8/18

my father came to visit last night. we were going to chop some branches into firewood but i didn't get home until after 6:30 and when we finished dinner it was about an hour later. so i am borrowing the loppers to cut the branches myself.
it was over dinner that we discussed cooking. my dad (it should be stated as a kudo's to him that he has quit smoking) regaled us of tales from the oven. each week he makes a apple pie from scratch and roasts two chickens. the chickens he eats, the pies are given away.
i was up all night trying to tie the threads together on how to make a black bean brownie when i slowly began to drift, daydream.
the dust settles on the brownie and rising from the ashes is the tale of my stomach. how, no matter the ceaseless ridicule it has taken over the years, it always comes through in the end. how like the marines it comes marching into the toughest of situations to stare down the steeliest eyed of enemies and delivers the one two blow for the home team.
i know my male inlaws are nervous around such a healthy creature, their inferiority complex works itself into a lather whenever my stomach enters the room. beware their wives cooking when it goes head to head with us.
though one might be able to overcome such anxieties and build a tender friendship a familiar bond brothers not in law but of something truer longer lasting brothers in love. alas that ship sank when it came time for my winter beard.
one can look past one advantage and give another man a pat on the back, but when the same man who can have such a robust belly (one that jiggles so joyously as to cause women to swoon) also may grow the thickest most luxurious mustache why that is too giant a mountain to overcome.
so where one could call his brother's in law invite them to dinner or a movie i must take comfort in the company of said belly and on the days when that is not enough i must also invite the mustache.
more on that one day. for now we return:
it is summer in the idaho hills. my mother's singing voice has gone south due to a nose cold and the bills are piling up! my father has taken to pacing pecs leaping through the fog of smoke while my mother reclines on the couch clutching a hot water bag to her nose and drinking tea with lemon.
'by god the mortgage has come due!' was the old man's call.
'if we can't win the fair there will be no hope.' was my mother's gravelly retort.
every year the fair held a singing contest, though there was no true contest but a concert held by my mother. the other contestants bowed out early leaving her plenty of time to practice her five encores.
with one day before the event all hope appeared to be lost. there were only two contests that paid. one was the singing while the other was pie eating.
the stomach grumbled causing the pacing to slow and the sick to lift her hot water bag.
'are you hungry?' she said.
as if possessed my tongue moved on it's own accord.
'hungry for pie!'
the house reverberated with the thunder of my voice.
'don't be silly.' my mom said.
'what is he talking about? desert at two in the afternoon?' said the father.
'i can eat that pie and i can win!' the stomach had taken control, my eyes wide scared they had written a check that could not be cashed.
a electric hush charged us all. through the dark night of hopelessness there came a faint light. it was true that i had become quite a pie afficienado but to overtake hillbilly walterson and the mountain jim crackerson would be considered suicide.
it was whispered that the hillbilly had once eaten a cow into submission. both chose hay and three days later the cow bowed out. while the mountain had consumed a lifesized gingerbread house during the holiday festivities.
'it's a suicide mission.' said my sister
'impossible.' was the brother's response
'both hillbilly and mountain...'whispered the old man
'i can sing, i must sing.' croaked my mother.
'i will not fail.' said the stomach.
at that moment a rooster crowed and the stomach growled as my father rubbed his chin.
'if the voice fails we will place our hopes upon the stomach. tomorrow we go to the fair with our answer.'
with that something began to stir, deep inside me and with a loud belch the stomach had the last word.
---tune in tomorrow for the exciting conclusion! will our hero defeat the mountain and the hillbilly? will the mother's voice return? can the bruce family pay their mortgage nintey days late?