Mary Kay Andrews

Small-town Fourth of July

We were home for the fourth. It felt nice. For the past two years we’ve been in my hometown of St. Petersburg, for funerals for my dad, two years ago, and my sister, last year. Last year we watched the fireworks from the beach, with my brothers and sister Patti and their families. It was bittersweet. This year we just wanted to be home. And we were. We started the day with our neighborhood parade, which we watched from my friend Susie’s front-yard. Susie set out plates of bagels and jams and fresh fruits. Dave, her husband, set up the bar with bloody marys and breakfast beer–what a way to start the day. Then we all sat out in folding chairs to watch the passing parade, joined by dozens of neighbors. Our town’s celebration is deliberately small-scale and corny. The kid’s swim team rode by on their bikes. A community supper club–they call themselves “the dinner conspiracy” marched by in chef’s hats, banging pot lids with wooden spoons. Dads pushed babies in strollers decked out in bunting. One group decorated a boat as a float decorated as a boat. Frail-looking World War II vets rode by in cars sponsored the the American Legion and VFW. There was an Uncle Sam on a unicycle, and a Kazoo Band which serenaded us with SHE’S A GRAND OLD FLAG, and my friend Mike and Jinxy’s vintage red convertible–Big Red, carried the city commissioners, driven by Mike, who got elected to the city commission earlier this year. We greeted Mike with all the dignity the office demands–by pelting him with water balloons and a Super Soaker fired from what our friend Jack called “the grassy knoll.” Then we went home and started preparing for the evening’s events. My sister-in-law Jeanne and I fried a mess of chicken. We started doing this years ago, when my mother was still living, under her watchful supervision. Jeanne’s version of fried chicken is–truthfully–even better than Mom’s. She marinades the chicken overnight in buttermilk spiked with Texas Pete hot sauce. Then we drain it and bread in a mixture of flour, seasonings, bread crumbs and Japanese Panko crumbs. We fry it for 14 minutes in hot peanut oil–Jeanne swears it gives a lighter taste, drain on paper towels, then leave in the oven, set at 250–until time for the covered dish supper. I also made a big bowl of my grandmother’s potato salad, devilled eggs, and a pan of Trailer Trash. Trailer Trash? This is a recipe cribbed from The Sweet Potato Queen’s cookbook. No bake, all fake. Delish!. You take a box of 12 ice cream sammiches. Don’t forget to unwrap. Place in bottom of a 9×12 foil pan. Drizzle over chocolate ice cream topping and caramel ice cream topping. Slather on a bunch of Cool Whip. Drizzle over more of the toppings. Garnish with a bag of Heath Bar chocolate-toffee bits. Cover with foil and stick in the freezer til supper. Mmm. Aunt Bea! We always have a covered dish supper at our house, and then go down to the lake to watch the fireworks. We spread out quilts on a neighbor’s lawn to watch. It was good to be home again.

From a coffee shop in Ellijay

I’m on day four of my solo writer’s retreat at my friend Shay’s cabin in the North Georgia mountains. Thank heavens Shay doesn’t have internet access up there. There is absolutely nothing to do except write, nap, and read. The first morning, I got up, wandered out to the front porch, and stared straight into the face of an amused doe who was munching on some pine seedlings. She flicked her tail, like she didn’t care, and ambled off. When I went out to the back porch, another deer was dining on a different stand of undergrowth. It’s hot even on the mountain. So that night, right at twilight, when I took my glass of wine out to the front porch, I saw the same doe, having her dinner. I’ve been writing away, and it is so GOOD to have my head back in this book. If I make my daily page quota by noon, I’m allowed to go down the mountain to Ellijay. I found this coffee shop, Bear Creek, I think it’s called, and they have iced tea and internet access, so I can email my chapters to my editor and agent, and catch up with the rest of the world. Yesterday, I even did a little junking before heading back to work. There are lots of nice antique shops up here. In between chapters, I’ve been reading one of my favorite authors, Susan Isaacs. The book I’m reading–and loving–is called PAST PERFECT. I’ve loved lots of Susan’s other work, including COMPROMISING POSITIONS, AFTER ALL THESE YEARS and LILY WHITE, and SHINING THROUGH, (trust me–the book was just waaaay better than the movie with the totally miscast Melanie Griffith) and this most recent book is just as delicious. It’s great to read her while I’m writing, because I get so jealous of her work that I try harder to be better at what I do.I don’t worry about imitating her, even unconsciously, because our work is so different, so it’s just a total joy. Tomorrow, if I’m extra productive for the rest of today and tonight, I get to go home and go to an estate sale. Yay!

