Fine as nine

I cartooned the birthday boy with Cartoona. it's an app.

Our little Andrew turned nine last Monday.

So, the Friday previous to that, eleven of us gathered at the Cracker Barrel in Fort Mill/Charlotte, North Carolina (Carowinds exit), sitting practically smack-dab on the state line, that has seen many of these types of Weber celebrations over the years.

The only ones missing were Andrew and Brittany, who were skiing in Utah. I'm not sure if Ember skied or if she stayed behind with relatives in Knoxville.

TG is our patriarch. And we like it like that.

But she's coming to Columbia this weekend with her adventure-loving parrots, for my birthday, so I will ask her when I see her.

I can't wait. I mean, I can; I just don't want to. But I will.

Back to Cracker Barrel in Fort Mill. The staff of the restaurant were wonderful.

He was checking out his balloon.

Because we were, as aforementioned, a group of eleven, we could not sit together at one continuous table.

Covid, don'tcha know.

Excuse me for stifling a massive yawn.

Cousins and a cake.

And if that offends you, may as well click out now.

I'm over it.

It's ridiculous.

Stephanie had called previously and told the staff we were coming, and how many we were. 

Accordingly, they had placed our two tables -- a four-top and a six-top -- about six feet apart at the back of the back room.

I knew right away what was in that tall box.

I noted that other tables nearby -- all with diners present -- were separated by perhaps half that distance.

? ? ? ? ?

But then, in an intriguing turn of events, our server told us that we could move our tables together as close as we wished -- as long as they didn't touch.

? ? ? ? ?

Pardon me but how is, say, a six-inch gap between two dining surfaces going to protect anyone from catching a virus?

Papaw, Little Andrew, and Chad.

Any more than a six-foot gap will do?

If indeed any of us even had a virus.

Which we did not and do not.

At any rate we opted not to move the tables any closer. Or maybe we just didn't get around to it. We simply used the space between them to mill about, chatting, until everyone arrived, and even after that.

Our handsome menfolk: L to R TG, Chad, Little Andrew, Joel.

Eventually the guys -- TG, Joel, Chad, and little Andrew -- settled at the four-top, which after a chair-drag they converted to a five-top since Melanie wanted to sit there too.

We girls sat at the six-top and had a blast.

There was me, all three of my daughters, two of my four granddaughters, and Cutie Peanut Porter.

(By the way, we will soon learn the gender of Cutie Peanut Porter. And since there are only two genders -- science, don'tcha know -- we are certain that our sixth grandchild is either a boy or a girl. Names corresponding to said genders have been imagined and one will be chosen, I reckon, long before the birth of said wee bairn.)

Face it: he looks like his mother.

I can't wait. I mean, I can; I just don't want to. But I will.

Between the two tables, on the floor but beneath the window, were Andrew's birthday presents, plus his cake, which was in a bakery box. I'd gotten him a balloon and it hung around in that area too.

Unlike weekend before last, when Henry came to visit us (upon which occasion, to my shame and dismay I forgot to take any), I took a decent number of pictures with my phone, at the birthday party.

Cherica, with Allissa looking on.

(Henry arrived at our house a week ago Saturday and we had a big meal that afternoon, then visited all evening, had a good rest, and went to church together on Sunday. After church we enjoyed leftovers before Henry took a power nap, then returned to Greenville. You can get from our door to his in less than two hours.)

(The menu for Saturday included two recipes I had not tried before and I honestly don't know how I could be more positive about new recipes than I am about these. Absolute slam-dunk if you're serving a crowd.)

(I'll share those recipes after I tell you about the birthday party from the night before.)

Please do keep up. If you need to take a break, I'll understand. Sometimes walking around the block helps.

Dagny was howling because I'd just shown her a video of a Corgi going roooo-roo-roo after each bite of his food.

Now, TG and I were eating out for the third night in a row (long story), which is something we absolutely never do (we eat out as much as anyone, but never on three consecutive nights), so I was truly not even all that hungry.

But I ordered the fried catfish with fried okra and a loaded baked sweet potato, and it was good.

I don't like that there are two instances of the word fried in the above sentence, any more than you do. But, it is what it is.

We are parrots of either a boy or a girl.

I will say that the catfish at CB is "breaded" very lightly indeed, with cornmeal, and is a delicate fish dish. The okra had a tempura type coating that, again, is relatively airy. And it is a green vegetable.

However, the loaded baked sweet potato was topped with two of the most gigantic marshmallows that I have ever seen.

They were roughly the size of a Rubik's Cube. Each. Or at least the size of a pair of giant fuzzy dice. I did not know they grew marshmallows that big.

Everyone needs an Audrey. But you can't have mine.

Oh wow, I hope you scraped those off, I know you're thinking.

Nope. Are you kidding? I consumed them lustily.

But I did not have birthday cake. The marshmallows were enough dessert for me.

We got him a Batman card.

What am I saying? They were enough dessert for the whole table. And I ate them both.

No one is perfect. Least of all the pirate, who has never once met a marshmallow to which she did not instantly form an attachment.

