September 3, 2011 · 5:42 pm

Panacea



I was planning our Annual Midsummer Supper and Birthday Party:   [I am June, Garrett is July, Stephen is August, and Haley is September.]  For several years, we have yearned to return to Angelo &  Son’s Seafood Restaurant in Panacea, Florida, exactly 37 miles [56 minutes], due south from our home.   Angelo’s has been a famous landmark on the coast for almost 70 years.  It is not a fancy place:  it is family-friendly and the attire is casual.  However, over the years, the prices have steadily climbed. Then, a few years ago, a hurricane decimated the building.  The remodeling and revamping required extensive time and money.  As a result, the prices are now “a little out of our league.”  Even so, I pitched the idea to Stephen.  He replied, “There is no way I am going to pay those exorbitant prices!”

That was when I suggested, “Well, then, let’s do an Angelo’s Theme and host our supper at home!”   Stephen readily agreed and mused, “How hard could that be?”  And, so, our Culinary Adventure began.

Stephen & I visited our local seafood shop and ordered our supper, fresh-off-the boat:  an eight-pound grouper and three pounds of shrimp.   I forgot to specify “fish fillets.” The shop owner deftly removed the gills and a few other items but handed us our grouper intact and on ice.   He was massive.  I named him [the fish] “Popeye,” because of his bulbous eyes.   Even with a gift certificate, Stephen and I were  a little surprised at the hefty size of the invoice.

We returned home and I prepared the rest of the supper, inspired by Angelo’s Menu:  Fresh Green Salad with Greek Trim and Greek Dressing, Twice-Baked Potatoes, Freshly-Baked Bread with Herb Butter, and Iced Tea with Lemon & Lime Slices.  I spared no expense and used all fresh, organic ingredients from our member-owned food co-op.

Later, our son arrived to help Stephen grill the grouper; they slathered it with olive oil, dusted it with Greek seasonings, and encased it in foil.  They threaded the shrimp onto bamboo skewers.  In spite of careful planning,  the grouper required a much longer grilling time than the shrimp.  So, the grouper was moist but under-done and the shrimp was dry and over-done.  Stephen had difficulty removing the foil from the grouper.  In disgust, he crushed up the empty foil, threw it back on the grill, and closed the lid.

The seafood was, I admit, a bit of a disappointment but the rest of the supper was superb.   We turned our attention to dessert, which would provide the Crowning Glory of the Evening.  That morning, Stephen had whipped up his famous Home-Made Cream Pies, settling upon Banana and Coconut.  For the benefit of our grandson, however, he made the pie gluten-free and substituted oat flour for wheat flour.  I prepared a teapot of Organic Chai with Cocoa to complement the pies.  Stephen retrieved the pies from the refrigerator and, with a flourish, set them on the kitchen counter.  Upon closer inspection, they might have passed for puddings.  I handed out spoons and bowls and everyone partook.  No one asked for seconds.

After our guests left, let me tell you, it was a JOB cleaning up that kitchen! I froze the leftover seafood, with plans to make chowder.  Stephen hurled the rest of the pies into the kitchen trashcan, along with the inedible seafood remains, and carted it all outside, to the City Trash Container.  It was too late to suggest that he freeze the seafood remains in a large zip lock bag, until Trash Pick-Up Day, which was now five days away.

We worked together for two hours and, weary to the bone, climbed upstairs to go to bed.  I was philosophical about the difficulties of the evening.   However, the culinary mishaps had shaken Stephen’s confidence and identity as a former Grill Master and Pastry Chef Extraordinaire.

The next morning, another hot and humid summer day, I walked out of doors and the air reeked of day-old fish.  Over the next few days, the odor reached a crescendo, until it attracted every cat in the neighborhood.  Various neighbors, on their daily walks,  gave our property a wide berth and finally, they began to avoid us all together.  I complained that, oddly, the odor was even stronger near the detached Laundry Room.   Finally, Stephen investigated and removed the offending grouper-encrusted foil, still inside the grill, located on the porch outside the Laundry Room.

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Now, please allow me to be your Tour Guide, in your perfect evening of seafood dining in Panacea:

Choose a fine afternoon and enjoy a leisurely, peaceful drive, through the Apalachicola Natural Forest.  You will pass The Wakulla Springs State Park and Forest, The St. Mark’s National Wildlife Refuge, and the Ochlocknee River State Park.  When you pass through the vast, marshy, protected wetlands, and Oyster Bay, you are almost there.  Just over the crest of a hill, you will see a bridge, spanning the glittering water of the St. George Sound, at the confluence of the Ochlocknee River and the Apalachee Bay on the Gulf of Mexico.  The bridge leads to the pristine St. George Island and State Park and the St. Vincent Island Wildlife Refuge.

Before you reach the bridge, Angelo’s will come into view:  It is an imposing all-wooden structure, built upon sturdy pilings, and perched over the water.  If the weather is perfect, be sure to dine al fresco on the wrap-around porch, which offers an unimpeded view of the coastal panorama: the fishing boats returning to the marina, the seagulls wheeling, the pelicans diving for their supper, and the mullet jumping.  After supper, right before sunset, order your dessert, Homemade Cream Pie and Coffee.  Then, transfer over to the wide, western-facing porch.  Position a rocking chair close to the porch railing.  Reach for your dessert and cup, rest your feet up on the railing and savor every delicious morsel and sip, as you rock and watch the sun set over the water.

