Category: Connections

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I Liked Wearing Footies Today….

I liked wearing footie socks today. I know – that’s a strange opening line… Let me go back a bit and explain…..

My Mother and I used to trade clothes and shoes a lot. She would borrow from me, and I would borrow from her. We enjoyed it. It was something she had done with her mother (my Mam-ma) through the years and so we continued the tradition. It was fun! We “shopped” each other’s closets whenever we wanted something new or different to borrow for a bit. It worked pretty well…..well, mostly it did….except maybe sometimes when it came to shoes.

You see – I don’t like wearing socks….ever. I do wear them in the winter – because you’re supposed to….but I think they are bunchy and uncomfortable and hot….and I much prefer bare feet in my shoes whenever I can get away with it. BUT, Mother never wore shoes (except sandals of course) without socks because she believed it was better for the shoe (and she was right). SO, when I borrowed any of her shoes she had one request – I had to wear a pair of “footies”. (UGH!!!) To make it easy, she bought me footie socks to keep on hand so that I could wear them when needed….and I always complied. I might have tried to talk her out of it a time or two….but she stood firm and I finally accepted that it was a thing and I respectfully followed her request. But….I still didn’t like wearing them.

Mother even kept footies at her house for me – just in case I ever needed shoes while I was there and didn’t have the little footies with me…..in other words, she had the situation thoroughly covered! 🙂

Shoes were kind of a big thing for my Mother – she loved them and had several pairs of unique, pretty, colorful, blingy, and fun shoes. When she passed away, it was hard parting with them. They were so “her”…so, I kept a special pair – her red and gold tennis shoes – because they were some of her favorites and because every time I look at them they make me smile. I tucked them away as a remembrance – for the smiles and the sweet memories they bring when I see them.

I kept some of her other shoes as well – some of my favorites that we had traded back and forth, and some of her more everyday tennis shoes – to wear myself. One pair of gray Skechers has sat in my closet until today. I’m not really certain why I haven’t worn them until now – because Skechers are some of my absolute favorite shoes…..but for whatever reasons I had left them sitting there quietly undisturbed.

Getting ready for work this morning, I put on a soft gray pullover shirt with my jeans (It’s casual Friday!) and glanced over at that pair of gray Skechers. They’d be perfect with this outfit I thought…..so I took them off the shelf…..and then I paused. Can I be honest? I truthfully felt a tiny bit guilty for wearing the shoes without those required footie socks….. and I was wishing Mother were still here….I was thinking how completely happy I would be to wear those little socks for her today if only she were here to require it of me. I stopped and took a moment just to think and remember.

Then, as I bent down to put my shoes on I thought to myself, “Well Mother, I’m going to wear these shoes without the socks today.”

I stepped into the right shoe and pulled it onto my heel. When I put my toes into the left shoe – they hit something….something soft and familiar in the end of the shoe. I pulled my foot out, put my hand in….and pulled out a little pair of footie socks neatly tucked into the toe of the shoe. I almost laughed out loud. It almost felt like a little hug…a connection to what used to be…

Then what did I do??? I sat down with a smile on my face, took off my right shoe, pulled on the little socks and then my shoes and headed out the door for work.

I loved wearing footie socks today.

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Connections are Special

Being surrounded by family was normal for me when I was a little girl growing up in Conway County. The roots of all sides of my family are deep there, and I was blessed to grow up being loved by so many. I was only 8 years old (almost 9) when Mother and Daddy decided to move to Carroll County, and I remember what it felt like for the first time in my life to go to school, to church, to the grocery store, even to the park and not run into family or familiar friends. We were the only Carlons in Carroll County, and it felt unfamiliar and strange to have no connections. It seemed to me that my classmates knew everyone – that they had those local roots and connections that I was used to…. I wasn’t sad – it just felt….different, like something was missing.

