Write All About It

We had a few hours to kill on the way back to airport, so we decided to stop at a shopping mall.
"Let's try this one," I said to Grumpy, fiddling with the GPS. "Lakeland Outlet Mall. That sounds pretty."
I really must stop doing that. Turned out to be a giant warehouse with only one or two open stores, the rest closed.
"This is ridiculous," said Grumpy. "Let's go."
But there obviously was a reason why we should be there.
Just as we were heading off, I was approached by a young man with a shorthand pad in his hand. After 30 years as a journalist, I reckonised the signs. Good grief. Here was someone who wanted to interview me for a change.
"I'm with the Magnolia Beacon," he said. (Ok, I didn't actually catch the name, but on this side of the notebook it doesn't matter).
"This mall is in need of refurbishment and I'm asking people here what they think of it. Are you disappointed there aren't more shops open?"
Not being from the area I didn't much care either way, but was happy to trill on for a bit so he had something to write about.
For me, this is what local newspaper writing is all about. It's about sending juniors out on the street and not letting them come back without a story, whatever it is. That's how you find the real stuff, not just the press releases that land on your desk on a daily basis.

The Man Who Had A Dream

Memphis isn't only famous for it's music. For a fairly small town, it certainly has a lot of history.
It was also the place where Martin Luther King Jr was assassinated 40 years ago. He was shot on the balcony of a very ordinary looking motel. The motel he was staying in in Memphis, while visiting to lead a march of sanitation workers protesting against low wages and poor working conditions

Part of the Lorraine Motel has been preserved. The rest has been incorporated into the National Civil Rights Museum. Nowadays it makes for a surreal memorial. The surrounding areas have been changed (Memphis itself is undergoing a huge regeneration), but there is still a tiny time warp of a motel that anyone can pass by, complete with 1960s in the forecourt. In some ways it almost looks like a film set stuck in the middle of a back lot somewhere, and yet it is painfully real.

Songwriting in Memphis

Put on my black suede boots,
As I boarded the plane a day late,
Touched down in the land of the Delta blues
In the middle of a summer’s day.
I thought it was late December,
Dressed for the Chicago cold,
So I’m as hot as a girl can be.

So I’m sweating in Memphis,
Sweltering 10 feet off of Beale,
Sweating in Memphis,
Cannot believe how hot I feel.

Saw the ghost of Elvis,
In every souvenir shop,
Followed him through the gates of Graceland
With a few hundred of my closest friends.

They’ve got catfish on the table,
There is gospel in the air,
They said “Tell me are you are Christian child?”
I said in my best English accent, “No, actually I’m Jewish.”

Driving round Memphis,
Wish I had kept my feet on Beale.
Eating in Memphis,
Cannot believe how stuffed I feel.

Come All Ye Rounders

It's amazing the oddities you come across when driving a hundred miles across a state you've never been to before. Today we stopped at the home of Casey Jones, the train driver made famous by an old folk song and 1960s TV show. Not only did I not realise he was real, but that he lived in the middle of the world's tackiest tourist village in the heart of Tennessee.

Give Me Some Of That Rock n' Roll Music

Outside the Sun Studios. From tiny acorns...
No one at the mike because Elvis really has left the building...

but his presence is everywhere.

As well as being the home of the Blues (and which American town isn't?) Memphis's other claim to fame is being the home of rock and roll. The Sun Studios prides itself of the fact that it is not only the place where Elvis cut his first demo record, but also the launch pad of other greats like Jerry Lee Lewis, Roy Orbison and Johnny Cash. This time last year we were lucky enough to visit the Motown studios in Detroit (see blog archives). Today we found ourselves at the very spot where Elvis and his compatriots recorded their iconic hits.

Once again it was a small, shabby room lined with pegboard-like material to muffle the sound.

It still seems amazing how such world changing music was created in such humble surroundings. Perhaps I should move my piano into the garage when I get home...

