My friend would come over and bake. She made cookies galore! Her cheesecake was the best I’ve ever put in my mouth. She would share her recipes, but would always leave out one ingredient when sharing so hers were always better than mine.
A lil’ old Irish woman, she had a unique way of dealing with my children. One of my favorite memories is of her taking charge of the firewood.
We had a fireplace. For a few years that was our only heat. There was a pecking order: my oldest cut and split it, and the rest had to unload it and stack it neatly on the porch. Mama brought it in, built the fire, and cleaned out the fireplace. Sounded like a fair deal to me.
My youngest decided to slack. He had a cell phone, and the games on the cell phone were much more important than unloading firewood. MUCH more important!
Finally, my friend asked if she could borrow his cell phone. She said her battery was dead in hers, and she had a very important call to make. He reluctantly gave it up, but did (sure he was thinking about what kind of cookies he was going to get that evening).
She turned it off and shoved it into the bra of her considerable bosom. His mouth fell open and he couldn’t say a single word. Don’t mess with lil’ old Irish women.
He was kindly informed that he would get his phone back when all the wood was unloaded and neatly stacked. He didn’t –dare- try to take it back. He was Johnny-on-the-spot unloading and stacking after that.
He got his phone back, I got my wood stacked and we all ate well that night. I didn’t get cheesecake though.
Bess
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