Reaching for a Plate of Perfection!

My mom and I began this week with a dreary, drizzly Monday trip to the city for an early morning doctor’s appointment.  As I was sitting in the waiting room, I picked up an October 2010 issue of REAL SIMPLE magazine.  After perusing the first few pages, I happened upon a quote featured on the monthly Thoughts page.  The quote was credited to author M.F.K. Fisher from the book entitled An Alphabet for Gourmets and read as follows:  Gastronomical perfection can be reached in these combinations: one person dining alone, usually upon a couch or a hillside; two people, of no matter what sex or age, dining in a good restaurant; six people, of no matter what sex or age, dining in a good home.

WOW!  What a scrumptious mouthful! I immediately felt an elevated response from reading the quote, and I knew I had to copy it!   The drive to the doctor’s office had been both dismal and stressful, not to mention the parking situation in the pouring rain; and yet, the minute I read the quote, I felt my body react in a positive way.  I just love a collection of words that can spontaneously do that! It’s so amazing! As I copied the quote onto the small yellow pad that I carry in my purse, I felt another sensation of lightness.  Just reading the quote a second time was literally transforming my mood!

So I pondered the idea of gastronomical perfection while I waited for Mom.  I am pretty confident that I have never reached perfection on any level.  I have never felt quite perfect as a wife, mom or friend.  I have never achieved perfection as a writer, storyteller or photographer. I have never been remotely close to perfection as person of faith; however, I know for sure that I have reached gastronomical perfection on every level, in every combination.  YES! I softly exclaimed to myself, as I slightly hiked my leg and did a side fist pump!  TODAY’S BIG STORY: Gastronomical perfection is mine!

This past Thanksgiving, I sat down at a table of six in a good home – not once, but twice.  Two sets of parents, two boyfriends, two daughters, two in-laws and their two children, one husband and one son accompanied by homemade raisin-cinnamon bread, a Smithfield ham, cabbage casserole, potato soup, a fresh 20-pound turkey – brined for 30 hours and baked for six, a made-from-scratch green apple stuffing, steamed broccoli and cauliflower, gourmet macaroni and cheese, a bowl of very young English peas, two of Mom’s Millionaire pies, a Brazos Bottom pecan pie from Texas, Kentucky bourbon cranberry sauce, and a secret family recipe cornbread dressing made just for Katie!  Six people, of no matter what sex or age, dining in a good home –absolute perfection times two!

And speaking of two…the individual members of my family have perfected pairings in good restaurants from Emeril’s to Olga’s to Jazzeppi’s to A.J.’s!  Two people, of no matter what sex or age, dining in a good restaurant – what I know for sure, it just takes two!  I was reminded of a mild summer night when my son and I dined in a good restaurant called Walker’s.  We did not have a reservation, and the place was packed with people.  Thankfully, we were escorted to an upstairs dining area where the locals were congregating, the vibe was cool, the atmosphere was friendly, and the food was first rate.  After we finished our meal, Matt and I leisurely strolled back to the vehicle.  We were so completely full and satisfied that getting in a hurry was not an option.  Matt was holding a tooth pick in the side of his mouth, and I distinctly remember embracing the perfection of that moment as I listened to him critique the food and service. 

Another more recent dining duo took place on a perfect October evening with my daughter in a good restaurant appropriately named Thirty Two, as it is located on the thirty-second floor and overlooks the Biloxi Bay.  My daughter feasted on the restaurant’s famed 14-ounce bone-in filet mignon, followed by fresh crème brulee and a glass of thirty-year port wine.  I reached gastronomical perfection with a double-cut Berkshire pork chop (apple-brined), dried cranberry and shallot bread pudding, frisee (French curly endive)and bacon lardons – all topped with Normandy sauce.  At the end of the meal, Aimee and I felt completely euphoric!  We entered the elevator, pressed the down button, heaved a huge sigh of contentment, and leaned on opposite corners for the ride!  When the elevator doors opened, we were both smiling as though we had just found the goose that laid the golden egg!  Two people, of no matter what sex or age, dining in a good restaurant – sheer perfection!

However – to be perfectly honest – when I first read the quote, I actually thought about my quiet supper meal on the previous Sunday.  The Thanksgiving holiday was officially over.  Everyone had gone back to work or college; even my husband was headed to Mobile.  After church, I walked into my empty home, put on my pajamas, and rummaged through the refrigerator for leftovers.  I found a piece of roast, a few potatoes and carrots, and a half-pitcher of sweet tea.  I grabbed a jar of mayonnaise and mashed a spoonful onto my potatoes and carrots.  I made a half-sandwich with a slice of wheat bread and roast.  Then I poured the cold sweet tea over ice.  I spotted three bread and butter pickles in the bottom of a jar that was stuck to the refrigerator shelf, so I helped myself to the pickles and tossed the sticky jar into the garbage.  I carried my meal to the couch, picked up the remote and sampled my DVR list, which was at 79 percent full.  Home alone. Tonight there would be no college game day, no Sunday night football, no basketball tournament in Hawaii, no Rambo, no Three Stooges – just me and Oprah, the Hallmark Channel, Food Network and HGTV, and leftover roast and potatoes.  One person dining alone, usually upon a couch or a hillside…totally perfect.

