Theopholous Phifter

Courtesy of Johnny Miller's Grandfather. He was full of funny stories and quotes and tongue twisters. This one may not originally be his, but Johnny Miller had never heard it anywhere else before. So, as a young boy, after conquering the age-old Peter Piper, Johnny Miller learned to quote this one, as well:

Theopholous Phifter, the Thistle Sifter, sifted a sifterful of unsifted thistles in his thistle sifter.

But, if Theopholous Phifter, the Thistle Sifter, sifted a sifterful of unsifted thistles in his thistle sifter,

Where's the sifterful of sifted thistles, that Theopholous Phifter, the Thistle Sifter, sifted in his thistle sifter?

Pieces and Parts

When Johnny Miller was about three or four, he loved to go into the living room, which was paneled in an off-white paneling, a picture or two on the wall, the small black and white television set across the room, and climb up into his Daddy’s lap, over in Daddy’s chair.

His Daddy would ask him, "Do you know what this is?" And point to Johnny's elbow.

He'd say, "This is my elbow."

And Daddy would say, "That's your 'elbone'".

Daddy would ask, "What's this?" And he'd point to Johnny's eyes.

Johnny would answer, "Eyes," and Daddy would say, "These are your eyeballs, and your eyeballs are in your eyeball socket holes."

Next would be the ears, which were “earball socket holes”, then his head, which was his “noggin” with the “fuzz” on top.

Inside his mouth were his “tushes” or teeth. And you can guess what his “snot horn” was. And that “flapper” inside his mouth would someday get him in trouble, when he’d talk too much. Johnny’s stomach, according to his daddy, was his “punch,” and he knew it was so, because Daddy’d been in the hospital one time and told the nurse that he had an upset stomach, and the nurse wrote down, “nauseated paunch”.

Like his “elbones”, Johnny also had “kneebones”. And what he wore on his feet were, of course, his “horseshoes”.

Later on in life, Johnny Miller would look back at those conversations, and know that his Daddy was being silly, but also remember some of the happiest moments of his life. He’d not be able to recall exactly what all of his body parts were, other than the “ordinary” names, but he’d always remember the feeling of sitting in his father’s lap, laughing and loving and playing and learning about his pieces and parts.

There were some lessons that book learning could never teach a young boy.

Chocolate Gravy

Description:
Johnny Miller's family used to have "special occasion" breakfasts... times when family members from out of town came to stay, usually. But sometimes, just because. Usually, biscuits and gravy were served, along with, maybe, eggs and/or bacon. The "special" part sometimes came with the addition of Chocolate Gravy. This was something that some folks just don't get.

But, if you could take your biscuits, and add a little butter, and jelly... or sausage gravy, then why not chocolate gravy? It was quite a treat for the kids, and even the parents.

In young Johnny's mind, there was nothing quite like the magical taste, of a hot, fresh, homemade biscuit, with a little dab of butter melted, and then just the right amount of chocolate gravy poured on top. The melted butter would come up through the chocolate, a little stain of yellow in a brown puddle. Then he'd take his fork, and cut into the biscuit, and eat, and the taste was good enough to last a lifetime.

When done right, chocolate gravy has a consistency similar to white gravy, not too watery, not too thick. Different folks prefer to cook it different ways. This recipe is for Chocolate Gravy like Johnny's family used to eat. The amounts for the basic recipe are wide-open - you can cook for a crowd, or for just a couple of folks. His Momma didn't much go for measuring spoons, it was a little of this, a little of that. And, of course, the family would eat white gravy or sausage gravy, or even just jelly, with biscuits, too, but this was a treat that they could eat on those special occasions. Thanks to Momma Miller for the recipe.

