“If I had your hand, I’d throw mine in.” Those are the words of encouragement I gave one of my best pals a few days ago during what turned out to be a pretty somber visit. His job is going away. I had to remind him that he is super intelligent and has a laundry list of accomplishments he couldn’t fit on a four-page resumé.
Let me introduce you to my grandson, Douglas McRae, who is serving a 27-month assignment in Peru as a health volunteer. I thought my readers might like to know something about what it is like to do that, so I asked him to share his experiences with us. It is new to me, too. What he sent me follows.
In the South we are known for our warmth and hospitality. It doesn’t matter if someone asks for directions, or advice on where to get great barbecue, or just says “hi” as they walk through our lovely streets. In this part of the world, and especially in Columbus, we are eager to respond. In fact, we sometimes wish there were more opportunities to illustrate why we are called “The Friendly City.”
First, an addition to my column on coconut. Marleen Hansen has told me you can purchase lemongrass in Columbus from Lemon Grass Oriental Foods at 153 Priscella Circle (off Mike Parra Road). I haven’t been there, but I thought I’d pass this tidbit on. For that matter, Joy’s next to the Sunflower across from Lee Middle School may also have lemongrass.
There are days when the news seems surreal. So often we wonder if we really understood what we heard or read. “Pirates Off the Coast of Somalia.” “Airliner Lands on the Hudson River.”
Before you begin reading this Sunday’s interesting and informative “Strummin’,” you should know that I’m lucky.
In my last column I passed along a story of Tom Hardy illustrating how an incident can be seen from two points of view. Coincidentally, about the same time Linda Lodato shared with me an illustration of how time can produce two different points of view.
I have had the great good fortune of loving two cities that other people find fascinating. Both Columbus and New Orleans are beautiful, and rich with history. They are much desired destinations for those who live in generic places where life has a sameness and the houses are unnamed.
For the past week or two coconut cake has been on my mind, and I’m not quite sure why. Not just any old generic coconut cake, but my mother’s. She did not bake cakes often, just the rum cakes for Christmas presents and a cake for birthdays.
They say you can’t go home again. This is probably quite true. But, every once in a while, Chris and I make a journey that is lovely and bittersweet.
Tom Hardy is a friend who is a good raconteur and who has a long history in Columbus. Recently he shared the following story with me. I could not improve on it, so I’ll let him tell it himself: “Recently I was driving down Seventh Street South and saw an old water oak tree, between the street and the sidewalk, which brought to mind an incident that has remained in my memory for nearly 80 years.
We fall in love for mysterious reasons. I fell I love with my husband because he said kind things about his boss, and because my knees got weak when he hugged me. That love had nothing to do with wealth or status. It was an intuitive knowing that this man was something special. I proposed to Chris four months after we met and have never regretted one second of our marriage.
First, a correction and some amplification on my last column: Thank you to Scott McKenzie, of the Mississippi University for Women Culinary Arts Institute, and local restaurateur Sarah Labensky for noticing my mistake on the author of “Larousse Gastronomique.” It was Prosper Montagne who penned the first edition of this work.
A couple of Saturdays ago a singing pal of mine and I took a day trip over through the Delta. The drawing card was a concert to celebrate the start-up of the Delta Music Institute (DMI) at my old alma mater, Delta State University.
There was a time when almost every science fiction film featured a scene where the spacemen landed and said, “Take me to your leader.”
Mother Nature seems to be playing some April Fool’s pranks on Columbus. The gags are all the more unexpected, since this is still only mid-March.
Since my last column I have had a birthday. It wasn’t one of the big ones; I’ll probably have to have someone come to hold my hand for that. Nevertheless, it was big enough to make me reflect on what I’ve learned in these many years — or, if I have managed to learn anything.
I was asked a question the other day, sort of as one foodie to another. The question was, “Do you know what a ‘finishing oil’ is?” The questioner had heard a TV chef use this term. The chef was plattering a steak and told the viewers she was going to put a little finishing oil on top.
Chris and I have embraced our adopted home of Columbus. We have wonderful friends, are avid volunteers, and have immersed ourselves in all the wonderful cultural events that our new home city and state have to offer. Still, people often ask if we miss New Orleans. Some days, that answer is easier than on other days.
The storm raged and the lightning cracked in jagged, frightening bolts. The prisoner looked out the garret window at the terrifying crowd outside. They had come for him, he knew. He was injured and scared, even though the sheriff had hidden him upstairs in the new courthouse to protect him from a lynch mob. One account of the 1878 drama has Henry Wells shouting to the mob below that he was innocent and that, if they killed him, he would haunt them.