Monday, February 8, 2016
TO SOUP OR NOT TO SOUP ~~~: TO SOUP OR NOT TO SOUP ~~~
TO SOUP OR NOT TO SOUP ~~~: TO SOUP OR NOT TO SOUP ~~~: I leaned back against the worn leather seat of the Greyhound bus; trying to be so adult, so worldly, so unassuming. If I gawk out the ...
Saturday, February 6, 2016
TO SOUP OR NOT TO SOUP ~~~
I leaned back against the worn leather seat of the Greyhound bus;
trying to be so adult, so worldly, so unassuming. If I gawk out the
window I mused, will I look like a country bumpkin? I stole a quick
glance toward the lady sitting to my right. She sat with her arms folded
across an over-sized handbag which lay precariously in her lap. Her
chest moved slowly up and down. It was, as my mother would say, "Larger
than a bread box, smaller than a basket." Resting atop the wide berth
was her chin; crowning deep folds in her neck. Faded lips, slightly
ajar, quivered as she softly snored. A drop of saliva clung to the
corner of her mouth for just a moment before slipping down into the
crease of her chin. Occasionally, as the bus hit rough spots in the
highway, her eyelids would flutter for a moment before returning to the
isle of dreams.
I decided it would be perfectly normal and accepted, if I watched the passing scenery and pressed my face to the pane. I knew when we had left the familiarity of my home state; my first venture in eighteen years, away from my mom, brothers and sisters. I was headed for Los Angeles, California; 'The City of Angels', to visit with my dad. Just thinking the name which had filled my thoughts and dreams as I had grown up in the rolling hills and wheat covered plains of Oklahoma, excited me. I remembered the numerous January first's, which would find me glued to our black and white Motorola television. I could not fathom newly-fallen snow outside our window, and just a few feet away on the screen, grand floats covered with fresh flowers and beautiful women in strapless gowns. Los Angeles must be the place second only to heaven, I had often envisioned. Movie stars, mansions ... why - God alone, knew what else was in store for me.
I found as I watched out the window, I was not impressed with Texas. I considered the name Lone Star, the perfect adjective, for it appeared flat and barren to me. Miles and miles of fence stretched as far as I could see, kept an occasional cow or two in check. A short stop at the bus station on the outskirts of Amarillo was in my opinion, far too long. Let's get going, I thought to myself. As we lumbered out of the city and re-entered Route 66, the Avenue to the West, I smiled. I felt bathed in contentment, as I slowly sipped my Coca Cola and again turned my attention to the window. A huge sign shaped like the state of Texas separated the Lone Star country from New Mexico.
Between small towns which seemed to blend with the country side as the adobe homes and business's captured the same hue of the land, we stopped, taking on board passengers who waited along the highway.
Indians ... I must not stare, I countered myself, yet I could not take my eyes off the new travelers. Their complexion was dark and smooth as newly-tanned leather, noses broad and flat, their countenance sullen. The women were dressed in brightly-colored gathered skirts which were long; dust covering the frayed hems. They wore shirts girded in at the waist with wide silver and turquoise belts. I was mesmerized as I stated at their hair, black as a raven's, hanging in long braids down their backs.
The men stood in the aisle near the women. They were very American in their blue jeans and western shirts. One wore a brown felt hat. My eyes were drawn to the snake-skin band which held a lone Eagle feather securely against the crown. I surmised because he was the only one wearing a feather, he must be the Chief. Around their necks, they wore intricate designed necklaces also fashioned out of silver and turquoise. I noticed the women kept their heads down, as they sat in their seats. Occasionally one would make a sound like a grunt, but did not converse with any of the other passengers, or fellow Indians.
The 'Chief' turned toward me. His glance was quick, yet in that moment, I gazed into the darkest eyes I had ever seen. They were almost as brown as his hair was black, steady and foreboding. Was he the great-grandson of Sitting Bull or Cochise? Were his eyes cold because he still hated the white people of America? Did he have a tomahawk hidden inside his suitcase? Was I in danger? You're thinking silly and very immature, I finally concluded. This is not 1859, it's 1959, Indians are not a culture to be feared.
