Monday, September 30, 2013

Making Forks Sing

It feels great to be back in my blogging saddle again. It’s so comfortable here. Thanks for waiting for me. I think I found a magical way to begin again. Tell your friends.

If I had included these little incidents in my scintillating memoirs, it might have been a better book. My niece Debbie reminded me of it Saturday night; six years too late. That’s okay. Magic never sleeps.

Magic Forks
When I was growing up at 1122-7th Street, our family, six of us, gathered around our evening dinner table according to Dad’s work schedule. Three or four times a month? Those were grand meals.

Dad occasionally said something like, “Here you go, Ruthie (or Neal or Noel or Paul).” Then he held his fork off to one side of his plate, plucked two of its tines and said, “Catch!” We all held our breath. Ruthie held her hands out and Dad tossed the sound across the table to her.

A second later when Ruthie caught it: “Ping-ing-ing.” It was a pretty sound. A magical sound. And always fun, even when we knew it’s secret.

“Better a meal with vegetables where there is love,
than a fattened calf where there is hatred.”
—Proverbs 15:17

Memo from the Advertising Department: It's getting closer and closer to Christmas. Have you had a chance to read my book? Click the word "book," then order a bunch of them.


J said...

So glad you are back!!! There is only so much you can do with FB!

Cliff said...

yep, thanks for the post. I have something to listen to as well. See what you think.

Jennie said...

I like this. :))

Janell said...

You were surely blessed with a fun dad!