Full House

Boomerang Boy is back. The house he was renting was yanked out from under him. So now a box of his groceries is sitting in the dining room, along with a bin of his laundry. His dresser is on the back porch. Since his former room is now occupied by his sister and brother-in-law, he will be bunking in the upstairs guest room–for the short term, I hope. In the meantime, Wyatt let us know how he felt about all the turmoil around here by peeing on the rug in the downstairs bedroom. To ease my angst we rented a chick flick. FOOL’S GOLD. Yes, I deliberately rented a movie just so that I could stare at Matthew McConaughey’s bare chest. I’m not proud of it, but there you are. Cheap thrills. PS. The movie sucked, no surprise. Tomorrow, I plan to run away. No, really. Seriously. I’m heading for the hills–specifically to my friend Shay’s house in the North Georgia mountains. Just me and the laptop and a biiig bottle of cheap chardonnay. Fifty pages or bust!

Home Sweet Beach House

Welcome to the Breeze Inn. After countless fits and glitches and snags–not to mention unsuccessful bids on four other houses, we are now the proud owners of a beach house. The Breeze is a circa-1943 concrete block structure–what they call CBS down on Key West. But our Breeze is nowhere near Key West. She’s on a lovely block on a lovely street near Savannah. That radioactive yellow and blue paint combo will be changed as soon as we come up with an overall plan for her restoration. And those unlovely circa-70s windows on the second floor –on what used to be a sleeping porch before being turned into two bedrooms, will be replaced with more appropriate six-over-one sash windows. The downstairs floors are crumbling brown linoleum over concrete slab, the upstairs floors are, we think, heart pine, painted over with such colors as hot pink (really) and green. The bathrooms are straight out of a nightmare, and the kitchen is just sad. All the plumbing and wiring has to be replaced. Oh, we’re making our plans all right. At night I dream of color schemes and floor plans. I’ve filled a loose-leaf notebook with magazine pictures of dreamy beach decor. Our basement here in Atlanta is officially full of Breeze Inn furnishings. It’ll probably take all summer to get her ready for occupancy. We’ve been told the former owners raised seven children under this roof. We had a glimpse of some of their old photo albums, and the pictures, of birthday celebrations, Army days, and family gatherings, tell us that this house was once a happy place, full of life and laughter and good times. That’s what we want for our beach house. Nothing fancy or hifalutin’. We need a good kitchen where we can whomp up a pot of low country boil, with a fridge for beer and Diet Coke. I’ve found one of those old cast-iron sinks with the built-in drainboards on eBay, and if I can figure out how to haul it home, it could be just perfect. I’ve already got a long wooden farm table for the dining room, and I’m assembling chairs enough to seat our extended family and friends, for meals and card games, and maybe even some jigsaw puzzles. We’ll need bookshelves for all those beach reads, and big, comfy sofas, the squishy kind that beg you to take an afternoon nap when it’s too hot at the beach. And yes, a TV, so we can keep up with the Braves score in the summertime, and football games in the fall–not to mention old movies on rainy days. I’m planning to wedge beds in whereever I can, enough to sleep everybody and their friends. Upstairs, we’ll have a master bedroom in that old front porch area, and a new bathroom, hopefully with a clawfoot bathtub. My friend Ron, master shopper, is on the lookout for just the right tub. One corner of our bedroom will hold a desk and chair, for those times when I run away to write. Each of the kids will have their own rooms, of course. I’ve even bought an old metal washstand to put in Boomerang Boy’s room, just like a lot of the old beach houses that had sinks tucked into bedrooms. Downstairs, a screened porch runs across the length of the back of the house. I’ve been buying wicker sofas and chairs and rockers for that porch for three years, and I’m also trying to figure out if there’s any way to also squeeze in a glider. We had a great glider on the front porch of our old house. You could stretch out full-length and squeak yourself to sleep. That pink screened door I bought at Brimfield is destined for the front of the house, I think, and I can’t wait to hear it slapping each time somebody comes in the door. Of course, in the meantime, as my editor and agent POINTEDLY keep reminding me, I’ve gotta finish the damned book this summer, to pay for all those lovely dreams of mine. Sometimes, dear friends, reality does bite.

