I read her book, They Must Be Stopped: Why We Must Defeat Radical Islam and How We Can Do It a couple of years ago and was really captivated by this woman. Would love to meet her in person.
By the way, I saw your site/picture of Thomas Wolfe's tombstone and thought of these.
With Thomas Wolfe whispering in my head http://freenorthcarolina.blogspot.com/2011/09/with-thomas-wolfe-whispering-in-my-head.html
An Old-Timey Southern Breakfast Tom Wolfe got it right in Look Homeward, Angel when he wrote of his own family:
“They fed stupendously. Eugene began to observe the food and the seasons. In the autumn they barreled huge, frosty apples in the cellar. Gant bought whole hogs from the butcher, returning home early to salt them, wearing a long work-apron and rolling his sleeves half up his lean, hairy arms. Smoked bacons hung in the pantry, the great bins were full of flour, the dark recessed shelves groaned with preserved cherries, peaches, plums, quinces, apples, pears…
“In the morning they rose in a house pungent with breakfast cookery and they sat at a smoking table loaded with brains and eggs, ham, hot biscuits, fried apples seething in their gummed syrups, honey, golden butter, fried steaks, scalding coffee. Or there were stacked butter-cakes, rum-colored molasses, fragrant brown sausages, a bowl of wet cherries, plums, fat, juicy bacon, jam.
At the midday meal they ate heavily: a huge, hot roast of beef, fat, buttered lima beans, tender corn smoking on the cob, thick red slabs of sliced tomatoes, rough savory spinach, hot yellow corn bread, flaky biscuits, deep-dished peach and apple cobbler spiced with cinnamon, tender cabbage, deep glass dishes piled with preserved fruits – cherries, pears, peaches.
At night they might eat fried steak, hot squares of grits fried in egg and butter, pork chops, fish, young fried chicken.”
The Wolfe family put new stones in some years ago. As a nine or ten year old kid in the early forties, I made a few dime tips for showing tourists the graves of Thomas Wolfe and O Henry. We lived at the entrance to Riverside Cemetery. In Jr. High I walked to school and passed the Old Kentucky Home. Wolfe's prose haunts me still. Every year in October I send all my remaining relatives an email with his song to October from Of Time and the River. "October had come again, and that year it was sharp and soon: frost was early, burning the thick green on the mountain sides to massed brilliant hues of blazing colors, painting the air with sharpness, sorrow and delight-and with October." I usually don't get much response for it but I get a good cry out of it every time I read it. The Western deserts are beautiful but WNC and Southwest Virginia are incredible in many Octobers.
I had almost forgotten fried grits and brains and eggs. Where did the time go?
Thanks Brock. I have taken to reading your blog before the Drudge Report. I have no higher praise to give. Hah!
I usually don't get much response for it but I get a good cry out of it every time I read it
As would I. That quote reminded me of Christmas Memory by Truman Capote which we read/listen for Christmas each year. "It's fruitcake weather!" We probably had similar youths: cowboys and Indians, bicycles, fishing, baseball and fascinated by the Late Unpleasantness.:)
I have taken to reading your blog before the Drudge Report. I have no higher praise to give. Hah!
Goodness, you must have me mixed up with another.:)
I missed that posting in September, lolling in a hospital with no computer. My mother died in the Baptist Nursing Home in Asheville with Alzheimer's Disease and I fully expect to follow that path. Example. I have avidly read NamSouth for much longer than Free North Carolina and just finally put your name in place today for both of them.
Next to Thomas Wolfe, my all-time favorite writer is James Lee Burke of Louisiana and the Missoula Mt area. In his book Moon of the Red Ponies he wrote, "Johnny American Horse did not belong in the 21st Century." Even commenting on a line that great is a sacrilege. I use it about myself every chance I get.
I'm sorry to hear about your mother. Asheville is where my Aunt Sally Moore lived and where I lost a chunk of my front tooth going down a hill in a Soap Box Derby car! My aunt taught Minnie Pearl to play piano there also.
"Johnny American Horse did not belong in the 21st Century."
I've always said that I should have been born about 1800.:) Your sentence reminded me of a poem my friend wrote about Stan Watie. It's on NamSouth, but I think I'll make a posting of it here also.
