STICK-TO-ITIVENESS

Walloon Lake with Edward (still in jammies), John and Philip (red striped bottom)

I was about 20 years old, sitting in front of a 60-something, gray haired woman behind a desk applying for a job.  It was the Trust Company Bank in downtown Atlanta; my brother worked there and I thought it might be fun to be a teller and count money all day. The woman read my application and said, “I’m sorry but I just don’t think you have “stick-to-itiveness.” I dejectedly looked down at my application as she passed it back to me and wondered what was wrong with having a string of jobs that I tried out for a month or two and found I didn’t like?

Now, I AM the 60-something (NOT gray haired thanks to the salon) and I realize she was totally right – I don’t have that after all. I like to keep things changing, learning new things, meeting new people, every single day if possible.  I spent 40 years trying to stick to IT and failed miserably.  The only thing that kept me interested was being a Mom – thank goodness (!) because I couldn’t very well have given a two week notice to my husband on that!

There are lots of things I have loved about having 5 kids (I count Olivia!) – watching them learn to ride a bike or make a cake, teaching them the importance of honesty and being a loyal friend, the pure silliness of the things they say and do, watching them perform – in plays, on fields, in programs. And now, I love the real, deep conversations I get to have with them about life, the world, God. But of course there were the tough things too – sleepless nights with a newborn, being disappointed when one needed to learn some big, hard lesson, the pure tedium and exhaustion of 5 pm to 8 pm with four rambunctious little boys.

I realized pretty early on that although I felt utterly blessed that I got to be a fulltime, stay-at-home (a TOTAL misnomer – we were never at home!) Mom that I might go slowly insane if I didn’t have something else going on in my brain while I looked after all these little ones. I needed adult interaction. Friends were super important and I have amazing ones but even that wasn’t quite what I needed.

Now as I look back, it is easy to see a pattern. Wherever I was with the kids, meaning the stage I was in, I pursued something that correlated. I loved being a roommom – such an easy way to get to know all the moms and their kids in the classroom- plus you get to plan stuff around your own schedule. I was active at church too. But my first foray into learning a new skill was a program called Active Parenting, which taught positive parenting for kids 5 to 12. It is still around (I just googled it).  There was a three-day training to become a leader in Miami, so I grabbed a friend to drive down with me and while she visited her folks, I went to my class.  I loved learning all this new stuff that I could immediately go home and try out on our kids. I taught it a few times at my church, and at different schools and had a fun time but it was really learning for my family that grabbed me.

My next big one came when our oldest, John, began the college process. I started with a 10-day conference/workshop at Harvard for college counselors and wannabes (me!). This was for people who wanted to help families with the college process. It was a truly amazing course with the Deans of admission from Harvard and Princeton, among others. I then went on to do an online course with UCLA - that was a huge learning curve but new skills for me (yay!) – to receive a college counseling certificate.  I “stuck” to this a bit longer than my norm – 10 years!  Probably because it took a while to get all my kids through college.

Then, the kids were all grown up and I was at loose ends again – nursing school!  Y’all know about that already.  Which brings me to now.  I have our first grandchild on the way and I couldn’t be more excited. So, what am I going to do next, you ask?  I’m learning to be a doula! If you don’t know what that is, you need to look it up – it’s pretty cool. I went to North Carolina for a three-day course (see the pattern?) and learned a lot but I am now taking an intensive course online. I’m a provisional member of Professional Doulas of Charleston and I’m off and away on a new adventure. More about being a doula in another post.

So, obviously, this post has been “all about me” which probably gets boring for you but here’s the bottom line. Those of you with little ones at home – enjoy what you can, appreciate and be thankful you get to spend the time with your kids – time you will never get back and will pine for when you’re old. But don’t feel guilty if you need to supplement your day with something “else” that you love. And let me recommend training to do something – even if you don’t plan on really doing it. A couple of examples: take a course to be a docent at the museum (I think I gave three tours BUT I learned so much!) or take a cooking class (even though all you ever make are fish sticks and mac and cheese). Although 5 to 8 pm can seem like a hundred years on some days, life is actually quite short. To hell with “stick-to-itiveness” – who needs it?  

