The Crab Chronicles

Quick Update for Memorial Day Sunday

It's a beautiful sunny day here and Mother is feeling better. Thanks be to God! The past few days have been incredibly hard on us all. She is walking better, eating better, regaining her strength.

These two went to Walmart for me, since I haven't been able to leave the house since Mom fell.

She reminded me that today is the anniversary of Papa's death in 1972. It was 44 years ago and yet it seems like yesterday. I imagine they are celebrating in heaven!

Have a safe and happy rest of your holiday!

 

Lost Days

My mom and I have often remarked that Memorial Day is a terrible weekend for our family, most years. Something awful always seems to happen around this time every year.

Dad was diagnosed with cancer in 1996. My grandfather died in 1972. Last year, right before Memorial Day, I had to have emergency pacemaker surgery. These are just a few examples.

I thought this year we might have escaped the curse, but alas, not so.

Three days ago I got up to let Lola out and when I went downstairs I heard my mom was screaming HELP. I ran into her room and she was lying in the floor in the bathroom. She had been there for hours. Mike was spending the night at a friend's house. Lola had not barked. Mom had pitched into the bathroom door and then fallen.

I called an ambulance and they got her off the floor and checked her. Nothing was broken. She was horribly bruised, though.

The past few days have been an ordeal. She can barely walk. She has to be helped with everything. I'll leave it at that, but you get the idea.

She is getting stronger each day, but at age 82, it won't be a speedy recovery.

I feel like I am operating on autopilot. I have to keep reminding myself what day it is.

My brother is supposed to come in tomorrow, and that will be helpful. Michael felt awful that he wasn't here the night she fell, and his cell was dead the next day and he was gone all day. By the time he got home I was wiped out. We have had nurses coming in at night, which is a huge blessing. I have wonderful neighbors too, and they have been great.

Keep us in your prayers and have a safe and fun holiday weekend.

 

Bob Hasty Memorabilia

Every so often I Google the name of my grandfather, Bob Hasty, and see what's out there in terms of sports memorabilia. I have this wish that maybe one day I will find some film footage of him. His big league career was in the 1920's when film was in its infancy, so there's not much chance, but I can still hope.

Below is a baseball card from 1927, when he was playing in Oakland. In those days there was no major league baseball on the West Coast but the Oakland Oaks played high level baseball. Papa called it "winter ball" because the weather was so good they could play year round. The 1927 team was a good one: In 1927, the Oaks won their first pennant at Oaks Park, finishing 120–75 (.615), 14 ¹⁄₂ games over the runner-up Seals.

I have two of his baseball cards from when he played for Philadelphia in the early 1920's but I don't have either of these cards. It's sort of ironic that Papa spent 4 years with the Philadelphia Athletics, then went out to play in Oakland, and was pitching for them when they won the pennant out there. He never played for the "Oakland Athletics" however.

He also pitched a no hitter game around 1927 but it was an exhibition game so it's not in the record books. I have a clipping about it.

below, photos of Papa and my grandmother before they married in 1923

Honoring the Storytellers

I think my fascination with family history and the past began a long time ago when I was a little girl, and my dad would tuck me into bed at night and tell me stories. Often they were stories about Peter Rabbit or Brer Rabbit and Tarbaby [and no, the Joel Chandler Harris stories were not, in fact, racist - see here] but sometimes they were stories about the family. Dad's parents died before I was born, and the Hepzibah "homeplace" where he had grown up was rented out, so the world of his boyhood had vanished, except in his memory and imagination.

I was remembering that a few minutes ago when I read a Facebook posting about how to make whipped cream in a mason jar. Dad told me that my grandmother used to put cream in a mason jar and let him and his brothers throw the jar around for a while, until the cream had been "churned" to butter. Was that a wise thing to do?! Undoubtedly there were probably times when the jar got dropped and broken, but all three boys were fine athletes and could throw really well, so who's to say?!