I didn't think of that, but assuredly agree!:)
ReplyDeleteI read her book, They Must Be Stopped: Why We Must Defeat Radical Islam and How We Can Do It a couple of years ago and was really captivated by this woman. Would love to meet her in person.
ReplyDeleteShe is a ball of fire, that's for sure.
ReplyDeleteBy the way, I saw your site/picture of Thomas Wolfe's tombstone and thought of these.
With Thomas Wolfe whispering in my head
http://freenorthcarolina.blogspot.com/2011/09/with-thomas-wolfe-whispering-in-my-head.html
An Old-Timey Southern Breakfast
Tom Wolfe got it right in Look Homeward, Angel when he wrote of his own family:
“They fed stupendously. Eugene began to observe the food and the seasons. In the autumn they barreled huge, frosty apples in the cellar. Gant bought whole hogs from the butcher, returning home early to salt them, wearing a long work-apron and rolling his sleeves half up his lean, hairy arms. Smoked bacons hung in the pantry, the great bins were full of flour, the dark recessed shelves groaned with preserved cherries, peaches, plums, quinces, apples, pears…
“In the morning they rose in a house pungent with breakfast cookery and they sat at a smoking table loaded with brains and eggs, ham, hot biscuits, fried apples seething in their gummed syrups, honey, golden butter, fried steaks, scalding coffee. Or there were stacked butter-cakes, rum-colored molasses, fragrant brown sausages, a bowl of wet cherries, plums, fat, juicy bacon, jam.
At the midday meal they ate heavily: a huge, hot roast of beef, fat, buttered lima beans, tender corn smoking on the cob, thick red slabs of sliced tomatoes, rough savory spinach, hot yellow corn bread, flaky biscuits, deep-dished peach and apple cobbler spiced with cinnamon, tender cabbage, deep glass dishes piled with preserved fruits – cherries, pears, peaches.
At night they might eat fried steak, hot squares of grits fried in egg and butter, pork chops, fish, young fried chicken.”
The Wolfe family put new stones in some years ago. As a nine or ten year old kid in the early forties, I made a few dime tips for showing tourists the graves of Thomas Wolfe and O Henry. We lived at the entrance to Riverside Cemetery. In Jr. High I walked to school and passed the Old Kentucky Home. Wolfe's prose haunts me still. Every year in October I send all my remaining relatives an email with his song to October from Of Time and the River. "October had come again, and that year it was sharp and soon: frost was early, burning the thick green on the mountain sides to massed brilliant hues of blazing colors, painting the air with sharpness, sorrow and delight-and with October." I usually don't get much response for it but I get a good cry out of it every time I read it. The Western deserts are beautiful but WNC and Southwest Virginia are incredible in many Octobers.
ReplyDeleteI had almost forgotten fried grits and brains and eggs. Where did the time go?
Thanks Brock. I have taken to reading your blog before the Drudge Report. I have no higher praise to give. Hah!
I usually don't get much response for it but I get a good cry out of it every time I read it
ReplyDeleteAs would I. That quote reminded me of Christmas Memory by Truman Capote which we read/listen for Christmas each year. "It's fruitcake weather!" We probably had similar youths: cowboys and Indians, bicycles, fishing, baseball and fascinated by the Late Unpleasantness.:)
I have taken to reading your blog before the Drudge Report. I have no higher praise to give. Hah!
Goodness, you must have me mixed up with another.:)
I missed that posting in September, lolling in a hospital with no computer. My mother died in the Baptist Nursing Home in Asheville with Alzheimer's Disease and I fully expect to follow that path. Example. I have avidly read NamSouth for much longer than Free North Carolina and just finally put your name in place today for both of them.
ReplyDeleteNext to Thomas Wolfe, my all-time favorite writer is James Lee Burke of Louisiana and the Missoula Mt area. In his book Moon of the Red Ponies he wrote, "Johnny American Horse did not belong in the 21st Century." Even commenting on a line that great is a sacrilege. I use it about myself every chance I get.
I'm sorry to hear about your mother. Asheville is where my Aunt Sally Moore lived and where I lost a chunk of my front tooth going down a hill in a Soap Box Derby car! My aunt taught Minnie Pearl to play piano there also.
ReplyDelete"Johnny American Horse did not belong in the 21st Century."
I've always said that I should have been born about 1800.:) Your sentence reminded me of a poem my friend wrote about Stan Watie. It's on NamSouth, but I think I'll make a posting of it here also.