Live from Galax, Va.

I’m sitting under a tent on the main street of Galax, Va. listening to old-timey bluegrass music. Galax is blessed with a wonderful independent bookstore called Chapters, and did I mention they have antiques? What a charming, quaint little town. I did some junking this morning and scored a chenille bedspread and a granitewear pan. Could have bought a lot more stuff–except I have to fly home in the morning, and Delta doesn’t like it when you try to haul too much stuff on board. I’m staying at a delightful bed and breakfast called The Doctor’s Inn. Owner Brenda Stamey is a live-wire and wonderful hostess. For breakfast this morning she fixed praline french toast, which is a Paula Deen recipe–so you know it was buttery and sweet–and delish. Tonight I’m doing an “author talk.” In the meantime, I’m enjoying the cool, green mountains of Virginia. When I get home I’ll post my photos of the goings-on here. Gotta love a festival that includes a pony ride, deep-fried candybars, and of course, music, music, music. Oh yeah. I got to hug on Clifford the Big Red Dog!

I’m a shooting star…

Paula Deen’s Magazine staffers Sarah and May came to visit on Thursday, to interview and “shoot” me for an upcoming issue of the magazine. Which meant I had to take myself over to see Doug at Douglas & Co., my long-time hairdresser. Doug fixed my hair so I did not look like the back-end of a poodle, and Katie fixed my makeup. I did manage to dress myself. They’re going to include a recipe with the story about me, so Katie, who is taking a cake-decorating class with her two best friends from parochial school, baked the tomato soup chocolate cake from DEEP DISH. The cake looked gorgeous with a fluted border of cream-cheese frosting, and a sprig of deep blue hydrangea from my neighbor Susie’s backyard. Me? I just looked like a fixed-up version of me. Sarah, the photographer, spent hours painstakingly shooting the cake, styled just-so on our dining room table, me pretending to eat the cake, me in the sunroom and me on the front porch. That’s Sarah and me above, on the front porch. I used to go on photo shoots years ago when I was a newspaper reporter, but I’d forgotten how long a magazine shoot can take–which in our case, was close to five hours. But the girls, who’d driven over from Birmingham, where the magazine is published, were very sweet and lots of fun. There they are, above, viewing the shots Sarah had just taken on their laptop. Lawwd, technology has changed so much from my newspaper days–which ended 17 years ago. In the old day, when we went on an out-of-town assignment, my photographer and I would drive to the nearest Greyhound bus station, or airport, and ship the film back to the newspaper office in Atlanta, where the film would be processed and the pictures printed. It was just barely a step up from scratching pictures on a stone tablet! Paula’s magazine, the girls were telling me, is now the highest-circulating food magazine in the business, even surpassing BON APPETIT. You should be able to see the photos and story sometime next spring/summer.

Too darn hot!

My home office is in a converted sunporch on the upstairs back of our 1926 Craftsman bungalow. All those windows mean I have a great view of my back-door neighbor Susie’s glorious garden, which is currently a riot of blue hydrangeas. I can also check on Wyatt, Weezie, and my grand-dog Tybee, who is currently staying with us. The bad news is that the office has a Southern exposure, and no insulation, which means it’s broiling hot in summer and cold in winter. So I’ve mostly been writing on my laptop downstairs. Trying to keep cool and save gas money, I’m trying to have at least one or two no-drive days a week, and also trying not to use the oven. Making lots of tuna salad and devilled eggs. After our weekend trip down to Tybee, we brought back a mess of gorgeous wild Georgia shrimp. For dinner, I improvised a shrimp louis salad–and all modesty aside, it was pretty darned yummy. After boiling shrimp with Old Bay seasoning, quartered lemons and half a can of beer, I made a bed of shredded lettuce, and topped it with chopped tomatoes, cucumbers, red peppers and hard-boiled eggs. I mounded roughly chopped shrimp on top of this, and added a dressing made from 1/4 cup low-fat mayo (Duke’s, natch!) 2 Tbsp. bottled chili sauce, 1 Tbsp. dijon mustard, 1 Tbsp. lemon juice and some lemon zest. Ladled the dressing over the shrimp and then sprinkled chopped green onions over all. I wish I’d had an avocado to add, and I’ll definitely do this next time. My favorite book find of the summer is MARY EMMERLING’S BEACH COTTAGES. I’ve always loved Mary’s work in various shelter magazines, including COUNTRY HOME, and also her books. This new book is full of wonderful beach cottages–from humble shacks to glorious Hamptons mini-manses. And guess what? As I was drooling over the photos, there, on page 179, I find a listing of Beach Reads. The list includes books by Carl Hiassen, James Patterson, Sebastian Junger, Nicholas Sparks, Anita Shreve, and….Mary Kay Andrews! SAVANNAH BREEZE! I let out a happy screech that startled Mr. Mary Kay almost (not quite) out of his sound sleep. Check it out!

