­­Trees of Memories

This is the first year in my 75 years that I have been without a Christmas tree. Marv and I are full-time RVers now. “There’s not enough room in a fifth wheel,” I thought. So I decided – no tree – not even a small one. Instead I sat in my recliner, looked at our fake fireplace with its beautiful electric flames and imagined the trees of my past standing stately and proud beside it.

 

The branches were paper in my very first tree

And the chief decorator? Well, that would be me.

I was seven or eight, and that tree was fantastic

It had to be paper, there was no real plastic.

Green paper strips tied up around branches

With big colored lights, we were taking no chances

Three feet high, branches straight out, a small little tree.

And I would decorate it, fast as could be.

Balls, bells and tinsel, “icicles” hung out galore

Popcorn strings and stuff that came from the store

My two aunts would come and look, kind and dutiful

And Aunt Ada would declare it “terrifying beautiful.”

 

Then came young motherhood, and the trees they were real

Scenting the house with a warm Christmas feel

I rocked my firstborn and looked at a big silver ball

It showed our reflections, baby and all

I gave my firstborn a sweet little kiss

And sang every verse of “What Child is This?”

 

Full circle soon came, and the kids did the tree.

Not just one child, now there were three

And when they were done, each could open a present

The big trees watched them grow, oh how fast time went.

 

Then they were grown with trees of their own

But now two big trees decorated our home

There was the graceful white tree in the old living room

But downstairs a child’s tree stood there in full bloom

 

It flowered with ornament after ornament from Wizard of Oz

There was Barbie and Ken as well as the Grinch and some dolls

The youngest granddaughter loved the witch from the West

She claimed every witch and ignored all the rest

The witches from set after set were hung high and far as she could

Clustered together in one special spot, hey they looked pretty good

And while cookies baked upstairs in the oven

The tree downstairs had its very own coven.

 

Upstairs was the last tree, the children’s outgrown

The white tree was my very own.

Ornaments of silver, lights everywhere, it stood by the fireplace

And I loved it there.

The yard was ablaze with blankets of light

And there in the window, was my tree of white.

Reindeer in the gazebo, lights on the small fur

A wreath on the door and lights in the windows for sure

From poinsettias to ribbons, fireplace stockings and gifts in addition

When the table was set, it was Better Homes and Gardens: Christmas Edition

 

We have many circles in life’s turning wheel

And now I’ve decided a tree’s a big deal

So I’ll go the storage place, and there I will find

A small plastic tree that for years has been mine

It was always in our bedroom and standing beside it

Was a bathrobe clad Santa close by to guide it

 

I’ll dig out the tree, and two stockings, too.

I’ll grab the Santa and a poinsettia or two

And I’ll have a tree, even though it is late

And at night I’ll see the lights and say

“Isn’t that great?”

 

And that’s what I did. Sometimes poems in your head lead to action. The little tree, decorated in white, sits on our table in front of a big window. The stockings are over the fireplace and Barney lays on the couch and watches the Santa.

 

Merry Christmas to all and to all - - bright Christmas lights.

 

Cluck and Gobble for fun Turkey Casserole Recipes.

http://issuu.com/centering/docs/cluckngobblerecipes?mode=window&backgroundColor=%23222222

 

 

Cluck and Gobble Casserole Contest

Cluck and Gobble Casserole Contest 

 

 

Dig out your favorite leftover chicken or turkey casserole.

Send it to us as joy.johnson@msn.com

We’ll make it into a pretty little Email recipe book that works

for Thanksgiving and Christmas and we’ll send it to everyone who enters.

AND the five top recipes win a free, autographed and inscribed copy of

BOOB GIRLS V: The Mystery of the Red Cane*

Deadline: November 30

*Be sure to include your name, address, phone and if you like, a photo of yourself.

The BOOB Girls Thanksgiving

We Gather Together to Ask the Lord’s Blessing – Thanksgiving with the BOOB Girls

The candlelight reflected off the silverware and glasses. Each plate was a different Autumn color; green, brown, gold and red. The table, set for seven, was beautiful. Soft classical music filled the room. All morning Hadley Joy Morris Whitfield had hummed, “We Gather Together to Ask the Lord’s Blessing……” those were the only words she remembered. Now the time for Thanksgiving had arrived.

