neither one of them knew what it was. clearly, they both lived in a cave before i came along in their lives. but still.

“it’s a butterspreader,” i informed them. for your corn-on-the-cob. you put the butter pat in it, hold down the handle and the curved plastic screen perfectly spreads melty butter on your cob.

they stared at me as if they had just landed on plymouth rock and – supposedly – were the ones who literally discovered new land.

in unison, the choirboys said, “i’ve never seen one of those!”

i laughed. as a non-butter-user, it doesn’t matter to me if i pull the cornbutterspreader out of the drawer, but i knew that it might matter to them – one potential butter-user-depending-on-the-day and one devoted butter-user.

my sweet momma had these kind of snazzy devices. she had the yellow metal-pronged corn thingies to hold corn-on-the-cob as well. long islanders, we were pretty loyal cobcorn eaters in the summer. back then, it was all about the biggest aluminum pot in the house and boiling water. but now, my sweet momma would have loved to see 20 cut off the ends of the cob (including the stringy end), putting the whole thing into the microwave for 4 minutes. as an alternative, we could have placed it on the grill as well – unshucked – but the microwave was a little quicker.

it was a day that kind of celebrated our parents – without our really knowing or planning it.

i carmelized the onions before i added the beer – milwaukee’s best. i knew columbus was watching, laughing with glee as i put the brats in to boil. momma jeanne said they were just like his when we made them in iowa, so we have a stamp of approval. we had beans – because my momma and my poppo never had brats or dogs without having beans. and sauerkraut because, well, 20 was raised by his momma on sauerkraut. (you don’t want to know how often he eats this.) and watermelon…well, every one of our parents loved watermelon. we were our parents – wouldabeen 102, 102 today, 90, 99, still 100 and still 88.

today’s my sweet momma’s birthday. she’s the wouldabeen 102. in the way of grief, the moments sneak up and take me by surprise. suddenly, i am pitched forward into desperately-missing-her from the ever-present missing-her. it doesn’t take much.

it’s the cardinal in the backyard. it’s telling her about the new birdbath. it’s the triumphs i want to share and the failures when i wish for a hug. it’s a cup of tea or morning coffee. it’s early rising or wee-hours-pondering. it’s chicken soup. it’s rye toast. it’s upside-down shampoo bottles. it’s blue eyes. it’s hearing “to thine own self be true”. it’s her “don’t underestimate me”. it’s “i know you can do it”.

and it’s the silly corn butterspreader.

happy happy birthday my sweet momma.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this NOT-SO-FLAWED WEDNESDAY