Hi Everyone, I have enjoyed you'll stories about "Homemade Biscuits and butter". My grandmother and Mother used to make their own biscuits, and churn their own butter.When i was growing up, it was homemade biscuits for breakfast, homemade cornbread for dinner and supper. Does anyone ever make homemake Kraut anymore? My grand mothe made it every spring, when they lived on the farm. You'll are bringing back some "GOOD OLD MEMORIES". Frances TX

Do y'all know about the writing technique called "mapping"? I was introduced to that at a writers retreat a few years ago. I've used that in teaching creative writing, journalism, and art, and I use it myself, sometimes without thinking about it. You start by thinking about a place, such as a house that you remember, then you try to focus in on one room of that house. Next, you use a sheet of paper, preferably a large sheet, and try to draw a floorplan of that room. As you begin, you may remember only a few details, but, as you draw, memories just flood in and soon, you can draw the whole house, grounds, and maybe even the neighborhood. You remember little details, stories, people, many that you think you can't possibly remember, although you started with just remembering a tiny bit of that room. I believe that I had used a little of that concept when I would draw, but didn't know what it was called or how it worked, exactly. Also when I would write stories. The first time I did it at the retreat, I thought of my great-grandfather's house where I lived with my parents until I was 3 1/2. My great-grandfather lived downstairs until he died when I was 1. My parents had a little apartment upstairs. A great-uncle lived there, too, but he was distant, and scarey , to me. My mother said he made wine in the basement and, one day, when I found him there, shaving, he chased me out with a straight razor, telling me he was going to cut my curls off. He had a cot there, a shaving stand, a chair, and a radio. He also had a matress on the floor at the end of the hall in a room that was actually the attic. My mother told me that a witch lived down there, so don't go past the bathroom. After the great-uncle died in 1948, the house was rented, and the renters just messed up that house, then it was left in disrepair for years. We went in while it was abandoned, when the town had an old homes tour. The beautiful paneling was gone , the walls had been painted bright turqoise, various colors of shag carpets had been put in, fluroescent lights had been put in, the staircase had been painted. There were burn marks on the hardwood floor. The door was off and screens were hanging. My mother and my aunt were just sick when we went inside. My daughter was small at the time, and she wanted to stay there! She decided that was her home and she didn't want to leave, while I felt so uneasy, I just had to get out of there. My grandfather wanted to sell us the house, when I married, for $1500. We didn't live in that town, and there were no prospects for jobs there. I'm sure he would have given it to us for a wedding present, but he found that a great-uncle, who had no title to the house, had borrowed money from the bank using the house as collateral. My grandfather had to pay it back. That's when he sold the house out of the family. A man bought it for his mother, restored it, sort of, but left off the second floor porches, and things of that sort. He also bought the old hotel and had a dinner theatre and hotel there. Saved the buildings, but used up all his money. Then a couple bought my g-grandfather's house, and made some changes on it. Then a man who was a coach, with a classroom next to mine, bought the house and made some more changes. That couple became friends as the wife was completing her doctorate in Landscape Architecture and I was taking further art classes, also in the Architecture Department. We always shared our old pictures and stories with the owners. But, the last couple didn't care for the people in town, and wanted to shut them out. (It was very closed to "newcomers") So, my friends planted every square inch of the beautiful lawn, with trees and every kind of plant they could find, right to the edge of the street. Then they put up a tall board fence all around the house. Now, all you can see is the weathervane on the top of the house, behind lots of trees. As we "mapped" at the retreat, I started drawing the entry hall, then the next room and the next, until I had done the whole house. I remembered furniture, even little knick knacks, the parlor which my mother had her baby grand piano in, and used for a music room, etc., the way the house was when I was small. I had distinct memories of when my g-grandfather died. I sat in the hall, swinging my feet, looking at my socks and shoes, watching the Grandfather Clock with the little ship on the face, and asking if I couldn't go in and see "Grandpa". The grownups went in, a few at a time, and, when the doctor came, they all went in and told me to wait there. I remember expressions on faces. Well, my father told me that things happened like that, only I was not there at the time. After all, I was only 1 ! He said that I was upstairs in my baby bed. But, when "Grandpa" died, I screamed and screamed. He thought it was Grandpa's spirit telling me goodbye. He had been so crazy about me. As we stopped mapping and started writing, I