“Sit down, everybody,” Hadley smiled. She was carrying a large, steaming casserole that had been the requested main dish.

Everyone sat except Wes Longbow, who was pouring the wine. Robinson Leary had brought a mild Cajun rice dish. Wiley Vondra and Alphonzo Greatwood had made a trip to Wheatfields and come home with glorious breads and two pies – pumpkin and pecan. Marge Aaron had contributed a beautiful tossed salad in a sparkling crystal bowl. And Mary Rose McGill had insisted it just wasn’t Thanksgiving without her old time green bean casserole. “When every housewife’s secret ingredient was canned cream of mushroom soup,” she had declared.

Wes sat and raised his wine glass. “To a great meal and a great family.”

“Your family isn’t always found under the roof where you were born,” Hadley winked.

“A family is who you dang well say it is,” Wiley added with a grin.

“We choose our families,” Marge nodded.

“Here we are,” Robbie said. “Family-friends, and no relatives.”

Mary Rose gave a little giggle, “Family R Us,” she said.

Alphonzo smiled a rather sad, rather tender smile. “To all of you. The best family I’ve ever had.”

Wiley patted his friend’s shoulder and Robbie patted his knee. Alphonzo laughed and Hadley began to serve the prize-winning casserole.

Hadley Joy Morris-Whitfield’s famous prize-winning chicken or turkey casserole

While this recipe is great for left-over turkey or chicken, it can be a main dish any time.

 

1 pkg stovetop dressing: 3 C cooked chicken or turkey, cut up

Make dressing as on package and place in 13x9in pan

Put chicken on top of dressing. Make custard:

½ Cup butter, ½ Cup flour, 4 C. canned chicken broth, salt and pepper

Cook until thick.

Beat 4 to 6 eggs slightly. Mix small amount of custard into eggs, then add remainder.

Pour over chicken. Sprinkle with paprika.

Bake 30-40 minutes at 350 degrees.

Let cool while you make the topping.

Topping:  Het 1 can cream of mushroom soup, 1 cup sour cream, 4 T milk, 1 can pimentos, chopped.

Cut casserole, pour topping over each piece. Garnish with sprig of parsley if you wish.

There are Things You Need to Believe; Even if They’re Not Always True

Hadley Shares her Favorite Movie

Mary Rose put down her bowl which had once held a generous serving of popcorn, M&Ms and goldfish crackers. She blew her nose “That is one of the best movies I’ve ever seen,” she sniffed.

“Fantastic symbolism,” Robbie said.

“Damn good story, too,” Marge added.

Hadley nodded and smiled a tender smile, “Secondhand Lions,” she said, repeating the title of the old movie starring Robert Duvall, Michael Caine and a young Haley Joel Osment.

“There they are,” Hadley went on. “Two old brothers, stuck with a barely-teenage boy for a summer, then for life and love.”

Marge smiled. “Five dogs and a pig and a huge house with a tower room where they put young Walter.”

“I think that tower room is really symbolic,” Robbie, the English professor said. “To me it means Walter was actually above it all. This young kid had wisdom and courage and common sense.”

“Then they got the lion,” Mary Rose put in. “An old female who finally got out of her crate and made her home in the cornfield. Then she protected her cub, Walter, and saved him from his ‘no damn good mother’ and her boyfriend.”

“Jasmine the Lion died with her boots on,” Robbie added.

“There were some lines in that movie that we all need to remember, “Hadley said, getting up to pour more cheap champagne into their glasses. “How about when Michael Caine says, “A man’s body may grow old, but his spirit can still be young and restless. That fits us, girls.”

“I loved the part where Robert Duval gave Walter the ‘What Every Man Needs to Know’ speech.’” Marge said. She raised one hand and began to count on her fingers.

“There are some things you need to believe, even if they’re not always true:

People are basically good.

Honor and virtue are more important than money and power.

Good always triumphs over evil.

And true love never dies.”

She shook her head. “And all through the movie, Robert Duval worries about not being needed as he grows old: until that wise little boy, with tears in his eyes, tells him he has to live for him, he has to give him the rest of the “What You Need to Know to be A Man speech.” She looked around. “Do you all feel needed?”

There was silence.

“Not always,” Robbie said. “I don’t have family or old contacts anymore.”

