Tag Archives: hot chocolate

Fifteen -by Karla

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On January 22, Tuesday of this week, marked the fifteenth year of Mama’s death. She fought hard with her twenty-seven-month battle. I have often compared that period of time to crossing a very long bridge. Once we stepped on, there was no going back to the side in which we began. Like all journeys, some days were long and difficult filled with pain and some with pure agony. But, there were also sweet, precious times as well, desiring to make every moment a memory.

I have numerous words that could easily ramble into days worth of stories when I think of Mom. Her presence in my life is matched by no one else, and the period of days, months, and years that followed as I mourned her death were among the most difficult of my life.   

For several weeks approaching the twenty-second of January, I seemed to almost fixate on the number fifteen. How could fifteen years have passed since I had heard her laugh, watched her tear up for one less fortunate, or seen her red-headed temper flare a bit?

Honestly, I had fallen into the trap where I found myself looking around to see fifteen years worth of not having my mom while others still have theirs. Fifteen years that I could have been asking questions, learning more, and enjoying time with her. It is the stupid little things like “Mom, where’s the recipe for those cabbage rolls you used to make when we were kids?” The girls and I could have been watching so many “life lesson” movies with her. She loved the type of films where lessons could be learned. Sometimes, I have wanted to scream! Why?

Frankly, there are more days over these last fifteen years when I have felt her absence within. I have longed for her voice to cheer me and offer encouragement on days when I was overwhelmed. The need or reaction of picking up the phone for her advice has ranged from paint colors for the kitchen to “Mom, how did you do it! I only have two girls; you had four! How did you survive?”

Thankfully, I have learned to look up. During the weeks leading up to the twenty-second, I have realized that I focused on the wrong fifteen. My concentration of looking around and looking inward was not bringing me any happiness. Rather, I brought myself unneeded sadness. That is just like me to forgot where God has always told me to direct my attention…upward on Him.

This past week, I should have been thinking of fifteen blessing about Mom. Of course, I have many more wonderful things I could list than just these. But for now, with my eyes set on the right fifteen, in no particular rhyme or reason…here goes.

God, thank You for giving me my mom!  Mom blessed me by…

  • Making hot chocolate on snow days
  • Tucking me in bed at night
  • Teaching me about Jesus and taking me to church
  • Not “pinching my head off” like she said she was going to all those years, but forced me to take responsibility of my wrong doings
  • Teaching me the importance of hard work
  • Teaching me to eat my fruits and vegetables daily
  • Taking me fishing and reminding me to stop to smell the roses
  • Showing me that God is always by my side
  • Showing me how to care for people and giving to those less fortunate
  • Loving a good game of football
  • Reminding me that when I feel bad, brushing my teeth and washing my face makes me feel better
  • Giving me three wonderful sisters
  • Making me understand that family is a rare gift
  • Modeling being a mom who sacrifices
  • Teaching me why and how to respect myself and others

Now, I pose a challenge for you to do one of the following:

*Make a list

*Pick up the phone or write a letter if you are so fortunate

*Say a prayer of thanksgiving

*And perhaps…Post a few here to honor your mom!

 

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Waffle House Run: Pompous Princess -by Donna

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A few Sundays ago, Karla and I went to my daddy’s. We stayed much longer than we anticipated and were driving back late. It was approximately 10:53 and we had seven minutes to make it to our favorite snack destination…Baskin Robbins. We sped up 75 north to beat the clock, but sadly, we arrived at 11:00. No pralines and crème for me. Karla insisted we needed a late-night snack and I agreed. However, we didn’t want fast food. My reply was, “Well, your choices are limited. It’s pretty much IHOP or Waffle House.”

IHop

Of course, she immediately asked Siri where the nearest IHOP was, and we headed in that direction. “I don’t do Waffle House.” She said with a snarl.  Now I’ve eaten at Waffle House probably a kazillion times. Many late-night basketball games took my family there. “Karla, they make some great hot chocolate.”  I secretly was hoping for Waffle House but knew we would not go there.

We walked into IHOP and sat in the waiting area. A couple sat across from us and said, “I hope y’all don’t mind waiting. The other people, who were sitting with us, just left. We have been here for a while.” We glanced around. There weren’t many customers; we saw no waitresses. But Karla said, “We will wait.” So, we sat and sat. The man across from us pulled out his phone and asked Siri the phone number to IHOP. He grinned as his cell called. The phone sitting on the counter beside us preceded to ring, and ring and ring and ring. We looked at each other with tired eyes, got up, and left.

Waffle House

Back on the interstate, we saw a Waffle House sign. “Just go there!” she said.

“No, we can keep driving and look for another IHOP,,” I said. But as she googled we realized not all IHOPs stay open twenty-four hours. Her stomach could take no more, and we pulled into a Waffle House.

Walking in, we plopped down in the first booth. Karla glanced around apprehensively. Looking across at me she sighed with aversion. Our waitress came and greeted us laying the menus on the table. As she walked off Karla pointed at hers. A long black hair graced the front!

Rolling my eyes, I commented, “Just reach over there, and get another one.”

She put that one back, picked a different one, and grimaced, “It’s sticky.”

I stared her in the eyes and said, “Stop being a pompous-butt-princess!” After a moment of silence from shock, she burst out laughing. Then we began the giggling that always happens when we are exhausted.

