Tag Archives: Mema

Essays, Writing

Megalodon Fossil Tooth

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(If only my granddaughter’s tooth brushing was this joyful.) AI Generated image I prompted on Gencraft.com https://gencraft.ai/p/XQYWuY (Example of what the tooth looked like that my grandson found.) https://images.app.goo.gl/EmtGmtXMyrbHvq2t8

My grandson Julian (6 years old) found a giant fossilized megalodon tooth in the backyard today. He brought his prize to show me, and it was quite impressive. It is probably the biggest limestone shark tooth I have ever seen. I suggested he go show Grandad (91 years old) and get a second opinion. I don’t think Grandad played along as well as I did, so Julian took it back outside to do some more excavating and promptly misplaced it.

Speaking of teeth, Charlotte (my 10-year-old-in-8-days granddaughter) has a loose one—I believe it is #8, a canine. She likes to wiggle it in the mirror and point out that she only has 2 baby teeth left in her mouth. How time flies. I remember when she was first cutting her little tiny teeth on her bottom gums and we were super excited. Now she’s old enough that I spent over an hour on the phone with Apple tech support trying to get the parental controls set up on her phone so we could figure out which objectionable content to allow and which to block to help with internet safety. One issue was that I apparently set a password years ago and forgot it. We tried everything we could think of, but the Apple people were stumped. There was no fixing it. We finally gave up and decided it was unsolvable. A few hours later, on a whim, I typed in 1,2,3,4, and it worked. So embarrassing.

Julian brought me half a Mini Coke with a straw in it yesterday.

“Here you go, Ema. You can drink this because I joined the army and can’t drink sugar anymore.”

Woohoo! I like this game. Apparently, Charlotte was his drill sergeant and got him drinking water only. She had him working out and doing obstacle courses all day long. I bet his little muscles are sore today.

Charlotte convinced Julian to wear a bonnet to bed the other night like she does. Her curly coils have to be protected by a silky wrap at night to keep them from getting frizzy or damaged. Julian has the complete opposite texture hair. But with Charlotte’s application of who-knows-what-goo and some little twists here and there, Julian awoke with one or two curls on his head. He was very proud of them. I was impressed he made it all night in the bonnet.

This morning, Charlotte made Julian the Coraline breakfast special. I have never seen the movie Coraline, but Charlotte is obsessed with it. Julian lucked out. All by her little self, she made an egg and cheese omelet, 3 slices of bacon, and toast with jelly. It was a masterpiece. This is the same girl who melted onto the floor in a puddle the other day when I asked her to push the vacuum a few times. She literally did one strip of carpet before collapsing from the difficulty of the task. The next time she acts helpless, I’m going to remind her how capable she is when she wants to be.

Julian pulled a prank on us today. He was at the top of the stairs, and Charlotte and I were in the kitchen area.

Suddenly, we heard his pitiful little voice whimpering, “Help me, help me. I can’t see. Everything’s dark. I can’t see. I need help.” He was really laying it on thick.

Charlotte headed his way to see what kind of a bind he had gotten himself into this time. She returned just as quickly, marching with her hands on her hips, shaking her head and rolling her eyes. Julian appeared around the corner with his sweatshirt pulled up over his face like he was either trying to put it on or take it off; I’m not sure which. He was laughing so hard at his own joke that he ended up making us laugh, as well.

Grandad informed me that he was taking Charlotte to McDonald’s. She convinced him to take her to McDonald’s so she could spend her own allowance money on French fries. I tried not to be irritated. She already asked me and I said no. I told her to go make her own fries out of the perfectly good potatoes and oil we have here at home. They are easy to make in the air fryer. Grandad is a pushover when it comes to that girl. He was my grandfather first, and he never would have stopped what he was doing to take me to McDonald’s when I was a kid. He would have lectured me on saving my money and not begging all the adults all the time to take me places.

