The Games are Open!

London welcomed the world to the Olympics last night with an opening ceremony that was, well.... interesting.  A veritable crazy-quit of all things Britannic, the ceremony began with a pale, pastoral scene that was neither attention-getting or exciting.  Miss Ginger is pretty sure it was supposed to represent the beginnings of the British Isles, but it seems to her there were some really important parts we skipped- Shakespeare and Stonehenge, come to mind.

After the little maypole dancers literally rolled up the grass and hauled it off-stage, we obsessed for what seemed like hours over the dark,  dingy, grey depiction of the industrial revolution.  Miss Ginger gets that Great Britain led the world in the industrial revolution, and that the east end of the city, where the stadium sits, was the center of it all, but the building of those grey smokestacks by the people in black and brown outfits was just dreary!  The only redeeming part was the pyrotechnics at the end, when the rings rose from the forge in a shower of flames. 

The pace and color did pick up a bit with the entrance of the Queen.  Here's the part where one would expect a certain amount of droll pageantry; instead, we celebrated British slapstick by parachuting Her Majesty into the cheering stadium along with Bond- James Bond!  That was an Olympic moment that won't soon be forgotten, and made the whole thing worth watching in Miss Ginger's opinion!  








After that, it just got kind of goofy. While she admires the Brits' pride in their National Health System, and wonders aloud if America could ever take national pride in any government program, she thought the whole sequence of kids in pale pajamas dancing on beds, with nannies dressed in black parabrelling down from the rafters kind of boring and, again, colorless. Then something about scary dreams- the scariest of which was the enormous inflatable child that was just plain creepy! Bi-racial kids dancing with iPhones- jet packs- British music tribute- it all became a boring blur around this part.

The parade of athletes reeled it back in, and Miss G couldn't help but notice the number of handsome tennis players that seemed to be selected to carry the flags of so many countries!  She's going to have to add tennis to her list of sports to watch! With each country's arrival came another petal for the Olympic cauldron,  and once they were all in place, the arrival of the Olympic flame by speedboat on the Thames was unique and clever.  

The wrap up performance by Sir Paul McCartney was special for Miss G in a tug-at-your-heart kind of personal way that could only be appreciated by GingerNation.  "Hey, Jude" has one of those weird, warm childhood memories for her.  As a tiny boy, probably around 3 or 4,  Baby Boy G would go up to Bubba Arthur's room and beg him: "Artie, sing our song" to which Artie (who was NOT a musician) would say "Why do you want me to sing it? It always makes you cry!"  I would, of course, tell him, "No! I'm not gonna cry this time- I promise!" and after much pleading, could get him to sing the song.  And, of course, I would cry.  I'm still not sure why... I guess because he was singing about a "sad song", and making things better.  Anyway, by the time we would get to the na na na na's, I would join in singing, and he would tickle me, and we would end up laughing, and singing, and tickling and giggling 'til Daddy yelled for us to be quiet! So now, any time she hears "Hey, Jude" Miss G gets misty eyed.


So, we didn't get the colorful, precise spectacle we saw in Beijing- in fact, we got very little color at all.  Or precision, for that matter.  But what we did get was an interesting, loud, uniquely British start to the games.


Did you watch, GingerSnaps?  What did you think of the games?  

Someone's in the Kitchen with Ginger!!!

And as usual, that someone is Momma G!!  Check out this great recipe and the stories that go with it on The Low Salt Cajun Queen!

Summer Memories Invoked by the Minx!

The Minx recently published a post about sloppy joes on Minxeats, and it brought back so many childhood memories... for several reasons!  My mom made sloppy joes often- not only to feed 5 hungry boys at home, but to fill big 40 quart roaster ovens to sell them at the concession stands at our little league games.  She NEVER used Manwich- she made them from "scratch"- I remember ketchup, mustard, and Worcestershire sauce... and I'm sure garlic powder and onions. I haven't had a sloppy joe in years- I wonder if I would still like them?