[below, the only photo I know of that depicts my grandfather Thompson and all three boys, probably in the mid to late 1930's]

How do we know who we are, as Americans, as Southerners, as Thompsons or Hastys or Butlers or Hendersons or Christians?

We know who we are because we can place ourselves in stories. We are part of a group, or a clan, or a community, or a church. We need to see ourselves as part of the group, and know our place in that group, to really understand ourselves.

When our elders want to tell us stories, we need to be respectful and listen.

Years ago I went out to dinner with a work colleague right after starting a new job, and I was telling her some of what I thought were the more colorful and interesting stories of my parents and grandparents, as we ate. She listened and looked interested. There came a lull in the conversation, and then she said "Wow, I've never known someone so obsessive about their family. That's just weird, Dee."

I remember staring at her in utter confusion. [I also remember thinking, we are not going to be friends - and we weren't. She was nuts, I learned later.]

I grew up hearing stories from my parents. I still occasionally hear a new story from my mom, who is 82 but still has an incredible memory.

What's wrong with telling stories?!

At that point in my life I hadn't even contemplated going to Russia or adopting a child, and my life was... extremely boring. There just weren't all that many stories involving me that were worth sharing. I knew a lot of interesting family stories though.

Never underestimate the value of being a kid in a big family, especially a youngest kid. The older kids would go off and play and leave me behind. I learned to sit quietly and listen, as the grownups told stories.

I loved hearing about what it was like to live through the Great Depression, or World War II, or even the Cuban Missile Crisis. I loved the semi-naughty family stories that occasionally came up. ["Well you know why that baby's name is struck through in the bible - it's because his mama and daddy weren't married!"]

I collected stories the way some kids collect baseball cards, or beanie babies.

When I was in college I remember reading a book by Studs Terkel called Hard Times: An Oral History of the Great Depression. It changed my life. It made me acutely aware of how important it is to listen to the stories of ordinary people living through extraordinary times. It also resonated because it was so familiar to me. Real people, real voices, sharing their experiences - always more compelling than fiction, to me at least.

My grandfather Papa Hasty had to pull his own tooth during World War II because there were no dentists left in the rural area where the family lived. They had all gone to war. He went out to the barn and figured out some method of getting the tooth free from his mouth because the pain was killing him.

That's a great story.

[above, Papa and Mom during the 1940's, Myrtle Beach]

I wasn't but a few years out of college when I began to pester my father to write down his stories of being a little boy growing up in Hepzibah, Georgia - a tiny town stocked with vivid characters that Dad and his brothers told stories about all their lives. All the residents of Hepzibah had colorful names and were easy to imagine - "Meat" Hardin, and "Babydoll" and TK Mims. Here is an excerpt of one of Dad's stories, about his uncles - and let me say for the record, Dad was known to exaggerate -

"I am quite sure of the story of Uncle Claude, whom I believe was close to the oldest son, and Uncle Jake, who I know was the youngest son. During a graduation they rode their horses into the school and up on the stage, shouting obscenities at the school officials questioning whether their parents were married and suggesting things to the female members of the class that had not been heard out loud in the school or the church for a number of years and possibly to this day. The story is that Claude and Jake were asked to leave the stage along with their horses and they proceeded to do so, in approximately the same manner they entered the auditorium and the stage. However, the horses left behind clear evidence that they had indeed been in the school, in the auditorium, and upon the stage. This evidence was not removed until due notice had been made by all of those in attendance."

[above, my grandfather Thompson and one of his friends, in Hepzibah, probably in the late 1930's or early 1940's]

Now, did Uncle Claude and Uncle Jake really ride horses into the school? Probably. The rest of it may be embellished. Jake was known as a prodigious drinker throughout his life, so it seems possible. I didn't know Uncle Claude.

Alas, Dad only recorded on cassette a few of his stories, and I typed them up.

My grandparents were a source of stories.

Grandaddy fought Pancho Villa on the Mexican border in 1916. Dad only told Bruce those stories, not me. I guess he figured they weren't appropriate for a little girl.

