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WRITE 2 THE HEART
Stories that are aimed "Write 2 The Heart"
July 11, 2001 Volume 1, Issue 26
Cheryl Speir, Editor, moderator@write2theheart.com
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There was a summer when my son Aaron was into
snakes. This is just one of the stories from that time.
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Momma, Guess What
By: Cheryl Speir
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I was looking forward to relaxing after work before
tackling the chore of fixing supper. As I pulled into the
driveway I could tell that was probably not going to
happen. On the front porch, Tim, Jeremy, and Howard
from next door, were dancing with excitement as only
little boys can when they have something scandalous to
tell.
I clinch my jaws in anticipation of the unknown news. I
scan the house and yard for signs of foul play, smoke or
other forms of chaos. As I turn off the motor, they come
running off the porch to my door.
Now, there is only one sentence worse than, "Momma,
momma, guess what we did today", and that is "Momma,
momma, guess what Aaron did today". They are
saying the dreaded sentence as they bounce with
excitement.
Just last week the dreaded sentence was used. I survived. Aaron
had taught Tim how to make waffles. The kitchen was a total
disaster. There was batter EVERYWHERE. No surface was
untouched. The sticky batter had dried to cement consistency by
the time saw it. Not only that, five boys had experimented with
toppings which were smeared all over the table. There were at
least two types of syrup, honey, apple butter, jam, jelly and a
few things I never quite identified. When I grabbed a rag
(actually I gathered a few to soak the hardened batter till it
was soft again) I noticed French bread and sandwich meat on the
table. Puzzled, I asked," Where did this come from?" I was told
it was left over from a luncheon at church and brought over for
us. "Surely", I asked with all the hope I could muster, "It was
brought over before you made waffles?" Of course not. I lived
with embarrassment, but I lived.
I clinch the steering wheel so tight my knuckles turn white.
Sooner or later I have to face the inevitable.
Chris walks out the front door and waves nonchalantly to
me as he goes to his music room to practice his guitar.
That action helps to reassure me that whatever the
excitement is about, it must not be life threatening. Aaron
stays on the porch shuffling his feet with a guilty look on his
face. Somehow, the look takes away a large portion of the
reassurance I just received.
With a deep breath, I open the door. The three young boys
can’t contain their excitement and start talking all at once. I
hear the words snake, barbeque, skin and Aaron’s name. I have a
feeling this will involve a phone call from Howard’s mother.
Finally they begin to tell their story one at a time. " Aaron
caught a water moccasin this big", and three pairs of hands open
as wide as they can reach. "He skinned it to make a hatband out
of the skin. Then he barbequed the meat and we ate it. It
tasted like fish". "No, chicken".
While a slight argument ensued about what it tasted like,
I am speechless while I try to remember everything I’ve
heard about eating snakes. My father used to tell me that
most snakes were edible. The older boys had come home
from their last Boy Scout camping trip telling about the
survival skills they hoped to learn, which included snake
eating.
Now that they have told their exciting news, they take off
running down the hill to Howard’s house to tell his mother. I
decide I will definitely receive a phone call over this.
"Well Aaron, how did it taste?"
When he saw he would live through this (after all, he is his
mother’s son, just ask my sister) he showed me the skin stretched
out to dry. I noted it looked big enough to make a hatband and a
couple of belts. He told me how he made a sauce and barbequed it
on the grill and that he thought it tasted like fish. No, he
didn’t save any for me.
As I left for work the next morning, I saw that Aaron’s
hatband would not be. The neighborhood cats were
feasting on the stretched out skin as if on a gourmet meal. A
large amount was missing, so the feast had gone on all night.
Glancing around the yard, I saw other cats waiting their turn to
get to the table. That must have been one good snake.
At work, I related the story to Miss Joy, a customer. As
she looked at me with wide-eyed disbelief, all she could
think to say was, “ I hear they eat rattlesnakes in Texas”. She
leaves the store shaking her head and mumbling something about
the things boys will do.
A short while later, my manager calls me to the phone.
Miss Joy’s excited voice tells me I won’t believe what
just happened to her. When she got home, there was a
huge rattlesnake on her carport. She killed it and cut off its
head with a hoe. So her dogs wouldn’t get at the head, she
buried it. She had just finished skinning it. “Now what kind of
sauce did your son use to cook his snake?”
Cheryl Speir
moderator@write2theheart.com
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Cheryl is editor of Write 2 the Heart.
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FROM OUR READERS
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BOY do you and I live parallel lives! I can't tell you how many
faces have been wiped off of the tops of cakes by Caleb's little
hands! I learned the lesson long ago never to start a cake
project until 10:00 pm but somehow by the time I wake up in the
morning, there's always some little place on the cake where a
little finger has pick, pick, picked.........
Tammy
***
I received your Write 2 The Heart. I laughed all through
your story. Now I know why I usually made my girls stay
out of the kitchen when I was cooking. I did let them cut
out fancy shapes from the rolled cookie dough at Xmas
time, and then frost and decorate them when the girls were
little. It was all I could do to turn them loose at the kitchen
table. What a mess! Later when they were older, they still
enjoyed the job. My youngest daughter, Terri, carried on the
tradition with her kids. and now that they are older, Jesse even
bakes the cookies all by herself, and her younger brother helps
decorate. When I'm eating the cookies, I often wonder how many
times Jimmy has licked his fingers while he put the little
candies on the frosting.
I can't even imagine having a domain to work on. You are
braver than I. I can't even answer all of my e-mail, and
sometimes I feel so guilty, because I do so enjoy letters
from my friends. Good luck with your domain change.
Your fruit salad sounds so good. I love fruit salad. I've
been enjoying cherries this past week, and I have a
cantaloupe in the refrigerator waiting to be cut up. I
usually cut it into eight slices, and remove the rind
before putting the slices into a couple of Zip Loc bags.
They don't last long.
God Bless You,
Love & Hugs,
Pat
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Cheryl's Corner
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I was so very surprised at how easy it was to change
my email address to the new server. I had them up
and running faster than when I originally opened them.
Thank you for all the encouraging emails.
Is it as hot where you are as it is here? Someone
needs to write a story about their favorite summertime
memory. What was it? Chasing fireflies? Home-made
ice cream? Learning to swim in the creek? Come on
and share your memory.
Till next week
Cheryl
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Cheryl Speir
Write 2 The Heart
moderator@write2theheart.com
http://www.write2theheart.com
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