My ears perked up at the familiar thud…thud…thudon the staircase, followed by the slam of the screen door. My brother was fourteen — six years older than I — and we didn’t communicate much, other than to fight and say dreadful things to each other. But I could always count on him to indirectly let me know when it was time to go to our grandmother’s house for lunch. “Tom!” I’d yell, scrambling to tie my sneakers and get through the door before he was out of sight. “Wait for me!”
My grandmother and grandfather lived in our small town “down by the creek,” and even though it was only a couple of blocks, there was a busy street that I was forbidden to cross alone. Tom would allow me to go with him…as long as I stayed at least half the distance to the moon behind in case he ran into one of his buddies along the way. Nothing would be more humiliating to a high school freshman than to be seen walking anywherewith his dumb little sister. It was worth the effort to stay out of his way because at the end of our journey was the promise of a table full of the greatest food in the world.
May Blume Rainbolt and Grover Cleveland Rainbolt planted an “award-winning” garden. Each year they’d grow corn, green beans, tomatoes, cucumbers, green peppers, cabbage, fresh mint, and much, much more. But best of all…they grew rhubarb. My grandmother was the best rhubarb pie baker in the county, which was proven by the stash of blue ribbons she kept “inconspicuously” in an old Ball canning jar on the windowsill. Oh pshaw, she’d blush. Those old things? I’m just saving them for quilt scraps. She even made her own piecrust — an art she passed on to me (for which my husband is eternally grateful). Come to think of it, the quality of our grandmother’s rhubarb pie was one of the few things my brother and I ever agreed on when we were kids.
Lunchtime was a real event at her house, especially since my mother worked, which meant I’d usually settle for baloney or tuna sandwiches at home. And besides, Mom insisted I was too young to stay by myself. I wonder what she’d think if she knew my “babysitter brother” threatened, on a regular basis, to hang me by my heels out his second-story bedroom window. I overlooked that since we always managed to arrive in Mamaw May’s kitchen just as she was filling the table with bowls of mashed potatoes swimming in real butter, pinto beans seasoned with country ham, stewed okra, sliced tomatoes — still warm from the garden sun — and cucumbers smothered with onions. Although peas weren’t a favorite of mine back then, I enjoyed the days I watched my grandfather gracefully eat them with a table knife. He’d somehow manage to fill the entire length of the knife with little round peas, then tilt back his head and let them slide into his mouth. I tried this once, to my grandmother’s dismay, and ended up spending the better part of the afternoon picking peas up off the linoleum floor.
More exciting were the August days we’d spend together at the Harrison County Fair playing bingo. Come to think of it, I probably acquired my taste for gambling — without the risk of losing much money — from her. We’d sit for hours under a dusty tent on the Midway, playing two and three cards at a time, and competing for valuable prizes. I suppose it must’ve seemed strange that I preferred playing bingo with my grandmother to riding on the Ferris wheel or the tilt-a-whirl with my friends. I can still remember the excitement of winning a rainbow-striped pitcher and matching iced-tea glasses to proudly present to my mother. After all these years, I’m still not sure whether the tears in her eyes were from joy at the sight of my gift, or from wondering where in the world she was going to store another set of worthless glassware.
My grandmother lived well into her 70’s, but in my family, that’s like being struck down in the prime of life. She should’ve lived at least ten more years, but a freak auto accident was responsible for her early decline in health. My main regret is that, because she died when I was in my teens ― I wasn’t able to truly appreciate and enjoy her company in my adult years. Still, I learned some valuable lessons. For instance, the best piecrust is made with vinegar. Yes…vinegar. And if we’re persistent, the true bingo professionals, like us, will beat the socks off the amateurs every time.
But the most important thing she taught me, is that sometimes, especially on a steamy, Southern Indiana evening, it’s best just to sit on the front porch and rock gently back and forth in the swing.
Add a slice of warm, rhubarb pie…and it’s perfect.
Mary Cunningham ©2007
0 Comments on Remembering Rhubarb Pie and Bingo as of 4/3/2014 5:15:00 PM
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Cute cute cute. I'll join the dogs thank you.
good news about the move.
Hey, hey, hey! Hidden depths: your drawings are first rate and appropriately cutting! Here also a copy of my reply to your visit to me: "Hiya Studio Lolo. Ain't I just too, too Psychic: Pirate's Day, you say?! Might that not be Parasites' Day, or, Pyrite's Day, or maybe Pyrex Day?! Anyway, I'm off to google Pirates' Day. Glad to know things are afloat there! I either sprined or broken an ankle last evening; will report or draw cartoon on outcome of tomorrow's vist to doctor."
Sorry, had a bit of trouble with my verbs there: that's "either sprained or broke" my ankle (awwwwwwww). Cheerful as a pig in muck, however.
I wanna go to the doggie bar too! but should stay here with the kitten. Tried to get her into bed last night after the pups were asleep but no luck, maybe tonight.
Great work!
So funny work, really great this one!
regards
Rui Sousa
(O temporário)
www.ruisousaartworks.blogspot.com
I do so love both but the doggies really hits the spot :) Spring will be warmer for moving:)
Both very cute and very appropriate Laurel! Enjoy your weekend!!
Mutt party for me. Your tile came today-I love it-and I'm going to place it outside my home right on the brick....afixed permanently (gasp). It's my house, and when I'm gone if someone doesn't like it they can figure out how to get the gorilla glue off.
I like both illos, but I would love to join the doggie party!
hey the bingo ladies here in england don't look like that, they are mostly over sixty, fat with cigarettes hanging from their lips...yip give me the mutts any time. glad that you are both taking the time to just step back and think and look and pack and then go, not all in a rush. hugs and wfs my mate.
"Snooty sniffers" - LOL!! I'd join them anyday. :)
Great drawings!
xxxmar
Oh yes...it's the Snooty Snifters" for me!
Thanks so much for your kind words Laurel. We're finally getting back to normal.
I like the Bingo ladies. I like how you drew their breasts. Of course, I'd be the flat chested one but Bingo is so much fun especially when played privately with friends aroung the dining table and we are betting dimes and quarters and start sweating when we lose $1.00.
so cute! made me smile!
i love both illustrations! i like that lady's " i heart bingo" bag! so funny!
beautiful and funny and very fun - and yes, I love the mutt with the beer too:-) brilliant!!
Ya gotta love those Snooty Sniffers!
Thank you for your comments on my blogs. I really love your work as well..
He he! Snooty Sniffers! LOVE IT!
i'm going with the booby bingo babes...there's real cash to make there! spring is a great time for change! flowers, lighter weight fabrics...best, lollie!
Still laughing. Very, very fun.
the dogs, the dogs for sure! thanks so much for leaving such a sweet comment on my site <3
Two winners! Alas, I'm not a drinker, so I'll be hanging out with the Bingo Ladies. I love me a good game of Bingo. It can turn out to be a good contact sport, if you let it.
Spring is a WONDERFUL time to move! Plus, you won't be greeted with winter so soon after you settle. :)
Oh I love them both!
www.indigeneartforms.blogspot.com
I'll take the martini thanks! Lovely pieces both of them. Thanks for the giggle.