........We children sat down to divide the
three pomegranates. At first it was easy enough. We each had a half, but after
that, we fell to arguing over who should eat the last piece.
“By virtue of my position, I really
ought to get the privilege.” I said, taking possession of the fruit.
“The oldest people always get
everything,” Dill said, “and I’m not in any sort of an important position. Can’t a fellow get a privilege for being `the
least of these?’”
“I’m the middle child, I ought to get
the extra half,” Angie said.
“Well, I’m da’ youngerest here. An’
I’m still hungry,” Fennel said.
~A Mother for the Seasonings
.......At last, rounding a bend in the road,
we came upon an ancient India rubber tree at the foot of a hill. The thick,
dark leaves rattled merrily as a wind swept through the treetop. It seemed to
usher us up the sloping grade to the Huntington House. For, at the top of the
ridge, standing like a king atop a throne, was the massive, white, building.
An awed silence enveloped our group
for a full five minutes. Finally Fennel spoke. “It looks like a castle Rosie,
see the towers?”
Rosemary smiled. “It surely does
Fennel. My, what a grand house.”
“The paint’s peeling off the porch
pillars.” Dill observed. “And they let the ivy grow up onto the balcony. Now it
looks like an old man with a scraggly beard.”
“Not a bit of it, Dill.” Angie scoffed. “This
house is what you call ‘picturesque.’”
“I’ve never called it any such thing,”
Dill argued.
~A Mother for the Seasonings
Angelica
routinely spent the sermon studying the people around her. I craned my neck,
trying to see who it was this time that had so absorbed her attention. Deacon
Clemmens’ wife sat directly in front of Angelica. So that was it. Angie had told me many times of a mole that Mrs.
Clemmens had on her neck.
“It’s the most fascinating thing,
Basil,” she always assured me. “It’s just the shape of Africa.”
For
an instant, I was possessed with a powerful curiosity to see the much
proclaimed mole.
~A Mother for the Seasonings
The next
morning, despite my assurance that all would be tickety-boo, I felt we should
do penance in some way for our behavior. I scoured my mind for some appropriate
punishment. Starvation perhaps? But Dill would never agree to that.
~A Mother for the Seasonings
We
followed behind our sister, and a couple of very old women immediately took
Fennel captive. I tried to
stifle a chuckle. They definitely looked the type that would stare a little child
out of countenance and feed her peppermints periodically to make up for it. I
knew the kind all too well. The memory of my own childhood, in that respect,
was not so long forgotten.
~A Mother for the Seasonings
2 comments:
Tickety-boo--what a great expression! That last excerpt really had me laughing out loud. I'd love to see more from the Seasonings book!
I hope you get this published someday!! (Since I know you, maybe I'd get a signed copy?? ;) heehee
Anyway, on a more serious note, I thought I'd mention that it's slightly hard to read your posts, because the background pic has words on the right side, and it sort of confuses with the words in the posts.
Thanks for sharing! Now, I need to get around to printing it off and reading... =)
Post a Comment