in the sand with my bucket and spade, and Ciss would sit and feed the seagulls. As the sun dipped below the horizon, we'd make our return ferry ride back to the mainland, and head home on the bus.
Simple days spent with my grandma, nurtured and loved, innocence and childhood going hand in hand.
I miss her with a passion.

Summertime Napping

 

 

 

Cats sleep, anywhere,

Any table, any chair

Top of piano, window-ledge,

In the middle, on the edge,

Open drawer, empty shoe,

Anybody's lap will do,

Fitted in a cardboard box,

In the cupboard, with your frocks-

Anywhere! They don't care!

       Cats sleep anywhere.     

                    

~ Eleanor Farjeon (1881)

Heat-Lover

The Crepe Myrtle bushes are in full bloom, their flowers will put on this show for the better part of a month.

The bees and Hummingbirds are drawn to their huge Watermelon Red blooms.

They love the summer heat, I have offered them my portion.

  

 

 

A Serving Of Yumminess

The Georgia peaches are here and in the South, that means but one thing ....

Fresh Peach Cobbler.

This recipe is easy to prepare, yet deliciously tasty.

 

 

Easy Peach Cobbler

1/2 cup unsalted butter, melted ( 1 stick )

1 1/2 cups Self Rising flour

1/2 cup water

2 cups of sugar (divided)

1 1/2 cup milk

4 cups peeled, pitted and thinly sliced fresh peaches (5 to 6 medium peaches)
Half teaspoon of vanilla

Several dashes ground cinnamon

Preheat oven to 375 degrees.

Pour the melted butter into a 13 by 9 by 2-inch baking dish.

In a medium bowl, combine the flour, 1 cup sugar, and mix well. Stir in the milk, mixing until just combined. Pour this batter over the butter but do not stir them together.

In a small saucepan, combine the peaches, water, and remaining cup of sugar and bring to a boil over high heat, stirring constantly. Add vanilla.  Pour the peaches over the batter but do not stir them together. Sprinkle with cinnamon or nutmeg if desired.

Bake in the preheated oven for 30 to 35 minutes or until the top is golden-brown. Serve warm or cold. Top with favorite ice-cream.....yummy.

 

Who We Are

The poem "Who We Are" by Margaret Britton Vaughn was designated the official bicentennial poem of Tennessee in 1996. "Maggi" is a native of Murfreesboro, Tennessee, and was designated the state's poet laureate in 1999.
I confess to getting a lump in my throat, each time I read...…..

 

 

 

Who We Are

The Bicentennial of Tennessee
1796-1996

The fertile soil of Tennessee
Grew more than corn, tobacco, and cotton,
It grew a crop of people who are
Trailblazers, child raisers, flag wavers, soul savers.
Like the roots of the tulip poplar,
Our feet are planted deeply
Into good living, neighbor giving, God fearing.
Like the iris, buttercup and wild daisies,
Our towns have sprung up
In valleys, basins, mountains, plains and plateaus
That house cabins, mansions and hillside chateaus.
We're the one-room schoolhouse in the hollow;
We're the university grad and the front-porch scholar.
We're Davy Crockett at the Alamo,
Sergeant York, World War I hero.
We're Cordell Hull who served Roosevelt;
We're Chief Sequoyah and his Cherokee alphabet.
We're W.C. Handy and the Memphis Blues;
We're Ida B. Wells and Civil Rights news,
And Grand Ole Opry with old wooden pews.
We're "Rocky Top" and "Tennessee Waltz" the same;
We're "Star Spangled Banner" before the game.
We're mockingbirds singing Appalachian folk songs;
We're country church sing-alongs.
We're hand clappers, toe tappers, knee slappers
And Mama's lap lullaby nappers.
We're Jackson, Johnson and James K. Polk;
We're city slickers and poor hill folk;
We're Anne Dallas Dudley and the Suffrage Vote.
We're John Sevier, Don Sundquist and governors galore;
We're congressmen, mayors and Vice President Gore.
We're Wilma Rudolph's run for the gold
And Sunday golfers' eighteenth hole.
We're Christmas Eve and the Fourth of July;
We're 4-H and homemade chess pie.
We're TVA rivers, creeks and man-made lakes;
We're ruts in dirt roads and interstates.
We're all religions, creeds and peoples of race;
We're Tennesseans who love the home place.
We're the Volunteer State and will always be
Ready to go when someone's in need.
As our trees turn green and our barns turn gray.
We celebrate our two hundredth birthday.
We know we've done our best, stood the test,
And will be laid to rest
In the fertile soil of Tennessee.

❤