Y’all Come!

I’m really, really supposed to be staying at home and writing this summer. One of the very few appearances I’m making will be this Saturday, June 14, at the Galax, Virginia Leaf and String Festival. I’ll be signing books at their book tent during the day Saturday, and then speaking at a dinner that night. Here’s the press release about the event:
The 7th Annual Leaf and String Festival in Galax, VA will be held June 13-14 this year. The festival celebrates music, art & literature. The city of Galax is well known for its old-time and bluegrass music, but is also recognized for its crafts, art and literature of the area. This year, the Galax Public LIbrary and Chapters Bookshop have invited over 30 authors coming to share their works readers of the Twin County area. Local and regional authors include Joe Tennis (Beach to Bluegrass), Al Jennings (Saturday – My Day to Wear the Underwear), Scottie Pritchard (Under the Blue Bowl), and Alan Coleman (Railroads of North Carolina). Also coming is Gloria Houston, Appalachian children’s author, whose works include The Perfect Christmas Tree and My Great-Aunt Arizona. She will be talking with children at the library on Friday, and with the public at large on Saturday. Mary Kay Andrews will be here on Saturday, signing her newest book, Deep Dish, and will be the featured speaker at a dinner engagement at Warrick Hall Saturday night at 6:30. Other titles of hers include Savannah Blues, Savannah Breeze, and Little Bitty Lies. The festival will additionally host the Blue Ridge Music Makers Guild. They have a library of instruments that the public can try out during the two days. Steve Kilby can teach you how to flat-pick a guitar, if you already have a bit of experience with the instrument. Listen to some great music at the Rex Theater on Friday night, and then out at the Blue Ridge Music Center on Saturday evening, or catch some picking right on the street corner. Learn to carve a Gee Haw Whimmy Diddle at Chestnut Creek School of the Arts, beginner guitar lessons, or do a pastel drawing of Galax Leaves, for which the town is named. Learn the art of story-telling, a true Appalachian heritage craft. P. Buckley Moss, a frequent visitor of Galax, has created a poster and print which features Mary Guynn’s cabin and the Bogtrotters Band just for this year’s festival. She will be here to sign them both, along with some of her books, which include Reuben and the Blizzard and Reuben and the Quilt. There is so much going on during the Leaf and String Festival that it makes your head spin. Come and celebrate your Appalachian heritage at Galax, VA June 13 and 14.
For more information, google Galax Leaf and String Festival.

