Thankful for the memories

Two weeks ago last evening, I called Lamont from the bus stop and asked what he was going to do the next day. Specifically, "Are you going mushrooming?" He said he might be, that Leland would be off from school due to Veterans Day, and they had talked about going hiking or mushrooming.

"Why?" he asked. "If you go mushrooming, I want to go," I replied. Incredulous, he started to chuckle. "You do?" he asked. Yes, I told him, and went on to say that I'd wanted to go ever since the first time he went, years ago with Andy who used to be sous chef at the restaurant--I was still in Mississippi then, but I found the idea of hunting and finding mushrooms intriguing. "So," I said, "y'all decide what you're gonna do and let me know." Still chuckling, Lamont said, "OK. We'll call you later." I had to know why he kept laughing, of course, so before we said good-bye, I asked. He explained, "Mom, it's the mental image of you in the woods." He couldn't help himself, and I knew without a doubt that he wasn't laughing at me.

A couple of hours later he called and said they'd pick me up the next morning around 9:30 a.m., that he'd made tuna salad and would make us each a roll-up with a flour tortilla, and that Leland had made Chex party mix, so we could have a picnic, too. Neat. "I'll make chocolate chip cookies; I've got that Tollhouse break-a-part cookie package in the frig." He thought that sounded like a good idea and said they'd call me the next morning to let me know when they were getting close to the apartment. Then he said, "You're gonna get wet, Mom, so bring some extra clothes, OK?" I told him I'd wear my black rubber boots with my pants tucked into them, a hat, my raincoat, and I'd bring some dry clothes, too.

Thrilled but a bit apprehensive at the thought of my old self in the woods, likely to be slippery what with rain forecast, but certain that my two sons wouldn't let anything bad happen to me, I told Mama what the three of us had planned. "Oh, I'm afraid the weather will keep you from going," she said, looking up from her crossword puzzle book, "but I hope it doesn't." "Me, too," I said. Then I headed for the kitchen. Imagine my joy when I read the sentence below! Naturally, I had to grab the camera to document it and the baking of cookies.

I have wonderful memories of Toll House cookies I first ate in the summer of 1972, in Kansas City, Missouri. My then-boy-friend LeRoy often made them, from scratch of course, just like he did with tacos, burritos, biscuits, omelettes, potato soup, pizza, sangria--you get the idea. I know I ought to be ashamed, baking these store-bought cookies, and if I'd thought of this sooner, I would have bought the ingredients and made my two sons scratch Toll House cookies. At this point, expediency ruled.




Mama and I ate a few cookies while they were still warm, with some of our lactose-free Breyers vanilla ice cream--what a treat!

Tomorrow, we go mushrooming!