Wednesday, April 15, 2015

Bates goes behind bars with Shakespeare

I have an unusual book to recommend.  For all my English/Literature professor/teacher friends, you must read "Shakespeare Saved My Life: Ten Years in Solitary with the Bard" by Laura Bates.  This first-person account follows Laura Bates, a professor at Indiana State University, as she goes to the depths of solitary confinement areas, known as Supermax, in a state prison to teach Shakespeare to the inmates.

Why in the world would these men, who have little or no formal education, be interested in Shakespeare? Bates sits in her chair at a designated distance from the men who can only see her through the slot in their cell doors where their food is delivered.

Photo from Indiana State University studies
She takes them through lively discussions and assigns homework. She challenges them to compare today's gang warfare to that of the feud and street battles seen between the Montagues and Capulets in "Romeo and Juliet."

"We are the only Shakespeare program in the segregated unit in solitary confinement anywhere in the world….Never before attempted….never duplicated either," says Bates in an Indiana State University publication.

Her star student, Larry Newton, is one of the most notorious prisoners in Supermax. I found her discussions with Larry to be fascinating.  She got a glimpse in to his mind and never-before insight into his psyche.

I highly encourage you to follow this super teacher into her adventure behind bars.

Sunday, March 8, 2015

What a great place to be on top of a mountain in the gloomy gray days of March

The end of the first week in March usually brings to this blog a report on our quilting retreat at Grand Oak in Scottsboro, Ala.  This year and last, we managed to leave a day early and outrun a winter storm. We will do unusual things to get to this mountain-top retreat once a year for a week of sewing, learning, eating, napping, talking, and giggling.

This year we had three new quilters—new to the group—so I hope we didn't scare them off with our silliness.  One lady woke in the night and asked her roommate to tell her what time it was.  "Three dollars and 45 cents," replied the roommate.  So for the rest of the week we told time in dollars.  You had to be there.

Quilt retreats have grown in popularity over the past few weeks.  Some offer the facility but guests provide their own meals.  Some, like Grand Oak, offer the facility, three prepared meals a day plus snacks.

We learn by watching.  We are inspired by watching.

On one particularly rain, cold day, the Grand Oak aging Golden Retriever, Buddy, came down to spend the afternoon.

Below Left, one of our buddies proves that it is ok to quilt all day in your p.j.s.  It's so fun.

We also had a demonstration on the Stack 'n Whack method by Cindy Allgood.  We came up with some unusual blocks, but could see this as a beautiful quilting option.

We all heard reports of snow and ice and school closing back home, but since our hairpin-curve driveway was clear we left Friday morning on schedule.  All was fine until we hit Huntsville.  All ramps and overpasses were blocked.  After riding around in many circles we found a nice Alabama trooper who got us on the highway by avoiding the ramps.

The bridge at Decatur was dicey, but my traveling companion did a great job driving on ice.  Well, until next March. May we have no snow.   Gotta go. It's almost seven dollars.

Monday, March 2, 2015

Path to the top of the hill

Riding on the mule with Howard on land that has come to me through my daddy Hayley Dandridge, from his father Cathey Spottswood Dandridge, from his mother Mary Eliza Cathey Dandridge and purchased by her father Matthew Lafon Cathey. I'm so fortunate to live on and care for this for my short life before it changes hands again. If you stand really still maybe you'll hear the Catheys sending their mules into the gullies to hide during the Civil War. 

Saturday, February 7, 2015

Distressed beauty

I had some extra time last week, so I started a few home improvement projects.  After painting a small half bath—ceiling, walls, trim—I decided to tackle something else.

There is a bedroom suit upstairs that belonged to my maternal Great-Aunt Ruth Cole.  She was very special to me, more than most great-aunts.  After retiring from Northwest in 1963 she came to live with us. Aunt Ruth must have been in her late 60's when she retired.  My third daughter is named for her—Olivia Ruth.

Aunt Ruth Cole in the Northwest cafeteria
in the 1960s when it was located in
the McGhee Building. 
Back to the bedroom suit….it was probably made in 1920s.  It is not a fine antique set of furniture, but valuable to me.  But it did look a little granny-ish.  So I decided to update it with some of the new paint finishes available. The furniture had probably followed Aunt Ruth from Eupora to Texas, back to our house that was where Everblooms used to be, to our house on Lafayette, and to our house in the country where it was Hayley's bedroom suit.

I chose a Milk Paint in Sunset mixed with a little white.  Good advice came from Lumley Belle here in Senatobia.  From them I purchased the paint and got a few ideas.  Thanks Joshua and Joanna! Check out their Facebook page

Chest with painting by Northwest Art faculty
member Lawayne House. 

The mirror was really what made the piece look bad, so I found an old mirror frame that belonged to my Grandmother Dandridge and switched it out. It was probably made before or around 1900.

I'm happy with my little project.  What are you doing with paint????  Chalk or milk?

All this painting has earned me a lot of hot pad time.  That's OK.  Gotta keep clicking along.

Painted and distressed dresser and mirror frame. 

