Tag: tradition

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Timeless Wisdom

My cousin Elizabeth, center, with us and her parents – my Aunt Ann and Uncle Tom

As far back as I can remember growing up, my dad’s only sister, Ann, has been an active part of my life. She married Tom Downing before I turned one, and they have been there through it all ~ birthdays, holidays, weddings, graduations, and funerals. Aunt Ann can shop for me better than I can shop for myself. She has an eye for putting together an outfit, and she has done this for me and for my grandchildren on several occasions. When my mother died, sisterless herself, she’d phoned Ann with a request before she left this earth.

“Be there for Kim when I’m gone,” she’d asked of my aunt. “She’s going to need you. You know why.”

It didn’t take me long to figure out why I would be spending hours each week on the phone with her. She was the only one who could help me navigate my dad, her brother, who didn’t particularly care for strong women. He was all for women in leadership roles – until they tried to lead him anywhere, and trying to help my dad in his later years would take strength and something I lack when my patience runs out: tact. And so Aunt Ann, always a strong Southern woman to the core and dripping in class, carries the torch as the voice of wisdom whenever I need to talk. She helped me through those final years with Dad, who did not know how to do life without my mother and swore off help from anyone until the bitter end. I could not have survived without my Aunt Ann to lean on.

When my cousin Elizabeth called to invite us to Uncle Tom’s 90th birthday this past Saturday, my husband and I made the drive to their home in Ashford-Dunwoody in Brookhaven, just north of Atlanta, to be part of the festivities. We were blessed to be part of that day, sharing in the memories and the moments of belonging as family. In the midst of the holiday season, with this being the first Christmas without Dad after losing him in June, these times seem to carry more weight. As I walked through their house, each room brought back such memories of all the years there for various events, and I felt the shadow of my childhood self playing games on Thanksgiving Day in the basement while the men watched football and the women cooked. The moments of today carry far more layers of meaning as I return to their home, the place of old pictures and relatives long gone now. Ann and I stood on her front porch for a few moments alone together, remembering the space where we’d all stood smiling as Uncle Tom brought his camera for photos, the space now every bit as sacred as the circle at the Grand Ole Opry, preserved through the years and taken into the newer building just to keep the same floor where the stars have all stood.

We wish Tom a very happy birthday, and cheers to the years ahead and all the years behind along the journey that brought us to now.

it all matters more

today than ever before

these crossroads of life

Aunt Ann’s porch of family pictures through the years
Aunt Ann and me (we both wore cranberry)
Special thanks to Two Writing Teachers
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Open Write Day 1 of 3 September 2025 with Kelsey Bigelow

Today’s host of the first day of September’s Open Write at http://www.ethicalela.com is Kelsey Bigelow, who works as a mental health poet and renowned author of books, slam poetry events, and writing workshops in Iowa. You can read all about Kelsey and visit today’s prompt and poems here, as she inspires us to think about what lives on the “good side of memories.” Today’s writing is rooted in stream of consciousness writing that can live on in that form or be the start of one that takes root for another.

It’s All in the Kneading and Knowing

the happiest thing

I’ve ever tasted was that moment

when in my grief

soul-gutting tears in a

big-enough-for-all

walls of a VRBO

reverberating sniffles

and crumpled Kleenex

and happy laughs of

oblivious grandchildren playing

with their newest cousin

trying to teach him

to walk at six months

and believing he could

the strains of Amazing Grace

sung to a guitar

by the rest of us trying

to sing with the best of us

believing we could

as we all sat piled high

on the curved couch

pajama-clad, remembering

*******. ********

then one broke the silence

asking for a happier moment

in the autumn – another together

time when smiles returned

then another added

yeah, when

any of us can

make a word from tiles in

turntable Scrabble

and another added

yeah, and only if Mom

brings the pumpkin bread

and right then

in those delicate moments

I knew three things:

that I had taken the reins

as the newest family elder and

that tradition of togetherness

lives on in food tried first

as a flopped recipe

when they’re toddlers, then tested

again and again to perfection

by the time they’re teenagers

and can’t think of gatherings

without it and

that families too

are like that ~

learning to walk

learning to sing

learning to bake

learning to live on

believing

through all the tears and laughter

that together

we can

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Pumpkin Bread and Pinecone Feeders