Hot Toddy?

Our waitress asked what we would like to drink. I ordered hot chocolate. She returned quickly with our beverages, sat them down, and walked off. I looked at my cup of hot tea. “Didn’t I ask for hot chocolate?”

“Yes, you did. Send it back,” Karla motioned.

“No, I’ll just drink it.” But I really wanted my hot chocolate. The tea was so blah. So, when she came back I politely said, “I ordered hot chocolate.”

She replied, “That’s what I fixed you.” I looked confused and she continued, “You ordered a hot toddy and that’s what I gave you. It has tea, lemon…”

“A hot toddy!” I interrupted. “Doesn’t that have alcohol in it? You put alcohol in my tea?”

“No, I left that out.”

“I said hot chocolate, not a hot toddy.”

“Ok, I’ll bring you a hot chocolate too.”

“Karla, turn around.” I whisper yelled out of the side of my mouth.

In walked a very strangely dressed couple. The girl was dressed like a provocative cheerleader complete with fish-net  hose. The guy had on a purple satin jacket and no shirt! As they stood talking, he slid his jacket down resting it on his forearms, exposing his upper body. It was then we could see the gold sequin vest. He stood like that the entire time he talked as if that was his norm.

Hot Chocolate to Go?

We tried not to get tickled but, we did. As we sat their laughing, a different waitress came over, sat a Styrofoam cup in front of me, and said, “Here’s your hot chocolate to go.” I didn’t order it to go. I looked  confused and she asked, “Is it too early?” and she walked away

When she walked off, we shook our heads.  Karla laughed, “This whole dinner was a little bizarre! I told you I don’t do Waffle House.”

Over the fifty years we’ve known each other, we’ve never eaten at a Waffle House together. And I’m guessing it’ll be another fifty before I get her to go back with me. However, she did admit she liked the raisin toast and apple butter!

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Snow Days -By Karla

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I have always loved a snow day, and growing up in Blue Ridge, Georgia, we had lots of them. Mom taught us how to prepare for hours of fun. Layer after layer.

  • Long johns
  • A couple of pairs of socks
  • Plastic baggies tied with a bread tie
  • A pair of jeans
  • A couple of T-shirts
  • Sweatshirt
  • Coat
  • Galoshes that had two little buttons and elastic loops to tighten them around your leg.
  • Gloves
  • Plastic baggies tied with a bread tie
  • Mittens
  • Toboggans with a tassel

“Let’s meet at the top of the hill at 10:00”

 

Most everyone in the neighborhood was laying up. The older kids would ride their wooden sleds down the steep road. When one slide down, he or she was the look out, to make sure no car was inching around the sharp curve at the bottom of the hill.

“Gail, get on your knees.”

My sister climbed on behind her friend. While she was on her knees, he sat on his bottom and steered the sled down the icy road with his feet. As they neared the bottom, one of the wooden slabs broke. They went slipping and sliding downward and swerved just enough not to go soaring off they ten foot drop off. As the older girls got tired of flying down the hill, they would move onto building a snowman. They had a system. The girls would begin the snowballs while the boys rolled the giant snow boulders back and forth across the yards. Their goal was simple: Build a snowman bigger than the one created during the last snowfall. I think their record was a twelve footer.

Up to six feet at times

My little sister, my best childhood friend, and I would grab our plastic sleds and begin. Having the label “you’re too young to go down that icy road” forced us to find a sweet spot on the snow covered grass. We slid until the fraction had caused some sprigs of grass poked through. Then we would scoot over a bit and start making a new slope. Over and over. Our goal was more simple than that of our older siblings: Slide so fast that we could not stop ourself from the flying off three-foot drop. Over the years, we reached that goal often as a present-day tailbone x-ray would have the show the proof needed to back up that claim.

The Routine

When we felt frost bite settling in, we knew the routine.

  • Stomp the snow off your boots
  • Strip down to the layer that is not wet
  • Come inside
  • Go directly to the dryer with your wet clothes and turn them on (so they would be ready when we were nice and toasty and refueled to go back outside
  • Put one something warm

Homemade hot chocolate was always simmering on the stove and filled the house with warmth. Mom would go back and forth from the kitchen to the living room carrying our mugs while we sat by the coil heater thawing out. Hearing the little sizzles and crackles from the kitchen, we knew our buttery popcorn was near.

Those magical words: Snow Day!

I think I will always love snow days. When I get wind that one might be drifting into town, I feel the excitement building. As a teacher, I have been called down a time or two when the realization that we might be leaving early develops. I probably deserved both times. Once we watched from the cafeteria as huge flakes cascaded outside the  glass-covered wall. I began dancing with my vice-principal! Then I heard my name over the microphone, “Mrs. Smedley, please calm down! I am trying to give instructions to the students.”

Another time, I got a bit carried away and gave a little hoop-n-holler in the hallway. Several teachers came out and asked me to please tone it down a bit. I just can’t help it. I love living in the South where the anticipation of snow is never a “hear it comes again” dread.

Every time the snow blows into town, I remember the sweet words of Mom. She never missed a snow day call. “Karla, remember God is giving you a snow day to slow down and enjoy family and fun times.”

“Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.” Matthew 11:28

Thanks, Mom, for the memories and the reminder.

-Karla

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