Thanksgiving Day

Nitin and Geetika were here visiting this week from New Delhi, India, their first time in the U.S.  It was really interesting, as their "tour guide", looking at my familiar surroundings through the eyes of a newcomer.  They experienced things like "Mexican" food (Moe's, actually), mobile homes, hay bales and maple trees, and that funny car we call a pick-up truck.

We had a high-octane week, filled with training, company lunches and dinners (an absolute highlight being dinner around the purely delightful and always entertaining table of Larry and Linda - I love those two, pure and simple), and as much work as we could squeeze in.  The week's crowning moment definitely had to be Thursday, though - an authentic, American country Thanksgiving.  My family doesn't do the whole turkey dinner thing on turkey day, so I originally thought of taking our guests to Jacksonville or Gainesville so they could at least taste a traditional Thanksgiving day feast.  Suzanne, my co-worker and a good friend, had plans to enjoy Thanksgiving dinner with her sister and family at her sister's farm in the country; they were incredibly gracious and invited the three of us - Nitin, Geetika, and myself, to join them.

This was really fun on several levels - first, of course, being the chance to spend my morning knocking around the kitchen.  Seriously, want to make me really, really happy?  Give me a legitimate excuse to bake something.

The fruits of the morning's labors...

I'd met Suzanne's sister Liz once before in passing, but never had a chance to spend time with her or meet the rest of her family, so this opportunity to enjoy a Thanksgiving feast around her table really meant a lot to me.  What a great bunch of people, too - so full of warmth and geniality, with a good dose of humor thrown in, for good measure.  Ms. Rogers and Ms. Gail, the family matriarchs, have that dash of spice that makes Southern ladies so great - charming and gracious, and yet these mamas don't take nothing off of nobody!  I fell in love, too, with Liz's daughters - outgoing, friendly, and very well-mannered, they do their parents proud.  

We gathered in the kitchen around a long, long table.  Really, it was several tables, joined together.  I don't know why, but I love these kinds of tables the very best.  They just exude plenty - it's like they shout, "we have so very much, both food and family, that one table simply cannot contain it".  Fills me with warmth, every time.  The counters groaned with food - turkey, dressing, mashed potatoes, gravy, sweet potato casserole, broccoli casserole, macaroni and cheese (the really good, homemade, ooey-gooey kind), cranberries (two kinds), and on and on and on.  Then, after we attempted (with limited success) to make a dent in all of that, came the pies - pumpkin, peanut butter, apple, pecan, coconut custard...  One of those meals where, once you've finished eating, you wish you could reset and start all over again.  Fortunately, Thanksgiving comes but once a year, or we'd all be the size of small trucks!

See what I mean?  Pure, glorious bounty!

After lunch, the girls took us outside, and Nitin and Geetika, city-dwellers both, got to experience a taste of life in the country!  Four-wheeling...horseback-riding...good times!  

This four-wheeler stuff!  Fortunately, we had an expert to show us the ropes...

This country life is good, no?

Bailey and Suzie, off to tour the farm...

Our buddy, Trey

Needless to say, our guests got a good dose of America - mountains of great food, fresh air, and good, clean fun.  Nitin and Geetika needed to get over to Jacksonville at a decent time, so the three of us took our leave early (pre-board games and soccer).

You know, at the end of the day, I was really proud.  Like I said, when you see yourself and your culture through the eyes of a stranger, it becomes an opportunity to step back and take a more careful, thoughtful look.  I liked what I saw - real American hospitality, deeper and more genuine because it was offered by hearts who love our Lord.

So, yes, I find myself very thankful for my home (even if I do hate Walmart), replete as it is with  lots of fresh air and green things.  Even more so, I am thankful for my families and my friends, old and new, in all of their various shapes and sizes and ages and configurations.  Most of all, I am thankful for my savior, Jesus Christ, my beautiful Redeemer.  At the end of the day, it is these things that make drawing breath such a wonderful, worthwhile endeavor.

On the Road Again...

