The Red Flannel Rag

Suddenly, Mom threw the cake pans, with the cake in them, in the floor and

jumped up and down on them until they were flat. That didn’t take too long because, at

that time, she weighed a hefty two hundred and thirty-six pounds and was often

described as “two axe handles across the ass” which made me fighting mad when I heard

it. I was old enough to enjoy the stomping show, but my sister, Brenda, was terrified

because she was taken by surprise.

I responded to Mom’s frustration with a variety of feelings. In some cases I

wanted to laugh — like with the cake pans. It was a funny sight with her jumping up and

down on the pans with chunks of yellow cake sticking to her shoes and flying through

the air. At the same time, I felt really bad for her because she worked so hard. She had

varicose veins in her legs and by the end of every day, they would be swollen and

throbbing from her working hard all day. I always wanted to grow up fast, get a job, and

buy her a new stove or a new whatever was frustrating her at the time.

Another time, Mom was making strawberry jelly. We had all crawled on our

hands and knees up a steep hill to pick tiny wild strawberries. We had all sat around in

the evening capping and cleaning the fruit. In other words, Mom and all of us kids had a

large investment in the jelly project. She boiled the jelly in a large dishpan with handles

on the side. When it was ready to remove from the stove, she stuck two large spoons in

the hot handles on the pan and proceeded to lift the jelly off the heat. I had watched her

lift a hot pan this way a thousand times before so I had no reason to doubt her skill now.

Just as she turned around, the spoons slipped and the jelly spilled down the front of her

apron. She dropped the pan to the floor. She clamped her lips tight together, reached

behind and untied her apron, leaned forward and removed the apron so she wouldn’t

get burned. I knew something was about to happen. Without saying a word, she

74