Ingredients:
equal parts of:
cocoa
sugar

half that much or a little more of flour
a shake of salt

water

Or (for one/two persons)
2Tbs Heaped High Cocoa
2Tbs Heaped High Sugar
1Tbs Heaped High Flour
Shake of salt a time or two
Water

Some people add a little vanilla or cinnamon to "enhance" the flavor. Also, some folks substitute milk for all or part of the water, but Momma Miller doesn't. This simple, basic recipe has done the trick for years!

Directions:
Mix all the dry ingredients. Add enough water to make a paste and gradually add water till it's thin (but not watery). Heat it up slowly. Add more water as needed (a little bit at a time) until you get the desired consistency. Cook at a soft boil (medium high) at least ten minutes (depending on amount and consistency). It will thicken up a little bit after you remove it from the heat.

Hint: Add hot tap water to it to reduce cooking time.
You'll have to tweak the recipe a little bit to make it taste the way you want it to.

Preparation Time:
Approximately 20 minutes


Author's note: This has turned into one of my most "popular" stories. If any of you like this recipe or have memories of a "special" breakfast now and again with chocolate gravy, or have variations on this recipe, I'd like to invite comments on the article.

Yankee Dimes

When his Granny and Poppa used to come to Armadillo Creek and stay for a few days, Johnny Miller was always excited. They had an old blue and white VW bus that they used to drive everywhere in. When they’d pick up the boys, Johnny and his brother Tommy would go willingly, wherever they took them. Tommy would tend to doze off, as the quick chugchugchug of the engine got loud up long hills, then would wake up when they started downhill, and the sound faded.

They’d sometimes go over to the next county, where Poppa’s family had lived when he was young, to visit older relatives that couldn’t get out and about too well anymore. On the way there or back, they’d stop at Buttermilk Springs, not named for the buttermilk that flowed out of the ground – but almost. For when they’d drive up the old dirt road, and pull off, and walk up the trail to the springs, in those days, the water was so pure, and cold, that you could see down into it to the bottom, and the bottom of the hole was rock, or clay, or a mix, that was a pale, pale off-white color, almost exactly the shade of buttermilk. And, at a glance, it did look as if buttermilk were flowing out of the ground there.

When they were little, their Poppa would come and he’d tease all the little ones, so playfully and fun, he’d carry them on his shoulders, and play with them like no other adults anywhere did. He’d take his false teeth, and, with his tongue, force the uppers down, and the lowers up, and make them clack together in the most silly of ways. Or he’d walk up to them, and stick his finger in their ears, for no apparent reason at all. And, when they’d go back for a fork, often their plate would be missing when they’d return to the table. He’d play, and all the kids loved it.

Granny was different. She, too, played with the kids, but would scold Poppa when he got too ornery with them. She was as full of love and life as her man of many years was, but she had a Grandmother’s lap, where a skinned knee or bruised anything could go and get comfort. She’d bring blackberry jam, made from berries gathered during their trips up the road, in the wild bushes.

Indeed, all the kids loved the pair of them. Johnny Miller was a thinker, and thought long and hard, about what was the biggest possible amount that there could ever be. He didn’t know too much, then, about pounds, and miles, and other units of measure, but he could think of what had to be the biggest anything there was….

And the next time his Granny came, the one who loved him so dearly when he needed a hug, who gave him “Yankee Dimes” for little jobs done – and how he loved those little kisses. The next time she came, he said, “Granny, I love you….. From the top of God’s head, to the bottom of the devil’s feet.” And, he gave her a big hug.

Then, he turned to his Poppa, who was always teasing him in such a loving and playful way, and whom he loved just as much, and told him, holding his thumb and forefinger just a little ways apart, “Poppa, I love you just about this much!”

Reading Crusoe at Age 4

Long before he went into kindergarten, which at Armadillo Creek elementary school has always been an all-day program, Johnny Miller would read. Like his mother, he would read just about any book he could get his hands on.

He used to go to the old bookshelf, just inside the hallway, and pick up one of his favorites, like Robinson Crusoe, and start to read. When he had been a toddler, his Mommy always read to him and his brother, often reading whatever it was that she'd be reading, whether a western or a sci-fi story, or whatever. The stories she told intrigued him - they were a window into another time and place - another life.

