easter, circa 1956

ADORABLE!

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 FEDORABLE!

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his buddy

Spoke picked Kentucky to go all the way. 

He told me as he filled out the brackets (in ink) just like he and my dad used to do as soon as the chart hit the local paper.  Spoke would tell me his pick before the tournament started so I could be an honest witness to his winning predictions. 

Win, he did! 

My dad couldn't believe how often Spoke got it right, whether it was the ACC or the NCAA tournaments.  "Ernie, sometimes you've got to go with the underdog," he'd say as my dad time after time would stay loyal to the ACC or just pick a favored team.

As he got older, my dad would wait and fill out his picks game by game as teams were eliminated.  It was then, less about the game and more about the guy-time.

Spoke went to watch ball most weekends during the regular college season, hauling clean laundry, a few grocery items and if Daddy was lucky, something special from the 3906 kitchen; a pie or bread pudding or cheddar cheese cookies which by halftime, he'd have eaten half of from the small, rusty holiday tin which was passed back and forth year round.

My husband continues to fill out his basketball picks, two seasons now without my dad.  I think he always will. 

Spoke fills me in during regular games and the tournaments; we talk highlights and scores, coaches and injuries, even the draft, but in a way, in some magical way, it very much remains their guy-time.

the alligator cafe

I didn't spot my friend at a corner table when I arrived at The Alligator Cafe so I sat at the bar and checked out the menu.  Top item; Fried Green Tomatoes, $5.95.  No reason to keep reading; I'd start with those and have plenty of time to look at the rest later.

The place is different from Frankie's Lil Europe which was the cafe in this quaint corner of Casa Linda, the last time I was here.  Different but yet very much the same; casually inviting, doors to the front and doors to the courtyard wide open, and the very large fountain still begging to be brought back to its glory days.

It wasn't long before my friend and I were digging into a plate of tomatoes.  Diggin 'em too.  Crunchy but light and like good green ones should be; super sweet.  I dug for a pen from my bag and wrote myself a reminder; make green tomato pie.

Around seven, there was Andrea, smiling and singing to the crowded cafe, my real reason for coming and my first opportunity to see her since she returned from her three-month stint at the Waldorf in Shanghai.  Welcome home, girl!

Andrea sang Route 66.  I ate a few large shrimp, each bite dipped in tarter sauce. 

She sang Sitting On The Dock Of The Bay as my friend ate catfish.

My sister arrived.  Andrea sang a Mavis tune as our table was topped with collards, white beans and crawfish. 

Gentleman John Street, straight from Louisiana, was backing Andrea and giving us a few soulful solos of his own.

Andrea sang a tribute to our mom! 

Tony brought more Gulf shrimp and a gorgeous smile.

Andrea sang Happy Birthday to my sister in English and Chinese! 

Between sets she hung out with some of her admiring friends.

It was such fun, this evening of Cajun, Creole and Blues, that I found myself back at the cafe two nights later for Dawson's 10:00 turn at the mic.

Kicking back, I listened to Twenty-Nine Ways, Stormy Monday, It Don't Mean A Thing If It Ain't Got That Swing.  There was Van Morrison's Moondance and there was a little Tina Turner with I Can't Stand the Rain.  There were more Fried Green Tomatoes too.

I met Bill Eden on the saxophone and Alex Seriano on keys. 

Andrea sang At Last for me!

At 1:00 it was time to go home...

I'll be back to try the crab claws, lots of hushpuppies on the side.  I'll try blackened tilapia and the cucumber-tomato salad, and I'm sure to be swinging by to pick up hot Po' Boys to-go. 

But mostly, I'll be waiting for the awesome Ms. Dawson to return. 

The Alligator Cafe, Casa Linda Plaza
Dallas,  214.821.6900,  eatgator.com
They really do serve alligator.

a blossom fell

A blossom fell, from off a tree.

It settled softly on the lips you turn to me. 

The gypsies say, and I know why;

a falling blossom only touches lips that lie. 