I breathed a sigh of relief and decided if the Chief glanced my way again, I would flash the warmest Sooner smile I could. I never got the chance to carry out my thoughts however, as the Indian stared straight ahead, never once taking his eyes off the highway stretched before us.
Arizona was more of New Mexico only now there were tall mountains made of large rocks and boulders. I silently thanked God I hadn't been born any place other than the rolling hills of Oklahoma; and that I was bound for the land of milk and honey, not rocks, and more rocks. I grew weary watching the endless miles of Arizona and day- dreamed of the unexplored avenues which awaited me in California. I dozed off contented with my thoughts, my hopes and dreams.
Once, we crossed over into the golden state, my senses became electrified. Not long now I thought. I tried to look on both sides of the long highway, absorbing everything in sight. As the tired bus lumbered along, the driver would call out sights and stops ahead.
"Twenty-Nine Palms," he drawled. I instantly looked out the window. Standing in the middle of nowhere, were the tallest street lights I had ever seen. Why aren't they on, I wondered. Why have something so wonderful and not use them? I stared at the small city outlined against the horizon, as long as I could, hoping just for a moment the street lights would come on. They didn't.
"Next stop, Los Angeles." Hearing the words, I sat erect in my seat and watched with anticipation. The bus pulled off the highway and began to weave slowly down a bustling city street. So many cars! So many people! So many lights! As the driver applied the brakes, I grasped the handle of my suitcase and stepped quickly into the now crowded aisle. Well, here I am, I thought. Here. I. Am!
I labored under the weight of my suitcase through the crowded bus terminal, looking for the familiar face of my dad. We espied one another at the same time.
"Well, Patti, how was the ride? What do you think of California?" As he guided me out of the terminal and into the parking area, I began to chatter. I told him of the many sights I had seen along the way and pelted him with an endless stream of questions. I told him of the street lights in Twenty-Nine Palms that were out.
"All the lights were out? That's odd, but maybe they had a power outage", he said. I listened as he gave me a first hand tour of Los Angeles, and we joined the parade of moving lights. He let me know my visit would be one I would long remember because of the many plans he had made. I hung on every word, anticipating the pleasure which awaited me.
We parked in front of a huge pink apartment building. I couldn't believe the brilliant array of flowers and shrubs there seemed to be, every place I looked. Near the front entrance was an enormous plant. It had deep green leaves which were shiny as satin. From the center, stalks topped with a flower in bright orange rose tall and regal. "They are Bird of Paradise," my dad answered as I questioned him. Perfect name, I thought as looking around in wonderment. I felt like Eve in the Garden of Eden.
After telling me I would be sleeping on the couch which made into a bed Daddy asked if I was hungry. I assured him I was.
"Good, I am taking you to a wonderful place which serves the best BBQ Ribs, just like at home." He also informed me his girl friend worked there. As I carefully dressed in what I thought was my most adult outfit, abandoning my usual hair style of a pony tail, I thought about the couch that became a bed. Never heard of such a thing, but knew if my daddy said it could be done, then I would be sleeping in comfort that evening. I was thrilled as Daddy smiled in approval when I joined him in the living room. He held the door open for me, just like the movies I had seen, I thought.
During our ride to the restaurant, I tried not to chatter in an unladylike fashion, yet my curiosity prevailed. I was shocked as I observed many people standing in the middle of the street, seemingly unaware of the traffic which whizzed past. When I voiced my concern over their safety, my father assured me they were in no harm. They were standing in a designated area waiting for a street car. I had never seen a street car before, why .. I had never heard of a street car. As we waited for the light to turn green at an intersection one stopped in the lane next to us. I watched as people boarded at the front, while other people disembarked from the rear. When the light turned, the street car sped quickly away from us.
"Great way to get around town," my dad said.
"No. Thank. You!
"Well, this is it," Daddy announced as we pulled to a stop in front of a restaurant. I started to open the car door, before I felt his hand against my arm, "I'll open it for you, just sit tight." I sat a little taller in my seat as I watched my dad walk around the front of the car. Nearing the passenger side, I leaned over and looked at him through the window. He gave me a wink, and a broad smile as he opened the door.
