ACTIONS SPEAK LOUDER THAN WORDS

        JOE"S Family restaurant in Ocean City, on the Eastern Shore of MD. opened onto the boardwalk adjacent to the long wooden pier, spilling out over the Atlantic Ocean.   

             The summer of my sophomore year in High School ( 1961), I boarded a Greyhound Bus for the 50 mile trip to start my first summer job away from home at JOE"S, waitressing.                   

           The learning curve was steep for the first couple weeks, no eating in the restaurant during working hours, no smoking at our corner table, no flirting with customers, clean uniforms and shoes a must, cleaning rules for all stations at the end of each shift.

           I'd been forewarned by a senior waitress, when ordering coffee from Etta, we were to ask for  coffee "with" for cream or coffee without, meaning black.  Etta was feisty and did not take kindly to us white girls using the word black for coffee orders.              

             One hot, humid Saturday afternoon in late July, I observed a negro gentleman in a dark suit and straw hat outside the restaurant looking at a menu posted near the grill where " Squirrel" was busy flipping burgers.  After several minutes, "Squirrel" caught my eye and beckoned me to come to the front and verbally gave me the man's order which I wrote out on my order pad and placed on a clothes pin inside the kitchen serving window in the back.

           He'd ordered a T-Bone steak, potato and peas.  I waited on a couple booths, keeping one eye focused on the serving counter, waiting for my order to be filled.   

           When " Big James" rang the bell I noticed the meal was served on a paper plate.  Walking to the front and handing the warm paper plate to Squirrel, I observed he passed the steak and plastic utensils out to the gentleman, who then made his way across the boardwalk to a green bench.  Shocked I asked, " Can;'t we at least give him silverware"?  "Squirrel's" response was Roy, our boss, would " chew his hide". 

        Slowly returning to my station, sadness crept over me like a dense fog.  Pausing for a couple  minutes, I asked a co-worker in my area to watch my tables while I ran an errand.  She looked at me  puzzled, as this was unusual.  Without batting an eye, I picked up silverware from the tray and a steak knife wrapped in a napkin,  strolled out the front of the restaurant to the green benches directly across where our customer was sitting with his meal balanced precariously on his knees.  

         Saying Hello, I introduced myself and handed him the bundle of silverware and asked if I could sit down.  He responded,  "Yes Maam".  As he ate his meal in the hot afternoon sun, we spoke of the weather, where we lived, our families and fishing , as Roy's round, sour face glared over his glasses at me across the chasm. 

         Upon finishing his meal and disposing the plate in a nearby trash can, he handed me the silverware wrapped in the napkin, smiled and thanked me for keeping him company. 

        As he walked away, my gaze followed him knowing in my heart I'd done the right thing, " Do unto others" echoing from an earlier teaching.    

 

       My future was unknown to me then as I rose from the green bench, slowly making my way back across the boardwalk, with a clear vision that equality and dignity was every man's right in America.                                                                                                                 Brenda Payne

 

 

Writing Class

New nurses Brenda and Robin - Boise, Idaho 1966

 Brenda's 'Amigo'  - her first car - 1965 or 1966 Mustang - what? no convertible?

My Nursing School friend, Brenda, has been taking a creative writing class. She gave me her permission to post two of her papers. I think they are wonderful stories and very well written. I'd give her an A+ :

                                 MS. MILLER 

                   Driving a new Easter egg yellow convertible, Ms. Miller pulled into the driveway, turned off the engine and stepped out from behind the wheel. She was a vision like no other, wearing a strapless flowered dress, red lipstick, sunglasses and high heeled shoes, resembling glass.

                  After knocking on the screen door, adjacent to the pump, and receiving no response, she turned to go, as my Mother, in a flour sack cotton dress, returned from the chicken house with an empty grain bucket dangling from her forearm. Introducing herself, Billie Miller mentioned that Mr. Harry at the corner grocery store offered our names for possible chores she needed done around her newly leased farmhouse.