My mom received a great report from her doctor on that messy Monday morning, so we headed to Waffle House for a late breakfast of pecan waffles, fried country ham, smothered hash browns and as always, a heaping helping of gastronomical perfection!

Dianne ; )

Reopening a Rare Trunk

My Grandma Frankie's Trunk

We just take the best of today, tuck it away, and keep it for tomorrow.  

Years before that quote was featured at the top of my blog or I had even heard of a blog, I was asked to define the concept behind the Tomorrow Trunk quote.  I had compiled several of my best children’s stories, typed them into manuscript form, and mailed the compilation to various agents and children’s book publishers.  The quote was the first line of the introduction, and the year was 1993. I still have every rejection letter from those first submissions.  Over the years, I repackaged the Tomorrow Trunk a dozen times until the large compilation of stories became one singular story…and my file of rejection letters continued to grow. But no matter how I redefined the Tomorrow Trunk, the original concept (the quote) stayed the same.

When I sent off that first batch of submissions, most of the rejection letters (or postcards) I received were canned or bulk mailings prewritten in advance.  The response began with “Dear Author” and ended with “Respectfully, The Editorial Department”.  As I began to study my craft and get better with queries, I started to get actual responses from real people. Over the years, I have received editorial direction from several agents, editors and publishers, including  Laura Rennert of the Andrea Brown Agency, Susan Hirschman and Virginia Duncan at Greenwillow, and Meredith DeSousa, who in 1999 was assistant editor at Simon and Schuster.  That year, her comments mirrored the consensus of every reply.  “Love the idea behind it…notes are wonderful…stories are varied and childlike.  The problem, however, is that the manuscript includes both notes from an adult and stories for a child.  I am afraid the appeal of this collection would be lost on both groups.”  Laura Rennert even suggested that the Tomorrow Trunk become interactive, like a real trunk, and suggested that I read the Griffin and Sabine Trilogy for an interactive example (which I was SO glad I did). I could just envision children everywhere carrying around their own little Tomorrow Trunks full of stories.

Yesterday, my mom and I visited close relatives, and I was able to take pictures of the first trunk that initiated my fascination with trunks and berthed the idea of the Tomorrow Trunk.  When I was growing up, my grandmother had a trunk ~ a real, real trunk.  The outside reminded me of the wealthy socialite trunks that were carried onto the Titanic – heavy metal with intricate designs and gold-leafing.  Inside was a flat compartment with divided sections which held jewelry, handkerchiefs, old coins, safety pins, and a hodgepodge of junk.  The top compartment could be lifted out of the trunk, and underneath that compartment was a secret storage area where my grandmother kept her most prized possessions ~ an assortment of cherished pictures, a stack of personal letters tied with ribbon, and her most special keepsakes.  After my grandpa died, I lived with my grandma for six years; however, I was never allowed to 'pilfer' or ‘meddle’ in the trunk. Only on rare occasions, Grandma would open the trunk, remove the top compartment, pull something out of the bottom, and tell me an unforgettable story.  I would sit right next to her on the couch and hang onto every word.

The novelty of those moments introduced me to a sacredness of story that I have never taken for granted or considered common and every day.  To me, that's the meaning of the best of today.  She was discriminatory with what she shared and restrictive with whom.  Those precious items and their accompanying stories were not for public display or routine visits.  The best of her today was tucked away.  My grandmother died during my sophomore year of college, and yesterday was the first time I had seen the trunk in thirty years.  My aunt’s daughter had graciously invited me to visit and take pictures of the trunk for my blog.  When I first saw it (just the outside), I was overcome with emotion. 

When I opened the trunk, all the contents were gone; however, as I lifted that compartment, all those moments with my grandmother began to flood my soul! I cannot describe what I felt, and I am weeping as I type the words.  I realized that my fascination had not been with trunks, but with the stories that were kept inside…the sustaining narrative that had been tucked away.  At that moment, it occurred to me that what I had done over the years for potential profit for my family (as in dollars and cents) had indeed made me a very rich woman during the process.  I had tucked away the best of today and kept it for tomorrow.  I imagined, thirty years from now, my one day grandchildren being reminded of a special story and feeling the overwhelm of that same love and devotion.

What I know for sure is that I no longer live in my grandmother's world.  I am a dinosaur, and I am facing the extinction of my species.  I love books that I can hold in my hand, like the twenty-year-old worn out children's books that I read to my babies.  I enjoy passing around family pictures (with my family, not Facebook) and telling stories that have only particular meaning to us.  I like to go to the mailbox and get mail, and open envelops with return addresses, and read real birthday cards with handwritten notes inside the front cover.  And I love my collection of trunks filled with stories.  Even though I try to blog at least once or twice a month, I much prefer to write my private journal entries with pencil and paper...which I do on a daily basis. When I do blog, I always try to elevate the purpose of the Tomorrow Trunk to that occasional visit with my grandmother when we shared a special story.