HOMELESS

Edisto

I feel like a fraud. I admit it. I am NOT “in the green.”  Moving to a new town at the age of 61, even if it is temporary and you will eventually be returning to where you are from is sometimes just plain hard.  And perhaps, I have a more difficult time than most with transitions.

A few weeks ago, I got upset about something and instead of hanging in there and talking myself into a better mood, I chose the dark-sad-depressed-for-three-days route.  Jay finally begged me to “call Pat.”  Pat is this truly amazing, wise and wonderful psychologist who has seen me through pretty much every troubling time since before I was married 36 years ago. Of course, whenever Jay throws up his hands and suggests I call her, I get mad at him. Can’t he listen? Can’t he give me wise counsel?  Yes, he certainly can sometimes but not always and this was one of those times that required a professional. I actually think everyone should go for a psychological check-up every year. It is just as important as a yearly pap smear, surely.

It is kind of like prayer – sometimes I am just convinced I can handle something myself and I secretly either don’t want to bother God or think maybe He will be proud of me for taking care of it myself.  When I stop to think about it, that is just dumb. God wants us to come to Him first not last!  So it is with calling Pat, I kind of feel like I have to get my thoughts organized enough to tell her what’s going on, which can take me a while.

I finally call Pat on Day 4. I usually talk to her for an hour (she lives in another town).   This session went on for an hour and forty-five minutes!  Pat attentively listened and advised me on the specific upsetting incident.  Then she said, “Ok, now let’s talk about you - how you are really doing.”  I told her I was OK, not great.  She said something strange, “You sound homeless.”  I said that we actually have a pretty nice apartment here. She interrupted me to say that is not what she meant.  She pointed out that I had followed Jay in two moves, Sarasota and now Charleston. My extended family was in Atlanta, so I pretty much would have stayed there but Jay wanted to move. The Charleston move was due to a calling Jay felt to serve in a ministry here. Pat suggested that although our family home is in Sarasota, that, even that is not “home” to me now because there is no family living there anymore. Pat said she thought that for me, “home” is not necessarily a house or a place but rather what I am doing that I find meaningful.  This wise woman I so admire laid out the 37 years she has known me to show me where I have felt at “home” – raising our children, taking our niece in, nursing school.  I later realized that this blog has been sort of a home to me as well – a portable one that could move around with me. As inevitably happens when I stop long enough to meet with Pat, I realized she had hit the nail on the head.  I have indeed been feeling homeless.

I continue to struggle.  I miss being an every-day, hands-on Mom. I miss my friends. I miss being a volunteer nurse at the homeless shelter. I miss Terry and Tom, who do my hair and nails at “home.” I miss “my” Publix. But understanding it and putting a name on it does actually help.

Yet….I love being around the corner from one of our sons and his girlfriend. Olivia is just up the road at college. We live in downtown Charleston, for heaven’s sake – it’s beautiful here, and fun and there is always a new restaurant to try. I even got a great lead on a homeless shelter that has a clinic yesterday. So, it may take a while, and I might have to be a little lonely, but I think I’m getting there.

Although being In the Green all the time would be fantastic, that is not a reasonable expectation for me. I’m just kind of on the moody side. I feel things deeply – happy and sad – and that is just the way I am wired. But the bottom line for me is that there are “In the Green” moments to be cherished and I am going to renew my efforts to be on the lookout for them. May this Easter weekend be chock full of In the Green experiences for you.

KIDS IN THE KITCHEN

John, Philip, William and Edward.  Last summer, as we celebrated John's engagement.

One Sunday morning, when the boys were teenagers, we were sitting in our usual spot at church. Like most regular church goers, we had figured out the best place for our family to sit. The front row of the balcony offered an excellent view to keep us engaged, yet kept us far enough away so as not to distract the preacher or stodgy old people who thought children should magically disappear on Sunday mornings. It happened to be Halloween and the boys were excited about a party they were going to that night.  Candy and costumes seem to make you act a little crazy at any age. 