I had to fly (well, drive, actually, but you get the idea) up to Raleigh last week. One of those 24-hour runs, where about 16 of the hours are spent behind the wheel. Not much time for exploration, which is too bad, because on the surface, Raleigh looks like a pretty town. A person still has to eat, though, even on a rush trip like this one. My personal mantra being "why waste time, money and calories on junk when good food can be had", I headed downtown after my work was done and before I headed south. I stopped in for a late lunch at Beasley's Chicken and Honey.  Straight up, I had to go, if nothing else, just for the name. Chicken and honey?  Besides, the menu contained just the kind of food I've been finding myself wanting to eat lately. Good, solid soul food, done well. Think fried chicken, pimiento cheese, greens, biscuits and sweet tea.  I love when chefs take the food we've known for generations and apply their skill and creativity to making it better. Think grandma's food, UNPLUGGED. 

The vibe of this place was super cool. I'm a sucker for chalkboard menus and exposed brick walls and communal seating.  Solid, no-frills dishes and silverware with an heirloom feel don't hurt , either. 

Anyway, I ordered the fried chicken (dark meat, of course) and waffle.  It was served piping hot on a tin plate, drizzled with honey and accompanied by its own little pitcher of pure maple syrup. Wash it down with a couple of Mason jars of not-too-sweet tea, and you have yourself a pretty decent lunch. 

I would have liked to eat my way through the sides listed on the menu, they looked that good, but I ran out of room. I did grab a piece of sweet potato chess pie for the road. Rich, sweet-potatoey, brown-sugary goodness, complete with its own little tub of whipped cream, consumed somewhere in South Carolina. Suddenly, the life of a road warrior didn't seem half-bad. 

Food and Family

Kate and Andrew were in town this weekend, so this is what my Saturday looked like:

When you combine the arrival of fall with the arrival of the missing sister, the resulting mix is potent indeed.  Bring on every celebratory dish we can think of... Party Mix!  Chili!  Smores!  Turkey Dinner!  The fun part, though, was hanging out all afternoon, us girls, making messes and being a family.

That extra yummy you tasted in the bread?  Well, I did have a pretty nice helper...

My sisters.  I love them, deeply.  But they are awful about taking pictures.  They really are way jollier than they appear in photos, generally speaking. 

Saturday afternoon wouldn't be complete without the solid and comforting presence of the family patriarch....

Ahhhhhh......it's been a long time since I did this.  And let me tell you, it felt downright good. 

I was out tossing a ball around with Colton and I walk around the corner to see this.  Annistyn apparently decided to park her car next to mine...

Post-chili smores

All of that cooking we did culminated in this:

A Sunday feast of epic and delicious proportions, and the warmth of family to enjoy it with.  What more could a person ask for?

Musings From a Grateful Heart...

I had a chance this weekend to spend some time with friends, good friends.  It got me thinking, I wonder if these folks have any earthly idea how much it means to me, this time I get to spend as a member of their family?

How, exactly, does a person ever express what it does to the heart to sit around the dinner table with people that one loves, sharing slices of one another's lives, right along with the butter and the salt?  To be included in the family soccer game or Duck Dynasty session?  To wander the woods under the supremely confident guidance of a nine-year-old woodsman, safe in the protection of his trusty bow and arrow?  To receive an equal share of the good-night hugs?  To savor a certain relaxed camaraderie, accompanied by good coffee, good music and good conversation, with people that one is proud to call friends?

I know, I'm Carrie the confident (cocky?), the smart and self-assured, always-together one, the "go-to" girl.  And yet, that face that the world sees doesn't necessarily reveal the time spent on the knees, the tears that wet the pillow from time to time.  The cool exterior doesn't always show the soul that is so deeply moved and touched by kindness, by joy and sunshine, and a smile that shines straight out of a genuine heart.  And, so, here are all of these many wonderful folks who have made a difference, a big, big difference, and who probably have absolutely no idea of the impact they've made.

