Table Grace

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“Forever, forever, you’ll stay in my heart
And I will love you
Forever, forever, we never will part
Oh, how I’ll love you
Together, together, that’s how it must be
To live without you
Would only be heartbreak for me”

— Burt Bacharch & Hal David

Borne out of a dream to align all the stars in my orbit, the movable feast is doing its job of pulling the entire family together once a month.

Everyone takes turns playing host, and today was Kara’s turn to name the gathering time and place.  This no-muss, no-fuss style of entertaining may prove my best idea yet.

Today’s installment  of family dining was a new take on an old favorite — Tex-Mex on a very blue Lake Hefner.  If only the weather had been just a touch warmer, we could have enjoyed a lake view out on the patio.  But perhaps it’s just as well we stayed inside — what view could be better than being in the midst of all those faces I hold so dear?

Here’s a quick spin around our table’s Lazy Susan to give you a small sense of the people behind the faces.

Sitting next to me is the love of my life, the guy who at one time or another, has managed to keep most of us sitting at the table anchored in reality; even our son-in-laws Joe and Glenn received his wise counsel before they took our daughters as wife:  “Happy wife, happy life,” said my husband of few words.

Then there’s Kyle and Kara — you can usually find my youngest son and daughter sitting close to one another — these tender souls appreciate each others creativeness — there’s even talk of writing a children’s book together  — perhaps some day they’ll stir dreams into reality.

Then, yep, there’s Kara’s husband Joe strategically positioned to watch whatever sport happens to be playing on television.  How does Joe do it? — he’s always one step ahead of the game, whether its keeping tabs on our table-talk or the play-by-play on the screen.

Then there’s our resident lovebirds Bryan and Amy — Amy’s just back from a month-long family visit  —   and Bryan isn’t even trying to hide how happy he is to have Amy back.  In spite of all that goes wrong in the world, love breathes hope that everything will turn out all right in the end, even when our distant vision is cloudy.

Finally we have Glenn and Kate, who keep me in stitches with their repartee — if they every get tired of practicing medicine, they can take their comedy gig on the road.

There’s always a few conversations going on at once, and I try to listen in on as many as I can since it will be another month before everyone comes together again.  Bryan is talking about his new accounting internship.  Amy is talking about Super Mario.  Kara is not feeling well —  probably another pesky childhood illness, a job hazard of teaching kindergarten.  Joe is talking about a quarterback he now views as a traitor since the quarterback no longer plays for Joe’s favorite team.  With Kate rolling her eyes, Glenn is talking of how he knows how to fix their broken toilet stool — but that he hasn’t quite worked up to it yet.

There are some sorts of table talk our movable feast hasn’t quite worked up to yet… like this impromptu sing-song conjured up  in a a familiar Julia Roberts movie, captured in the clip below.  Should the desire to sing ever fall  upon our movable feast, there may be many people —  and not just those sitting at our table —  who may be moved to say a little prayer — or two.   But oh how my heart sings in the truth of this wonderful Hollywood table grace!

Chicken Casserole

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It’s funny how likes and dislikes go topsy-turvy as we age.

As a child, one of my least favorite meals was any sort of chicken stew dish.  Maybe it’s because Mom didn’t serve this much at home.  So ‘my’ chicken casserole derives from a recipe in a Martha White cookbook, one purchased during the early days of second marriage.  The recipe quickly became a family favorite except for the ‘icky’ mushrooms.  I compensated by slicing and not chopping to make the mushrooms easy to pick out, though eventually, most of the kids grew to like them.

The phrase ‘most of the kids’ means four.  We began married life with the two girls from my first marriage.  And then we didn’t waste time adding two boys to the mix.  In less that two years, my husband went from a quiet, sedate bachelor existence to family circus mayhem with four under the age of 10 — surely these are grounds for growing saints… or for becoming insane.

Just like any new U.S. President in office, my new husband turned prematurely gray from the stress of his new family responsibilities.  Our eight-to-five jobs were easy in comparison.  Who knows but maybe this was part of the reason neither of us seriously considered putting our careers on hold to stay home with the children.  Being the business professionals we were, we invited a sassy southern lady into our home and paid her well to help us raise our children while we were away at work.  Nanny Tellie was part of our family for five years.

A divorced grandmother who hailed from Mississippi, Tellie never bothered to mince words.  If she thought she could improve the state of our family with the wisdom of her years, she was quick to dish it up.  With four children and two stretched-at-the-seams parents, we offered plenty of areas for Tellie to point her finger at and shake her stern head toward — as she muttered under her breath —  Humph, Humph, Humph.

But like most people, Tellie had more strengths than not.  She was dependable; she arrived a little early; she was rarely ill and fairly flexible in working overtime.  And as a bonus, Tellie did light housework and all of our ironing.   But best of all, Tellie was a steady influence in our children’s lives while my husband and I were running in and out the revolving door.  She was good to all our children, though clearly, her favorite was our oldest son Bryan.