Shortly before he died, Dad told me a story about Grandaddy going out to get in his car and go to work one day, and there was a chicken on the car. Even though the family lived right in downtown Hepzibah, they still kept chickens. Grandaddy couldn't shoo the chicken off the car, so he finally pulled out his pistol and shot the chicken.

[He is pictured above holding a fish that also met it's demise at his hands. He loved to fish.]

Even though I never met Thompson, I got a pretty good idea of him through that story. Dad also told me Grandaddy would sometimes need money for things like shoes for his children, and with no resources during the Depression, he would drive to Augusta and hustle pool. He'd dress in overalls, like a rube, and run a pool hustle, and that's how the kids got new shoes for school. I can't fault him for that. He was a survivor.

One day, if I can figure out how to do it, I want to write a book about the Hepzibah of my father's childhood.

My mother also has a ton of fascinating stories, but this blog is already too long so I will cease writing.

My final thoughts are as follows:

When some elderly person wants to share stories with you, listen. Ask questions. Learn as much as you can. If possible, record the stories in some way. Every old person is a repository of fascinating stories, and we need to preserve those stories for future generations.

It's by hearing these stories that we come to understand ourselves better, and we gain a much deeper perspective of life.

The World's Best Meatloaf

My cousin and BFF Lesleigh came to dinner last night and I made meatloaf, pasta salad, and sauteed spinach. I didn't feel awkward about serving her meatloaf, for several reasons. One, she's family, and has eaten many meals at our house. Two, I make

The World's Best Meatloaf

I know what you're thinking. MEATLOAF. YUCK. I always think of the scene in A Christmas Story when Ralphie's Mom is dishing out meatloaf from a loaf pan and it looks revolting.

I remember my mother making it when I was a kid, and the shudder of revulsion when I found bits of chopped up green peppers in my meatloaf.

I've also tasted meatloaf that had bits of chopped onion that weren't really cooked fully. [IMHO onions should only be ingested if they are either cooked down to a softness that's just a step above butter, or cooked into a crispy yumminess like an onion ring. I aim for one of those two states when I add onions to food.]

But back to my topic - meatloaf, for most people, means

MAJOR YUCKO.

My mother loves meatloaf. She says she can eat it every day. We don't get that crazy, but we do have it fairly often. She's 82, so she needs soft foods that are easy to chew.

So in the interest of public service, and to help busy moms throw together a great meal from scratch that kids will love, I give you my tips to make great meatloaf.

One of the keys is to NOT use cheap meat, like ground chuck. Use ground sirloin. Yes, it's a tiny bit more pricey, but it's worth it. One of the criticisms of beef is that animal fat is bad for your heart. I like to buy the leanest ground beef possible, and add some heart-healthy olive oil to my meat mixture.

Another key is if possible, let the beef sit out on the counter and warm up before you start making the meatloaf. I don't know why, but all beef should be room temp before cooking. Makes it more tender.

My grandmother was a Home Economics major and she taught mother that one of the keys to great meatloaf is to put 1-2 tablespoons of baking powder in the meat. This keeps it from being so heavy.

You also want to use 1 or 2 eggs.

I like to get a mixing bowl and put my meat in it and leave it under a towel for a while to warm up, then I add my eggs and baking powder first, to be sure those ingredients are in there.

I like to buy breadcrumbs that are seasoned and add them to the meat.

I throw in a handfull - about 2-4 tablespoons of crumbs. Now, you can also just put a piece of ordinary bread, and that's OK. If you are going to do that, soak the bread in water [or Sherry or soy sauce] first, for a minute. That makes it easier to break up and incorporate into the meat.

My mother's trick for making meatloaf great is to add in lots of flavorful liquids, until the meat is pretty soggy. You don't want dry meatloaf. For depth of flavor, add one or all of these, about 1/4th of a cup:

Sherry or red wine

soy sauce

balsamic vinegar

You can find this at most major grocery stores - Kroger and Publix for sure. Not sure about other chains in other parts of the USA. I don't add a lot; usually a teaspoon or so for each lb. of meat.

