I grew up in Bloomington, Indiana until we moved to Arkansas when I was ten. I remember two things the most from those years: the humidity and going to my Mammaw's. As a kid, I always sensed tremendous tension between the parental units and my grandparents, but had no clue as to the problem. I was of mixed feelings. On the one hand, I wanted to go, be free of my mother's craziness, to be in a place that smelled of yeast rolls and sugar cookies. On the other hand, my grandmother's silences, hard work, and distance from emotion created a difficult, unnerving environment. I was pretty sure she loved me, but I never seemed to live up her exacting standards. Poppaw was easy. He just loved me. The warm crinkles of his eyes stays with me to this day. As a teen, Mammaw's neighbor, of no relation but called Mammaw Haynes, explained that sometimes love is doing. Rhubarb pie, blackberry jelly, and strawberry jam meant love. Hmmm... I'm a compulsive over eater. Go figure.

These stones used to literally just be lay
out in the fields. Folks gathered them for
fences and the outside of houses.

We were expected for Sunday dinner every week. My grandfather bought the one room house when he married Mammaw. Year by year he added rooms, using Indiana limestone on the outside. Eventually my Mammaw had a three bedroom, two bathroom home with a formal dining room where the family gathered on Sundays. Because I often spilled jelly on the Sunday tablecloth, I had waxed paper under my plate. It was convenient to draw on with the blunt end of my fork while dinner plates were removed and rinsed, and desert was brought to the table.

A year or so before we moved, things changed. In later years I heard stories of my grandmother's meddling and intrusiveness. I'll never really know how much was Daddy's resistance to anyone having a say over my mother and me. Or how much was my mother's mental illness. Or how much was religion, when daddy took mother and me from the family Methodist church where I sat between my parents or grandparents on Sundays, to the austerity of the Church of Christ. I certainly enjoyed Mammaw's yeast rolls over the cafeteria food and conversation of those church people on Sunday afternoon. Indeed, that year or two before we moved to Arkansas were the only years I remember my parents being social. My mother went to the hospital once or twice for her "nervous stomach" but she was relatively stable and we as a family seemed normal to the outside world.

When we moved to Arkansas I mourned yeast rolls and rhubarb pie. I didn't miss the coldness and the undertones of the house. But I dreaded, when I went back two weeks in the summer, returning to Arkansas where things had gotten really crazy. I tried, desperately, to tell my grandparents how wrong things were. I gave up when I was instructed to stop talking bad about my mother. Now I suspect that my grandparents couldn't tolerate their own powerlessness.

Put those thoughts on back the burner.

For the last two Sundays, Cameron and I have been going to church and then taking food to her parents since her father broke his shoulder. I am a convenience freak, and would not normally get up early on a Sunday morning to prepare a casserole before church to carry it to a family member. Hell, I wouldn't normally have a family member to carry a casserole dish to. Let's be honest, the parental units are 700 miles away, as is the youngest son. The eldest son doesn't speak to me. So Cameron's family is the nearest family I have.

Put that on the back burner.

Last night Cameron and I attended dinner and the theatre as guest of his brother and sister-in-law. Every year we pick the show, and as a Christmas present they take us out. Last night we saw Foxfire, which is about family and one's land, and roots. It struck deeply for me. I have no roots. They were torn from the ground and shaken when I was ten, poisoned by mental illness and over thirty moves in my lifetime. My family is distant, divided, or deceased. Yet there I sat with my partner and adopted family, accept and loved.

Put it all together and stir the pot.

Family Reunion
Cameron is in the shorts, I'm in the yellow shirt

On our way home this evening, I realized how much I miss what might have, should have, or imperfectly was. Aunts, uncles and cousins that gathered at those Sunday dinners. Forth-of-July family reunions and wedding anniversaries. Cameron's family has graciously given those gifts back to me. Last summer we gathered -- check out the picture. Huge family gathering and the only person not entirely aware of our "gayness" was Cameron's dad, who chooses not to acknowledge it. Cam and I are conspicuously together on the left side.

So going to church today, taking the in-laws food, was a delightful echo of years gone by. The should have, could have, would have of the past coalesced into something imperfect but beautiful, treasured and delightful. I actually spent the week planning the menu: veggie pie, slow cooked chicken, Saltine Toffee and Crispy Salted Oatmeal White Chocolate Cookies.

I'm feeling daring. I think next week will be Sunday Sausage, Apple, and Cheese Strata and I want to try NILLA Tiramisu Cookie Balls.

Have I mentioned that I am compulsive overeater? No, really. Card carrying. Even attended 12 step meetings in my twenties when I still lived in Ar. I've struggled with my weight all of my life. Deprivation and abuse as a child can do that to a person. Enough said about that today, as that's not the point at all.

When I turned 40 I moved to SC (chasing Cameron, and caught her too!). I didn't know I was perimenapausal. In my late thirties I weighed 169 pounds, was a size 16 and quite satisfied with my weight. Changing metabolism, depression, sedimentary job and my weight went up. Did the Atkins thing for a while, got back to a size 18, and then became a debt collector. Have I mentioned I hated that job, although I was very good at it: "Hi, I'm calling on behalf of Dollar General and have your return check here in my office. We are scheduled to send it back through your account on Friday for $207.69 including the return check fee. Will your funds available or do you need me to wait until Monday?"

I topped out at 291 pounds. That's a lot of weight for someone who doesn't quiet make it to 5-04. Worse, being broke is not conducive to healthy eating. Fresh fruit and veggies are expensive. And stress and depression don't help.

Things have changed a little. I'm in a job I love, even if I do work for Scrooge (please have another lump of coal? Running the air conditioning when it's 20 degrees outside should be illegal). I've had a little discussion with my body about portions (half what it used to be...post menopausal women really don't need a lot of food...damn). Cameron's student loan came in, and I tackled our kitchen. Yes, there really was a can from 1999. And if people generously have brought us food on occasion, out of kindness upon seeing our empty cabinets or frig, I'm still not eating the gift of black eyed peas.

All out of date cans cleared from the shelves, I had room to organize. And then I changed how we eat. We've cut our portions. And I get one desert a day. Every day. No cravings, no deprivation, no guilt. And if I screw up, no starting over, I just keep going.

Today I weigh 277 pounds. I've still a long way to go, but it's happening. And food is going from my little secret to my public pleasure. So don't be surprised when my favorite recipes, some borrowed, some created, show up here.

So here's the most awesome Spaghetti Sauce Recipe I've ever made:

Spaghetti and Meat Sauce

In the crock pot, combine:

3 cans Hunts diced tomatoes with basil, garlic and oregano

2 cans tomato paste

1 20 ounce can crushed tomatoes

Brown sugar

mushrooms

In a skillet combine:

2 pounds hamburger

1 stalk celery diced

1 large onion diced

Fennel

Oregano

Basil

Thyme

Garlic

Drain the hamburger and combine with crock pot. Cook till dinner.

This makes tons...we ate lunch. And dinner. And I've a spaghetti casserole (top with mozzarella cheese and bake) for tomorrow. Cut those leftovers into servings and freeze for another day. A reasonable serving size, and little salad, and a desert (lemon bars today).

Oh, and the day I make deserts? Usually about once a week -- I get two! Rewards for sticking with it. LOL I also freeze any deserts not planned for the day. And they do not come out of the freezer until they are to be defrosted for the follow day. Oh, and I get to eat my desert first! Usually an hour or so before supper. Pretty cool, huh?