Blog Archives
To be sold eventually to strangers, 7
Eventually, it came to this. My dad’s pantry was stocked with instant noodles and cans of soup: his solitary meals easy to prepare. But it breaks my heart to think of him, alone in my mom’s kitchen, stirring water into a cup of noodles.
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My mom was a dental assistant before she got married, but in the tradition of the times, didn’t work after the wedding. When my sister and I were older, she worked as a classroom volunteer for Head Start, and still later as a pre-school teacher at a Presbyterian church’s child care center. Mostly, though, she was stay-at-home wife.
We had home-cooked meals nearly every night. Our family tradition was to eat out one time a month, and the honor of choosing the location rotated among family members. The favorites were Furr’s Cafeteria (where we could marvel at the tea cart lady’s big hair) and Youngblood’s Fried Chicken, though from time to time we’d be adventurous and go to the Ming Tree, where we could have some Chinese food while the owner of the place entertained the patrons with magic tricks.
Only a few things that my mom cooked have stuck in my memory, though surely her repertoire was much larger than my list suggests.
Salmon Croquettes – patties made from canned salmon, egg, and mashed up saltine crackers then fried until brown.
Chicken Tetrazzine – a fancy name for chicken and spaghetti.
Tuna Casserole – there was a time when she was on a tuna casserole kick; I still remember that smell. And my memories aren’t necessarily fond….
Macaroni and Cheese – she made the best mac and cheese ever.
King Ranch Casserole – the KRC phase came after the tuna casserole. This dish, named for (but probably never served at) the huge Texas ranch, was made from layers of corn tortillas, chicken, cream of mushroom soup, cheese, and so on. It was thought to be pretty exotic, for its time.
Tacos – with packaged seasoning mix cooked with ground beef. Also exotic.
Canned Chinese food – also exotic, which I guess was served for those nights when a trip to the Ming Tree wasn’t feasible.
Stuffed bell peppers – when we were little, she’d make an alternate dinner for my sister and me, of unseasoned ground beef cooked in a small skillet. I still always associate that little aluminum skillet with stuffed bell peppers.
Aunt Debby’s Rolls – a recipe from my Aunt Debby (which you might have figured out), with All Bran cereal as the main ingredient. I think there’s a chance of an error in the handwritten recipe, because the rolls never did rise up to be more than a half-inch high. But still, these rolls were a staple, and the recipe was never modified. Or switched out for another one.
Scotch Cake – a chocolate sheet cake with a pecan and coconut topping. The note on the typed recipe card says, “I don’t understand the name of this cake. I just call in my ‘boil it’ cake.”
Pie crust – oddly enough, though my mom wasn’t a terrific cook, she made excellent pie crusts, using the recipe straight off the inside back cover of the Betty Crocker cookbook.
I have her recipe card box and a couple of binders with her recipe collection. Most of the recipes are handwritten, and include her unique spelling style. If you know what I mean.
There are two mysteries in the binders:
Mackerel Loaf – I have absolutely no recollection of this at all, but the page is stained as though the recipe was prepared at least one time. Reading through the ingredients (canned mackerel, chopped pickles, eggs, milk, white sauce) makes me think there is a possibility of a repressed memory. Maybe my memory of smelly tuna casserole is actually a memory of mackerel loaf.
Stir ‘n Roll Biscuits – this is written in my dad’s handwriting. He never made biscuits. Ever. Why would he have copied down a recipe?
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So, when it was time to clean out the house, which had been vacant for a year, the sad contents of the pantry reminded me all over again of how much we’d lost.
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I’d be happy to share the mac and cheese recipe. And if you ask nicely, I’ll throw in the mackerel loaf one, too.
***
PS – My parents mourned the decline of Furr’s Cafeteria. The grand piano in the corner disappeared. The tea cart ladies did, too. But the one thing that my folks felt symbolized the decline was when the silverware was no longer wrapped in cloth napkins. My dad still talks about that. And now he points out that the cloth napkins at his assisted living center have been replaced by paper ones, which disturbs him.
Three views of the same storm

Hockley County, Texas
photographed 7.4.2009, 2:28 p.m.

Ropesville, Texas
photographed 7.4.2009, 2:36 p.m.

Hockley County, Texas
photographed 7.4.2009, 2:54 p.m.
I love thunderstorms, and here’s why.
The land’s so flat you can see them building up out to the west.
The drama in the ever-shifting clouds.
The lightning – the kind that lights up the clouds from within, and the kind that makes those long jagged slashes to the ground.
The way the air smells when the storm’s near.
The sound of thunder.
The damp-earth smell of the first few raindrops.
The urgency of the rain, when it’s falling so hard that it’s noisy.
Oh, and you can take pictures of them.
White on white, 13
No matter how quaint Indian Lodge, somewhere, there’s got to be the mechanical stuff that keeps the place running. While it may not be as lovely as the adobe walls from yesterday, I think there’s still a certain charm here.
Davis Mountains State Park, Texas
photographed 11.11.2010
Indian Lodge
This place: Indian Lodge.
It was built during the Depression, as part of a Civilian Conservation Corps project, and is made from thick adobe walls. It’s designed with plenty of ledges and overlooks and terraces, all set to command a view down the canyon to the east. I like it there very much.
The very first place I camped, when I was only 5 or 6, was at this state park, and I guess it imprinted itself on me: I feel right when I am there. I’ve camped there quite a few times, including a couple of solo camping trips. And I’ve stayed at the lodge often: for many years, I’d go there by myself for a few days every summer to read; I’d average a book a day. Later, when I started writing, I’d go there to write.
One year, when I was in the last part of a writing and photography project on roadside crosses, I took my laptop and a printer to Indian Lodge and would work all day, and late into the night – as I worked, I’d print the photo of each roadside cross that I was writing about, and tape it on the wall. After a while, there was quite a gallery. One day, just after I’d gotten back from having lunch (sitting outside in the sun!), a member of the housekeeping staff knocked on my door – she wanted to know what I was working on. She and I, and two more members of the staff, had a nice chat about roadside crosses. They all knew someone who’d died along one road or another, and all of them had a cross placed at the accident scene. I’d photographed some of the places they were talking about.
It was a pivotal moment in the project.
Davis Mountains State Park, Texas
photographed 11.11.2010
Fog, turbines, and sunlight
This was a stunning sight. For one thing, fog’s not very common around here, so any foggy day has a bit of mysterious feel to it. And to see fog rising over the edges of the Caprock was a treat. Add in a handful of wind turbines slicing away at the mist, and a bit of a sparkle from where the sun hit the electrical insulators and train-track ballast;*. I’ve never seen anything like it.
near Fluvanna, Texas
photographed 1.17.2009
*Click to enlarge to see the sparkly stuff better – it’s at the bottom of the frame.