Now, if you have time, it's great to chop up an onion and mince a clove of garlic, and saute those in some olive oil until they are soft, and add them to the meat. If you're in a hurry, use granulated garlic and onion powder.

I recently started adding Italian seasoning to my meatloaf. Gives it more flavor.

In terms of seasonings, most people are too timid. My rule is, the more the better.

And by the way, salt and pepper are not seasonings. Don't even cook food without them. They are basic. Most meat needs a good bit of salt to be edible. We use Sea Salt.

I also add a couple of good squirts of ketchup to the meat mixture. You can use tomato sauce.

We don't cook our meatloaf in a loaf pan. Typically, I use a small tin pan that was my great grandmother's for a 1 lb. meatloaf, and a 9x13 pan for a 2 lb. meatloaf. Once the meat mixture is ready, I just dump it into the pan and form a roughly rectangular shape in the middle of the pan. I then cover the top with either ketchup, or toothpick in some slices of bacon. I bake at 350 for about 30-45 minutes. 

If you want to be more "company" then saute some mushrooms, and put them around your meat, swimming in beef broth. I buy boxed broth or stock. You can also chop up mushrooms and add them to your meat mixture, which is tasty.

SANDWICHES

One of our favorite ways to use leftover meatloaf is to take slices and fry them in a skillet, then pile on the grated cheese.Put it atop a piece of bread covered in butter and garlic powder, for a very yummy open-face sandwich.

Mother likes a cold meatloaf sandwich on white bread with Duke's mayo and tomato slices.

 

So next time you are stumped for a dinner idea, try meatloaf and use my tricks/tips. I guarantee you that you will love it.

In the Garden

I went out early this morning and watered and was able to take some fairly decent photos of my gardens (see below). We're getting into some hot afternoons already and I am still on antibiotics so I can't be in the sun much.

Everything is doing well, although there are some aphids in the side garden I need to eradicate. The ladybugs don't seem to be doing their job, but I hate the thought of using chemicals. The marigolds I planted are not doing too well. I do think they discourage aphids and other pests, though.

The closeup shot is of our very first homegrown tomato. Hopefully in a week or so Mom and Michael can split it. We've got tons of blooms so maybe by Memorial Day weekend there will be some more ready to eat.

My brother Bruce got me two fig trees last year and we planted them in barrels on the back patio. Both fig trees are doing well but the one near the birdbath, which also has mint in the barrel, is going nuts. I'm thinking about transferring some mint to the one that isn't as big. I wonder if that will affect the taste of the figs?! You can see the smaller tree in the photo below, upper left.

Below, the back patio garden. I don't see any aphid activity. The potatoes and tomatoes are flourishing. I also have eggplant, zucchini, garlic, and a few green beans. I put a big bag of cow manure in there a few weeks ago and I know that helps. Dad swore by cow manure.

Above, the side garden. Planted lots of green beans and tomatoes.

this is the garden with the first tomato. There's a line in Steel Magnolias that Shirley MacLaine's character says and I can't remember the exact words but it's something like, "I'm an old white lady in the South, so I HAVE to grow tomatoes." I don't even eat tomatoes [too acidic] but I love to see them grow and feed them to Mom and Michael.

I have put a vinegar/water solution on our hydrangeas and they are blooming blue this year, yay. They are right outside Mother's bedroom window, so she can see them, and you can just see the birdhouse in her window. We keep hoping some birds will move in.

I didn't realize it until last night, but yesterday was the 9th anniversary of the day that I actually landed in America with Michael after his adoption. I will always cherish the memory of his face as we snuggled in the taxi, looking wide-eyed at the incredible lush beauty of Atlanta in the spring, with the azaleas and other flowers blooming. After the barren wintry sights of Kazakhstan, Atlanta seemed like a tropical paradise.

