Mary's bologna treat just out of grasp
Posted Feb 5, 2010 By Mary Cook
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Tweet ThisEMC Lifestyle - There was nothing I loved more than a few slices of fresh bologna from Brisco's General Store. And it was considered a luxury back in the 30's. There was money only for essentials, like tea, flour or vanilla. But knowing how much I loved bologna, Mother would try her best to squeeze a few extra pennies out of her egg money occasionally for this special treat for me.
And one day, there was more money realized from her eggs than she needed to pay for her list of necessities, and she gave Mr. Brisco a big wink and said, "Well, I guess we better have some of that special kind of meat you have there in the big roll in the meat counter, Mr. Brisco," and she smiled over in my direction.
I watched Mr. Brisco slice it in the big meat cutter, which he turned by hand, and I could already taste it in my mind.
He wrapped it thin brown paper and seemed to take forever to tie it up with string. When I finally got my hands on it, I put it to my nose and I could smell it through the paper and almost died from the sheer joy of it.
Going home I held it in my hand while the other groceries sat on the floor of the sleigh. And I wasn't going to eat it all at once either.
Like saving the icing on Mother's chocolate cupcakes until the very last, I wanted to savour every last mouthful of the bologna, eating one piece at a time, and spacing the treats well apart. I figured I might have one or two slices before supper, and then one piece before I went to bed, and I would probably save one slice for my lunch for school the next day.
And I liked it ice cold. So I was going to leave it in the wrapper and put it out in the summer kitchen where it might even freeze which suited me just fine.
Strange as it may seem,
I especially liked it if it had little ice crystals on it when I unwrapped it. I placed it on the table in the summer kitchen right beside Mother's frozen raisin pies, and the brothers knew that under no condition were they to put a hand on it. They weren't that fond of bologna anyway. But I wouldn't put it past Emerson to force a piece down his throat just for spite.
I watched the clock tick away the minutes that afternoon and decided that when the big hand reached three I would treat myself to a piece of the bologna.
It was colder than blazes when I opened the door and I raced over to the table, knowing exactly where I had left the package. But it wasn't there. I thought it may have fallen off, but it wasn't anywhere to be seen.
I went screaming into the house, calling Emerson every vile name I could think of. Mother had to restrain me I was so mad. I said this time I was going to kill him and that's all there was to it. A whole dime's worth of bologna...and he probably ate it in one fell swoop. I could just see him relishing it. Probably sneaked it out behind the silo to do his thieving deed.
Well, I was going to find him...and he was going to pay dearly. I had no idea how I was going to punish Emerson, since he weighed a good 75 pounds more than I did, and at 12 years of age, stood just under six feet tall. But I would think of something, I said, as I quickly donned my winter coat and toque, and pulled on my galoshes.
I headed out the door at full steam.
I took one last look at the table sitting in the middle of the summer kitchen floor. The bologna was gone...there was no two ways about it.
I was almost to the pump in the yard bent on finding Emerson who I pictured relishing the last morsels of my treat. And there was Sport our old Collie dog, lying on the path leading to the barn, licking the brown paper Mr. Brisco had used to so carefully wrap my bologna.
The string was hanging from his mouth, and when I got to him, he looked up at me and I swear he grinned.
I just stood there dumbfounded. How he got into the summer kitchen was no longer important. He had devoured a whole dime's worth of bologna, and goodness knows when I would ever get such a treat again.
I dragged my feet back to the house.
Mother listened as I told her of my discovery. She wondered if I felt I should apologize to Emerson. I said I didn't see any reason to. And besides he was quite capable of the deed. It just so happened Sport beat him to it.
