My mother had a favorite expression which was all the more annoying because of how often she was right to use it: “Don’t cut off your nose to spite your face.” The event she drew from to illustrate it happened when she was probably about the age you see her in this photo (I don’t know who those other kids are; she’s the one standing by herself to the right).
She hated green beans. At least she insisted she did, though her mother would remind her that she wouldn’t even try them. When her mother or older sisters cooked green beans, Mother would be so vocal with her complaints that she was often sent away from the table so the rest of the family could eat in peace. She won–she didn’t have to eat green beans–but she lost because she didn’t get to eat anything else, either, like biscuits dripping with butter and molasses, fried chicken, mashed potatoes and gravy–you get the picture. Her mother would tell her, “Dorothy Jean, you’re cutting off your nose to spite your face.”
One day Mother walked into the kitchen just before the midday meal to find the food keeping warm on the stove while everyone was off taking care of other things. She spied the dreaded green beans in a pot, walked over to them, and thought to herself, I’m not eating them and nobody else will, either. She plunged both hands into the beans and began squishing them between her fingers, turning them into mush.
She thought she heard one of the boys coming and knew the fastest way to get rid of the evidence was to lick her hands clean. She braced herself for the horror of the taste and stuck her fingers in her mouth. Then it happened: the worst possible thing. She loved them. She grabbed the pot and a spoon, sat at the table, and ate every one of those green beans.
It was a great comfort to me that Mother, too, knew the annoyance of a mother who was often–okay, pretty much always–right.
I can hear my mother’s voice. And have learned through the many years to “listen” very carefully.
How about green beans boiled with smoky bacon?
Yep! Now and again, I do put a bit of bacon grease in my beans when I cook them. More often in peas than in beans.
I’m glad I can still hear both my parents’ voices in my head. And sometimes when I’m falling asleep, I hear my mother say my name.
My grammy.
That’s whose voice you hear? It’s like always having them with you. And if you’re like me, you really need them with you. When bad stuff happens, I talk to all the missing ones because I feel they still hold me up.
I can so totally see Dorothy doing that to the green beans.
Such a little rebel.