Eva Marie Everson's Southern Voice

Wednesday's Recipe of the Week (one day late...)

2012-03-15T09:00:00.000-04:00

Ripe Tomato Relish

Ingredients & Directions:

3 pt. ripe tomatoes, cut in small pieces
1 large bell pepper, chopped
or, 2 small seeded hot peppers
2 medium onions, chopped
1-1/2 pt. vinegar
2 cups sugar

Cook until mixture is low, then add:

2 tsp. cinnamon
2 tsp. allspice
1 tsp. salt
1 tsp. ginger

Cook about 5 or 10 minutes longer, put in jars and seal.

Makes 3 pints.

(Add this to your next meatloaf recipe! Put a cup of relish in the meat mixture, top with another 1/2 cup and bake according to your recipe. Yum!)

Tuesday's Southern-style Tunes

2012-03-13T07:17:00.002-04:00

Yesterday's "Who Am I?" was none other than Ray Charles. I asked about favorite songs from Mr. Charles's repertoire, and "Georgia on My Mind" was among the top, whether posted at my Facebook page or here on the blog. So I thought I'd post two tunes today: 1) My personal favorite Ray Charles number (even though I'm from Georgia, it's not "Georgia..." but one of the first songs I remember jitterbugging to.

2nd song ... just for you ... Georgia On My Mind ...

Tell me what you think for a chance to win! Or, just throw your name in...you don't have to think at all! :)

Monday Musings on All Things Southern

2012-03-12T09:24:00.001-04:00

Another installment of "Who Am I?"

I was born September 23, 1930 to Aretha and Bailey Robinson in Albany, Georgia, but we moved to Florida not too long after that. As a young boy I enjoyed watching men build and rebuild engines. Pretty much anything mechanical. But then a trip to Mr. Wiley Pits' Red Wing Cafe changed the course of my life.

You see, Mr. Pits played boogie woogie on an upright piano. My focus shifted from mechanics to music almost immediately.

My father died when I was ten and my mother died only five years after that, leaving me--at fifteen--alone and, did I mention?--blind. I decided not to return to school and, instead, started playing piano for bands in the Jacksonville, Florida scene. It would take a while for my big break to come, but when it did ... it did.

I ranked among the top 100 greatest artists in a listing made by Rolling Stone in 2004.

I landed in the top 10. I am one of the first African Americans to be given artistic control.

I am called a pioneer in the genre of soul music because of the way I blended R&B with gospel with the blues.

I have a star on Hollywood's Walk of Fame, located at 6777 Hollywood Blvd.

I appeared at two presidential nominations: 1) Ronald Reagan's and, 2) Bill Clinton's.

I loved playing chess with Willie Nelson.

I have twelve children. At a family dinner in 2002, I handed ten of those twelve checks for one million each (the other two couldn't make it).

Who Am I?

[Leave a comment with your answer and perhaps a favorite song by this artist for a chance to win a book from my bookshelf! Drawing held at week's end.]

Monday Through Friday (This Week... 'cause I've been swamped)

2012-02-29T09:04:00.001-05:00

Monday's Musings on All Things Southern:

Last Friday, I was kidnapped. Huggy Hubby said, "You need a break and I want you to come with me." So, okay. It wasn't technically a kidnapping. I was the willing victim.

So, where did he take me? First, we stopped at McDonald's for a McMuffin. One each. I swore I didn't want one, but then I smelled all that high-fat cooking and said, "Oh, whatever..."

Then we went to a farmer's market. Bought some fresh veggies, baked goods. Saw a dog with one blue eye and one brown. It wasn't high tea at the Ritz, but it was fun.

But THEN, we went to a pawn shop. I'm talkin' this thing was FILLED to CAPACITY with two things that bring harmony to our home: 1) jewelry (especially estate jewelry) and 2) guns.

Now, I know what you're thinking. Eva Marie found a broach she liked. Or a ring. Or a necklace.

No. I found a gun I want. Ruger Mark III, bull barrel, .22/.44. Price was decent but here was the best part. On the sites were these little white dots that made it easier for me to line my vision to the target. See, I am right-handed but left-eyed. In other words, I cannot close my left eye and keep my right eye open but also I can't shoot with my left hand. So ... these little white dots ... well ...

I want this gun, people. Mother's Day is just around the corner. Y'all can call me "Big Mama."

~~~~

Tuesday's Southern-style Tune: Montgomery Gentry's "Gone" I love this song! Just click on the song title for a good-un!

~~~~

Wednesday's Southern-style Recipe: Sweet Pickles (what says the South better'n Sweet Pickles??)

Ingredients
7 lbs. cucumbers
2 cups lime
1 cup alum

1 can pickling spice
5 lbs. sugar
1/2 gallon colored, distilled vinegar

Directions

Mix lime with 1 gallon of water and soak cucumbers for 12 hours. Wash cucumbers good. Then, mix alum and 1 gallon of water and soak for another 12 hours. Wash good again. Mix sugar and vinegar in a big pot and add cucumbers and pickling spice (tied in a cloth). Bring to boil and boil for 15 minutes.

~~~~

Thursday's Talk About a Book

I finished 98% of my work on the novelization for Unconditional, the movie. An amazing movie and I can only hope what I've done will complement it to the fullest. This book challenged me in more ways than one, the most obvious (for those who know me and my writing habits), I was forced to go waaaaaaaaaaaay deep into my personal pain, which I don't like to do. I don't mind feeling things, but have always feared that if I opened a door too wide, I'd fall into the abyss and never find my way out. Remarkably, I'm still here. And there's more ...

Friday's Southern-Style Faith
(Our Story Continues)

... this will be brief. Mainly because I'm running out of time before I leave for the Florida Christian Writers Conference. If you've been reading this blog, you know that our "daughter" (we had permanent guardianship of her) started showing signs of mental health issues during her 12th year. We'd been told to expect it, that it could happen, but we'd hoped so against it. We'd prayed against it. We'd done everything we thought was right. But ...

Jordynn, age 10

When we were forced to put her in the hospital for a second time (she was cutting), the state of FL got involved (more on that later) and--instead of helping us help her--they took away our rights, threw her into foster care, placed her in the ghetto, and said, "this will take time." Every concern I've had for her has come to pass. Then, this month, she didn't bother to come "home" after school and was listed as "missing" from Wednesday afternoon until Saturday afternoon when she was sent back to the foster home.

We had hoped that this act would cause the state of FL to take notice, but it didn't. Seems foster kids running away is normal, not news. And, when this news came to me (bio family stays in touch with us), that our hopes of getting her medical help were once again pooh-poohed away, I was writing these words for one of the final chapters of Unconditional:

. “I’m so sorry. I’ve wasted precious time. Your precious time, another one of yourgifts to me. Thrown away. Tossed aside like the trash littering the Commons.But, I know now. I understand. I get what you’ve always had for me. A purposeand a plan. And I also know now that sometimes those plans mean losing the oneswe love the most, and giving them back to you.”

~~~

Well now ... doesn't God have just the most remarkable sense of timing?

[Comments? Register for my next "off my bookshelf" book by telling me what you think about any or all of this!]

Thursday's Talk About A Book

2012-02-23T09:52:00.004-05:00

First, let me apologize, again, for not having the recipe up yesterday. When I share this news (below) you'll understand why I have been a little stressed in the time department.

We have long heard about books becoming screenplays becoming movies. And sometimes stage plays become movies (think Steel Magnolias and Loving Leah).

But there's a new movement that is seeing movies become books. In Christian circles, we can quickly name movies-to-books like Fireproof by my new friend Eric Wilson and Courageous by (someone I've met twice) Randy Alcorn. There's also The Nativity Story by by precious friend Angela Hunt.

Well, now there's going to be another one! Unconditional by Eva Marie Everson! I am so excited I can hardly sit down. And yet, sit down I must. I'm writing like a maniac. Like a writer on three pots of coffee (which isn't that hard to imagine, actually).

So, let me tell you about Unconditional. It's based on the true story of Papa Joe Bradford, a remarkable man of God. The screenplay was written by Brent McCorkle, who also directed the film. I "met" the producers, agent, etc. (by phone or email) before I received the screenplay and movie. And I can tell you that I know that I know is that these men and women love God and want to bring His message through story to the world.

They've chosen a powerful one in Unconditional.

I could sit here and type all day on my feelings for this film, this story, and the huge honor of being allowed to write the novelization for it. (But then I wouldn't be working, now would I?) So to do this any justice, I'm going to encourage you to go to the website (www.UnconditionaltheMovie.com). Take some time. Study the pages. Watch the trailer. Tell me what you think.

Write those comments here and register to win a book from my bookshelf in this week's drawing. And remember, "it's not a dead end, if it takes you someplace you need to go."

Blessings ...

Tuesday Southern-style Tunes

2012-02-21T06:23:00.002-05:00

A few weeks ago I told you about my trip spent listening to some classic country mixed with recent past classics and some of the newer tunes.

You cannot know country music and not know who Tim McGraw is! Nor, can you not know who Hank Williams was. Without the early sacrifices of one, the other may not have a career.

What you may not know, is that Hank Williams--regarded as one of the best Country & Western singers, songwriters, and musicians of all time--died at the young age of 29. Think about that. Twenty-nine. Think about what he accomplished in such a short period of time. But, most people believe, drugs and alcohol were the bottom line in his pre-mature death. Such a sad statement. Wonder what he could have done without them ...

Before we look at any classic Hank, let's look at the song recorded by Tim McGraw in tribute to this great king of Country & Western. Sit back and enjoy: The Ride.

http://music.aol.com/video/the-ride/tim-mcgraw/bc:11711242001

Monday Musings on All Things Southern

2012-02-20T13:50:00.000-05:00

In the South, one can find foods you've otherwise never heard of.

Livermush, for example. Ever hear of it?

In the South it is common to hear it called "poor man's pate." So, what is is made of? Pig's liver, for one. Head parts. Corn meal. Sounds just awful, doesn't it? Well, would it help to know that it's high in protein and low in fat?

No?

Would you believe Shelby North Carolina has a Livermush Festival every year?

Yes, I'm serious.

How to eat Livermush: it's a breakfast food. You can put it on a pizza. You can eat it cold in a sandwich. Or, you can do like me ... avoid it. Even if it is fried.

[photo from: http://www.cigarasylum.com/vb/showthread.php?t=19705]

[This week's winner of a book from my bookshelf if Angela! I'll contact you personally, Angela... If you want to be a possible winner for next week's drawing (from this week's entries), tell me what you think of "livermush"!]

Friday's Southern-style Faith

2012-02-17T10:47:00.003-05:00

What do you know about mental illness? I mean, really ... know. Has it ever affected your life in any way?

After high school, I decided to go to school, to study nursing. Part of what we did was theory. You sit at a desk. You listen to a teacher, an instructor, etc. Or you watch training videos. Those were the best. "Trainex presents! ... How to properly clean a bed pan!"

That came in handy.

Part of our training also included working what we called "clinicals." This was hands on. This was "get out of the text book and into the real world." It was both scary and exhilarating. Finally, we were putting to practice what we had learned. Or, learning that what we were taught from a text book was completely different from what one actually experienced when the time came.

A & P ... that's nursing school (or med school) talk for "Anatomy & Physiology." I studied this stuff until my brain nearly fell out, but it was being asked to join a doctor friend of mine for an autopsy that made it make sense. I went from C's to A's in that class! Same for any classes in Psychology or Psychiatry. Reading about it--fascinating as it was--was one thing. Experiencing it was another.

For two weeks, my class was held prisoner of war at Central State Hospital in Milledgeville, GA. There we lived in dorms (without air, I might add, during the summer months), across from the hall for the criminally insane. It was a marvelous two weeks. We were each assigned a patient (not from the aforementioned hall) and given three days to determine what the patient's diagnosis was. We were then tested to see if we were correct. My patient seemed normal enough, the first two or three hours. Until she told me I was a mechanical doll--we were ALL mechanical dolls--and she wanted to take me apart to see what made me tick.

I can still see myself sitting on the park bench with her, in this locked down facility, saying, "No, I don't think that's a good idea." I'm sure I sounded very calm, but deep down I was screaming, "GET ME OUT OF HERE!"

But there were those who didn't display such obvious signs of schizophrenia (I got an A on that one, too). There were those who appeared as normal as you and me. (Well, okay ... you.) These were the more difficult to diagnose. These were the ones who, until they'd done something so out of line, so horrific, had lived and moved and breathed among everyone else. They weren't going to be in the hospital forever. Just long enough to find balance. To find a way to function every day, with medication, in the real world ... where I would soon return.

I never stopped to think, "This person has a mother" or "That patient has a father." I never stopped to think about how mental illness affected the family. I never asked myself, "What would you do, Eva Marie, if this were your child? Whether 13 or 21 or 51? What would you do? How would you feel?"

Then I met Sarah. And I saw the affects on one so beautiful. Borderline ... do you know what that is? Bipolar, I'm sure you have heard of. Are you even remotely aware of how devastating these two illnesses can be ... or what it's like to love someone with them? How they can be perfectly normal one minute and ... just ... not ... the next? How they can believe the worst in you and not see the best about ten minutes after they saw the best in you and called you a saint?

I often wondered how I would feel if Jordynn took on the same traits. And then, I found out.

This isn't text book. This is real life. And it's mine ...

To read Part I: http://evamarieeversonssouthernvoice.blogspot.com/2012/01/fridays-southern-style-faith.html
Part II: http://evamarieeversonssouthernvoice.blogspot.com/2012/01/friday-southern-style-faith.html
Part III: http://www.evamarieeversonssouthernvoice.blogspot.com/2012/01/friday-southern-style-faith_20.html
Part IV: http://www.evamarieeversonssouthernvoice.blogspot.com/2012/01/friday-southern-style-faith_27.html
Part V: http://evamarieeversonssouthernvoice.blogspot.com/2012/02/fridays-southern-style-faith.html

Thursday's Talk About a Book

2012-02-16T10:39:00.001-05:00

I'm reading Hannah's List by Debbie Macomber. It's been a few years since I've read anything by Ms. Macomber, and I'm wondering why.

The story is about a widower named Michael Everett. He's young. He's a pediatrician. He's a catch. Problem is, he is still head over heels in love with his wife, Hannah, who died of ovarian cancer a year earlier. On the one year anniversary, Hannah's brother Ritchie brings Michael a letter his sister had given him before her death, asking him to hand deliver it to Michael on the one year anniversary.

The letter asks Michael to remarry.

Hannah knows her husband well enough to realize he won't do this. He won't even date. Or look to date. So, she gives him a list of women to choose from. Not only does she offer this list, but she tells Michael why each one would be the perfect mate for him.

Michael now has to pursue the three women in an effort to honor his wife's dying wish. Of course this is going to require him to get on with his life ... and he's not sure he can.

I'm enjoying this book so far. It's perfect for a lazy day out by the lake, sitting under the ceiling fans in the screened patio, or lying on the sofa, fire crackling in the fireplace while the world outside is doused with rain showers. If I had a full day to myself (I'll tell you more about that next week), I'd head over to the beach, find myself a large umbrella where I could sit in the shade (no more skin cancer for me!), and finish the book while the waves crash upon the shore. You know, the basic Southern way of reading ...

What are you reading right now? Let me know and you'll be entered in this week's drawing. If you are so interested, tell me "I want to win Hannah's List" and, as soon as I'm done, it'll be on its way to your house!

Until next Thursday (when my secret will be revealed),

Read on ...

Tuesday's Southern-style (Romantic) Tunes

2012-02-14T10:41:00.002-05:00

Wedding Day, 1979

Thirty-three years ago today, my huggy hubby and I were but one day away from saying our vows to each other in a preacher's living room with about four people in attendance.
We basically eloped.