Loved Me Tenders

Seems everyone here in Memphis met Elvis at sometime. Today we had lunch in the Flying Fish, a restaurant where the speciality was catfish - served in its entirety still on the road and deep fried. (Well if they could have fitted the rod in the deep fryer I'm sure it would have).
I opted for a healthy salad, which naturally turned up smothered in deep fried chicken strips.
At a nearby table sat the cast from a Tennessee Williams play, eight elderly men, some hatted, one with bling that made you reach for your sunglasses.
The ring leader (literally) told us they were there to celebrate their friend's 41st wedding anniversary, a surprising notion since there was no wife, or any other woman come to that, to be seen.
"Bee-yun to Graceland yet?" drawled our gentleman caller. "Uh noo Elvis. Uh re-yallee de-ud." He picked his tooth with a craw fish claw. "Bee-yun to London too. Met the quee-un and went to Piccadilly Sqway-uh."

Rattle Those Pots and Pans

How To Cook Southern Style:

1. Select your favourite ingredient. This can be anything from a slice of steak to a wedge of water melon. On second thoughts, forget the watermelon, it's too healthy.

2. Dunk your ingredient into a thick batter.

3. Deep fry.

4. Serve with your choice of the following sides. For a truly Southern meal, choose all of them: mashed potatoes, baked beans, coleslaw, green tomatoes, a pound of toffee, corn bread, pancakes, cheese biscuit, a stick of butter, a pint of whipped cream, a bar of chocolate, remembering to deep fry them all first.

5. Serve with a garnish of battered batter on a deep fried china plate. Delicious!

Walking in Memphis

Last night we hit legendary Beale Street. It's like finding one street of New Orleans plonked in the centre of A N Other Town, USA. After living in Naperville for a while, it was quite a shock
to the system to be able to drink beer on the streets and find buildings not decorated in slate and
stone. It was great!

Rags to Riches

I'd always thought of Elvis's home Graceland as a huge mansion set in acres of land. Surprisingly it is not that big at all. I'd also thought that although very seventies in style, it would have been top quality of the time. Not so. The whole thing gives the impression of a tacky do-it-yourself job.
Although parts of it may look glamorous, there is still plenty of 'knotty pine' formica wall boards.
But the nice thing is that however rich and famous Elvis became, Graceland was always home. It may have been garish, but somehow still manages to retain a homespun feel.

The photos don't do it justice. It's actually not nearly as nice as it seems.

Elvis definitely hasn't left this particular building.

This was his parents' bedroom.

The Graceland kitchen is just like many seventies' kitchens of the time. This one boasts the same style of wooden cupboards we saw when house hunting ourselves.

The pool room is swathed in yards and yards of pleated fabric, over both the walls and ceiling. Even the sofas match.

Whilst touring, Grumpy was pleased to note that he isn't the only one who once ran carpet up the walls!

In the Jungle Room, Elvis had a working water wall fitted to remind him of Hawaii.

A Little More Conversation Pic

Here's Bill with his prized photo of Elvis. As near as we got to the King on Christmas Day.

All Shook Up

So this morning we got up at 5 a.m. and returned to O'Hare. I'd had a sleepless night, not due in the least to the fact that the room's previous incumbant had thoughtfully set the alarm for 3 a.m. and then 20 minutes later in case I overslept.
Not only were my dreams of Christmas with Elvis dashed, but the weather was so bad it looked like we'd be lucky to make it back to Naperville, let alone Memphis.
Overnight frozen rain had turned all the local highways into skating rinks. We'd missed our weather window.
I was surprised when our flight left not only with us on it this time, but only 30 minutes late. When I say left, I actually mean left the gate, not the ground. You know how scary it can be when you car skids, well you try doing it in a plane!
Eventually the pilot gave up and waited for the de icer trucks to come out. A mere hour later we were off! Memphis is under two hours away by plane, yet somehow it had taken us nearly 24 hours to get there. Good thing we brought all those winter clothes with. It's 70 degrees here....

