Staring out the early morning window I begin to remember.
I walk down Memory Lane to the Thanksgiving bypass. There I find the smell of golden brown turkey, the melodic sound of clinking of dishes and the laughter of family.
And wait! There it is. A sound and flavor I had almost forgotten.
The burping up of deviled eggs.
All twenty-four of them.
There was actually forty-eight in all. I only ate half. Cousin Vince ate the rest.
Another pull of the Elixir and I see it, hear it, and taste it all again . . .
I was 7th Grade, Vince was either 4th or 5th. His older brothers were in high school as was his sister, so they were expected to interact with the adults.
We, (me and Vince), were to be kept away from the adults.
We were banished to the basement to play in the mildew and mold. The consensus of the Moms was that most stuff in basements are made of metal, concrete, or heavy wood and therefore would be impervious to breakage.
Yeah. Right.
The banishment remained in effect until the Parole Board was ready to sit down for the Thanksgiving meal.
The Wardens made one grave mistake when they herded us down those stairs. The basement was where we had put the New Refrigerator.
The New Refrigerator was bought about four years earlier. It was too tall for the spot where the Old Refrigerator stood. The thought of extra cubic feet and a spacious, handy freezer blinded Dad and Mom to the presence of the kitchen cabinets over the Old one.
So the New Refrigerator was put in the basement "until" the cabinets could be moved, an idea that suffered the same fate as New Year resolutions.
Mom got up very early on Thanksgiving morning to start the turkey in the oven and to make four dozen deviled eggs.
Guess where she put 'em?
Vince and I had a small football with us. Thanksgiving morning in the basement consisted of enthusiastic field goal attempts that severely dented the furnace and most of the ductwork. Along with eating 48 deviled eggs.
Kick, kick. Kick, kick.
Egg, egg.
Kick, kick. Kick, kick.
Egg, egg.
Twenty four times.
Halfway through this routine it dawned on us we might get into trouble.
A quick conference rendered a poorly-advised course of action.
How could we get in trouble if there was no evidence that the eggs ever existed?
Now there's a defense that doesn't hold up in court.
Especially when the Judge worked a couple of hours on the evidence.
Another sip of the Elixir brings about a small smile.
There was the memory of "NO PUNKIN' PIE FOR YOU TWO! EVER!!!" -
along with the wonderful taste of deviled eggs.