…the suns rays were best friends with my mother. “Go on, out with you.” She’d say, “get some fresh air.” At the time I was not aware of the intense value of my dutifully domestic mother - a mother in the ministry of God with cookies and milk for believers. She was in every sense “reliably home”. On Saturdays, neighbors several blocks away would know when mother was mopping the floor. Pinesol used liberally, she washed the sins from her floors like there was no tomorrow. Her domain consisted of the parsonage end of the church my father built from the ground up. During the construction, mother would bring over to the carpenters, freshly made homemade donuts – raised, glazed, sugared and cinnamon sugared – with steaming hot cups of the blackest coffee. In Alaska, folks attach the minister’s dwelling to the church to save funds, space and warmth. The kitchen was equipped with the latest appliances of a screaming turquoise hue. From there, she worked her magic – cabbage rolls, gooseberry and blueberry pies, golden nugget salmon patties, pot roast, mashed potatoes and all manner of delectables.
This all added up to making Sundays an ordeal. Often at roughly 10:30 AM, mother’s culinary, sensory torture began in the kitchen while father was just beginning his smok’in hot sermon. 11:30. “Dad, souls are hungry, I know…but your own son is starving here..”, I thought as I laid down and began to eat the wooden pew, scribble on the church bulletin or fidget.
But, oh there was a penalty for fidgeting, “Fred and Paul!”…………….my father stared holes in my brother and I, “..I want you two to straighten up and behave now.”……………. The juxtaposition of my father’s booming voice and the post infraction silence was deafening. Despite the beat-red color of my face, I would have gladly paid the price of the verbal mid-sermon whipping had he throttled back the pulpit and ground to a halt. “I’m still hungry.”11:55. The resumed verve for “The Message” motivated me to go for mothers purse mints in hopes of staving off the searing pot roast hunger a few more minutes. Each minute turned into an hour.............................. ...............................AH! Finally! The prayer! Amen, and finally sweet manna from heaven…thank you God!
Author notes
Wrangel Alaska - mid 60's - pop. approx. 2500 - lots of logs
In a list
A contest entry
- prose, please by Randomly Beautiful.
300 points, ended June 16, 2008, 5 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Comments
1 - 10 of 10
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That was nice Paul. Sometimes.. when I read books, I'm like, how do they remember all that dialogue? But with you it comes naturally, like it's a breeze remembering.
You had a nice childhood, I always had mints at church but I always paid attention!
*sticking out tongue* -
I liked this Paul... how'd I miss seeing this?
I never went to church much, mom was Catholic, dad baptist so they agreed to disagree, and simply not bring religion into the house. I remember going with a friend to a real fire and brimstone sermon, I was so scared, I kept my feet from the floor because I thought the devil was going to pull me down to hell through the floor...
still here though.
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HAHAHAHAHA! You thought you were a goner huh? Amazing how an impressionable child's mind works in one of those old fashioned fire and brimstone services. As a small child I listened to the words of hymns and because I couldn't understand, they had a meaning grossly different from what was intended.
Glad you're "still here" lol
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Very good written memories.
With your dialogs and images, you made the whole scene come up very well.
I liked the details and the in between lines thoughts.
There was an amusing tone to it too, which made the read even more pleasant.
Nicely done prose.
Mari
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Thank you Mari for your comment. These thoughts just flow particularly easily from my vivid memories.
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A Tripple A
Well, my friend...you have done it again. As usual, your work is full of expression, excitement, and even a little suspense. My dad wasn't a pastor so I didn't sit under a watchful eye as a young church-goer but it was easy for me to travel along with you through your journey because I too, knew my mom would have a special Sunday dinner awaiting me after church. Wishing the sermon would end so I could leave and be fed was a priority then, but now my priority is wishing it wouldn't end so I could stay and continue to be fed. Keep up the good work and thank you for your gift of inspiration and enjoyment through the written word. Kathleen -
a big sigh of satisfaction...you had me with the first sentence. i think your stories are remarkable, in that i am completely transported to where the story begins and ends. i want to know more about paul and fred and mother and dad...i want to know you. Love, Lane
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...then more you shall have..
Thank you for your kind copious comments Lane.
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P.S.
i, too, am now starving, thank you very much...
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LOL
what a delightful read...and I haven't had my dinner yet! I'M STARVING...wish I could pull up at chair at your Mother's table...bet that was some good eatin'...
I love this stroll down memory lane Paul!
screaming turqouise appliances...LOL...
don't you LOVE the scent of Pinesol...I do...
smok'in hot sermon...LOL...
wow...your Mother was jewel, wasn't she?
and I'm certain she always had purse mints for you two boys??? LOL
you were a rascal Paul...and apparently...a well fed and raised child...blessed by God Himself...
this is such a sweet romp through your mind...and heart! I love this one...
keep 'em coming colorado feller! and I'll keep showing up...I'll be 'reliably home' to read your prose...I promise!
Blessings! Tammy
xoxox
POP 2500 LOTS OF DOGS...rofl!!!!
hey...what about the birch trees and fish too?
I'm going to eat my supper now...your memories of your Mother's cooking has left me salivating...
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