"My Lady," he said, extending his palm. I drew in my breath and held my head high as I stepped out onto the crowded sidewalk. Maturity! Oh, the feeling is grand, I thought.
"Daddy, look!," I suddenly exclaimed, "There - see the street lights?" I pointed to the tall silhouettes which were in a line across the horizon.
"Patti, those aren't street lights, they're palm trees."
"Palm trees?" How could I be so stupid, so immature? Don't ask any more dumb hick questions, my mind instructed, as I cleared my throat and thanked my dad.
"Kris and Pits, Best BBQ in town," a neon sign flashed. I stood waiting patiently while my dad walked up to a lady who was sitting near the entrance. She greeted him with a smile and beckoned me to follow them. She led us down wide aisles which were covered in saw dust. A large booth awaited us. Atop a red and white checkered table cloth was a small glass vase with pink and yellow flowers. I brought the vase to my nose and inhaled deeply.
"Plastic," Daddy said, I pushed my disappointment aside as I followed my dad's suit and picked up the menu.
I lapsed into a world of pretense as we perused the menu. The rich succulent aroma of the barbecued ribs permeated the air, tickling our nostrils while whetting our appetites. Soon the waitress approached our table.
She was not much taller than me, although she was more filled out in all the right places. Tiny freckles stood out boldly against smooth, milk-white skin. Her eyes were green as emeralds and seemed to dance as she spoke with my dad. When she was introduced to me, she smiled, her mouth turning up easily at the corners. Her teeth were like newly polished pearls in a row. Auburn red hair was swept high upon her head in a silken crown of curls. As I stared at her, I thought of my grandmother's antique jewelry box filled with precious mementos of golden earrings, ivory bracelets, ruby and emerald rings.
In a voice soft as a baby's breath, she said, "I'm so pleased to meet you. I hope you enjoy your stay here. I know you'll enjoy the food." Daddy ordered barbecued pork ribs, baked potatoes with butter and sour cream, and tossed green salad with French dressing. I felt myself smiling when he hinted at the possibility of fresh baked apple pie Ala-mode. I didn't know what Ala-mode was, but if my dad liked it, then it had to be good.
Wide-eyed and sipping on a frothy chocolate Coca Cola, I listened to my dad as he lay out our morrow's itinerary. When our salads were served we both turned our attention to the long awaited course. Crisp lettuce, green onions and small red tomatoes were bathed in the creamy French dressing. Sprinkles of newly ground pepper appeared as little black stars against a coral heaven. As we finished our salad, my dad said, "I'll be right back. If our food comes before I return, go ahead, you don't have to wait for me."
I sat very dignified in my seat, anticipating the rest of the meal. Soon the waitress arrived carrying plates piled high with succulent ribs and steaming potatoes.
"Your dad will be back shortly," she assured me.
I tried the meat and knew she had been right, they were the best ribs I had ever eaten.
"Well?" she asked as she returned with two small bowls.
"They are wonderful," I said.
Left alone again, I looked at the bowl she had delivered. Inside was a clear substance which looked like water. A small slice of lemon floated on the top. I placed the bowl next to my plate and tasted the contents. Strange, I thought, tastes like water. Maybe it needs salt and pepper to give it flavor. I added the salt and pepper, and took another spoonful to my lips. Now, it tasted like salt and peppered water. Well ... the salad was great, the ribs were delicious, but the soup?
A mature adult, worldly in life accepts any and all challenges, I decided, as I continued to eat the soup. I chanced a glance over my shoulder at patrons sitting behind me and noticed similar bowls also on their table.
I also noticed no one was touching the contents. Well, kiddo, remember your table manners, I reminded myself. Maybe, just maybe if I pretend it's Mama's home-made potato soup it will taste better, I hoped as I drew the spoon again to my lips. Boy, this is bland stuff, I thought as I swallowed yet another spoonful. I peered into the bowl and realized only a couple more mouthfuls and I would be finished. Dessert has to be better than this! There - last drop. Mama would be proud I prided myself, as I settled back against the booth. I glanced toward a table adjacent to ours and wondered why the couple sitting there were staring at me. Maybe I have something stuck in my teeth, maybe I have barbecue sauce on my chin, I thought as I carefully touched my lips and chin with my napkin.