As a sidebar, we had all the kids, when they were six and under(!), at church with us one Christmas Eve. It was packed!  We had to sit downstairs on about the sixth row. It was not my choice to have the boys crawling all over us, looking for crayons, being total wiggle worms, as four little energizer bunnies tend to do – but no one had shown up to tend the nursery.  First, I heard the people behind us wondering why we couldn’t control the situation when another lady actually leaned over and told me, “You know, we DO have a nursery!” I was embarrassed and miserable and wanted to flee but then I got mad – it was CHRISTMAS EVE for heaven’s sake; I had a right to be there and so did our children. Those ladies could just go jump in a lake for all I cared.

OK, back to the balcony, the boys were 18, 16, 15 and 12. When there are four children and only two parents, you can’t exactly separate all of them. So, Edward and Philip, the two in the middle, ended up side by side and they refused to be still or quiet.  I tried all of my usual tactics to get them to behave: my snapped fingers, my pinch to that place on your shoulder where it really hurts, a tight squeeze to the knee and even my look that clearly stated I-might-just-commit-murder-right-now-with-you-as-the-victim – nothing worked. Although I love our church and everyone there are our friends, I was still moritifed at the show the boys were putting on for all those tiered rows behind us (that is probably why they chose those spots – to get a birds’ eye view of the highly entertaining Crouse family!).

Needless to say our ride home that day was no picnic.  The oldest, John, and the youngest, William, got to blissfully look out the window while Philip and Edward were on the hot seat. Jay and I began with, “You are NOT going to act like THAT at church!” Clearly, they were and just did.  Jay and I had quickly decided, during Sunday School, that the offending offspring would not be allowed to go to the Halloween party that they were so excited to attend that night. We lowered the boom and meted out the punishment. We never felt that grounding our children was very effective.  Staying home at our house where there was always something fun going on just never seemed to get the point across. But not getting to go to this long awaited party, with costumes at the ready, might just be the end of the world to them. The wailing, negotiating and never-ending discussion on what is fair ensued.

The fifteen minute ride thankfully came to an end and the boisterous discussion burst out of the car and into the house. They begged, “Please let us go to the party. We will do anything you ask, just don’t take that away….please please please.” Every parent in the world has heard this line. After a brief discussion, Jay and I stepped out of the box.  “Ok, boys, you two go off and talk and if you can come up with a punishment that we that seems fair to us, we will consider it.” We went off to do our various Sunday chores and left the boys to figure out their “offer.”  After a while, they came to us, grinning ear to ear, to convene the committee.  Jay and I sat to listen.  Here is what the boys came up with.  They would cook dinner for two weeks.  They would not only cook dinner, they would go to the grocery store (my ears were starting to perk up), they would serve it and…….they would clean up.  I was immediately sold! Jay concurred.  

What followed was two weeks of bliss for me. They actually did what they had promised and did it so well that we were all begging for them to keep going.  Our young adult chefs insisted we eat in the dining room and Edward took on the role of head butler, complete with a fresh, white towel hanging over his forearm.  They served us delicious dishes they had found in cookbooks and made up themselves. They had a ball, the four of us enjoyed every bite and I had a mini vacation.  It was absolutely my favorite punishment ever! I considered paying them to be our in-house chefs but then remembered they needed to go to school and soccer practice, do their homework, etc. Darn.

All of our sons and our niece love to cook now, as does Jay, and the kitchen is a focal point whenever the family gets together. They enjoy the preparation and planning weeks ahead of a gathering and savor being in the kitchen together.  I move out for the cooking and back in to stage the clean-up, which is fine with me.  I cooked for a family of six for enough nights to satisfy that urge. I think this particular teenaged “punishment” was the beginning of a lifelong interest in preparing food for others to enjoy -for those two boys especially.  Philip, at 32, has his own organic beverage business in New York (www.cupandcompass.com) – his drinks are served in about 90 restaurants. Edward, 30, went on to get a graduate degree in food and culture at Carlo Petrini’s University of Gastronomic Science (http://www.unisg.it) in northern Italy. He works in the food industry as well, as manager of The Daily, here in Charleston. They are both outstanding cooks and anyone invited to dinner at their homes can look forward to an amazing experience.