Ashley 1979

The pastor who'd had the most influence on and in my life from childhood now lived about an hour or so away from Albany, Georgia. Dennis had basically grown up there; I'd moved there a few years previous. We were walking around the Albany Mall one evening when we happened to see Brother Charlie (Culbreth) and his wife Ruth, discovered they lived not far away, and exchanged phone numbers.

So, when Mr. Everson asked me to marry him (that's another story for another day), I called Bro. Charlie and asked if he'd marry us, in his home, the following Thursday evening, February 15, 1979 (not the 14th). He said he would.

Chris 1979

Why not Valentine's Day, you may be asking. Well, February 14 was "out." For one, it was a Wednesday and Bro. Charlie had Wednesday Night Service. For another, I'd married my first husband on February 14 years earlier ... a sad, disastrous marriage that only survived 13 months. In reality, it had only survived one month, we just hung in for the next 12. To marry again on that day was just too plain weird.

Jessica and Me 1981

So, February 15, 1979, my sweetheart and I, along with our two best friends and their twelve-year-old daughter, piled into a car and drove to Cairo, Georgia. We said our vows (I giggled through the entire ceremony!), signed some official documents, ate cookies and drank punch made by Miss Ruth, and then drove home. The next day, after we put in 8 hours of work, Dennis and I drove 4 hours, across state, to my mother's home (and my hometown) where I introduced her to her new son-in-law (she'd met him before, of course. She was not aware we were planning to marry). The next day we were to go to Hilton Head but we woke to so much snow, we were stuck at Mother's for the next four days. We've basically never had a honeymoon. There are some things I just won't do with my mother only two walls away. I don't care how cool she was.

Jordynn 2006

Thirty-three years.

We've had some ups and downs along the way and he's still the best thing that ever happened to me. I cannot imagine nor do I want to imagine my life without him.

Has he been difficult at times to live with? Yes.

Have I? Oh, yeah ...

But, still, I don't know another human on this planet who can make me laugh like he does, who brightens my world by just walking into a room, who I trust and depend on more. I don't know a kinder soul, a deeper thinker, or anyone who "walks the Christian walk" quite like he does. He's amazing and he's cute and he still thinks I'm sexy. I am blessed for having him in my life.

In the course of our marriage, he also gave me three very precious gifts: 1) a ready-made family (I love you, Chris and Ashley), 2) our daughter Jessica, and 3) he allowed/wanted Jordynn in our lives at a time when the nest had just gone empty and most husbands want anything but another child. Also, like me, he has grieved her loss more than anyone can imagine. (To read more on our life with Jordynn, come back on Fridays.)

This song is for you, "Mr. Everly." Alan Jackson (dancing with his sweet wife), singing "Remember When."

I love you. Forever ...

[Give a shout out to your own huggy hubby, wonderful wife, or special someone and enter for this week's drawing!]

Monday Musings on All Things Southern

2012-02-13T10:34:00.000-05:00

Last week, as I was writing about catsup bottles, I found myself having to deal with the little squggly red line under the word "catsup." Meaning, this is not the way you spell it.

Well, I knew it was. So, I looked it up. And lo and behold, you will not believe what I found. There was actually a Supreme Court case on this issue. Ketchup v. Catsup.

If you don't believe me, read about it here: http://uncyclopedia.wikia.com/wiki/Ketchup_v._Catsup

Hey, now. A true Southerner will go to war over how to spell catsup ... er ... ketchup!

[ Tell me what you think and enter your name in the weekly drawing for a book from my bookshelf. Last week's winner is Donna Tinsley! Donna, send me an email with your mailing address and whether you prefer fiction or non.]

Friday's Southern-style Faith

2012-02-10T10:17:00.000-05:00

Our Story Continues: Part V

I apologize for not posting last week; we were in the throes of heartache. And fear, the kind of fear that clutches at the hearts of parents who don't know where their child is.

It was Wednesday night when, just as the 10:00 news was coming on, I reached for the remote to "call it a night." My husband and I had watched Idol, had talked about who should go home and who shouldn't. We were tired and ready for bed. Just as I started to hit the "off" button, the news about Michelle Parker, the Orlando mom who has been missing since her appearance on The People's Court, came on. Her mother was on camera. Crying. Begging anyone with information to please come forward. "We don't want this to be what our lives are about," she said, tears coursing down her cheeks. "But this is what our lives are about."

"Lord, help," I said, in that way Southerners often say it. "I hope I never have to be in that woman's shoes."

How was I to know ... I already was.

The following day, at around 5 in the afternoon, Jordynn's Aunt Becky called me. "Have you gotten any news?" she asked, her voice shaking. I told her I had not. Didn't know what she was talking about.

"Jordynn is missing," she said. "Since yesterday."

So, how is it, you may wonder, that I didn't know where Jordynn was? Or, that she wasn't where I thought she was?

I've had to jump ahead of my story. I haven't had the chance I wanted to tell you how we ended up rearing Jordynn. How we watched the fingers of mental illness and issues wrap themselves around the throat of her mother. How all our efforts to get her father to be a father to Jordynn went unheeded. How we fought for two and a half years inside the court for the right to adopt her, but how we finally settled on permanent guardianship. I haven't been able to tell you of the wonderful years we had. The joy. The laughter. The hugs and kisses. To tell you about the little girl who thought we hung the moon and about the child we thought hung the sun. Together, that made for the best days and nights. I haven't been able to tell you about the little tell-tale signs we tried to ignore, or pray through, that said, "This may not go in the direction you hope."

We dreamed of watching her hang out with friends, of watching her become her own person--not just "our daughter"--of teaching her to drive in the same way I taught our kids to drive (in a graveyard, where they couldn't hurt anyone), of seeing her drive off in a car we'd bought her for the first time, of shopping for prom dresses, and having a nice young man stand at the front door saying, "Is Jordynn ready to go?" I haven't told you, yet, of the nights I imagined her standing before the Dean of a college, receiving her diploma ... of helping her decide the next direction of her life and knowing she'd go her own way, no matter what I said ... or of watching her exchange vows with a godly man who promises to love her forever. Jordynn wore a "purity ring" (which I still have), a ring she said would one day be removed by this man seconds before he placed a band of gold in its place. I dreamed of seeing all this. It's what parents do, don't they?

But then the signs came. The symptoms started. And our efforts to stop them, or at the very least to corral them, were stopped by organizations that calls itself DCF and CBC (Community Based Care) of Central Florida. People who say they are about helping families, but in the end were a part of destroying this one.

And how could that have happened? How could it be that our little girl, who we'd cared for and loved and reared from the age of 2, was "no longer your concern"? How is it, we were told to "just move on" and to "get on with your life." How could this have happened?

And, could it happen to you ... now, that is the question you should ask. Because, the answer is a resounding yes. You will find yourselves as helpless as we, and your child as tossed upon the raging sea as ours.

You, too, could receive a call that says, "She's been gone for 24 hours." You, too, could receive an email from the agency sworn to protect her, an email that nonchalantly breaks the news.

Your child received an A in art this week ...

Your child did not return home from school yesterday ...

Yesterday. Yesterday.

With those words, I am now that mother who doesn't want to be here. But here I am.

Did we find her? Yes, we did. Four days after she left. By DCF's efforts? No. By mine. And Aunt Becky's. And my husbands. And Jordynn's friends who went door to door asking, "Have you seen this girl?" and a wonderful reporter and a PD investigator who should be given some sort of medal for his efforts. Or, at the very least, a diamond in his crown. A plate of brownies. But not by DCF or CBC. No.

Because to them, she is a file in a drawer. But to us, she is the heart beating in our chests. She is our child. Our baby.
Nothing will ever change that. Nothing ever should.

To read Part I: http://evamarieeversonssouthernvoice.blogspot.com/2012/01/fridays-southern-style-faith.html
Part II: http://evamarieeversonssouthernvoice.blogspot.com/2012/01/friday-southern-style-faith.html
Part III: http://www.evamarieeversonssouthernvoice.blogspot.com/2012/01/friday-southern-style-faith_20.html
Part IV: http://www.evamarieeversonssouthernvoice.blogspot.com/2012/01/friday-southern-style-faith_27.html

Thursday's Talk About A Book

2012-02-09T09:45:00.000-05:00

Have you ever been well aware of something and yet not aware of it at all? Such it was with me and the Ancient Book of Jasher.

Jasher is not a persons name. It's not like "The Book of Ruth" or "The Book of Esther." It's not a letter written by a man named Jasher, such as 1Peter. The word "Jasher" means "upright." It is, therefore, The Book of the Upright.

The Book of Jasher is a history book written over 3500 years ago; approximately the same age as the Book of Genesis. It clarifies and expounds on the Books of Moses--Genesis through Deuteronomy--as well as The Book Of Joshua. It is mentioned several times in the canonized Holy Bible:

“Sun, stand still over Gibeon,

and you, moon, over the Valley of Aijalon.”

So the sun stood still,

and the moon stopped,

till the nation avenged itself on its enemies,

as it is written in the Book of Jashar (Joshua 10:13 NIV).

David took up this lament concerning Saul and his son Jonathan, and he ordered that the people of Judah be taught this lament of the bow (it is written in the Book of Jashar):

“A gazelle lies slain on your heights, Israel.

How the mighty have fallen! (2 Samuel 1: 17-19).

Just as Jannes and Jambres opposed Moses, so also these teachers oppose the truth. They are men of depraved minds, who, as far as the faith is concerned, are rejected (2 Timothy 3:8).