When I started junior high, the halls on the high school wing of the building were lined with pictures of all the classes to ever graduate from Green Forest. Those pictures dated back to the late 1800’s. In addition, the sidewalks we walked on going to the cafeteria every day had the names of each of the classes recorded in the concrete. It all fascinated me – and I loved reading them – seeing the names of so many of my classmates’ siblings, cousins, aunts, uncles, parents, and grandparents – I loved history and family and connections even then!

I remember how excited I was when I learned that my Great-Uncle Ira and Great-Aunt Oretha had lived in Green Forest at one time. I remember when Daddy told me – I was eager to find out where their house stood and when they had lived here. I was full of questions – wondering why I hadn’t been told this before! I was very excited to find out that their oldest daughter Sarah, my first cousin once removed, had graduated from Green Forest High School. It may sound silly, but it was almost comforting to know that I had a connection too. I remember eagerly searching for her name as I walked the sidewalks. Knowing that both she and I graduated from the same high school – the only members of our family to do so – has always made me feel a kindred connection to her.

Discovering connections and learning the stories of my family’s roots and the journey from long ago to today is important and enjoyable to me. I’ve been having such fun with my ancestry research….

A few weeks ago, I posted a story about my 6th great-grandfather, U.S. Brigadier General Levi Garrett Casey, a decorated hero of the Revolutionary War. My link to him runs through my great-grandmother, Maggie Beeson – and I have found his stories fascinating.

While researching great-grandfather Casey and his family – I found some information about his brother, Jesse, that revealed another interesting connection. Jesse was born in Maryland and later moved with his family to South Carolina. He had five sons, one named Aaron. Along with his father, his uncles, and his grandfather, Aaron fought in the Revolutionary War, serving under Colonel Benjamin Roebuck.

One of Aaron’s sons, Abner (named for his great-grandfather), married and in 1834 moved his family to Arkansas, settling on the Buffalo Fork of the White River in what is now Newton County. I was surprised to discover that his homestead was located 40 or 50 miles from the house I live in now. (I think that’s so cool!)

According to information found in the Springfield (MO) Greene County Library, Abner, a millwright, built one of the first water mills in the area. He also built one of the first Baptist church buildings. He and his wife Elizabeth lived the remainder of their lives on their Newton County farm and are buried near Parthenon.

Here’s where I think the story gets really interesting!

Abner and his wife Elizabeth had four sons. One was named Levi (presumably after his great great uncle). After living in Arkansas for several years, Levi moved his family to Taney County, Missouri and settled on a land grant on Swan Creek near present-day Forsyth. He cleared the land and built a cabin, living there many years for the remainder of his life. The cabin was loved and stayed in the family for many years….until the late 1940’s when Bull Shoals Dam was being built. The construction of the dam meant the property would need to be sold, so Levi’s great-granddaughter, Opal McHaffie Parnell, sold the land with the stipulation that she could relocate and keep the treasured family home.

Years later, the beloved relocated cabin is still standing – in fact I visited it recently….as I have done many, many times through the years – never knowing of the family connection. The beautiful old dog-trot cabin, built by Levi Casey (my 3rd cousin 4X removed), is the McHaffie Homestead located on the grounds of the Silver Dollar City theme park.

Ironically, it’s one of my favorite places to visit at the park! Through the years, I have sat on the porch of the old dog-trot cabin many times listening to the City’s storyteller – Judy Dockery Young, watching depictions and demonstrations of pioneer life, or enjoying the beautiful music of the “Homestead Pickers” band.

Now, each visit is going to be a little bit more fun.

Connections are special.

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The Story of Margrette

A little grave marker, nestled among the familiar names of my relatives, was how I first met Margrette Ruth Blasingame. It was an unexpected discovery in the quiet, peaceful grounds of Old Hickory Cemetery, a place where my family’s history is literally carved in stone. In 2021, my Mother and I made several trips to the cemetery – working on a project we had undertaken to clean and restore family gravestones. Many of the old headstones were darkened and overgrown with lichens, making them difficult to read…..but one little stone in the family plot was virtually unreadable. I remember tracing the stone with my finger trying to determine what it said….and failing. We completed the first treatment, then waited, returned, and completed the second……then repeated the process again.

