The world as we know it might be coming to an end. BW cooked fresh greens.
She cooked them with leftover Thanksgiving ham. They were so good, she ate them again leftover for lunch today.
Although flavorful and sprinkled with pepper sauce, something was missing.
Cornbread. She hadn’t baked any to go with the greens. Shame.
So, instead, she went for saltines slathered in real butter as a substitute.
There’s nothing quite like a fresh, crispy, non-stale saltine cracker.
Except a swig of Coca-cola right after—-the desire for which sneaked in from the depths of a childhood memory. Coke and crackers is what you got when you had a tummy ache.
Except now, BW only drinks an occasional Coke when she digresses into a comfort-food burger and fries.
Which isn’t too often since she finds herself about 40 pounds overweight.
But the need for comfort food outweighs the extra pounds she carries.
While buttering her 2 (okay 4) crackers, she noticed 2 over-ripe bananas hanging on the fancy banana hanger and sneered. WHY are there always 2 bananas that go rotten, no matter if she buys 5 or 3?
Yes, she knows they make great banana bread, half of which will cross her lips and travel straight to her already-ample hips. Remember, she’s trying not to indulge.
And then she wondered if you wonder why she’s been so scarce?
She figured she might tell you.
Real life trials.
Emotional and mental ones that creep in when she least expects them, like during a Lifetime Christmas movie, making her cry like a baby.
What kinds of real life trials?
A teen-aged fender bender. A visit with the assistant DA and list of things required to avoid $170 ticket and increase in auto insurance: A a safe driving class ($50), a MADD class ($50), and a two-page essay on safe driving.
Negative influences. Offering her son temptations that never cropped up until college back in the 70’s.
A black lab that her son trained to retrieve. A dog who loved his boy to pieces. So much so that one afternoon he sneaked out a crack in the back door when he heard the school bus coming. He knew his boy was on that bus, but the unforgiving truck that plowed the dog down didn’t care that his boy was on the bus watching.
Depression. Because the second retriever the teen had trained had gotten loose and died a horrible death.
Anger. Because someone left the back door open. It wasn’t me, but we know who it was.
Rebellion. That rises up in a kid overnight and robs him of the relationship he had with his mother.
Bad report cards that come home in the hands of a teen-aged boy trying to find his way amid 90-minute classes he hates and baseball and hunting he loves. What do Geometry and Spanish and Biology have to do with a kid who thinks he wants to guide duck hunts for a living?
Nothing. And you can’t convince him otherwise.
You get the picture, right?
BW is not a novice at child rearing. But somehow, this last pumpkin on the vine is different.
I miss him.
I want him back.
When he’s through this phase, I hope I’m left with that good stuff in the bottom of the bowl that you soak the cornbread in.
Daddy called it pot liquor.
There’s something to be said about some good pot liquor.
PS I haven’t forgotten about the drawing. I’d like to have ONE NEW READER comment on the previous post before we do a drawing.