Jay and I found that "name your own punishment" worked really well. In fact, our kids often came up with harsher consequences than what we had planned for them. Plus, if they had a voice in the situation, they were much more likely to follow through,  and the added bonus was that there seemed to be a lot less complaining along the way. So, instead of sending them to their room, allow them to be creative - maybe you will get a clean attic out of the deal (thank you for that, William).

WHY I THINK IT'S TRUE

Here I am with Ele's namesake at her uncle's wedding, last year.

I’ve been musing for a while now about how to explain my faith.  My niece, Megan, said, “I can’t wait to hear that!” So, the pressure was on.  This may take a few postings but it is certainly important enough to me to try to get it right. 

Jay and I went to see “Risen” this afternoon and although I usually cringe at the cheesiness of most Christian movies, this one wasn’t that way.  First of all, the time period was just from the day Jesus was crucified to the day he rose to heaven – three days I think. More of a manageable chunk of time to really get into it.  It is told from the perspective of a Roman centurion which made it especially interesting.  At one point, the centurion is questioning a disciple and when asked why he followed “the Nazarene,” he didn’t really answer.  A bit later in the movie, the Roman witnesses Jesus healing a man of some sort of horrible skin disease. The same disciple as before turns to the centurion and says, “That’s why.”  That scene made me realize that witnessing Jesus’ miracles in my own life is why I am a believing Christian.

It is unfortunate that the times I feel God’s presence the very most are often heart breaking times. I guess I don’t recognize a need for Him when things are going well. This happened almost 27 years ago. I have a dear, precious friend, Betsy.  We met when our kids were little – we each had three and they were all close in age from about 2 to 6 years old.  We both spent summers at a lake in northern Michigan and our kids loved being together as much as we did. We would spend all day in the water, skiing and tubing, and then head to the bowling alley for pizza and more fun. Betsy and I were sad to leave each other at the end of each summer, their family to East Lansing, ours back to Sarasota, but knew we would be joined at the hip once again after another school year. In March of 1988, we were overjoyed to welcome another little one to their family and they helped us usher in boy #4, William, to the Crouse crew a few months later.  Their little Ele (named for her grandmother, Helen, pronounced Ellie) was a beautiful, blond, curly-headed girl and Betsy and I loved having our babies so close together.  Our families were now a raucous, fun-loving band of 12!

Ele was a few months old when doctors began to worry she was not gaining weight as she should.  It was the summertime and little Ele would come along when us grown-ups would go out to dinner so Betsy could nurse her.  Unfortunately, Ele needed a lot of soothing but we were all good at that so we would just pass her around. Every one of us fell in love with the tiniest member of our tribe and worried about her.  One hot summer day, Betsy took Ele downstate to the hospital for some tests. Betsy called me from the parking lot crying. The medical staff had sent her out to the hot parking lot to have baby Ele sweat.  That’s right – they needed to gather Ele’s perspiration for some type of test.  Apparently, it was a very bad sign that our Ele’s delicate little body didn’t react to the heat.

Many painful months followed, as Ele became sicker and sicker.  She had several things wrong with her, none of them life-threatening by themselves, but having them in conjunction with each other painted a very worrisome picture. I tried to call Betsy every day during those trying, sad, scary months. Ele was not getting any better and was spending week after week in the hospital. Betsy did not grow up in a Christian home but has always been open to me praying, saying blessings, looking to God for answers. I prayed constantly for the whole family, Ele, her doctors and nurses.