Today, my world and the world of my children is stuffed to capacity with TMI...that's what my kids call it.  Too much information ~ an exploitation of daily life which dilutes the best of today.  When there is too much of everything every day, then nothing that is personal seems special or sacred…not even our private thoughts.  Personally, I don't want to know what people are doing, thinking or ‘tweeting’ every minute of the day, nor do I want to view a thousand pictures or videos during the process. When all that hodgepodge of junk is removed or lifted out, then the rare is found tucked away underneath ~ the best of today.

And one final note…I disagree with that editorial assistant from Simon and Schuster.  I do not agree that the problem with the Tomorrow Trunk is that “the manuscript includes both notes from an adult and stories for a child” or that “the appeal of the collection would be lost on both groups.”  I think that the notes and the stories are the appeal of the Tomorrow Trunk, and I still envision children everywhere carrying around their own Tomorrow Trunks full of stories.

Dianne ; )

A special note of thanks to Aunt Delsie, Kay and Durwood who made yesterday so special.  Whoo! So many stories, so little time!  Thanks for letting us take pictures of all the trunks!

My Aunt Hilda's Trunk

Miss Mellie Nassar's Trunk (our neighbor)

Vocare - To Call

This week I checked out three books which had similar words on the front covers.  I didn't notice the words until I got home from the library.  The first book was entitled Avocation of Compassion: The Mississippi Physician and Creative Writing.  The second book was entitled Out on the Porch: An Evocation in Words and Pictures, and the third book was entitled Heart in Conflict: Faulkner's Struggles with Vocation. 

Avocation, evocation, and vocation...maybe no one else on earth would have noticed those three words, but I did.  I haphazardly selected the books and paid no attention to the three words during the process.   I wholeheartedly believe that when something random becomes something connected, there is a lesson for me to learn. So I started with Webster.

Avocation refers to a casual or occasional occupation; diversion; hobby.  Avocation is derived from Latin ab - away and vocare - to call.  For some people, writing is an avocation ~ a hobby or diversion that calls them away.  I certainly understand writing as an avocation.  I have pretty much made a living doing something other than writing; however,  I would never consider the writing that calls me away as a casual occupation, but more a necessary diversion.  During the worst times in my life, writing has saved me.  Never made me alot of money, but kept me alive.  Writing seemed to call me away, and for the moment, that calling made all the difference.  My family and peers have always considered writing to be a hobby that I enjoyed, an avocation for sure; however, I have felt the call so deeply at times to write (even in my journal) that not writing seemed an unnatural response. The occasional, yes; the diversion, yes; but never the hobby.

Evocation is the act of evoking; to call or summon forth, as memories; to draw forth or produce a response or reaction; to summon up spirits by incantations.  Evocation is derived from Latin e -out and vocare - to call.  So...hmm...avocation is to call away and evocation is to call out.  Certainly, anyone who has written stories, recalled memories, or drawn from past experiences understands the importance of evocation.  We see a picture or hear a phrase or smell an aroma, and we call out those reminders of times passed.  Then, we usually tell a story.  We have all experienced evocation.  We drive by a house with a wood-burning fireplace or a charcoal grill, and we immediately react.  We summon forth our memories of various seasons, and spirits rise up within us.  Our inward incantations are calling out the best and worst of what we remember of our lives. 

According to the dictionary, vocation is a stated or regular occupation; a calling.  Vocation is a call to or fitness for a certain career; the work or profession for which one has a sense of special fitness or to which one is best suited.  Vocation is derived from the Latin vocare - to call.  Wow!  What a definition!  A stated occupation, a sense of special fitness, a calling to which we are best suited. 

When I was in the second grade, my teacher recognized a calling in me.  My hobby -- my avocation -- was telling stories.  The stories always produced a reaction from the students and a response (mostly negative) from Mrs. Gaddis.  According to her account, I would make the most unlikely stories seem believable.  I told those second graders that my daddy lacked one dollar having a million dollars, and that robbers broke into our house and stole our clothes (which they threw into our pond).  Even as a little girl, I possessed a special fitness to tell stories.

Later, as a fifth-grader, I wrote an article for the county newspaper as part of a school competition.  My article was chosen as the winner and was featured on the front page of the newspaper.  I never second-guessed what I was called to do from that moment forward.  In college, I majored in communications with a minor in journalism and spent most of my adult life writing or telling stories. I never knew as a fifth grader that I would write hundreds of front page articles for that same newspaper; but I knew I would write. 

Whether by avocation, evocation or vocation, I have always written stories for the sake of the call. Years ago, I had hoped to one day become a famous writer, live on the beach, deposit checks in the bank, and surround myself with a zoo of pets.  What I have learned from years of writing and telling stories is that the calling itself is always what matters most.

To call away, to call out, to call. To say in a loud voice, to proclaim, to shout!  To summon, to arouse, to awake from sleep. I think, at some point in time, the call comes to each of us; however, I believe that the call becomes the calling for a chosen few who answer.

Dianne : )