Thankfulness might be the "happy pill" we've been wishing for

All that giving thanks you did today might have been beneficial to your health. 

Yes, the practice of gratitude might have countered some of the effects of the fattening food you ate.

Apparently some folks have studied this matter.  Folks like those from Duke University Medical Center, who claim that there is a science to thankfulness, according to an article on an ABC News website titled “Thankfulness linked to positive changes in brain and body.”  Click on the highlighted link to read the rest of this thought-provoking article. 

It seems research has found that the practice of being grateful benefits all our major organ systems.

Dopamine is released into our system by thinking about the good things in our lives, which puts us in a good mood, which increases our state of well being.  

Maybe this is the “happy pill” we’ve all been looking for.

It seems we humans have developed a “negativity bias.”  Our thoughts gravitate toward negativity in a 3:1 ratio, but we have the choice to give our “stinkin’ thinkin’” the boot. 

Family members and friends will thank us, no doubt, and we will reap the benefits of becoming happier and healthier.

If we put this new knowledge into practice throughout the Christmas season, our inner Grinch will gain no new ground.

Let’s banish the “Bah, humbugs!” from our conversations and spread some Christmas cheer around! 

   

Maybe I should give that new vampire movie a chance...

I’ve been skimming through the Nablopomo soup thread to see what everyone else is writing about.  Some are talking about the new Breaking Dawn movie.

Is that one of those Twilight movies?

I’m so out of touch with the latest pop culture, but I’m guessing that’s what it is.

I have yet to read or watch any of the Twilight series.  Nor have I read or seen any of the Harry Potter series. 

Is there anyone else in the country not confined to a nursing home who can say the same?

I’m just not into the fantasy genre.  I have watched a couple of the Lord of the Rings movies and enjoyed them, and one of these days, I want to read the series.

Maybe I’m just being stubborn…I could be cheating myself out of something I’d really enjoy.

Maybe the taste for fantasy is an acquired taste, like learning to like broccoli or coffee.   After all, I resisted American Idol until about the sixth season, until I eventually got caught up in it with my girls.

We began to make a date night of it of sorts and passed many cold winter evenings sipping orange spice tea and puzzling over the bizarre behavior of Paula Abdul.  

I’m already looking forward to January and the beginning of a new season although I still miss Simon somethin’ awful.

A little autumn color...

...because I'm still trying to post a blog every day in November, but my brain is getting tired...don't you love the curves of this pretty punkin?

 I love "Indian corn."  I like just about anything displayed in an old enamel pan. 

 These lovely flowers have, alas, been bit.  Frostbit, I mean.  *Sighhhh* 

I'd probably never eat an ornamental punkin, because it's, well, ornamental.  I wonder if it'd be good, though? 

Daisy loves sunshine, but, like me, she's almost forgotten what it looks like after days of pouring rain.  *Sighhhhh...*

A time to sow, a time to reap

Wow, we’re beginning Thanksgiving week…which means another year has pretty much flown by already. 

Besides counting our blessings, most of us will be doing a lot of feasting this week…and feasting involves a lot of shopping. 

Some will make the decision to buy and serve locally-grown foods at Thanksgiving. 

Ironically, it’s not easy to find locally-grown produce in rural areas like ours this time of year unless you are fortunate enough to be a gardener or live near one who likes to share.

 I don’t know of anyone selling fresh turkeys, although we could probably bag a wild one if we wanted to, and our farmers’ market has been closed now for more than a month.

However, we do have a freezer and a pantry filled with all those fruits and vegetables that we “put up” back in the summer.  Thanksgiving is a great time to bring some of those goodies out of storage.

Mom makes her cornbread stuffing from cornmeal which is locally-ground after being harvested from their garden; the mashed potatoes, sweet potato casserole, green beans, shuck beans, corn, salad, broccoli casserole, pumpkin and cushaw pies will feature predominantly homegrown items, too. 

We aren’t quite the locavores that the Pilgrims and the Indians were, but we aren’t too far removed from that, either.   

I think of how labor intensive the Pilgrims’ first Thanksgiving feasts must have been.  Is it any wonder their feasting went on for nearly a week? 

It probably took that long to track down, bag, dress, and roast the meats, to gather the vegetables, to grind the flour and meal used for baking.  I’ll bet they knew their neighbors pretty well by the time that dinner made it to the table.

It’s gratifying to have plenty to eat, no matter what day of the year it is, but when most of the meal is a result of one’s own labors, it seems to me to feed more than the body. 

There’s a sort of spiritual kinship there, to have worked in partnership with the Creator who set the principles of sowing and reaping in motion. 

I’m thankful for a bountiful harvest, a reminder of those productive days of the growing season. 

Cushaw is our traditional pie for Thanksgiving dinner

Instead of pumpkin pie, my mom has always baked cushaw pie for Thanksgiving.  In recent years, with an expanding family, someone will occasionally contribute a pumpkin pie to our dinner, or, better yet, one of my sisters-in-law will bring her family’s favorite, pumpkin chocolate chip cookies.

Even so, we still have cushaw pie, partly because my dad wouldn’t have it any other way.

Cushaw is a large green and white striped winter squash, often used for decorating around the fodder shock in autumn. This squash was once a staple of the Native American diet.

The most challenging part of making a cushaw pie is cutting up the squash. 

Some cut off the thick neck, then peel and dice the pale yellow flesh before cooking.