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“Panacea,” as you may remember, means “a remedy for all diseases, evils, or difficulties; a cure-all,” from the Greek  “pan” = “all” and “akos” = “cure.”  Evidently, “the establishment of Panacea began with the Panacea Mineral Springs, a concentration of small sulphurous springs known for their ‘healing attributes’.” [Wikipedia]

And oh! Did I mention that Stephen decided that he is taking us all to Panacea next midsummer?  


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August 29, 2011 · 11:21 am

Summers of Contentment: Part 2

I remember that summer morning, almost fifty years ago:  It was 1964 and our family of six packed up the station wagon.  At the time, my father was stationed at Barksdale Air Force Base and we lived in Bossier City, Louisiana.  We planned to drive to North Carolina and, finally, to Virginia Beach, Virginia.  Susan was sixteen, I was twelve, Michael was nine, and Amy was six.

The last errand, before leaving town, was to drive to the kennel and leave our puppy, a Boston Terrier named Cappy.  As Dad was cranking up the engine, the four children and my mother grew silent, at the thought of leaving Cappy.   As Dad backed the car out of the driveway, he surveyed five glum faces, abruptly stopped the car, opened his car door, slammed it shut, and returned to the house. He quickly returned to the car, muttering oaths under his breath, and threw the dog leash, bed, food, and bowls into the back of the car.  We cheered in unison because Dad had, amazingly, relented and we were taking our puppy with us on our vacation!

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[Image Credit:  greatdogbreeds.com]

We drove to the North Carolina home of my  Grandmother “Mommo” Blair and she traveled with us to Virginia Beach, to the home of my Uncle Bub and Aunt Pat Blair.  Their children, David, Ann, and Eddie, were our cousins.  As far as I know, this was the only summer that every member of both sides of my family [the Blairs and Van Hoys] gathered together in one place for a week of Summer Family Reunion.  I can only imagine how much my Grandfather “Daddah” Van Hoy, a widower, and “Mommo” Blair, a widow, must have enjoyed having all their children and grandchildren together in one place for one week.

Aunt Pat came from a large, closely-knit family and she loved company:  When she heard the crunch of gravel on her driveway, as each family vehicle arrived, she raised her arms over her head, screamed in delight, and, with arms extended in front of her, ran out to hug and greet each weary traveler.   An excellent cook, the daunting task of feeding seventeen folks did not intimidate her:  You could observe her, every morning, in her kitchen:  She wore her swim suit and hummed and sang, as she prepared either Meat Loaf, Chicken Salad, or Pimento Cheese for our luncheon sandwiches.

Bub and Pat hosted a total of seventeen family members that summer, in their large house near the beach.  They installed a cabaña outside the kitchen, where they set up picnic tables with benches, ice chests, and fans.  There, we could seek shelter from the sun, help ourselves to an icy drink, and gather for all our meals.  Bub and Pat also installed an outdoor shower, so that we could rinse off the sand, before entering the cabaña or house.

On a typical evening, Uncle Bub prepared fish and “hush-puppies,” Aunt Pat fixed corn on the cob, and Ann made the tossed salad with anchovies.  After dinner, the girl cousins made Lemon Pound Cake, drizzled Lemon Glaze over it, and everyone ate it warm.   On other evenings, we enjoyed big bowls of ice cream, topped with chocolate syrup.  During the evenings, we cousins played endless card games of War and Solitaire.

In spite of the heat, we cousins spent all of the daylight hours out-of-doors. Uncle Bub and Aunt Pat’s Boston Terrier dog, also named Cappy, could swing from branches of the big evergreen tree in the backyard.  With his jaw teeth, he grabbed onto a low horizontal branch, pulled backwards, ran forwards, and sailed up in the air, over and over.  Sometimes, he jumped up, clamped his jaw teeth onto a vertical branch, and swung his hindquarters, around and around.  Unbelievably, Aunt Pat patiently taught him to soulfully whine into her face, on cue:  “Maaa-maaa.”

Our family took a brand-new Slip n Slide to the family reunion:  Uncle Bub thought it would be “a hoot” to toss their Cappy onto it, rather like rolling a black & white bowling ball down the alley.   As you might imagine, Cappy didn’t much like it:  wild-eyed, he scrambled to right himself and ran away from his tormentors — but not before he had torn the Slip n Slide to shreds with his claws and rendered it unusable for us disappointed cousins.

 

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[Image Credit:  Late B[l]oomer, Sherry Thurner]

When the weather was fine, three generations of family members, in swimsuits, walked the two blocks down to the beach for a morning of fun in the sun, sand, and surf.  We Blair kids learned to body-surf that summer.   In those days, we knew nothing about the dangers of rip tides and malicious sea creatures.   Although I advise children not to do this, I sometimes walked alone to the beach and body-surfed for hours, on a lonely stretch of beach, with no lifeguard in sight.  I pitted my strength and wit against the voracity and power of the water.  There has never been an adventure more exhausting or exhilarating than surviving those waves, as they violently tumbled and tossed me within their grip, and then, at last, released and deposited me upon the sand, like sea glass, now scrubbed, smooth, and polished.