wrote about the incident I remembered when Grandpa died. I also have done a painting of going walking with Grandpa when I was little, with the house in the background. I distinctly remember, the old man, with the white mustache, taking me walking. He did take an afternoon nap, then a walk, even as he worked until he was age 94. I remember his suit, his hands, his hat, shoes, and the fact that I wore dresses with lace and ruffle, socks with ruffles, and sashes. I thought that I must have a parasol for our walks, so a great-uncle brought me a red parasol from Houston. I guess Grandpa died and we I begged to go on our walks, so, when the great-uncle came, he would take me for walks. He didn't have a mustache. My great-grandfather is the only one who had a white mustache, and looked like the image I have. Again, if I was 1 when he died, I couldn't have gone walking with him. It had to be someone else. But, I am really puzzled about who that could have been. I remember people we stopped and talked to, and even people who did special things for me-like one lady who used to always give me doughnut holes that she had made. I was probably about 2 or 3 when I took the walks I recall. Anyway, from the mapping exercise, so many things came out. If I puzzled about a little part of something, so far, I have been able to find pictures that showed me what something looked like, such as what happened beside a doorway, among my aunt's things. Recently, as I started trying to gather some family history, including pictures of the old homes and businesses, I talked to people who have purchased some of the old family homes. I was describing what one grandfather's house was like originally. I thought, "why don't I just draw it" because the people who "restored" it, changed it around completely. (I know the ladies in my family must be turning over in their graves, as the saying goes, if they knew what has been done to their beloved homes and yards!) I did the mapping thing for homes that I had not seen since I was about 3, and homes that have been torn down, or changed, or abandoned. Have a few more to go. I did floorplans, and, where I don't have a photo, I drew the outside, as well as the yards or grounds. And I've scanned those into my computer My Pictures folders. I also put some of those, along with photos, on a CD, and gave that to the current owners of the homes. I just use copy machine paper, usually, on a clipboard, while I watch tv, then straighten up lines with a ruler later, before I do some shading. So far, I found one mistake in a roofline on the front of a house. I found a part of the house in a photo of a neighboring house, in my aunt's things, and realized that it should be straight across the front, not raised. My sister says she doesn't know how I remember all these things. Of course, I was a little older, so she wouldn't remember as much. But, I think the idea of mapping is most helpful. At our retreat, we had writers, of all levels, who claimed they were not artists and couldn't draw. But, the idea is not to draw particularly well, it is to make you use a different side of your brain, and remember. I think we used large sheets of construction paper, and markers. Working large like that helps to free things. And, also, if you switch hands, and try to draw with the hand you normally don't use for writing/drawing, you will soon free a lot of things within you. I thought that some of you might like to try this, then write down those memories. People are thinking of memories, now, and I hope you are writing these things down, along with recipes, and adding in pictures. My mother, before she died, painted some memories of things like the May Pole at her school, dinner on the ground, flea markets, children going to a little church in my hometown, picking grapes, and those were very popular. She was getting ready for her first big one woman show at Baylor University when she died rather suddenly at age 68. The museum director said he thought she was one of the finest Primitive painters in the United States. So, she had a houseful of paintings, most of them unfinished. But, she did beautiful portraits, flowers, still lifes, that she was most proud of. I've been drawing memories, too. We will have our all school reunion in a couple of weeks, and I've been thinking of pictures for years. Mostly just sketches and watercolors too. I have stacks of canveses and new oil paint and brushes, sitting beside me, but, so far, I'm finishing up watercolors of my experiences with wet macular degeneration, what I envisioned when my grandparents would sing the old songs, my grandparents and my mother and her sister sitting around on a Saturday night, "jammin' ", with grandpa on fiddle, mama and her sister playing piano, and grandma playing the musical saw, and me sitting on grandpa's foot playing "Ride the Horsie" and trying to sing along with them. Also did Grandpa baking pies and biscuits in our kitchen, while he sang songs like "Billy Boy" and "Froggy Went A Courtin' ". The conversation about biscuits made me think of Grandpa, as he seemed to be the cook in the family. My dad was so thrilled when Grandpa came for a long visit, because Grandpa was up before dawn every morning, making biscuits, coffee, doughnuts, always a big breakfast. And my dad did love those biscuits. And I loved the pies, cakes and cookies, doughnuts, hot