While this last verse does not mention "Jasher/Jashar" by title, it mentions an incident from the book of Exodus 7. However, in the biblical account of the two magicians who opposed Moses, names are not given. In the Book of Jasher, they are. Therefore, we can note that as Paul wrote the 2nd letter to Timothy, he did so with the knowledge of this ancient text.

~~~

Having read this phrase "the book of Jasher" many times, I decided to get the book. I've been reading for a week now, completely mesmerized by the stories, the explanations to questions I've had my whole life, and by the way these verses of ancient text move me.

One section in particular moved me to the point of crying. It comes from Jasher 6, the story of Noah and the Flood. I want to share it with you now because, tomorrow, as I share more of our story ... well, you will understand.

Jasher 6: 28 And the ark floated upon the face of the waters, and it was tossed upon the waters so that all the living creatures within were turned about like pottage in a cauldron.

29 And great anxiety seized all the living creatures that were in the ark, and the ark was like to be broken.

30 And all the living creatures that were in the ark were terrified, and the lions roared, and the oxen lowed, and the wolves howled, and every living creature in the ark spoke and lamented in its own language, so that their voices reached to a great distance, and Noah and his sons cried and wept in their troubles; they were greatly afraid that they had reached the gates of death.

31 And Noah prayed unto the Lord, and cried unto him on account of this, and he said, O Lord help us, for we have no strength to bear this evil that has encompassed us, for the waves of the waters have surrounded us, mischievous torrents have terrified us, the snares of death have come before us; answer us, O Lord, answer us, light up thy countenance toward us and be gracious to us, redeem us and deliver us.

32 And the Lord hearkened to the voice of Noah, and the Lord remembered him.

33 And a wind passed over the earth, and the waters were still and the ark rested.

34 And the fountains of the deep and the windows of heaven were stopped, and the rain from heaven was restrained.

35 And the waters decreased in those days, and the ark rested upon the mountains of Ararat.

36 And Noah then opened the windows of the ark, and Noah still called out to the Lord at that time and he said, O Lord, who didst form the earth and the heavens and all that are therein, bring forth our souls from this confinement, and from the prison wherein thou hast placed us, for I am much wearied with sighing.

37 And the Lord hearkened to the voice of Noah, and said to him, When though shalt have completed a full year thou shalt then go forth (emphasis, mine).

Wednesday's Southern-style Recipe of the Week

2012-02-08T08:38:00.002-05:00

More goodies from "Miss Betty's" Hand-written Recipe Book!

Apple Crisp

Ingredients

4 cups tart apples ( about 4 medium)
1/3 cup all purpose flour
2/3 cup milk
3 T sugar
1/4 t nutmeg
1/4 t salt
1 t cinnamon
1/2 cup butter or margarine
1/2 cup sugar
1/2 t cinnamon

Directions

Grease a shallow, 6 qt. baking dish. In a small bowl, mix flour, milk, nutmeg, salt, 3 T sugar and 1 t cinnamon. Using a fork, mix in the butter or margarine until crumbly. In a large bowl mix 1/2 cup sugar with 1/2 t cinnamon. Add 4 cups of pared, sliced, tart apples. Stir until apples are coated with sugar mixture. Pour coated apples into the greased baking dish. Sprinkle crumb mixture evenly on top of apples. Bake on center rack at 325 degrees for 45 minutes, or until apples are golden.

[Tell me what you think about this recipe. Or, share one of your own. Doing so will enter you in this week's "book off my bookshelf" contest!]

Tuesday's Southern Style Tunes

2012-02-07T08:39:00.001-05:00

Before the Super Bowl there was much speculation about what Madonna would do, how she would look, if her clothes would be on or off. There was talk about last year's performance and the years previous and how few really add up to the hype. (Did I just dream the nightmare, or was The Who the too-old-to-be-doing this entertainment a few years back?)

Someone in my group said, "They ought to have a country artist give the half time show" and I piped in and said, "YEAH! GARTH!"

Here's why:

You gotta love the energy of this man!!!

(Not to mention his talent!)

Double-click to watch it on YouTube.
Respond with an OH YEAH!!! and be entered to win a book from my bookshelf!

Monday Musings on All Things Southern

2012-02-06T15:29:00.000-05:00

And speaking of barbecue, the most important thing you need to know is not so much how you cook the meat but what kind of sauce you use.

True Southerners don't use anything bought at the grocery store. They make their own. Or they know someone who does. And that someone will never, ever reveal the recipe. The family will inherit it upon their demise, but until then ...

Moats IGA, in my hometown, is owned by ... well, Mr. Moats. He has a barbecue recipe that'll make ya wanna slap your mama. Whenever I go home, I make sure to take an empty catsup bottle so I can get it filled with Mr. Moats barbecue sauce. It's just that good.

I think the key to making your own barbecue sauce is to find a recipe or three (or four) and then mix and mingle. Eventually you'll find your own secret sauce recipe that you can "hog" till you die.

[I apologize for not blogging on "our story" on Friday. The child I've been writing about was missing from Wed. until Saturday. On Friday I was working hard to help find her.]

Last week's book winner is Jennie !! I'll notify you privately by email!

Thursday's Talk About A Book

2012-02-02T09:32:00.000-05:00

First, allow me apologize that Wednesday's Recipe of the Week didn't get posted yesterday. Life has a way of interfering every so often ...

I first met Robert Benson at a little function of about 16,000 in 1999. CBA (Christian Booksellers Asso.) held its annual international convention in Orlando that year; I somehow made it into the closed event. It was here I met two people who would become important in my life and in my career. The first was Susan Schlabaugh. Susan was the Acq. Ed. for Barbour Publishing. Until two weeks earlier, she was Susan Johnson. Her business cards still said Susan Johnson but there was a blue ink line through her old last name and the handwritten new last name above it. I still have the card.

I shared with Susan a book I'd been wanting to write about marriage proposals. I had no idea she was a new bride. She was quite taken with the idea and, 9 days later, she called and offered me a contract. My entry into the world of publishing began with the words, "Quick! Tell me your parents' marriage proposal story."

I was staying in a house with about 9 other women writers or wannabe writers. During the day we worked hard at meeting new people and seeing new things. But at night we played just as hard, swimming in the pool, sitting around on the floor with cups of coffee, talking and laughing. One of my housemates was a woman named Paula who mentioned--during one of these chats--that she had seen that Robert Benson was going to be at the Penguin booth at some point. The next day, I happened upon said booth and upon a decorated stack of Robert Benson's latest book, Living Prayer. I stopped, picked it up, and a sales gal told me to take one. I ended up, stupidly, asking if I could take one to my roommates. I suppose I should have said housemates, but I didn't. She said yes. You can imagine the look on her face when I picked up close to ten copies! It's a wonder I was ever allowed back in, but I was a sure hit that night back at the house. Paula (as well as a few others) went on and on about how wonderful this man was as a speaker. They couldn't wait to see what he could do with a "pen."

I had an appointment with the Penguin Acq. Ed. the following day. Truly a miracle, considering I'd nearly annihilated their supply of Living Prayer. I approached the booth and was relieved to see a new stack of books by Mr. Benson. Apparently, they had more in the back somewhere. A man with a long dark ponytail, thick beard, and John Lennon glasses stood a little off to the side. He looked official so I told him I was there to meet with [insert name here; I believe it was Carolyn]. He walked off, told someone, who then returned with the man and said that Carolyn was a little behind schedule but would be with me shortly. She left, leaving me and the man.

Have you ever stepped into an elevator with a stranger. You have no idea what to say. So, with nothing to say, I pointed to the stack of books and said, "I got this yesterday. My housemates told me this guy is a really good speaker and they hope he's as good a writer."

The man answered back. I don't remember what he said but his voice was soft and kind. So were his eyes. Looking back, he probably saw me as the dunce new to all this and himself as the wiser one. Whatever he said, he kept me from looking positively stupid. We talked for about five minutes during which I shared everything I'd heard about this man named Robert Benson. He nodded. Said "Mmm-hmm" a few times. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Paula making a mad beeline for the two of us. Her arms were outstretched and she was smiling. "Oh," I said. "There's one of my housemates now."

Two seconds later, she introduced me to the man I'd been talking about Robert Benson to as being Robert Benson.

Everything we'd suspected about Mr. Benson's work was true. It was pure poetry on paper. Not too long after, I found myself in the fortunate position of being called Robert's friend. We even got lost together along the back roads of Central Florida's untamed area on our way to a retreat in which he was the speaker and I was the driver of said speaker. I still laugh when I think about how we spotted a sign that said, "Police Department--->" and Robert said, "They'll know how to get us to where we're going."

I slid my Mustang into the driveway of the small brick building with POLICE written across the front. Robert got out, ran to the door, and immediately ran back. "Apparently, it's a volunteer force," he said. "The doors are locked." I believe we sat and laughed for a good five minutes.

We finally made our way to where we were to be. Late, but we arrived. Somewhere in the course of that retreat (which included long periods of silence), Robert said words to me which have resonated within my spirit ever since. "Eva Marie," he said. "The only person who knows what God has whispered into your heart is you. But you won't hear him if you don't hush."

Since reading Living Prayer, I have read approximately ten Robert Benson books. I have come to love him and his wife Sara as a sister loves another sibling. My highest respect goes to them both. There is a bookshelf with nearly nothing but Benson books. They are not given away. They are not loaned. If you want to read them, you must either read them while in my house or buy your own copy. Living Prayer is nearly falling apart, I've read it so many times. It holds three things I consider special: 1) a letter from Robert sent to me from his home; 2) his signature, which includes 3) the word Namaste.

I am currently reading The Echo Within. It's not a big book. Or a long book. But it's a book to be savored. It brings to light the words you see written by Robert above. Reading it makes me want to be a better writer. A better person. And, most of all, a better daughter of God.

Do you have a book that has changed your life? Or words spoken to you that have done the same? Tell me about it ... and put your name in for this week's drawing!

Tuesday's Southern Style Tunes

2012-01-31T09:26:00.002-05:00

WHEN I GET WHERE I'M GOING

You cannot be from the South and not recognize the amazing voices in this song (click title above). This is a video you will not want to miss. Don't take your eyes away ... there are lovely tributes to legacies now gone.

Thank you Brad and Dolly ...

[Don't forget to leave your comments on this video so that your name is entered into the weekly drawing for a book from my bookshelf. And don't forget your contact information. Someone two weeks ago missed her book because I had no way to contact her. --I'm learning, too! :) )

Monday Musings on All Things Southern

2012-01-30T09:57:00.000-05:00

What is it about the South that demands a love for barbecue? People around here will drive for miles on end to find the best. And, once they do, there's no going back.

Heaven forbid you go to your favorite barbecue place and get a bad plate of something. There's no going back then, either.

A couple of years ago, our daughter was devastated to learn she'd not made a 100 on her spelling test, the misspelled word being "barbecue." Turns out, not a single kid in the class got it right. Some spelled it BBQ. Others, barbque. Still others, Bar-B-Q. I'll be honest; I didn't know the correct spelling either.

Do you have a recipe for barbecue sauce or barbecue anything you want to share? How about a favorite barbecue memory (here's mine: when I was a child, we had a small family reunion at my Uncle Bobby's. While the kids played football in the yard, the men barbecued chicken and the women made the fixins in the kitchen. To this day, I say that was the best barbecue chicken I've ever eaten. Was it the chicken? The sauce? The company of loved family members? Or maybe all of the above? Don't know, but the truth remains. It was the best.)

Remember: leave you comments and a way to contact you to register for this week's drawing. This week's drawing winner is: Bea Hall. Last week's winner did not respond so ... congrats to Cheryl Hopkins!)

[Photo from http://www.easycookrecipes.com/barbecue-recipes/]

Friday Southern-style Faith

2012-01-27T10:51:00.002-05:00

Our Story Continues (Part IV)

A funny thing happens when you're rearing children, whether your own or helping someone else. Time has a way of getting away. When they are little, very little, and getting into everything, we think the days will never end. Sometimes the hours. The minutes. We look forward to their nap time. But, when it comes, we wonder what to do with ourselves.
Do I sleep, too?
Do I read?
Clean the bathroom? Mop the floor? I can't vacuum. The noise will wake her ...
So we do a little of it all and never really get it done.

When we are young mothers, we cannot see the joy in this. But when we are mothers for the second time around--grandmothers or old enough to be the grandmother of the child whom we are caring for--we understand that the old saying "this too shall pass, and pass quickly, it shall" is true.

2nd Generation mothers don't care about fingerprints because we know they'll wipe away and soon, too soon, there will be no fingerprints to fuss over. We don't care about bath toys left wet and ripe for mildewing in the tub because we know that Clorox makes bleach. We don't care about wet footprints marking the tile or the carpet because ... it's gonna dry. And it's just water, after all. Later on, we don't care about smeared makeup in the bathroom sink or clothes strewn on the floor because "I can't find anything to wear" when there is a closet full. Okay, maybe every so often we care about that. Maybe every so often we say things like "pick up this pig pen" but only because we are trying to teach discipline and order into what is a chaotic span of life. Adolescence. Oye.

Sometimes we walk into the bedroom of our 2nd Generation teenage daughter's bedroom and we see that new "things" have been added. For Jordynn it was the shape of a heart. She drew a large heart on her closet door, made of cedar, with chalk. She put a piece of tape on the wall and drew drew a heart with lipstick. With a pen, she drew a heart on the baseboard of her white wrought iron bed. And, with gloss on her lips, she kissed the white-wood desk by her bed, leaving the shape of a heart.

Time stamps that say, "I was here and now I am not."

I want to tell you more. I want to share with you about the hours in between. The weeks, the months, and the years. Start to finish. 2000-2011, nearly to the day of having laid eyes on her for the first time.

Eleven years of love, devotion, worry, and ... joy. Joy shattered by a thing we call "mental illness" but that the state I live in, Florida, has yet to recognize. What we don't understand, we ignore. But first we remove, like a piece of lint from a pair of black slacks. We can throw it away. We can flick it into the air. We can move forward and pretend it never was.

But, truth be told, it was. And it still is. I know. I have the time stamps to prove it.

To read Part I: http://evamarieeversonssouthernvoice.blogspot.com/2012/01/fridays-southern-style-faith.html
Part II: http://evamarieeversonssouthernvoice.blogspot.com/2012/01/friday-southern-style-faith.html
Part III: http://www.evamarieeversonssouthernvoice.blogspot.com/2012/01/friday-southern-style-faith_20.html

Thursday's Talk About the Book

2012-01-26T08:56:00.000-05:00

Okay, so every week I give away a book from my bookcases. I have quite a few.
Right now I'm looking at several books I've read and enjoyed ... a little something for everyone.
I just finished the one on top, Eve's Daughters, by Lynn Austin. Lynn is by far one of my favorite novelists. If the woman wrote a grocery list, I'd read it.
Do I recommend this book as your choice should you be the winner? Yes! Let me tell you a little about it:
From Christianbook.com: One bad decision can plague a family for generations. Emma Bauer realizes that now as she watches her granddaughter's marriage unravel. If she had only told the truth about her own troubled marriage, maybe she could have prevented her granddaughter's heartache. Is it too late to break the legacy of wrong choices and embrace God's forgiveness? 448 pages, softcover from Bethany.
My 2cents: I could not put this book down. I stayed up one night reading but was forced to put the book down when I just couldn't keep my eyes open another second. But, when I went "to sleep" I continued to dream the words. About an hour later, I woke, said, "Forget this!" got out of bed, grabbed the book, went into the family room with a cup of coffee, and read until about 4 in the morning. Book finished, I went back to bed and slept till 8. That's how good it is.
So, if you are the winner this week, you may want to check out Eve's Daughters or...
1. Setting Boundaries with Difficult People by Allison Bottke
2. The Betrayal by Jerry B. Jenkins
3. Sitting at the Feet of Rabbi Jesus by Ann Spangler and Lois Tverberg
4. A Confident Heart by Renee Swope
5. Remembering Christmas by Dan Walsh
6. The Prayers of Agnes Sparrow by Joyce Magnin