                  Holding my breath as I peered out the kitchen window, my Mother answered affirmatively, my brothers and I were available for her tasks, commencing in the morning. Thanking my mother, she turned and strolled back to her car, with the afternoon sun casting golden shadows on her bare tan shoulders.

                  Beside myself with anticipation, the evening felt like molasses running uphill, slowly inching toward darkness.  I could hardly wait until morning when I'd be walking up her long driveway and knocking on her door.  

                 The next morning, she answered the door, wearing pedal pushers, halter top and sandals with jewels! As she greeted me, I focused on the vast space beyond her silhouette  She invited me in, picked up her list from the kitchen counter, and motioned for me to follow her room to room.  I'd never seen anything so spacious and beautiful.  Growing up in our cramped Maryland farmhouse quarters, two rooms with a lean-to kitchen, left little room for space, privacy or beauty.

     

                  She laid out various chores for each week, sweep and vacuum all rooms, clean floors, shake throw rugs, dust, clean walkways, clean kitchen, hang clothes outside to dry, among others. I'd performed most of the chores for others in the small town, however, never had I seen a room like her

bedroom. This was nirvana. The highlight of chores was to clean her bedroom closet and try on her exotic shoes, prancing around the room, pretending to be a movie star!  Adjacent to the closet stood a floor length mirror, surrounded by a dark wooden frame.  When tilted, ones entire body could be viewed all at one time. My familiarity with a mirror was on the front of the medicine chest, hanging in our kitchen.

                  After work, she'd invite me to jump through the sprinkler in the yard, the spray of water cooling me as I twirled.  This was a new experience as our water source was a hand pump. When I'd recite my multiplication tables, she'd listen and exclaim how smart I was.  She taught me how to walk up and down stairs like a "lady". Occasionally, she'd invite me to ride in her convertible to a neighboring town to pick up her dry cleaning and laundry.  Feeling like a princess, I'd choose a pair of her numerous sunglasses from the visor.  Pulling into a gas station created quite a buzz as the attendants would jockey to pump her gas and check the oil, never a moments wait.

                  Back home, at suppertime when rehashing our day, some things were left unsaid.  Being from a teetotal-ling household, I'd never seen such beautiful and exotic bottles that perched in her glass front cupboard in the dining room. My Father would not have approved.

                 In the afternoon, after my chores, I'd join her in the yard as she sunbathed in her two-piece bathing suit, lying on a lounger sipping on a sweating glass of ice, filled with a honey colored liquid.

                Hanging up her lacy underwear on the clothes line did not, in the least, resemble my rainbow panties from Sears and Roebuck catalog, with a " day of the week" stamped on the back of each pair.

               In the living room stood a framed picture of a handsome teen-aged boy in a uniform.  Later, I learned he was her 14 yr. old son.  He attended a military academy in Baltimore.  From all accounts, there was no sign of a Mr. Miller.  There were whispered rumors floating around town that she was

DIVORCED!

               Sometimes on the week-ends, a dark haired handsome man would drive down from the city.  On Monday morning, there'd be unwashed dishes piled beside the sink, cigarette butts in the ash trays, and empty bottles from the corner cupboard.

              One evening she dropped me off in her convertible.  My Father, a serious man, was in the garden across the country road, leaning on his hoe.  As she stepped out of the car to open the trunk, my father stood a little straighter and I saw the corners of his mouth curl in to a wide grin as he called Hello to her.

             She was unlike any woman I'd known in my short life of 10 years.  That impressionable, magical summer produced gifts not wrapped in a fancy box.. however, treasures of another sort, confidence, self esteem, believing in myself and independence. 

             I'd met a woman who was the pilot of her own ship.

