Wednesday, November 16, 2011
Family
In our Southern Jewish, liberal Democrat household, where Momma did the NY Times crossword puzzle in ink and the Daddy had a garage stuffed with automotive projects he intended to get to in his spare time but never did , we each had our own standing room only
melodrama playing at all times, because, for one thing, it was a creative household as well, and when any possible reason for conflict arose, as it did every hour or so, voices raised, tears flowed, hairbrushes got thrown, feelings got hurt, doors slammed , more tears mixed with abject apologies ,and Daddy would fix his soothing spaghetti that we all adored. He and Momma would perform what I call the
"ritual of the cucumbers", when they'd prepare the salad for the pasta dinner : lettuce (always iceberg, I never knew any other kind existed until i became an adult doing my own shopping), carrots, radishes (does anyone put radishes in salads anymore?) and those fragrant cucumbers , a vegetable that to this day reminds me of true love. I smell cucumbers and i remember my tall Momma and Daddy in the kitchen , kissing and hugging, laughing and nuzzling like happy bears, casting affectionate looks at me and my brother to let us know that all was right with our world and we'd take the relief of those detente moments into the evening hours, gathering around the television set to watch The Wonderful World of Disney or Gun Smoke, Twilight Zone or The Ed Sullivan Show, basking in the glow of the small screen, in the dark living room, with Schnappsi, our dachshund, cuddled on Daddy's lap. Momma always read by the glow of her own little lamp, her glasses perched on the end of her nose, and her books were always massive, with lots of page, lots of political commentary and lots of - yes - drama. We were a household steeped in it. I don't like to generalize about families, but ours? Well, it just felt different from any of the others I knew. We were like an artist gypsy band, lighting the candles on Friday nights, doing our family dance to the tune of a klezmer fiddler and A Spike Jones honking horn.
melodrama playing at all times, because, for one thing, it was a creative household as well, and when any possible reason for conflict arose, as it did every hour or so, voices raised, tears flowed, hairbrushes got thrown, feelings got hurt, doors slammed , more tears mixed with abject apologies ,and Daddy would fix his soothing spaghetti that we all adored. He and Momma would perform what I call the
"ritual of the cucumbers", when they'd prepare the salad for the pasta dinner : lettuce (always iceberg, I never knew any other kind existed until i became an adult doing my own shopping), carrots, radishes (does anyone put radishes in salads anymore?) and those fragrant cucumbers , a vegetable that to this day reminds me of true love. I smell cucumbers and i remember my tall Momma and Daddy in the kitchen , kissing and hugging, laughing and nuzzling like happy bears, casting affectionate looks at me and my brother to let us know that all was right with our world and we'd take the relief of those detente moments into the evening hours, gathering around the television set to watch The Wonderful World of Disney or Gun Smoke, Twilight Zone or The Ed Sullivan Show, basking in the glow of the small screen, in the dark living room, with Schnappsi, our dachshund, cuddled on Daddy's lap. Momma always read by the glow of her own little lamp, her glasses perched on the end of her nose, and her books were always massive, with lots of page, lots of political commentary and lots of - yes - drama. We were a household steeped in it. I don't like to generalize about families, but ours? Well, it just felt different from any of the others I knew. We were like an artist gypsy band, lighting the candles on Friday nights, doing our family dance to the tune of a klezmer fiddler and A Spike Jones honking horn.
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Oh, I only wish Daddy played klezmer on his fiddle - I don't remember it at all. But the works of the great Spike Jones...for sure. (I believe that was early preparation for the Goon Show and the Pythons.)
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