A Story that didn’t make it into my memoir, The End

So I killed a tree, I will be there to support your son in more ways than one.

So I killed one of your trees, I will be there to support your son in more ways than one.

Now that Lorna’s future plant-loving in-laws know her to be a tree-slaughter, is there anything else she could do to further alienate them?

Of course! I had only just begun! And they didn’t even know that I was a drunken hussy. But, to be fair, neither did my future husband. A girl has to keep some mystery for after the wedding, right?

Guess who, Honey? Yup! It's me! Bet you never guess you married a Party Girl! Well, lucky you, Gig Buy...uh, I mean Big Guy!

Guess who, Honey? Yup! It’s me! Bet you never guessed you married a Party Girl! Well, lucky you, Gig Buy…uh, I mean Big Guy!

*****

Corn season was something of an “event” when I was growing up. Without bioengineering making sweet corn available longer, corn season back then was brief and precious  I loved the mechanics of eating corn on the cob as much as the corn itself. Pretending that it was a manual typewriter roll, I would bite my way across the cob from left to right. Ding!  Scroll and return to attack another row. We bought our corn from farm stands, not knowing exactly when it was picked even though every sign boasted “Fresh-Picked Corn!”  My mom wrapped any leftover ears in aluminum foil and reheated them in the oven for the next evening’s dinner. The corn was starchy and tough the second night, but all corn when attached to a cob was good corn.

That's right, one row at a time, then go back and get the next row--just like a typewriter...

That’s right, one row at a time, then go back and get the next row–just like a typewriter…

The VPs grew their own corn, thus the freshness-factor was predictable. One summer evening I was invited over for dinner for the first corn of the season. The water was already boiling when the men-folk went out to pick the ears. Two minutes in the boiling water and out came the cobs, piled high and steaming. For them, this was the only way to have corn—fresh from the garden and within minutes of being picked. I was in awe, never having had corn that fresh before in my life. I saw this as opportunity to weave my way into their hearts. I thought, I will rave about the special treat of having such delicious, fresh corn, which, fortunately, I had not mown over.

Yep, I think that corn would pass the freshness test for the VPs.

Yep, I think that corn would pass the freshness test for the VPs.

Ever eager (to please and to eat), I grabbed an ear, buttered and salted it and took a bite. It was great. At least I thought so. I told them with enthusiasm how exquisite the corn tasted. Before I had a chance to finish my accolades, however, Victor and his dad took a bite and spit it out, shaking their heads in utter disappointment with the dismal quality of the corn. They just tossed the virtually uneaten cob aside and picked another hoping for a better experience.

Again, I was awestruck. I concluded that I must be a corn dolt.  Here I was extolling the scrumptious-factor of this corn they thought was only fit for pigs. I was just a corn dolt who lived in a trailer with my corn dolt kin.

Open mouth. Insert awful corn. Say something stupid like, "Wow! Best corn on the planet!" Congratulations, you are now an official Corn Dolt

Open mouth. Insert awful corn. Say something stupid like, “Wow! Best corn on the planet!” Congratulations, you are now an official Corn Dolt.

Of course, I immediately labeled them “corn snobs.”

To fit in as their future daughter-in-law, I had to refine my corn buds. It’s hard to school your way out of corn-doltdom. The best I could manage was to reserve judgement on any ear of corn until one of the corn snobs had spoken.

I don't know. You tell me. Is this corn any good or not?

I don’t know. You tell me. Is this corn any good or not?

*****

They forgave the tree-slaughterer. They tolerated the corn dolt. But one thing they never quite got over was my reluctance to join their cults.

Perhaps I should explain. Victor and his father were members of a Masonic Lodge. As far as I could tell, being a Mason had more to do with secret religious-based brotherhood shenanigans and less to do with building anything with stones or bricks. As a woman, I wasn’t permitted to know more details, or they would have to kill me and, frankly, I wasn’t that curious.

Good Grief! Did my future husband and his father belong to a group of men that wore over-sized envelopes on their waists? And what was in those envelopes that females couldn't know about?

Good Grief! Did my future husband and his father belong to a group of men that wore over-sized envelopes on their waists? And what was in those envelopes that females couldn’t know about?

The Masons, as luck would have it, has a sister organization called the Eastern Star made up of the wives of these Murky Masons. Their main function was to be proud of the Masons doing who-knows-what at the meetings, cook for them when they hosted dinners, and get all chatty about religion and domestic stuff…I guess. My future mother-in-law really wanted me to become an Eastern Starlet because she was one.

Um. What's the alter for? And Why are all the women in long white dresses?

Um. What’s the altar for? And why are all the women in long white dresses?

But I’m not a joiner. I didn’t even stick with AA because it was too groupy-groupy for me.