As a kid in the summers, I ate chicken gumbo soup for lunch almost every day. I didn't even think of it as "gumbo"- I just liked the salty, tomatoey broth in the soup.  Where we lived in South Louisiana, mornings typically had clear blue skies, and around noon, clouds would begin to gather as the afternoons heat thunderstorms began to develop. I knew that wherever I was in the neighborhood, when the sky got "blinky" it was time to go home for lunch!  Daddy owned his own business,  so he came home for lunch every day, and he and I would sit together at the breakfast bar and eat our lunch. Me with my little bowl of soup and some saltines, and Daddy, eating leftovers from the night before. Momma G cleverly planned leftovers for Daddy's lunches, and they were one of the few things "off limits" in the refrigerator for us kids.  "Don't eat anything out of the yellow bowls" she would scream when she heard one of us foraging for a snack. "That's for your Daddy's lunches!" 

Most of our summers when I was very young were spent at Huber Park, where the older boys played baseball.  Daddy was a coach, and Momma was in charge of the concession stands, so usually, Momma would sit me with some of the "older" Moms in the bleachers, who had a blast watching me, and spoiling me rotten.  I was too little to sit on one row of the bleachers and lean back on next one up, the way adults do, so Mrs. Bass would sit behind me and let me sit back against her legs.  The ladies would buy me bubble gum, and corn dogs, and my favorite- snow cones! 

I'm not sure which I loved more-  the icky sweet, syrupy, sticky shaved ice, or the cool machine that made them!  I loved watching the ice get loaded into the chute, and then watching the plunger convert it to white, fluffy snow in seconds.  When I got older, I worked in the concession stands with Momma (Baby G had NO INTEREST in being a bat boy- sorry, Daddy!) and of course, I always got the snow cone station!




Momma G was a smart cookie when it came to keeping up with 5 boys.  In the summers, the washer ran constantly in our house, and after a day of baseball games, there would be a parade of naked children  as each brother ceremoniously stripped off his uniform in the laundry room, and then marched through the house to the bathroom to take a shower.  I had a "uniform" as well- always a white t-shirt and a pair of blue jeans.  After the baseball uniforms were in the washer, Momma G would find me and ask "what did you have to eat today?", a question I honestly couldn't answer, because I couldn't remember all of it! Then should would say "I think you had a corn dog, and a blue snow cone, some popcorn, and a coke."  Spooky! The woman must have eyes in the back of her head!! I thought she was some kind of psychic!  It wasn't until years later that she told me  the purpose of the white t-shirts-  the spills and stains on it gave her a clear record of everything the various and sundry well-meaning ladies in the concession stand had given me to eat! Into the washer with some bleach, and my "wearable white board" was ready for the next day's markings!

We had many, many fun family times at the ball park, but there were a couple of scary times, as well.  One time,  we heard a blood curdling scream from the concession stand. Instinctively, one of my "caretakers" grabbed me to her and held me, while the others rushed over to see what had happened.  Momma G had reached into the popcorn machine to grab a bag while the kettle was cooking, and bumped the handle, tipping the kettle and pouring scalding grease all over her hand. They packed it in ice, took her to the hospital that was 2 blocks away, and got her back to me before I even realized she was gone!  It was a terrible burn, but it healed completely.


Another time, Daddy took us boys to mow the field.  Well, the big boys were going to mow, I was pretty much going to swing, and ride the seesaws and such.  Anyway, at the ball field they had one of those big-wheeled Yazoo lawnmowers- I don't think they even make them anymore. It had big bicylcle wheels on the back, and rotating wheels on the front, and it was big and wide, designed to cut ball fields, golf courses, etc.  Because it was so large, it was one of the first self-propelled lawnmowers ever made,  and we had never seen anything like before.  Brother B's shift was first.  Daddy started the engine, and B said "Dad, why is it so hard to push?"  Daddy said "It's self-propelled. Push that yellow lever forward and it will push itself".  "Like this?" asks Brother B, as the huge machine lurches forward and drives itself right over Brother A's foot.  Dad scoops up A and carries him to the station wagon, and we all pile in and drive home, about 5 blocks.  Mom freaks, of course. As soon as she sees it, she lays into Daddy: "Why did you bring him here?  You drove RIGHT PAST the hospital!"  It's true, the hospital was smack dab in between the house and ball park, about 3 blocks from each!  So, back into the station wagon they went, to take Artie to the emergency room for many, many stitches. 


Remind me later to tell you the story of the chain saw. And the time we got the boat stuck in the mud. Or the time the door fell off of the car. I've got a million!


All good, clean, family fun!