We took John's mother Martha to get a new cell phone yesterday. She had an old pink flip phone that was Annie's before we gave it her so it was at least 7 or 8 years old. That's as old as Martha is (87) in electronic years. Martha uses the phone to call her relatives in North Carolina so she doesn't have to worry about long distance charges on her land line. (That was the only way we could convince her to use the cell phone in the first place, remember when long distance was really expensive? Her land line now probably has free long distance, but we want her to have a cell phone, so we just let her assume that long distance calling doesn't cost anything when she uses the cell phone.)
Anyway, we went to dinner afterward and I got Martha talking about growing up in North Carolina during the depression. She has mentioned several times that what we call lunch was called dinner when she was growing up. It was the big meal of the day, her family were farmers, and for dinner they always had corn bread. Not the yellow, cakey, sweet corn bread that we eat, but "much better." I don't know why, she didn't tell me. Cornbread was such an iconic part of southern living that her older brother Earl would have a "boiled dinner" and cornbread with Martha and Grandmama and Grandpapa Keaton at 11:30, then go their father and stepmother's house at 12:00 and have corn bread again and go to an aunt and uncle's home at 12:30 and have hot cornbread for a third time.
Mom Lingard then started telling us about the cornmeal "dog bread" that Grandmama would make when they didn't have anything for the dogs (they had beagles) to eat. They didn't buy dog food, the dogs just ate scraps. Grandmama would mix up cornmeal, water, probably an egg and fry it about an inch thick in her fry pan, like a pancake only thicker. When it was done, she would break off the crispy cornmeal edges and give them to the children and give the dogs the cooked bread. The first time Martha had a tortilla chip she took a bite and said "tastes like dog bread." Her brother Earl came to visit and they took him to a Mexican restaurant and he tried tortilla chips and said "Hmm, dog bread."
I fear these story telling times with Martha will end before I have heard all she has to tell. I love to hear about her southern upbringing. When she talks about her early years, I hear a little bit of the south in her voice. And my Annie says "egg" just the way her grandmother does (rhymes with leg) even though she has only been to North Carolina once. Blood will tell.