 

 

 

My wine history:

My first wine tasting was in 1965 at age 22 on a Rhine river cruise - German Hock /Riesling while attending the ICN [International Convention of Nurses in Frankfort]. After Nursing School, I moved to Boise via Mexico and then to San Francisco from Delaware in 1966. Settled down in San Francisco with my first husband, Bruce Buchanan, Marnie's father, who deserted me in 1968 while pregnant. We moved to Berkeley in 1971 with Joel Peterson, a co-worker I met at Mt. Zion. We attended a weekly wine tasting dinner group at the Basque Hotel every Thursday, with visiting wine writers, negociants and importers: Hugh Johnson, Harry and Prudence Waugh from England, Frank Schoonmaker among the guests. I once surprised everyone with an Idaho Riesling from St. Chapelle in a brown bag - blind tasting.

 Joel and I were certified as Journeymen at a 1974 Napa Valley Wine Library wine appreciation course led by James Beard with Joe Heitz, Richard Peterson and Robert Mondavi among the instructors. 

Joel and I helped Joe and June Swan from harvest to bottling and often shared casual wine dinners with Kermit Lynch, neighbor Tom Dehlinger, Andre and Dorothy Tchelistcheff. Andre, Kermit and I were the only smokers - so we enjoyed each other's company as  outsiders after dinner. 

Joel and I made our first wine from blackberries, a second from Alexander Valley Cabernet Sauvignon in 1975 and started Ravenswood with our first commercial vintage of Zinfandel in 1976.  We often went to wine dinners at Chez Panisse in Berkeley and got to know Alice Waters and Mark Miller, who started Coyote Cafe much later in Sante Fe. Joel and I split up in 1979 and I took a year off in 1981 - early retirement - to visit France. Marnie, age 14, and I picked wine grapes in Meursault, stayed overnight at Jean-Michel Cazes of Lynch-Bages home in Paulliac, Bordeaux. As the mayor of Paulliac, he arranged for us to visit and taste at Mouton Rothschild as well as Lynch-Bages. 

I had taken a bottle of 1895 Simi Zinfandel with other CA wines in a case shipped to France - which I shared with friends Mary and Ivan Moseley in London. I love sharing surprises with people I know will appreciate wine. 

Returning to the US, I stayed with my sister Rhea in Rising Sun, MD. A neighbor let me make simple wine from his French Hybrid grapes: Marechal Foch and Seyville Blanc.  

My grandmother in Boise asked me to come help her with my grandfather who had been recently diagnosed with Alzheimers. Meanwhile, I had re-connected with Bob - my High School Sweetheart and we married in Boise on July 14, 1983 - 30 years coming up! 

We had both enjoyed making wine and beer and dancing! We became members of Les Amis du Vin with Statesman wine columnist, Brooks Tish;  joined TVWS in 2004 when the first Idaho competition and tasting was held at Eagle Knoll. We helped with pouring wines for the judging in 2005. I was asked to judge in 2006 at the Riverside.  

 In 2007, I chaired the judging panel at 8'th Street wine Cafe inviting Gary Vaynerchuk as a guest judge - public festival tasting at the Crystal Ballroom; 2008 we moved the competition only - no public tasting, to Meadow Lake Village with Doug Frost MS, MW as the guest judge and in 2009 we held our last TVWS Idaho Wine Competition at Meadow Lake. Savor Idaho promoted a public tasting and subsequent competition judging was taken over by NW Wine writers. Pairing wines with creative menus is my focus now as liaison for TVWS. 

Bob and I enjoy creative food preparation and have collected 2000 + bottles of wines in our cellar - it is time for us to drink more and buy less! Cheers!    

The End

2012 was not the end of life as we know it based on the Mayan prediction on a stone calendar. For 2013, we may slide or fall off the fiscal cliff, but I resolve to blog on a more regular basis. Happy Healthy New Year to all my friends and family. Great experiences, good wines and kind thanks for your patience.

Groaners

Groaner: Retiring Cop

A detective who spent his entire career in plain clothes
quit the police force and bought a farm.

"What kind of crops do you plan to grow?" the police chief
asked the farmer-to-be.

"Carrots and potatoes," the man replied.

"Why carrots and potatoes?" asked the chief.

"Because," answered the ex-detective, "I'm very fond of
undercover crops."

