Remembrance

The first rays of the sun tinged the sky a pale pink as Walter clipped the flag onto the halyard. When it reached the top of the pole he tied it off and saluted as he did every morning. He sipped his coffee and watched the sun rise.

From inside the house his grandson, Mike, watched. “Mee-Maw,” he asked, “why does Pop-Pop have that big flagpole?”

Gladys wrapped an arm around the child. “Pop-Pop is very proud to fly the flag.” Walter had installed a 30-foot flagpole in his front yard the day he bought the small bungalow. “He was a soldier you know.”

Mike’s eyes grew wide. “Pop-Pop was in the army? But he never plays toy soldiers with me. You all won’t even let me have toy guns when I’m over here.”

“Well, that’s true. We don’t like it when you play those kind of games. He didn’t really like having to use guns for real. But he believed it was his duty to serve and he was proud to do it.”

“Did he have to kill people in the war?”

“He probably did, honey. But he doesn’t like to talk about the war. Not even with me.”

“But how….” Mike fell silent trying to make sense of his Pop-Pop. He must have hated being in the war if he wouldn’t talk about it. Yet he flies the flag every single day. And Mee-Maw says he was proud to be in the army.

Gladys kissed the top of his head. “Soldiers fight so the rest of us don’t have to. They help make it safe for us to live here so we can go to school and to work and to church. Sometimes we have to do things we don’t like to do. But we can still be proud that we’re helping the people we love.”

Mike gazed out the window for a few more minutes. “Mee-Maw, can I cook the eggs today?”

“Of course, dear.”

He ran out the front door and grabbed Walter’s hand. “Come on, Pop-Pop. I’m going to make you breakfast.”

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I provided a potato soup recipe for Jakk’s Magic Beans Life recently. Click over there and have a taste. [If you hurry, you can also get in on Julie's 12 Days of Christmas, Magic Beans-Style giveaway.]

If you have hungry eyes my e-chap of food-related flash fiction, Flash in the Pan, is still available for free.

I think it’s always a good idea to get the family together in the kitchen. Food is a primal need and sharing its preparation may be more important than sharing its consumption. Kids learn to respect the power of hot surfaces, the importance of followng instructions, concepts of measurement and time, and cooperation. And cooking has the built-in incentive of something to eat when you finish.

In my family we have always made spritz cookies around this time of year. We aren’t sure where we first got the recipe; we all have hand-written copies of it now. I’ve seen recipes that use almond extract in addition to or instead of the vanilla. And sometimes they add 1/4 teaspoon baking powder to the flour. The mixing is the most difficult part; the butter has to be slightly softened but if it gets too soft you’ll have a sticky mess. You need a cookies press and kids find that a lot of fun. (Okay. I think it’s fun too.)

Spritz Cookies

Ingredients:
(Makes 6 dozen cookies)

• 1 cup butter
• 2/3 cup sugar
• 3 egg yolks
• 1 teaspoon vanilla extract
• 2-1/2 cups flour
• food coloring (optional)

Instructions:

• Set oven at 400°
• Mix butter, sugar, egg yolks, and vanilla
• Mix in flour gradually
• Add food coloring a few drops at a time
• Press onto ungreased baking sheets
• Bake for 7-10 minutes

Keep an eye on the cookies and remove them as soon as the edges start to brown. You may need to lower the oven temp to 375°. I like the cookies to stay soft so I tend to undercook them a little. Actually, one of my favorite things is to skip the baking altogether. Keep the raw dough in the refrigerator and eat a spoonful of that with a cup of hot tea or coffee. Mmmmmhhh. Yes. I know the danger of eating uncooked egg yolks. Some things are worth the risk.

Today is Thanksgiving in the U.S. So here’s a 3-Song Playlist with Thanks as the theme. And, “Thanks!” to all the online friends I have here in the blogosphere.

My favorite radio station plays Alice’s Restaurant every Thanksgiving at noon. I saw Arlo Guthrie in concert once. He did not play Alice’s Restaurant that night, but I really enjoyed the show anyway. He had a good sense of humor. Lots of people yelled for that song and others. At one point he said, “We don’t have time to play them all. Thank God we recorded ‘em!”

There are, of course, other songs that would fit this theme. I also considered a theme of things I am thankful for [but this was easier]. What songs would you include [either songs about thanks or things you are thankful for]?

Once upon All Hallows’ Eve, while I wandered — Oh, good grief,
Over many a neighbor’s yard till my feet are sore,
While my youthful strength was sapping, I again went tapping,
Snoopy dancing, I was rapping, rapping at the neighbor’s door,
“Trick or Treat,” I uttered, tapping at the neighbor’s door,
“Trick or Treat,” and nothing more.

Ah, crisply I recall it was in the autumn — fall,
October, now nearly all gone and sister Sally,
Eagerly she adds the tally, while I vainly dilly dally,
She bids me now to rally, rally to the next front door,
Where the demons, devils, wait in store,
“Trick or Treat,” we call once more.

And the demon’s eyes are seeking, through venetian blinds are peeking,
Hold me — Sold me a bill of goods I never bought before,
So that now I never wasted, sweets galore I never tasted,
‘Tis Charlie Brown Trick-or-Treating at your door,
Some block head Trick-or-Treating at your door,
I got a rock, and nothing more.

