RRN Online Volume 77

November 22 '03

Volume 77

It's On The House Dewlling House Started It

It was a few months ago that I begin to think about how to approach this Big House article. The idea came to me one afternoon when I heard Lillie Belle relating a historical fact to Barbara and me describing the long ago residence of a particular individual in Ripley, MS, as a dwelling house. I found it curious that she used the word dwelling house and began to think of the many words in our language that contain the word house, particularly those that end with house or are connected to the word house. I first thought of those words that sprung from my rural or country roots. A few that popped into my head were: schoolhouse, church house, outhouse, community house, and farmhouse.

The thoughts incubated a few weeks, and I later used the search capabilities of my computer based dictionary to discover more than a hundred different words that ended with the word house. As I began to study the list, I discovered many of the words were quite sensible and easily discernible, but many required a knowledge of the nuances of our native tongue to understand the combination. For example, farmhouse is the sensible name for a farmer's house, but big house does not readily reveal itself as a penitentiary.

I also found that we are indebted to our seafaring brothers for the nautical vocabulary of deckhouse, pilothouse and wheelhouse.

Many of the following statements are comparisons, contrasting the obvious with the elusive. Read them playfully, and if you have a suggestion or other frame of reference that you are willing share, your contribution would be appreciated.

Some words, proper names, represented famous individuals and included: Westinghouse, Rittenhouse, Wodehouse, Newhouse, Morehouse, Mulhouse, and of course Edward Mandell House. However, to my disappointment the dictionary failed to turn up a Maxwell House, but had no difficulty finding White House.

Other discrepancies noted include a definition of upper house, but no reference to a lower house. Practitioners of Catholicism may be familiar with motherhouse, but I found no equivalent for fatherhouse. Likewise the Indian tribe, Iroquois, utilized a longhouse, but I found no reference of shorthouse. While phrases for both woman (or women) of the house and man (or men) of the house were clearly defined, I was pleased to note the absence of the politically correct, person of the house.

In our Country's history, a number of establishments have served those unable to afford a house of their own. These establishments would include: a boarding house, an apartment house, a rooming house, sometimes referred to as a dwelling house, a rent house, and even a flop house—a cheap run down hotel, but for some unknown reason it seems that nobody lives in a discount house, which only goes to show you that there are some bargains nobody wants.

Many restaurants derive their names from that which they serve and include: chophouse, steakhouse, hash house, and one of my favorites, porterhouse. If a liquid refreshment is desired, you can choose from among: alehouse, barrelhouse, teahouse, coffeehouse, and tap house. In Britain you will more likely hear: public house (pub) and pothouse for tavern.

There is probably at least one city in our nation that contains all of the following: a powerhouse, a gashouse, a packinghouse, and a slaughterhouse.

Most small towns have a community house, or a meetinghouse, and being called a town you would think there would be at least one townhouse, but the chances are slim. Almost every community in the South has a church house. It is pretty uncommon to find a county seat town without a courthouse. Just don't expect to find much courting going on, unless of course there is a session of Chancery or Circuit Court being held. Now-a-days, most places have at least one greenhouse, and it has not been too long ago you could find a mail-order house in every small town

In rural areas, farmhouses are common. In bygone days, farms often had a smokehouse and an outhouse. I still think it strange that farms do not have field houses or row houses. And, why the early settlers who built log houses in forest clearings did not construct clearinghouses is beyond me.

As the family farms of this Nation began to decline, persons sought to rehouse themselves, swelling the population of large cities. Later the exodus of great masses of people from urban life to the suburbs led to the development of tract houses, many of which could be described as styled after the ranch house.

Criminals may be incarcerated in a jailhouse, a workhouse or a big house, and those awaiting execution can be found in a death house. Though, confinement can be interpreted as a state of being penned, shut up or pent, we still do not contain the average criminal in a penthouse. That is considered being "too soft on criminals." There once was a period in which inmates were ordered to crush rocks with sledge hammers, but I discovered that rock house is not a place to carry out this activity.

Persons suffering from mental illnesses may be confined to a madhouse, a nut house, or a bug house, but ironically a pest house houses only those persons whose plague or disease requires isolation. One might expect to find crack house defined as a place for the mentally disturbed, since drug abuse is developed by the mentally deficient or else its end result, a fried brain, creates the mentally deficient.

I have seen a bird in a birdhouse, a boat in a boathouse, a light in a lighthouse, ice in an icehouse, a club (meeting) in a clubhouse, and a guard in a guardhouse, but I have yet to see a fire in a firehouse or a gate in a gatehouse.