But honestly, I love that he has softened and spoils my grandchildren rotten (his great-great-grandchildren.) Every kid deserves at least one adult in their lives that is wrapped around their little finger. Mema was my person (Grandad’s wife of over 70 years and my grandmother.) She would do anything for me. Knowing that kind of love made me a strong woman who knows how to ooh and aah at shark teeth rocks and 10-year-old-in-8-days loose teeth for my own grandchildren. It all comes full circle if we put in the time and effort to be present in each other’s lives. And Charlotte is right that McDonald’s fries are way better than homemade. The girl knows her fries.

Rebekah Marshall @Home Studio

Poetry, Writing

Cook Book

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(Poem 364 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)

(One of Mema’s old cook books.)

We’re going through Mema’s
old cookbooks to see which
to keep and which to let go,
and the slices of 20th Century
home life represented through
food are an interesting study.
If I had more time, I would
categorize them and photograph
them all by decade before
selecting several recipes from
each and do themed nights
from the 50s, 60s, 70s and so on.
But, alas, I do not have that
kind of young people energy
anymore, so thinking such
thoughts and then writing
about them is about as far
as I can get, and that is ok.

Take for instance, a Home
Economics textbook from
1944 called Everyday Foods
that teaches girls to wear an
“inexpensive house dress,
or smock, or apron” and it
“should be washable, attractive,
and of course spick-and-span.”
Also, don’t forget your
“handkerchief…placed safely
in a pocket.” Wouldn’t want to
forget that—super important.
Girls are also encouraged
to be very careful what they eat.
They are given a list of “What
Carelessly Chosen Food May Do
To You: It may give you a ruined
waistline and a poor figure, a pallid
complexion, bowlegs, premature
old age, and deficiency diseases.”
They were seriously warned against
“pellagra, beriberi, rickets, anemia,
and scurvy.” I hope the boys
were warned somehow, as well.

Other favorites are the 70s style
cookbooks that favored varying
degrees of red, yellow, and brown
thematic layouts featuring many
Jello desserts and shrimp cocktails.
I notice a lot of celery and things
shaped into balls—ham balls,
coconut ice cream balls, Swedish
sausage balls, cocktail meatballs,
chilled melon balls; I could go on.
And what is baked Alaska? I am
so confused, even though I was
alive during that decade.
And bisques, who was eating so
much bisque? Do people still
eat bisque?

The 70s also saw the invention
of the crock pot. People weren’t
exactly sure what to call this
new cooking art form, but my
favorite is the Crockery Cooking,
though “crockery” as a term never
really caught on. It sounds fancy.
There is an introduction that
explains how to use a crock pot
and why it’s a good idea. I love it.

The 80s was the decade of
microwave cooking and Mema
had several books that not only
teach what a microwave is,
how to use it, how not to use it,
and how to cook every imaginable
food in one—bake a cake, bread,
pie, check; oysters casino, escargot,
clams-in-the-shell, coquilles, check;
whole casserole, check; coffee, check;
steak, small turkey, whole roast, check;
the microwave is a miracle invention
capable of revolutionizing the
American kitchen, but rule #1:
“Do not attempt to operate this
oven with the door open.” I guess
people had to be told you can’t sit
and watch it cook with the door
cracked a bit the way you would
with your stove or the lid of a pot.
The Amana Touchmatic II
Radarange Microwave Oven
Cookbook does due diligence
with teaching the importance
of not using metal implements
(it even explains arcing), and
assures the reader that every
recipe has been tested in a real
microwave by a “trained home
economist.”

We also found a binder of
recipes from Grandad’s mother,
Frances Capitola Bearden,
including such delicacies as giblet
sandwich spread, chicken a la king,
potato candy, mince meat (for
which you need an average size
hog head), loquat jelly, prickly
pear jelly, spudnuts, potato donuts,
salt dough for kids to play with,
homemade soap, and the best
carp bait for fishing with (which
include Wheaties, cottonseed
mill, and black strap molasses,
among other interesting spices.)