We cousins were oblivious, also, about the dangers of UVA and UVB sunrays:  We were casual about using sunscreen and sun block and, therefore, we got thoroughly sunburned.  Before bed, we girl cousins took showers and helped each other slather on the Solarcaine and Noxzema.   The girls slept on multiple bunk beds, in one large bedroom, and the boy cousins had their own dormitory.  I have vivid memories of sunburn and sand and how it felt to fall asleep, in those bunk beds, under the ceiling fan, as the beach house had no air conditioning.  Falling asleep would have been more of a challenge if I had not exhausted myself with play, all day long, with body-surfing and swimming:  The strange residual sensation of floating upon water, the soft phantom sound of crashing waves, and the lingering taste and scent of salt-water and air all combined to gently lull me to sleep.

~~~By Margot Blair Payne, August 2011, with thanks for the contributions from my sisters, Susan Blair Hollister and Amy Blair Sweeney.

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August 17, 2011 · 10:45 am

Tangibles & Intangibles

I read in this morning’s news that “Big Tobacco Sues Feds.”  [I do not know how to provide links, so “Google” this and read about the case.]  The contention focuses on the government ruling that Big Tobacco Companies must print, at their own expense, graphic images [e.g., breathing tubes, coffins] on the label of each tobacco product.   The expected outcome, I suppose, will be that the graphics will more strongly dissuade pre-smoking addicts than will the mere printed language advisories.  Or, perhaps, pre-smoking addicts cannot read.

I can understand the point of view of the government:  Everyone knows, since the Surgeon General’s warning in 1969, that smoking is harmful to one’s health.  Now, we know that addictive smoking, over the years,  will probably prove deadly.  In spite of the fact that each individual has the right to decide to smoke, the reality is that the government [you and I] and health insurance companies [and you and I, in the form of higher rates] will, in future, underwrite the bill for the exorbitant yet preventable medical expenses of the smoker-addict.

There is also the problem of second-hand smoke, which interferes with the rights and endangers the health of the non-smoker.  This carries its own form of trauma, as it concerns the family and co-workers of the smoker-addict.  I have at least one suggestion:  Big Tobacco Companies can include a “pink ribbon” for breast cancer, which is a possible side-effect of exposure to second-hand smoke.  Also, there exists the DNA-driven  “addictive personality syndrome,” an intangible, which is difficult to communicate within a graphic image.  However, the Big Tobacco Companies should also include this; I suggest the Watson-Crick helix.

However, let us look at the Big Tobacco point of view, as it compares its governmental constraints to that of the Alcohol Industry.  Each bottle, of course, comes with a Government Warning on the label.  I just examined the label on my Paul Masson California Marsala.  [Excuse me, while I return it to the kitchen, as writing at the computer, early in the morning, with a glass of Marsala on the desk, would be a little hard to explain to an observer.]

The proviso reads:

“According to the Surgeon General, women should not drink alcoholic beverages during pregnancy because of the risk of birth defects. 

Consumption of alcohol damages impairs your ability to drive a car or operate machinery and may cause health problems.” 

 No graphic images appear on the bottle label.

Let me be clear:  In the matter of the Alcohol Industry, I am talking about the possibility of  warning labels regarding the possible future behavior of the unlucky pre-alcohol addict, who discovers, too late, that the DNA is stacked unfairly against him/her.  This future possibility affects not only the health and welfare of the addict but also the health and welfare of his/her family.  I specify “family” and not “co-workers” because the nature of the behavior of the alcohol-addict toward his/her family is devastating to the family dynamics, in a manner far surpassing any devastation to the atmosphere of the workplace of the alcohol-addict.

Because of this future behavior possibility, the Alcohol Industry has a challenge, if a government decree forces it to print graphic images, in addition to warning labels.  The following tangible images are difficult, yet not impossible, to convey:

-Liver damage

-Vehicular crash, driving citation, DUI, license revocation

-Fetal alcohol withdrawl syndrome

-Termination of employment, unemployment line, homeless shelter

 

However, consider the impossible task, on the part of the Alcohol Industry, to convey the following intangibles, in a graphic image warning format:

-Psychological and emotional trauma to the family of the alcohol addict, including parents, spouse, children

-Psychological and emotional trauma to the family of the person/s injured or killed, as a result of the alcohol-addict’s impaired driving

-Changed personality of alcohol-addict

-Loss of educational and vocational opportunities

-DNA susceptibility to alcohol addiction; DNA “addictive personality disorder”

-Estrangement from family; divorce

 

I find that I must side with Big Tobacco:  Until the day that government forces the Alcohol Industry to conform to the same regulations, concerning the inclusion of graphic images, both tangible and intangible,  on warning labels, Big Tobacco appears to be “singled out” by government decree.

[Margot Blair Payne, August 2011]

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August 9, 2011 · 1:55 pm

Summers of Contentment: Part 1

Introduction: The Heirloom Vines

The snow was so thick, that winter day in 1899, that two horses pulled a sled, to relocate my great-grandparents and their belongings from Davidson County, NC, to Winston-Salem, NC.  Traveling with my great-grandparents, David Israel Long and Lillie Victoria Charles Long, was their first-born, an infant daughter, Susan Hope Long, my grandmother.  My great-grandparents brought heirloom seeds, slips, cuttings, and vines, to nurture and protect, until spring, when they would transplant the tender heirlooms into the rich garden soil of their new home site.  Among these was the Scuppernong vine.

David Israel Long purchased farmland at the south-eastern end of Winston-Salem, in the village of Waughtown, overlooking the rolling hills of the Piedmont. There, he built a sturdy two-story farmhouse for his family, which would grow to include eight children who survived infancy.  He also built a barn, a Summer House [an outdoor kitchen], and other essential out-buildings.