Growing up, our family physician was also a family friend. His wife was very buxom, which was the word used for a woman with well-endowed mammary tissue.

The joke she told us all one night at a dinner party painted a vivid picture of her on my memory. There had been a man, reported in our small town, who walked up behind women and 'goosed' them and then got away quickly without being caught or identified.

Well, Dorothea Donoho, trapped him. She recounted that upon feeling his hand sliding up under her skirt, she waited just long enough for him to start 'goosing', when she "tightened up her buttocks and proceeded to march him right down to the police station." She retold the tale with complete animation of the event, showing how she walked with her prisoner entrapped behind her. With a wiggle accentuating her slender waist, all the tissue above her belt bounced most vigorously, while her lower half was intensely rigid in purpose to not let go.  

Monday Good Humor

Remembering Jokes that make me laugh:
My father's favorite DuPont story -> "Better Living Through Chemistry" - Mrs. DuPont and Mrs. Scott of 'Scott Paper Company' had a running rivalry regarding their husband's corporate creations. One day during a bridge luncheon they both attended regularly, Mrs. Scott told Mrs. DuPont that her husband's company had just created a toilet paper that was so soft and so efficient at cleansing that it would be the customers' favorite choice. Never to be 'out done', Mrs. DuPont exclaimed that once her husband's R & D Chemical and Pharmaceutical engineer's product hit the markets, the need for toilet paper would be greatly diminished!
Mrs. Scott replied that she was delusional with her fantasy. Au contraire, said Mrs. DuPont. With one daily capsule, the solids that were to be eliminated would leave the body wrapped neatly in cellophane. !!!!

Dr. AM's rhyming timing:

The Farmer's Daughters. Once a farmer had 4 teen-aged daughters that he fiercely kept from dating. On one Saturday, all 4 pleaded with their father, saying they had each met someone nice they would like to go out with and he could meet the boys with his shotgun as they came over for their pre-arranged dates.

That evening, the farmer sat in his rocker next to the front door, with his shotgun across his lap.
The first boy approached him and said: "Hello Sir, My name is Eddy and I'm here to date Betty. We are going out for Spaghetti. Is she ready? "   Father farmer yelled in the house for Betty to come out side and he allowed them to leave together to go get spaghetti.

The second boy drove up to the house and approached the farmer. "Hello Sir, My name is Lance. I'm here to take Nancy to a square dance. Has she dressed fancy and remembered her petty-pants?"
Father farmer yelled for Nancy to come out side  and be sure to wear her long petty-pants - and he allowed them to drive off to the dance.

The third boy arrived on a bicycle built for two and introduced himself: "Good evening Sir, my name is Joe.
I'm here to date Flo. We're going to the picture show. Is she ready to go?"
Father farmer yelled inside for Flo and let her go on the bicycle with Joe to the picture show.

The fourth boy arrived and greeted Father farmer: Howdy Mister, My name is Chuck.
With that, the farmer aimed the shotgun at him and fired.

Robin's "Architectural Cold Eggs Benedict Salad"

I (Robin) made a creative breakfast today ... An Architectural Cold Eggs Benedict Salad - artichoke bottoms on a slice of tomato over lettuce and spinach, filled with crab meat and a half hard-boiled quail egg topped with a sauce of leftover garlic aoli [essentially hollandaise - homemade mayonaise] with chopped tarragon to resemble Bearnaise sauce. (Photo to the left is the prep work. Love the spotted quail eggs! Photo below is the plated salad. YUM-O!) Bob took photos ... they will be blogged later. (Here they are!)
Drinking fruit flavored water - fresh pineapple chunks and orange slices in water with mint leaves. No sweetener other than the fruit. I want to try the Raspberry / Lime, Watermelon/Rosemary and Blackberry/Sage waters too. Have had cucumber/lemon slices in water lots - very refreshing and natural. Can always use no-cal sparkling water instead of plain water. Of course we do keep Schweppes Tonic water on hand to mix with gin for keeping Malaria away!

Architectural Cold Eggs Benedict Salad