Lorna Doone Wasn’t A Cookie

Fandango’s Dog Days of August #3: Monday

Photo by Artem Beliaikin on Pexels.com

I don’t hate Mondays

or Tuesdays

or Wednesdays

I don’t even hate Sundays- the way I used to because they were so BORING when I was a kid.

When I was a kid there were no malls, no cable tv , no internet and the only bright spot on Sundays where going to my Dad’s parent’s house for dinner.

Which in itself was pretty boring until on of the adults got bored so they started to tell stories about whatever tickled their fancy and that was influenced by how much they had been drinking because

we were ALL bored on Sundays.

I remember my Grandmother told this story about a relative of ours who was name- Lorna Doone Godfrey and she was getting to the part about how Lorna passed away my Aunt piped up, ” She ran through the streets yelling, ” I’m a cookie I’m a cookie? “

For the first time EVER I actually saw my family struck speechless and then get on someone for popping out a smart aleck line because that was the point to some of these conversations.

I didn’t see what everyone was so upset. I loved Lorna Doone cookies. When I said as much I was invited to leave the table until I could behave.

It was a weird moment and it stuck with me for years.

It wasn’t until I traced my family tree over the winter that I learned that Lorna and three of her children died in a house fire. Her oldest was away to college any my Great Uncle was away on business so they were spared.

At the time the cookie story made the rounds, they had been dead for maybe 20 years so it wasn’t ancient history- but I do wonder what made my Aunt toss that line in.

Was she drunk? Did she not like her cousins and Aunt? Or was it just to good of a line let go of?

I guess I’ll never know. Most of the adults at the table that day have passed on and my Mom spent all of her time at these dinners ignoring all of us so when she says, ” I don’t know what you’re talking about ” its true.

Like I said, I don’t hate Mondays because sometimes I hate Sundays even more but like them or hate them something interesting can happen so why write them off?

I mean, on that Sunday I learned that Lorna Doone Was Not A Cookie.

Good to know.

The Christmas Pie Story

Photo A.M. Moscoso

When I was young

and was always getting in the way

my family got so tired of telling me to get lost, find something to do

” why are you still here Anita Marie”

that they tried little quips

to sound a little less like a broken record.

 

Once I wandered into the kitchen during

the mad rush to bake one more pie for Christmas Eve dessert  because it was always better to have a little extra

then not enough

and asked each of my hard working relatives about a million times

” What are you baking?”

and one of my relatives finally gave in and said

” baking a pie ”

” What kind of pie? ” I asked.

” You will find out later- now scram.”

I decided make the rounds AGAIN  and to ask the same question because I really did want an answer. So following their lead I made my question interesting because really, you can only ask about a pie so many ways and I had tried about a hundred of them in five minutes.

Even I was bored with myself at that point.

Bored but persistent.

” I just want to know, who got baked in  the pie.”

And then joy! I got a new response.

Several sets of eyes rolled around the room  and then down at me.

” What did you say?”

” What’s in the pie. ”

” That’s NOT what you said Anita Marie.”

” Yes it is. ”

” No, it wasn’t.”

” I just hope they’re yummy.”

Nobody told me to get out of their way, to scram, nobody moved, all eyes were on me and the last pie almost burned even though the timer was chiming from the counter top and it was very  loud.

And that is one of my favorite holiday memories, the jewel among many that I shall always cherish.

Inspired by the Ragtag Daily Prompt: Prompt: Jewel

Remember This Always

When she was a child he told her about their family history-

it was full of adventurers, travelers, romance, Magicians, musicians

and artists.

 

Her eyes lit up and her spirit reached out and tasted the possibilities

of it all.

All of this history was in her blood waiting to be born, recognized and named.

 

And then her Father laughed at her excitement and said-

over the grave he had dug for her that day-

 ” Well you know, light bulbs burn bright before they burn out “

and he left her there

in the dark

to wait for dreamless life to end.

 

Daily Addictions Prompt: Reinforce