Heartbreak Hotel

“The hotel’s nice enough, but it’s not quite as exciting as I thought,” I said, ducking as a plane flew within inches of our window.
Grumpy was busying himself trying to get the internet working in our room. I was hoping to moan to my facebook buddies and see what normal people were doing for Christmas.
“This is really boring,” I grumbled. “And I’m famished. Some Christmas this is.”
The clerk had explained as it was Christmas the restaurant wouldn’t be open until 5 p.m. So our Christmas lunch turned out to be a couple of club sandwiches served in our room.
As the afternoon wore on, it got worse. The planes grew more frequent, Grumpy was unable to get the internet going and I started getting e mails on my Blackberry from friends astonished we hadn’t just gone back home.
Finally at 5 p.m. we went downstairs.
“Never mind,” said Grumpy. “We can have a nice meal in the restaurant with all these vouchers the airline gave us.”
The restaurant was closed. It’s Christmas, don’t you know? No bar. Nothing.
“But you can have room service,” said the receptionist helpfully.
“We had that for lunch,” boomed Grumpy. “It’s Christmas Day and I’m not spending any more time in my room!”
You know how people say private hospitals are just like hotels? Well when you’re confined to your room, hotels turn out to be just like hospitals.
“Hang on,” I said. “I’ve had an idea. This is what we’ll do.”
We ordered a bottle of wine and picked it up from reception. We drank it in front of the fire. All of it.
Then Grumpy ran up to our room and left a note for room service on the door. The waiter duly delivered the meal downstairs to us. We then picked it up, marched it into the darkened restaurant and sat eating it on our own. The waiters were less attentive than usual for an American restaurant, probably because there weren’t any. But by then we were too drunk to notice.

A Little More Conversation

“So how come you’re spending Christmas at the Wyndham?” said Bill, the chatty driver of the shuttle bus.
“It’s an accident,” I told him, while Grumpy spoke to a woman in India on his cell phone. “Mix up with the flight. We’re meant to be going to Memphis. I’m looking for Elvis.”
“You a fan?” he said, brightening up even more. “It’s a great place. You’ll love it, if you ever get there. I’ve met him, you know, twice.”
Amazing. I may not be able to get to spend Christmas with Elvis, but here was someone who had met him. Twice.
“Both times were when he was appearing in Vegas,” Bill continued. “He was a really nice man.”
As we left the shuttle bus, there was the proof. A curled up photo he carried with him in his inside pocket.

Blue Christmas

It seemed such a good idea at the time.
"We'll fly out on Christmas Day itself," Grumpy explained. "Everything will be closed then, so we'll be there bright and early ready to get going on 26th."
We'd decided to do Christmas a little differently this year. We would go to Memphis and spend Christmas with Elvis at Graceland!
We'd been waiting at the gate for about an hour when it all started to go wrong.
"I'm sorry," said the agent at the desk, without an ounce of sincerity in her voice."But the plane has been downgraded so 16 of you won't be able to get on."
Naturally we were among the lucky few. The lucky few chosen to enjoy Christmas at O'Hare airport. The irony was the weather wasn't an issue. It was the first clear day for weeks. No snow on the runway. No blizzards. No nothing but more importantly no plane, at least not one big enough for all of us.
After a further hour or so arguing we'd got round to the "take it or leave it" speech from the Grinch at the desk.
Maybe it wouldn't be so bad. A day tucked up in a four star hotel close to the airport. We had nothing else to do at home anyway, and the car was already in a car park miles away. The next flight would be leaving at 7 a.m. the next day, so perhaps it would all turn out for the best. I was wrong.

Happy Christmas

Dear Auntie Betty,
Happy Christmas. I hope Uncle Bill is behaving himself and the children are taking their medication (or should that be the other way round?)
This year has been good to us. Back in January Grumpy was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize. Yes, I know, again! My new cookery book launched in February, Cautious Cooking, has been selling like hot cakes, which is odd, because I left that recipe out. As usual, we have enjoyed some international travel this year. Beijing, Monte Carlo and Rekjavich are all places we read about while relaxing at Key Lime Cove, Illinois.
The children are fine. Orphan No 1 is running his own restaurant in London. It’s called A Fly In My Soup. One day he hopes to be awarded a Michigan Tire (at least I think that’s what he said). Orphan No 2 is training to be Woolworth’s first personal shopper. We are hoping she completes the programme before they go into liquidation.
Other than that, things are much the same. This time next year I should have completed my 15th medical degree. Together with my law qualifications, I am hoping to be the first surgeon to successfully sue herself.
Happy Holidays to you all,
Lots of Love,
Hilary

Happy Chanukah

Last night we celebrated the first night of Chanukah with a party. Of course its sad not to have your family around you, but we filled the house with our extended family of friends from Naperville. But this didn't stop me missing the kids, especially when it was time to clear up!

"Ooh look, Hilary has got a new digital camera for Chanukah!"

