Ozark Sunsets
Dwight, Rachel & I were on vacation in the Ozarks last week, and it is so hard to come back to reality after being away! My oldest and dearest friend, Chandra, and her family invited us to share their time at a wonderful resort outside Branson called Big Cedar Lodge. It is similar to a timeshare and they reserve a couple of weeks there each year. We were fortunate to be able to go with them about five years ago, and this was the first time since then that we were able to coordinate our schedules to go back.
Big Cedar, billed as "the Ozark's premier wilderness resort," was the brainchild of two Missouri businessmen, Jude Simmons and Frisco railroad executive Harry Worman, who began the development in the 1920s. It didn't really take off until Bass Pro Shop founder Johnny Morris purchased the property in 1987 and officially established Big Cedar Lodge. Nestled in the mountains surrounding sparkling Table Rock Lake, the development boasts a classic hunting-lodge decor, with moose & deer heads, stonework, wood carvings and decorative iron work in every cabin, lodge and restaurant.
It was a fun-filled week. We played on the man-made beach at Bent Hook Marina; we floated in huge inner tubes in the Lazy River, and swam in Devil's Pool and the Swimmin' Hole; we fished; we played shuffleboard (my first time ever) and putt-putt in the mouth of a gigantic plaster fish; we visited a sing-along campfire and took pictures of the waterfall by the covered bridge.
One night we all drove into Branson to go to Dolly Parton's Dixie Stampede, a red-white-and-blue extravaganza with singing, fancy horseback riding and and huge meal that you eat completely with your fingers, including roast chicken, corn on the cob, potato wedges & a biscuit. It was very messy and the kids loved it. Then another night both of our families, kids and grandkids included, spent the evening enjoying the "Singing Cowboy" Clay Self at the family-friendly Buzzard Bar. This guy was a hoot. Not only could he play guitar & sing country songs with the best of them, he also told the funniest, corniest jokes. Like this one: "Why do rock stars name their kids such weird names? Take Frank Zappa for example--he named his kids Dweezil & Moon Unit. If he had had another kid, he should've named him Bug." Ha!
It was at the bar that night that I ordered my first Ozark Sunset, a potent concoction made with strawberries, ice cream, amaretto and rum. Delicious. I watched many Ozark sunsets during that week, and I drank several more Ozark Sunsets, too. That became the symbol of everything I enjoyed during our wonderful vacation.
Cheers!
Wednesday, July 30, 2014
Thursday, July 17, 2014
Manning the Polls
Tuesday was voting day and my first time to serve as a poll clerk. My friend Sylvia recommended me to work with her, and the pay was pretty good for one day's work. We had to report for duty at the polling place, a retirement community, at 6:15 that morning, and the voting began at 7 a.m. and ran through 7 p.m. that night.
This was a runoff election so we didn't expect the turnout to be high, but we were happy to see a steady stream of voters throughout the day. Since this polling place was in a retirement community, we saw lots of seniors, and I saw every kind of walker and cane in every color you can imagine. Some of the seniors had difficulties seeing the names on the ballot we we had to read them for them. I've reached the point in my life where I have to carry reading glasses with me, too, so I was able to share my readers with some of the voters ."I have macular degeneration and I can't read well anymore," one fellow said. My dad suffered with that too, so I completely understood. Other voters broke my heart; some were so bent over with osteoporosis that they couldn't reach the voting stand, and one sweet lady was suffering with dementia and didn't quite understand what she was supposed to do. Thankfully one of the other residents came along to escort her back to her room.
The majority of the voters were fine, of course, and Sylvia and I kept up a lively conversation with everyone during the day. The voting machines jammed several times, from people inadvertently trying to vote for two candidates for the same position or inserting a completely blank ballot by mistake, and the machine would beep-beep-beep incessantly until a technician remedied the problem. A sheriff and a voting official came by late in the afternoon to check on us, and another kind soul brought us a box of Krispy Kreme donuts--the resulting sugar rush helped us get through the last hour of voting. At 6 p.m. a singing group came to entertain the residents in the common area outside our room, so the last few participants voted while listening to the strains of "I'll Be Seeing You." We finally closed down at 7 p.m, and we took down all the Vote Here signs, accumulated the ballots and ran the official printouts from the voting machines.
Before we opened the doors that morning we had to recite a pledge. Here is part: "As a qualified and registered voter of the county, I do solemnly swear that I will faithfully and honestly discharge my duties as poll clerk; that I will not cause any unnecessary delay in voting; and that I will not disclose to any person how any voter has voted." I have voted in many elections over my life, but as I listened to those words, it was the first time in a long time that I have really thought about the privilege of voting and the importance of exercising that right.
Tuesday was voting day and my first time to serve as a poll clerk. My friend Sylvia recommended me to work with her, and the pay was pretty good for one day's work. We had to report for duty at the polling place, a retirement community, at 6:15 that morning, and the voting began at 7 a.m. and ran through 7 p.m. that night.
