Sunday Dinner: Happy Mother's Day and Lime Poundcake with Strawberry Sauce

My brother's birthday is at the end of April. Our family loves to give funny cards. I walked into the card store just like I did every year, but this time it was different. There were signs, banners, and displays all proclaiming Mother's Day. It would be our first without her. I turned around and walked out. Even though I was a mother, I hated Mother's Day that year and for several years afterwards. I still avoid card shops at this time of year.

My mother always cooked Sunday dinner at my grandmother's house and Mother's Day was just like any other Sunday. One year my brothers sent all of the women out of the kitchen after dinner. They proceeded to wash, dry, and put away all the dishes. They made our mother go sit and enjoy herself. And of course she was proud of her little boys for being so kind and considerate.

Sunflowers were one of my Mom's favorite flowers so when I saw these today, I knew they were right to mark the occasion. There is just something about fresh flowers.

My mother loved to cook and desserts were always her specialty. A couple of weeks ago I came across this recipe for a Lime Poundcake with Strawberry Sauce over on Southern Belle View. I couldn't wait to try it. My biggest obstacle turned out to be finding the Betty Crocker Poundcake mix that is used as the base for the recipe. I had to go to three grocery stores so I hope you have a better luck than I did.

As the cake baked, the house smelled wonderful. The strawberry sauce is a nice blend of tart and sweet. My niece preferred her strawberries whole and added a dollop of whipped cream so you may want to try that too. So if you want to try a great recipe, hop on over to Southern Belle View and give it a try. I promise that you will enjoy it.

With my Grandmother and Mom. I miss them both so much. Happy Mother's Day to all you mothers out there. Motherhood is one of the greatest blessings of a woman's life.

Write Now: Writing What You Know

For every writing class, my professor always begin by telling everyone in the class that she does not want any stories about vampires, zombies, werewolves, or any other fantasy creatures. Her objective is to teach us how to write, to give us the basics, and to learn how to tell a story. On our own, we are free to write in any genre we choose, but for her class, we must stay in the real world.

There was a lot of grumbling and complaining, but she's write. In anything you do, you must start with the basics. At writers conferences, I've met people who amaze me. They don't read. They aren't interested in story. They think it will be easy because they have a wonderful idea. And they think they will instantly make a lot of money.

Writing is about perseverance. Writers write. Writes write what they know. And here is your assignment, it is one of my favorites when I get stuck.

Think of your childhood home. Draw a diagram of the layout of the house showing the different rooms and how the furniture was laid out. Now think of the walls and floors. What colors do you see? Is there carpet, linoleum, tile? Which is your favorite room? What do you see, smell, taste, feel, and hear? Use your senses and write about what you know. Some of these quirky little details always seem to make it into my work when I write. You can also apply this exercise to other places.

This is a paragraph from my story, "Bird Watching."

The Budweiser clock on the wall echoes with each passing second. Mama won it when I was fifteen. She was always entering contests. Dad would tease her about it, but she would always say, “The only way you can’t win is if you don’t enter.” They had switched to Budweiser for their evening drink because Dad’s doctor told him he had to give up his evening Scotch. They switched to beer. I don’t think that is what the doctor had in mind. The Clydesdale horses regaled in Christmas attire prance on the face of the clock above the huge Budweiser logo. I used to try to get Mama to put it up after Christmas, but she always said no. She won it. She liked it. It was staying. 


I needed something to let the reader have a moment to breathe. I also needed a little humor. My Mom really did have a Budweiser clock she won in a contest.

Widow's Walk: The First Step

Tomorrow would have been our fourth anniversary, but we never made it to our first. My husband, Mike was diagnosed with cancer in March of 2008. We were married on May 10 of that same year.

Mike was a man, who always took his time and did not make rash life decisions. He even had trouble picking out laundry detergent. He would compare brands, prices, and claims before making his final selection. We had been dating for a couple of years and we thought we had all the time in the world, there were no hurries. We had both been through difficult divorces. But when you get that kind of diagnosis, you reevaluate everything.