Two important traditions rooted in books still prevail during Christmas holidays, continuing from the days when my children were small. They still ask for the pumpkin bread from the Frederica Fare cookbook, so I baked two fresh loaves Sunday morning and we devoured one, slathering each slice with our favorite Irish butter. Christmas isn’t Christmas without it.

We make pinecone birdfeeders each year after we read the book Night Tree by Eve Bunting, taking the treats to a tree in our yard and hanging them for the songbirds and other critters to have their Christmas feast. The kids enjoyed the sensory experience of gathering pinecones, coating them with Crisco, and rolling them in birdseed. This year, it was a special moment seeing my son and his family all engaged in this time-honored tradition that is a testament to the power of a book to create family pastimes.

The book was a Christmas gift that my daughter’s kindergarten teacher purchased with book club points for each child in the class back in 1992. Once we read the book together that year, we decided to make our own tree. We’ve been doing it ever since. In fact, the morning my son called at the end of 2012 from Tennessee to say he was planning to propose that evening, I was outside with the oldest grandchild making our Night Tree. A decade and five children later, here they are – – carrying on the tradition that started in the pages of a childhood book.

I also shared this book with one of our school district’s partner preschool centers this year in a professional development session at the beginning of December. Teachers read the book to each class, and they made their own class critter trees. The teachers sent me the photos of smiling, proud little ones who now watch from the windows to see the birds come, just as we do. 

Never underestimate the power of a book to make a difference and shape thinking. Cookbooks and children’s picture books are filled with all sorts of magic. Sharing sacred traditions with the next generation is a rich gift of grandparenthood.

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Facebook Memory Book Tree

Facebook memories

Our book Christmas tree years back

Best Yuletide tree yet!

One decade ago – that’s how long ago we built this Christmas tree. We raided the reading room, where I used to have six bookcases crammed full of books (I still have the six bookcases, but I have done the anguishing work of paring down my collection over these years, letting go of some keepers).

I think of the work that we did. Find all the tall ones, and place them flat in a circle. Then, we discussed how to proceed. Find the next size down, a little thicker, and place them about a half inch inside the ring of the floor books. And so on, and so forth. String the lights, and light it up! At the top, as I recall, we’d placed a wooden chest with a Bible in it.

Every Christmas holds its magic, and over time, ideas and traditions come and go. I’m grateful today for the memories of the years, right back to the 1960s tinsel trees that I remember in my grandparents’ homes, the real trees that smelled like Frasier forests, and the Charlie Brown trees of the years that didn’t turn out like we’d planned. There was a tree that had little teeny spiders all in it the year I’d made a new sequined tree skirt, and they all climbed down and decided as a group to die right there in it, leaving little black spots everywhere. And, of course, the tree that leaned, that we fixed, then leaned, then we fixed, then fell with a hefty burglar size thud in the middle of the night, breaking precious ornaments and sloshing water everywhere.

To the magic of Christmas ~ and all it holds for us, past, present, and future – I raise my morning coffee. I’ll see A Christmas Carol on the stage of the Alliance Theater tonight in Atlanta, Georgia, and I’ll be thanking Charles Dickens for all of the versions of this classic Christmas tale as we know them today, as well as the traditions that had not yet arrived in England from Germany until he published this book – including the Christmas tree.

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Making Fig Marmalade

I recently asked Dad to text me some of the recipes for foods I remember making with my mother when I was younger. He sent me several snapshots of recipes, and even a photo of a lock of my childhood hair that my mother had tucked away in the recipe box in a blue envelope.