After we'd all enjoyed our distinctly middle-class fare accompanied by much animated and fun-filled conversation, it was time for little Andrew to open his gifts.

All nerfed up.

He got a new Nerf gun plus a moving-target machine to use it with, from me and TG.

Chad and Erica a/k/a Cherica gave him a Daisy Red Ryder Carbine BB gun. 

Yes; just like the one in the classic holiday movie. I knew as soon as I saw the box, which was wrapped in bright blue paper emblazoned with the words Birthday Boy, what was in it.

Mom always makes me read the card first.

Ralphie Andrew was stunned when the wrapping had been torn off to reveal the iconic 1938 box.

He looked up at me and whispered: Is it a gun?

It's a BB gun! I said. And he appeared relieved, and I haven't heard a report yet but I'll wager that he has the squirrels in his back yard keeping a weather eye.

Stephanie was proud of her boy.

Not that our little Andrew would harm a living thing on purpose. He's not like that. He's more into hoops.

Audrey and Dagny got him two rather spectacular airplane type things that he has to put together before he can fly them.

His other grandparents sent socks and a tie. Nothing wrong with that, as our Andrew is a dapper dresser, but on the spot I proclaimed TG and me to be the more fun grandparents.

This is a lot of paperwork.

(Just KIDDING. I love David and Debbie. They are way cool.)

(After all, we have been family and friends for over twenty years. Yes! Stephanie and Joel will celebrate their twentieth anniversary at the end of June.)

I can't believe it has been that long since I was putting that wedding together. I had no idea what I was doing but it turned out well in spite of me.

You'll shoot your eye out!

Moving on.

The pièce de résistance for little Andrew, however, was the last gift he opened. It was from his parents.

It was an Air Jordan backpack. The kid practically levitated. Hoops and MJ, the GOAT. Solid.

After presents and cards and much related hilarity, Stephanie carved up the cake. Andrew had chosen chocolate chocolate, from the store.

As I said, I declined cake. Ugh. I like sweets but the massive marshmallows were too recent a memory.

Haberdashery is always a stellar option.

Then, the party more or less over, as we always do, we lingered for a while in the restaurant, talking and visiting and laughing, before moving it out to the parking lot, where we stood around for a while longer than that, talking and visiting and laughing.

When TG and I pulled away in the Raven, three fourths of our offspring were still enjoying one another's company.

I like to see that. They are close and it is good.

As I said, the next morning I was obliged to get up early and finish preparing for Henry's visit. He arrived at noon.

These should impress the girls.

Henry is accustomed to eating his big meal at midday, and having a simple snack in the evening.

I'd told him beforehand that I wasn't going to have a big meal ready at twelve. Perish the very thought.

We all needed time to recover from the night before (the ride from Fort Mill to Columbia being ninety minutes, meaning that we all got home late), and no one would be hungry enough for a big meal until later in the day.

So the time decided upon was five, and Henry made sure to bring a substantial snack, which he ate at a rest area on the way.

The moment we have all been waiting for.

Here's what we had:

I'd been wanting to make these Baked Ham and Cheese Party Sandwiches for a long time, and this was the ideal opportunity to try them out.

Wow. Y'all! I promise, if you make these, everyone will rave. You'll be the hero of the piece.

(I followed the recipe to the letter except that I added a dollop of brown sugar to the sauce. And naturally, I used Hawaiian rolls for the bread.)

Mom! You got it for me!

In addition, I tried this recipe for Slow Cooker Baked Potato Casserole.

Okay all I will say about this is, one: It makes a lot. I mean really a lot. After all, it's five pounds of potatoes. I used Yukon Golds. And a full 24-ounce package of thick-cut bacon, cooked extremely well and coarsely chopped, went in as well.

But, two: The amount will not be a problem because the leftovers are wonderful, and you can even send some home with certain folks (such as Henry) who are truly entranced by the dish and who tell you as you're cleaning the kitchen that they wouldn't mind taking some home.

It was exactly what he wanted.

Ultimate comfort dish. Easy, delicious, decadent, fabulous. You have been warned. Again: I followed the recipe to the letter except I did not add onion powder. The green onions are so great with the potatoes and provided more than enough onioniness.

Besides the party sandwiches and the baked potato casserole, I made my famous barbecue baked beans, for which there is no recipe.

Henry loves them so I always make them when he comes. Mom used to like them too.

Milling about in Fort Mill.

The "recipe" is easy but you have to make up your own amounts: To a can or two of plain pork 'n beans that you have rinsed, add ketchup (a lot), mustard (a medium little), a few shakes of Worcestershire sauce, a few sprinkles of creole seasoning, a generous amount of brown sugar, and a very generous amount of barbecue sauce.

I use only Sweet Baby Ray's Original, but you do you.

Stir and let stew on low in the Crock Pot for as long as necessary for the flavors to marry and for the beans to be piping hot at serving time.

And that's how we do it at Chez Weber.

Time to say goodbye. Until the next party.

Until the next party time -- actually that's this weekend, so stay tuned -- be sweet!

Later this week, as promised, I'll tell you about the kitchen ledge.

The pirate has not forgotten.

And that is all for now.

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Happy Monday :: Happy March