Then my patience grew much shorter, (Half hiding though behind Schroeder),
Got my costume back in order, And I marched back to the door,
“Sir,” I said, “I was hoping, that without your windows soaping,
Or TP strewn across your yard, One piece of candy. Is that so hard?”
A grin spread across his jaw, In the feeble light I heard and saw,
“Wah wah wah wah wah waaahhhh….”

Past the pumpkin patch we hurry, as our shadows flit and scurry,
There stands Linus and I worry, for he waits there all alone,
Waiting on some fabled gourd, standing there without a word,
No, not a word, not a sound, silently he stands his ground,
Till at last the squash arrives, from the field we see it rise,
Growing to an awesome size, joyfully, Linus cries,
“It’s the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown!”

She talks about how hard it is to see her brother so sick, so weak. Her eyes brim with tears, but she doesn’t cry. Not yet. Later. When she’s alone again. Then tears will flow freely.

“Fred has no appetite,” she goes on. “I try to make sure he eats regularly, but then he gets sick and brings it all back up. Then I feel guilty for making him eat in the first place. But I can’t just let him starve either….”

The words trail off and seem to land gently on the parlor floor. “Another mess to clean up,” she thinks.

“Remember when you set the dog house on fire?” Everyone laughs a little. They smile weak smiles.

“Yeah,” Ginger recalls. “I was carrying water out there in Dixie cups. Fred dragged the garden hose over and put it out.” Another weak smile. “Daddy was really mad about that.” Then they all remembered, her Dad’s gone five years now. Same disease.

Shared sorrow though is easier to bear.

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Note: This piece was posted last year. I’m reposting it in honor of Breast Cancer Awareness Month. According to the American Cancer Society, breast cancer is about 100 times more common in women than men and survival rates are about the same.

Read more about my Fred and Ginger vignettes here.

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Shameless self-promotion: If you’re a Facebook user, I would appreciate you taking a look at my Writing Projects page and clicking LIKE to support the effort.

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otoh emerges from a comma

I still have to get through final exams this week but I expect to be posting [ir]regularly again. I’ve missed this place. And I’ll have a special announcement [actually, a few of them, but only one at a time...] really soon!

I have been on a mountain.
I have been under an ocean.
I have been on the other side of the planet.
I have been out of my mind.
I have been chatted up.
I have been talked about.
I have been the last to know.
I have been the first to admit it.
I have been alone.
I have been lonely.
I have been on the fringe.
I have been on the outside looking in.
I have been faithful.
I have been a believer.
I have been cheated on.
I have been a fool.
I have been a cabbage-patch uncle.
I have been a best man.
I have been childish.
I have been childlike.
I have been nearly near death.
I have been depressed.
I have been shy.
I have been a wallflower.
I have been smart.
I have been stupid.
I have been better.
I have been worse.

I have been drunk now for over two weeks. [No, wait. That was Jimmy Buffet, not me.]

My first trip outside the U.S. was to Costa Rica [a beautiful and friendly country and I highly recommend you go there]. I know only a little Spanish. [The basics, you know: Cerveza, Baño, ¿Tiene una hermana?] We relied on a phrase book and the English skills and good graces of our hosts to muddle our way through. One day we were sitting in a small restaurant and I was reading the menu posted on the wall. I saw the word “Perro” and thought, “I know that word! ‘Perro’ is ‘dog’. I have dos perro at home. Holy crap, do they really serve dog here?” Then I noticed that it was followed by another word that I recognized, “Caliente” — hot. Whew! Hot dogs on the menu I can handle….

The proprietor, Alphonse, a slight middle-aged man with a beatific smile, greeted her warmly. “How about some nice, hot soup to warm you up?”

“That sounds great,” Madeline smiled back.

“I’ll bring you something special,” Alphonse gave a little bow. “This is the only place in the world you can get it. My own creation.” He returned to the kitchen.

Madeline closed her eyes and massaged her temples. This case. This case had her mind in turmoil. No one she had talked to in any law enforcement agency anywhere had heard anything like it. And now it had happened for the third time. Three times in as many months.

Three times make it a serial, but serial what? Some madman is abducting young mothers with their infant children. He tortures the women — there’s no other word for it — by making them watch their child being murdered. He makes them watch. The bastard. But then, moments later returns the child unharmed.

No one knows how he’s making such a convincing display of the horror. Drugs? Hypnosis? CGI? The women all swear they saw their child die. It seems completely real. And then, perhaps most inexplicable of all, when the children are returned he collects the mother’s tears. And then he lets them go.

“Here’s your soup, ma’am,” Alphonse placed the steaming bowl on the table. “Careful, it’s piping hot.”

“Thank you,” Madeline stirred the hot liquid. “This is your own creation you said?”

“Oh yes. And very special. One of the ingredients is very hard to come by. This is only the third time I’ve been able to make it.”

Third time. She turned her gaze from Alphonse’s inscrutable smile to the wall behind him where the diner specials were neatly printed in colored chalk. In cheery, yellow script she read:

Soup du jour: larmes de joie

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Note: Long-time readers may recognize this as a piece I published before I joined the Friday Flash Fiction group. I have made some changes improvements to the previous version.