I guess, what I'm saying is, how can I say thanks?  I've thought about it; I really can only think of one worthy response, and that is to take the supreme gifts that I have been given, and to pay them forward.  To extend the hand of fellowship at every opportunity; to never miss a chance to shed a little "sparkle" whenever and wherever I can; to shine a light into every single dark corner I find.  And though I may never know whether I've made a difference or not, it really doesn't matter.  I've experienced first-hand exactly what God can do with all of those countless, nameless little things shared by those who love Him, and so I am supremely satisfied in giving my life to doing the same.  It's like the song my mom used to sing:

Brighten the corner where you are...someone far from harbor you may guide across the bar...brighten the corner where you are!

Here's to brightening my corner...

Oh, and to all...thank you.

Cinnamon Rolls

It's Saturday, O blessed weekend.  The weather is perfect, and I say that unreservedly.  One of my babies wanted cinnamon rolls.  Saying "no" to this particular baby has never been my strong suit, so I am spending this perfect Saturday in my kitchen, earbuds blaring my "best-of" playlist, chicken stock bubbling on the stove, making cinnamon rolls.  This, after a rather hellish week on the work front, is pure bliss.  I feel my battle wounds melting away.

For the record, these cinnamon rolls are really, really good.  When I need some lovin from my family, this is what I make for them.  My popularity immediately spikes.  (I say this somewhat tongue-in-cheek, but there is a morsel of truth to it; they're that good.)

Make them when you want to love on your people, or when you want them to love on you.  Oh, and the fat content?  No, we won't talk about that.

Cinnamon Rolls

(Makes 24)

Dough:

2 packages (or 1 1/2 Tablespoons) - yeast

2 cups - warm water

1/2 cup - sugar

2 teaspoons - salt

1/2 cup - shortening

3 eggs, beaten lightly

6-7 cups - flour

Filling:

1 cup - butter, softened (I know, I know...)

1 cup - sugar

1 cup - brown sugar

cinnamon to taste (think bountifully)

Frosting:

1 cup - butter, softened (yes, again. The key to these rolls is excess.)

8 ounces - cream cheese, softened

6 cups - powdered sugar

1 Tablespoon - vanilla extract

Combine yeast, 1 cup of warm water and a pinch of sugar.  Set aside until bubbly.  Meanwhile, combine remaining 1 cup of water with sugar, salt, shortening and 3 cups of flour.  Beat at medium speed of an electric mixture until smooth.  Add eggs and beat again.  Add yeast, and beat again.  You should have a smooth dough with a batter-like consistency.  Switch to a wooden spoon and stir in just enough flour to make a soft dough.  Knead 8-10 minutes.  Let rise in a greased bowl until doubled, about 1 hour.

Divide dough in half.  Roll first half of dough into a 10x13 rectangle.  Spread with 1/2 cup - butter.  Sprinkle (liberally, people, liberally!) with cinnamon.  Combine 1/2 cup of sugar and 1/2 cup of brown sugar and spread evenly over cinnamon.

See that little edge at the top? Makes it easier to seal, once you've rolled it up.

Roll up long side first and seal the edge.  Cut into 12 rolls and place in greased 9x13 pan, sealed ends facing the same way (makes the finished product look better).

Repeat this entire process with the other half of your dough.  Let rise again until doubled, about 45 minutes*.  Bake at 350 for about 20 minutes.  While you're waiting (and enduring the heavenly aroma that emanates from your oven), combine the frosting ingredients and beat until smooth and creamy.  When rolls are finished baking, allow them to cool for maybe 5 or10 minutes, and then frost (again, use a generous hand).

A warm cinnamon roll, oozing buttery goodness and dripping cream cheese frosting, accompanied by a cold glass of milk or hot cup of coffee, is enough to put the coldest and hardest of sinners into a sugar-saturated, blissed-out stupor.  A mighty weapon indeed.

*Note: instead of the second rise, rolls can be refrigerated overnight at this point.  Remove them from the refrigerator about an hour before you intend to bake them.

Apple Festival

Kate and I hit the world-famous (one would think so based on the traffic, anyway) Apple Festival in Ellijay today.  Oh, it was great.  One must experience a small-town festival at least once in one's lifetime.  This one was classic, too.  First, of course, you park in the huge field converted to a parking lot and manned by the local Boy Scout troop.  (Well, FIRST first, you endure two hours of bumper-to-bumper traffic to cover approximately two miles.  But that's another story.... Let's just say it's a good thing none of the men in my life were present.  They never would have made it.  But anyway.)  Then you join the hordes swarming the gates of....FESTIVAL LAND!