cakes, etc. I would sit with Grandpa, who never really talked, but did sing a lot, during breakfast, trying to not worry about having to go to school, which I could see from the window. Grandpa would have his teeth in his pocket, and pour his coffee from his cup into his saucer, and drink from the saucer. There was a "Breakfast Club" radio program, and a farm program, on the radio in the morning, from Dallas. I remember hearing "When it's roundup time in Texas" on the radio, and the part about drinking coffee from a can and bacon sizzling, always seemed to fit in with breakfast with Grandpa. I was so amazed when I went to Camp Fire Girls camp, and we camped outside one night. The next morning, the counselors had us fix breakfast over the camp fire, in coffee cans. They had coffee for themselves, and the bacon and eggs were sizzling. I thought of the song then, too. I sort of continue that tradition as my youngest grandson always has anxiety about going to school. He has improved over the years. But, I try to get up, fix breakfast for him, sit down and eat with him, and just calmly talk about things, or just watch "Spongebob" with him, and talk about that. It seems to help him face the day better, to start off calmly like that. The last week, though, he didn't want to eat in the morning. I tell him he must have some gasoline for his engine, and at least drink some juice. (I couldn't eat, either, and have to rush off to school or work. Toast or a pop tart while I drove to work was about all I could manage in more recent years. Then a butterscotch candy or an M&M was all I had time for at lunch time. I was too rushed, and too anxious to eat. Then had a late supper when I got home, usually really late at night. ) I've been told that I should start a blog and put my pictures and my stories on there. I didn't think they were that unusual, but I did think of putting the paintings of Macular Degeneration on a blog. Maybe I should do the stories and pictures, too. I think I can figure out how to do a blog, but, I wanted to get a separate e-mail address first. I thought I might do something like that for my mother's art work. It always pleased her when someone enjoyed her work. As it is, it is just sitting in a store room, and I have another store room full of my art work and writing, books, and art supplies. I thought I might donate my mother's art work to either Baylor, or to A&M, which is closer to where she lived. But, again, it might just be kept in storage. Not out where people could enjoy it. Someone bought my grandfather's old dry goods store in my hometown, and has opened a gallery and pottery studio there. He mentioned having a corner of our family art work there, so we could put some things there. Not sure, but we need to do something to share it. I do enjoy hearing everyone's stories. Someone should be doing a book! Cecelia in Texas Something that my grandmother (who was from Cannon County) made, and my mother also made, was the fried cornbread with white cornmeal. Also potato pancakes, which looked a lot like the fried cornbread, to me, but it was made with mashed potatoes. I've never been able to get mine to come out right. Such basic simple things that people always made, and they don't work, for me! About the only thing I remember my Cannon County grandmother making was short elbow macaroni, with tomatoes and onions. But she spent a lot of time working in the garden, until it got hot each day. I guess that Grandpa did most of the cooking. I did a picture of my grandmother, my mother and her sister, sitting at the table, after a meal, talking, and waiting to see which one would get the best part of the canned tomatoes, the last part of the juice with the seeds! My mother made "goolaush" with ground meat, tomatoes, onions, and water, a little salt and pepper. That was one of our family staples. When things were in season, we would have fried okra with it, fried corn bread, corn on the cob, sliced tomatoes. In the winter, we usually just had the goolaush and white bread or french fries. > Hi Everyone, > > I have enjoyed you'll stories about "Homemade Biscuits and butter". My > grandmother and Mother used to make their own biscuits, and churn their > own butter.When i was growing up, it was homemade biscuits for > breakfast, homemade cornbread for dinner and supper. Does anyone ever make > homemake Kraut anymore? My grand mothe made it every spring, when they > lived on the farm. You'll are bringing back some "GOOD OLD MEMORIES". > > Frances TX >

I'd be curious about your sauerkraut recipe. Did anybody on the list make their own buttermilk? - Heather http://hblair.uchicago.edu/ On Wed, 30 May 2007, Frances Simmons wrote: > Hi Everyone, > > I have enjoyed you'll stories about "Homemade Biscuits and butter". My grandmother and Mother used to make their own biscuits, and churn their own butter.When i was growing up, it was homemade biscuits for breakfast, homemade cornbread for dinner and supper. Does anyone ever make homemake Kraut anymore? My grand mothe made it every spring, when they lived on the farm. You'll are bringing back some "GOOD OLD MEMORIES". > > Frances TX > > ------------------------------- > To unsubscribe from the list, please send an email to TNCANNON-request@rootsweb.com with the word 'unsubscribe' without the quotes in the subject and the body of the message >