Until the drawing,
Eva

Wednesday's Recipe of the Week

2012-01-25T09:46:00.000-05:00

As my mother lay dying in Mission Hospital (Asheville) in May 2010, a friend of ours came for a quick visit during those rare visitations one is allowed when a patient is in intensive care. Sharon, our friend, picked up Mother's limp hand, placed it in her own, and stroked her arm. "Betty," she said to Mother (who was unconscious but, I believe, hearing), "you have the softest skin."

My brother quickly replied, "She makes her own body and face lotion."

"Well," Sharon said, "whatever it is, it's marvelous."

After Mother died, I found several whipped topping tubs still filled with what she called "The Recipe." So light and fluffy, you'd think it was whipped topping. I placed a little in a small glass jar (Mother kept things like small medicine containers and, in particular, empty Vicks VapoRub containers just for this kind of thing), and sent it to Sharon.

I'm nearing the end of what was left and will soon, for the first time, make my own. It truly is marvelous and I want to share it with you.

Betty Blue's Emu Oil Beauty Cream
(Please note, I have no idea where she got this. This is just my name for it.)

15 oz. baby lotion
18 oz. Aloe Vera lotion or gel
8 oz. Vitamin E cream
8 oz. petroleum jelly
1/2 oz Emu oil (or you can use 1 oz.)

Mix with a hand mixer.

[Don't forget to comment so you'll be entered in the weekly contest!]

Tuesday Southern-style Tunes

2012-01-24T12:18:00.000-05:00

Check out the hyperlinks for those of you who don't know what some of these things are ... and be sure to read all the way through so you can take part in the drawing this week!

Goodbye Joe me gotta go me oh my oh
Me gotta go pole the pirogue down the bayou
My Yvonne the sweetest one me oh my oh
Son of a gun we'll have big fun on the bayou
Jambalaya and a crawfish pie and file gumbo
Cause tonight I'm gonna see my ma cher amio
Pick guitar fill fruit jar and be gay-o
Son of a gun we'll have big fun on the bayou
[ fiddle ]
Thibodaux Fontaineaux the place is buzzin'
Kinfolk come to see Yvonne by the dozen
Dress in style and go hog wild me oh my oh
Son of a gun we'll have big fun on the bayou
Settle down far from town get me a pirogue
And I'll catch all the fish in the bayou
Jambalaya and a crawfish pie...
[ fiddle ]
Later on, swap my mon, get me a pirogue
and I'll catch all the fish on the bayou
Swap my mon, to buy Yvonne what she need-oh
Son of a gun we'll have big fun on the bayou
Jambalaya and a crawfish pie...

Who can tell me what "fill fruit jar" means?

Come on now ... it'll get your name in for the drawing!
HERE'S THE SONG: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xnKOVPXhlnE

Monday Musings On All Things Southern

2012-01-22T19:41:00.000-05:00

If you grew up in the South during the time when I grew up in the South, the name Tennessee Ernie Ford was familiar.

Born in Bristol, Tennessee, Ernest (Ernie) Ford became better known within the Gospel, Country, and Pop genres as Tennessee Ernie Ford. His impression was of a simple, gentle man. But don't let that fool you. He was brilliant as a musician, accomplished as a singer, TV star, and quite simply a great American.

And, he was a Southern boy. Even better.

Here's a classic moment from his television show. Look how well he handled the little boy to his right who ... um ... stole the show!

Friday Southern-style Faith

2012-01-20T09:45:00.000-05:00

Our Story Continues, Part III

Being a single parent is difficult. It's made more difficult when there is no financial support from the other parent. Our new friend, Sarah, was one of those. A single mom with a 2-nearly-3 year old, working two, sometimes three, jobs to put a roof over their heads, food in their stomachs, and clothes on their backs. Gas in the car that oftentimes wouldn't start.

She was nothing if not doggedly determined. She often worked herself silly, which is never good. Not for anyone. My husband and I, from the start, looked for ways we could help. After all, this young woman and her child had been brought into our lives for a reason ... and with four little words, "Can you help me?"

Those were the first words Sarah ever spoke to me. They became our mantra. Our theme song. The foundation by which our relationship was formed and remained.

We--my husband and I--offered child care. When "the baby," Jordynn, was not in daycare or in preschool (as she got older), we took responsibility for her while Sarah worked that second or third job. We picked her up from daycare or preschool. Fed her a snack. She played with the neighborhood kids.We had dinner and then she took her bath. Bubbles and tub toys...

Afterward, she stepped into a thick towel, I drew her into my arms just as I'd done my girls years before, snuggled for a minute to warm her little body in a shower of giggles, then got her dressed for bed.

Jordynn had a prayer bear. After bath time and a few minutes of reading to her, I snuggled down with this adorable tot and, with the prayer bear between us, we'd close our eyes, squeeze the hand of the bear and pray together, "Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep. Your love be with me through the night, and wake me with the morning light."

"Amen," I'd say.

"Amen," she'd echo.

Nothing in life was sweeter than planting seeds of faith into this baby.

Nothing.

Twelve years later, that bear remains on her bed ... the one that now has not been slept on in over a year. He's a little worn. He stoops forward like an old bear. His prayer button no longer works. Still, sometimes at night I slip into the dark shadows of her bedroom, draw him into my arms, and whisper, "Somewhere out there, she lays down to sleep ... I pray, Lord, her soul you'll keep ... your love be with her through the night ... and wake her with the morning light."

Amen.

To Read Part II: http://evamarieeversonssouthernvoice.blogspot.com/2012/01/friday-southern-style-faith.html

To Read Part I: http://evamarieeversonssouthernvoice.blogspot.com/2012/01/fridays-southern-style-faith.html

Wednesday's Southern Recipe of the Week

2012-01-18T10:08:00.001-05:00

Clam Puffs

I grew up near the water, where the Atlantic meets the marshes of the land we call Georgia. My grandparents taught me how to fish when I was six-years-old. My mother said things like, "Oh, how I love going to the coast." I can still see her standing at the edge of the world, arms folded around herself, looking out over the water.

Summers were spent at the beach with my family when I was a child. With my friends when I was a teen. We'd pile into the back of a pickup and head to Tybee Island, CCR blaring from the cab. We'd body surf until we were exhausted and happy, then bake for hours with baby oil slathered all over our young bodies. I have the scars from cancer removal to prove it.

I knew how to "go" shrimping and crabbing and clam digging before I knew how to drive a car. One of my finest memories came from those high school days when a pile of us went to St. Simon's Island. We spent the day shrimping. We finished the day around a campfire and a vat of boiling shrimp. (We call this a shrimp boil.) I can still see the mound of shrimp shells tossed to one side. Hear the strum of someone's 12-string. The mellow voices singing "We Are One in the Spirit."

There's nothing like good seafood. Here's a recipe from an old Southern recipe book perfect for any cook, whether you can get to the coast to clam or not. Enjoy!

1 (3 oz) pkg. cream cheese
2 Tbs heavy cream
1 (7 oz) can minced clams, drained
pinch dry mustard
1/2 tsp Worcestershire sauce
1/4 tsp salt
1/2 tsp grated onion
paprika

Mix all ingredients except paprika. Spread on toasted bread round or saltines and pat in broiler for a few minutes until puffy. Sprinkle with paprika and serve piping hot. This mixture can be made up a day or two ahead of time, and spread and popped under the broiler at the last minute. Makes about 20 puffs.

Got any beach memories from your childhood you'd like to share? Do it here and register to win!

Tuesday's Southern-Style Tunes

2012-01-17T11:51:00.001-05:00

In honor of Dr. Martin Luther King, please watch this video to the end.

Brad Paisley's "Welcome to the Future"

Leave a comment on how the life of Dr. King effected you for a chance to win!

Monday Musings on All Things Southern

2012-01-15T20:43:00.001-05:00

Another round of "Who Am I?"

I was born in Orlando Florida in 1956 to a single mother. Mom later remarried, my stepfather adopted me; I've gone by his last name ever since. While in high school I competed in the Miss Florida contest and won. I continue to hold the title of the youngest winner in the history of the pageant.

From 1986 to 1991 I played on a highly popular CBS sitcom in which I played one of two sisters and one of four businesswomen. My role earned me two Emmy nominations but my weight gain eventually became more of an issue than my ability to act or make people laugh.

My primary residence (where I live with my husband) is in Los Angeles but I have several other homes, including one in New Orleans.

Who am I?

[Answer for a chance to win a book from my bookshelf. Name will be picked at the end of the week. Last week's winner was Kathleen Bruner!]

Friday Southern Style Faith

2012-01-13T16:07:00.000-05:00

So, how do I begin to tell this story? How do I adequately describe two young ladies who entered our lives back in February 2000, both to leave so unexpectedly and in a most unexpected way? How do I explain what mental illness does to a life? To a home? To a family? What it does to love that you thought could never be destroyed. Or laid to waste?

The child we came to "adopt" to become legal permanent guardians -- a funny title if there ever was one -- was only 2 1/2 years old when we met. She was cuddly and cute. Precocious. Adorable. She made our hearts sing. Her mother, at only 22, was honestly one of the most beautiful creatures I'd ever seen. She walked into a room and everyone's head turned. Men. Women. It didn't matter. Not in a sexual way. Not necessarily. But in such a way that dictates beauty cannot be denied.

She smiled and the room lit. She had Elizabeth Taylor eyes ... that shocking near-violet color.

There was little doubt her daughter would become just as lovely as her mother.

The mother was trying to get her life together. She needed help and we -- my husband and I -- offered to be there for her. To mentor her. She befriended our daughters who were close in age. She hung out and solicited advice, just as they did. She helped cook, she cleaned the kitchen after meals, she vac'd and mopped when asked.

We watched TV together. Went shopping. Laughed. Oh, how she could make us laugh.

But we aren't laughing any more.

So, how do I begin to tell the rest of the story? How do I tell you of the heartache and confusion we've been left to deal with? The pieces we've been forced to pick up, whether we want to or not? The parts that are lost, never to be found again?

One moment at a time ...

[photo is of Virginia Woolf]

Wednesday Southern-style Recipe of the Week

2012-01-10T18:25:00.001-05:00

Portobello Mushrooms for Four
(Yum, Yum Marinated!)

Ingredients:
4 large portobello mushroom caps
3 cloves garlic, minced
4 Tbs. dark soy sauce
4 Tbs. balsamic vinegar
2 Tbs. olive oil
1 cup cooking wine

Directions:
Preheat oven to 400
In a baking dish, mix cooking wine, olive oil, soy sauce, vinegar, and garlic. Place mushroom caps upside donw in the marinade. Marinate 15 minutes.
Cover dish, place in oven. Bake 25 minutes. Turn mushrooms and continue baking 8 minutes.

Have you ever had marinated portobello mushrooms? I remember one evening, my daughter and I (she was then 16) and I were at a friend's lovely estate in Georgia. He prepared marinated portobello mushrooms as an appetizer before dinner. We sat out on a deck where candles lit the way and a babbling brook ran behind us. An amazing evening with a good friend.

Tell me what you think!

Remember, by commenting, you place yourself in the running to win a book from my bookshelf!

Monday Musings on All Things Southern

2012-01-09T09:00:00.000-05:00

Hey, y'all!

It's time for another game of Who Am I?

I was born on Christmas Day, 1946 in Pascagoula, Mississippi. Southern born, baby! I'm known more for my singing and my songwriting, but I've also written three #1 best sellers.

I am one of only eight authors to have accomplished reaching #1 on both the fiction and the nonfiction best-seller lists. Among the other seven were Ernest Hemingway, John Steinbeck, and Dr. Seuss.

One of my fiction titles is Tales of Margaritaville (okay, that probably gives me away!). My best-selling nonfiction work is titled A Pirate Looks at Fifty. Not to try to overly impress you, but I have also co-written two children's books with my eldest daughter, Savannah.

Who am I?

Friday's Southern-Style Faith

2012-01-06T11:12:00.001-05:00

It's January of 2012. Every year, as the ball drops in New York's Times Square, I recall the strangest thing. I was in the 6th grade. The Christmas Break (as it was called in those days) was soaring toward us. The students in Mrs. Boddiford's class had all brought a gift (we could not spend more than $2) for the gift exchange. We placed the wrapped gifts at the front of the classroom, near the teacher's desk, and then drew numbers to see who would get to "pick" first.

One of the gifts was obvious. It was a ball. A regular, ordinary ball. Not a small ball, and not a beach ball, but a basketball sized rubber ball. It had probably cost all of 25cents.

The giver was a girl named Linda. Linda came from the poor side of town. She wore our hand-me-downs. She didn't bathe every day like the rest of us girls. Her hair was curly and unruly and her body had started to change already. In the 6th grade, she was an outcast.

I actually liked Linda. She was nice, once you got past all the other stuff. She somehow managed to grow her nails long (no small feat for 11-year-old girls in those days. Most of us were still tom-boying around. So, even though her nails were usually dirty, they were long. I was impressed.

I had drawn a high number; meaning, I would be one of the last to get a gift. Not the last, but among the last. As each child picked a gift, the rest of us watched as they deliberately avoided the ball from Linda. I cut my eyes over to our classmate several times (she sat in the row next to mine, in the seat next to mine). Her face reddened with each turn and, when one of the boys acted like he was going to choose the ball, but then didn't (which caused the rest of the boys to laugh), she looked as though she'd cry any moment.

I'm not going to say I'm a saint here, but when it was my turn, I took the ball.

I was always a sucker for the underdog. Always looking out for those less fortunate than me. Always looking for the good in the bad, the joy in the sad. I got this from my parents, especially my mother. I can only think of one or two people she ever treated "differently" and both of them were boys she didn't fancy good enough for her daughter.

I've done the same, only to be found very wrong.

Last year, a number of Facebook friends said, "You seem sad to me ..."
My closest friends knew of our heartache, the one that had nearly consumed me. Okay ... it consumed me. They knew I'd never been so hurt, so torn apart, so ripped to shreds as I'd been in 2011. Nothing in my life had ever prepared me for this. Nothing. Yet, God saw fit that we -- my husband and I -- had to endure the pain. The loss.

I tell you the first story before I start to share the second because I want you to know the kind of person I really am. I am far from perfect. I am a sinner by every stretch of the word. But, deep down in the core of me, I (and my husband) am "good folks." We see a need and we wonder how we can help fix it. We see someone who is down, and we ask ourselves if we have what it takes to make life better for that one person.

When we do, we offer it.

Oftentimes this results in the most positive of returns. Other times, it ends in the crushing blow that, no matter what, some people just cannot be grateful. They'll always see the negative. The rainbow fades; there is no pot of gold.

So I begin our story of 2011 in 2012 with a story from 1968. A girl with her simple gift. Another girl willing to take it.

And, for a while, I enjoyed that ball. But, in time, it too deflated.

Thursday's Talk About The Book

2012-01-05T12:58:00.004-05:00

My current works in progress -- the Cedar Key novels -- are set (among other settings) in Cedar Key, Florida. I love this place more than I have words to write or volumes to fill.

I've been playing around with Animoto video, 30-second films using my photos and set to music. Thought you might enjoy watching the sun set from Shell Mound, which is up Highway 24 (then take a left) from Cedar Key.

For more information about the first Cedar Key novel, Chasing Sunsets, see the banner at the right of this posting.

Be sure to leave a comment as to what you think about this video to be entered into the drawing, which will be held tomorrow, for a book from my personal bookshelf!

Wednesday Recipe of the Week

2012-01-04T12:41:00.002-05:00

Southern cookin'! Nothin' like it!

Sour Cream Dressing for Baked Irish Potatoes

Ingredients:

1 cup sour cream
1/2 tsp. vinegar
a few drops of lemon juice
dash of Worcestershire sauce
1 tsp. finely chopped onion
2 tsps. chopped chives or tops of green onions

Directions:

Mix all ingredients. Serve on baked Irish potatoes.

Monday Musing on All Things Southern

2012-01-03T18:40:00.001-05:00

Hey, y'all!

It's time for another game of Who Am I?

I was born on Christmas Day, 1946 in Pascagoula, Mississippi. Southern born, baby! I'm known more for my singing and my songwriting, but I've also written three #1 best sellers.

I am one of only eight authors to have accomplished reaching #1 on both the fiction and the nonfiction best-seller lists. Among the other seven were Ernest Hemingway, John Steinbeck, and Dr. Seuss.

Who am I?

Tuesday Southern-style Tunes

2012-01-03T09:35:00.000-05:00

I grew up on Southern tunes. Country and Western, Southern Gospel.

I pretty much hated all of it. Still, it has a way of getting into your DNA.

Two of my first three children had a love for Country, as it became to be known. I recall afternoons riding in my son's cherry red '66 Mustang, windows down, wind blowing through the car, Bocephus playing as loud as the radio would allow. It was crazy fun. A few years later, our oldest daughter (Child 2) showed her love for country. Alabama was big back then.

Both kids tried to make me love it, but I couldn't shake the old stuff.