Finally, the darkened stone was clean, and the rough surface of the old gravestone bore a name, with the brief dates of a life etched beneath:

Margrette Ruth Blasingame
Born July 21, 1926
Died March 27, 1929.

She was my first cousin, once removed – the second child of my Great-Aunt Zilby and her husband J.H. Blasingame…

I remember my Aunt Zilby —she taught me how to play Yahtzee when I visited her on a trip with my parents to California when I was six years old. She also gave me a beautiful blue glass vase – an unusual gift for a small child – but one that I have kept and treasured through the years because it came from her. It sits proudly in my guest room today.

Aunt Zilby married J.H. Blasingame in 1923 when she was just 16. Their first son was born the next year. Two years later, another baby was born – a daughter named Margrette Ruth. Two more years – and another son was born to the little family. Shortly after his birth, they left Hattieville and moved to the Little Rock area. Daddy used to tell me of a general mercantile store, possibly much like the one Aunt Zilby’s father (my great-grandfather) operated in Hattieville. The store they ran was located on Highway 10 – a country road outside of Little Rock that carried travelers to and from the capital city. Over the decades, the growing city has swallowed much of that countryside…and the location of the long-gone little store is now part of the busy city on Cantrell Road.

For the past few years, that little gravestone was all I had—a stark, poignant reminder of a life cut short at only 2 years, 8 months, and 6 days of age. I often wondered what kind of sudden tragedy had stolen a child so young, and I thought about how devastating it must have been for Aunt Zilby and J.H. to bear.

Some pieces of the puzzle were finally uncovered when I found Margrette Ruth’s death certificate on Ancestry.com. What I found was not the record of a sudden, instant loss, but of a drawn-out, painful struggle. Her small life didn’t succumb to an accident, but to an illness—one that was relentless and, in those times, unbeatable. Margrette Ruth did not die at home; she passed away at Little Rock’s General Hospital. The certificate shows that a physician attended to her illness from March 7, 1929, until her death on the 27th.

The official cause of death was listed as “pyemia.”

The word was new to me – I had to look it up. Pyemia is a severe form of blood poisoning, a widespread systemic infection—a type of sepsis—that spreads through the bloodstream, leading to abscesses and multiple organ failure.

In the year 1929, it was typically a death sentence.

As a great-niece looking back though the decades, I can only imagine the helplessness – the panic – the family must have felt. They endured three weeks of watching their child fight a relentless, unseen enemy in a hospital room, hoping against hope that the doctors could turn the tide. But in 1929, no effective treatment existed.

The reason is simple: the age of antibiotics, something we take for granted, had not yet dawned. Pyemia, contracted likely from a simple injury or untreated infection, was a death sentence. Hospitals were full of people—children and adults alike—dying from infections that today are routinely treatable.

The life-saving drug, penicillin, and the resulting antibiotic age were still more than a decade away. Before this discovery, a simple cut or scratch or common illness could lead to a deadly infection, filling hospitals with people suffering from maladies for which doctors could offer little hope. Pneumonia, rheumatic fever, and yes, pyemia, were often insurmountable foes. It wasn’t until mass production efforts began in the United States in the 1940s that penicillin and later other antibiotics became the widely available healing medicines we know today.

As I think about little Margrette Ruth suffering for weeks in a hospital, her young parents watching helplessly—I am struck by a profound and painful realization: had she been born just fifteen or twenty years later, a simple course of medicine could have saved her life. The medications that we now use routinely were then only a future reality that arrived tragically too late for my great aunt and uncle’s little girl.

My study into Margrette Ruth’s short life turned out to be a poignant lesson in medical history. It made the familiar comfort of a doctor’s visit, a course of medication, or a simple preventative measure feel like an incredible, life-saving blessing. We truly are blessed by the advances of modern medicine, as well as the scientists and researchers who are constantly working to develop new treatments and improve our health care. I carry with me a deep gratitude for the countless lives that are now saved—lives that, in Margrette Ruth Blasingame’s time, would have been lost.

