Daughters and Doughnuts

Last week-end, I had the opportunity for a quick dash to Durham. My sister and I think it had been over a year since we were last together at her home in the Old North State, though I find that quite impossible to believe. But admittedly lives get busy and time flies by, so perhaps it had indeed been that long.

We had a hectic but fun week-end, shopping all my favorite stores, and most especially shopping and swapping my sister's closet. The moment, however, I may remember from my visit, this week-end's "moment in time" as it were, came on Saturday night. Two sisters, two Clemson grads, found time to squeeze in the Clemson/Duke game. It had been one of the reasons for my trip, but a day of shopping had left us with sore feet and serious contemplation of watching the game in our pj's at home. We eventually found a second wind and headed over to the beautiful Duke campus and the intimate stadium the Devils call home. As we made our way toward the sizable seated contingent of Tiger faithful, we passed a stand-alone concession advertising warm homemade mini doughnuts. We could not pass it by. After a quick stop to purchase our doughnuts and coffee and cocoa, we continued on our way.

As we slid into our seats, and opened our bag (all right, more correctly bags) of mini doughnuts, we looked at each other, both thinking the same thing. Almost simultaneously, two sisters said, "Mother would have loved these." The moment froze. There we were.... I in Mother's orange coat snared from her closet after she died, my sister and I each wearing rings that had been hers, warm cinnamon and sugar from our doughnuts blowing ever so slightly in the chilly Triangle breezes, much like Mother's popcorn always blew over everyone around her at Death Valley. Here we were in Durham, surrounded by Clemson Alums, looking out on stands of and a field of Tigers that she loved as if she had been one herself...probably because she loved one particular Tiger so much and so long.

Mother treasured her treks to Tobacco Road....to Wake and Duke, to Chapel Hill and Raleigh. She loved the away games and the week-ends they brought. She loved her trips anywhere near Durham and the opportunity they presented to visit her precious Diane. And yes, on last Saturday night, she would have loved the doughnuts.

Cornbread in my Coobie

Before readers dissolve into disbelief upon seeing this post title, and as surely they wonder whatever happened to the oath that Dee would Definitely...at least usually... be PG13, give me a moment to expound upon my title. As you wonder if it is a really, really bad country song title or a personal or proprietary problem I definitely would not or certainly should not be writing about, I have to say that although he makes me crazy on occasion, there are a couple of things my better half does pretty much....well.... better than anyone else. And, once again, stay with me for a moment as I am quite sure the minds of some have gone straight to the gutter.

Backing up a step, perhaps the first explanation due is exactly what is a coobie. As many have discovered, some perhaps not, a coobie is quite simply the greatest bra ever! I think I and a generation of women of all degrees of endowment are hooked on these comfortable cotton wonders.....great under tee shirts, great under anything. They in my humble opinion have liberated women in the most needed of ways.

But, on to my second clarification. Not what some were surmising I am sure. My husband makes THE best fried squash I have ever tasted, yes even better than the famed Wagon Wheel. And secondly, he may bake up the best cornbread I have ever eaten. Hejust doesn't do either often enough. And again, please, I ask that we may all guard against taking single sentences of this blog out of context.

Finally this week, after repeated requests from my hubby that I stir up some chili beans, I relented. But, only if he agreed to provide the requisite cornbread to accompany my soup. I am not quite sure what makes his cornbread better than mine. It is a mystery much like that of my friend's fabulously decadent homemade chocolate cake. I have her recipe....I have attempted the cake. Mine just isn't the same.

Yesterday, as his warm muffins came out of the oven, I couldn't wait to dig in. Who needs the chili? I just wanted the bread. And warm as it was, my digging in was slightly messier than expected. So glad no one was around with a camera as I not so daintily stuffed the muffins into my mouth, tiny cornmeal bites fluttering down my shirt, and right into....well into my coobie.

Funny isn't it, how favorites seem to find each other.....Soup and salad.....grits and gravy....beans and rice....cornbread and coobies....