If you go to open house at a halfway house, you can enter all the way, but no matter how many people you pack into it, you won't have a full house, just a houseful.

You may wonder if a summerhouse is a residence in which to spend the Summer, why then a springhouse is not a residence in which to spend the Spring. Did you know a springhouse is a shelter over a spring and is utilized to store food in a cool environment.

If your opponent in poker has a full house and the best you can muster is a pair, you could end up in the poorhouse or almshouse.

I am told people enjoy the sounds of opera in an opera house (maybe, I would enjoy opera in such a place), but you won't see "To Kill A Mockingbird" in a playhouse.

Though it requires a pretty good sized dollhouse to accommodate a doll, it is not unusual to find a dog in a doghouse, and it may not be unusual to find a cat in a cathouse, but having never visited a cathouse, a call house, a whorehouse, or bawdyhouse, I can only speculate on the likelihood of such.

You can have fun in a funhouse, bunk in a bunkhouse, be a guest in a guesthouse, sweat in a sweathouse, and bathe in a bathhouse. You can even feel safe in a safe house, count treasure in a treasure house, and you might even find yourself hot in a hothouse, but you cannot be rough in a roughhouse or someone may belt you with a roundhouse and in the process, clean house.

I trust this storehouse of information has not put you in a countinghouse frame of mind. Neither has it been my intent to drive you up the tree house. If this house overload has taken its toll on your energies you may want to treat yourself to a tollhouse cookie. I trust you have found a bit of humor in this article, but I don't expect it to bring down the house, and before you criticize my feeble efforts, I would remind you, "people who live in glasshouses shouldn't throw stones." Whatever your reaction, I urge you to abstain from violence, else the police may cart you off to the stationhouse.

Breakfast Fare Sort Of A Smorgasbord

I received more responses from readers in regard to the Golden Eagle article than the usual article elicits. I encountered Ruth McCullough after a morning Church service who commented that she did not eat her syrup and biscuits in the manner that I prefer. That's okay, but if you haven't tried it my way, you may not know what you are missing. Jason Carter suggested I send a copy of the newsletter to the Golden Eagle Syrup Company. It was a reasonable suggestion that I followed, but as of this time I have not received a response from Golden Eagle. Perhaps I shall, perhaps not. I do subscribe to the belief once stated by my wife, "It should be the policy of every company and/ or organization to acknowledge the receipt of a personal letter." Rodger Carmichael, a devout fan of the Tennessee Volunteers, chastised me for mentioning the humiliating loss suffered by Tennessee back in '69 against a fired up bunch of Ole Miss Rebels. I didn't mind, I was glad to know that he read the article.

I received an interesting comment via e-mail from my uncle, Lamar Carter, and am sharing that portion which dealt with the syrup article.

"You know how to make a mouth water, as in biscuits and Golden Eagle. Truth be told, I remember syrups, but not particularly Golden Eagle. Since biscuits are never going to come out of my kitchen I have learned over time several substitutes. I went through a period of Scandinavian breakfasts when I often made breakfasts for some Swedish/German friends and Scandinavian breakfasts contain a smorgasbord of breads (often dark, almost black thin slices, called Pumpernickel), cheeses, jams, maybe also boiled eggs, fresh squeezed orange juices, and the like. But, as time went along and I systematically began to try to simplify the process of living, I settled on breakfast built around freshly baked croissants which I can get a block and a half away from my apartment building. Now, a perfect croissant ranks right up there with Rebecca Calder Carter's biscuits which were equated by Frances Crausby Carter's and Nettie Mae Carter Gaillard's since they both learned how to do them in Rebecca's kitchen according to my memory.

It's possible Golden Eagle syrup would go with a perfect croissant as well as with a perfect biscuit, but I settled on a good strawberry jam as my choice. There are those that think butter is required with croissants, but there seems to be enough already there to me. Now comes the question, do you tear off a section of croissant with your fingers and put butter and strawberry jam on each section individually, or do you use a knife and fork to accomplish the process? Well, it depends on the quality of the napkins you intend to use. If you use your fingers with croissants, you'll need a good substantial napkin, preferably cloth, because your fingers are going to be quite buttery covered [sort of like the ongoing issue of whether or not to eat fried chicken with your fingers]. Somehow or other to me, the taste seems better with the fingers. Maybe I was a Hindu in a previous life. In some Indian restaurants I've been in, all the various foods and spices and condiments are laid out separately on a big banana leaf [your "plate"] along with a variety of breads and you dig in by using your fingers and the bread to collect the various foods for eating. No utensils at all.