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The Stories I Wish I Knew

old books

I’ve been researching my ancestry for the past several months and I have so enjoyed all of the family members I am “meeting” and all of their stories I am discovering. I’m so grateful to the people and organizations who have recorded history – whether it be census data, official records, written family accounts, cemetery information, and so on. They help to piece together the stories of the people that came before – the people who worked and sacrificed and tried and failed and tried again and created…..blazing trails for all the rest of us. I’ve said it many times, we stand on the shoulders of those who came before us…the people who pioneered the land, developed communities, organized our systems and structures, built the roads….those who invented, created, established, loved, learned, and grew….

I’ve posted about some of my relatives recently….but so far none have had a name so interesting, so unique, as that of my great-great grandmother……but I’ll get to that in a minute… 🙂 When I was a child attending first grade at Wonderview Public Schools, I rode the bus roughly 9 miles from Hattieville to Wonderview every morning….and 9 miles back every afternoon. Those familiar with this area will easily know that the school bus passed through the community of St. Vincent, Arkansas on the way. It’s interesting to me that I have ridden (and later driven) Arkansas highway 95 so many times through the years – and didn’t know that some of my ancestors were buried in a tiny family cemetery neatly fenced off in the middle of a little pasture beside the highway. The little cemetery has only five graves….my great-great grandfather, Thomas Jefferson McReynolds (a pretty interesting name in it’s own right, don’t you think?), my great-great grandmother (the one with the fun, interesting name), and three others.

Okay – back to the name! I hope you like it as well as I do. My great-great grandmother’s birth name is Tennessee Turnbow. Say that one out loud! C’mon – it’s fun! 🙂

According to some of the records, her family called her “Tennie”. So, as an adult her married name was Tennie McReynolds…. I like it – it’s also got a pretty nice ring to it – but I have to admit I like Tennessee Turnbow even better!

Though I’ve tried hard to learn about her, information is very limited. Diligent searches over time have put together the following very short biography:

“When Tennessee “Tennie” Turnbow was born on April 24, 1850, in Maury County, Tennessee, her father, John, was 41, and her mother, Cathryn, was 35. The entire family moved to Pope County, Arkansas when she was a young child and she grew up there. She married Thomas Jefferson McReynolds on December 22, 1869 and they set up their first home in Dover. Later they moved to Conway County, Arkansas. They had five children during their marriage. Tennessee died as a young mother on September 10, 1880, in Hattieville, Arkansas, at the age of 30. When she passed away, her children were ages 8, 7, 6, 4, and 1½. How hard this must have been. She was buried in St. Vincent, Arkansas – the first grave in the McReynolds Cemetery.”

Five years after her death, my great-great grandfather remarried a lady named Isabelle Templeton and soon more children joined the family.

The information leaves me curious – I can think of so many questions. Without Tennessee Turnbow, I would not be here. In fact, the first time I saw a young picture of her daughter – my great-grandmother Sarah Florence – I was surprised to see how much I look like her. I like that.

But…I know so little about my 2nd great-grandmother…. What was she like? What were her hopes and dreams? What color were her eyes? Her hair? Did she have a nice smile? Did she have a favorite recipe or recipes? Did she like to sing? Was she artistic? Was she practical and quiet? Was she fun loving? What caused her death at such a young age? Was the land she is buried on the family farm? How did my great-great grandfather manage alone for several years with five little children?

The stories I wish I knew make me thoughtful….

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Think on the Good Things

Today is my Mother’s birthday, so she is on my mind a lot this morning….but of course, that’s nothing new. I think about her – and my Daddy – every single day….

When you are blessed to be very close to your parents….everything changes when they pass away….and you have to make up your mind how you will think about things – how you will go on.

I can remember being concerned when Daddy died – wondering how Mother would cope. She had been taking such dedicated care of him for so long and much of her life was devoted to him for several years. A couple of days after his funeral, we were talking on the phone and she said, “Lisa, I didn’t just lose my husband, I’ve lost my job. I’ve got to find a new direction – a new purpose so that I can keep going. I can’t just sit around and feel sorry for myself” And then, I watched her do just that. I thought how smart and how courageous she was….and I relied on her example when I lost her ten years later.

