Tref
05-07-2005, 02:26 AM
My mama, my poor mama. She has seen some days, let me tell ye. Why don't ye wheel a chair up to your computer screen and I will tell you a tale of woe.
That's it, wheel up a bit. Come closer. Yeh, that's the spice. Now, even a little closer. Whoa! That is too close my friend - back up a bit. Uncle Georgie gets nervous when you get in his face like that.
Anyway, here is my tale. To wit: Now my mama didn' t raise no dummies. She was too drunk. My papa raised dummies. My mama, well, she stayed in the kitchen, mostly, and cooked up a mess of food, all the live long day. I can not remember much about my early days, but I do remember this one thing ... my Mama always set the table with two sets of salt and pepper shakers. Now'en, it didn't make a difference if there was fourteen people eating, or four, or half of four, she always had those two extra salt & peppers shakers at the ready -- on the table and all in a row.
The shakers were identical and they also looked exactly the same: glass bottom and silver top. Both had the first letter of their respective spices pressed into the cap. And if'n ye didn't know your letters, as with my pappy, who was a mute, then you could also tell by the number of holes of the top of the shakers: six for salt and three for pepper. All totaled together = 18 holes for the delivery of spice.
As I grew older and my thoughts went more to woman; and my beloved violin, and my Shelly and my Keats, I stopped wondering about the shakers. It was time to leave the nest. I was nearly 33 and the world was my oyster. I thought nothing of those four salt & pepper shakers.
I tried to, at least, but I was successful in that I failed miserably. Those damned spice shakers, I could think of nothing of else. Why, even when she would serve only me – when I was sick and she brought in a hot meal on TV. tray -- would she still put out two separate sets of salt & pepper shakers?
So, I went home. When I arrived, by carriage, several hours later, I found my Mama in the kitchen stirring up a batch of brownies. To stir the fudge mix, my Mama was using not a wide spoon or similar stirring utensil, but her entire arm. This was how she made brownies: just like her mama before her and her mama's mama. Though, from what I hear, not her mama’s mama’s mama. That particular Mama would have none of that sh*t. She used a spatula.
“I’m mixing up a batch of arm brownies, son,” she said, pulling out her chocolate fudge forearm. “Justlikeyoulike’em.”
I winced. I hated arm brownies almost as much as ear candy.
“Mama,” I said. “I don’t reckon I need any brownies. What I need is some answers.”
My mama wiped down her arm of brownie mix and came over to me. She looked genuinely concerned. “What is it? She asked.
“Why,” I asked. “Why, for all these many years, even when I alone am eating, do you put two sets of salt & pepper shakers on the dinner table?
My mama closed her eyes. She stood still for a moment and then a look of total serenity appeared on her face. She bowed slightly and gave the appearance of being a wise Eastern sage. I looked over to the two sets of shakers on the table. The four identical glass and silver shakers.
My mama spoke in a whisper but I heard each word clearly.
“One of them, my son," She said, motioning to the two sets of shakers. "Is poison!
Finis
That's it, wheel up a bit. Come closer. Yeh, that's the spice. Now, even a little closer. Whoa! That is too close my friend - back up a bit. Uncle Georgie gets nervous when you get in his face like that.
Anyway, here is my tale. To wit: Now my mama didn' t raise no dummies. She was too drunk. My papa raised dummies. My mama, well, she stayed in the kitchen, mostly, and cooked up a mess of food, all the live long day. I can not remember much about my early days, but I do remember this one thing ... my Mama always set the table with two sets of salt and pepper shakers. Now'en, it didn't make a difference if there was fourteen people eating, or four, or half of four, she always had those two extra salt & peppers shakers at the ready -- on the table and all in a row.
The shakers were identical and they also looked exactly the same: glass bottom and silver top. Both had the first letter of their respective spices pressed into the cap. And if'n ye didn't know your letters, as with my pappy, who was a mute, then you could also tell by the number of holes of the top of the shakers: six for salt and three for pepper. All totaled together = 18 holes for the delivery of spice.
As I grew older and my thoughts went more to woman; and my beloved violin, and my Shelly and my Keats, I stopped wondering about the shakers. It was time to leave the nest. I was nearly 33 and the world was my oyster. I thought nothing of those four salt & pepper shakers.
I tried to, at least, but I was successful in that I failed miserably. Those damned spice shakers, I could think of nothing of else. Why, even when she would serve only me – when I was sick and she brought in a hot meal on TV. tray -- would she still put out two separate sets of salt & pepper shakers?
So, I went home. When I arrived, by carriage, several hours later, I found my Mama in the kitchen stirring up a batch of brownies. To stir the fudge mix, my Mama was using not a wide spoon or similar stirring utensil, but her entire arm. This was how she made brownies: just like her mama before her and her mama's mama. Though, from what I hear, not her mama’s mama’s mama. That particular Mama would have none of that sh*t. She used a spatula.
“I’m mixing up a batch of arm brownies, son,” she said, pulling out her chocolate fudge forearm. “Justlikeyoulike’em.”
I winced. I hated arm brownies almost as much as ear candy.
“Mama,” I said. “I don’t reckon I need any brownies. What I need is some answers.”
My mama wiped down her arm of brownie mix and came over to me. She looked genuinely concerned. “What is it? She asked.
“Why,” I asked. “Why, for all these many years, even when I alone am eating, do you put two sets of salt & pepper shakers on the dinner table?
My mama closed her eyes. She stood still for a moment and then a look of total serenity appeared on her face. She bowed slightly and gave the appearance of being a wise Eastern sage. I looked over to the two sets of shakers on the table. The four identical glass and silver shakers.
My mama spoke in a whisper but I heard each word clearly.
“One of them, my son," She said, motioning to the two sets of shakers. "Is poison!
Finis