I can't count the number of meals that I sat down to eat at this table.
And after sharing
our version of comfort food and what we thought was normal everyday food, I found out that "normal" people think meals in the Vandercar kitchen were a little odd.
Okay, well, whatever.
But, I will admit there was one combination that even though I loved, I never really understood how the two went together. It was the nights we would have
grilled cheese and homemade cocoa made on the stove.
Mom would use velveeta for the sandwiches and try as I might, I can never get it to be as gooey and smooth as hers. She would make hot chocolate on the stove and all I remember is a lot of stirring and that it tasted sooooo much better than any mix out of packet ever could.
I was always a little grossed out, cause Dad would take his grilled cheese and dip it in the cocoa.
But, I guess, with all the other combinations of food we had, I never thought to ask why we were the only ones that I ever knew of that ate these two things together.
Fast forward to 2001.
My mom has been gone for 2 years and I'm beginning to see how the rest of my life is going to be. The older I get, the more questions I have. Not big ones. Just simple ones. Where did you get this watch? Why did you say this phrase (Home again, Hooligan)? Who gave you that plate? Some questions so simple that only she would ever know the answer to.
I am interviewing and video taping my dad for his 80th birthday video. He answers most questions by shrugging his shoulders and nodding yes or no...real captivating material! We are talking about his time as a POW. He as usual, does not have much to say. He tells me what they ate. He tells me that they slept on wood bunks and shared blankets. He tells me about a radio that they hid in the latrine. I ask him what the May 8th was like, the day that the war ended. He tells me that they woke up and all the Germans were gone and the gates were open. He tells everyone wanted to go across the street to a barn where they knew the Germans were stockpiling Red Cross packages, but everyone was afraid that it was a trap or a trick that the Germans were playing. He tells me that the trucks come and give them the good news that the War is over. He tells me that they were given their first real meal and they all thought they would eat and eat and eat, but they could hardly finish one sandwich cause their stomachs had shrunk so much. I ask him what they were fed. He tells me "
grilled cheese and hot cocoa."
Ding.
The dime drops.
I have a huge smile.
The strange combination finally makes sense.
For as long as they were married, my mom lovingly made and fed my dad the Victory Meal that reminded him of one of the happiest days of his life.
Dad with fellow POW's
I believe this is at the camp that they were sent to after their release...to rest and recover.
So, I thought on this day after Veteran's Day and 2 days after their anniversary, it was a good time to make me a little
grilled cheese and learn how to make
hot cocoa on the stove.
It tasted just like home.
Directions to here:
How did mom make the cheese so much more gooey?
And yes, that is a plate from your childhood.
We love you Moore Family.
I can't count the number of meals that I sat down to eat at this table.
Dad with fellow POW's
It tasted just like home.
A Veteran
Thanking my Dad
I've been taking pictures a long time.
Directions to here:
But whoever they are and whoever the owners of this place is,
God Bless their red, white and blue
Americana Patriotic Heart.
On the other side of the road there was a sign from my working girl past.
And an outlet for Sister Susie..."two please."
I HAD to stop to take a picture of this sign.
This may be my favorite Halloween picture, ever.
The "drive straight thru" pedal was to the metal until I crossed this border and saw a sign for
On one of their trips south, Jr. saw a sign for "The Mountain Woman Exchange."
My kind of downtown
True Story:
Revival in the Appalachian south: 
Down one of the residental streets, I saw this familiar site.
Fruit Stand?
I stopped at the Y intersection to take a picture of this building and a beat up pickup truck pulled off the side of the road and started waving and shouting something at me. I started to give my "just taking pictures" speech and realized all they were telling me (in a very thick mountain accent) was that I needed to take pictures of the back of the building.
They were right.
A shell of a once glorious building.
I still think it is beautiful...in a desolate, stoic and noble way.
Then, walking back down the alley toward the car, I turned around and saw this scene:
At first, I couldn't tell what it was, but as I got closer realized,
Perfect.
Day Two started out...much like how Day One ended. Under glorious neon...daytime version.
The only thing better than neon and neon that can be shot backwards...is if you can get both forward and backwards in the same shot.
You can see by my lingering in every corner of this motel that I am breaking down on my resolution to "drive straight there."
I still have good intentions tho...
Oh, wait...just one more, shot.
Oh yeah, and this one. It reminded me of a line in Sheryl Crow's "Leaving Las Vegas" about a Barstow and a Crossroad Trucker...so of course, I had to take just one more.
A boy and his dog.
A girl and her grand-dog.