As I said, everything changes when you lose someone very close to you. The world just feels….different. After her death I grieved, of course, but also I worked very hard to think about how best to go forward – to decide what I would think about and how I would handle everything… For example, when someone mentioned my parents, would I be sad – or would I be glad that they were remembered? When I baked one of her recipes, would it bring me joy or sadness? Would I be solemn when I visited a restaurant we used to frequent together – or would I smile and remember all the good times we had? When I wore a piece of her jewelry, would it be a symbol of loss – or a reminder of great memories, blessings, and joy?

My cousin Betty helped me tremendously one day when she said to me: “Lisa, I know three things as surely as I know anything. Jeannie loved Jesus and she loved you – and she would want you to be happy.” I have thought of Betty’s comment over and over these past 2½ years….and I know she is right. Mother always wanted me to be happy – and she still would! So, I have tried very hard to remember to be just that! In other words, I have tried to think about what I think about – and choose to think on the good things. We really do get to choose, you know. (This can be such hard work – but very worth it!) I’ve tried to “program” my brain to celebrate the blessings and memories and lessons. Now, don’t get me wrong. Sometimes I am sad – and that’s okay. Sometimes I want so badly to pick up the phone and call my Mother – to ask her a question, to share some good news, to hear in her voice that she is proud of me. Sometimes, I just let myself be sad…..but not for long!

Two weeks to the day before Mother passed away, she said to me “Lisa, I don’t want you to be sad when I’m gone. Promise me.” I replied, “Mother! I can’t promise that! I am most certainly going to be sad! I will miss you!” She persisted, “Well, you can be a little bit sad of course, but Lisa – don’t wallow in it.” Her kind, wise words were such a caring gift to me.

Is it an easy thing to not be sad? No, it’s not….it’s a choice that you make over and over and over again…..but it’s so worth it!

Six months after my Mother died, I attended an event where I would be meeting Michael Learned. Miss Learned played the role of the mother, Olivia, on the 1970’s television program, The Waltons. When we met, she was seated and I was standing. I introduced myself and told her that I wanted to let her know that the work she did decades ago on that television program still had an impact today. I then told her that my dear Mother had recently passed away. At this point, she held up her hand to interrupt me, then stood to face me and took my hand. “What is your Mother’s name?, she asked. I told her that it was Jean. She continued to stand and held my hand while I told her that during Mother’s final few weeks, she was unable to get out of bed but that she kept a bright smile on her face every day – that her room was never sad to anyone who entered it. I also told her that her hospice team and the staff that attended to her knew to avoid scheduling anything between 11:00 am and noon – because that was when the television show “The Waltons” aired. Mother looked forward to watching it every day, and it brought her such joy.

Miss Learned (still holding my hand) looked me in the eyes and said caringly, “How are you doing?”. I told her I was doing okay. She then took my other hand, looked upwards, and said “Jean, this is Michael. I am here right now with Lisa, and I want you to know she is doing okay. She really is doing okay.”

And you know what? I am – and I am so grateful.

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The Garrison Studio – An Arkansas Treasure

A few years ago, I was spending a lot of my time on the 7th floor of UAMS hospital in Little Rock. My mother was there for treatment, and we were in the hospital off and on that year for visits lasting several weeks at a time. Mother and I would go for walks a couple of times every day to get out of her hospital room for a bit and to get a little exercise. The hospital hallway made a big loop around the floor. It was perfect for walking! There were beautiful paintings and framed photography hung along the corridors, giving us and the other patients something to see and talk about as we walked along. One painting in particular always caught both of our eyes. It was a standout favorite for both of us. The colors and use of light were so rich and serene and beautiful. We connected with it. It provided a moment of respite, of escape, of peaceful joy during a challenging situation every time we saw it.

As we journeyed through that year, that same painting continued to be a shared spot of joy for us whenever we were back in the hospital. I made a note of the artist’s name, Bill Garrison, telling myself I would research information about him one day when I had more time….I knew then that I would love to have one of his paintings someday…but didn’t really imagine that it would ever be possible for me….