"Sorry I took so long " my Dad said as he lowered his tall, lanky body into the booth, "How are the ribs?"
Do I tell my dad not to eat his soup, that it is as tasteless as water? Is it possible this is a Los Angeles specialty and he ordered it as a surprise for me? Questions, questions, where oh where an answer, oh what do I do?
"Well, Sweetie?"
"Daddy I have to be honest with you. The ribs were great, the potato was great, but this soup ....
"Soup? Oh my Lord!"
I felt my maturity, my worldly experiences fade as I heard the words ...
"It's the finger bowl!"
I decided it would be perfectly normal and accepted, if I watched the passing scenery and pressed my face to the pane. I knew when we had left the familiarity of my home state; my first venture in eighteen years, away from my mom, brothers and sisters. I was headed for Los Angeles, California; 'The City of Angels', to visit with my dad. Just thinking the name which had filled my thoughts and dreams as I had grown up in the rolling hills and wheat covered plains of Oklahoma, excited me. I remembered the numerous January first's, which would find me glued to our black and white Motorola television. I could not fathom newly-fallen snow outside our window, and just a few feet away on the screen, grand floats covered with fresh flowers and beautiful women in strapless gowns. Los Angeles must be the place second only to heaven, I had often envisioned. Movie stars, mansions ... why - God alone, knew what else was in store for me.
I found as I watched out the window, I was not impressed with Texas. I considered the name Lone Star, the perfect adjective, for it appeared flat and barren to me. Miles and miles of fence stretched as far as I could see, kept an occasional cow or two in check. A short stop at the bus station on the outskirts of Amarillo was in my opinion, far too long. Let's get going, I thought to myself. As we lumbered out of the city and re-entered Route 66, the Avenue to the West, I smiled. I felt bathed in contentment, as I slowly sipped my Coca Cola and again turned my attention to the window. A huge sign shaped like the state of Texas separated the Lone Star country from New Mexico.
Between small towns which seemed to blend with the country side as the adobe homes and business's captured the same hue of the land, we stopped, taking on board passengers who waited along the highway.
Indians ... I must not stare, I countered myself, yet I could not take my eyes off the new travelers. Their complexion was dark and smooth as newly-tanned leather, noses broad and flat, their countenance sullen. The women were dressed in brightly-colored gathered skirts which were long; dust covering the frayed hems. They wore shirts girded in at the waist with wide silver and turquoise belts. I was mesmerized as I stated at their hair, black as a raven's, hanging in long braids down their backs.
The men stood in the aisle near the women. They were very American in their blue jeans and western shirts. One wore a brown felt hat. My eyes were drawn to the snake-skin band which held a lone Eagle feather securely against the crown. I surmised because he was the only one wearing a feather, he must be the Chief. Around their necks, they wore intricate designed necklaces also fashioned out of silver and turquoise. I noticed the women kept their heads down, as they sat in their seats. Occasionally one would make a sound like a grunt, but did not converse with any of the other passengers, or fellow Indians.
The 'Chief' turned toward me. His glance was quick, yet in that moment, I gazed into the darkest eyes I had ever seen. They were almost as brown as his hair was black, steady and foreboding. Was he the great-grandson of Sitting Bull or Cochise? Were his eyes cold because he still hated the white people of America? Did he have a tomahawk hidden inside his suitcase? Was I in danger? You're thinking silly and very immature, I finally concluded. This is not 1859, it's 1959, Indians are not a culture to be feared.
I breathed a sigh of relief and decided if the Chief glanced my way again, I would flash the warmest Sooner smile I could. I never got the chance to carry out my thoughts however, as the Indian stared straight ahead, never once taking his eyes off the highway stretched before us.
Arizona was more of New Mexico only now there were tall mountains made of large rocks and boulders. I silently thanked God I hadn't been born any place other than the rolling hills of Oklahoma; and that I was bound for the land of milk and honey, not rocks, and more rocks. I grew weary watching the endless miles of Arizona and day- dreamed of the unexplored avenues which awaited me in California. I dozed off contented with my thoughts, my hopes and dreams.