In 1918, my grandmother married and designed her first and only home, an Arts & Crafts Bungalow, in Waughtown.  Their home-site contained gardens and meadows.  From her parents’ gardens, only one or two miles away, my grandmother brought heirloom seeds, slips, cuttings, and vines, and, eventually, the new gardens flourished under her skillful care.  My father, Alton Bernard “Nobby” Blair, was born in that home, in 1919, in a sturdy four-poster bed that remains in my family.  He married my mother, Margaret Elizabeth “Peg” Van Hoy, in 1946, and his military career took him and his growing family far away from Waughtown.

The farthest he ever traveled from Waughtown was to Japan, during the years 1957-1958, when he was an Air Force commander on a radar base on top of a mountain in Hokkaido.  My mother, sister, brother, and I stayed behind, in Yadkinville, NC, which was a short drive from Winston-Salem.  During this time, my brother, Michael, was an infant; I was four and five years old; and my sister, Susan, was eight and nine.  We two sisters enjoyed extended visits at my grandmother’s home, during the summers:

 The Summers of 1957 & 1958:

I remember what large hands my grandmother had:  skillful, hard-working hands; wide, with thick fingers.  [In contrast, my mother’s hands were “aristocratic” and delicate, with long, thin fingers.]  With those hands, “Mommo” [MAW-maw] taught us [her granddaughters] how to knit and crochet.  She also sewed clothing for us and for our dolls.  With her sister, my Aunt Elizabeth “Bill” Long, she created beautiful, colorful, and warm quilts.  Mommo planted her gardens, carefully tended them, canned the produce, and stored the glass jars in the cool, dark cellar.

Mommo washed our hair in the kitchen sink.  Corky was Mommo’s pet parakeet; we watched him bathe and play in a trickle of water from the sink faucet, after Mommo rinsed our hair.

Unfortunately, I don’t remember my grandfather, “Daddah” [Raymond Earl] Blair, very well, but I do remember that Corky perched on his shoulder while he – [Daddah, not Corky!] — read the newspaper, after returning home from his office at the Southern-Pacific Railway.

During the summer, the Waughtown uncles, aunts, and cousins came over to Mommo’s house, to prepare for special occasions, like birthdays and holidays. The uncles set up long folding tables in the spacious side garden, the aunts helped in the kitchen, and we cousins played:  we hiked to a nearby pond to catch tadpoles; visited the mule in the meadow; played with Walkie-Talkies, made out of tin cans and string; and explored the detached Summer House,which I remember as a detached old-fashioned kitchen.

If it was The Fourth of July, we always made homemade ice cream:  one of my uncles was in charge of the hand-crank machine.  Toward the end of the freezing, my uncle placed a thick towel on top of the machine, grabbed a young boy cousin, and sat him on top of the thick towel.  How this assisted the freezing, I cannot remember.

At dusk, we cousins picked juicy figs from the garden and ate them.  Then, we played Tagor Hide and Seek, often hiding in the detached garage, which had an earthen floor and housed the 1954 green Chevy.  In the evenings, we caught fireflies in clear glass jars, after the adults helped us to punch holes in the metal lids.  And finally, after dark, we ate the homemade ice cream and the adults helped us to set off firecrackers: a perfect ending to a perfect day.

One summer morning, Mommo was dressed, as usual, in a house dress, apron, and low pumps.  [She never wore trousers or shorts, unless she was mowing the lawn, vacationing at the beach, or on a camping trip.] This particular morning, a man with a flatbed truck arrived to deliver live chickens in wire cages.  Mommo carefully chose her chickens and paid the delivery man.  She carried the wire cages and a broom out to the back garden. Then, she opened up the wire cage and grabbed one of the chickens by the neck.  Imagine her, in her house dress, apron, and pumps, as she took the broom handle and placed it over the chicken’s neck.  She then straddled the broom handle, placing one of her pumps on either side of the chicken’s neck.  We watched, fascinated, as she reached over, lifted that poor creature’s feet and – YANK! — the head disengaged.  For years, my mother admonished us: “Stop running around like a chicken with its head cut off!”  However, I had never seen that simile in action, until the day I watched that headless chicken run zigzags around the backyard.

After the chicken finally keeled over, Mommo drained the blood, and carried it into the kitchen, to begin the mind-numbing and tedious work of plucking the feathers.  I offered to help and began the joint task with considerable zeal, as we sat in the kitchen and worked tete a tete and “knee to knee.”  However, after only a few minutes, I sighed heavily and asked Mommo if I could go outside and play.  To my relief, she smiled and said “Yes.” She seemed to understand that I was a young child and needed to play with my siblings and cousins in the daylight hours.

Mommo stewed the chicken in a large stockpot, on top of the range-top on the electric stove.  Next to the kitchen was a shaded screened porch, which had a large table.  I returned from my outdoor play, in time to help her roll out the dough for the dumplings, cut long strips, and shake salt and pepper over the strips. When the stew was finally ready, Mommo opened the screen door and called all the family in for supper.  I can still hear the satisfying “thump” and “slap” of the wooden-framed screen door, as we, the cousins, opened the screen door, one by one, and allowed it to slam shut behind us.

There was only one time that I disappointed Mommo and, to this day, I regret my childish irresponsibility:  I was, perhaps, five years of age and one morning, at breakfast, Mommo told me to stay near the house and be ready to try on some clothes, which she was sewing for me.  However, an hour or two later, my cousins and siblings suggested, “Let’s go to the pond and catch some tadpoles!”  I was off like a shot.  I simply forgot that Mommo needed me.  When I returned, Mommo was angry with me and I was filled with shame.  I had not meant to be naughty; I merely forgot, because I was so young.

All too soon, the summer was over and it was time for me to return to preschool or kindergarten and ballet and tap lessons.  We packed up and said goodbye to Mommo.  We returned the weekend closest to Mommo’s birthday [September 16].  By then, the Scuppernongs were ripe and the fragrance pervaded the gardens, where we celebrated her birthday and picked the ripe wild grapes.

Epilogue

During those summers, I was a young “slip” of a girl.  I was like one of the “cuttings” from my grandmother’s heirloom Scuppernong vine, which she kept in a pristine glass jar on her sunny kitchen windowsill, where she nurtured and protected each tender sprout.

Like the patchwork pieces of fabric in my grandmother’s quilts, I had been “cut from the same cloth” as she, and I was connected to her:  Whether or not we shared the same geography, her presence was with me, all the same.  I flourished, strong and healthy, safe and happy, under her capable hands and attentive eyes.