Then kid #4 came along. She introduced me to the really new country. Crazier still, I fell in love with it. I sang the lyrics. I danced to it in my bedroom while getting ready in the morning.

Now Child #2 gets in the car, hears country coming from the speakers, listens to me singing along, and laughs.

Yesterday, on a return trip from GA, I found a station in Jax-ville that played the new mixed with the sort of new and, be still my heart, the classic country songs of yesteryear. My first thought was, "Oh dear ..." but then a song came on I remembered well. "Hello, darlin' ..." Conway Twitty crooned.

I was taken back. A simpler time. A simpler place. A memory of being in K-Mart with my mother (I always got lost in there!) and hearing the song for the first time over the speakers.

So, take a trip back with me if you will ... this is Conway Twitty (dare ya not to sing along!):

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Og1QRtcWdEY

Monday Musings on All Things Southern

2012-01-02T10:09:00.004-05:00

I announced last year (last month!) that I was about to do something new here. And I am. For one, giveaways. I have a library full of books I rarely know what to do with once I'm finished. Sometimes I take them to the "new and used" bookstore not far from my home. I love that place. It's called BrightLight Books, for anyone in the Orlando area who may be interested. It's Christian-owned and operated so there's a real sense of "family" when one walks in the door. They have an area in the back any theologian or theology student would salivate all over (I know I did...). And, better still, you can order online (for those of you who are not in this area). I've been known to go in, take books, get credit, "buy" books. I tell them nearly every time I go in that if they were to get WiFi and put in a coffee shop, I'd never leave. What they don't know is, I'd be sitting there writing the next novel ...

BrightLight carries my books but they really don't know who I am. I kind of like that. I go in, I'm just another reader. And shopper.

All that to say, I come out with a stack of books nearly as tall as the one I took in. I don't like to take those books back (that'd be like going to the library!), so what happens? I end up with a stack of books collecting dust and taking up space in my office. Not to mention stacks of the books written by me!

What to do ... what to do ... ?

I know! I'll give them away! Once a week I'll look over the names of all those who have left comments and, from those names, at random, I'll choose a winner. Let me know what kind of books you prefer and I'll do my best to accommodate you!

(In other words, your comments will look something like this: [comment, comment, comment]. Jane Doe. (Romance Fiction)

And that is where YOU come in! You'll have to leave comments. And hopefully encourage others to come to my page, to learn more about what I write, how I think, and what being Southern is all about.

Here's something to get us started:

Who Am I?

I was born in 1674 and died in 1744. I was a planter, slave-owner, and author. My diaries on the secrets of plantation life were printed in the 1800s and are among the most noted in Southern literature. My home held an extensive library; I refused my wife the privilege of entering it, but she often did while I was away, taking volumes and reading them. I am called the Founder of Richmond, VA. Among my titles are: A History of the Dividing Line and A Journey into the Land of Eden.

Who am I?

Tuesday Southern-style Tunes

2011-12-31T11:28:00.000-05:00

A few weeks ago I told you about my trip spent listening to some classic country mixed with recent past classics and some of the newer tunes.

You cannot know country music and not know who Tim McGraw is! Nor, can you not know who Hank Williams was. Without the early sacrifices of one, the other may not have a career.

Before we look at any classic Hank, let's look at the song recorded by Tim McGraw in tribute to this great king of Country & Western. Sit back and enjoy: The Ride.

http://music.aol.com/video/the-ride/tim-mcgraw/bc:11711242001

Tuesday Southern-style Tunes

2011-12-31T11:26:00.004-05:00

Photo taken from: www.sweetslyrics.com

I grew up on Southern tunes. Country and Western, Southern Gospel.

I pretty much hated all of it. Still, it has a way of getting into your DNA.

Both kids tried to make me love it, but I couldn't shake the old stuff.

Then kid #4 came along. She introduced me to the really new country. Crazier still, I fell in love with it. I sang the lyrics. I danced to it in my bedroom while getting ready in the morning.

Now Child #2 gets in the car, hears country coming from the speakers, listens to me singing along, and laughs.

I was taken back. A simpler time. A simpler place. A memory of being in K-Mart with my mother (I always got lost in there!) and hearing the song for the first time over the speakers.

So, take a trip back with me if you will ... this is Conway Twitty (dare ya not to sing along!):

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Og1QRtcWdEY

Monday Musings on All Things Southern

2011-12-14T16:37:00.002-05:00

I'm in North Carolina this week. Not sure when this is going to post; nonetheless, I am in North Carolina this week. It's where I hope to retire one day, even if only part time. Whether part time retired or part time residency, I do not know. I just know I love it here.

Yesterday my friend Sharon Decker, who gets to live here, made a funny statement. She said, "I was sittin' in the catbird seat."

I told her I'd never heard that before. Being the inquisitive person that I am, I looked it up. Turns out, she thought the idiom had something to do with a cat and a bird. But, there is actually a catbird. A bird. Called a catbird. Pictured here is the gray catbird.

What it means doesn't change with this new found knowledge. It means "sitting pretty."

Sharon was "sitting pretty."

Okay, I have to admit, hearing that Sharon was sitting in the catbird seat sounds ... prettier. Don't you think?

Wednesday's Recipe of the Week

2011-12-14T10:47:00.000-05:00

A reprint from one of my favorite recipes:

From Miss Betty's 1950s Hand-written Recipe Book:

Browned Rice

Ingredients

1 cup uncooked white rice
1 can beef bouillon soup
1 can onion soup
2 or 3 pats butter
1/4 cup chopped onions
1/4 cup chopped mushrooms
2 T Worcestershire Sauce

Directions

Combine uncooked rice, beef and onion soups in saucepan. Bring to a boil over medium high heat. Cover, turn down to low heat and simmer for 20 minutes. Remove from heat. Brown onions and mushrooms in pan with butter and Worcestershire sauce. Add them to the cooked rice mixture. Pour rice mixture into a greased casserole dish. Cover and bake at 350 degrees for 1 hour.

"Miss Betty" was my mother. I found this old date book in which she wrote her recipes, in her own hand, after her death in 2010.

I particularly remember this recipe. Not sure when she added it in, I'm thinking the early 60s.

Thursday's Talk About the Book

2011-12-01T15:39:00.001-05:00

I leave for Cedar Key again tomorrow. I want to experience the Christmas Season there ... for one, I want to experience the Christmas Season there and two, I have a scene set there during the season ... so ...

Any excuse will do.

Stay tuned for videos and pix.

And know that I'm working on doing something NEW here. Some giveaways will be involved. Something FUN!

Don't ya love fun? And giveaways?

Eva

[Photo taken in Cedar Key by Eva Marie Everson]

Wednesday's Recipe of the week

2011-11-30T12:00:00.000-05:00

Another recipe from Miss Betty's handwritten 1950s/60s recipe book!

Carrie's Three Hour Rolls

Ingredients

2 yeast cakes
3 T sugar
1 cup milk
1 cup warm water
1/2 cup shortening
Self Rising flout

Directions

Combine yeast cakes in a large bowl. Sprinkle sugar over yeast. Mix well. In a separate bowl mix the milk with the warm water and pour over the yeast. Sift in enough self rising flour to make a soft dough. Work in the shortening and knead well. Let stand 2 hours. Form into rolls and let rise 1 hour. Place rolls into a preheated, moderate oven of 400 degrees. Bake until golden!

My guess is that "Carrie" is Carrie Hicks, who was a "backyard" neighbor of my mother and father in the earliest years of their marriage. I loved this woman DEARLY! She was a delight to all who knew her! If I remember correctly, her grandchildren called her SIS ... and I often wrote about them in my 12-year-old diary, found recently.

Tuesday's Southern Style CHRISTMAS tunes!

2011-11-29T10:45:00.001-05:00

Okay... you have to check this out. Not sure where this house is ... but it's a common site in the South during the holidays!

You'll have to trust me on this one...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gOyN9CawB8w&feature=related
Just click on the link...

Monday's Musings on All Things Southern

2011-11-28T12:03:00.001-05:00

This little bird was quite the model.

My mother adored Christmas. Every year, when I arrived "back home," I was greeted by holiday smells and sites. Pine-scented candles flickered just inside the door. The scent of holiday baking wafted from the kitchen while the wood-burning stove (where a fireplace once stood) added it's own flavor of pine cones popping and sizzling, filling the room in warmth, both physical and emotional.

As soon as hugs were over and suitcases were put in away, Mother ushered me into her living room. There, before the wide picture window, stood the tree. Brightly lit. Heavily decorated. Presents clustered around the base.

"See my little birds," she would say. "I got them all on the tree."

Mother loved "little birds." She had dozens for decorating (she and I shared a love for the red bird), especially for the Christmas tree. One year, during the holiday, I decided to take walk around the lake. I spied several birds, took pics, and then came home and showed Mother. She instantly wanted me to take her to where I'd seen the "little birds."

The bird who waited for Mother and me to return.

So I did. All but one had already "flown the nest." Like a child seeing snow for the first time, she marveled at the one who hadn't.

Mother kept all her holiday decorations in the attic. Each year after Thanksgiving, my brother would climb the stairs and--one by one--would then haul tradition back down. Mother spent the day watching Hallmark Holiday movies (she and I talked through them) and decorated.

Her last Christmas was "decor-less." In November my brother fell about 20 feet from a tree, broke his back, and wasn't climbing anything for a while. Mother bought a very tiny tree "up town," one that could sit atop the television. She said to me, "I didn't get to bring my decorations down but that's okay. My children are more important than my little birds."

What a precious thought. Hadn't Jesus once said something similar?

Then she added, "I'll bring everything down next year. Just gives me more to look forward to."

Of course, we had no way of knowing she would never place a little bird on the tree again. After our Christmas spent together, my brother climbed those stairs, brought down the boxes marked: CHRISTMAS and we began to divvy up "the last of it." My brother said he probably wouldn't decorate the way Mother did and I do, so I took the majority of the items.

Yesterday, I started placing little birds on my tree.

"See my little birds?" I could hear her say. "Aren't they pretty?"

Yes ma'am, they sure are.

Squash Casserole

2011-11-23T16:12:00.001-05:00

I remember being a little girl, hating squash ... unless it was fried, that is. If it was fried, I'd eat it as fast as Mother could pull it out of the grease!

Then, we went to my Aunt Bettye's for Thanksgiving on year. She had Squash Casserole. I thought I wouldn't like it much, but Mother had taught us to always try what was put in front of us, especially when at the home of family and/or friends.

So, I took a bite and ... yum! It was marvelous! It soon became a favorite ... both as a child and as an adult.

You'll see why ... if you try ...

Squash Casserole

4 cups cooked mashed squash

2 cups broken Ritz crackers

1 cup scaled milk

2 eggs, slightly beaten

1 TBS grated onion

1/4 stick butter

Mix all ingredients and place in a buttered casserole. Bake at 375 degrees for one-half hour.

Yum!

Southern Style Dressing

2011-11-22T10:27:00.001-05:00

Ohhhhhhhhhh!!!!! I probably shouldn't be sharing this. If I do, EVERYONE gets to know how good REAL SOUTHERN DRESSING is ... and they'll be jealous and heartsick they haven't known all along.

Oh, well. It should be done. It must be done!

So, here it is:

Ingredients

A meal's worth of cornbread
4 slices toast
1 large onion, diced
4-5 stalks celery, diced
1 can Cream of Chicken soup
2 eggs
1 small can broth
salt and pepper to taste

Directions

Boil onion and celery about ten minutes (until tender), drain

Mark cornbread. Crumble, add crumbled toast. Add onion, celery, cream of chicken, eggs, broth, and seasonings.

Mix well.

Pour into baking pan

350 for one hour

[photo from TennZenn: Enlightenment, Southern Style blog]

Share your recipes or comment for that free book drawing!

Monday Musings On All Things Southern

2011-11-21T07:43:00.001-05:00

Mother's Sweet Potato Souffle

With Thanksgiving just days away, I thought I'd share a favorite recipe or two from the Southern kitchen of my mama. This will always be a favorite. Goodness, you can practically eat it as dessert it's so good!

Ingredients

3 cups cooked sweet potato
1/2 cup granulated sugar
1/2 cup brown sugar

2 eggs
1 tsp vanilla
1/2 cup canned milk
1/2 cup melted butter
1/2 tsp cinnamon
1/2 tsp nutmeg

Combine, place in greased cooking dish

Ingredients for topping

1 cup brown sugar
1/3 cup flour
1 cup chopped nuts
1/3 cup butter (not melted)

Sprinkle on top of above mixture

Bake 1/2 hour at 350

Share your own sweet potato recipes with us and take a chance at winning the Potluck Club Cookbook, by Linda Evans Shepherd and Eva Marie Everson

Thursday's Musings About the Books

2011-11-16T20:06:00.001-05:00

Daddy & Me, 1957

I'm working away on Book Three of the Cedar Key series. I'm calling this one Slow Moon Rising, but the pub house, Baker, may change that. I like the title. It fits. Maybe they'll think so too. Maybe not. Doesn't matter to me right now because what's important is getting the inside words done, not the outside title.

Daddy & Me, 1959

I love this story so far. I'm taking a look, first, at the dynamics of the relationships between Ross Claybourne (Kimberly's father) and his new wife, each of his daughters, and then ... well, I can't tell you what happens, but something does happen that makes each one of his girls re-exam their relationship to their dad.

Ami has misunderstood him. Heather has used him financially. Kimberly, when her marriage to Charlie was falling apart. And Jayme-Leigh during a health crisis. Each girl knew she could depend on Daddy. Now, Daddy needs to depend on them.

Daddy & Me, 1972

I keep thinking back to when my father first told me he had multiple myeloma. I thought of every wonderful thing he'd ever done and then I thought of every moment I'd been a stinker.

Daddy & Me, 2001

I was Daddy's girl all the way up to the end of his life. I didn't think twice about sitting in his lap, throwing my legs over the arms of his recliner, laying my head against his shoulder and together we'd rock ... we'd rock ... we'd rock ....

Daddy is buried in a cemetery next to an unmarked but owned grave. Every time I to "pay my respects" I stand on the opposite side of that particular plot of ground. Which I own. That will be my final resting place. Next to Daddy. Right where I've always loved to be.

What about you? Do you have a favorite Daddy story? Share it here, why don't you ... I'd love to read it!

Eva Marie

Tuesday Southern Style Tunes

2011-11-15T08:20:00.001-05:00

This Christmas, think about giving the SERVICES of your fellow Americans. If you know someone who likes to have manis and pedis, give a gift certificate. If you know someone who likes to eat at a particular restaurant, give a gift certificate to that restaurant. If you know someone who likes having their hair cut at a certain salon, or their lawn cut by a certain landscape team ... give their services. Stop giving everything "Made in China" for crying out loud.

Here's a song that reminds me greatly of my roots. Love this song!

TOBY KEITH--MADE IN AMERICA

Photo Copyright: Eva Marie Everson

Monday Musings on All Things Southern

2011-11-14T08:36:00.001-05:00

Have you ever sat under a magnolia tree?

There are several types of magnolia tree, but the ones I grew up around--the Southern Magnolia--are all thick in the trunk, with dark green, glossy leaves, and the most fragrant flower, some pink, some white. So massive can these beauties grow, one can sit under them as a child and pretend she is inside a great cathedral, or inside her own home. Or, if caught in a summer shower, one can rest under the tree and stay relatively dry.

The flower, which can grow to the size of a child's head, are not only marvelous for their fragrant offering to the outdoors, they bring the same to the inside of a house. I've clipped many a magnolia flower and allowed them to rest inside a bowl of water. A perfect centerpiece or decorative idea.

Magnolias are so prevalent in the South, streets are named after them. Festivals. Stores. Plantations.

I recently had the pleasure of visiting Charleston, South Carolina. I was a guest in the home of a childhood friend who lived in nearby (and equally beautiful and historic) Summersville, but made the short trip into the old Southern city several times in just a few days. One route--Ashley River Road/Hwy 61--afforded me with a remarkable view, not to mention a glimpse back to the past.

As the sun danced between the canopy of trees lining both sides of the road, I exclaimed, "Can you imagine taking this road in the days of horse and buggy? How absolutely romantic and inspiring it must have been!"

I was with fellow author Tim Owens at the time. Tim, who takes this trip most weekdays, said, "I love this route. This is my time with God. To think. To be quiet. Some people want to four-lane this road. I can only hope it doesn't happen."

Me, too.

But back to Magnolia Plantation. If you are ever in the Charleston area, I would like to recommend taking a few hours away from the old city to this grand remembrance of the Old South. I was only fortunate enough to drive past it several times and, quite honestly, this writer's mind went creative-crazy.

If, for whatever reason, you cannot make it to Charleston, enjoy the virtual tour here: http://www.magnoliaplantation.com/

(Photos from http://www.magnoliaplantation.com/)

Tuesday's Southern Style Tunes

