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Wren Dancer

Wren Dancer
Location
Atlasburg, Pennsylvania, usa
Birthday
October 20
Title
Genius
Company
Answers Tarot
Bio
I am a tarot card reader, a writer, a healer, and a fitness teacher.

MY RECENT POSTS

JUNE 14, 2012 4:10PM

The Meal

Rate: 25 Flag

 

spaghetti 

It was Sunday, and we were invited to Uncle Eddy's for Sunday dinner. Uncle Eddy was the chief of police - a big deal.    Even though they lived in the same village, I had never been to their house.  There were five of us, and five of them, so, ten altogether.

Uncle Eddy was my father's uncle, so he was my great uncle.  He didn't seem much older than my dad, though, and had the same black hair.  Aunt Annabelle had strawberry blonde hair and was a bustler.  She did a kind of short-step half-run all around the house.  Much later, I saw this same exact kind of movement by Edith Bunker, on All in the Family.   

My Aunt Annabelle had outdone herself.  I had never seen so much food served for one meal before.  There was a white cloth on the table and fancy glasses and plates.  We were on our best behavior.

On the table in the dinig room was an entire electric roaster of rigatone with meat sauce, a whole rump roast of beef, which smelled delicious, a heaping bowl of mashed potatoes with a little ocean of melted butter on the top, two sliced loaves of Italian bread, a pound of butter, and a salad of lettuce, tomato, and black olives.  

I don't know why we were invited that one and only time.  My brothers and I ate heartily, as did my father, Uncle Eddy, Aunt Annabelle, and the three of their four children present - Young Eddy, Christina, and Little Johnny. My mom ate little while keeping her eagle eye on us AND my father, to make sure we didn't embarass her.  

policeman

 

My father and Uncle Eddy were telling stories of the old days, before there was running water in the houses.  There was a knock at the kitchen door.  My Aunt Annabelle went to answer it.  I heard her excited whispering in the kitchen.

The priest had come - to collect money, my father said later.  This was more delicious novelty - we were protestants, and I had never seen a real priest up close before!  I could see him through the dining room door.  He was dressed in the black and white priests' costume, and had his hair cut in a bowl cut like the Beatles.  He looked friendly.  

 

priest 

Aunt Annabelle closed the door between the kitchen and the dining room, came quickly into the room, and fell on Uncle Eddy's feet.   Aunt Annabelle was a big woman.  

"Father is here," she said to Uncle Eddy's shoes.   Then, looking up into his eyes, she spoke ferverently and quietly.  "Please,"  she whispered, "please, don't shame me!"

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Comments

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Nice story. I wonder what happened next.
I'm now on tenterhooks!
What happened after that???????
R
"a little ocean of melted butter. . "? surely you jest, Wren! But the meal sounds delicious, as does your story. Now you have a captured audience.

R♥
Wren, being Greek the Sunday family dinners are so familiar to me and I can totally connect with the ..'..do not embarrass me..' fear .I liked your writing ..It was so vivid,it is as though I sρend the Sunday with you and I eat a lot of rigatone..I am waiting for the continuance..Rated..excellent...
Lovely and lively and I too can hardly wait for the next chapter!
Very interesting story, looking forward to more. ~r
Excellent!!! Rated!!!!
Great story! I grew up Catholic, and trust me, priests are always hungry!
Sumptuously told, Wren Dancer.
It made my mouth water ... I'm so glad to have been raised without guilt.
Thank you.
Intriguing so far, WD; I am with those who want to know what is next. Excellent post. R
lovely story. the setting so well described i could almost smell the food.
I love it! Been there myself with my some of my relatives:) Good writing, reminiscing is always such fun.
I could see aunt Annabelle bustling around and all of you on your best behavior. The entire meal sounds tempting and so does what happened next. Can't wait.
Wren, I'm dying out here -- the buzzards are circling like 707's at La Guardia and it's 5:20 pm on a Friday. Come on ... Don't leave me like this.
Wren, I'm dying out here -- the buzzards are circling like 707's at La Guardia and it's 5:20 pm on a Friday. Come on ... Don't leave me like this.
Love your writing!

But what kind of a feast doesn't have some tuna for us cats?

;-)
.
Yeah! What happened!? I love this dinner. I wanna be in your family :-)
Such a beautifully captured slice of life, Wren Dancer, and oh, those family dynamics!
Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaand...?
Hi, everyone! Thanks for your comments. What happened next was, in my opinion, less interesting so I left it out.
Nice, but indeed, what happened next?
[r] oh how I relate!!!!! great write!!! best, libby
THIS POST HAS RECEIVED A READERS' PICK AWARD!
Monseignor Alsted used to come to dinner at my grandparents every Friday...and drink martinis. Where are those days?
Come to think of it...I miss the concept of family dinners in general...What has happened to us, anyway?