~~~Margot Blair Payne

Written in the year 2010, on September 16:  the birthday of Susan Hope Long Blair, my grandmother.

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August 1, 2011 · 11:55 am

The Most Fashionable Grandmother

I was at the City Parks & Recreation Aquatics Center with my daughter and toddler grandson the other day.  Upon my soul, I could never understand how a grown woman — I  mean, an intelligent, educated, cultured, dignified woman– could make such a spectacle of herself at the pool!  Mercy!  You never saw such bobbing, twirling, jumping, crawling.  You never heard such laughing and singing!

For the life of me, I could never understand this — that is, until I became a grandmother and became that spectacle.  My daughter, now six months pregnant with her second child [a girl], takes all this in stride and watches Benjamin and me, as she sits on the side of the pool.  If I were not playing with her son in the pool, I am rather sure she would be mortified at my antics.

. . . Sigh . . .

. . . I try to imagine myself as one of the serene parents or grandparents, “watching” my  kids, from a safe distance, while lounging in a deck-chair [shaded by an umbrella], reading from a Kindle, and talking on a cell-phone . . .

. . .   I try to envision myself as one of the more “fashionable” mothers or grandmothers, showing up for Pool Duty wearing:  a pristine “bathing suit” that will never get wet, expert make-up, coiffed hair, jewelry, and perfume . . .

. . . Sigh . . .

And me?  I show up for Pool Duty, fresh out of the shower, wearing tousled hair, sun block, lip balm, a faded Speedo swim suit and Speedo Vanquisher optical goggles.

No make-up, no coif, no jewelry, no perfume . . .

I’m a 59-year old grandmother and it’s “Tot Time” in the “Activity Pool:”  I’m with my two-year-old grandson and, for two hours, Benjamin leads me back into the world of childhood wonder and play, as I follow him around the pool.

We pretend to be Kangaroos or Alligators or he rides on my back and I’m a Bucking Bronco.  We laugh after I scoop him up,  when he stumbles and “bobs” his head by accident. We cheer in triumph, when he “bobs” his head on purpose.  I help him float on his back and we twirl around, faster and faster, until we are both dizzy. We sing nursery songs, as he sits on the side of the pool. He jumps into my arms, on cue:  “London Bridge is falling DOWN!”

. . . Sigh . . .

. . . . I may not be the most fashionable grandmother at the pool but I am pretty sure that I am the luckiest one.

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July 26, 2011 · 10:19 am

Book Review: The Call

The Call: Finding and Fulfilling

the Central Purpose of Your Life

By Os Guinness (Word Publishing, 1998)

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[A Note from Margot:  There are some books that Stephen and I value so highly that we buy a dozen and give them out to friends and family.  This is one of those books. We strongly recommend it for your home library.]

From the back cover of the book:

“Have you longed?  Have you searched?  Have you listened?  The call is the answer.  In the tradition of C. S. Lewis and Oswald Chambers, internationally renowned author and thinker Os Guinness has penned a classic reflective work on life’s purpose.  Thoughtfully conceived and elegantly written, The Call will be read and re-read today and treasured by generations tomorrow.”

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Book Review by Stephen Payne

Os Guinness attempts to shed light on a question that plagued many of us:  What is my calling and how do I discover it?  Guinness presents his ideas concerning these questions in a series of twenty-six individual meditations, to be read one day at a time.

The first few chapters lay a foundation, by defining the term “calling” and dividing it into three separate parts: primary call, secondary call, and individual call.  The “primary call” answers the questions, Who am I?  What is the meaning of life?  Am I fulfilling the purpose for which I am here on earth?  Guinness defines this primary call as “the truth that God calls us to himself so decisively that everything we are, everything we do, and everything we have is invested with a special devotion and dynamism lived out as a response to his summons and service.”  The focus here is that “we are called to someone (God), not to something (such as motherhood, politics, or teaching), or to somewhere (such as the inner city or Outer Mongolia).”

Guinness describes the “secondary calling” as a response to God’s primary calling on our lives.  After God calls us to Himself, He can then call us to “homemaking or to the practice of law or to art history . . . Our secondary calling, considering who God is as sovereign, is that everyone, everywhere, and in everything should think, speak, live, and act entirely for Him.”  Guinness warns us to “keep first things first.”  God calls us to Himself before He calls us to a vocation.  Discovering the secondary call is a matter of seeing how God has gifted us and made us unique.  We must choose to use our unique gifts in a way that serves humanity and not our own selfish desires.  This calling refers to our life-purpose or life-task.

Almost every chapter in the book starts with a two to three page biographical sketch of a historical figure or an event.  A chapter called “The Focused Life” tells the story of Magellan, the Spanish explorer.  He experienced many setbacks as he attempted to circumnavigate the earth; however, his message was always the same:  “Sail on! Sail on!”  Guinness suggests that our lives offer so many choices that we are often sidetracked from our calling.  He urges the reader to stay focused.

