Sherry Chapmanby Sherry Chapman
First published in Winter, 2013, Volume 8, Issue 1, The Hatchet: Journal of Lizzie Borden Studies.
I love Fall River in the Springtime. People comin’ through the town from somewheres else lots of thymes will say how warm it gets here in the spring, with our balmy breezes comin’ off the water. They’re nice too (they don’t know who’s Irish unless we start talkin’). I feel like tellin’ ‘em they oughtta come back in the Summer and try that out, but then I’d give away my bein’ Irish and they’d pay me no mind whatever I said. So me and my cousins and friends just nod and smile. I was tellin’ Cousin Mary th’other day that people must think Fall River has the most people who canno’ talk in the werld.
The fair weather that blesses us in early Spring reminds me of my days in County Cork, and it’s been more than one thyme that I’ve caught myself day-dreamin’ of just those days. The nice days bring weddins to mind too. And sure if the men are askin’ their ladies to take that walk (with some it’s a ‘run’) down the aisle with ‘em.
I don’t have a steady fella. But I figure there’s plenty of thyme for that. I enjoy my day and a half off from the Borrdens too much to give them up for house keepin’ seven days a week. But some day I’ll take the plunge, I’m sure. I have a secret hope that when I’m ready I’ll go back to the old homeland and marry an upstandin’ young man who has the same last name as mine. When I was makin’ handkerchiefs an’ undergarments for my Hope Chest, I went and sewed (I wanna say “embroidered” but I’d never get through that werd without messin’ it up) – ennyway I went and sewed ‘Bridget Sullivan’ on everything, and got fancy writin’ paper with “B.S.” on the tops. So it’s either be an old maid (I don’t think I’d get into enny other kinda job) or marry a guy named Sullivan. But all that’s a ways off yet, since I don’t make enuff money to really save ennything. Some day if I come into a lot of money, that would do it. Mrs. Borrden tells me often enough that she’s leavin’ stuff for me in her will if I promise to stay till the end with her. And so I have.
I make enuff to do me a little shoppin’ downstreet, since I don’t have to pay for the doilies and curtains myself like Mrs. Borrden does. It couldna been long ago that I happened to be in the same store as Miss Lizzie. The stores sell a lot of different stuff under one roof, which does save some on the shoe leather. I was lookin’ for a pair of gloves but was havin’ trouble findin’ my size, when Miss Lizzie told me I should be gettin’ rubber gloves cuz the next job comin’ up for me was to wash the cellar down with bleach.
The clerk, who kept a sharp, helpful eye on Miss Lizzie asked her what the bleach was for when she got up to the counter with it. She told him. He looked concerned and said, “Why, Miss Borden, have you not heard that soon it will be considered not legal to be washing things with bleach?” No, she had not. And she asked why. “There is a new discovery that’s come out, that if you treat any area with a certain chemical, it will show that the area has had blood on it. This will be a boon to the scientific and criminal world. But one thing negates the results, and that is bleach. Perhaps you might wish to choose a different cleaning agent.” She thought and said, “So bleach will make this ‘blood finding’ chemical null and void? Blood will not show up?” “Well,” said he, “bleach and a few other cleaning detergents.” Miss Lizzie, she carried the bottle of bleach back to the shelf she got it from and picked up a second bottle.
She looked for me in the store, but I was crouchin’ down behind a barrel of flour. I knew why she was lookin’ for me. Wantin’ to stick me with the carryin’ of those big bottles of bleach back home. I didn’t just fall offa the turnip truck. That happened when I was about ten year old, so enny injuries I’ve had since then had plenty of thyme to heal.
Well, it’s thyme to go into the kitchen. Now these are good recipes, an’ if ya make it up at home, drop me a line to tell me how yours come out, whydontya. Taday we’re makin’
BOXTY
Irish Potato Cakes
Yer gonna need:
Raw potatoes (grated), a half a pound
Some milk
Mashed potatoes, a half a pound
1 egg
Flour, a half a pound
Salt and pepper
Mix yer mashed potatoes with yer grated ones. Put in the salt and pepper, and the flour. Beat yer egg and add that. Then ya add just enuff milk so this stuff is thick enuff to drop from a spoon. Watch ya don’t add too much milk, or you’ll end up with the stuff too runny and all you will make for dinner will be a mess. This has happened, and I never herd the end of it from Mr. Borrden for wastin’ an egg.
Heat up yer fryin’ pan. When it’s good and hot drop yer potato mix onto the pan and cook for three or four minutes on each side. And believe it or not, that’s it!
My dear sainted mother back home used to add some chopped onion to it. If ya do that, twouldn’t be a bad idea to cook the onion some before addin’ it to the potato mixture, otherwise you’ll have raw onions in it.
But with onions or without, these are good enny time for breakfast, yer noon meal or dinner. This recipe here makes enuff for about 6 people.
If God sends you down a stony path,
May He give you strong shoes.
