My friend posted on Facebook about how grateful she is for her neighbors; how they are like another set of grandparents to her, and how they treat her children like grandchildren of their own. This sparked a childhood memory of mine.
Our next door neighbors were like that. Bob and Fran. They were southern and lovely, with a magnolia tree in their front yard, its blossoms smelling of sweet today's and tomorrow's. Bob would sit in his rocking chair on their back porch just over our fence line, smoking his pipe. I always knew he was there when I'd smell honeyed tobacco rising up into the air like the gospel. I'd walk over to their yard, always welcome, and pick an orange from one of their various orange trees and sit down in the shade, just off to the side of him, enjoying the juicy sweet fruit. He'd talk about the day, the squirrels and birds, gardening. Fran and Bob were gardeners like my mom, our yards side by side, an abundance of loveliness. Often times, my mom was in our backyard when I'd be sitting with Bob, and they'd chit chat while she pruned shrubs and pulled weeds. I remember watching the clothesline in our yard while they would talk - three rows deep with weathered wooden clothespins holding up sheets, towels, socks, shirts; rows of upside down corn crisp and hot under the Florida sun, barely a breeze.
Speaking of corn, at the height of the growing season, Fran would invite me into her kitchen to shuck heaping piles of corn, wisps of thready hairs sticking to my arms. I loved helping her and loved even more the bowl of fresh, warm creamed corn she'd bring over to me later that day. I can still taste the brightness of that corn, the salt and cream with a hint of sugar, the texture like silk with just the right amount of crunch.
Oh, I could go on and on with stories about those two. Without a doubt, they had a hand in shaping who I am today: a lover of shady porches, rocking chairs, food with soul, good manners, tradition. And, still, I stop dead in my tracks if I smell pipe tobacco.
These two have been melting me lately. They will sit and play Candy Land - 3, 4, 5 - times in a row while I cook dinner. Or make a loaf of banana chocolate chip bread. Theo is full of blossoms, just like I remember that magnolia tree. He is reading more and more on his own, which brings me to tears, for real. To watch him look at the words and sound them out, or belt out a sight word with confidence practically brings me to my knees. Oh, I miss the nursing and cuddling of ten pounds of pure bliss, yes. But this stuff, this stuff of learning to read and write and play games is just magnificent. And to think I had a hand in making him and getting him to this point. I am in deep love and bursting with gratitude. He makes me think that maybe - just maybe - I've done something really well.
My Banana Bread
1 1/2 c. flour1 1/2 tsp. cinnamon1 tsp. ground ginger1/4 tsp. anise and cardamom (optional)1 tsp. baking soda1 tsp. salt1/4 tsp. baking powder1 c. brown sugar2 eggs2-3 very ripe bananas, mashed1 tsp. pure vanilla extract1/3 cup milk6 tbsp. unsalted butter, melted
Preheat oven to350 degrees F.
In a large bowl, add all of the ingredients starting with the flour and ending with the melted butter. Mix well. Pour into a buttered loaf pan and bake for about one hour, or until a toothpick comes out clean.
Extras: 1/2 cup chocolate chips, 1/2 cup toasted walnuts, or a dusting of sugar on top for a bit of crunch.
::: all photos taken with my iphone and shared on instagram. you can follow along at owl and twine. i'm a wee-bit addicted. are you on there? :::