While you’re waiting breathlessly for the third and final installment of A Soft Knocking, I thought I treat you to a little story about mom. There were some good times too, ya know.
Mom wasn’t too good at the cooking thing back then, and I have other stories, but this one makes me shake my head in wonder, every time I recall it.
I don’t see them much anymore, but back in the “old days” there was a kitchen utensil called the rubber spatula. It was typically a thin rubber slab with a sharp edge, one square edge at the top, one rounded one at the other side of the top, mounted on a wooded handle. If you don’t know what I’m talking about, you can either stop reading, or just come along for the ride. The key element is the part of the utensil that was rubber; and that it was used mainly for scraping bowls—you know, cake batter and such.
Anyway, Mom made this batch of fudge, and it was delicious. If I remember correctly, it didn’t last long, what with four hungry kids in the house. But what I do recall is the way Mom kept looking at us while we devoured the delicious treat.
After I’d licked the last bits of fudge from my fingers, I asked Mom what was wrong. She had this strange look on her face, like she might smile, but didn’t really want to.
She reached behind her and got something from the countertop. Holding what appeared to be a very large popsicle stick in front of her she said, “I melted the spatula.”
“So,” I said, shrugging skinny shoulders. “Get another one.” I knew money was tight, but I figured a wooden-handled rubber thingy couldn’t cost a whole lot. Then it hit me! I sucked in an audible breath.
My sister and two brothers stopped licking their fingers and I could see them looking from me to Mom, wondering what was going on
“In the fudge?”
Mom just covered her mouth and tried not to laugh, as four kids harmonized, “MOM!”
Yes, there were some fun times. Oh, and, evidently, a little rubber in one’s diet doesn’t hurt a thing.
(I wonder if that fudge would’ve bounced if you dropped it?)