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Abstract

l your Father gets home” in our house. A few times I got punished twice for the same transgression.(Seemed a little unfair, LOL)This carried forth into Adulthood, and my Wedding. I was married August 17th, 1991. For those of you who think Minnesota is cold, you’re right, it is; in January…. In Summer, temps flirt themselves into the 90s quite often. Usually starting around the 4th Of July, and extending into August. Summer of 91' was no exception. Add in humidity, the Summertime equivalent of wind chill, and you’ve got yourself a molten, steamy soup. Somewhere during the reception, Mom pulled alongside me and said, ”You should cut the cake” I said okay and continued the conversation I was engaged in. (Engaged in, see what I did there?) She did this a few more times, and I was too preoccupied to see the warning signs. Then, out of nowhere, I felt the Grip Of Death on my arm. (Surprisingly strong for such a wee, tiny Woman)<h1 id="ab0e">“I TOLD YOU TO CUT THE CAKE”</h1>Hissed a disembodied, wraith-like, other worldly voice. “It’s leaning in the heat, if you don’t get after it, its going to fall over” “Why didn’t you tell me that?” said I, clearly unable to comprehend the true peril I was in. She fixed me with a soul-searing glare that I knew to mean, I’m your Mother, I gave you life. I need not explain tasks that I mete out to you. (I think I may even have heard that in my head)Which brings me to one particularly glorious moment of my youth. W hen my Mother’s sense of humor, and her anger, ….. collided.I must have been about 5 or so, (I must have been ;) It was in the old house on 27th and Cedar in Minneapolis, before we moved to Edina. (More on Edina in another story). I wouldn’t say I was a finicky eater, picky maybe. I was sitting at the bar in our kitchen. Not a bar for drinking. but it was a bar. you had to sit on stools. It was L-shaped.{We had a little chihuahua for awhile. It hated my Dad. Every time he went near it, it bit him. I guess chihuahuas bond with one person only, and that was Mom. We’d hear him swear, and Chico would come zipping by. He’d come around the corner and hang there, running in place on the linoleum

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for a few seconds, like a cartoon. I’d start to laugh and my Sisters would shush me, because Dad would come looking for Chico, and laughing wasn’t advised}.Anyway, I was sitting at the bar, staring at last night’s spinach. It didn’t look any more appetizing than it did the previous evening. We were having a test of wills. It went on for a good 20 minutes. I’d whine, Mom would say “Just eat SOME” I’d try, but it was horrid. I’m still not a huge fan of cooked spinach or broccoli. I like em’ both raw, but I didn’t know that then. Mom got exasperated after another chunk of time had passed, and she pulled out the oldest line in the book. “You know…. there are starving children in China who would love to have some food like that” Now, another thing I didn’t know then is that I have ADD. A whole big bunch of it. (I don’t think it was even a thing then.) And folks with ADD don’t have good filters. Without even thinking, I blurted out,“Well, give me their address, and I’ll send em’ some of this”And then…. I froze. Th milli-second that came out of my mouth, I knew, on some deep chemical level, that it was the WRONG. THING. TO. SAY. I felt a little part of me die on the inside. She’s gonna be s-o-o-o mad. I felt abject fear. I waited. A few seconds went by. Mom opened her mouth to speak, and stopped. And then, it happened again. A-a-nd, again. A few more times….. And then; it dawned on me.She can’t talk, if she does, she’ll laugh. I got her.I knew enough to stay silent. (Or, I was just too scared to talk, I’m not sure. It was a long time ago) After maybe 45 seconds, she just left the room. I waited a little longer, still scared and unsure. Then I got up and put my plate in the sink. I then walked out to the breezeway, sat on the couch, smiled, and just felt like that for awhile.Be good,<ul><li>Mark Rockford Winsor-</li></ul>Epilogue: I remembered the incident years later, and asked her about it. She erupted in laughter. “Oh yeah, I remember that, you little shit. I wanted to yell at you for smart-assing me, but every time I opened my mouth, I started to laugh. I’ve told that story to everyone”</article></body>

Mom wanted sooo bad to yell at me, (But It Was SUCH A GREAT LINE she couldn’t ….)

A few words about Phyllis, my Mom. she wasn’t a particularly imposing Woman physically. Maybe 5'4'’ ? give or take. She wasn’t slight, or overweight. Just about the right size, I’d say. When I got into my teens, I’d like to mess with her a bit. The cutting board in the kitchen was right over the silverware drawer. Every so often, when she was chopping something up for dinner, I’d offer to set the table. I’d pick her up, and set her to the side with my hand on top of her head. I’d get the silverware, close the drawer, pick her up, and set her back in place. It was good for a laugh. Emotionally she was somewhere in the middle region between taciturn and ebullient. She wasn’t the type to scoop me up, spin me around and shower me with kisses,

but she was warm and funny and I knew she loved me.

