|
|
 |
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
Bud Grossmann’s
Words of the Week
for the Week of
August 3, 2014
Published as Family History in a
Gramma Letter dated August 5, 1997.
© 1997 by Bud Grossmann.
All Rights Reserved.
|
| | |
Two Beers, That's All, 2014
© 2014 by Bud Grossmann
|
SIMPLE PLEASURES
August 5, 1997
Dear Gramma,
Simple pleasures. Beer and nuts—could a more elaborate feast possibly bring me any joy greater than this bottle of beer and my bowl of pistachio nuts?
Tonight, as I write, the air here in Honolulu hangs heavy and hot. I showered at bedtime but soon grew sticky and restless; now I’m up, at the dining room table at midnight, drinking a Steinlager beer and eating pistachios as fast as I can shell them. By my best estimate, I am happy as I can be.
My family is asleep. The house is so nearly silent that when I pried up the cap on the beer bottle, I was startled by the small, sharp sigh of the brew beginning to breathe. I tipped the bottle’s cool mouth to my own dry lips and felt the bubble of beverage rush across my tongue. Deee-licious! Gulp, gulp, and half the bottle is gone. My T-shirt still clings damply to my skin, but the evening’s oppression is retreating.
I think of summer nights, years ago, when Grampa tended the boilers at the Columbia County Home, on the very site where you now reside. Lots of times, after supper at your farm, a few of us kids would go along with our granddad in the old Chevy truck when he went to work at The Home. We’d spend the entire evening fishing for bullheads in Duck Creek, down below the powerhouse. The boilers didn’t eat much coal in summer, so Grampa had time, some nights, to put his own fishline into the water. He’d stand with us on the grassy bank, puff his pipe, and quietly dispense advice and tell stories from a distant time.
Along about nine or ten p.m., you, Grandma, would drive out in the Studebaker to pick us up. You brought a “lunch” for Grampa and stayed to visit a while before hauling your load of weary grandchildren, smelling of fish and our grandfather’s pipe tobacco, back to the farm.
My pistachios huddle together in the bowl. Each nut is open a wee bit, like a clam with a yawn or a smile. Through that vee-shaped crack I can see the dark flake of skin that covers the firm, green nutmeat within. I pry open the shell and rub off the scaly cloak of the nut, as I let the two halves of smooth, pale shell clatter back into the bowl. Onto my tongue I place the kernel, note the salty sting it brings, and then split the crunchy nugget with my teeth. The flavor is pistachio; I know of no other way to describe it. I am alone, here with my memories.
Simple pleasures. I open another beer. I wonder, Gramma, if the pleasures you knew were ever of anything but the simple kind. You didn’t drive fancy automobiles nor did you robe yourself in stylish attire. When you traveled, you generally went only to visit relatives and friends; you didn’t set out in search of adventure. Your meat-and-potatoes cooking, your modest manner of speech, and your firm Christian faith were solid, sweet, and simple. If there’s anything at all extravagant about you, Granny, I have yet to discover it.
One o’clock here. My bowl holds only flakes and nutshells; the bottles stand empty before me. My pen rasps across the page as I draft this note to you. Down the hallway, one of my children speaks out from a dream but does not awaken. I believe I, too, am now about ready for sleep.
I am close to you, precious Grandmother, in the sultry stillness of this evening. Perhaps you can feel my love across the many miles. I imagine myself with you and bid you goodnight. If you thank me for my visit, I can tell you, Gramma, “You are surely welcome . . . but the pleasure is simply mine.”
G’night, Granny. Sleep tight.
Love,
Buddy
|
I would welcome your thoughts on this page (or any of my
others). Write to me at the following address. Please
be sure to spell Grossmann with two n’s and
mention what page you are writing about.
Thanks! BUD GROSSMANN
|
Top of this page
|
|
This page was updated Sat, Aug 2, 2014, 11:10PM CDT
|
© 2014 by Bud Grossmann
|
|
|
|
 |