A couple of weeks before Ele’s first birthday, my phone rang. I picked it up and heard a tiny, whimpering voice say, “We’re going to lose her.”  The doctors had told Betsy and her husband that Ele was not going to get better, that she would not make it.  That actually she only had a matter of days to live.  Everyone was crushed, actually too devastated to even know what to say. Betsy and I just cried together on the phone. I asked if she wanted me to come right then or wait and come for the funeral. She said, “Please, come now.” I was on the plane the next morning – I got the last available seat. I am typically not that good at settling into lengthy praying but as I sat in a middle seat on the last row of the plane, I prayed the entire way from Florida to Michigan.  I asked God to just work through me, speak for me, act for me – because I knew I couldn’t do this without Him. Betsy picked me up and we went directly to the hospital.  Poor, precious Ele lay there, looking like a sleeping cherub except she was connected to all sorts of tubes and monitors. They had to give her some sort of sedative to keep her from pulling things out. James Taylor’s, “Shower the People with Love” came softly from the cassette player on Ele’s crib bed. I felt such love for this tiny one.

We stayed as long as we could and took a bunch of pictures. I think that was a way for Betsy to process what was happening. She wanted to be sure to remember, in detail, her daughter’s too-short life always. It also gave us something to do while we deeply mourned. We dropped off the film at the drugstore, to be processed in an hour, and headed home where some of the extended family were gathering for dinner. We all tried to act “normal” and be happy to see each other but normalcy was not a possibility.  Betsy was in a daze – before dinner, she suddenly said, “Let’s run pick up the pictures.”  As everyone sat down to eat, we hopped in the car and went for the photos.  God continued to give me the words to love and support my friend.

After our stop at the drugstore, instead of heading back home, we headed back to the hospital.  Betsy couldn’t stand to be away from what might be Ele’s last moments. As we arrived, Betsy greeted the nurses she had come to know so well over the last months.  I continued to ask God to guide me every second.  I asked the nurse if Betsy could hold Ele and as Betsy knew the nurse would, she explained that unfortunately all of the tubes and monitors made that impossible. Betsy hadn’t been able to hold her baby in her arms for weeks. So, we stood by our little girl’s bedside and smoothed her hair and kissed and loved on her as best we could.  Ele’s Dad came soon after we arrived and the three of us cried together.  They had both been so strong in the face of this unspeakable tragedy. The doctor arrived and said there was really no point in prolonging the agony that everyone, including baby Ele, was enduring.  Betsy and her husband must make the unthinkable decision of if and when to remove the life-sustaining machines to let their precious daughter go. What a dark moment of incomprehensible sorrow.

Ele’s Dad was ready to end this misery and let his little girl be at peace. Everyone was well aware that this misery would end only for a new type of grief to begin. Yet Betsy just couldn’t do it – her own life had been all about Ele and this hospital for so long – she just wasn’t ready. An amazing, loving nanny had gotten the other children through this time so Betsy could focus entirely on her sick baby. It was late and time to go get some sleep but Betsy and I stayed to what would become our goodbyes to our little angel baby. As we sat and cried and Betsy struggled to let go, a new nurse Betsy had never seen before entered the room. Not one to take no for an answer, I asked again, “Would it be possible for Betsy to hold her baby?” To our surprise, she said, “Absolutely.” And then the nurse proceeded to move the monitors and IVs all around and placed the precious, tiny bundle in Betsy’s arms. We cried…and cried…and cried. Then I grabbed the camera and started to take pictures of mother and daughter. Betsy was able to say goodbye to the youngest of her three daughters.

We headed home for Betsy to tell Ele’s Dad that she was ready to let her go and that when they returned in the morning, she would tell the doctor. We said goodnight and headed to bed. I had an early flight home the next morning. Jay was extremely supportive but was taking care of four little boys including a four-month-old, who had suddenly been weaned when I got on a plane several days before. My family was eager for my return. I got in bed and prayed, “God, I am here to do whatever you need me to do but remember I have to leave in a few short hours.”  Like God ever needs to be reminded of anything. That very second, the phone rang. I heard Ele’s dad, also my dear friend, say, “We will be right there.”  Ele had taken a turn for the worse. We threw on clothes and knowing the way, I got behind the wheel while the two grieving parents cried in each other’s arms in the back seat.  We arrived at the hospital to find that Ele had just peacefully passed away. At least God had spared them the agony of watching their baby take her last breath.  My two beloved friends spent some time saying goodbye to their treasured baby daughter while I stayed in the visitor’s room and greeted family members.