I’m pretty sure at least my mother-in-law saw me as a heathen. I know that because she called a heathen. But she was drinking and was a little riled up about godless people. I happened to be there: a perfect example of someone who didn’t go to church and rejected religious cults. So she had a valid point.

*****

But the VP’s prided themselves on not interfering and on appearances. I looked good on their son’s arm and he wanted me. The rest, is, as they say, history.

After all this, Lorna, I have one question for you: WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?

After all this, Lorna, I have one question for you: WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?

~ by Lorna's Voice on February 12, 2013.

31 Responses to “A Story that didn’t make it into my memoir, The End”

  1. Yes, I can barely remember! 😉

  2. Yes, those young brains are resilient aren’t they…I was just remembering how quick mine used to be…hmmm…

  3. Yes, those were the days when my mind was quick–even though those were also my drinking years. Odd, isn’t it. Young brains are supple brains, I guess!

  4. Had no idea there were corn snobs…but of course there are…there are snobs for everything. I like the “corn dolt” terminology that you came up with on the spot to soften your apparent lack of corn tasting sophistication. I’m not a joiner either…especially of secret societies made up of “corn snobs”.

  5. You’re so welcome and I look forward to your next visit! 🙂

  6. I will be calling by again soon and thank
    you for your sweet thoughts Lorna 🙂 😉 xxxx

  7. Thanks so much and the same to you (Happy Valentine’s Day). 🙂 Pop in often. Always love to hear what you have to say!

  8. I took a peek at their special book and it was written in some crazy code. That freaked me right out. All their talk about them being just a community-based organization didn’t help quell my suspicions that they were up to some weird stuff in those closed meetings…

  9. When I was in high school, I had a coupla family members into the Masons until they realized it was a cult. I’m not too much of a joiner either. Everybody has to think alike and that’s kinda scary.

  10. As always a very nice posting Lorna
    and hey… Happy Valentine’s Day xxxx

    Be Good 😉

  11. Yes! That’s it! Thanks Al. And the tradition lives on… 🙂

  12. That’s funny! Is any one buying books of short stories? Gosh. I have so many that didn’t make it in there because I didn’t want to rival Bill Clinton’s book in length!

  13. Gosh, I would think one memoir is enough for a little “no body” like me! Plus I have another idea for my next book that involves a much more compelling story than me and my foibles. I think you and the rest of the blogging world who follows me know by now that I’m one zany lady! But thanks for the vote of confidence, BUlldog! 🙂

  14. Thanks. I guess even corn dolts can write a descent story! 😉

  15. haha, a corn dolt. Brilliant. Just like your book.

  16. More of Lorna… when you going to put all these into a book as well.??

  17. I think your next book should be titled, “A Collection Of Stories That Didn’t Make It Into My Memoir.”

  18. Perhaps your next book should be titled, “A Collection of Stories That Didn’t Make in My Memoir.”

  19. You’re absolutely right, Lorna, if it weren’t for corn on the cob we’d never hear that wonderful typewriter sound anymore. Here, just for you…..chicka, chicka, chicka, ding! chicka, chicka, chicka, ding! chicka, chicka, chicka, ding!

  20. Yes, that one is mine. They laughed when I called myself that, but that’s how I felt. Go ahead and use it–spread the laughter!:)

  21. I guess some ears were better than others? Peter, it’s clear that you are asking the wrong person–a self-proclaimed corn-dolt! 😉

  22. Wonderful! I’m glad you enjoyed the story and connected with those elements of the story. I’m afraid there will come a day when typewriter corn will be lost to the world…

  23. Totally. And I told them I thought so (but only after telling them that I was a corn dolt to soften the blow and turn it all into a joke). But they were total corn snobs!

  24. That was a major disappointment to my in-laws. But, what can I say? I just couldn’t go that far out of my comfort zone. It’s fun to reveal these things about my life and have others connect with them. Makes me glad I tell these stories so openly both here and in my book… Thanks for your comments! 🙂

  25. Yeah, I thought so, too! Thanks! 🙂

  26. I love the Jackie Chan pic. Perfect!

  27. Oh yay! Another thing we have in common – I’m not a joiner either! I shunned Al-anon because of their “groupy-groupiness” (and learned to live with drunk people like the rest of society has to). And the Masons? Yikes. Secret societies are weird. I’m sure the altar in your picture is for sacrificing one of white-gowned beauties. Good thing you didn’t join!

  28. LOL ! Such corn snobs 🙂

  29. Funny, as always. I am familiar with typewriter corn and Masons. It’s really funny to me since I am from there. 🙂

  30. I just can’t work out what was wrong with the corn you made. Corn cobs, picked and immediately boiled are delicious no matter what

  31. Lorna,

    New vocabulary–corn dolt. Can’t wait for summer to use it. 🙂

Silence can be just what the doctor ordered. You know I'm a doctor, right?

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