In addition to all of this, Tellie was a fabulous southern cook.  Though she didn’t cook for us often, it was a treat when she did.  My second biggest mistake during our Tellie-years was not paying Tellie to cook dinner for our family and hers.  My first was not buying  Tellie a copy of the Martha White cookbook that she enjoyed looking at — I should have a made a special trip to the store the very day she asked if she could clip the mail-order coupon at the back of the book.

My life is full of ‘should-haves’ and ‘wish-I-would-haves.’   As I recollect our years with Tellie, I wish I hadn’t let Tellie’s constant nagging cloud my vision of all the good she brought into our lives.   And surely there is a lesson in this story for us all — for whining and nagging surely shows us at our worst — and its value is questionable in helping others to dig deep for their best.

In honor of the best of Nanny Tellie, I share this adapted Martha White recipe with you.  Serve it over rice, in the best tradition of most good southern dishes.  And in memory of Tellie’s worst…. remember to hold the whine.

From my life to yours.

Chicken Casserole

Serves 4    60 minutes (another 60 minutes plus to pre-cook chicken)

Stew

1/2 cup chopped celery
1/2 cup chopped onion
1 cup sliced mushrooms (diced cooked carrots may be subsititued)
1/4 cup butter
1/3 cup flour
2 cups chicken broth
1 cup whipping cream
2 to 3 cups cooked shredded chicken (3 half-chicken breasts, baked or boiled)
1 Tbsp parsley
1/2 tsp salt
1/4 tsp pepper

In a large sauce pan over medium high heat, cook vegetables in butter until softened.  (Note, if using carrots instead of mushrooms, cook separately and add cooked carrots to cooked celery and onion.)  Gradually add flour and stir for about a minute.  Gradually add broth and cream — boil for 1 minute — sauce should be thickened.  Stir in remaining ingredients.  Pour stew into a greased casserole dish.

Buttermilk Biscuits

1 cup flour
1 1/2 tsp baking powder
1/2 tsp salt
2 Tbsp shortening
1/2 cup scant (less 1 Tbsp) buttermilk

Mix dry ingredients in a bowl.  Cut in shortening with a pastry blender until mixture resembles course crumbs.  Add buttermilk and stir only until dough leaves sides of bowl.  Do not overwork.

Turn dough out onto floured surface.  Gently knead or pat dough a few times — then roll into 1/2 inch thickness.  Cut into biscuit with either 2″ inverted floured glass or even with a sharp knife — biscuits don’t have to be round.

Place biscuits on top of stew and place casserole into a preheated 400 degree oven.  Bake for 25 minutes or until biscuits are golden brown. Cool 5 to 10 minutes before serving over rice.

Connecting the Dots

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Walking a Prayer Labyrinth

I confess to not sitting in front of the television for the latest news in Haiti.

If ostriches bury their heads in sand, count me as their close feathered friend.  I do not wish to watch the Haitian people pick up the scattered and broken pieces of their lives on my television set for the same reasons that I refuse to rubber-neck at the scene of a car wreck.

I risk that others might find me hard and uncaring, but I keep my eyes averted out of respect and compassion for the victims of the tragedy, and those close at hand who are doing their level best to lend a helping hand.  Refusing to rubber-neck at television coverage is my way of  granting the Haitian people privacy and space to grieve, to grapple, to gripe and grope toward solutions that are barreling upon them at warp speed.

I’ve been getting my occasional updates off the radio.  I was sitting in the Subway Sandwich parking lot when I first heard the story on NPR, last Tuesday evening.  The island of Haiti had suffered a major earthquake, the news anchor said.  Seven point O on the Richter scale.

The story did not  grow into front page headlines on Wednesday, at least in my small dot of the world.  I wondered if there were no ‘hard’ news to report.   But by Wednesday afternoon — or was it Thursday? — I heard tell of 50,000 dead.  Later it grew to 100,000.  But those interviewed hedged their bets by saying that no one really knew.

So far, the few dots I can connect are these:  Tuesday afternoon late.  7.0.  Death and destruction.   Aid promised and descending, and in the short-term, disconnected.  Shock all around.  Years to recover.  For the “lucky” ones.

Why is it that we talk of what we do not know, especially when tragedy hits?  Is it a way of making the unreal real or thinking about the unthinkable, a way of expressing grief, of showing concern or merely an exercise in connecting dots?

Until God shows up in the actions of human flesh, women in Haiti are leaning on their faith to deal with the aftermath.  I learned this news from CNN, while waiting for a doctor’s appointment earlier today.  The reporter concluded by saying that these Haitian women were turning their eyes to God for help.

Following their lead, I too will keep my eyes on God…and connect with the “dots.”