I was just thanking God we were home and I could finally relax a bit. The journey was an ordeal.

The shot below was made just a day or so after we got home. He still helps me in the gardens, if I ask, and he enjoys the produce of course..

Sinus Infections Suck

Years ago when I smoked I used to get bronchitis a lot, but when I quit in 1997 I stopped getting bronchitis, except once in a blue moon, knock wood. I do get sinus issues, but they are usually confined to just the odd headache, the day before a rainstorm. My sinuses CAN predict the weather.

Nowadays I am rarely ever sick but the past few days have been an ordeal. I went to the doctor Thursday - ironically, I had had that checkup scheduled for a while - and I have a sinus infection and ear infection. I told her I feared the normal boring old checkup wouldn't be fun so I thought a nice sinus/ear infection would liven things up. Then I forgot I had a cherry cough drop in my mouth and when she went to look at my throat she looked really startled for a second before saying "You need to spit out your COUGH DROP!" She is a tiny Russian woman but she means business. I love her.

I blame my son for my illness. He is enjoying staying out late a lot nowadays and when he's not home by midnight I worry and cannot sleep. When I cannot sleep, my resistance goes down.

Ah, I remember the days, decades ago, when "party" was a verb. Not fondly, but I remember them.

Last night he made it home at 4 a.m. He is still asleep, more than 12 hours later. I am a bit worried he may be getting sick too.

I posted this on Facebook a little while ago:

Saturday is a day I run around and do things around the house, run errands, etc. - just like most of us. Today I am sick. Have no energy. Can barely talk, I am so hoarse. Coughing constantly. Need to rest. Hate resting. Cannot nap. BUT - I found a funnier, more entertaining time waster than Facebook so I wanted to share with y'all. Go to YouTube and put in the search box Graham Norton and _________[the name of your favorite actor or comedian]. Chances are good Graham has interviewed him or her. His shows are always great. Kudos to the Brits for having MUCH better chat shows than we do...

Thank God for Graham Norton. The clip below is about 40 minutes long but if you have the time, I recommend it. He just chats with Robert Duvall, Robert Downey Jr., and Stephen Fry. They just chat, and everyone tells stories. It's very loosely organized but the clips are always wonderful. 

Duvall and Downey were in a movie called The Judge and it's an incredibly good film. Very entertaining. Very moving. Duvall still has amazing talents and I think he's my mom's age.

The doctor gave me some good prescriptions and I am taking them faithfully so I hope by tomorrow I will feel a lot better and able to enjoy Mother's Day.

Hastys and McMillans

My great grandmother Jennie McMillan was a tall, strong lady, who lived a full life as the wife of a prosperous farmer [William Dozier Hasty] and raised all but two of them to adulthood. Below, the family in 1902.

My grandfather Bob Hasty was about 6 here. He is the little guy next to the lady holding the baby.

The lady holding the baby is Jennie - also known to her family as Martha. Papa used to tell my mother that I looked like Jennie. I don't see it, but that's OK. [He loved her and he loved me..]

I don't know a lot about Jennie, but Papa adored her and said she was incredibly kind.Her family was incredibly musical, according to Mom.

She came from the McMillan family, another prominent North Georgia farming family. They hailed from Scotland and Ireland and I can trace most of her forebears back to before the American revolution, through Ancestry.com.

We thought it was really neat when my mom got her results back from the DNA testing you can get through Ancestry, and found that she is 83% British [I think they are including Scotland here too], 11% Irish, and 2% from Finland/Northwest Russia, 1% Iberian Peninsula, 2% from the Caucasus, which is fascinating.

Below, the family in about 1910. My grandfather is the tallest man there, in the back. Jennie is the older lady next to Grandpa Hasty.

Grandpa Hasty built a table over a hundred years ago and we use it as our kitchen table today, although it has many leaves and can be expanded to sit at least 6 people.. We also have a beautiful oak chest of drawers he made.