“Seldom” Mary Rose said, “My kids were my life, now they’re pushing middle age and are like beloved strangers.”

Hadley nodded, “If I want to talk to my son, I have to call. I’m never called or invited over or included. They’re always too busy.”

Marge didn’t say anything. Then she brightened. “But we have each other. We have friendship and if we didn’t have each other we’d find other friends, we’d make out own families, like we’re a little family right here.”

“We’re here for each other 24/7,” Hadley said.

“Not me,” Mary Rose smiled. “I’m here 23 and ½ and 7. I have to have time to pee,” and she got up from her chair and hurried toward the bathroom. They watched her.

“Think we should go buy a used lion?” Robbie asked “We need some adventure.”

 

Joy Note: Secondhand Lions is an old movie now, but it’s Marv’s and my favorite – a sweet story line of love and wisdom and relatives you can’t stand. There’s a selfish mother and a lot of greed as everyone want to find the money hidden away by the two old men. Rent it. You’ll love it.

Schedule: If you have friends or relatives in Phoenix, I’ll be there during October with nine BOOB Girl appearances. Email me at joy.johnson@msn.com for times and locations,

Every one of us, if we are seasoned, wise women, have gotten up some mornings and felt, as the Girls say, “Crappy”. And when you ache or hurt or can’t straighten up right away, you don’t feel pretty. My getting up one morning with my hip radiating discomfort up my back and down my thigh – when I had to make my way to the bathroom before I could straighten up, I looked in the mirror and said the word . . . . CRAP. Your friends at Table 12 feel the same sometimes.

I Feel Pretty (NOT!!)

Mary Rose McGill limped across the Meadow Lakes dining room. Zed Zonker, champion power limper passed her like the hare passed the tortoise. Then he turned and gave her a smug look. Mary Rose didn’t like Zed. She frowned, limped faster and splayed her arms out like some helpless bird trying to maintain a tricky balance.

She plopped down at Table 12 and looked at Robbie Leary, Hadley Joy Morris-Whitfield and Marge Aaron. “I feel crappy.”

“Crap.” Marge the retired homicide detective said. “Crazy, Revolting, Agonizing, Pissy.” She looked at Mary Rose. “At our age we all feel crappy. If it isn’t broke, it creaks, if it doesn’t creak, it leaks and if it doesn’t leak it’s probably been surgically removed. Quit whining. Buck up, girl.­­”

Robbie was more sympathetic. “What’s going on, girlfriend?” It was then she noticed Mary Rose had on no makeup and her hair looked as if she’d just run her fingers through it, ignoring a brush or comb.

“I got up all achy and hurting,” Mary Rose’s voice was close to tears. “My arthritis is acting up. My back hurts and I can’t straighten up, my fingers hurt, my knee hurts. I hurt!”

“You don’t need Crap,” Marge said, leaning toward her. “You need SHIT, Shoulders back, Head high, I’s straight ahead and Tummy tucked in.”

Mary Rose looked at her, eyes wide. “You’re doing a lot of intense intestine talk, lady. You have a knee replacement. Don’t tell me you never hurt.”

“I have trouble straightening up when I sit for awhile,” Hadley added. They ignored her.

Robbie looked across the table at Hadley. “I know what you mean. I read a little in Stephen King’s Dark Tower this morning and the first line was, ‘Jonas whirled on his heels, suddenly feeling old and slow.’ That’s how I feel most days.”

There were two complaining, whining conversations going on. Hadley and Robbie were comparing ills and aches and Mary Rose and Marge were close to arguing over who could hurt the most.

Mary Rose was actually pointing a finger at Marge “My friend and soul sister, Mary, has terrible aches and pains and all sorts of things wrong and she always looks beautiful. I get up achy and hurting and,” she paused for a breath. They all grew quiet. “And I don’t feel pretty, dammit!” She put one hand to her forehead.  And I want to feel pretty.”

There was a full minute of silence, then Marge pulled out her cell phone. “We all know Mary,” she said. She found Mary’s number and pressed the tiny phone symbol. She gave Mary Rose a critical look.

They were all still. They could hear the phone ringing in Mary’s cottage by the Platte River. She answered.

