Growing up, my sister and I were fortunate enough to have great stand-in grandparents as neighbors. My parents bought an old Victorian when they moved to Homer in 1977. Julia Coleman, the owner from whom my parents bought the house, was selling on one condition. She would rent the garage apartment overlooking the backyard.

Ju, as we affectionately called her, was born in the house in the early 1900s. She never had children, and her nieces and nephews lived in Arizona. Ju became a part of our family.

Mom and Dad insisted we wait for her to walk over to our house every Christmas morning before we were allowed to see what Santa brought! We enjoyed breakfast and Christmas lunch with the rest of our family. You could count on Ju “babysitting” us on New Year’s Eve each year as my parents attended an annual get-together. Ju watched The Lawrence Welk Show as Katie and I tried to tune it out. When we were younger, we loved to sit at her feet in that garage apartment as she knit afghans. She even bought us our own knitting needles and taught us to knit (before it was popular). She taught us to play Solitaire. One drawer in an antique sewing cabinet in her living room was stocked with crayons and coloring books just for our visits. She and Dad visited over a cup of coffee every Saturday morning. I think Ju thought of Dad as her own.

In the afternoons after school we would find Ju sitting at her kitchen table with a tall glass of iced tea–with a splash of milk–reading the Bible. The kitchen overlooked the backyard, and she would tell Mom and Dad that she watched us come and go. Dance lessons, piano lessons, softball practice and games, church functions, school functions. She knew our schedules as well as we did.

Ju never claimed to be much of a cook. She always said she could cook two things…cheese toast and cabbage. Her cheese toast really was tops in my book. She always buttered her bread before adding a slice of American cheese, and her antique toaster made those little burnt cheese blisters near the edges. I mostly remember Ju eating leftovers from her two trips to the Country Club every week. She stored the leftovers in plastic margarine tubs.

I would rather have SlimFast for lunch at work than a soggy, cardboard tasting sandwich or an artificial-tasting micro-meal. Lunch for me is a mini-vacation at work. A few minutes to daydream and savor a home-cooked meal does wonders for productivity. I return to the tasks at hand with a renewed since of purpose and a full tummy! So, I decided to make a few entrees I could easily freeze and reheat at work. These cabbage rolls fit the bill.

1 head cabbage, leaves separated and wiped clean

1 (8 oz.) package dirty rice mix, prepared according to package directions

2 (14 oz.) cans fire-roasted tomatoes

1/4 c brown sugar

1 garlic clove, crushed

Parboil cabbage leaves until pliable enough to bend. Place 1/4 c dirty rice on each cabbage leaf, tuck in sides and roll. Place seam-side down in baking dish that has been sprayed with cooking spray. Continue with remaining cabbage leaves. Meanwhile, heat tomatoes, brown sugar and garlic over medium heat until sugar melts. Pour tomato mixture over cabbage leaves. Bake at 350 degrees for 30 minutes or until cabbage is tender.

Try this website for dirty rice mix if unavailable at your local market.

Donnie and I love to go–just about anywhere. Jack has inherited that trait, but Brett hates to ride. Jack will ask, “You wanna go ‘wide’ for a ‘wittle’ bit?” (I will be so sad when his r’s and l’s sound like r’s and l’s instead of w’s!) Brett just screams the entire time. And I mean that hungry cry scream. His tongue vibrates in his mouth and you can see the back of his throat. You know the cry if you have a child. We don’t go as much as we used to for obvious reasons.

Eureka Springs, Arkansas is one of our favorite weekend getaways. We used to make the jaunt a few times a year. It’s about a 9-hour drive from here. Depending on our work schedules we would sometimes leave on Saturday morning or split the drive between Friday evening and Saturday morning.

One particular November weekend we decided to drive to Little Rock on Friday and spend the night. One of my favorite parts of traveling (besides eating) is planning the trip. I know…most people are appalled when I reveal this strange affinity. Our trip to Boston gave me the ultimate planning rush–navigating the subway system and ensuring we visited all the historic landmarks on the Freedom Trail. Europe was a blast, too, although a little more stressful due to the language barrier. On a required planning scale of 1 to 10, 10 being the most labor-intensive, Eureka Springs is a stretch at 2. There’s just not a lot to do there–which is the point for a relaxing weekend. I did go online to find a good deal for our Friday night stay. Doubletree Hotel happened to be the winner at just over $50 a night. (Don’t you love getting a steal?)

Knowing what  I know now, though, I would have paid big bucks to stay at a Doubletree Hotel just to get my hands on these warm and gooey crispy-edged cookies. It’s a marketing ploy, and we actually prefer staying in B&B’s. Oh, but these walnut-studded chewy AND crispy discs of heaven…

This recipe is a result of many trials and errors, combinations of recipes and many late chocolate chunk-laden nights.

Chocolate Chunk Cookies with Walnuts

1/2 c butter

1/2 c sugar

1/2 c brown sugar

1 egg

1/2 t vanilla extract

1 c flour

1 1/4 c oatmeal, whirled in food processor until finely ground

1/4 t salt

1/4 t baking powder

1/4 t baking soda

8 oz. semi-sweet chocolate chunks

1 c chopped walnuts

Cream butter and sugar. Add eggs and vanilla. Mix together flour, oats, baking powder, baking soda and salt in a bowl. Add to butter mixture in half-cup increments, incorporating into wet mixture before each addition. Stir in chocolate chunks and walnuts. Roll into small balls and place 2 inches apart on cookie sheet sprayed with cooking spray. Bake at 375 degrees for 10 minutes.

We did not make our annual pilgrimage to Aunt Gee’s Sea Turtle on Edisto Island this year. Not because I didn’t want to feel the sticky ocean breeze on my sun-kissed skin. Just didn’t sound like a good time to make the 14-hour-plus trek in a car with a 2 year-old and a newborn. Didn’t let geography stop me from recreating that coastal vibe right here in land-locked north Louisiana, though. I hopped on my retro beach cruiser and pedaled around my neighborhood slicing through the molasses-thick humidity allowing the warm air to blow through my hair. I listened as the crickets performed their dependable summer symphony just as they do on the Jungle Trail at the beach. Instead of drinking in the beach house scenery, watching parents and children with beach garb in tow, I whizzed past sturdy brick homes under towering pine trees. Not quite the same as Palmetto-lined boulevards, but I was able to clear my head and breathe deeply. I returned home, poured myself a glass of Beach Bourbon Slush and made my way to the rockers on the front porch with a copy of Dorothea Benton Frank’s newest novel, Return to Sullivan Island. The novel is set in South Carolina, so I was able to maintain my Carolina state of mind.