This was a runoff election so we didn't expect the turnout to be high, but we were happy to see a steady stream of voters throughout the day. Since this polling place was in a retirement community, we saw lots of seniors, and I saw every kind of walker and cane in every color you can imagine. Some of the seniors had difficulties seeing the names on the ballot we we had to read them for them. I've reached the point in my life where I have to carry reading glasses with me, too, so I was able to share my readers with some of the voters ."I have macular degeneration and I can't read well anymore," one fellow said. My dad suffered with that too, so I completely understood. Other voters broke my heart; some were so bent over with osteoporosis that they couldn't reach the voting stand, and one sweet lady was suffering with dementia and didn't quite understand what she was supposed to do. Thankfully one of the other residents came along to escort her back to her room.
The majority of the voters were fine, of course, and Sylvia and I kept up a lively conversation with everyone during the day. The voting machines jammed several times, from people inadvertently trying to vote for two candidates for the same position or inserting a completely blank ballot by mistake, and the machine would beep-beep-beep incessantly until a technician remedied the problem. A sheriff and a voting official came by late in the afternoon to check on us, and another kind soul brought us a box of Krispy Kreme donuts--the resulting sugar rush helped us get through the last hour of voting. At 6 p.m. a singing group came to entertain the residents in the common area outside our room, so the last few participants voted while listening to the strains of "I'll Be Seeing You." We finally closed down at 7 p.m, and we took down all the Vote Here signs, accumulated the ballots and ran the official printouts from the voting machines.
Before we opened the doors that morning we had to recite a pledge. Here is part: "As a qualified and registered voter of the county, I do solemnly swear that I will faithfully and honestly discharge my duties as poll clerk; that I will not cause any unnecessary delay in voting; and that I will not disclose to any person how any voter has voted." I have voted in many elections over my life, but as I listened to those words, it was the first time in a long time that I have really thought about the privilege of voting and the importance of exercising that right.
Thursday, July 3, 2014
Homemade Ice Cream and other Independence Day Memories
I can never think about the 4th of July without thinking of my father. Actually, I can't think of many holidays without thinking of him, because holidays with my family always involve lots of good food, and my father loved to eat as much as my mother loved to cook for him.
Dad's birthday was last Sunday, June 29--he would've been 91 years old. For his birthday every year he would request his favorite, a German Chocolate cake. The only real German Chocolate cake is made from scratch. Some bakeries (that will remain nameless) try to sell a German Chocolate cake with chocolate frosting, but that is not a real German Chocolate cake. The real thing is made by measuring sugar and flour and melting German Chocolate squares, and covering the cake with a topping made of evaporated milk, flaked coconut, and pecans. It is labor-intensive but so worth it. Delicious!
Five days after his birthday, we would gather again to celebrate the 4th of July. That usually meant grilled hot dogs & hamburgers, potato salad, baked beans, and my Dad's other favorite--homemade ice cream. My mother would cook a rich custard of eggs, vanilla flavoring and other ingredients, pour it in the freezer, and we would gather on the back patio to take turns cranking the ice cream freezer and pouring rock salt on the ice as we cranked. Eventually we bought an electric freezer, but I have many fond memories of the old-fashioned hand crank freezer we used for many years. Gradually it would be harder and harder to turn the crank until my Dad would announce that the ice cream was done, and as he pulled the paddle out of the ice cream, we would all fight over who would get to lick the paddle first. There is nothing as good as enjoying a big bowl of homemade ice cream as you watch the fireworks on the 4th of July.
We lost Dad 10 years ago but my memories of celebrating with him--the heartfelt prayers he would say as he blessed every meal, his patriotism, his love for his family and his love for good food--remain fresh. I will think of him tomorrow, and be thankful for all our many blessings, as we celebrate Independence Day. I wish everyone a wonderful holiday!
I can never think about the 4th of July without thinking of my father. Actually, I can't think of many holidays without thinking of him, because holidays with my family always involve lots of good food, and my father loved to eat as much as my mother loved to cook for him.
Dad's birthday was last Sunday, June 29--he would've been 91 years old. For his birthday every year he would request his favorite, a German Chocolate cake. The only real German Chocolate cake is made from scratch. Some bakeries (that will remain nameless) try to sell a German Chocolate cake with chocolate frosting, but that is not a real German Chocolate cake. The real thing is made by measuring sugar and flour and melting German Chocolate squares, and covering the cake with a topping made of evaporated milk, flaked coconut, and pecans. It is labor-intensive but so worth it. Delicious!
Five days after his birthday, we would gather again to celebrate the 4th of July. That usually meant grilled hot dogs & hamburgers, potato salad, baked beans, and my Dad's other favorite--homemade ice cream. My mother would cook a rich custard of eggs, vanilla flavoring and other ingredients, pour it in the freezer, and we would gather on the back patio to take turns cranking the ice cream freezer and pouring rock salt on the ice as we cranked. Eventually we bought an electric freezer, but I have many fond memories of the old-fashioned hand crank freezer we used for many years. Gradually it would be harder and harder to turn the crank until my Dad would announce that the ice cream was done, and as he pulled the paddle out of the ice cream, we would all fight over who would get to lick the paddle first. There is nothing as good as enjoying a big bowl of homemade ice cream as you watch the fireworks on the 4th of July.
We lost Dad 10 years ago but my memories of celebrating with him--the heartfelt prayers he would say as he blessed every meal, his patriotism, his love for his family and his love for good food--remain fresh. I will think of him tomorrow, and be thankful for all our many blessings, as we celebrate Independence Day. I wish everyone a wonderful holiday!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)