In another chapter, “Dreamers of the Day,” he tells the story of T. E. Lawrence, better known as Lawrence of Arabia.  Lawrence was a dreamer; however, he was no ordinary dreamer.  He lived his dreams.  Guinness encourages the reader not to let “…the here and now, the present and the accepted, form a prison cell for your thinking…”  My favorite quote in the book was one by T. E. Lawrence, “All men dream: but not equally.  Those who dream by night in the dusty recesses of their minds wake in the day to find it was vanity: but the dreamers of the day are dangerous men, for they may act their dreams with open eyes, to make it possible.  This I did.”

In one chapter, Guinness presents Andrew Carnegie as a man who lived his life to impress others.  He played to an “audience of many.”  Guinness reminds us that our calling should be a gyroscope to our lives, providing stability and direction.  Guinness contrasts this approach to living our lives by Gallup polls.  Guinness states, “A life lived listening to the decisive call of God is a life lived before one audience that trumps all others – the Audience of One.”

Os Guinness has written a book that should be read in small pieces and pondered.  It will inspire you to cast off the mediocrity of aimless living and to focus on the upward call to God that will provide the purpose we all dream about.

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July 18, 2011 · 11:21 am

A Midsummer Night’s Scheme

Dear Family & Friends,

As promised, this is the story of the second secret proposal.  The setting is Los Robles, our historic neighborhood.

A Midsummer Night’s Scheme

Standing on floor:  David and Sarah, brother and sister of Jay;  Bill and Kristy, parents of Kathryn; Margie and John, parents of Jay.  Standing on stairs: Kathryn and Jay.

 Most Excellent Oberon, Your Royal Highness:

It is I, Robin Goodfellow, “that merry wanderer of the night,” who greets you.  I have returned from the Antipodes and I hereby submit my report of the clandestine operation, under your command, to join the Houses of Davis and Stewart.

Queen Titania graciously granted my request and loaned four of her “Fairies-In-Waiting,” to assist me in this secret mission.  Throughout this covert assignment, the Good Fairies and I were cloaked and invisible to the eyes of the mortals.  Therefore, the mortals will never guess that we, the ambassadors from the Fairy World, were orchestrating every maneuver and every strategy, in the scheme to join the two Houses!  [Me thinks: “Lord, what fools these mortals be!”]

Before leaving the Fairy World, your wise counsel prompted me to travel to Cupid’s Flower Field and to there secure a vial of Love Potion Essence. Then, after I entered the Mortal World, I touched a drop of the Essence to each eyelid of the Young Gentleman, Jay Stewart by name, as he slept in his parents’ home.  Likewise, the four Good Fairies applied a drop of the Essence to each eyelid of the Young Lady, Kathryn Davis by name, as she slept, in her parents’ home.  When next they saw each other, the match was easily made!

I whispered into the ear of Jay that he should propose to Kathryn, on an appointed Midsummer Evening, in the Enchanted Park, which the mortals call, “Los Robles,” named according to the Ancient Oaks.  I further influenced him to serenade the Lady, in the Park, under the branches of a tree, newly-planted and dedicated to the memory of the beloved Kathy, the late grandmother of Kathryn.

On the appointed Midsummer Day, in a stroke of genius, I arranged for Jay and Kathryn to employ a carriage and to dine together, far away from the Park.  As dusk approached, the Good Fairies and I covertly assisted the mortals, in making preparations for the “Secret Proposal” and for the “Surprise Party” that would immediately follow.

The weather being inclement, I whispered into the ears of Lord & Lady Davis, the parents of Kathryn, that they should secure a banner or tent, to shelter and protect the “Secret Proposal Site” from the rain.  My suggestion prompted Lord Davis to borrow a large patio-table umbrella from an obliging neighbor.  Next, I directed Lord & Lady Stewart & their two adult children [Sarah and David, by name] to spread a blanket under the umbrella, on top of the damp grass.  Upon this blanket, they placed a waterproof case, which contained a musical instrument, rather like a lute.  Carefully hidden within the case was an heirloom ring!

Having finished these tasks, the Families Davis and Stewart departed from the Enchanted Park and sought shelter inside the Davis Manor, located next to the Park.  The Good Fairies and I kept sentinel over both the musical instrument and the ring, while the mortals, inside the Manor, stood in front of the windows facing the park.  From this vantage point, the mortals observed Jay and Kathryn, as they arrived, at dusk, in their carriage, to the Enchanted Park!  With a bit of Fairy Dust, we cloaked the mortals so that they could observe Jay and Kathryn but not vice versa.

Jay serenaded Kathryn with a love song, a sonnet, composed from his own pure brain and accompanied by the lute.  O, how she appeared to swoon, as the words of the love song enveloped her!  How she wept tears of joy upon the hearing of his declaration of love!  How much greater was her joy, when Jay concluded his song with the last line: “Will you be my wife?”  How her heart did melt, when Jay knelt before her, bestowing upon her an engagement ring, fashioned from a cherished heirloom from Grandmother Kathy.  Jay’s joy was unbounded, too, when Kathryn, without hesitation, accepted the proposal of marriage and vowed that “My heart is true as steel.”

We directed the two Young Lovers, through the driving rain, to the Davis Manor, to share the glad tidings with Lord & Lady Davis.  Upon entering the front door of the manor, they found the interior strangely dark and quiet.  So, we guided them to the back door, which opened up into an Enchanted Walled Garden.  Hanging from the branches of the Garden Oak Tree were [what the mortals call] “Fairy Lights,” which, along with the candles on tabletops, illuminated the Garden, performing the office of the moon, which was sadly blotted out by the clouds.

