Friday, February 9, 2018

A Silver Golf Trophy and Prejudice

What does a silver golf trophy have to do with prejudice?

I'm not talking about the prejudice some people have against the scent of hyacinths. Really, some people hate it.

I happen to love their scent, and one gift I can count on getting from RH in February is a potted purple hyacinth.

Even if I have to remind him.

And I'm not talking about the prejudice that most designers have against keeping the pretty paper they come wrapped in.

I realize that's supposed to be removed and moss draped artistically across the top instead. 

The prejudice I'm speaking of here is one I hope no longer exists today, not in this country.

When I spotted a tarnished silver golf trophy at a thrift store a couple of years ago when we were living in Florida, I quickly put it in my basket. It was half price Saturday and only $12.

When I got home and polished it I was able to make out the inscription on it:

Beauclerc Country Club
Golf Champions

Away to Google I went and discovered that the Beauclerc Country Club was a historic Jewish country club in nearby Jacksonville. 

I immediately remembered a movie starring Gregory Peck where he was a journalist assigned to cover the subject of whether there was antisemitism in New York City.

Surely not, he felt. But once he went undercover, pretending to be Jewish himself, he found it everywhere including in Darien, Connecticut, the home of his new fiancée played by Dorothy McGuire.

One scene in the movie particularly surprised me. When Peck's character tries to register at a nice hotel he finds there are suddenly no rooms available to him. 

When I began researching the history of the Beauclerc community and the country club there, I found out that it was first established because the San Jose Country Club nearby would not accept Jews for membership.

Disturbing, isn't it? 

I hope that the movie Gregory Peck starred in in 1947, Gentleman's Agreement, helped change some of the prejudices in our country then. It was nominated for eight Oscars and won Best Picture, Best Supporting Actress (Celeste Holmes), and Best Director (Elia Kazan).

I guess prejudices will always be with us. 

Hopefully not as much as in 1947. 

Wednesday, January 31, 2018

Breakfast for One

Visions of being the Beaver's mom rise up to make me feel guilty once again.....a perfectly set breakfast table,
                                                     for two.

Scrumptious weekend breakfasts I usually manage,
sometimes a blogworthy breakfast table......though usually
something like our vitamins and daily pills lurk,

Weekday breakfasts? A pretty table for two? 
                                                   Get real.

Both of us sitting down together at the same time? 
                                                    Not likely.

Both of us eating the same menu? 
His quick cooked oatmeal or fried baloney sandwich?
               Gag to the second and where oatmeal is concerned,
I am most particular...steel cut oats sautéd in butter and at last boiling water stirred in, cooked at least 20 minutes,
cinnamon, chopped dried apricots and walnuts added...
                                                     That's oatmeal.

For breakfasts I last longer when an egg is on my plate,
the egg sandwich Mama used to make me at the very least.

But my weekday breakfast indulgence happens when RH leaves me a sausage patty from his early breakfast...
                             from locally made Jake's country sausage.

A toasted sourdough English muffin from the Publix deli,
          the sausage on top,
                      a scrambled egg next,
                              a smear of mashed avocado
                                  topped with chopped jalapeno.

A side of fresh pineapple, please.

Breakfast for one, on the sofa, dogs sitting by me...
                                                   hoping a crumb will drop.

TV remote in my hand, no cable news, no news at all,
              no talk shows.

HGTV on, something I can walk away from shortly and
                        not become mesmerized, hypnotized,
                               energy zapped...
                                         temper rising.

That's a perfect weekday breakfast for me.

What about you?

Join me in your jammies and tell me
what your perfect breakfast for one is.

Please. Pretty please with sugar on it?

"My wife and I tried two or three times in the last
forty years to have breakfast together,
but it was so disagreeable we had to stop."
Winston Churchill


Sunday, January 28, 2018

I need Red like Laurel needs Hardy.

I need Red like steak needs frites.

I need Red like strawberries need cream.

I need Red like fish need water.