"I always balance my drinks carefully," explains Spike. "A soft drink in one hand and alcohol in the other. Hey, who stole my beer?!"

CBS' new rabbi Marc Rudolph explains the miracle of Chanukah. What would really be a miracle would be if Hilary could get the hang of her new camera.

"If I look like this, the Rabbi will think I am really interested in his story."

"For goodness sake. How can I concentrate on this game if you don't give me a latke?"

I'm not sure this game is entirely suitable to play at a Jewish festival. Don't tell the rabbi.

Some guests will do anything to avoid eating my holiday cookies. Diane shows off her own blueberry shortbread tarts.

Happy Winter

Who says no one wants a convertible in the winter?

Welcome to winter. Since we've had snow for weeks, I dread to think what the rest of the seaon has in store for us. Just to prove a point, although it may feel like -35 degrees f. outside today, Grumpy still managed to enjoy the sunshine!

If You're Accused Of Corruption...

Illinois Governor Rod Blagojevich has just given a news conference protesting his innocence over claims that he tried to sell President Elect Obama's senate seat. In his speech, he quoted Rudyard Kipling's poem If. Here's my version.

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are accusing you of corruption,
If you can trust yourself when you are the one of the most unpopular
governors in Illinois history
If you can wait and not be tired of waiting to appear in court
If you can dream – and in those dreams believe you are innocent
If you can think – but forget what you have actually done
If you can meet with triumph and disaster,
But not know the difference.
If you can believe that having your voice on tape is not irrefutable evidence
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And - which is more – you must be really dumb.

Crumbs..

Already stuffed full of pumpkin from Halloween, Tufty still finds he has room for some holiday cookies.
Looks like the cookies have been disabled by my browser...

How Not To Decorate Holiday Cookies

Step One: For ease, why not use a ready made icing in a tube?

Step Two: After discovering the icing doesn't flow easily out of the tube, scrape off remnants with a plastic ruler.

Step Three: Cut open the tube, squeeze the icing out and mix with icing (confectioner's) sugar and boiled water to make a whole new batch you can pipe yourself.

Step Four: Neatly load your piping bag, making sure all the icing stays on the inside.

Step Five: Scrape contents out of the icing bag when you discover it pours out of everywhere apart from the little nozzle it is supposed to come out of. Creatively decide to dry it out with yet more sugar to form a stiff dough.

Step Six: Form neat evenly sized worms of sugar dough.

Step Seven: Gently lay the sugar dough over the cookie. Notice how delicate it now looks. Bet your mouth is watering.

Step Eight: Repeat step two.

Step Nine: Try adding even more water to the paste so you can carefully drizzle it over the remaining cookies, which to be honest are now a little stale because they have been left out for so long awaiting step seven.

Step Ten: Stomp around the kitchen swearing. I find 10 minutes is usually long enough for this. Pour remaining blue gunk down the waste disposal. Dust remaining cookies with icing sugar before feeding to the squirrels.

Blinking Nuisance

So I try to open Grumpy's car with the remote key today and it wouldn't open. Obviously my fault because I'm too stupid to be able to do anything so simple, unquote.
"Go and find the spare set," said his royal Grumpiness. "I don't know why this isn't working."
On further investigation it appeared that the indicator lights were on, and had been on all night, leaving a flat battery.
"So it's your fault," I countered. "You didn't turn them off when you pulled into the garage last night."
Actually it was neither of our faults. It was the woman who is really in charge of our car, GPS Woman. Sometime during the night, she fell off the windscreen into the car, pushing down the indicator switch. The car had obviously been blinking away all night, which drained the battery.
Our long suffering neighbours came to the rescue yet again and all is now well. Excepting we are expecting a foot of snow overnight so Grumpy probably won't be able to drive to work tomorrow anyway.

Beardless Wonder

There Was An Old Man With A Beard!

Today mark's the end of the official mourning period for Grumpy's mother. Following orthodox Jewish practice he didn't shave for a month, so as requested, here is a final photo of the beard.
Many people have said they quite like it. To be honest I quite like the look of it myself, but it feels like a Brillo pad and I get friction burns if I go anywhere near him. So blog readers, this is your chance. The beard comes off later today, so it you want to save it, leave a comment below!

Homes for the Holidays 2008