After some time, we headed back to the house.  Betsy and I sat on the kitchen counter and drank coffee, talking and crying, for the rest of the night.  Their family was surrounded by loving family and friends and a close friend would soon be arriving from Maryland, so with such a heavy heart, I headed home. I was torn about where to be but my own family needed me now. Because I couldn’t actually be with my friend in person during the next days, I decided to go and sit at my church in Sarasota during Ele’s funeral. I got in the car, started it up and the radio was already on….playing, “Shower the People with Love.”

Here is what I know. God was there in that hospital room. I actually felt that God was in me, not just guiding my steps, my actions, even the words I spoke but actually doing it for me. I know it sounds strange but I feel that through me, God gave Betsy some hope that she would see her baby girl again. When I asked that nurse if Betsy could hold Ele, I felt those words had not originated with me – they just came out of my mouth. And, I searched for that nurse to thank her for allowing Betsy those cherished moments with her baby, she was nowhere to be found. She had simply disappeared. There was another nurse assigned to Ele’s care that night and she did not know who this mysterious nurse could possibly have been. God used me – I know He did. Although you could ask, then, why didn’t God heal Ele and allow her to live? I don’t know the answer to that. I think God is oftentimes sad with us.

What God did do after this heart-break came a short time later.  Betsy was empowered to go out and raise funds and community support to start an incredible organization to help grieving families.  Please check out Ele’s Place (www.elesplace.org ) which has helped thousands of children and teens cope with the loss of a parent, sibling or other loved one. The ripples of soothing one person’s grief can’t be counted – all because of one little girl’s 11-month life.

I had never felt God so near to me as I did during those days. Now, I feel it more often. I recognize His voice and feel his strength and comfort. Sure, hearing a song on the radio or having a nurse act like an angel could be a coincidence but I cracked the door open for God to come in when I was 18 years old and He has been with me ever since. Of course, there are times when I think, “Wait a minute, this doesn’t make any sense. How could there really be a “force” controlling all of this? That is not how rational people think, is it? It is just too hard to believe.” But as soon as I suspend that feeling of “I have to touch it and see it to believe it” – I know He is there because I see that whatever it may be, I could not have done it by myself. God will prove His existence but you are the one who has to open the door - just a crack - and suspend your black and white feelings long enough to let Him accomplish something amazing in you and for you. If you are willing to give Him a chance, your life could be remarkably changed. What is there to lose – really? If IT is true, there is so much to gain. And if it’s not true, you’ve lived a life full of hope, trust and love.

So, when asked why I am a Christian, why I believe in an amazing God, I can say, “that’s why.”

A sweet ending to a sad story is that Betsy’s oldest daughter, Hallie, had a baby girl, the first grandchild, a couple of years ago …..and they named her Ele.

p.s. As I have read and reread this account, I realize it seems that my time up north was about 18 hours long. I was actually there for a few days but strangely I can’t remember a thing about those couple of days prior to the events above. Yet, the story of the time period I shared is etched like clear crystal in my memory.

SOUTHERN FAVORITE

The most southern of southern deliciousness?  Some might say grits but what makes grits the “good” kind is a matter of opinion.  The best grits to this Atlanta girl have an obscene amount of butter, which could prove embarrassing in a restaurant or on a first date, plus liberal usage of salt and a sprinkling of pepper. Some like cheese in their grits, or shrimp but I’m a purist.  Unfortunately, restaurants rarely do them well. Then there are many, like Jay, who would really prefer them not to be on their plate for fear they will touch (and infect) their eggs.  Next up as a possibility is cornbread –  which is an immediate “no” because so much cornbread has sugar or something else sweet added – yuck! Ok, ok….how about fried chicken you say?  Yes, I can see that as a contender – just be sure it is juicy yet not greasy, crispy skin and succulent – but then you have the white or dark meat debate to haggle over.