2011-11-08T08:23:00.001-05:00

Special spot with Larry Gatlin...

More serious fun...

Tuesday Southern Style Tunes

2011-10-25T13:53:00.003-04:00

Okay, this is not a TUNE, but it is so funny and so Southern, I could not resist.

Thank you Dennis Everson (huggy hubby) who sent this to me a couple of weeks ago and said, "You are going to laugh!"

Click Below:

Dennis Swanburg: Bengy and the Zipper

Monday Musings on All Things Southern

2011-10-24T13:54:00.000-04:00

More definitions for those not in the know:

What is the difference is toting and carrying?

To my way of thinking, when you tote something, it's heavy. It's work. It's a haul.

"Jimmy, tote that box of books over to the library down the hall for me, will ya? My back's been actin' up."

But when you carry something, you are simply bringing it somewhere.

"Dora Lee carried some potato salad to the dinner on the grounds. It had way too much mayonnaise."

Get it?
What are your sentences for toting and carrying (or, as we say, totin' and carryin')?

Foundations of Faith Friday

2011-10-14T08:27:00.001-04:00

On Fridays, please switch to my other blog:

http://evamarieeverson.blogspot.com/2011/10/come-heal-with-me.html

Thursday's Talk About the Book

2011-10-13T09:40:00.001-04:00

The amazing thing about Cedar Key is that one can view the sun as it rises (my next book is called Waiting For Sunrise) and watch the sun set (Chasing Sunsets , the first book in the three-book series).

Here are some of Cheryl's most recent pix of the sun rise (I was too lazy to get up):

When the sky changes from black to blue
and the clouds from gray to pink ...
When the birds sing and fly ...
It's nearly time.

Peek-a-boo ... the sun begins his early ascent near Dog Island while this bird (and Cheryl) watch on.

The higher he climbs, the longer his beam of light across the rippling waters of the Gulf of Mexico.

Moving closer to City Park, now we see the water changing color too.

Time now for boaters and fishermen to join us.

From City Park, abandoned by all but Cheryl, the birds, and the warmth (and humidity) of a new day.

Wednesday's Recipe of the Week

2011-10-12T09:11:00.006-04:00

From Miss Betty's 1950s Hand-written Recipe Book:

Tuesday Southern Style Tunes

2011-10-11T14:21:00.000-04:00

Some serious funny stuff.

Monday Musings on All Things Southern

2011-10-10T06:24:00.002-04:00

'lest y'all get confused ... last time we talked about the difference in a hissy fit and a conniption fit.

Now, let's talk about the difference in "cuttin' up" and "actin' up."

"Jennifer's colon has been actin' up for so long, she can hardly leave the house."

Yes, I know that's pretty gross, but Southerners are known for talking about all the fine details in life. Leaving no stone unturned.

"That Tommy has been actin' up ever since his daddy went off to work in Savannah. His mama can't do a thing with 'im."

But "cuttin' up" is something usually done by teenagers and adults.

"Don't get upset, Dora Lee, Jimmy was just cuttin' up with ya when he snapped your bra strap." (Yeah, I bet Dora Lee had a hissy fit, that's what I bet.)

One can also be a cut up.

"When Jimmy was in high school, he was always a cut-up. Now that he's married to Dora Lee, not a thing has changed."

See the difference?

Can you write some actin' up/cuttin' up sentences of your own?

2011-10-10T06:22:00.001-04:00

Wednesday's Recipe of the Week

2011-10-05T13:33:00.001-04:00

It's Wednesday! And that means another recipe from "Miss Betty's* handwritten recipe book dating back to the late 50s, early 60s.

Curried Rice

Ingredients

2 T butter
1/3 cup chopped onions
1 t salt
1/8 t black pepper
1 t curry powder
1 cup uncooked white rice
2 1/4 cup chicken stock
2 t lemon juice
Chopped parsley
Paprika

Directions

Melt butter in a 2 qt. saucepan. Add chopped onions, cooking until tender and slightly yellow. Stir in salt, pepper and curry powder. Add rice. Slowly add chicken stock and lemon juice. Bring to a boil. Cover, turn down to low heat and simmer for 20 minutes or until water is absorbed. Remove from heat but leave lid on for at least 10 more minutes. Serve topped with chopped parsley and a generous sprinkling of paprika.

Miss Betty is the name so many called my mother, Betty Kicklighter Purvis, 1935-2010.

Thursday's Talk About the Book

2011-09-30T08:46:00.000-04:00

Last week I shared that in Chasing Sunsets, Patsy tells Kimberly that most people take photos of only the sunset. But, if you wait fifteen minutes, the best colors come out.

Proof:

Looking toward the west from 1st and G toward the airport.

I'm not sure what this structure is in the water. It seems to be a little more worn every time I come. At high tide, you cannot even see it.

Same view

The most photographed location in Cedar Key. We'll talk more about it later. It's known locally as
"The Honeymoon Cottage."

Before going completely dark, the sky actually grows brighter.

Tuesday's Southern Style Tunes

2011-09-27T10:54:00.000-04:00

JASON ALDEAN'S "UNDERNEATH THIS AMARILLO SKY"

Monday Musings on All Things Southern

2011-09-26T12:00:00.000-04:00

"I'm going to tell you right now, if that girl doesn't come home by the strike of ten, I'm gonna have a hissy fit they'll be talkin' about for the next hundred years."

"Mr. Bannings had a conniption fight right there in front of the class. I'm talkin' he was stompin' his feet and pounding his fists against the desk like you would not believe."

You may not know it--especially if you are from the Northern United States, but there is a difference in a hissy fit and a conniption fit.

A hissy fit involves a lot of yelling and drama. A conniption fit requires some physical display.

Y'all got that?

What are your best "hissy fit" or "conniption fit" stories?

Thursday's Talk About the Book

2011-09-22T13:27:00.000-04:00

Chasing Sunsets, book one in the 3-book Cedar Key series, tells the story of Kimberly Claybourne Tucker who, in the second half of her life--confusing as it is--returns to Cedar Key where, years before, she "chased the sunset" with her high school sweetheart. All that was necessary was a truck and a camera and the spirit of adventure.

Recently my friend and assistant, Cheryl, and I went to Cedar Key. We did a little sunset chasing. I thought I'd show you a few pix:

The clouds start to change from white to pink. It's time.

We decided not to go to our usual place to begin with, but to start near the airport.

Now we're at Bridge 4. Sunset on the marshes. Gorgeous.

The treeline of a nearby key is swallowing the sun.

Bye-bye ... until tomorrow.

In the book, Patsy tells Kimberly that most people only photograph the sunset. But if they will just wait fifteen minutes, the best colors will come out. Next week, we'll look at some of those.

Wednesday's Recipe of the Week

2011-09-21T08:45:00.000-04:00

It's Wednesday! And that means another recipe from "Miss Betty's*" handwritten recipe book dating back to somewhere in the late 50s/early 60s.

Broccoli Souffle w/Cheese Sauce

Ingredients

1 10 oz. package frozen broccoli
3 T butter
2 T flour
1 cup evaporated milk
1 1/2 t salt
Dash nutmeg
Dash white pepper
1 t lemon juice
4 eggs, separated

Directions

Cook and chop the broccoli into small pieces. Melt the butter in a double-boiler and add the flour. Blend well. Gradually add the evaporated milk. Stir until thick and smooth. Stir in the salt, nutmeg and pepper. Mix in the broccoli and lemon juice and remove from heat. Beat the egg yolks and add a small amount of the hot mixture to them. Add this to the remaining broccoli mixture. Beat the egg whites until stiff and add to the broccoli mixture. Turn into and ungreased 1 1/2 qt. casserole dish. Bake at 325 degrees for 50 to 60 minutes. Serve at once with cheese sauce.

Cheese Sauce

Ingredients

3 cups grated cheese
2 T flour
1 cup evaporated milk

Directions

Mix the grated cheese and flour in the top of a double boiler. Add the milk and cook until sauce is smooth and thick. Yield 1 1/2 cups.

*Miss Betty was my mother. This recipe book was among the things I found in her kitchen after her death in 2010. I distinctly remember it being opened out on the kitchen countertop and her cooking recipes from it.

Tuesday Southern-Style Tunes

2011-09-20T09:00:00.000-04:00

Ever tried to make a video

with a dog,

a truck,

a creek

a railroad track,

a steep incline

and a big snake?

This one will leave you laughing!

David Phelps: The Fall

Monday Musings on All Things Southern

2011-09-19T08:06:00.003-04:00

I traveled to the north this past week ... all the way to Ontario, Canada. I was there to launch a Christian Writers Guild Word Weavers (Christian writers critique group), which is part of what I do.

The launch was set for Tuesday night. We had dinner at Swiss Chalet in Mississauga, and, after an hour of gabbing, I began my presentation. When I was done, I asked if there were any questions.

The first one asked about experience. "How much experience do you need to be in this group?"

It was a good question. I said so ... and then answered it.

The second question asked if we allowed for the critiquing of poetry.

"Absolutely," I answered.

Another hand went up. "Yes, Denise," I said, having just met the young woman with the long, wavy hair an hour earlier.

Her large eyes lit up, her shoulders rose to meet her ears, and she said, "I don't have a question. I just want to say, 'I love your accent.'"

Everyone giggled and agreed. Then Larry (who I'd also just met) said, "She probably likes ours, too, eh?"

And I did!

Funny how the way we say our words helps denote where we're from, dunchathink?

I say "HOW-se" for house.
They say "HOE-se."

I say "uh-BOUT" for about.
They say, "uh-BOAT."

But I'm thinking the "house" is still the place we live in ... and "about" is still what this message is in regard to. And that message is simple: make sure, no matter how you say the words, that the words are uplifting and true.

Eh?

Wednesday's Recipe of the Week

2011-09-07T10:22:00.000-04:00

Another recipe from Miss Betty's* Daily Diary Cookbook...I remember Mother making this...

I don't know who Ethel is or was. For some reason, the name is resounding within me as being the first name of one of the State Trooper's wives of which Mother was a part in those days.

Or maybe it's Ethel Mermann. LOL

Ethel's Punch

Ingredients

1 gallon water

4 lbs.sugar

3 T almond flavoring

1 T vanilla

1 large bottle lemon juice

3 large cans pineapple juice

2 quarts gingerale

Directions

Mix ingredients together making sure to add the gingerale last.

Makes 50 5 oz. servings.

(Miss Betty was my mother. These are the recipes I found in her penmanship, written in a Sexton's Daily Diary from c. 1955.)

Tuesday's Southern Style Tunes

2011-09-06T07:46:00.001-04:00

During our road trip, we started talking about old movies. REALLY old movies but also modern day classics. Debby H brought up watching Smokey and the Bandit (staring Burt Reynolds, Sally Field, and Jerry Reed) with her husband and kids recently. For about an hour later, this song played in my head.

There are about three "words" here, so be aware of that. I chose this particular video because it has clips from the movie...and oh! What a movie!

If you'd prefer to just hear Jerry Reed sing the song without the video clips, watch the video below.

Debby H, thx for the memories. While you can recall watching this with you kids just last week, I went to the theater, stood in a very long line, watched and laughed with the rest of the South...way back when in

1977.

Monday Musings on All Things Southern

2011-09-05T13:54:00.001-04:00

I had an interesting experience this past weekend. I traveled ten states in three days. Okay, technically, I traveled five states in three days but I drove them first forward and then backward. Thus ten states.

At 6 30 on Friday morning, three other women and I met in my driveway. The air was cool but humid. The sky was still dark but growing lighter. Insects swarmed around the lamppost in my front yard. We loaded up Debby H's Saturn Outlook to the absolute brim, climbed in, and headed out the driveway. Goodbye house, humidity, and insects.

Together, as the sky grew increasingly lighter and our coffee kicked in, we--Debby H, Debbie B, and Patsy B--started to chat a little, discovering how alike we are in our differences. Debby H has a husband and two teenage boys. Debbie B is experiencing empty nest for the first time, now that all five of her kids are out of the house. Patsy B has been a widow for 11 years; she loved her husband dearly and misses him like mad, even after all this time. And then there was me.

Florida became Georgia. The sun was now gleaming over the marshes along the coastline as we sped up I-95. We had already made I don't know how many stops--potty breaks and grabbing a little something to eat or drink. Our conversation was opening up along with the day. Debby H, who was the Driver # 1, and I had switched places;I was now behind the wheel of the luxury suburban.

We got to Savannah and decided we were hungry. It wasn't quite lunch, but we had all agreed on Cracker Barrel, of which there are a ga-billion along Southern highways. I ordered chicken and dumplin's, as always. Turnips. Fried okra. Patsy said she had never had okra fried so I remedied that. She and I both agreed, better fried than boiled. Yuck.

Georgia soon became South Carolina. We drove about halfway up, cut across toward North Carolina, and then entered the incredible Great Smoky Mountains. Majesty rose on both sides of the highway. We oo-ed and ah-ed. Our conversation continued to grow with the same intensity of the landscape. Four women in one vehicle cannot be quiet long.

We grew quiet at the sight of a pretty serious accident involving a car and an 18 wheeler. Traffic backed up like crazy.

We had to make, ah-yet, another potty break. This was our fiftieth of the day (or so it seemed) and we had gotten badly lost at one point. Okay, two points. Not really lost...we just couldn't figure out how to get to where we wanted to go. I don't think that really counts as lost.

So...we needed gas and restrooms. We got off the interstate, and drove up the driveway of a gas station/convenience store. And I do mean drove "up." We were taking turns putting gas in the car; it was Patsy's turn. But there were a lot of bikers milling around the pumps, not pumping gas and not really moving out of the way either. Debby H got all gutsy, rolled down the window and basically told a burly biker to "move it."

And he did.

We went inside for the potty break but, alas, their well was broken. Interesting. So we got gas and drove across the street to another convenience store, whose well was not broken, to use the restrooms, then felt all guilty that this was our only reason for being there. So we bought stuff. Junk nibbles. We got back on the highway.

Our conversation soon turned silly...and I do mean silly.

We turned on the music to XM radio. For a while, we grooved to the 70s, then the 60s, then the 50s. At one point, Debby H--who doesn't know the words to too many songs but can figure out the chorus after she hears it a time or two--got her groove on...and I got out my camera. (see video)

We came to a tunnel. Debby H said, "Everybody scream!" And we did that too... (see video) although I admit I couldn't hold my scream for laughing so hard.

By the time we arrived in Gatlinburg, TN (we were attending Cheri Cowell's marketing retreat in her lovely mountain cabin), we were positively loopy. In awe of our surroundings, but loopy.

But wouldn't you be if you had been in a car with four women from all walks of life for nearly 13 hours?

Wednesday's Recipe of the Week

2011-08-31T08:51:00.000-04:00

Another recipe from Miss Betty's* Daily Diary Cookbook

This was everyone's favorite! Mother could make divinity like nobody's business! I must warn you though: even though you now have her recipe, you will never make it as good as she did! :) I know this for a fact because everyone who got the recipe always came back and said, "I made it just like you said, but mine just isn't as good as yours!"

So, here it is...especially wonderful at Christmas!

Divinity Candy

(typically just called: Divinity)

Ingredients

2 1/2 cups sugar
1/2 cup Karo syrup
1 cup nut meats (pecans)
2 egg whites
1 teaspoon vanilla
1/2 cup water

Directions

Bring water to a boil. Add sugar and Karo syrup and boil until stringy. Beat egg whites until stiff and gradually add sugar/syrup mixture while continuing to stir quickly. Add nut meats and vanilla. Drop by teaspoonfuls onto waxed paper. This recipe is best done in the winter when the weather is not hot and humid.

(Miss Betty was my mother. These are the recipes I found in her penmanship, written in a Sexton's Daily Diary from c. 1955.)

Friday's Frank Talk about Godly Things

2011-08-26T13:07:00.000-04:00

Go to:

Eva Marie Everson's

One Writer, One Day

Blog

Thursday's Talk About the Book

2011-08-25T09:53:00.001-04:00

I remember when I was first starting out in this writing thing. I wrote for hours a day. The following day I edited what I'd written the day before and then I'd write some more. The next day, repeat. And so on and so forth. I had no other agenda but to write. There was no PRing going on. No worries about corporate finances. No meetings to attend. No social media, etc. Just the writing.

I kinda miss those days.

When a book is published, the focus shifts from "only writing" to "marketing what you have written." Color me guilty. I do this because I have to. And, because I want my work to sell. Not so I can make a lot of money (though I wouldn't complain, I don't think) but because the whole point of the writing was so that people could read...could grow...could ask questions and draw closer to God in whatever genre I chose to display Him (fiction or nonfiction).

So, here's the latest...my ABOUT ME page. And, if you visit it, you can "vote" and maybe mine will be the face used as the ABOUT ME poster girl. Wouldn't that be...fun? I think it is!

So, here it is...

EVA MARIE EVERSON'S ABOUT ME PAGE

Will you take a minute go go there, read a little "about me" and ... vote? While you are there, make your own "about me" page. It's easy and it's fun!

Thank you!

Tuesday's Southern Style Tunes

2011-08-23T10:21:00.000-04:00

Cost of Living

Ronnie Dunn

An amazing song...an even more amazing video.

(Be sure to blow it up on your screen)

Monday Musings on All Things Southern

2011-08-22T08:11:00.001-04:00

"Y'all come'on in when ya git to tha house..."