After work on Thursday, I swung by our local grocery store on the way home from work to pick up some jars for canning. I’ve been meaning to make some fig preserves before the figs are all dried up. Right now, the blue swallowtails are feasting on the fermented figs like it’s some kind of heavenly all-you-can-eat buffet, and I needed to pick the last of the fig harvest for this year for some recipes. I settled on Fig Marmalade.

I picked the figs from my towering fig tree that I purchased for $3.00 from a scratch-and-dent clearance cart on the side of the plant section in Home Depot over a decade ago.

I sterilized some jelly jars and lids by boiling them while I chopped the figs, simmered the lemons, grated the orange rind, and squeezed the juice.

For this recipe, I used pure cane sugar instead of regular granulated sugar. I boiled it, then simmered on low for about an hour and a half until it got thick (the recipe says 30 minutes, but I wanted mine thicker). Then, I scooped it into canning jars with seals on the lids and labeled the tops.

Since we usually have breakfast for supper a couple of times a week, we consume a lot of jelly with our toast. I’ve also used it to put on brie with crackers. I used one of my mother’s old measuring cups that we’d used together as I made the marmalade (it has a chip in one place that feels a lot like an age wrinkle), so it has her hand in it, too. This will surely bring back all the memories and feels of my childhood fig marmalade.

Toast, anyone?

Jars of fig marmalade – September 2023
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Welcome to the World, Noli Mae!


Today, our host at http://www.ethicalela.com for Day 1 of the August Open Write inspires us to write poems about hands. Denise Krebs of California is hosting today’s writing. You can read her full prompt here. 

Welcoming Magnolia Mae

yesterday, these hands
gripped handlebars, holding on
for the ride with friends

yesterday, these hands
swaddled babies, bandaged knees
as children grew up

yesterday, these hands
stitched a quilt for a grandchild
I will meet today

for today, these hands
will build Legos and fairy
gardens first, and then…..

today, these hands will
swaddle a new granddaughter
in rosettes and sage

so that tomorrow,
these hands will be remembered
this heart full of love
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Strawberry Pigs

Lately I’ve been grounding myself in my rural Georgia blessings by rereading Gladys Taber‘s books about her life on her farm, Stillmeadow, in the hills of Connecticut. Every sentence she writes, it seems, takes me to comforting places that fill me with the joy of memories and the inspiration to carry on the traditions and legacy that my mother left.

In the August chapter of Stillmeadow Calendar A Countrywoman’s Journal, Gladys shares, “Corn stands silken in the field, chicory stars the roadside, and goldenrod mints her coin. The kitchen smells of spices and syrups, ming and sweet pepper. It is the time of “putting up,” a rewarding time for country-folk. I believe it is an instinct in man to store things against the winter, even when there is a supermarket a few blocks or miles away. It is part of the rhythm of life.”

When my children were young, I’d meet my mother at the halfway point so that the kids could visit a week every summer with their grandparents. Just a few weeks ago, as I was visiting one of my girls, we passed a Dairy Queen.

“That makes me think of all those times Mimi would take us to get a Cotton Candy Blizzard,” she shared. “Those were the best days of my life. I loved making strawberry pigs with Mimi.”

My mother had a fig tree, and they’d all go out and pick figs in the back yard and strawberries from a neighbor’s patch. Mom would get out the pressure cooker and a box of clean Mason jars and lids. Everyone had a job to do well beyond the picking – – washing figs, hulling strawberries, slicing fruits, measuring sugar, stirring. It was a day-long event with everyone fully-aproned, and they stocked our pantry and theirs with all the toast topping they needed for the coming winter months.

My grown children still call strawberry figs “strawberry pigs,” from their days of childhood mispronunciations.

When we moved onto the Johnson Funny Farm in 2008, I found a little twig of a scratch-and-dent turkey fig on the clearance rack at Home Depot and bought it for $3.00. My husband put up the orange plastic netting around it to keep from running the tractor over it, and today it stands taller than a clown on stilts and is more solid than any prize bull.

