Scotland and Myrtle a few months ago 
A blog I read mentioned that fall begins in two weeks and then it’s the holiday season and the year is up. His quick way of rolling up the year was unsettling to me, perhaps for that reason we’re making the most of our extended weekend. Yesterday, we enjoyed the airshow and dinner with friends, and then more food at a fun birthday party for a friend. Tonight, we savored a delicious southern meal with our adopted Grandma Myrtle. I’ve known Myrtle for about three years now and she has become a dear friend. Scotland adores her. I asked her a few weeks back about typical Southern fare, (she’s from Jacksonville, Florida) she mentioned grits, and when I voiced interest in trying true southern grits, she volunteered to make me some. (She’s a tremendous cook!) I told her my only exposure to grits was what Brigette and I would make as kids. We’d cook the grits in a bowl then spread them out thin on a large plate, smother them in butter and lots of cinnamon and sugar. Oh, the memory makes me salivate! Unfortunately, I’ve tried it since, and it’s not as good as I remember. (Probably because I’m not willing to use the same amount of butter and sugar!)
 
Anyway, tonight was the night. Myrtle invited Tom, Scotland and me and Emily and Seth Wagner over for Southern sampling- grits and shrimp and pineapple pancakes with pan fried bacon. At one point she hollared from the kitchen “Do you need butter?!” We all looked around and thought: For what the cantilope, everything else is fried! Regardless it was delicious. She had bought the shrimp fresh off the shrimp boats just days before in Florida when she was down there on vacation and brought them back special for this meal. I can honestly say they were the best shrimp I have ever eaten. Apparently, I just need them fresh, becuase typically I don’t like shrimp. Good to know next time I’m seaside. 
 


I’ve started writing Myrtle’s life history. I love life stories, and have reveled in the opportunity to hear about her’s.  I’ve never talked to someone who experienced the horrors of the ku klux klan and segregation. The way her face and voice change when she speaks of them is testimony enough of their painful impact on her and her community. It’s inspiring to hear how she overcame prejudice and worked hard to make a life for herself in the north. I’ve read many books on race issues, but none of them have left me as moved as one conversation with her. I’m grateful to live in a time and place where prejudices of this kind are less potent; grateful for parents who taught by example to love everyone regardless; and grateful to live in Cleveland where I have such dear friends.