One evening, he called me outside. We sat on the back porch, one of his favorite places. He told me he knew things would get bad and since I had nursed my Mom through lung cancer, he would understand if I didn't want to go through that again. He told me he would not hold it against me if I left. And in that moment, I knew I was exactly where I was supposed to be and I had no intentions of leaving him to go through it alone.

"I don't know how much time I have left, but I do know that I want to spend it with you. Will you marry me?" he said.

And of course I said yes. He apologized for not getting down on one knee. We married in between his chemo treatments. Two days before the wedding, he was so sick we thought we would have to postpone the wedding. The night before he wanted hot dogs for supper. If he could eat that, we could definitely get married.

Anniversaries, birthdays, holidays, and other special days are difficult when you lose someone. But tomorrow, I will remember Mike's laugh, his love of black coffee, and that smile he seemed to have just for me. I'll also say a prayer of gratitude for I am thankful for the time we did have together.

Sunday Dinner: Mashed Potatoes

Mashed potatoes were almost always present on my grandmother's dinner table for Sunday dinner. I love this picture of my Mom making mashed potatoes. She just looks so happy and that woman could make the potatoes so smooth and creamy with only the potato masher, maybe there is a more culinary adept description, but for us it was called the potato masher.

One day after he got his own place, my son called me wanting to know how to make mashed potatoes. Seems he was tired of the flakes from the box.

I explained how he was to peel the potatoes, cut them into cubes, and then boil them until they were soft. Then you strain them, add salt and pepper, butter, and milk. I cautioned him to add the milk slowly. You can always add a little more, but once you have too much, well there is no going back. He called me later that evening amazed at how easy it was. So if a young man, barely out of his teens whose culinary experiences consist of frozen pizza and hot dogs can make mashed potatoes, I think just about anyone can.

One added piece of advice, you can substitute a hand mixer for the potato masher. It makes the potatoes smooth and creamy. My potatoes tend to be lumpy unless I use the mixer. I've not mastered the potato masher the way my mother did.

When I first selected this photo, I was just focused on my mother. It was only afterwards I realized how dingy my grandmother's kitchen appears in the photo. But for me, it was always a place of comfort, warmth, and happiness, a place where the whole family came together. Later as a Mother's Day present for her, we did paint her kitchen and install new cabinets. Grandmother was so excited with the remodel. As a child, I couldn't comprehend, but now I see.

Write Now: Reading Like A Writer

I just finished my senior thesis. Part of that particular project was to compile a reading list of twenty-five books. The professor asked that we concentrate on books that would help us with our chosen topic. Mine was to incorporate more setting details and to make my male characters stronger.

The professor stressed each week how important our reading lists were. We were encouraged to include books that we had read before. Twenty-five books is a considerable amount of books for such a short period.

My advisor encouraged me to add Elizabeth Strout's Olive Kitteridge. And it is a wonderful book, but be warned it is a novel in stories in which Olive appears as a main or minor character at some point within the story. Olive is not a very likable person, but there are moments where her humanity prevails.

I also reread Harper Lee's To Kill a Mockingbird. I had forgotten about the richness of the details, the characters, and the conflict.

The first time I read F. Scott Fitzgerald's The Great Gatsby, I hated it, but I was in my first year of high school. I just did not understand the relationships, the deceit, or the characters. At that time in my life, it was dry and boring. I struggled through it. Now, I have a new lens that has matured. If you have not read The Great Gatsby since high school and several years have passed, give it a try. I don't think you'll be able to put it down.

Reading encourages me to write. I love to read the setting details revealed by other authors. I love to see how they develop their characters, set the pace of the novel, introduce and work through conflict, and I love to see the way they reveal the resolution.

What am I reading now?

Joy for Beginners by Erica Bauermeister (She Reads Selection of the Month for February)

The Iguana Tree by Michel Stone's  (She's a local author published by Hub City Press)

Reading Like a Writer by Francine Prose