I did not inherit even one ounce
of interest in cooking, but my
daughter is very excited about
trying some of these recipes,
and it is going to be an adventure
to taste some long lost delicacies
of the last 80 years. Mema was
like me, a functional cook, capable
of feeding whatever size crowd
needed a full belly with satisfying
results. Nothing fancy, nothing
gourmet, but tasty and filling.
The fact that she saved so many
recipes with the good intentions
of trying them out someday
makes me chuckle because she,
like me, didn’t even like to cook.
She just enjoyed reading the
recipes, looking at the pictures,
and imagining the fun conversation
at the dinner parties when everyone
would be gathered around the table
having a good time. It wasn’t even
about the food. It was about the
entertaining, the laughter, the
storytelling, the getting together.
It was about all of us that she loved
and wanted to nurture with food.

@Home Studio – 364th poem of the year

Runner ups for the Cook Books photos to accompany my poem:

Poetry, Writing

Christmas Breakfast

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(Poem 360 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)

Photo taken 12/25/24 by my sister-in-law Brittany Hefner.

Christmas morning
was all the fun and family
it should be this year,
with 3 little ones
to enjoy the excitement
of gifts and games.

The grown-ups sat
around drinking coffee
and feasted on homemade
cinnamon rolls, egg tater tot
casserole, mountains of bacon,
biscuits and gravy,
eggnog bread pudding with
eggnog whipped cream.

There was just the right
amount of silliness
and chaos and squeals,
and plenty of laughter,
as we all reconnected.

We continued the tradition
Mema liked to share
from her childhood—
orange, apple, pecans,
walnuts, and peppermints
in everyone’s stockings.

Mema would be pleased
that Grandad was right
in the middle of it all,
and was as thrilled as
a kid to open the biggest,
brightest flashlight
known to man as a gift
from one of his grandsons.

Last night, neither Grandad
nor I could sleep. His legs
were hurting and restless,
my cough was keeping
me up, so we were wandering
the house like ghosts at 2am.
Come look, he said,
after swinging open the back
door, standing in the
doorway in his pajamas.
Feel how heavy it is,
he said as he handed his
new toy flashlight to me.
Well, turn it on, he said.
I pushed the button
and nearly gasped as the entire
yard all the way to the barn
was bathed in daylight.
It felt magical,
such power in the palm
of my hand.

Mema would have swatted
both our behinds,
and loved that we are all
taking care of each other.

@Home Studio – 360th poem of the year

Runner ups for the Christmas Breakfast photos to accompany my poem:

Photos taken 12/25/24 by my sister-in-law Brittany Hefner.

Poetry, Writing

I miss you when…

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(Poem 313 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)

Mema and Baby (One of her neice Sarah’s grandbabies.)

Washing my hands in your sink
Sitting in your chair
Writing on your notepad
Answering your phone
Cooking breakfast for Grandad exactly the way you showed me how
Peeling a tangerine
Putting away your dinner plates that stack so easily from the dishwasher
Making a cup of tea
Reminding Grandad to use his cane
Hearing certain doors open in the house
Something cute happens with the kids
I’m sad
I have a big decision to make
I have a success I want to celebrate
I get stressful news

@Home Studio – 313th poem of the year

Poetry, Writing

Mema Day

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(Poem 123 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)

I took this photograph on Mema’s front porch 5/4/24.

My sister bought a box
of butterflies to release in
honor of Mema’s birthday.
We gathered, all five
generations of us, and
watched in awe as they
emerged from their sleepy
coldness to warm to the
overcast heat of a May day.
Each butterfly took its own
time exploring this new
brightness of air and space,
flitting from tiny human to
big human to ground to
metal rooftop and beyond.
The last Painted Lady
dilly-dallied and decided
to rest a while on a potted
plant on Mema’s porch.
None of us really knew
what to expect and were
pleasantly surprised at the
loveliness of the little
creatures Mema loved so.