When the two Young Lovers opened the back door, how Kathryn did swoon again!  How her face flushed! How she laughed with merriment, when she heard a joyful, loud shout:  “Surprise!”  For there, gathered in the Enchanted Walled Garden, were the family members and closest friends of the Houses of Davis and Stewart!  The astonished Kathryn declared, “I am amazed and know not what to say!”

Ah, me! Such merry-making ensued!  All the mortals raised a glass, to toast the Engaged Couple and to wish them joy!  Then, the mortals took “photographs,” which, through some sorcery, captures images through the means of a small box with a magic eye.  Your Highness may view some of these “photographs,” which the Good Fairies “borrowed” and which I have included in this report.

I orchestrated the rescue of the refreshments from the weather, as the mortals transferred them, with Fairy-like energy and efficiency, into the Manor, where all the mortals dashed to escape the rain, thunder, and lightning.  There, the revelry continued, the likes of which I have seldom observed, outside of the domain of the Fairy World.

The Bard did write [giving these to words to Lysander to speak]: “The course of true love never did run smooth.”  And, in truth, I thought that the inclement weather might have beaten us.  Yet, on this Midsummer Evening, Zeus, the god of thunder, was no match for Aphrodite, the goddess of love and beauty.

All that remains, after this successful campaign now ended, is for Your Highness and Her Highness, Queen Titania, to be present, yet hidden and veiled, to bless these two Young Lovers, on the day of their Nuptials, on the Evening before the Dawn of the New Year.

Your humble servant,

Puck

~~~Margo Blair Payne, June 2011

Jay and Margot

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July 12, 2011 · 12:32 pm

Moonstruck!

 

 

 

 

Dear Family & Friends,

I live in a historic neighborhood, named Los Robles, in a 64-year old home.  I want to share with you the story of  two secret marriage proposals that took place in our neighborhood:  one in my own home [2010]  and one in the Los Robles Park [2011].  Here is the story of the first event [below].  I’ll post the second story soon!

Moonstruck

 “. . . When the moon hits your eye like a big-a pizza pie, that’s amore . . . When your eyes start to shine, like you’ve had too much wine, that’s amore. . . ”

Did you happen to see the gorgeous full moon on the evening of Friday, February 26, 2010?  It was this Bella Luna that illuminated Cristobal Court in Los Robles on that night, as it peeked into the wrap-around windows of our “Garden Room” – the room that faces Cristobal Court and sits under our Southern grandiflora magnolia tree.

On that enchanted evening, we transformed our “Garden Room” into “Bella Notte,” an Italian neighborhood bistro.  Now, you may ask:  What was the purpose of this transformation?  Answer:  To provide a romantic setting for our two young college friends, Thomas & Kellie.  You see, Thomas wanted to surprise Kellie with a quiet, intimate supper and a proposal of marriage.  And where, from among all the possible venues, did Thomas choose for the setting of this momentous occasion?  Our charming neighborhood, of course!

Our back door neighbors, Bill & Kristy Davis, secretly worked behind the scenes and helped to enhance the magic of La Luna, by employing the strands of small globe garden lights, installed high up in the branches of their oak tree,  which shades our mutual garden wall.  Imagine the surprise and delight of Thomas & Kellie when, as if on cue, those garden lights turned on and softly illuminated our Garden Wall, Courtyard and “Garden Room” below!

We, in Los Robles, appreciate the historic beauty of our neighborhood and we have witnessed many weddings under the ancient oaks in the Los Robles Park.  And now we have the distinction of hosting an engagement!

Are you wondering how the evening turned out?  Take one look at the image of the starry-eyed couple and draw your own conclusion!

 “. . . This is the night, what a beautiful night, and we call it Bella Notte . . . Look at the skies, they have stars in their eyes, on this lovely Bella Notte . . .”

 ~~~Margot Blair Payne, 2010

 

 

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July 9, 2011 · 11:49 am

Christmas in July: Family News & Photos!

From Garrett:
Garrett:  Christmas 2010
I am still working at Marquis Software Development. This year will mark my six year anniversary with the company.  We stay very busy.

I have finally cobbled together a fully analog stereo sound system.  The realized goal is to have a room devoted to listening to vinyl records and reading books, in an attempt to minimize the digital footprint in my house.  I rather got a bit carried away:  One pallet arriving by freight later, I now have speakers built in the 70’s that are among my larger pieces of furniture.  Also, out of necessity, I am learning the art of soldering.  Nothing will make you feel more like your dad than buying soldering equipment.

I am still playing bass guitar in the rock band In Wrath.  Excuse me while I shamelessly promote the band:  You can purchase our full length Fit And Tried on iTunes, Amazon (digital), or www.inwrath.com (180gram clear vinyl with digital download).  [There, that was relatively painless.]