I have now been able to connect with some McMillan cousins, and they have sent me some fascinating things, including this photo of Jennie and her family, including some Hastys in there, too. This is from about 1916-1918 and my grandfather isn't in there.

I wish this shot were sharper and you could see the faces better. Jennie is sitting on the front row, next to her mother, in a white dress. Grandpa Hasty is behind Jennie and to her right. He was a huge man.

Below, Wilson Lumpkin McMillan, father of Jennie and her siblings. Below right, Many Mansfield Brown McMillan, his wife. She outlived him by many years which is why she looked so much older. [In reality they were the same age.]

The lady in the front row with the small boy in white is Etta McMillan Hasty. She is the much younger sister of Jennie and she married Jimmie Hasty, who was Grandpa Hasty's nephew. So Etta and Jimmie's descendants are doubly related to me, which is fascinating. Their great grandson Norm is a friend now and he and his wife live 15 minutes from my house!

Below is the identification of the folks in the group McMillan photo, which I find fascinating, but you probably won't unless you're kin to me. I'm posting it anyway.

Names of people in McMillan Reunion Photo (previous page) dated between 1916 and before October 10, 1919:

Front Row left to right:

John Wilson McMillan; Kathryn Anderson, daughter of Lemma Hasty and Will Anderson; Martha Jennie Hasty (Martha Virginia McMillan Hasty, m. William Dozier Hasty, daughter of Wilson Lumpkin McMillan, sister of Franklin Lamar McMillan, my great grandfather)

Grandmother Mary Brown McMillan (Mary Mansfield Brown, my great, great grandmother, Wilson Lumpkin McMillan’s widow)

Emily Adeline Warlick (Emily Adeline “Aunt Addie” McMillan m. William Hicks Warlick, she is Franklin Lamar McMillan’s sister)

Behind and to right of Emily Adeline Warlick is Ella Warlick, Emily Adeline’s daughter

Right of Emily Adeline is Etta M. Hasty with Willard Hasty (Etta Lozena McMillan Hasty, married James Hiram Hasty – She is Franklin Lamar McMillan’s sister and Willard is her son)

Behind Willard is Daisy H. McCurley (Daisy Hasty m. Bill McCurley)

Squatting is Bill McCurley and son Keller McCurley (Daisy Hasty McCurley’s husband and son)

2^nd Row left to right:

Salina Isabel Gartrell McMillan

William Dozier Hasty (Jennie Hasty’s husband)

Franklin Lamar McMillan

Behind and to left of umbrella, ______? (from the hat, I think he is a Warlick!)

Behind and to right of umbrella, Will Warlick (William Hicks Warlick)

To right of umbrella, Warren McMillan (Franklin Lamar McMillan’s brother)

Nancy McMillan (Warren’s wife)

To right and behind Nancy is Arthur McMillan (Franklin Lamar McMillan’s brother)

To right and slightly in front of Arthur is Effie Hasty (who married Glenn Hasty)

Larger lady to right and in front of Effie is Nelle McMillan (Franklin Lamar McMillan’s daughter and my grandmother)

Behind Nelle is unknown – can’t see the face – possibly Chester Reece (Othella’s beau)

To right of Nelle is Glenn Hasty (who married Effie - this is wrong; her husband was named Reece)

Directly behind Glenn is James (Jimmie) McMillan (Franklin Lamar McMillan’s brother)

Lady to the right of Glenn in far back is unknown

Man to right of Glenn is probably Roy McMillan (Franklin Lamar McMillan’s son)

Lady in black is (Callie) Othella (“Aunt Tell”) McMillan (Franklin Lamar McMillan’s daughter)

Young man with cap in hand is Olin McCurley (Son of Bill and Daisy McCurley)

Lady to right of Olin is Lemma Anderson (Eulemma Hasty Anderson, m. W. George Anderson)

Man behind Lemma is unknown

Last on right is W. George Anderson (Eulemma’s husband)