The Best Breakfast!

 

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When I was a kid, the best breakfast was cooked and served by my Aunt Nell!

International House of Pancakes didn’t have ANYTHING on her!

She cooked those grits to perfection…

Her country ham and biscuits were unsurpassed…

And the fact that she let us kids drink Pepsi with our meal was freaking ingenious!

Clearly, she was a woman ahead of her time!

But, the thing that I remember most of all about breakfast with my Aunt Nell was her unrivaled ability to spin a good yarn!

I’m talking about good ole Southern Mama storytelling!

Baby, “captivating” ain’t the word for it!

From the moment Aunt Nell began to tell a tale, everybody in the room was completely mezmerized!

She’d intonate…

She’d gesticulate…

She’d immediately grab your attention and hold you in complete suspense!

A masterful comedienne, Aunt Nell’s timing was IMPECCABLE!

By the end of each story, EVERYBODY would be in tears laughing as she calmly sashayed away to tend to her dishes….completely unbothered!

In essence, she ALWAYS dropped the mic…

EVERY. SINGLE. TIME!

And, as you might have guessed, I wanted to be just like her!

And so…

A lot of the sass that you “hear” from LadyG can be directly linked to my Aunt Nell.

And, as I sit here, approaching my 50th birthday, I can’t help remembering her and everyone else who poured so much into my life; especially her husband, my Uncle Leroy!

I’ve mentioned him a few times before.

At any rate, one thing’s for sure, I’ll always think fondly of Aunt Nell, and will, no doubt, burst into ugly laughter whenever I do!

In this way, she’s just as much alive today as she was in that Alabama kitchen from 1975.

Trust me, she’s here–between every line.

RIP Aunt Nell.

Love and light LadyG

😘💋💋

 

 

 

Happy Birthday To Us: Part 2

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Happy Birthday to Seekthebestblog!

We made it a whole year y’all and it’s been a blast!

Friends, I can’t tell you how much it means to me to be here to celebrate my blog’s first birthday with YOU!

My goal was to share some of the best things that life has to offer.

I pray that I’ve done that for these past 365 or so days!

I’d like to thank all of the many followers and viewers who have stopped by to share a laugh, a tear, a bite to eat and everything else in between with Me, Ron and my Dad (when he decides to pop up.)

As for me, frankly, I never imagined that I’d make it this far blogging.

You see, I’ve always fancied myself as a storyteller, writer, photographer, and soul food/music maven.

That’s fine, but it was all in my head and in my personal journals and my files and under my bed and so on…

But now, thanks to this blog, it’s all in your head!

LOL!!!

No, seriously, thank you for digging our stuff and for sharing yours!

Oh, and by the way, Lady G is also celebrating a birthday this week!

I’m a few steps shy of a half century and I am very thankful for it!

So…

Let’s toast it up!

Yes, I just bit Ne-yo’s song “Champagne Life ! ”

Little does he know, he wrote that jam for me!

 

Click HERE if you want to jam to it with me 🙂

Again, thanks to all of you for stopping by my spot to ‘like’ or simply say hello.

Remember, if you comment, I’ll ALWAYS respond–barring no crazy WP technical difficulties 🙂

Love and light to you all!

Lady G 😘💋

PS:  A special thanks to all of you who wished Lady J well on her birthday too!  She was over the moon after reading all those wonderful comments 💞

 

 

 

The Flowering Vine: Dem Bones

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Today’s “Flowering Vine” entry tells the tale of an event involving my and Ron’s Grandfather (Leroy), our Great- Grandmother (Mary), and our uncle (Bernard).

 

Dem Bones

-By Ron Brown

The hand of the Lord was upon me, and carried me out in the spirit of the Lord, and set me down in the midst of the valley which was full of bones, and caused me to pass by them round about: and, behold, there were very many in the open valley; and, lo, they were very dry.

Leroy’s sixth birthday was made even more special because Mary was headed into town and—as was her custom—had invited Leroy and—by default—Bernard to ride along.  When Leroy turned six years old, he was already tall. He towered over his little, “brown brother”, Bernard. Leroy was Mary’s pride and joy. He was, in her words, “Grandma’s big boy”. Leroy always rode “shotgun”, while Bernard scooted from one side of the back of the wagon, to the other, depending upon which side’s sights were more stimulating.

For Leroy, what was in front of him, was much more mesmerizing than what was to the left, right or the rear of him. He sat quietly, keeping his eyes forward. Mary admired him for this trait and would often encourage him by leaning over to him and whispering, “That’s right Grandma’s big boy, keep them eyeballs peeled”.