Once, we crossed over into the golden state, my senses became electrified. Not long now I thought. I tried to look on both sides of the long highway, absorbing everything in sight. As the tired bus lumbered along, the driver would call out sights and stops ahead.
"Twenty-Nine Palms," he drawled. I instantly looked out the window. Standing in the middle of nowhere, were the tallest street lights I had ever seen. Why aren't they on, I wondered. Why have something so wonderful and not use them? I stared at the small city outlined against the horizon, as long as I could, hoping just for a moment the street lights would come on. They didn't.
"Next stop, Los Angeles." Hearing the words, I sat erect in my seat and watched with anticipation. The bus pulled off the highway and began to weave slowly down a bustling city street. So many cars! So many people! So many lights! As the driver applied the brakes, I grasped the handle of my suitcase and stepped quickly into the now crowded aisle. Well, here I am, I thought. Here. I. Am!
I labored under the weight of my suitcase through the crowded bus terminal, looking for the familiar face of my dad. We espied one another at the same time.
"Well, Patti, how was the ride? What do you think of California?" As he guided me out of the terminal and into the parking area, I began to chatter. I told him of the many sights I had seen along the way and pelted him with an endless stream of questions. I told him of the street lights in Twenty-Nine Palms that were out.
"All the lights were out? That's odd, but maybe they had a power outage", he said. I listened as he gave me a first hand tour of Los Angeles, and we joined the parade of moving lights. He let me know my visit would be one I would long remember because of the many plans he had made. I hung on every word, anticipating the pleasure which awaited me.
We parked in front of a huge pink apartment building. I couldn't believe the brilliant array of flowers and shrubs there seemed to be, every place I looked. Near the front entrance was an enormous plant. It had deep green leaves which were shiny as satin. From the center, stalks topped with a flower in bright orange rose tall and regal. "They are Bird of Paradise," my dad answered as I questioned him. Perfect name, I thought as looking around in wonderment. I felt like Eve in the Garden of Eden.
After telling me I would be sleeping on the couch which made into a bed Daddy asked if I was hungry. I assured him I was.
"Good, I am taking you to a wonderful place which serves the best BBQ Ribs, just like at home." He also informed me his girl friend worked there. As I carefully dressed in what I thought was my most adult outfit, abandoning my usual hair style of a pony tail, I thought about the couch that became a bed. Never heard of such a thing, but knew if my daddy said it could be done, then I would be sleeping in comfort that evening. I was thrilled as Daddy smiled in approval when I joined him in the living room. He held the door open for me, just like the movies I had seen, I thought.
During our ride to the restaurant, I tried not to chatter in an unladylike fashion, yet my curiosity prevailed. I was shocked as I observed many people standing in the middle of the street, seemingly unaware of the traffic which whizzed past. When I voiced my concern over their safety, my father assured me they were in no harm. They were standing in a designated area waiting for a street car. I had never seen a street car before, why .. I had never heard of a street car. As we waited for the light to turn green at an intersection one stopped in the lane next to us. I watched as people boarded at the front, while other people disembarked from the rear. When the light turned, the street car sped quickly away from us.
"Great way to get around town," my dad said.
"No. Thank. You!
"Well, this is it," Daddy announced as we pulled to a stop in front of a restaurant. I started to open the car door, before I felt his hand against my arm, "I'll open it for you, just sit tight." I sat a little taller in my seat as I watched my dad walk around the front of the car. Nearing the passenger side, I leaned over and looked at him through the window. He gave me a wink, and a broad smile as he opened the door.
"My Lady," he said, extending his palm. I drew in my breath and held my head high as I stepped out onto the crowded sidewalk. Maturity! Oh, the feeling is grand, I thought.
"Daddy, look!," I suddenly exclaimed, "There - see the street lights?" I pointed to the tall silhouettes which were in a line across the horizon.
"Patti, those aren't street lights, they're palm trees."
"Palm trees?" How could I be so stupid, so immature? Don't ask any more dumb hick questions, my mind instructed, as I cleared my throat and thanked my dad.