Miles upon miles (not really, but...) of booths jammed together and selling everything under the sun along the lines of pottery (MOM! POTTERY!), crocheted potholders, bird feeders, jewelry, beer jelly (yep), salvation (or trying to, anyway), chainsaw art, lawn ornaments, bottle cap art, cap guns, souvenir T-shirts, sand art, candles in repurposed beer bottles, and so on and so on.

Then you have the food booths.  Pizza, nachos, ice cream (made in a Maytag washing machine), fried green tomato sandwiches, gyros, lemonade and frozen limeade, homemade root beer, gyros, fried oreos, fried Twinkies, fried everything else, roasted corn on the cob, candy apples, apple cider, apple dumplings, homemade bread and donuts, sausage, funnel cakes (what would a festival be without funnel cakes); the choices, not to mention the opportunities for an epic case of indigestion, are endless.  All of this bounty framed by the stuff for the kids - bounce houses, zip lines, face painters, climbing walls, pony rides...oh and how could we forget the wall of Porti-Pottis?

 Griddled potatoes swathed in fried onions and Monterey Jack cheese and doused with tzatziki sauce.  

Yes. I ate that.

Oh, mustn't forget the live entertainment.. The Dixie Fire Cloggers!

Yes, it's great.  It really is.  If you've ever experienced it, though, you'll understand why we were more than OK with a night in.  We gratefully sank onto Kate's overstuffed leather sofas and savored dinner prepared by chef Andrew.  Grilled chicken, mushroom ravioli in a sun-dried tomato cream sauce, and roasted broccoli - simple but delicious, enjoyed in comfort and quiet.  Heavenly.

We drummed up just enough energy to whip up some caramel corn and apple dumplings, and now we sit, feet up, coffee in hand, companionably whacking away at our laptops.  A good day, really...

On the way to Atlanta

Had a great experience on my way north towards Atlanta this evening...  I decided to wander off the beaten I-75 corridor path a bit in search of dinner.  Thirteen miles along Highway 26, to be exact; deep in the heart of South Georgia, a land that always startles me with its beauty.  No mountains, no dramatic skylines or coastlines, and yet something happens to my heart when I drive those Georgia backroads.  Rolling hills... mile after mile of cotton and peanut and who-knows-what-else fields dotted with silos and farm machinery... glassy ponds surrounded by herds of cattle grazing contentedly... row upon row of ancient, majestic pecan trees standing sentinel... the sensation of realizing one has been driving for quite some time and hasn't seen a single vehicle... and then when one does see a vehicle, it's always a tractor or a big-man truck.  Somehow, I'm

not quite sure how, but when I drive in South Georgia, I shed something of the wider world and am enveloped in a sense of calm.  Bliss, actually.  With a little perspective, sophistication suddenly seems highly overrated.

It was just this sort of evening, tonight, cruising down the road as the sun set over the fields, throwing the cows and the pecan trees and the old farm buildings into striking silhouette against the bright pinks and purples of the evening sky; the sweet scent of new-mown grass and livestock wafting through the open windows.  

And then, in the barely-a-town of Montezuma, I stopped at Yoder's Deitsch Haus, a little Mennonite cafeteria comfortably ensconced between the road and the pastures that surround it.  When I opened my car door, my nose was instantly greeted with the smell of cow manure.  Granted, I wouldn't normally be overly impressed by this fact, but in these surroundings, it somehow felt appropriate.  

I grabbed my tray and filled it with coleslaw and pickled carrots, pot roast, rice and gravy, lima beans and cornbread, and a big slice of shoofly pie, guided along my way by a passel of sweet and friendly Mennonite ladies, garbed in their aprons and caps.  I sat next to a big picture window, watching the sun finish setting, listening to the familiar deep Southern drawl of the farm families and Baptist grandmas that surrounded me, and enjoying my feast.  I knew deep contentment.

Pure molasses and brown sugar goodness.