A few weeks ago I had a doctor's appointment right smack dab in the middle of the day. Two o'clock to be exact. At about 1:15, I grabbed my purse, my keys, my checkbook, and the book I was reading at the time. Knowing that doctor's office visits are usually spent more in the reception room than in the actual exam room, I was--for once--excited. The book I was reading was good. I was about to have some quality reading time.

Being reared by a proper Southern mama, I dressed appropriately for my appointment. Black dress capri's (this is Florida in the middle of summer, by golly), appropriate summer top, adorable dress sandals, and all the jewelry to match. I arrived on time, signed in, sat down, opened my book and started to read.

But, of course, I was interrupted. "Mrs. Everson, we need you to fill out these forms."

Put the book down, go get the forms from the smiling medical receptionist on the other side of the sliding glass window, return to chair, fill out forms, and then return forms to smiling receptionist. Return to chair, pick up book, and start to read.

"Mrs. Everson, I need a copy of your driver's license."

I smile. Put the book down, take my license out of my purse, start for the window, stop and say, "What about my insurance card?"

"Yes, that too."

Return to chair and purse, get insurance card, walk to window, return to chair and book.

I'm now reading. I'm a good three paragraphs in when the front door opens and in walks a tornado of a woman. She's probably ten years older than me. Maybe less. Maybe younger. So hard to tell these days. She's a little overweight, dressed in shorts and a tee shirt. Her hair is a dyed-blonde mess from the outside breeze. She is out of breath and excited but she is wearing--in spite of the work-in-the-yard shorts--a pair of really cute shoes.

After she checks in and is given her forms (she didn't sit down first for the joy of getting back up, but I think that's mostly because she lingered at the window where she chatted pretty loudly with the staff), she sits to the right of me but against the wall. So...she is facing me, really.

And now...back to my book.

That's when I hear, "Those are the cutest shoes!" And this was not in a whisper. This was pretty loud.

I look up. She is talking to me. "Thank you," I say. I look down at my feet, wiggle my foot a little in appreciation (if not embarrassment) and think how cute they truly are, especially paired with my recent pedicure with big-toe design.

"Are they Clarks?" she asks, again quite loudly.

"No. They're Mootsie Tootsie's."

"Well they're just adorable! And they look like Clarks!"

I do not think they look like Clarks. To me, they look like Mootsie Tootsie's. "Thank you," I say because I don't know what else to say. And then I return to my reading with a dramatic flare because I don't want to announce to this entire room what kind of shoes I wear, I don't want to talk about shoe brands, and I want this woman to "get" that.

Out of the corner of my eye I see she has put her paperwork aside to pull her cell phone out of her purse. I assume--although I don't know why I even care--she is looking up a phone number for the form. Next of kin or in case of an emergency. But no. She is making a phone call, which she conducts as loudly as my recent inquisition.

"Honey," she says to whoever is on the other end of the line. "This is Aunt Barbara!" (And now people in three counties know your first name, I think.) "I just want ya ta know that I'm so excited about your visit but I've had to come to the doctor this afternoon and I don't know when I'll be home. So, when ya git to the house, I want ya to not be worried when ya see that mah car isn't in the driveway. I've left the back door open for ya. Y'all come'on in when ya git to tha house. There's cold drinks in the icebox!"

While I am now officially miffed that I cannot read my book with any clarity, I'm amused at an old memory. It was the "come on in" that did it (and the word "icebox" didn't hurt).

I grew up in an open-door policy. Small Southern town where everyone knew everyone and you were family whether there was a bloodline or not. Front doors may have been locked but back doors never were, which was fine because no one came in the front door. Ever. Unless, of course, it was the ladies in my mother's "Circle." They used the front door because they were dressed in their Sunday best right there in the middle of the week. Proper attire requires proper doors for entry, don't you know.

Now, when the Circle ladies came, the doorbell rang. Mother opened the door and said, "Hey, come in, So-and-So." Mother was wonderful about using first names because it makes one feel important to you. Unless, of course, you were her child...then it meant the kiss of death and the sting of discipline.

But Mother never answered the back door in such a way because she didn't have to. No one knocked and waited. They knocked and entered.

Knock knock...door opens and, "Betty?"

To which Mother replied, "Y'all come on in!"

Well, of course, my Northern readers are thinking right now. The person had called earlier and said, "I'll be there in a minute" to which Mother said, "I"ll leave the back door open for you."

Ah...no. There was no call ahead. No one called ahead. You just drove over or walked over and waltzed in. That's the way it was done and, in some parts of the South, that is still the way it's done.

I kind of miss that. I miss having those kinds of neighbors and friends. That kind of community.

An open-door life. It was nice but it's no longer mine--at least not where I live now. When I go back home the back door continues to stay opened and unlocked. And it's nice, while it lasts.

Thursday's Talk About the Book

2011-08-18T13:28:00.000-04:00

Two things to talk about today.

1. I have an AUTHOR'S INTERVIEW at Christianbook.com! Check it out by clicking below:

Eva Marie Everson's Author Interview

2. If you live in the Cedar Key, Florida area or just want to take the most awesome couple of days off, come see me at KONA JOE's in Cedar Key, next Saturday from 1 - 4. I'll be signing books at one of the coolest places ever! And you'll just LOVE Edie and Kona Joe himself!

Click here for more information about KONA JOE's: Kona Joe's Island Cafe

Owner Edie Zapir at Kona Joe's!

Wednesday's Recipe of the Week

2011-08-17T09:47:00.000-04:00

Another recipe from Miss Betty's* Daily Diary Cookbook...I remember Mother making this...

Oven Fried Chicken

Ingredients

1 Fryer cut into serving pieces
1/2 cup butter or margarine
Flour
Salt
Pepper

Directions

Put butter or margarine in bottom of baking pan. Place in 400 degree oven and melt. Mix flour, salt, pepper in a paper bag. Add a few pieces of chicken and shake until well coated. Place in pan, skin side down, in a single layer. Bake 30 minutes, uncovered. Turn chicken skin side up and cook 30 minutes or until tender.

(Miss Betty was my mother. These are the recipes I found in her penmanship, written in a Sexton's Daily Diary from c. 1955.)

Tuesday's Southern Style Tunes

2011-08-16T12:33:00.000-04:00

Don't want to offend anyone...

...but this song so reminds me of

growing up in the South in the early 70s.

It's just the way it was.

Monday Musings on All Things Southern

2011-08-14T17:30:00.003-04:00

I don't know what got into me exactly, but Saturday I woke up with a "hankerin'" for homemade pound cake. Maybe it's all those miles I've put on the treadmill lately. Why not balance the exercise and calorie-burning with some high-calorie Southern-style dessert.

If you are from the South, you already know that pound cake is practically a staple down here. If you aren't, you should know it. My mother made some of the best and, I'll be honest, my mother-in-law was the Queen of Pound Cake, hands down.

I hadn't made a cake in so long (from scratch), I no longer had the pan. I also didn't have 75% of the ingredients I would need. A trip to the grocery store was necessary. But first, I went through old recipe books, found the recipe I used...oh...probably 15 years ago (for the last time), and wrote down the ingredients. Off to the store I went.

Okay, I'm going to admit it...I was a little stumped on the sour cream. The recipe called for a pint. But sour cream comes in ounces, for pity's sake. A year and a half ago, this would not have been a problem. I would have called my mother. But since she is busy whipping up pound cake in heaven, I did the next best thing. I looked around for an "older" woman in the dairy department who may be able to help me. God love her, there was one standing right there.

I didn't get her name but she told me 1) she started learning how to bake when she was five and was "fluent in kitchen" by the time she went off to the first grade; 2) a half-pint was 8 ounces; and 3) did I know where the pre-made cookie dough was. (For some reason, she thought I might know. As it turned out, we were standing right next to it.)

So I bought the ingredients and home I went. I even had to buy the pan to bake the cake in. I posted on Facebook what I was about to do and the requests came pouring in for the recipe. So, good people of Facebook, fine people of the South, and all y'all who want to know about the best thing to ever go with a glass of cold milk...here it is:

Sour Cream Pound Cake

Ingredients:

3 cups cake flour
1/2 pound butter (not margarine!)
3 cups sugar
6 large eggs
1/2 pt sour cream
1/4 tsp baking soda
1 tsp. vanilla

Directions:

Cream butter
Add sugar 1/4 cup at a time
Beat until light.

Add eggs, one at a time

Add sour cream.

Sift flour with baking soda; add to above mixture.

Add vanilla and beat for two minutes.

Pour into tube pan and bake 325 degrees for 1 hour, 20 minutes

Allow to cool, Topsy-turvy...serve and enjoy!

A cold glass of milk is a great addition to this cake...or, for breakfast, a cup of coffee.

Thursday's Talk About the Book

2011-08-11T14:50:00.000-04:00

BOOK SIGNING!!!!

WHERE: Kona Joe's Island Cafe

WHEN: Saturday August 27, 2011

TIME: 1:00 -- 4:00 pm

Come to Cedar Key (or if you are in Cedar Key, come to Kona Joe's)! I would love to meet you and my assistant would, too!

Wednesday's Recipe of the Week

2011-08-10T09:04:00.002-04:00

Another recipe from Miss Betty's* Daily Diary Cookbook

Chicken Brunswick Stew

Ingredients

Onions - 3 or 4
Corn - 1 can
Butter Beans - 1 can
Rice - 1 lb.
Tomatoes - 1 can
1 tablespoon olive oil
1 1/2 tablespoons flour
Ketchup - 1 bottle
Vinegar - 1/2 bottle
Irish potatoes - 3 or 4
Salt to taste
Mustard to taste
2 Hens - cooked and cut up

Directions

Boil the chicken until very tender in enough seasoned water to make 1 pint of broth. Save the broth and cut the chicken into small pieces. Cook the canned tomatoes in the olive oil until they thicken. Make a roux with the flour, shortening, and onions. Add to the roux the broth, rice, tomatoes, chicken, potatoes, corn, butter beans, ketchup, vinegar and mustard. Salt and pepper to taste. Cook for one hour, adding more broth if needed. Serves 6.

(Miss Betty was my mother. These are the recipes I found in her penmanship, written in a Sexton's Daily Diary from c. 1955.)

Tuesday's Southern Style Tunes

2011-08-09T09:04:00.001-04:00

This is one of my all-time favorite numbers!

When I was a teenage girl, a group of us formed a group called One Way. We met every Saturday night in the home of an elderly couple, Mr. Carson and Miss Reba (we called them) in Newington, Georgia. I don't remember their story. Did they have children? Grandchildren? I don't remember. What I do recall is how they opened their living room doors every Saturday night for years to a group of teenagers who wanted to live for the Lord. We sang. We shared testimony.

We prayed each other through.

We weren't perfect kids.

We sinned like any others.

But we had direction and a Director and we tried.

We tried.

Two of our members, Debbie and Lucy, used to sing this song so beautifully.

I want to dedicate this to Mr. Carson and Miss Reba, who have gone on to open their doors in heaven. How many of us will join you, because of you, and your willingness to put up with us.

And serve us cookies and punch.

And love.

Monday Musings on All Things Southern

2011-08-08T08:20:00.000-04:00

I thought that, starting today and for a few future Mondays, we'd start a Southern dictionary.

While working on Waiting for Sunrise, the second in the Cedar Key novels, I had a character use the word "ever" for "every."

Examples:

I went the the library ever week of the world.

I took a samplin' of ever one.

These words that come so easily to those of us reared in the South are strange to everyone else. Foreign, like Greek. Or Hebrew. Or Russian.

So, I'm just letting them come to mind as they come to mind.

Here's one: Hankerin'.

Definition: a craving.

Example: I've got a hankerin' for some shrimp and grits.

Mmmmm.... now that's good eats! And it reminds me, I'll be in Cedar Key, Florida on August 27 signing my latest book Chasing Sunsets at Kona Joe's (Located at 24th & 6th). If you live there or just want to get away for a wonderful weekend, come on down!

Wednesday's Recipe of the Week

2011-08-03T09:45:00.000-04:00

Another recipe from Miss Betty's* Daily Diary Cookbook

Jello Whip

Ingredients

2 packages jello, raspberry
1 teaspoon lemon juice
1 cup apple sauce
2 stiffly beaten egg whites

Directions

Mix two packages jello and pour into dessert dishes to congeal. Mix 1 teaspoon lemon juice with 1 cup apple sauce and fold into 2 stiffly beaten egg whites. Put on top of jello.

(Miss Betty was my mother. These are the recipes I found in her penmanship, written in a Sexton's Daily Diary from c. 1955.)

Tuesday's Southern Style Tunes

2011-08-02T08:09:00.001-04:00

From the movie (and one of my all-time favorites!) "The Help"

Johnny Cash & June Carter (Cash) ......Jackson

Monday Musings on All Things Southern

2011-08-01T08:41:00.001-04:00

I'm reading THE HELP (now a major motion picture) right now. Loving every minute of it. Amazed this is Kathryn Stockett's first novel, however, according to her bio, she worked in magazine publishing and marketing for nearly a decade. And, she lived in New York City, so I'm sure she absorbed some of the artistic culture one can only obtain there.

That said, this woman knows the South. And she knows what life was all about in the 60s for white families as well as for black.

I flipped to the back of the book to read her acknowledgments (as any good author would do) and noticed that her family, like so many of our families, had the "maid." Or, "the help."

Our maid's name was Etta Mae. Oh, gosh...I loved that woman! She was good and kind. So loving. Loyal. Looking back on it, for Mother to have entrusted the care of my brother and me to any woman while she "ran her errands" means the woman had to have had godly virtues and values.

I have two very distinct memories concerning Etta Mae. The first concerns the day she didn't come to work but sent someone in her place (she was sick, if I remember correctly). Mother was out "running her errands" when the mail came. Among the letters and such was a box, the perfect size for the doll I'd ordered off the back of a cereal box. I was beside myself to open that box! But the substitute help would have nothing to do with that until Mother got home.

I demanded (!!!) she allow me to open the box. I told her very plainly what was in it. But she held her ground.

When Mother came home, I ran past the substitute and said, "So-and-so won't let me open my box!"

Mother looked at the package, realized what it was and said, of course, I could open the box. I spun on my little five-year-old heels toward the woman who wasn't nearly as nice as Etta Mae, placed my hands on my hips, jutted my chin forward and said, "See! I told you I could open it!"

Mother immediately put the box away and made me wait another 24 hours.

Mother did not believe any child should talk to any adult with disrespect. No matter what.

The second memory involves the day Etta Mae's husband couldn't come get her from the house. By this time, I was probably seven years old or so. Etta Mae was in the midst of fretting when Mother told her "it's okay, Etta Mae. I'll drive you home."

"Do we get to go too?" I asked, speaking of my brother and me.

Mother said of course we did; she couldn't very well leave us at home alone.

I was thrilled! I was going to get to see where Etta Mae lived! We piled into the car. Mother in the front driver's seat, Etta Mae in the middle of my brother and me in the back. With my face pressed against the glass, I said, "Etta Mae, do you live far from us?"

"Not too far," she said.

I continued peering out the window, watching the landscape change from the sprawling ranch-style homes of the new families in town, to the massive Victorians of the "old money" along Main Street. And then, to small houses, many unpainted. Lots of dark-skinned, barefoot children running around in sandy, grassless front yards. Furniture meant for living rooms and dens stretched across narrow front porches. Front doors were wide open; I could see straight through what I now know are shot-gun houses.

I felt panic rising. "Etta Mae," I said, fearful this was actually where she lived. Not wanting my beloved Etta Mae subjected to such poverty. "Is your house pretty like our house?"

Etta Mae chuckled. "Oh, no chile...my house is not pretty like anybody's."

About that time, Mother--all pink-faced--turned into a driveway. A pack of children ran toward the car, frightening me all the more. My brother wanted to get out and play; I wanted to adopt Etta Mae, take her home and make my bedroom her bedroom. I could move in with Van.

"Them's my young 'uns," she said. She opened the door on my side, scooted over me, said, "Thank you, Miss Purvis," and got out.

I cried all the way home.

Make that three memories...Years later, I was a nursing student. My family and I had just sat down to supper when the phone rang. It was a friend of mine, an elderly doctor who had been my muse. He was about to perform an autopsy and, knowing I was struggling with Anatomy & Physiology, asked if I'd like to join him. He'd be more than happy to show me each part of the human body, how it works with all the other parts.

I jumped from the table, brushed my teeth, and out the door I went. Hours later, I returned, totally amazed by what I'd seen. The face of my mother, however, looked grim.

Daddy was with the GBI (Georgia Bureau of Investigation). He'd gotten a call while I was gone and had left to work a new case. Murder. Gunshot. 22-year-old black male. The same man I'd just seen sliced opened and used as a teaching tool. Then my mother said, "He was Etta Mae's son."

One of those little children I'd been frightened by ten or eleven years earlier had been my first autopsy viewing. My heart hurt now. No longer was he an gunshot victim who died, he was Etta Mae's son (Etta Mae had long retired from "helping" the white women by this point).