Fast forward now to last year… When I finally did sit down to research this talented artist, I happily discovered that he lives in Russellville, Arkansas. I decided to visit the Bill Garrison gallery last summer, so I made the drive down Arkansas’ scenic highway 7 to the studio showcasing the works of both he and his wife, Gloria (also a wonderful artist!). I had no idea what to expect – and I was a bit nervous. I can sometimes feel timid when meeting new people and often feel awkward in unfamiliar situations and places.

Visiting a gallery was definitely not a familiar routine for me, and as I turned off the highway and drove down their lane, my confidence waned a bit. There was no need for worry, however. When I pulled up, Mr. and Mrs. Garrison came out to greet me like old friends. I instantly felt welcome and comfortable. We chatted for a few minutes then I walked into their studio…..and I was blown away. A large number of incredibly beautiful art was displayed all around the room, all beautifully framed by Mr. Garrison himself.

It was soon obvious that Arkansas is definitely Mr. Garrison’s inspiration. There were lovely scenes painted in locations from around the state all over the walls. Whenever I would exclaim about the beauty of a painting, Mr. Garrison would delightedly tell me exactly where he had found that particular scene to paint. In fact, he showed me that he always puts the GPS map coordinates on the back of each of his works to record where they were completed. I can’t even adequately describe how beautiful they all were…and since I love Arkansas, most every painting was a lovely celebration of my home state.

I knew I wanted to buy a painting – but the decision of which one was difficult! Did I want the beautiful picture of a field painted in Conway County – the county of my birth? Another tempting choice was a landscape of cool greens and blues showing a beautiful stream with trees shading the water and rocks. Another painting displayed a beautifully shaded, peaceful dirt road with spots of sunlight peaking through the canopy of trees. I truly loved them ALL. Mr. Garrison’s art is an Arkansas treasure!

I finally happily settled on a gorgeous work called “Spadra Autumn”. As the title suggests, it features beautiful fall colors and the light in the painting is just breathtaking. I couldn’t wait to get it home and hang it on my wall….and I have enjoyed it every day since. I find myself often taking the time to pause and study it a bit whenever I walk by. It brings me such joy!

Several weeks after buying the painting, I decided to drive down and see if I could locate the spot of this beautiful scene using Mr. Garrison’s GPS coordinates. According to the map, I was looking for a spot just north of Clarksville on a little county road. I was looking from side to side as I drove along slowly, knowing I must be getting close….As I was driving across a small low water bridge I looked to my left….and there was the scene from my painting. The colors were different, because it wasn’t fall yet, but it was still so recognizable and looked so instantly familiar to me. It made me smile – and it made my painting all the more meaningful and enjoyable to see where it had originated.

If you love art…..or Arkansas….or beauty….I highly recommend a trip to the Garrison “Treehouse Studios” Gallery in Russellville. Call for an appointment and head down to see these true Arkansas treasures. I look forward to going back someday myself!

Contact Information:

Treehouse Studios

https://www.facebook.com/BillGarrisonFineArt

Bill Garrison Fine Art

https://www.facebook.com/BillGarrisonFineArt/

Treehouse Studios Website

http://pages.suddenlink.net/billandgloria/index.htm

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The Privilege of Prayer

Southern Sideboards cover

I said a little prayer for Mrs. Hunter Gates and her family this week. I guess that’s a little strange because I’ve never met Mrs. Gates, never spoken with her, and in truth I know almost nothing about her. In fact, I am not even certain that she is still living…

Okay, let me back up a bit…

I really enjoy cooking, and I like trying new recipes. It’s popular today to find recipes through internet searches – and I know that can provide a real convenience … .but for me, I much prefer tried and true recipes when I can….recipes that are shared from people – family, friends, or even strangers. Recipes that are handed down through generations – that have traveled with families as they moved about, that have been saved carefully because they are important. The connections these recipes provide make preparing and enjoying meals all the more significant and special. For example – baking a Mexican Chicken casserole using my Mam-ma’s recipe adds a whole new dimension to the cooking experience….connecting me to her, to all the times she baked and served and enjoyed that same casserole to dear family and friends…connecting me to wonderful, loving memories. I can close my eyes and be transported in my mind to her kitchen – smelling the wonderful smells and feeling the love that she shared.

