SWEET GIRL'S CONFUSING REQUEST: "Sing the bee song, Momma."

Growing up in a home where singing was a everyday occurrence, it followed that I would sing to my sweet little girl.  I learned the usual kiddie nursery rhymes, but some of the old classics that I enjoyed found their way into my repertoire.  When my sweet girl would stretch out her arms for me, she was met with a smile and my version of, "Hold me, hold me, never let me go..."  My mom would sing songs as she pushed our little curly-top on her tire swing, "He flies through the air with the greatest of ease..."  Snippets of songs filled the days and delighted our little one.  We all were happy with the arrangement, until one day when I was stumped by my little girl.  "Sing 'The Bee song', Momma." 

Thinking my mother had an extra song in her bag of tricks that I didn't know, I called her for the answer.  She was puzzled by the request, also, which only added to the frustration of the eager child.  I asked her to hum a bit, tell me more, or any hint that she could give me to find the right tune and she kept reassuring me that I knew it, it was "The Bee Song".  I finally promised that as soon as I remembered the elusive song, I would indeed start the serenade.  Watching my disappointed daughter leave the room, I racked my brain for any song with bees in it.  No "Sesame Street" songs that I could think of focused on the bees, she was way to young to want a song about" the birds and the bees", and so I finally concluded that it must have been one of my original songs that I threw together in a moment of fleeting creativity.

A few more days passed and we went to the mall, where there was a man who loved to demonstrate the musical instruments he sold.  Our little girl would dance to his music, which caused smiles all around.  She ran up to where he sat at the organ and requested "The Bee Song."  Imagine my extreme surprise when he smiled and began playing.  Who knew that there was such a song?!  Well, it wasn't exactly known nationally as "The Bee Song", but thankfully, the kind man started playing "Que Serra Serra".  That was the elusive song.  You know the line, "What will be, will be"?  That's the bee song and has remained "The Bee Song" in our family every since that curly-headed sweetheart twirled around with her dancing eyes and dazzling smile.

During the whirlwind of life, this jewel of a memory is what I treasure the most.  Sweetness, innocence and love.  I miss those easier days.  I miss my daughter's Nana and Papa.  I am blessed that with my Grandlove the innocence is once again embodied in a curly-headed child who can make people smile with their hearts.

May all of your Holiday wishes come true and the New Year be filled with Blessings for you and yours. 

Stay well and thank you for caring that a lowly Ferret enjoys writing about life.

MAKING MEMORIES ON THE ROAD

Growing up with a mom who loved car trips, I have logged quite a few miles on the old asphalt throughout my life.  My mom had a "lead foot" and a bladder than size of Lake Erie, so we didn't stop as much as I would have like.  She would get her mind set on the number of miles she wanted to conquer in the day and ignore the usual kids' distractions that we would try.  But eventually, even she would give into the need to stop and we would keep our eager eyes peeled for the familiar signs of Stuckey's or Nickerson's Farms.  

Mom loved the pecan rolls at Stuckey's and we loved the gift shop.  Sometimes we were allowed a small purchase and we would choose the huge two-foot pencil, the plastic dinosaurs or a "cedar chest" to keep our tiny treasures safe.  If we didn't stop at Stuckey's then we would stop at Nickerson's Farms, 'cause we all loved the hot little loafs of bread with the honey butter. 

After we ate, we would watch the honey bees in the see-through bubble hive and check out the souvenir shop.  Before we all piled back into the car, bathrooms were used ("I don't care if you have to go or not, go anyways.") 

 

 

 Fast forward many decades and I find the road trips being a frequent occurrence in my weekly life.  Stuckey's and Nickerson's Farms have gone the way of leaded gas for twenty-five cents a gallon, but there is a roadside chain which has stepped up to the plate to fulfill the basic needs of travelers, both young and old.

Clean bathrooms, friendly staff, good food, souvenirs for any taste and best of all gas with competitive prices.  Buc-ee's are popping up in this pocket of the world, much like Nickerson's Farms did in the good ole days.  I know that families are experiencing the travel breaks at safe, clean places where one can stretch legs; empty body reservoirs; enjoy yummy handmade fudge; try Beaver Nuggets; fill up the car for another leg of the journey and then load back up with everyone ready to "hit the road." 

When I travel to the doctors' or the Grandlove's I like the feeling that no matter the weather or the time of day I can stop at Buc-ee's and get what I need to finish my journey. 

Thank you, Buc-ee, from your distant cousin, Ferret.  See you, soon.



THANKSGIVING: STUFFED WITH MEMORIES

Being a fortunate child, I had a mom who loved to cook and boy did she ever know how to cook a tummy pleasing meal.  My favorite meal of the whole year was the traditional Thanksgiving dinner.  She would get up before dawn, stuff the turkey with homemade white bread dressing, put it into the huge blue roasting pan and by the time I got up to watch the parade on t.v. the house was filled with the warm, mouthwatering aroma of roasted turkey.  Oven door squeaking alerted me to catch a peek of the lightly browned, crunchy skin on the turkey, as my mom would quickly take the lid off and baste the bird.  Steam bubbled up from the boiling turnip and carrots' kettle.  Deviled eggs were already made and back in the fridge until lunch.  Sweet potatoes were being candied in the cast iron skillet on the back burner (no marshmallows in mom's version.)  Homemade pumpkin pie was resting on the cooling rack, near the stove.  Giblets, neck bone and other "throwaway" turkey parts were being trimmed for the giblet gravy.  No one helped my mom and yet somehow dinner was always perfect.  It was as if she had an inner schedule that she knew exactly when to stir this pot; when to check the turkey to keep it moist; when she needed to add the flour to the gravy stock and when she could take off her apron and serve the most delicious dinner of all year. 

Up until her last few years, she made the deviled eggs and dressing and I made the rest.  Now that she's been gone for too many years, it has fallen on me to pay attention to that instinct that tells me when the potatoes are done and the turkey is ready to come out of the oven.  No matter how much I try, what spices I use, what ingredients that I add, my dinner will never taste as good as the ones that my mom so lovingly created.  She knew how to cook and feed her family with love.

With this remembering, I am reminded of all the blessings that I have been given and I am grateful.

Here's wishing you all a blessed Thanksgiving.  May your plates be full, your waistbands elastic, your loved ones healthy and your friendships ever lasting.

WHEELING ME BACK TO CHILDHOOD

 

A short while ago, my daughter and I happened upon a car show that took my breath away with the jolt back to my childhood.  I remember my mom's car that was this same year, make, model and color.  If this doesn't "date" me, then you don't know cars.  The fifties had cars that were really memory makers for many of my generation.  Riding in one of these metal (not fiberglass, plastic or flimsy material here, folks) machines  made me feel secure, safe and happy.  My mom drove with a "lead foot" and one of her brothers referred to her as a gypsy, as we were always on the go.  Guess my DNA for moving comes naturally, then, huh?  All my memories wouldn't be appropriate for a "Happy Days" episode, but memories are good about easing some of the pain and magnifying the fun of childhood for me. 

I took more pics at the car show, but this car was the one that made me smile, inside and out.  Just wanted to share.