She had a quirky sense of humor that popped out here and there. When we got a new Poodle, Mom called a friend over to see her new fir stole. (I don’t know if that’s even a thing anymore. A fir stole is similar to a scarf or shawl) When her friend came to the door, Mom picked up the dog, wrapped her loosely around her neck, and answered the door. For some reason the poodle seemed to understand the joke, (or was just mightily confused) and didn’t move a muscle for almost a minute. Marge was stroking Fluffy admiringly, and commented on how warm “it” was. The pooch finally moved, Marge let out a piercing scream, and I and my two Sisters fell down laughing. I used to love to tell her inappropriate jokes, she’d laugh and then feel bad about it. “Ohhh, I shouldn’t laugh at that. Don’t tell me those jokes”

Mom did have a temper….

She could be tough. When she told you to do something, she expected it to get done. If she told you a second time, her tone was emotionless. A third time, and there was an implied threat. The fourth time, the threat was carried out. She’d grab my arm, bring me to the garbage I was supposed to take out, and make sure I did it. I had two older Sisters, and all the baggage that went along with it. We’d scrap sometimes, and Mom put an end to those quickly and efficiently. There was no “Just wait till your Father gets home” in our house. A few times I got punished twice for the same transgression.

(Seemed a little unfair, LOL)

This carried forth into Adulthood, and my Wedding. I was married August 17th, 1991. For those of you who think Minnesota is cold, you’re right, it is; in January…. In Summer, temps flirt themselves into the 90s quite often. Usually starting around the 4th Of July, and extending into August. Summer of 91' was no exception. Add in humidity, the Summertime equivalent of wind chill, and you’ve got yourself a molten, steamy soup. Somewhere during the reception, Mom pulled alongside me and said, ”You should cut the cake” I said okay and continued the conversation I was engaged in. (Engaged in, see what I did there?) She did this a few more times, and I was too preoccupied to see the warning signs. Then, out of nowhere, I felt the Grip Of Death on my arm. (Surprisingly strong for such a wee, tiny Woman)

“I TOLD YOU TO CUT THE CAKE”

Hissed a disembodied, wraith-like, other worldly voice. “It’s leaning in the heat, if you don’t get after it, its going to fall over” “Why didn’t you tell me that?” said I, clearly unable to comprehend the true peril I was in. She fixed me with a soul-searing glare that I knew to mean, I’m your Mother, I gave you life. I need not explain tasks that I mete out to you. (I think I may even have heard that in my head)

Which brings me to one particularly glorious moment of my youth. W hen my Mother’s sense of humor, and her anger, ….. collided.

I must have been about 5 or so, (I must have been ;) It was in the old house on 27th and Cedar in Minneapolis, before we moved to Edina. (More on Edina in another story). I wouldn’t say I was a finicky eater, picky maybe. I was sitting at the bar in our kitchen. Not a bar for drinking. but it was a bar. you had to sit on stools. It was L-shaped.

{We had a little chihuahua for awhile. It hated my Dad. Every time he went near it, it bit him. I guess chihuahuas bond with one person only, and that was Mom. We’d hear him swear, and Chico would come zipping by. He’d come around the corner and hang there, running in place on the linoleum for a few seconds, like a cartoon. I’d start to laugh and my Sisters would shush me, because Dad would come looking for Chico, and laughing wasn’t advised}.

Anyway, I was sitting at the bar, staring at last night’s spinach. It didn’t look any more appetizing than it did the previous evening. We were having a test of wills. It went on for a good 20 minutes. I’d whine, Mom would say “Just eat SOME” I’d try, but it was horrid. I’m still not a huge fan of cooked spinach or broccoli. I like em’ both raw, but I didn’t know that then. Mom got exasperated after another chunk of time had passed, and she pulled out the oldest line in the book. “You know…. there are starving children in China who would love to have some food like that” Now, another thing I didn’t know then is that I have ADD. A whole big bunch of it. (I don’t think it was even a thing then.) And folks with ADD don’t have good filters. Without even thinking, I blurted out,

“Well, give me their address, and I’ll send em’ some of this”

And then…. I froze. Th milli-second that came out of my mouth, I knew, on some deep chemical level, that it was the WRONG. THING. TO. SAY. I felt a little part of me die on the inside. She’s gonna be s-o-o-o mad. I felt abject fear. I waited. A few seconds went by. Mom opened her mouth to speak, and stopped. And then, it happened again. A-a-nd, again. A few more times….. And then; it dawned on me.

She can’t talk, if she does, she’ll laugh. I got her.

I knew enough to stay silent. (Or, I was just too scared to talk, I’m not sure. It was a long time ago) After maybe 45 seconds, she just left the room. I waited a little longer, still scared and unsure. Then I got up and put my plate in the sink. I then walked out to the breezeway, sat on the couch, smiled, and just felt like that for awhile.

Be good,

Mark Rockford Winsor-

Epilogue: I remembered the incident years later, and asked her about it. She erupted in laughter. “Oh yeah, I remember that, you little shit. I wanted to yell at you for smart-assing me, but every time I opened my mouth, I started to laugh. I’ve told that story to everyone”