All of this brings me to the very best of southern delicacies, which is anything but delicate – the Southern Pound Cake.  As a little girl, I got to help Ello, our housekeeper/nanny/cook, who was also my adored friend, make her mouth-watering pound cake regularly. My “help” began at around two years old, by watching and licking the beaters, then progressed to sifting and separating eggs to eventually mastering the complete recipe myself (what a proud day). I used to beg Ello (pronounced L.O.) to leave a little more batter in the bowl for me to lick. I couldn’t believe that she could scrape that batter to where the bowl barely needed to be cleaned! My heart jumped with joy whenever I heard Mama say, “Evelyn, would you mind making a pound cake for…..” Apparently, a funeral spread, a wedding shower, a new neighbor’s counter just weren’t complete without one of Ello’s pound cakes.  I even had a little business when I was about 14 when Mama’s friends would pay me to make them one of Ello’s pound cakes. Not as good as Ello’s, of course, but they sweetly humored me until my interest waned.

Of course, there are a million different recipes for this southern mainstay. Everyone who makes a pound cake thinks theirs is the best.  My neighbor/surrogate Grandma, Granny Bettye makes a delicious one that she gives as gifts often.  She takes two (one is just not enough!) to the salon we share on occasion and one day, the color specialist, Liz, begged for the recipe.  Bettye gave the recipe to Liz, who excitedly tried it out.  Liz was crushed – it didn’t taste the same as Bettye’s! Liz wondered if Bettye had left something out on the recipe card (by accident of course).  Betty’s response is that it might be the pan, which after 1000 cakes is very well seasoned. My friend, Julie, made a pound cake for our family this Christmas. I am not exaggerating when I say her car was not out of our driveway before William and I had stripped off the saran wrap and cut ourselves a big slice.  I have a running joke with my friend, Jacki, who had the nerve to tell me my pound cake wasn’t the “real” kind because it has sour cream in it. We laugh about it but I’m sure to some, it is no laughing matter.

But here is what I know, a warm piece of pound cake right out of the oven is something close to heaven for most. Most homemade pound cakes are pretty darned good, no matter the nuances of the recipe. Anytime of day is a good time for a yummy slice with a glass of cold milk or a cup of joe.  Toasted with a little butter spread on it is the perfect breakfast.  A pound cake is great for a house full of guests – at the ready for midnight snackers or an afternoon pick me up. Arriving at anyone’s door with a pound cake in hand makes you a welcome sightt indeed. A delicious pound cake can make a celebration more festive and a sad occasion more bearable. A pound cake is a gift of love.

I am happy to share just one of the wonderful legacies my dear Ello left me.

ELLO’S FAMOUS SOUTHERN POUND CAKE   

3 cups plain White Lilly flour, sifted 3 times

3 cups sugar

2 sticks butter, softened

6 eggs, separated

1 tsp. vanilla extract

1 tsp. lemon extract

¼ tsp. baking soda

8 oz. sour cream

Preheat oven to 350 degrees.  Grease (with Crisco) and flour Bundt pan. Sift flour three times.  Cream butter and sugar together. Add 6 egg yolks, gently stirring each one in separately, by hand.  Add vanilla and lemon extracts and baking soda. Stir by hand.  Add one cup of flour, stir. Add sour cream, stir. Add another cup of flour, stir. Add rest of flour and stir in but not too well.  Beat egg whites until stiff but not too dry. Fold egg whites into batter with large spoon. Beat with mixer until smooth – about 3 minutes. Pour batter into pan and gently shake it until evenly distributed.    

Bake in preheated oven for 1 hour and five minutes.

Then send up a little prayer to Ello of thanksgiving and perhaps a request to keep an eye on your cake.