Simmertime…and the livin’ is steamy

I don’t care what the calendar says–it’s June here in Atlanta and it’s officially hot. How do I deal with heat? Junkin’! Last weekend was extremely junk-central. We started off Thursday with the Decatur First Baptist Gi-Normous Yard Sale. Katie and I–and her best friend Carolyn, got up at 5:30 a.m.–or what we call buttcrack of dawn, to get in line for the sale by 6 a.m. for the 7 a.m. start-time. Now that’s some serious junking. This is a yearly sale held to fund the church’s youth mission trips. Of course, we’d done a drive-by the night before to scope out the merch, and I’d spotted what looked like a queen-size headboard and footboard. Not really antique, but decent repro. We cruised by the bed again in the morning, just to make sure it looked good up close, which it did, and made a list of stuff we wanted to find: beds for my future beach house, maybe a dresser or two, and for Katie, two kitchen chairs to replace two of hers that had bit the dust. By the time the sale started, we were 9th or 10th in line, with close to a hundred people behind us. You gotta love a yard sale that starts with the church pastor giving a megaphone benediction. Once we’d been blessed, we were off! Our strategy was divide and conquer. Katie raced for the bed area, while I made a beeline for what looked like a decent sofa. The sofa was a no-go, (smelled like it had substituted for a catbox), so I sprinted over to the three metal spring-back motel chairs I’d been eyeballing. Just as I got there, another woman was placing a “sold” sticker on them. And they were only $15 apiece! They are just like the ones that were on the cover of SAVANNAH BLUES. I had to cuss under my breath (it being a Baptist church-sanctioned sale and all). I headed for the kitchen chair area, where I grabbed up two painted oak kitchen chairs (for Katie) for $30. Five minutes had passed by the time I made my way over to Katie, who’d scored the queen-bed, plus a retro-sixties white and yellow beachy headboard–for the grand total of $35. We trolled the rest of the aisles and came up with two more great finds: a queen-sized sleeper sofa from Storehouse–complete with slipcover–for $175–for my future beach house, plus a scarred and battered mahogany dresser for $40, which will be painted shabby-chic style for aforesaid beach house. And here’s a valuable tip we learned that day. Contrary to popular opinion, a queen-sized sleeper sofa will fit all the way into my husband’s Yukon! That was the good news. The bad news was that the same sofa would NOT fit through my basement doorway, despite the valiant efforts of my good neighbor Joel and son. So I had to cover the sofa with two bright blue plastic drop cloths until my husband and a friend could load it up and take it over to be stored at Boomerang Boy’s garage. Friday morning, when I went outside to make sure our dogs hadn’t decided to breakfast on the sofa, I discovered Wyatt lounging atop the tarp-draped sofa, looking quite pleased with himself. Of course, there was more junking to be done on Friday. With Katie and Jinxie along, we hit three excellent estate sales. I love an estate sale–dead people’s stuff is just way more exciting than the run-of-the-mill suburban homeowner’s assortment of cast-off clothing, plastic toys and hideous ’80s herculon Lazy-Boys. I bought an adorable ’50s chenille crib spread to take to Maisy’s Daisy, plus a bunch of other stuff for the booth. Saturday, I junked solo, scoring a great armchair and ottoman for the future beach house for $35, plus a pair of great-looking faux bamboo Chinese Chippendale armchairs. And to cap off the long weekend, I found a pair of vintage mahogany four-poster twin beds on Craig’s List–$50 for the pair. My basement is full, my fantasy beach house is nearly furnished, I’m a happy camper. Now, it’s back to THE FIXER UPPER. I actually wrote five pages yesterday, to atone for all that outta control junking.

In honor of summer

Here’s a funny sent to me by my friend Tacky Jacky. Enjoy!

BBQ RULES We are about to enter the summer and BBQ season. Therefore it is important to refresh your memory on the etiquette of this sublime outdoor cooking activity, as it’s the only type of cooking a ‘real’ man will do, probably because there is an element of danger involved. When a man volunteers to do the BBQ the following chain of events are put into motion: Routine… (1) The woman buys the food. (2) The woman makes the salad, prepares the vegetables, and makes dessert. (3) The woman prepares the meat for cooking, places it on a tray along with the necessary cooking utensils and sauces, and takes it to the man who is lounging beside the grill – beer in hand. Here comes the important part: (4) THE MAN PLACES THE MEAT ON THE GRILL. More routine…. (5) The woman goes inside to organize the plates and cutlery. (6) The woman comes out to tell the man that the meat is burning. He thanks her and asks if she will bring another beer while he deals with the situation. Important again: (7) THE MAN TAKES THE MEAT OFF THE GRILL AND HANDS IT TO THE WOMAN. More routine…. (8) The woman prepares the plates, salad, bread, utensils, napkins, sauces, and brings them to the table. (9) After eating, the woman clears the table and does the dishes. And most important of all: (10) Everyone PRAISES the MAN and THANKS HIM for his cooking efforts. (11) The man asks the woman how she enjoyed ‘her night off.’ And, upon seeing her annoyed reaction, concludes that there’s just no pleasing some women….