My scratch-and-dent clearance fig

I walk out to the fig tree this morning, inspecting the forthcoming fruits, anticipating their ripening. A fig harvest heralds the end of summer and beginning of fall – my favorite time of year! And I feel my mother’s arm around my shoulders, erasing all distance between heaven and earth, assuring me that the time spent doing simple things with those we love is the best gift of all. The simple act of making memories transcends years, space, and distance and preserves the togetherness and belonging – – the “putting up” of love scooped and slathered freely like a medicinal balm at the twist of a jar lid when it’s needed in the winters of our lives.

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Slice of Life Challenge – March 7 – All the Magic of Leopold’s Ice Cream in Savannah, Georgia

There is always a (fast-moving) line at this iconic ice cream shop in Savannah, Georgia! It’s worth the wait!

If you’ve ever been to Savannah, Georgia and looked at a list of the top 10 things to do in the historic Georgia city with Spanish Moss draping the Live Oak trees and horse-carriage tours going on from morning until night, then you know that visiting Leopold’s Ice Cream is at the top of the list! Or perhaps you have walked past not already knowing its fame and magic and noticed the perpetual line stretching down East Broughton Street across from the Savannah College of Art and Design. Leopold’s has a unique history, dating back to 1919, when 3 brothers from Greece opened the shop. The place is still an iconic ice cream parlor today, the kind with the classic round tables that make you want to share a banana split or an ice cream float with your sweetheart. The kind of place that brings back memories to every generation alive today and promises continuing traditions for the youngest children.

Saylor holds onto her hat, thinking of what flavor she wants to try!

Every time we travel to Savannah, we make a visit to Leopold’s a priority. When I was recently in Savannah for a Literacy conference, I had the privilege of introducing four of my five grandchildren to all the delights of Leopold’s!

So many choices! Just ordering the ice cream is a unique experience!

When you first enter the shop, you see the servers in their white caps and burgundy aprons, ready to serve you what you probably already know you want – or, to give you a taste of what you think you might like to try before deciding for sure. When I saw the Rose Petal flavor, I decided to be adventurous and check its bloom factor. It tasted exactly like a rose smells, so I ordered a kids’ cup and savored the flavor of this refreshing treat made from actual edible roses.

River enjoys his honey and almond ice cream!

There’s a working old-time Jukebox over in the corner (see it behind River’s head in the picture?) that still plays songs for a mere quarter, and we listened to Chantilly Lace and The Bunny Hop as we ate our ice cream. The songs were made famous by locals or people who visited Georgia (the Johnny Mercer orchestra popularized The Bunny Hop, and the Johnny Mercer Theater is in downtown Savannah at the Civic Center).

Beckham shares his ice cream with his dad
My daughter-in-law Selena chose Strawberry Sorbet
Saylor waits on her peppermint crunch ice cream at the counter
I chose Rose Petal, and it was a unique taste explosion – – made from the essence of rose, it tasted exactly like a rose smells but oddly did not smell like a rose.
Wearing our Leopold’s shirts

Since I always bring home a surprise for my husband when he isn’t able to travel with me, I brought home matching Leopold’s t-shirts to help us remember one of our favorite places to sit and share one creamy confection with two spoons!

And we couldn’t leave out our grandchild who wasn’t able to go to Savannah for ice cream. We celebrated Aidan’s 13th birthday (belated by a week), and he chose Dairy Queen – – another classic ice cream joint!

Cheers for living life to the fullest ~ my hope is that no matter where you eat ice cream or drink coffee or amble along the path, you experience the magic in the moments!

Aidan enjoys a Hot Fudge Blizzard as a birthday dessert! He’s a teenager now!
From Left: Selena, Sawyer, Saylor, River, me, Marshall, and Beckham by the Shrimp Factory on Savannah’s River Street, February 27, 2023