Tuesday, February 3, 2015

Artist of Tate County Exhibition now in Northwest Art Gallery

The works of many Tate County artists is now on display in the Art Gallery at Northwest Mississippi Community College.  The show will run from Feb. 2-25.  The opening reception for the artists will be held Thursday evening, Feb. 5, from 5-7 p.m. at the gallery.

Tutor painting from the exhibition postcard. 
This exhibition features the works of artists who either live or work in Tate County or who are members of Sycamore Arts.  The artists list includes: Jean Bennett, Nancy Patterson, Lane Tutor, Mackey Harrison, George Holley, Sharon Williams, Jo Ellen Logan and Dana Finimore.

On display will be pottery, paintings—in a variety of media, fiber, quilts, and photographs.
Gallery hours are 8 a.m. to 3:30 p.m., Monday through Thursday.  There is no admission fee.

Wednesday, January 7, 2015

I hate to start the new year off complaining.  But then, it is one of the things I do best.  I know I will sound like an old English teacher, but the popular use of the plural YOU has me concerned.

Since I grew up in the South, I am not ashamed to use Y'ALL when referring to a group of people.  It is, after all a contraction of you all.

Most of the country is now using YOU GUYS.  I hear it all the time.  The incident that motivated me to write about it was heard recently on an episode of one of those home improvement shows.

Anyway, the builder was showing the couple their new 400 square foot dream house (yuck) and said, "This is you guyses space.  I wanted it to be what you guys wanted."  YOU GUYSES??!!

What is wrong with YOU? YOUR??  As in, "This is your space?"

According to the dictionary, In standard Englishyou is both singular and plural; it always takes a verb form that originally marked the word as plural, (i.e. you are, in common with we are and they are).

Are people so afraid they will slip and say y'all that they go to extreme measures to use you guys?

I found this interesting map on that shows us who is saying you guys and who is saying y'all. The legend shows blue for YOU but I can't see any blue on the map.

So Y'ALL think about this and get back to me.  I'm ok with Y'all and You but I'm never saying Y'allses.

Statistics from North Carolina State University

Friday, December 19, 2014

Deception thy name is divinity-revisited

Here I am again, asking forgiveness for a blog re-run.  I haven't tried Divinity making this year since the weather has been gray and murky for most of December. Give me a good cold, sunny day and I might give it a whirl.  Hope you enjoy reading or re-reading this blog from 2011.

Never a Christmas comes and goes that I don't think about my Mama making Divinity candy.  There are two versions of this family legend.

Her version:  "I think I won your Daddy's heart by making candy.  I tried every recipe I knew, and he thought I was a really good cook."

Daddy's version:  "When we were dating, your Mama made the most wonderful candy for me.  After we got married, I soon realized that was all she could make.  Nothing for dinner."

My version:  Mama always made Divinity at Christmas.  The weather had to be right. No humidity.  I've seen her throw a whole batch away and wait a day to start again.  She had certain rules in this Divinity making.

1.  It needed to be cold
2.  No mixer was allowed
3.  I got to "lick the bowl"—meaning I got to scrape the bowl for any remaining candy when she was through.

When I looked through her little recipe book in the candy section, which just happens to be the largest section, I also found fudge, praline drops, peanut brittle, date loaf, caramel fudge,  and chocolate dip candy.  It's a wonder she didn't send Daddy into a sugar coma before they ever got married.

She sometimes made the Divinity with chopped pecans only. Other times she added chopped pecans and topped it with a perfect pecan half.  She was very adamant about the no mixer rule.  My Great Aunt Ruth, who lived with us, was the dietician at Northwest in the 1950s and '60s.  She usually had Mama make a beautiful tray of Divinity which was delivered to the McLendons.  R.D. McLendon was the president of the college.

We had a set of cooking spoons that Daddy had brought home from Germany in WWII.  They were oversized spoons. She would use one to beat the candy until it was the right consistency.  When she was through, there was usually a blister in the palm of her hand.

If she didn't think the temperature was right in the house, she would go outside and sit on the steps to continue beating.  And she also did this because all this whipping, whisking, and beating made her hot.

Peanut brittle was also a production. She would pour the hot candy, mixed with paraffin, right out on the kitchen counter.  I wanted to help so bad. If you grow up in a house with three women (Mama, my Grandmother, and Aunt Ruth) you don't learn to cook until you leave home.

Mamay, my grandmother, had a candy specialty too.  She made taffy the old-fashioned way—pulling it over and over until it turned from a soft ball into a long strip. When it cooled she would break it with the blunt end of a knife and put it on wax paper.  She would give me a little piece to try to pull.  It didn't get long and pearly white like hers did.  She would pull it until it snapped when she brought the two ends together.  Mine would go from a small, gooey ball, into a long brown gooey strip.  Needless to say, we didn't eat the one I pulled.

Marjorie Latham Dandridge in the kitchen in the 1950s when we lived in the house on Hwy. 51 where Ever Blooms was next to May's Pharmacy. She must have posed for this picture, because that was NOT her usual kitchen attire.