“OK, Mary.” Marge started out. “Mary Rose McGill says you have all kind of crap (she emphasized the word and looked at Mary Rose), “and you still look beautiful all the time. How do you do it?”

They waited. Marge nodded. She laid the phone on the table and hit ‘speaker’. “Say it again, girl,”

Mary laughed “Every day I work at making myself look better than I feel. I also say you shouldn’t wallow in self-pity but it doesn’t hurt to put your feet in and swish ‘em around a little. If you BOOB Girls are feeling bad, quit wallowing and whining and go get a make-over.” And she laughed and hung up.

Hadley grinned. “Excellent idea.” She looked at her watch. “Dillards has just opened at Westroads. Let’s all go and get makeovers.”

“Not me!” Marge Aaron said. “I’ve never had one and I don’t plan to start!”

“It will be fun,” Robbie said, starting to stand up.” We can gross out the young gals who put on our makeup by telling them how powder used to cake in our mothers’ wrinkles. Then we can go to Mark’s Bistro and have wine with lunch to celebrate.”

“Those were the days,” Hadley added, remembering powder in wrinkles. She was standing along with Robbie. “Pond’s Face Cream in a jar and loose powder in a compact.”

Mary Rose looked at Marge. “You started it, big girl. If I go, you go.” She stood. They all looked down at the former homicide detective. She started to stand up, too, bracing her hand on the table to help her get up. “Crap!” she said, draping her red cane over her arm.

They started out the door toward the black Hummer. Robbie was fiddling in her purse for the keys.

“Crap, Crap, Crap!” Marge said, loud enough for them to hear. Then she started to wonder if they still had that blue eyeshadow and orange lipstick like she used to wear in the 50’s.

“Slow down, girls! You don’t have to walk that fast!” She caught up to them before they reached the Hummer.

BOOB Girls I V: Murder at Meadow Lakes sold out of the first printing in three weeks. More are on the way. To get your copy send a check for $17 to Joy Johnson, Box 4600, Omaha Ne 68104.

Invitation from Joy: if you are in the Omaha area, you are invited to:

The launch party of BOOB Girls IV: Murder at Meadow Lakes
Sunday, July 22, 1-4pm
The Bookworm, 87^th and Pacific
When the girls watch the evolution of vampire movies in Hadley’s apartment, they eat popcorn with M&Ms and goldfish crackers while drinking cheap champaign.
We will serve the same. Come! Laugh, get hugs and pick up the new book.

 The Girls Check in to the Best Exotic Marigold Hotel for the Elderly and Beautiful

 All four of them, Hadley, Robbie, Mary Rose and Marge Aaron, the newest BOOB girl, hurried to refill their diet sodas and get to their favorite table in the movie theater lobby.

 “I think it was the best movie on aging ever!” Mary Rose McGill said, a little too loudly.

 “I loved it when Judi Dench was on her way to the airport and she told her sons she’d found the Marigold Hotel in India on the ‘interweb.’”

 “Oh,” Mary Rose said. “I’m Judi Dench in that movie. Look how she changed. She’s me, for Pete’s sake, going from a meek little wife who did everything her husband said to being a strong, independent woman with a job when she’s old.” Mary Rose brushed back her dyed blonde hair and took off her red-rimmed glasses.

 Hadley smiled. “I’m Maggie Smith. I was Maggie when she was Professor McGonagall in Harry Potter and,” then she started to think. “No, I’m not Maggie in this one. She was so stubborn and prejudiced, but what a woman! And she changed, too.”

 Marge sipped her drink. “I most of all related to how their children treated them. We really didn’t see the children at all except when the boys took Judi to the airport. But when she called a son from Jaipur and he scolded her for not realizing the time difference and woke him up,” she took a breath and shook her head. “He was unkind to her, when all she wanted  was hear his voice.”

“I have an unkind daughter, “Mary Rose said. “She points her finger and scolds me and I wonder just who she is sometimes. I would love to have a best-friend daughter.”

 “But look at how it showed us about aging,” Hadley said, not wanting to mention her son who was on his fourth marriage”

 Marge leaned forward, “It was what Judi Dench said, something about if you just stand in the ocean, a wave can hit you and knock you down. But if you dive in, you may swim through to the other side.” She smiled. “Denying you’re growing older is like the one woman who wouldn’t go outside the hotel, who was afraid of everything and hated where she was. She refused to see the color or the romance of newness.”

