Take off your hat, I want to stand up.

The Pea

The pea.

I always tried to amuse Ev. In small ways she found my sense of humour  interesting. Christmas at our house was a family time for us, all of our lives. There would be a tree, in desperate need of water. In time the needles would dry up and try to make a break for it by early February, certainly by March. Ev would say as she was going out the door to Regina Beach, Jackie take the tree down and take it out to the alley the city is making a pick up next week, the door would close and the dreaded tree smirked in my direction.

Go ahead, make my day, punk. I touched the tree and instantly had a pile of dry needles and a skinny Charlie Brown tree stood, where once a proud and mighty fir held firm. It almost shivered as I dragged it out the back door to the alley. It huddled in a defeated poise leaning against the curb by the grey metal garbage cans.

I trudged back inside. In a couple of hours the needles would be swept into neat piles and hand bombed into the garbage bag. I tried to use a  vacuum cleaner, this did not work. The hose would plug in about five seconds, clogged. Closed up tighter than a clowns pride. Do not use a vacuum or the job will become monumental in a very short time. This is cheap, but good advice from a ten year old, who  learned the hard way.

On this day,  it was Christmas Eve, we were a small, shattered family.  A blue by you quiet hung in the air. Each of us missed someone near and dear to our hearts. My dad was dead. Our girl friends and boy friends were in a state of change. Mom decided to cook a huge turkey, with all the assorted side salads, cream corn from the can, Jolly  Green Giant green peas, from the can, dill pickles, olives, beets, and a giggly green salad of sorts made with lime green jello, cottage cheese and green grapes. The latter salad would be eaten only by mom, the remainder would be covered, placed in the fridge and mercily tossed into the bin in five to ten days depending on how far back into the fridge the bowl would be jostled.

  Ev was a dreadful cook. She would take a ten and a half pound beautiful roast and cook the living crap out of it. When taken from the oven the roast would be dark, tough, and half the weight. It was so very dry that it would make good sandwiches in a day or two. The accompanying sides and salads were dreadful, tasteless and droll. The spread was presented in fine form and the effort was definitely present but the cooking technique was wanting. My mom thought all food had to be cooked and cooked well. This usually meant the food was juiceless, dry and flavour  wanting.

As it happened, on this day the table cloth was used. You know it is a special meal when the good dishes were out, the table cloth was creased, the salt and pepper shakers looked like the Queen would arrive at any minute.

The very well done turkey was finally released from the 500 degree heat of the oven. Ev tried to carve the bird. The men in the family traditionally held sway over the portioning of the meat offering, as no men were present she took over the honours.  She eyed and inspected the golden roasted turkey. To her astonishment, she declared the bird had something up inside it's cavity. She reached in and pulled out a bag of innards she did not take out before it went in the oven. Look she would declare they gave us a bonus. Miraculously the heart, kidneys and meat extras were cooked perfectly.

The once valiant bird now had meat that looked very dry. On the upside it would make good sandwiches,  in a day or two, cream turkey meat pies and other forms of seconds down the road. Today the eating would be a serious challenge.

We all gladly gathered around the dining table in the kitchen. I looked over and witnessed mom had used every bowl, utensil, pot and pan in the place. I was the clean up crew. It would take some soaking to grind the dishes clean. I cannot find any good reason why my mom used so many pots and pans when she cooked. Then I watched as she poured a rum and Coke. She would dig out a pan, pour water and ingredients into the pan, find it too small, take out a second and third pan until the contents fit. She discarded the others in a pile either in the sink or close by. The riddle of the dishes solved.  

Jackie would you say grace? Grace was something you do not mess with in my mom's dinner place. She took it as a serious connect with God. We honoured this tradition and repeated our grade of graces that we all knew and could recite with somber ease.

  Once said we could eat. Pass this please, hand me that, thank you, we needed to use our manners, especially on this festive occasion, and with respect to our heritage, our ancestors and the poor. Kindly eat and accept what is before you. She continued, as there were all of these less fortunate people living in China, Africa or some other under developed place that held little in the way of food. Always be grateful. Always be thankful. Always apply a good level of humble nature to everything one did, never boast or brag.

Grace being said and approved by a gentle look and nod of the down turned head by Ev and we were set. Forks at the ready, knives at the set, the pot passing and biscuit breaking was a go. She would laugh and smile with regular delight as we somehow hummed into a rhythm of eating. Her beautiful brown eyes flickered to each one as we broke bread together.

I placed a single somewhat large pea on the centre of my coloured, design filled plate. It sat there in it' s most excellent solitude. My siblings had passed the potatoes, gravy, beets, carrots, cream corn and pickles around and around in a ballet of family design. Kindly pass me some green grape aspic salad she would remark, then Ev noticed my plate. Jackie what are you doing? You only have a single pea on your plate. I said why yes, and proceeded to take my fork to hold it in place so I could cut it in half. Once in half, I cut it again in half and placed it on my fork with hungry relish I placed it in my mouth and chewed rapidly. I made mmmmms and how good is this food comments. Ev, just about peed herself she laughed so hard, now cut that out. We are trying to have a nice family supper.

  It was very funny at the time, still gives me a chuckle. I stole the gag from Charlie Chaplin in his hobo period, thanks Charlie, I owe you big time. Over the years I realized I culled more than a few gags from him, Tim Conway, Jerry Lewis and a few more of my childhood idols.

We thought we were at a low point in our lives but time would turn us all around a few more times, then we would know how good we had it at the time. I know that if you feel low and sorry for yourself, wait it can get much worse. Sometimes a save is just holding on to what you have, there is always a wolf at the door, do not let him in. He does wish to eat you. He will show you no corner, be aware.

Edited, Jan 4/17- JF