@The Writing Barn: Buddha Hall (in honor of Mema’s birthday that was on May 2nd and the butterfly release that was on May 4th. She would have been 89.) – 123rd poem of the year

Poetry, Writing

Southern Sweet Tea

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(Poem 94 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)

AI Generated image I prompted on Gencraft.com https://gencraft.ai/p/JnB2Yp

There’s nothing more refreshing
than a cold glass of sweet iced
tea when a body’s hot as blazes.
My Mema insisted on unsweet,
so we had to agree to disagree.
Once, when I was up in Detroit,
someone offered to make me a
glass and poured powder into
liquid; it was instant, they said.
I had never heard of such an
innovation and was baffled by
the dehydrated concoction.
Well, how do you make it? they
asked, and were equally perplexed
by my method of brewing a pot
of tea, only to pour it over ice.
The strange culture clash was
more unsettling than yous guys
instead of y’all, playing football
in the snow, drinking milk out of
bags, and eating ketchup chips.
At least Mema and I agreed on
the starting point for our tea
with a fresh tea bag, a boiling
pot of water, and a few minutes
of conversation while you wait
for it to steep. No need to rush.
Take your time. Sit a spell.

@Home Studio – 94th poem of the year

Health, Poetry, Writing

I Do Work

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(Poem 52 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)

AI Generated image I prompted on Gencraft.com  https://gencraft.ai/p/JAMCjk

I do work that I feel confident doing.
It stretches me and can be a complicated
puzzle that feels unsolvable at times,
but I am fully cognizant of my abilities,
able to slow my pulse, take a deep breath,
and start at the very beginning because
Julie Andrews says that’s a very good
place to start, and she knows things.

Old dogs can learn new tricks, though
they might need some accommodations
to help them master the same skills.
Honestly, whomever thought to suggest
phrases like neutral face and thinking-face
when hovering above emojis not only
blessed those of us who struggle to
read faces, but those of us unaccustomed
to reading little circular yellow faces
as part of our regular workday because
we grew up with rotary phones, and
being able to metaphorically clutch my
pearls by clicking on a gasp emoji
might come in quite handy someday.

My grandmother worked in the tech
sector via telecommunications back
when switchboard operators used
call signs like Capital 5 instead of
area codes and you could call an
actual human to ask for the time of day.

She never imagined she would add
butterfly emojis as her call sign in messages
she would send to her great-great-
granddaughter someday, and I never
imagined I would be helping AI
improve her reasoning skills, but I
come from a long line of women who
know how to adapt, are not afraid of
exploring the unknown, and will learn
what we need to learn to take care of
this next generation of forward thinkers.

@Home Studio – 52nd poem of the year

Poetry, Writing

I Lotioned Your Feet

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(Poem 48 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)

My Mema passed away this morning. I had the privilege of spending 50 years in her presence. I will miss her something fierce. She has a husband she was married to for over 70 years, children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren, and great-great grandchildren, not to mention every other possible connection to people far and wide.

Mema and Grandad

I lotioned your feet, then hands
with white jasmine-scented
Bath & Body Works Miriam gave me
and tucked you in the way you like,
brushed your hair and read you your texts,
then some Bible verses of comfort—
Isaiah 40, the first one that surfaced.

The steady sounds of the ICU create
a strangely soothing white noise as a
backdrop to your labored breaths.
Lydia is here again to hold your hand
just one more time; one of many
one more times over the last few days
because each time could be the last.

The you I know is no longer here,
but the shell remains and deserves
gentle petting and reassurance.
Goodness knows how many times
you had to ‘there, there’ me in the last
50 years, buoying my spirits and righting
my sails with your steady faith and calm.

Boaz sat vigil until I arrived, and your
children and husband will take over after
I leave — we are all branches of a grand
candelabra you have lit with exuberance,
spreading across states and time, thankful to
have been influenced by the life you lived
and the love which from your cup overflowed.

@ICU Room 1 St. David’s Round Rock Hospital & Home Studio – 48th poem of the year