 They nodded.

 Hadley picked up on it. “Yes! If you deny aging, try to stop it, eventually it will knock you down. But if you admit it, dive into it and realize the adventure and dignity it brings, you can come out all right.”

 Marge reached over and touched Hadley’s arm. “Reminds me of what Sonny, the young Indian landlord kept saying, ‘Everything will be all right in the end. If it’s not all right now, then it’s not the end.’ I want to remember that.”

 Robinson Leary grinned. “The men in it were good, too. Great old actors whose names we didn’t know but whose faces were all familiar. And how about the romance? I loved it when the lady old Norman fell in love with said he brought two pills with him on their first night together.”

 “But she didn’t want it that way, so when they fell out of his pocket,” Hadley broke in, then pointed back at Robbie.

 “She substituted and he went all night on two aspirins.”

 “I am so going to see this movie again,” Mary Rose said. And they all nodded.

Note from Joy: Marv and I both recommend The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel to everybody over 60.

It’s a movie you won’t soon forget.

Years ago, as you probably remember, Memorial Day was called Decoration Day and it wasn’t just for fallen soldiers. It recognized all our loved ones who had died and encouraged us, for at least one day a year, to be grave tenders.

Remember “Decoration Day”?

That was the question Hadley Joy Morris-Whitfield asked the girls.

“Decoration Day!” Mary Rose McGill smiled a wide smile. “My father – when I was so young that I called him ‘Daddy,’ would drive my mother and grandmother to every little cemetery where a relative was buried. Mom and Grammie wore hats and dresses, even when the wind was so strong it blew their hats off. I loved it because I could run around the old tombstones and we always had a picnic lunch on a blanket under a big cottonwood tree right beside my grandpa’s grave.”

“Decoration Day,” Marge Aaron said, changing her red jeweled cane from one arm to the other. “It was a family reunion. We’d all somehow end up at the same cemetery and meet a bunch of aunts and uncles and cousins. Then we’d go to GrammaMama’s big house for supper.” She laughed. “It wasn’t ‘dinner,’ it was supper.”

Dr. Robinson Leary joined in. “We only had one cemetery to visit, the one here in North Omaha. My mom would take peonies and iris from her garden and decorate four graves; her parents and dad’s parents.” She paused. “Oh. And there was a baby – my grandmother’s first daughter – she would have been my aunt.” Robbie looked sad. “All the rest of my family were buried in the south where great=grandmother had been a servant; not a slave, a servant on an old plantation.”

“My family won the artificial flower award,” Hadley remarked. “All year long my mother and three aunts would shop for sales on artificial flowers. In those days they were plastic and there were god-awful plastic wreaths in big boxes. If you went upstairs to my aunts’ storage area, it looked like Hobby Lobby on steroids.”

She smiled and looked at the other three. Cozy and comfortable with coffee before them at Table 12 in the Meadow Lakes dining room, they had just come back from the cemetery that cradled the bodies of Hadley, Mary Rose and Robbie’s husbands. Marge’s husband was in an urn in her apartment, so he was more privy to their conversation.

 “And those women competed with those plastic flowers!” Hadley continued.  “Who could get the most? Who could decorate first? My mother would tell them, every year, ‘Don’t put any flowers on my side of the grave. I’m not there yet.” And she meant it. So of course they always decorated her side just to make her mad.”

They were quiet for a minute or two, then Marge spoke up. “My ashes are going into the urn with my husband’s. One of our children will take it, but I’m leaving a note saying I want it decorated on Decoration Day with a bouquet of dandelions like the kids used to pick for me.” She looked at Robbie.

“Definitely the peonies and iris for my grave,” she said with a sad smile as she remembered. “My mother used to pronounce it Pee OWE nees.”

“If you’re still alive and able,” Mary Rose put in. “Bring a blanket and have a picnic by my grave.”

Hadley was the last to speak. “I’ll be in an urn by my husband in the mausoleum. And what do you think I want, BOOB Girl buddies?” Her grin gave her away.

“Plastic flowers!” they all said together. Marge reached over and poured more coffee into the four waiting cups.