A blossom fell, and very soon

I saw you kissing someone new beneath the moon. 

I thought you'd love me!

You said you love me.

We planned together, to dream forever. 

The dream has ended, for true love died

the day a blossom fell, and touched two lips that lied.

A BLOSSOM FELL
Lyrics by Howard Barnes, Harold Cornelius, Dominic John, 1954
Nat King Cole most famously; lyrics above on Diana Krall's ALL FOR YOU
Cherry blossom tree, Dallas Arboretum

it's really oyster soup

When the craving hits, you've just gotta have some.  I'm talking Oyster Stew...

My mom and I shared a love for it and although she stuck with the ease and familiarity of the red-striped Campbell's can her entire life, I ventured away, experimenting, making pots more to my liking with fresh Gulf oysters. 

Mom and I agreed on some basics though; you have to have pats of butter and lots of salt and pepper.  Crackers too; cute little floating pillows or saltine squares which you break and drop in the bowl bite-by-bite so they don't get too soggy.

There were very few times either of us had Oyster Stew when we didn't call the other, just to say that the craving had struck and we'd devoured at least two bowls.

I wanted so badly to be able to call her today. 

Oyster Soup

2 tablespoons unsalted butter

1 finely chopped shallot

1 stalk of celery, trimmed and chopped fine

1 cup chopped button or crimini mushrooms

salt and black pepper

dash of cayenne pepper

7 cups milk

10 ounces fresh oysters, the liquor strained and reserved

Melt 2 tablespoons of butter in a stockpot. 

Add the shallot and the celery, cooking until they soften. 

Add the chopped mushrooms, season with salt, black pepper,

and a dash of cayenne pepper. 

Cook over low heat for five or ten minutes.

Pour 7 cups of milk into the pot along with the oysters

and the strained liquor. 

Raise the heat until the soup is hot but do not boil. 

Reduce and cook the heck out of the oysters.*

Serve with butter, salt, black pepper,
extra dashes of cayenne pepper,

and crisp crackers.

Despite our love of this soup, neither of us ever ate the oysters! 
If you choose to, discard those which flavored the soup* and add fresh ones just before serving, cooking only until their edges curl. 

admittedly, i need therapy

It's a serious case of love-hate.

You see, I love last sets!

I love last sets because they feel like the best music of the night. 

I love last sets because the quartet often plays one of my many favorites, like Scrapple From The Apple.

Yet, I hate last sets!

I hate last sets because though it's late, the night is young and the joint might still be open for two more hours. 

I love watching the musicians pack up.

I hate seeing the stage empty. 

Love, hate, love, hate, love, hate, love, hate, love, hate, love, hate, love, hate, love, hate, love, hate, love, hate, love, hate, love, hate.

Call in a shrink!

The Wine Therapist 
Dallas, Skillman at La Vista
214.821.9463

carolina blue, through and through

See the dark-haired man on the right?  That's Dave. 

He was one of the regular bridge players in my dad's group; sexy and handsome my sister and I thought, and he's Italian which back then, as a preteen, added to the thrill when I'd get to serve the pretzels and peanuts at the start of their card game. 

Dave sent me this photo last March, two months after my dad died and just as the 2011 ACC tournament began.  I cried then and I cried as I positioned it on the refrigerator door for this year's tournament.  I'll put it up next year too, sure to cry again.

The man farthest left was a big contributor to their university and through his generosity, the group had seats at the ACC each year.  Those weekends were packed full of basketball and beer and booze and bridge and my dad loved every minute of it all.

Tourney weekends went on for many years but at some point, a few wives began to join them.  The atmosphere must have surely changed, how could it not, and though forever grateful for the invitations, in his later years, reminiscing about those times, my dad would say their inclusion ruined it and "it all went to hell". 

That was my dad; 'Ol Ern, Dave called him. 

Do you see him?  He's the guy there in the middle with the biggest, truest laugh. 

He was the guy having the most fun. 







My gratitude to the wife who took this photo.