I need Red like squirrels need nuts.

In short, I NEED RED!

Not just at Christmas but all year round. 

Friday, January 19, 2018

Over the Moon Chocolate Pie

Christmas was a blur to me after losing Otis and Milo and being sick myself so long.

I'm just now starting to play catchup.

I hope to post about our new dachshunds 
on Dewena's Window soon.

I feel badly that I've totally ignored the Window
but the good news is that Bree and Mason
are busy writing it for me.

Before all of Christmas escapes me,
I want to show a pie I made,
the only baking I did for Christmas.

It was from Southern Living magazine
and was called Over the Moon Chocolate Pie.

They based in on our state favorite--Moon Pies.

It calls for a Marshmallow Meringue topping and
I totally goofed it up.

The recipe said to cook the egg whites
(in a double boiler) only until the sugar dissolved.

I'm paranoid about raw eggs so cooked it and cooked it...

There were no raw eggs in my meringue,
but it was like eating saltwater taffy,
yummy and good exercise for your jaws.

Next time I'll trust the recipe--
or maybe I'll just make the delicious filling
on top of that wonderful crust and call it a day.

Or top it with real whipped cream, I mean REAL, folks.

 Have any of you ever made a marshmallow meringue?

And had it to succeed? 

Thursday, January 18, 2018

Frost Ferns

Frost ferns grow on glass here this morning when I open the kitchen door to let Bree and Mason out to go potty.

A sight I have not seen since a child living in Inglewood in a white clapboard two bedroom, one bath bungalow built after World War II, one of others along a street where the opposite side holds imposing pre-War brick homes.

I've lost count of the recent nights with single digit lows, faucets left to drip, frost on the storm door that opens to our kitchen porch. 

It is only this morning that ferns appear on the glass.

I could google this phenomena and tell you exactly what conditions cause this if I were so inclined. I'm not.

I grab my phone and snap pictures and call for RH to bring the camera.

I know the ferns won't stay long, and they don't.

But for a few moments we are lost in a magic world of crystal gardens that may never appear again.

Wednesday, January 17, 2018

The Snow Is Faling

"The snow is falling, silently, gently, beyond the panes.

Every branch is limned with snow.

There is no footprint across the wide lawn
among the great trees.

The field where the ground pine creeps is white
and the stone fence beyond it
is white also.

The woods are still and secret under the snow.

I have ever had the feeling that the
home of a true writer is in the 
center of a still snowfall,
where all his world is hidden,
so that he may discover it out of his own vision."

Nelia Gardner White

from The Pink House

Sunday, December 24, 2017

O Holy Night

From Claudia and David by Rose Franken, 1939:

"It never failed--people who believed in birthdays invariably believed in Christmas. Not that Claudia didn't believe in Christmas, as far as Christ was concerned.

"But she didn't think that He had anything to do with crowded stores, and suddenly polite elevator boys, and nervous wrecks. She didn't even think He would have liked the excitement and the to-do.

"She did think, however, that He'd have adored last Christmas on the farm. Snow had fallen during the night, and at dawn, Louella's second calf had been born.

"She and David and her mother and Fritz and Bertha, had all gathered in the barn, and as they had started to walk back to the house across the lawn, Bertha had suddenly begun to sing O Holy Night, and Fritz had taken it up in his rich thick voice.

"Before they knew it they were all singing. And it was less singing than some deep expression from within, like prayer.

"Claudia had felt the tears on her cheeks, but nobody asked, "Why are you crying?" Because it wasn't crying, anymore than it was singing. It was as if that same quality of prayer lay upon all of them, and it made Christmas the  Holy Day that it really was.

"They hadn't even remembered the presents until hours later."

May each of us experience that one moment during Christmas when the presents don't even matter.

Merry Christmas to all,
Dewena and RH

The following photograph is in memory of my Grandpa Mickle,
on the left with his brother on the right,
at the Nativity Scene of the city of Belle Isle, Florida
on December 18, 1955.