A Hen Game

A Hen Game
In my family we're usually sick of turkey (best part is the cold sandwich, post feast, slathered with mayo and mustard) after Thanksgiving dinner. By Christmas we're ready for game hen which is kinda the antithesis of a turkey in size and station. Traditionally we have game hens, wild rice, almond and oyster dressing for Christmas instead of turkey, stuffing, etc. of Thanksgiving.
I spent Christmas with my son and his family in Atlanta (hustle and bustle) instead of Savannah (crystal bell at the hostess' elbow summons servants to the requiems of a leisurely, elegant, slow-paced dinner). On Christmas Eve I went shopping at Publix for Christmas dinner (fresher food and leisurely diversion intended).I went to the usual obscure spot occupied by excessive mounds of brick-bat-frozen game hens. There were only five left. When did the rest of the US discover the delicate delight of Christmas game hens??? I looked at them and from the distorted forms of their frozen carcasses I wasn't sure they hadn't died natural deaths (which isn't usually what one likes to think of in any game but particularly game birds...I mean, what with the West Nile virus and Bird flu rumors!) I thought to myself, suck it up, this is tradition...make do. I carted all five of them without firing a shot.
Moved to the seafood section and all the Daufuski oysters were sold. A black man next to me sounding very coastal ,Charleston or Savannah, in accent said. "Awdun unde shuckeduns?" The butcher looked at me and like a fool I translated: All done (gone) are the shucked (shelled) ones?" The butcher nodded and said, "All we have are in the shell."
"How muchfu'em?"
"$2.99."
"Each?"
The bargaining went a bit fast so that not even I understood how it was arrived at that he could have six for $8. Suddenly in the heat of bargaining they didn't need an interpreter. They both miraculously spoke the same language. Money sometimes does that to people.
I looked at the oysters. Both men seemed quite happy with the results of their bargained oyster price. "You ever shucked an oyster?" I asked and walked away. I didn't tell them but shucking is more difficult than getting jelled cranberry out of a can without a hole in both ends so I rolled my grocery cart on. Crabapples. I became obsessed with crabapples...whole ones. Weren't with fruit. None with produce. Employee with obvious malaise said he'd let me know if and when he found out where they were. He directed me. I stepped away from my cart to look thoroughly, stooping and stretching...none. Back to my cart. MY FIVE GAME HENS BECAME THREE IN THAT SHORT SPACE OF TIME!!! I was furious! Some slime bucket had stolen two of my game hens, albeit they weren't paid for yet. But they were the last in the store. (I checked with the butcher and of course told him my sad tale...he shrugged) I went up and down the check-out lines eyeballing for them. Then I calmed myself. It's Christmas Eve, get over it. About that instant a cart rolled by with two frozen legs sticking out from a jacket obviously thrown over it to try to disguise the "hot" frozen birds. I looked as closely as possible and truly they were mine. I could tell by the distorted position they were frozen in and the jacket over them was a bit obvious. I went up and down the grocery aisle in the opposite direction of the culprit so I could look the thief in the eye each time. She looked a bit sheepish and once when her cart was forced to barely touch mine due to the crowd she too quickly said, "scuse me." (Polite thieves are the WORST kind) All very unChristmasy. I decided I'd not let that scum ruin my Christmas. Finished my shopping and went up the road to a Kroger who had the usual mound of brick-bat frozen game hens. They were as good as I remembered from the Christmas before.
The Oysters? Not this year. Anyway my sons and grandsons would rather sandpaper a gorilla's chest than have an oyster cooked in the same house where they are. So I just looked at them and remembered how much better the wild rice, almonds, mushrooms and giblets would have been with them but kept the cart rolling. Christmas was one of the merriest.

