the SmockLady

Jimmy crack corn and I don’t care
Jimmy crack corn and I don’t care
Jimmy crack corn and I don’t care
My master’s gone away.

So who is Jimmy and why does he crack corn? What is crackin’ corn anyway? 1
You know what? I don’t care about that either, but I do care about this:
this week’s finds at [...]

I hate it when my children ask me what’s for dinner. I despise it. Why? Because no one pays attention to the answer, only to the fact that some one asked a question that had the word dinner in it. So each little brain tunes in to that one single word and they wage a war against me each asking me one at a time only minutes apart, “What’s for dinner?” UGH! Why do they do this? I think it is to wear me down. Break me so they can tie me up and put on their Indian costumes and dance around me with tomahawks and yip and hoot like the Lost Boys and Indians in Peter Pan. When I get that question I often answer with something like, “Food”. They especially love it when I say something like “pickled pigs feet” or “hog jaws”. So when I am prepared (read organized) I love it when I have something in the kitchen for all of them to do - at least then they won’t be dancing around under my feet just getting in the way. That’s worse than the repetitive questioning.

I grew up in a house with a father who graduated from Ole Miss. He is very proud of his Alma Mater, as any graduate should be. My brother went to UM for one year and decided he really did not like it. It just was not his cup of tea. He chose to transfer to Mississippi State; that was blasphemy.

Sometimes I can’t tell which smells better when it is baking:
fresh home made bread (or as the children call it “home bread” - made two of those today)

or
the best ever Scottish Shortbread?
(this pic is for Holley)

My shortbread - the best. Yes, I boast. It never lasts long either. I may have to [...]