Meet Marge Aaron from BOOB GIrls IV

As a lot of you know, my sweet husband, Marv, and I have been on one of those life adventures that teach you a lot more than you want to know.

On October 5 Marv was diagnosed with Stage II esophageal cancer.
On October 25 I took a dive off a curb in Ames, Iowa, and broke my hip.
On November 5 Marv started six weeks of chemo and radiation.
On February 6 (our 35th wedding anniversary) we got the best gift ever - Marv was cancer free.

And 5 used to be my favorite number!

But we are back! Marv is 100% and I'm a little over 90%. So The BOOB Girls are back, too, with book IV: Murder at Meadow Lakes due out in July, and active blogs once again.

Here's the current blog - where we meet the new BOOB girl. The body of Perculator Rassmussen has been carted away. The girls are the only ones in the Meadow Lakes dining room, and Mary Rose has just taken one of her frequent bathroom breaks:

Mary Rose hurried out of the ladies room and scurried across the floor toward Table 12. Just as she reached the table she stopped short. “OMG!” She pointed out the big window that looked over the Meadow Lakes parking lot.

Robbie and Hadley turned in their chairs. Robbie smiled and said, “OMG. Mary Rose is texting her grandchildren way too much.” Then she leaned forward and stared.

Pulling into the parking space between the girls’ gigantic black Hummer and Frieda Grossemouth’s fin-tailed pink Cadillac was the gaudiest Smart Car they had ever seen. It was black and painted all over it were big, bright pink polka dots. Huge white plastic eye lashes loomed unblinking over the headlights.

Mary Rose sat down. They were all turned toward the three cars lined up and facing them, the little Smart Car looking dwarfed between the Cadillac and Hummer.

“That smart car looks like Minnie Mouse with a bad hangover,” Hadley said.

“I think it’s rather sweet,” Mary Rose said with her most motherly smile. “It looks like the Hummer and Caddy had a baby.”.

“A really ugly baby,” Robbie said. “I’m anxious to see the idiot who drives that.“

They could see the idiot’s two basketball-player sized feet reaching for the pavement underneath the driver’s side door. Both feet were encased in plain black walking shoes. Then a red cane tip joinied the feet. Finally, feet and cane were followed by a woman mountain of a female.

Taller than Hadley, who was five-ten, this lady was massive, impassive, impressive and tough; not fat. just big boned, big limbed, BIG. She wore a black pants suit with a red scarf looped around her neck, a neck so short and stubby it was almost non-existent. Her hair was gun-model grey and in short spikes all over her head in what was actually an attractive style for her. She had black-rimmed glasses; a black brief case she carried on a long strap slung over one shoulder and she hung the red cane over one arm like a purses.

“Bling,” Mary Rose said, pointing to the cane.

The red walking stick was a work of art. It was covered with big, different colored fake jewels; red, green, purple, diamond, yellow and white. They could see a huge sparkly ring on the hand nearest the cane. Their heads all turned together as the big woman sauntered down the sidewalk outside the window. then turned and walked through the double doors and into the dining room. Hadley realized they were all holding their breath and blew hers out. She heard Robbie and Mary Rose exhale together in one quick whoosh.

The big woman walked directly toward Table 12, never taking her eyes off the three women seated there. She came to a stop behind the empty chair. Hadley, Robbie and Mary Rose lifted their heads to look up at her. She had on bright red lipstick and her eyes behind her black-rimmed glasses looked determined and in total control. She plopped her cane and briefcase down on the table and dug into the pocket of her black pants. She took a second to look at each of them then tossed a silver badge in a black case onto the table beside the cane. All three BOOB Girls continued to stare at her with their mouths open.

“I’m Marge Aaron, retired homicide detective. I’m on this case, and this is my station now. You’re welcome to stay if you don’t ask too many questions and you don’t try to take over my business.” And with that she walked, caneless and unlimping over to the two men in black who were seated with John the manager. All three men stood up. For a minute Hadley thought they were going to bow.

“Marge Aaron,”Robbie said, looking after the big woman. “Say it fast and it sounds like‘margarine.’”

“Then she’d butter be good!” Mary Rose said.

“I wonder if she spreads easily,” Hadley added.

They laughed, but they made sure it was a quiet laugh .

To contact Joy to speak to your group, use this email, the webpage
or call 402-639-2939