"Kris and Pits, Best BBQ in town," a neon sign flashed. I stood waiting patiently while my dad walked up to a lady who was sitting near the entrance. She greeted him with a smile and beckoned me to follow them. She led us down wide aisles which were covered in saw dust. A large booth awaited us. Atop a red and white checkered table cloth was a small glass vase with pink and yellow flowers. I brought the vase to my nose and inhaled deeply.
"Plastic," Daddy said, I pushed my disappointment aside as I followed my dad's suit and picked up the menu.
I lapsed into a world of pretense as we perused the menu. The rich succulent aroma of the barbecued ribs permeated the air, tickling our nostrils while whetting our appetites. Soon the waitress approached our table.
She was not much taller than me, although she was more filled out in all the right places. Tiny freckles stood out boldly against smooth, milk-white skin. Her eyes were green as emeralds and seemed to dance as she spoke with my dad. When she was introduced to me, she smiled, her mouth turning up easily at the corners. Her teeth were like newly polished pearls in a row. Auburn red hair was swept high upon her head in a silken crown of curls. As I stared at her, I thought of my grandmother's antique jewelry box filled with precious mementos of golden earrings, ivory bracelets, ruby and emerald rings.
In a voice soft as a baby's breath, she said, "I'm so pleased to meet you. I hope you enjoy your stay here. I know you'll enjoy the food." Daddy ordered barbecued pork ribs, baked potatoes with butter and sour cream, and tossed green salad with French dressing. I felt myself smiling when he hinted at the possibility of fresh baked apple pie Ala-mode. I didn't know what Ala-mode was, but if my dad liked it, then it had to be good.
Wide-eyed and sipping on a frothy chocolate Coca Cola, I listened to my dad as he lay out our morrow's itinerary. When our salads were served we both turned our attention to the long awaited course. Crisp lettuce, green onions and small red tomatoes were bathed in the creamy French dressing. Sprinkles of newly ground pepper appeared as little black stars against a coral heaven. As we finished our salad, my dad said, "I'll be right back. If our food comes before I return, go ahead, you don't have to wait for me."
I sat very dignified in my seat, anticipating the rest of the meal. Soon the waitress arrived carrying plates piled high with succulent ribs and steaming potatoes.
"Your dad will be back shortly," she assured me.
I tried the meat and knew she had been right, they were the best ribs I had ever eaten.
"Well?" she asked as she returned with two small bowls.
"They are wonderful," I said.
Left alone again, I looked at the bowl she had delivered. Inside was a clear substance which looked like water. A small slice of lemon floated on the top. I placed the bowl next to my plate and tasted the contents. Strange, I thought, tastes like water. Maybe it needs salt and pepper to give it flavor. I added the salt and pepper, and took another spoonful to my lips. Now, it tasted like salt and peppered water. Well ... the salad was great, the ribs were delicious, but the soup?
A mature adult, worldly in life accepts any and all challenges, I decided, as I continued to eat the soup. I chanced a glance over my shoulder at patrons sitting behind me and noticed similar bowls also on their table.
I also noticed no one was touching the contents. Well, kiddo, remember your table manners, I reminded myself. Maybe, just maybe if I pretend it's Mama's home-made potato soup it will taste better, I hoped as I drew the spoon again to my lips. Boy, this is bland stuff, I thought as I swallowed yet another spoonful. I peered into the bowl and realized only a couple more mouthfuls and I would be finished. Dessert has to be better than this! There - last drop. Mama would be proud I prided myself, as I settled back against the booth. I glanced toward a table adjacent to ours and wondered why the couple sitting there were staring at me. Maybe I have something stuck in my teeth, maybe I have barbecue sauce on my chin, I thought as I carefully touched my lips and chin with my napkin.
"Sorry I took so long " my Dad said as he lowered his tall, lanky body into the booth, "How are the ribs?"
Do I tell my dad not to eat his soup, that it is as tasteless as water? Is it possible this is a Los Angeles specialty and he ordered it as a surprise for me? Questions, questions, where oh where an answer, oh what do I do?
"Well, Sweetie?"
"Daddy I have to be honest with you. The ribs were great, the potato was great, but this soup ....
"Soup? Oh my Lord!"
I felt my maturity, my worldly experiences fade as I heard the words ...
"It's the finger bowl!"
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