From Haley:

Haley, Daniel, and Benjamin:  Christmas 2010

Haley, Daniel, and Benjamin Stewart have had a busy year with lots of change!  They moved back to Tallahassee last May, to be close to family (two sets of grandparents, an aunt, and an uncle) and so that Haley could start her first semester of an Art History graduate program at FSU.  They are thrilled to be back in Tallahassee!  After completing her first semester at FSU, Haley decided to postpone grad school (possibly forever) and stay home with Benjamin, while working only part-time. She is a ballet instructor for South Georgia Performing Arts and does choreography and rehearsal assisting for the South Georgia Ballet.
In 2010, Daniel worked as a medical tech at a mental health facility with very difficult hours.  He was hired this January to work at Marquis Software Development with Garrett and Stephen.  He is enjoying biking to work and being on a normal schedule!  We celebrated Benjamin’s second birthday this February and are delighted to announce that he will become a big brother this October!  The Stewarts live in a house just a few doors down from Uncle Garrett and keep a large vegetable garden and 5 chickens in their yard.  They are enjoying getting settled into their new parish, Blessed Sacrament Catholic Church, which is just up the road from their house.
Benjamin:  Choosing a Christmas tree, 2010
Benjamin:  Family Birthday Party, February 2011
Benjamin in the Garden, 2011
Daniel & Haley, Summer 2011
From Stephen & Margot:
Margot, Benjamin, and Stephen
Christmas 2010
Well, if you keep up with my blog [www.margopayne.wordpress.com], then you know all of our recent news!  I also recommend two blogs from Haley:  [www.carrotsformichaelmas.wordpress.com and http://www.ourfeast.wordpress.com], in which she provides thoughtful text and lovely photos.
I do have a bit of  “new” news, which post-dates Haley’s submitted paragraph:  we recently found out that we are expecting a baby granddaughter in October!  O, joy!
We just returned from a nine-day vacation to the mountains of NC.  See Haley’s “Carrots”  blog [URL above] for some beautiful photographs and descriptions!
Coram Deo,
Margot

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June 20, 2011 · 1:27 pm

The First Sorrow

June 20, 2011

Dear Family & Friends,

Yesterday morning,  a friend wrote, “The death of a mother is the first sorrow wept without her.”   Yesterday, she saw her mother for the last time and she had the honor of being with her mother, as she breathed her last.   I immediately wrote my friend a note of condolence, for she and I now share the grief of being “motherless daughters.”

Six years ago, I saw my mother for the last time, on Father’s Day, Sunday, June 19, 2005.  My husband, son, and daughter drove five hours, to the town in which my parents lived, in order to spend the weekend with them.  My father, at that time, still lived in the home they had shared for 35 years. However, my mother, hospitalized in December 2004, had steadily declined, physically and mentally, for six months.  She could not return home nor could she benefit any further from rehabilitation therapy.  She was, therefore, in a “netherworld:”  the long-term wing of a skilled nursing facility, where small doses of drugs kept her free from anxiety and pain.  I visited my parents often during this depressing six-month period, sometimes staying for weeks at a time, as did my two sisters.

I spent the Father’s Day weekend driving back and forth to the nursing facility from my parents’ home.  I was shocked to observe that neither the hospice staff nor the nursing staff had properly attended to the bathing and grooming needs of my mother.   So, I spent Saturday taking care of these needs:  I washed and conditioned her hair, gave her a facial, trimmed her nails, applied lotion to her parched skin, scrubbed her dentures, and made arrangements for her to receive a complete “wheelchair  shower.”  I went through her closet and dresser drawers and organized her belongings.

The aides transferred her to a wheelchair and I wheeled her outside, to enjoy the sunshine, flowers, and birds.  I thought she would enjoy this but, now bed-ridden, her world had collapsed and narrowed, until she could focus on only one thing:  her bed.  She begged me to wheel her back to her room.

Of course, I did.  Together, we looked through the photograph album that my sister had created for her, for Mother’s Day.  We viewed and rehearsed the names of each of her children and grandchildren. In spite of Alzheimer’s, she recognized everyone.

On Sunday morning, Father’s Day, in my father’s home, my husband prepared breakfast for all of us.  Our family of four packed up and drove north to return home.  The nursing facility was also to the north so we dropped by to say “Goodbye” to my mother.  Nothing had changed about my mother’s condition on that day.  In fact, she seemed amazing alert and, ironically, witty.

When I pressed the “Call Button” beside her bed, to ring for the nurse, my mother asked, “What are you doing?”  I replied, “I am calling to summon the nurse.”  My mother snorted in derision, “Hmmph!  You will be waiting a long time for that!”

The weather was very warm and I was dressed in a linen dress.  My mother startled me by saying, “Turn around!”  I complied.  She said, “Well!  My mother would never have allowed me to go outside wearing a dress as wrinkled as yours!”   I teased her by retorting, “Well, that’s rich, coming from someone who has not ironed anything in the past three or four decades.”  [She thought that “Perma-Press” was the best invention ever.]

It was time to leave but I lingered and adjusted her bed.  None of the positions seemed comfortable to my mother so we went through all the positions again.  Finally, she seemed content and I left her room.

As my family headed north toward home, I began to sob, wondering if I would ever see my mother again.  I considered asking my husband to turn the car around, head back to the nursing facility, and leave me and my luggage there.  There, I would stay with my mother, supervise all of her needs, be an “elder-care/health-care bulldog,” [as my son refers to me], and become the worst nightmare of the nursing staff.

I continued sobbing and my family consoled me.  We continued driving home to Tallahassee.

The next evening, exactly six years ago, the telephone call came from my sister,  to tell me that my mother had died just one hour ago, only one day before her 59th wedding anniversary.  It seems trite to say that nothing can prepare you for this news.  I doubled over in physical pain.  My husband, son, and daughter, gathered around me and tried to console me.

The first sorrow may be the death of your mother but the second sorrow is knowing that she died alone.  I missed being with her when she breathed her last.  I missed it by one day.  I wanted to be there — I should have been there — to comfort her.  Now, I weep at the thought of my once-beautiful mother, not properly cared for in that “netherworld,” instead of in her own home, surrounded by her family.

This knowledge haunted me then and it continues to haunt me now.

It is a double sorrow.  It is grief multiplied.

Coram Deo,

Margot

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