This day however, as they rolled down the rambling road, neither Mary’s fierce focus nor Leroy’s eagle eyes could have saved them from what happened next, for just ahead of them, from out of the roadside briars and bramble shot a streak of white. It slithered swiftly and silently across the road in front of the two black mules hitched to Mary’s buckboard.

The two black mules reared simultaneously, at the sight of the albino coachwhip. The sudden jerk of the reins, held tightly in Mary’s tenacious grip, snatched her formidable form forward, in front of the wagon and behind the mules. The mules stepped back; one of them, adventitiously, stomping Mary’s thigh, fracturing her femur. Leroy heard the sickening crack as the bone in his grandmother’s thigh gave way to the weight of the thousand-pound animal’s hoof. The usually silent Leroy, screamed; the usually vocal Mary, was silent.

Leroy leaped down from his perch on the wagon’s seat, then calmed the frightened mules, whose pallid pariah, had now disappeared into the underbrush on the opposite side of the dirt road. Once the mules had regained their composure, Leroy rushed over to Mary and kneeled down beside her. She looked at him affectionately, then gently stroked the side of his face with a trembling hand and wheezed, go get help Grandma’s big boy.

Mary was careful not to instill any additional fear or panic into her grandson. Leroy worked his jaw muscles viciously, as he struggled to maintain his customary calmness. Leroy, looked sternly upon his baby brother Bernard and chided him, “Stay with Grandma boy, I’m going to get help!” and away he went, as fast as his long, lanky legs would carry him. The nearest house was just over a mile down the torturously twisting, dust-topped road.

And He said unto me, Son of man, can these bones live? And I answered, O Lord God, thou knoweth. Again, he said unto me, ‘Prophesy upon these bones, and say unto them, O ye dry bones, hear the word of the Lord”.

Mary lay quietly in the dust and sang to herself softly:

“Ezekiel connected dem—dry bones,

Ezekiel connected dem—dry bones,

Ezekiel in the Valley of—Dry Bones,

Now hear the word of the Lord.”

To be continued…

The Flowering Vine: Mother Speaks

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Hello Friends and Family:

The following is based on past conversations that I had with our family’s Matriarch, “Mother.”

Mother, who passed away a little more than four years ago, was a very intelligent and educated woman who had some definite opinions.

You’ll learn more about Mother as the series unfolds.

 

Mother Speaks

You may not believe this but a long time ago a fortune teller told me I was gonna marry a White man.

HA!

She shole did!

Back then, I didn’t think too much about it.

At least not until I met my husband.   

Baby, when I first saw him, that woman’s words came back and hit me like a ton of bricks!

Now, I know you haven’t met him but my husband looks like a White man.  

I say that because his Mother’s parents were both mulattoes and his Daddy was fully White.

And, because of that, everybody in his family looks White!

I guess that’s why the fortune teller said what she said.

As for me, they say my people are part Indian.

Now I don’t know if that’s true.  

All I know is that we have high cheekbones, reddish skin and thick hair so I can see why folks would say that.

But you know what?  

Sometimes, I just sit back and laugh to myself because White folks around here don’t make no distinction about what color Negroes are.  

They don’t really care about no dark skin-light skin.

To them, if you got one drop of Negro blood, you a Negro.

And that’s just all there is to it.

But it’s not as simple as it sounds.

It’s really very complicated.

Let me explain.

You see, my husband and I had 6 children.  

Our first baby died.  

Folks said she was too pretty to live.

But that didn’t make it no easier on us.

Anyway, we have three girls and two boys– and baby them children caught hell because of their looks.

Ooh Lord, you oughta heard the names people called ‘em!

Oh and I’m talking about grown folks too!

Them grown folks talked bad about my children just as much as other children did.

Chile, they said all kind of stuff:

“They think they better!”

“Them red niggas!”

“Them high yella niggas”

“Squaws”

“Indians”

“Stringy haired”

Umph…it makes me sick just thinking about it.

And what makes it so bad is that sometimes the Negroes was worse than the White folks.

Baby, my children heard it all!

I can’t tell you how many times they came home crying because somebody was picking on them about their hair or their skin color or their “White” Daddy.

They couldn’t help how they looked!

Ooh!

I can’t talk about it no more!

Let’s change the subject before I get too upset.

 

 

Anyway, I heard that my children and their children are working on a project about the family and I plan on helping them in any way I can so you might see me pop up every now and then.

I ‘spect, they’ll be going back through time to tell you a little bit more than I did.

Til next time, y’all take care.