I've said all this to say what is really important. I brought my mother home from the hospital in 1993—21 years ago on Dec. 23—with a terminal lung cancer diagnosis.  She also suffered from Parkinson's disease, macular degeneration, heart disease, and chronic depression. Hospice came to set up equipment right before Christmas.

For those of you have lost loved ones this year or for those who have lost friends and family at Christmastime, I offer you hope. You never forget. But time does make a difference.

This Christmas I don't see Mama in those final years with oxygen, wearing a wig from taking chemotherapy, and looking pale. I see her sitting on the back porch at our house on Lafayette Street, in her "pedal pushers" and house shoes, her breath making a fog in the cold, beating Divinity candy.

Sunday, November 23, 2014

Turkey Talk Revisited

There is something about this time of year that makes me more accident prone than usual.  I said "more" because my family will tell you that I'm a little accident prone all the time.  I'm going to revisit an earlier post, "Turkey Talk" that describes some of my past Thanksgiving mishaps.

It isn't even Thanksgiving and it's already started.  Last Thursday I finally persuaded my husband to get rid of the HUGE TV in the living room. The TV worked fine, but the remote was compromised since one of my grandchildren had eaten off the buttons at the top.  Every time the lights flickered, I had to move the batteries around and stick a toothpick in the remote where the missing buttons were.

You may have one.  This TV is about 15 years old and must weigh 900 pounds. ( I exaggerate)
It looks like kind of a square flat screen from the front. Oh, but looks can be deceiving.  There is a gigantic triangular part growing out of its back.

So we tried to pick it up and it was too heavy.  We brought my trusty Rubbermaid wheel barrow into the house, and the plan was to slowly ease the TV off the stand and into the wheel barrow.  One, two, three, pick up.

"Oh, my gosh Howard I can hold it!  It's cutting into my hands.  I have to put it down."

"Well, put it down then and we'll try again."

"Oh, my hands, I can't hold it, I'm going to drop it.  Oh my hands!"

Mine was bigger, but you get the idea.
I drop my side and it lands right on the instep of my right foot.

"Oh my foot!  Get it off my foot!"

He just looks at me, amazed at my inability to help move things.

"Get it off my foot!!!"

My foot immediately turns blue.  I honestly don't remember how he got it in the wheel barrow, but he did, and we wheeled it outside and had to pick it up again to get it in the back of the truck. I'm so glad the TV on the counter weighs 6.5 pounds. I've still got almost a week to go and hope nothing else happens.

Here are some other accident-prone memories.

About 1992, when we still lived in town. I had put a turkey in the oven in one of those roasting bags. When it was finally done and falling apart, the following scene took place.

Me:  Thank goodness it's done.  (I open the over door)

Howard:  Stand back. You know you are too clumsy to take that out of the oven without dropping it. (He reaches in and grabs the pan.)


Hayley:  (About 11 years old)  Olivia, Jason, come quick!  Daddy dropped the turkey on the floor!  Hahahahahahahaha.

Me:  Great.

Another one

About 1996.  I'm cleaning up the kitchen and washing the electric knife that I had carefully used to slice the turkey, without incident.  I reach across for something and slice my finger on the clean blade. Blood is going everywhere.  It looks like the Dan Akroyd  version of Julie Child on Saturday Night Live.

Me:  I think I need a cold towel.

Jason:  Oh man, you really sliced it.

Howard:  (From his recliner, not looking)  Do you need a bandaid?

Jason:  I think it's a little late for a bandaid.  I can see white stuff in there.

Me:  I think I better go get some stitches.

Howard:  Emergency Room! Your favorite place.  

Jason takes me to the ER and they don't take me immediately. 

We wait.  They finally call me.

Jason:  Can you tell them to hurry. I really didn't plan to spend all night here. I have plans.

Me:  I'll try. Sigh

Happy Thanksgiving. May there be no turkeys on the floor, blood on the counter or TVs on your feet.  Thanks for letting me post this turkey rerun.

Saturday, November 22, 2014

Not Just Another Horse Book

Time for a book review. New author Malcolm Brooks gives us a splendid epic novel that takes us to the American West in the 1950s.  If you are just looking for a book about horses, this may not be for you.

Young Catherine Lemay heads West to investigate what historically significant artistic elements could be lost if a new proposed dam goes in, thus flooding the area.  Along the way she learns that she is way over her head.

She meets the mysterious John H who teaches her more than to love the stark landscape and art.  Her companion Miriam, a young Native American, gives her insight into her culture as she embraces the modern America.

Brooks' detailed descriptions of horses, characters, landscape, make reading more like watching.  He has  been compared to Cormac McCarthy and even Hemingway as he recounts John H's war memories.

The author says his inspiration was reading and rereading "Lonesome Dove" by Larry McMurtry.

If this is ever to become a movie, in my mind, it will take on the style of "The English Patient" or "Out of Africa."  You can see the characters, feel the texture of their clothing, smell the caked on dirt after weeks of riding in the desert.

I was surprised and thoroughly entertained.  Give it a shot.

Learn more about Malcolm Brooks at