Another method for cooking cushaw is to bring a large pot of water to a boil, submerge large sections of the squash, cook until the flesh may be easily pierced with a fork, then peel, drain and mash. 

The pie itself is very simple, especially if you buy readymade crusts like I do.  My mom, of course, makes homemade crusts.

This recipe has long been a Thanksgiving family favorite.  Try it; it may soon become one of yours! 

Cushaw Pie

1 c. cooked cushaw, mashed
3/4 c. sugar
1 c. milk
1/2 tsp. salt
1/2 tsp. nutmeg
1/2 tsp. ginger
Dash of cinnamon
1 tsp. vanilla
2 eggs, beaten

Mix all ingredients in large bowl; pour into unbaked pastry shell, dot with 3 teaspoons butter. Bake in 350 degree oven for 20-30 minutes. Pie is done when no filling clings to point of table knife.

This makes one pie; you may double or triple to feed whatever size crowd you are serving. 

 "Gasp!"  There's a piece missing!  I wonder whodunnit?! :)

Meeting souther writer Lee Smith = a red letter day!

Pretty exciting, huh?  Not as exciting as getting to have lunch with her, I’m sure—as did our daughter Chelsea.    

Chelsea, a student at Berea College, is taking an Appalachian Literature class taught by Silas House, an esteemed Appalachian writer in his own right.  The class read and discussed Smith’s best-known book, “Fair and Tender Ladies.”

House invited Chelsea and a few more students from an organization called “Bereans for Appalachia” to join Smith and himself for lunch. 

Chelsea was privileged to sit beside Smith and listen to her tell funny stories about her friendship with Dolly Parton.

Smith later gave the weekly convocation address, which was open to the entire student body and the public. 

Although I didn’t get a lunch invitation, *sigh*, I made a bee-line for the Phelps Stokes auditorium at 3:00 to catch Smith’s talk.

Afterward, I bought two of her books and had opportunity to meet her when she signed them. 

I’m not really into fawning over celebrities, but I’ll have to admit I get pretty juiced about meeting some of my favorite authors. 

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got some reading to catch up on… 

I have issues with Shelby Lee Adam's work

Shelby Lee Adam’s photo essay, which appeared in a recent November issue of the New York Times, is entitled “Exposures: Salt and Light” and was taken from his latest book, salt and light.  The compelling photos are stark images in black and white. 

Mr. Adams has acquired quite a reputation as a photographer.   I have no trouble acknowledging that he is very talented. 

However, I have to wonder what motivates Mr. Adams to seek out the most “colorful” people in eastern Kentucky to photograph, then splash their images across the New York Times, of all places?

That’s a dumb question, I know. 

The New York Times?  The man has obviously arrived. 

However, being a native of the mountains himself, surely Adams is smart enough to recognize that his photos will result in additional ridicule for poor mountain people. 

 Doesn’t he know a cosmopolitan audience will shake their heads in disdain that such a primitive population still exists in this country? 

Won’t this audience be afraid to venture anywhere east of I-75 in Kentucky, sure that they’ll wind up amongst savages?

 Maybe I’m being overly-sensitive and defensive because I have my own preconceptions about what “outsiders” think about us. 

I’ll not argue for a second that the faces in the photographs aren’t real.  They look very familiar to me, although I was brought up a few ridges west of the Hazard area. 

Heck, if some big-city reporter were to sneak up on me when I’m out in the garden, sweaty with hair askew, wearing my mismatched uniform of apron, muck boots and shapeless t-shirt, and ask me to pose against a weathered building—why, I’d probably blend right into the pages of salt and light too. 

Or I could clean up for a Glamour Shot, and you probably wouldn’t recognize me either. 

On his website, Adams features pictures of his subjects holding his new book.  Apparently he gives them copies before they are made available to the public. Generally, the holler dwellers look pretty delighted with themselves.

Maybe I’m completely wrong about Shelby Lee Adams.  Maybe he is just that proud of the poorest among us. 

Maybe the misrepresentation comes from the New York Times.  The choice of which photos to publish can make quite a statement in itself. 

Maybe this work wasn’t the exhaustive search for anything stereotypically hillbilly that I first thought it was.   

On his website, Adams laments that “it is becoming more difficult to find the authentic salt-of-the-earth people.”   

That saddens me too.  I like authentic people. 

But I guess that’s kind of my whole point.  Adam’s subjects aren’t representative of the whole population of these hollers, if the holler he grew up in is anything like the holler I grew up in, and I’m pretty sure they are similar. 

In my neck of the woods, we have people who drive nice vehicles, as well as those who drive rusty clunkers.  We have people living in big nice houses and folks who live in run-down shacks and trailers.

Some diligently tend to their yards and property and others have apparently never carted away a piece of trash in their entire lives. 

We have rich folk with no money, and we have poor folk with plenty.  Sometimes these differences correlate with the amount of money or education folks have, sometimes they don’t. 

Why are the more well-to-do neighbors not featured in this book?  Good grief, why aren’t the humble-but-clean-and-tidy folk not featured in this essay?  How about a little bit more light to go with that salt? 

Adams says in the foreword to his photo essay that he has “experienced cultural diversity and continue[s] to travel between two worlds, the hollers and cities.”  

Maybe so, but I don’t see how his work accurately reflects the diversity contained within the hollers. 

I see representations of tired stereotypes that are misleading to a dominant culture and most likely has them fearful of ever coming around these parts to see for themselves how the majority of us live.