Mexican Chicken Casserole

Preparing my “Creamy Tacos” recipe given to me by my mentor teacher, Marti Hancock, early in my teaching career connects me to her…..and to my teaching team at Branson Cedar Ridge….and to all the wonderful memories of my students during those years when I was learning the craft of my profession.

Creamy tacos

When I make baked eggs for breakfast, a unique and delicious recipe from my cousin Nicki Jean, I am reminded of all the Beeson quail breakfasts on Christmas mornings in Hattieville through the years – the first place I ever tried baked eggs…and it makes me smile and be thankful for those wonderful times.

baked eggs

When I travel, I often search for a local cookbook to bring home as a memento of the place I have visited. Each region of the country has such unique food preferences, cooking styles, and culture. I especially like church cookbooks or junior league cookbooks….because the recipes in these are carefully selected by folks who have taken great pride in preparing unique and delicious dishes for family and friends. The recipes they have chosen to be printed are some that they consider their best….and they are sharing them to bring joy to others.

When I visited Biloxi and Jackson, Mississippi many years ago (2008) for a t-ball tournament my nephew played in, I purchased a cookbook called “Southern Sideboards” which was organized and sold by the Junior League of Jackson, Mississippi. On page one, it states that it features “tested recipes”….and boy, they weren’t kidding. First published in 1978, the cookbook was in its 17th printing and was listed as a “Southern Living Hall of Fame” winner when I purchased it. Of all my cookbooks, it has become one of my very favorites through the years, because it’s so reliable! Every recipe I have prepared from this book has been so good.

Southern Sideboards Cookbook

This week, I tried a new one – “Wild Rice Quiche” by Mrs. Hunter Gates. I was looking for a new quiche recipe – and this one caught my eye because it was so unique…..and because I love wild rice. It was very easy to prepare, and it turned out to be delicious. I will make it again! (That’s the mark of a good recipe for me – will I make it again? If the answer is yes, that means it’s a winner!)

Okay….forgive me….back to the beginning. Whenever my sweet Mother prepared a recipe given to her by a friend or family member, she tried to always say a simple prayer for that person….and she taught me to do the same.

A great cook herself – Mother would often be asked for her recipes – and she would gladly share them. Many years ago, she began including a handwritten note at the end of each one.

“Please say a prayer for me when you make this recipe.”

It was a simple request – but such a very powerful one. Can I be honest? When I was younger, I was a little embarrassed when Mother started writing the little phrase on her recipe cards. I worried (too much!) about what people would think of it….thinking perhaps they would think it silly or inappropriate…

I’ve grown up – and I do not feel embarrassed of it anymore. Instead, I am very proud – and very grateful for her example and the lessons she taught me!

Please say a prayer for me...

In today’s world, social communication platforms, busy schedules, changing social norms, and even the media seem (in my opinion) sometimes bent on dividing us – on breaking down connections and in some ways even encouraging isolation.

Isn’t it much better when we enjoy, support, respect, and care about one another? More importantly, isn’t it a powerful and wonderful privilege and responsibility to pray for one another?

Many of us say a blessing over our meals, we pray for family and friends….and a lot of us say a prayer for strangers when we see an ambulance or emergency vehicle pass by. How fitting that we can also say a quick prayer for others when a trigger brings them to our mind….a trigger such as a recipe they have shared with us. I think it is actually a pretty great idea!

James 5:16

“Therefore, confess your sins to one another and pray for one another, that you may be healed. The prayer of a righteous person has great power as it is working”

Ephesians 6:18

18 And pray in the Spirit on all occasions with all kinds of prayers and requests. With this in mind, be alert and always keep on praying for all the Lord’s people.