He developed a liking for all kinds of words. Books and stories called him somehow, and listening to the tales would liven up his imagination. The shipwrecked man, stranded on a desert island, somehow making do with the little that he had, and even making a nice life for himself, after he had been stranded with pretty much nothing but the shirt on his back and whatever had washed up on the shore.

And, although, at four, he couldn't read all the words in Robinson Crusoe, he could pick up the book, and starting in the early pages, he could read the numbers at the bottom, or tops, of each page. One, two, three, ... up to ten, then, "Mommy, what's this word?" "Eleven," she'd say. And then, "Eleven, twelve, ... Mommy, what's this word?" "Thirteen."

And, before long, he could count to a hundred, even more. And, so, long before kindergarten he was reading books like Robinson Crusoe, one page number at a time.

Family Stories

One time, years ago, when Johnny Miller's Daddy and Uncle Roger and Aunt Tabby were living out on the farm, long before the kids had come, a pig got loose, out of the pig pen. The old homestead was nestled in a valley between two mountains. Out the valley, past the farm, was nothing but deep, deep woods. The farmland itself was situated on rolling land, which had once been planted with cotton.

There was at no point on the property where you could see all of it, there being way too many dips and rises, and one good-sized creek ran along the back edge of the fields, and another, smaller one, up toward the front of the land.

This pig was nowhere to be seen. The family spread out, and were calling him. "Whoooieeee, whoooooiiieeeeeee!!" they'd call. Finally, out of sight of the others, Aunt Tabby caught a glimpse of the runaway pig, and yelled out, as loud as her lungs could carry, "Thar he is... He's a runnin' yonderways!"

Which did not help the others atall.

When Johnny Miller was born, he had a brother a year and a half old already, Tommy, and the next kid up the line was his sister Ann, who was ten. About a year up from her was Randy, and another year or so up was Robert, the oldest.

They were growing up in the hill country of a southern state, where there weren't too many people unlike themselves anywhere around. Armadillo Creek was not a particularly "racist" community, but, it had always been an area, settled prior to the civil war, with most of the original families still living there, where white folks lived.

Johnny Miller, and his brothers and sister, were brought up to respect folks that were different from them, but at the same time, when you only ever saw people who were "different" on television, or on trips to the city, well, it was hard to relate to them.

Long before Johnny was born, his Momma had taken the older kids into the city, shopping. As she carried little Randy in her arms, with Robert walking along beside, across a busy street, he saw a black couple walking the other way, pushing a baby carriage, in which a beautiful baby was laying, so innocently.

Randy saw that baby, and thought it was the prettiest thing he'd ever seen. He asked his Momma, "Momma, can we get one of them chocolate babies and bring it home?"

Now, he didn't mean any harm by the question, but it did embarrass his mother to no end. For years and years, she'd tease him about it, but at the time, she had shushed him up rather quickly.

When Johnny was a baby, his Mother was Mommy, but his sister Ann, being older, was a second Mommy, and he developed the habit of calling her Mama Ann. This was fine and dandy around the house, and everyone accepted it as a normal thing.

Occasionally, out in public, however, it turned into a source of embarrassment for his poor sister. At a community fish fry, held at the Armadillo Creek Fairgrounds, sponsored by the Farm Bureau, Ann was assigned to watch little Johnny.

Of course, she was a young teenager, and he was a toddler, and as they sometimes do, he tended to say what needed to be said without thinking twice. As she stood there, talking to her friends from school, Johnny was dancing and prancing next to her. Finally, he blurted out, at the top of his lungs, his voice carrying over the rustle of the crowd, “Mama Ann, Mama Ann, I gotta go pee!!”

Mama Ann was not happy. There's no amount of talking that can erase the words spoken by a toddler.