Happy Holidays and Merry Christmas, Y’all
Let me get this straight. The politically correct among us wish to fuse Christmas with Chanukah and Kwanzaa? Except for the time of year in which they occur and the fact that each holiday represents a celebration of three cultures represented in our society, do they have anything else in common? Because of my religion I’m well versed that Christmas celebrates the birth of Jesus Christ in a manger. I’m equally ignorant about the origins of Chanukah and Kwanzaa but the dictionary indicates that the former is a festival to celebrate the victory over Syria by the Jewish people and a rededication of the temple in Jerusalem. The latter means first in Swahili and runs from December 26th through January 1st and is a cultural harvest celebration. I see no harm in wishing my African American sisters and brothers a Happy Kwanzaa and my Jewish brothers and sisters Happy Chanukah. I see no harm in their wishing me a Merry Christmas or as the English say, Happy Christmas. If I know them I know if they do or do not celebrate those holidays and appropriately give my wishes. So what is the great hoopla about? Perhaps it is only the merchants who find it cheaper to just say Happy Holidays…and that’s OK by me. I doubt if they have enough crossovers to pay for a big advertising campaign for each of the three…and that’s OK by me.
Would we really care if they commercialized Christmas less? I can’t speak for the others’ holidays but please, Mr/Ms. Merchants, don’t waste your money on advertising trying to make another dime from Christmas on my account. So let’s keep this hoopla in perspective. Wish your friends whatever is appropriate and don’t let the commercials stir up animosity between us at a time of the year when we, each group for their own reason(s), should be in a happy mood. How did we manage to get in a squabble over happy.
Now, beyond that silliness let me ask the politically correct to join me in another cause. Brace yourselves. If I understand this fusing of holidays may I suggest we begin on January 19th. We could lead the state and the nation for a change instead of being followers. If we had the daring and the foresight that is, and if our hearts were as pure as many profess theirs to be. Instead of celebrating Martin Luther King, Jr.’s birthday we could change it from Happy Holiday to Happy Southern Leaders Day. Since Martin Luther King, Jr. and Robert E. Lee were both southerners and have the same birthday why not fuse them? …And that’s OK by me. What happened? Where did everyone else go? That would be a sign that we really understand where America needs to be headed. That’s my kind of America. What’s your kind?

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SAVANNAH: The word itself is a musical sound that rolls off the tongue like a song of the south. Though it is a common noun meaning tropical or subtropical grassland with trees in Georgia of the southeastern US it has been translated to a proper noun. There Savannah is a special place. Oglethorpe, the general from Godalming in England who founded and designed the city, preserved those trees as the centerpiece of his design. He set up thirteen squares, small circular parks, with the delicate moss draped evergreen and majestic oaks as a refuge for the town's dwellers.
Any time of the year you see the small city it has become... those squares, often referred to as Savannah's jewels, make you appreciate his foresight. The passage of years since, has seen an overlay to that reverence for green spaces like the transparency of mica flakes, tightly adhering but separate and distinct. Grander avenues, like the one bearing his name, with those same moss draped oaks in their median, were added. A larger acre was added to become Colonial park, now completely a cemetery, but at one time also a park in the growing settlement. There active youngsters played alongside the resting remains of the founders' graves. The ultimate city park came a century later but continued the theme of graceful greenery, architectural embellishments and serenity. It is named Forsyth and covers acres to mark what was at a later time the city's center.
Its complex culture is also made up of tightly adhering, separate yet distinctly layered transparent flakes. It bears the marks of its once British origins tempered with incoming Africans, Southerners, Sharecroppers, Irish and other Immigrants, Carpetbaggers, Industrialists, Tourists and Retirees searching for unity... Americans. Such diversity has yielded equally complex forms of music, literature, dance and other arts that give it a distinctly recognizable flavor.
Lady Astor described Savannah as a beautiful lady with a dirty face. More recently magazines have described her as the most beautiful city.
Savannah Spell and it's sequel(s) showcase the earliest of Savannah's diverse moodiness. Moodiness variously and selectively described as seductive, sweltering, serene, stormy, saccharine, sluttish, sophisticated, strange, stoic, stylish, stifling, stigmatized, stagnant, squalid, spoilt, spiteful, spirited, spiritual, spellbinding, slovenly, snobbish, slanderous, shocking, sheepish, sensitive, selfish, seething, secretive, seedy, screwy, scary, scheming, sanguine, sardonic, scornful, salacious, sadistic, sacrilegious and sacrosanct, depending on the time and person asked.

Savannah Spell

Two volumes of this trilogy have now been completed, and are available from any reputable bookstore. This historical novel includes adventure and a romantic triangle involving Kathryn, a wealthy planter's daughter, and two suitors, Martin Caldwell, a Patriot, and Brent Robertson, a Loyalist.

Other characters include Sky, a young multiracial girl, so poor she has no last name. Sky is orphaned when a group of drunken seamen slaughter her father, liquor still owner and pimp for his wife, and mother. Sky escapes from the seamen with only the rags on her back and the black voodoo learned from her grandmother. She survives by murder, selling herself into slavery and buying herself back with profits from her magic.

Two white characters sell themselves into an equivalent slavery of loveless relationships. Mary, a minister's daughter, escapes her parents' strictness by seducing a local militiaman. She realizes she is pregnant by him but he dies in battle never knowing that fact. She moves on to another loveless affair and then a loveless marriage. Brent, a Loyalist soldier, makes a Native American style marriage to a Mico's daughter to gain Indian braves to aid the British in the Revolution.

There is a similarity between the colonies gnawing the umbilical cord that binds them to the mother country and the characters in this story.

Mirror My Soul, the second book, brings other characters to the center stage, and has a love triangle with a Loyalist and a Patriot vying for the love of one lady. In Charleston Lincoln;s army surrenders, the lowest point in the Patriots campaign.

American history brought to life - enjoy, and learn a little along the way.