Back to croissants, at their best they are golden hued in color, puffed up real nice, and freshly warm right out of the oven. I will confess buying them by the dozen and putting them in the freezer to avoid going to the bakery every morning. Having said all this, even though the bakery is only a block away, I don't have croissants every day; they're mostly an occasional treat. And since my doctor told me last week I ought to consider losing about 10 pounds, one of the things I've cut back on is breads. He made the point that as folks like me get older they should remember that excess weight puts additional strain on hips, knees and ankles, which message he illustrated by clenching his fist to illustrate how weight is concentrated on the hip joints, a big finger to illustrate how weight is concentrated on the knee, and the tip of the little finger to illustrate how weight is concentrated on the ankle. So breakfast is now limited to one dry toast, one banana, two oranges juiced, and a decaf green tea, with assorted vitamins. I don't seem to be any the worse for it, except for maybe a puffed up ego!"

Reading about my uncle's varying breakfast fare gave occasion for me to consider how my own breakfast preferences undergo continual change. From my earliest remembrances, I have eaten breakfast. I do not believe I have ever been a big-breakfast person, but I have habitually had something to eat at breakfast time. Yes, I have skipped breakfast, but I do not make it my practice.

The breakfast I now eat is directly dependent upon where I am lodging. In Greenville, Barbara and I split a Belgian waffle every morning. I stick with a moderately thick pancake and waffle syrup (Flavorite brand) but Barbara vacillates between waffle syrup and strawberries laden with a whipped topping. In Pontotoc, we dine on homemade biscuits and Golden Eagle Syrup both Saturday and Sunday mornings. I usually eat a couple of Smokehouse brand sausage patties in order to keep my cholesterol level from dropping dangerously low, and on cool or cold mornings I really enjoy a cheese filled biscuit, especially if the cheese is an extra sharp cheddar or New York cheddar. When I am staying overnight on the road for SUPERVALU, I thoroughly enjoy a simple breakfast of bacon, eggs, grits, and wheat toast. That's pretty much all the variety I need in a breakfast, except I just realized that I did not mention that none of the above food is fit to eat without a good cup of black coffee, preferable a non-decaffeinated, 100% Colombian selection.

My earliest recollections of breakfast include memories of eating cream of wheat. The thought of eating it now tends to make me gag. I still enjoy an occasional bowl of old-fashioned oats, but I no longer pour milk over it. Yet, it has to be highly sweetened. I remember Mom serving up sugar-toast, French-toast, and buttered toast. The latter of which were accompanied with a jam, jelly or preserve, often homemade. It has been far longer than I want to say, the last time I ate a buttered, sugar biscuit, but Mom used to tell me it was one of my childhood favorites.

I developed a liking for eggs fried over easy by ordering them on toast during my college days at Ole Miss, and later refined my tastes to include a pair of eggs over easy with grits and bacon. Concerns over salmonella poisoning in recent years have sent me back to eating all eggs cooked well done, whether fried or scrambled. Likewise, my taste in bread (loaf bread, we always said) has migrated from the standard white bread to fairly dark wheat, most often stone ground.

Poached eggs and in-the-shell, soft-boiled eggs are among the things I have never tried to eat, and having made it this far without them, I will place them alongside escargot and raw oysters as foods, I hope to never eat unless my survival depends upon it.

All this talk of breakfast has put me in a mood for some breakfast at suppertime.

Bodock Beau

Beau stopped by today to wish me a happy Thanksgiving. He also said to wish my Pontotoc family the same and to extend his wishes to the entire RRN family. Thank you, Beau.

I could not believe it, but Bodock Beau had another humorous "Church" story.

He said that during Bible School at First Baptist Church this past summer, a funny thing happened at the water cooler. I was a little surprised at him mentioning a water cooler, and expected it to be an office joke that had been modified. He said it happened that a class of four and five-year olds were lined up with their drinking cups in front of the water cooler, somewhat patiently waiting for their cup to be filled.

When it was time for a curly-headed, sweaty-faced, little boy to get his water, he held his cup high and mumbled something along the likes of, "Mak nina blubble."

The teacher was unable to decipher the statement and with one arched eyebrow asked, "What did you say?"

Assuming the posture of a young John Wayne, he thrust the cup at full, arms-length, held it near the face of the teacher who had bent near to better hear and said, "Make mine a double!" with all the inflection needed to have made "The Duke" proud.

Beau said it would have been even funnier if the lad was the preacher's son, but would not help me figure out which deacon's kid it was.

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