Years later I asked Mother why she had "help" at all back when we were children. She didn't work outside the home, after all. I said to her, "I have a full-time job, work myself silly with church functions and school functions, have a house the same size as yours, and I don't have a maid!"

Mother replied, "That's just the way things were done back then."

Well, I reckon so.

Friday with Friends: "Gail Pallotta"

2011-07-29T13:21:00.000-04:00

From Eva Marie: This is one of the best things I've read in a looooooong time! You'll think so too, I just know it!

The Sweet Tea Line

Every summer my mother put fresh mint in our tea. She grew her own in the backyard in the small North Carolina town where I grew up. When she served the cool drink, just seeing it tantalized my taste buds.

When I got tall enough to reach the kitchen counter, Mother gazed at me with intense dark eyes.

“I’ll let you make the tea. It’s easy.”

She showed me how to cover five tea bags with water in a saucepan, bring it to a boil and let it steep.

“While you’re waiting…” she picked up our tea pitcher… “pour the sugar in here until it looks right.”

Demonstrating, Mother turned up the Dixie Crystal bag and emptied about one-and-a-half to two cups. Then she put in lemon juice until it looked right, about two tablespoons. She added the tea and filled the pitcher with water the rest of the way.

“That’s all there is to it.” She served up two glasses and topped them off with sprigs of mint.

I’ve been making it ever since. For a Southerner sweet tea is both a necessity and a delicacy offered with each meal. Most of us have discriminating tea tastes.

I was married before I realized other people lived without it. The day I found out, my husband and I were on our way to Michigan. We stopped for lunch in Indiana.

When the waitress came to take our order, I asked for sweet tea.

She raised her blonde eyebrows. “I’m sorry, ma’am, we don’t have sweet tea. We have raspberry tea if you’d like.”

For several seconds I sat speechless, thinking how do people eat without sweet tea? I shook my head to clear it. “Yes, thank you, raspberry tea will be fine.”

Now don’t get me wrong, I liked the raspberry tea, but it’s no substitute for sweet tea.

After I moved to Georgia I heard people refer to the gnat line. A person can travel south from Atlanta and get to just below Macon and sure enough the gnats show up.

There’s a sweet tea line too. If one travels far enough north or west the sweet tea runs out.

When our daughter attended college in Kentucky, the town where she lived served sweet tea. But when we rode forty miles northeast to have dinner with friends, we passed the sweet tea line.

My cousin who grew up in California says, “To this day, I do not believe I have ever seen sweet tea on a menu in California. And during my west to east coast trips via car, I must say, I do not remember sweet tea offered anywhere except in the southern belt.”

I have another cousin, originally from New York, who now lives in Florida. She drives in the southeast as well as the northeast. Once she gets into parts of Virginia and Washington, D. C., she finds no sweet tea.

Two relatives who travel from Georgia to Canada have different memories. One says, “Sweet tea--only in the south.” The other thinks he once drank it in West Virginia.

It would be interesting to know how many towns bordering the southern sweet tea line serve the refreshing drink. Comments answering the following questions should help.

Have you passed the sweet tea line? How far did you travel from the south before the sweet tea ran out? And where were you?

Wanna know more about Gail's book?

Feature writer Cammie O’Shea recently suffered through a heartbreaking split-up with her fiancé. She wants no new relationships when she moves to Destin, Florida, to take a job at a newspaper. But she has to interview real estate developer Vic Deleona. He’s quite smitten with her and arranges extra meetings in an attempt to court her. Cammie resists his advances. However, after several mysterious break-ins occur, including one at Cammie’s condo, she and Vic launch their own investigation into the crimes. Then Cammie grows fond of him. She gets an opportunity to return home to her old job. Will Vic solve the crimes and win Cammie’s heart or will she leave Destin?

Wanna know more about Gail?

Gail’s husband, Rick, says she’s the only person he knows who can go in the grocery for a loaf of bread and come out with someone’s life story. That’s probably because she inherited her mother’s love of people and enjoys talking to them. Working as an editor and freelance writer, Gail published a couple hundred articles. While some of them are in anthologies, two ended up in museums. In 2004, the American Christian Writers Association named Gail a regional writer of the year. She recently published her first romance, Love Turns the Tide. Last fall an excerpt from Love Turns the Tide won the Clash of the Titles Challenge in the best nature / weather scene category. When Gail isn’t writing she likes reading, swimming, and getting together with friends and family.

Gail wants to write books of faith that show God’s love. Visit her Web site at http://www.gailpallotta.com and her blog at http://www.gailpallotta.blogspot.com

Love Turns the Tide is available from www.awe-struck.net in the inspirational category.

Wednesday's Recipe of the Week

2011-07-27T14:23:00.001-04:00

Another recipe from Miss Betty's handwritten 1950s/60s recipe book!

Stuffed Celery

Ingredients

Celery
Large cream cheese
1 package onion soup mix
Worcestershire sauce, few drops
Paprika

Directions

Mix together the cream cheese, onion soup mix and Worcestershire sauce. Spread mixture along the stalks of celery. Sprinkle with paprika.

Wednesday's Recipe of the Week

2011-07-27T13:57:00.001-04:00

Another recipe from Miss Betty's handwritten 1950s/60s recipe book!

7 Layer Casserole

Ingredients

1 cup uncooked rice
1 cup whole kernel corn, drained
2 cans tomato sauce
1 lb. ground beef, cooked and drained
1/2 cup finely chopped onions
1/2 cup finely chopped green pepper
Salt and pepper
Bacon, uncooked
3/4 cans water

Directions

In a greased casserole dish spread rice evenly over the bottom. Then layer the corn and sprinkle with salt and pepper. Pour 1 can of the tomato sauce and 1/2 can of water on next. Sprinkle on the onions and green peppers. Evenly spread the ground beef and sprinkle that with salt and pepper. Pour the other can of tomato sauce and 1/4 can of water over everything. Finally, add strips of uncooked bacon as the top layer. Cover and bake at 350 degrees for 1 hour. Uncover and cook about 30 minutes longer or until bacon is crisp.

Wednesday's Recipe of the Week

2011-07-27T13:51:00.001-04:00

Another recipe from my mother's hand-written recipe book (circa 1960). This is Southern at its best. You'll notice there are NO ingredient "amounts" written here. Should be fun just to try it with the old "a pinch here" and "a dollop there" attitude.

It's what Southern kitchens were build on...

Brown Betty

Ingredients

Apple sauce
Graham crackers
Chopped nuts
Cinnamon
Syrup
Butter

Directions

Spread applesauce in a flame proof dish. Top with crushed graham crackers, chopped nuts and a sprinkle of cinnamon. Drizzle 5 or more T of syrup over the top, depending on size of dish. Dot with butter. Broil until crisp. Serve hot or cold.

[Photo from KitchenScoop.com]

Tuesday's Southern Style Tunes

2011-07-26T08:42:00.000-04:00

(If there is an advertisement before this plays, ignore it... LOL)

I have to tell you, I love this song and this video so much. It's got all the

qualities of a good ole Southern story.

The message is just as powerful; when we do the right thing

(even if it's to correct the wrong thing),

God blesses in amazing ways.

Thursday's Talk About the Book

2011-07-21T09:53:00.000-04:00

I so appreciate good reviews for my work because I work hard at what I do.

Here's one from Crosswalk.com; a website I have written for over the years and have a tremendous amount of respect for:

Crosswalk.com: Chasing Sunsets Leads to Lessons Learned

Monday Musings on All Things Southern

2011-07-19T10:09:00.000-04:00

My husband and I took a walk with our two pooches the other night. We don't walk too far; one of the dogs has managed to become quite tubby so, for her, the short distance for now is just a start. The other dog simply adores being home and let's you know that while she is excited to be a part of the journey, she'd just as soon be a part of the journey at home.

So, we took our short walk returned toward our lakeside home. We walked up the long driveway. As we neared the door, just before the front porch, we both bent to release the dogs from their leashes. I noticed a huge grasshopper like I haven't seen in years on one of the floral arrangements decorating the front of the house.

"Look at that grasshopper," I said. "It's huge."

"That's not a grasshopper," my husband said. "It's a Georgia Thumper."

I smiled. "I haven't heard that term in years. No wonder I didn't remember it." (Plus, I'm just not a work-in-the-yard kinda girl, to be honest with you.)

Now for those of you not from the South, you may be wondering what in the world is a Georgia Thumper?

A Georgia Thumper is, in fact, a grasshopper of the Eastern Lubber variety. They are multi-colored, mostly black with red and yellow added in. The males can get up to 8.0 cms. and the females up to 6.0 cms. They are expressive in their faces ("Get too close and I'll jump all over you!") and their names come from the fact that when they jump, they land with a thump.

Georgia Thumper...now isn't that a cute name? There's even a Southern band called by the moniker. And, it kinda makes you think of the cute little bunny in Bambi.But make no mistake about it. They are deadly. Not to humans, of course, unless one jumps on you and frightens you to death. No.

Ask any Georgia farmer and they'll tell you; these little suckers can pretty much eat a crop up in a day. Seeing one is seeing disaster.

So, now I'm wondering why we Southerners didn't think to call the Georgia Thumper the Georgia Crop Destroyer...or something clever like that. Sigh. I suppose, being the genteel Southerners of way back, we just couldn't do it. Give it a cute name...and maybe it will be our friend.

Uh... no.

Hmmm...now I'm thinking...maybe someone should form a baseball team...call them The Georgia Thumpers. Instead of doing the tomahawk chop, fans can jump up and down in rhythm.

Thump! Thump! Thump!

I can hear it now...

Friday with Friends: "B. J. Robinson"

2011-07-15T09:00:00.004-04:00

Nothing Like a Southern Strawberry, or

Southern Fiction

By B. J. Robinson

New beginnings burst forth with a shower of flowers, green grass, and tiny green leaves sprouting on trees. With fresh air and sunshine, there is nothing like the dawning of a new spring, my favorite season of the year. And, there is nothing like a Southern strawberry, dark green leaves, small white blossoms, tiny green berries, then juicy delicious ones.

As a result of new spring growth, the world awakens like an old bear from a long winter’s sleep. Fresh mowed grass smells like watermelons. Birds sing happy to see spring. Flowers bud, bloom, and blossom. Smells, sights, and sounds feel the air delighting the senses, making my heart leap like a spring. I have more energy, feel more alive, and I seem to be ready to take on the world. Blood rushes. My heart pounds. A new spring morning dawns bright and fresh. With the dawning of the morning, my senses come alive. Oh, to be surrounded by fresh berries, the smell that fills a packing shed. Early morning dew on the bushes, and the scent of the fruit tempts a picker to eat just one. Problem is, it's so hard to eat only one.

It’s great to be alive and smell spring! To me, spring is strawberry season. Strawberry season is spring! All around me things are awakening, bursting forth in new bloom and blossom, awakening and coming alive from a long winter’s sleep. My senses are alert. I notice how pretty the sun shines and how sweetly the birds sing. The smell of sweet, juicy, red, ripe strawberries take me back to the past, to another time, another place, an old packing shed. Those were the days!

So what, hand carries of berries were stacked to the ceiling, waiting for one lone packer to roll them around on that little silver tray, like she was washing red beans. Strawberry flats were stacked higher than she, waiting for their journey to the farm bureau. The fate of those berries was decided with a roll in the silver tray. Either they traveled to the farm bureau, or they were culled to become a sweet delight with a bowl of sugar and cream, or baked into strawberry shortcake. Every sweet berry had its own unique special place in the world and would end up pleasing someone in some way.

Back to a time when life was simple, strawberries bring memories of early-morning dew and spring, an old beat-up car, a baby stroller, a baby boy named Rodney. Wow, where has the time flown? Now, there is no baby stroller or baby boy. He's now a proud father of two boys of his own and has become an automotive mechanic and an electrician. He has his own new beginnings. Years have come and gone, but a sunshiny spring morning with birds singing, the smell of strawberries in the air, flowers blooming, and an old strawberry shed are strawberry-packed memories, memories everlasting.

There are so many reasons why spring is my favorite season of the year. It's the renewal and rebirth. It was also my mother's. favorite. For me, spring is the season that awakens my soul and my senses. Spring makes me feel more alive than any other time of the year. Fall is my second favorite because I love the turning of the leaves in all their splendid colors. Thank God for blessings us with seasons.

From Eva Marie: Journey with B J through another season of life! Last Resort releases July 15 from Desert Breeze Publishing. It is the story of honest farmers who try to earn their living with the toil of the soil.

You can read a free excerpt from Last Resort, B. J. Robinson's Christian Romantic Suspense released by Desert Breeze July 15 at http://stores.desertbreezepublishing.com/-strse-184/B-J-Robinson-Last/Detail.bok

Visit B. J. at http://barbarajrobinson.blogspot.com for an opportunity to win free novels by leaving a comment.

http://www.facebook.com/home.php#!/profile.php?id=1120677589

Thursday's Talk About the Book

2011-07-14T13:19:00.001-04:00

From "A Peek at My Bookshelf" by Deena Peterson

Chasing Sunsets by Eva Marie Everson

Fair warning! Eva Marie Everson is back with a new fiction series, so don't pick this one up thinking all things will be nice and tidy at the end. While I've enjoyed all of her stand-alone novels, it's nice to have a series to look forward to!

"Chasing Sunsets" is about life not turning out like we've planned...can I get a witness! Kimberly Tucker is making her way through the valley of the divorced. Problem is, she hasn't a clue as to what went wrong. And her two sons are caught in the middle of the animosity between the two former spouses.

Maybe a vacation back in time will help her clear her head? Not literally...but back in Cedar Key, where life felt less complicated and the air was fresher. While the boys are with their dad, Kimberly returns back to happier memories and to hopefully make some new ones.

Unfortunately, she didn't know her first love had returned as well. Seeing Steven Granger puts a crimp in Kimberly's sense of peace. But maybe it's time to talk about the past and heal and move on...

...and see what the future holds.

I enjoyed my time in Cedar Key, and look forward to more stories from this lovely locale. No word on how many novels, but I'm hoping for at least four or five...or six or seven...

My thanks to Donna Hausler at Revell for my copy, and I'm giving "Chasing Sunsets" four out of five bookmarks, with a key to the future as a charm. Take my advice...give that key to God and let HIM plan your future...and then FOLLOW HIM!!

Happy Reading!

To see more of Deena's book reivews, go to: http://deenasbooks.blogspot.com/

To see videos, photos, and stay updated about the next book in the series, go to:

Eva Marie Everson's Cedar Key Novels

Wednesday's Recipe of the Week

2011-07-06T15:42:00.000-04:00

Another recipe from Miss Betty's* Daily Diary Cookbook

Cheese-Chili Burgers

Ingredients

1 small onion
2 Tbs. shortening
1 pound hamburger
1 can tomato soup
1 tsp salt
1/2 tsp pepper
1 tsp. chili powder
1 cup grated cheese

Directions:

Chop onion and cook in melted shortening along with hamburger until meat is rich brown. Stir in tomato soup, salt and pepper and chili powder. Cover and cook slowly for a half hour. Stir occasionally.

At the end of the cooking time, add grated cheese and stir until well mixed. Cut hamburger buns in half, toast until crisp and spoon the hamburger on top.

(Miss Betty was my mother. These are the recipes I found in her penmanship, written in a Sexton's Daily Diary from c. 1955.)

Tuesday's Southern Style Tunes

2011-07-05T09:45:00.000-04:00

America, the Beautiful

Ray Charles

Monday Musings on All Things Southern

2011-07-04T11:12:00.000-04:00

How do you celebrate this great day in our nation's history?

Do you tell your children about it? Do you remind them of why we celebrate? Have you shared the story--the real story--to the older ones? Have you expressed the real sacrifice that was made during the Revolutionary War?

If you have not had a chance to see America, The Story of Us, I highly suggest you do. Watch it with your children or your grandchildren. I watched it with our youngest and was absolutely dumbfounded at the things I did not know. Reminded of the things I did. Made proud at them both.

We live in a great country. Whether you hail from the North, the East, the West or the South...whether you are Democrat or Republican, Independent or Tea...this country, with all it's problems, is still a great country.

I encourage you to say one thing today...just one...to your children or your grandchildren about the "land of the free and the home of the brave." One thing that will tell them why this country is great. They've probably heard you plenty of times fussing about this or that. Now, tell them one reason why they can hold their shoulders back, tilt their chin up, and say, "I am an American."

Thursday's Talk About the Book

2011-06-30T08:41:00.000-04:00

THE VESSEL PROJECT

Another blogger gives her (mighty fine) opinion of Chasing Sunsets.

Just click on the "The Vessel Project" to be rerouted.

Be sure to leave a comment! Bloggers like that (true me...)

Until tomorrow:

Eva Marie