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Pork Chops

October 28, 2011

She laughs a deep guttural laugh. Sometimes it mixes with a flemmy cough, indicative of a smoker like her. The house reminds me of my childhood, although only in its distinct smells. Wood smoke, cigarette smoke, Tone coco butter soap, and sizzling meat intertwine, bringing me back to campfires and chopping and stacking of wood for the winter. Strange how such smells evoke her in my mind. The same way pork chops do. Although she has always been so thin and fit, enviously so by many others around her including most men who would kill for her abs, she knows how to chew her fat. Fat was never discarded in our house, never. It was sucked dry. It was celebrated and fought over. It gave life a deep flavor, even in hard times, even in times of little money and few groceries and running the tank of water empty in the mountain. Conserving showers was balanced by indulging in the marrow of the bone. And as far away as all of these things are, the sizzling smell of pork chops brought it all back. Visiting mom this past weekend, she was getting over a cold so I offered to fry up the pork chops and eggs. “Can I throw some apples in to the pork chops, ma?” Sure. She doesn’t protest. Never afraid of change, never clinging too tightly to anything.  And as my sister and I devour the chops shamelessly, throwing all of the external pressures of our “figures” to the wind, Jewells smiles at me. “You know I ate all my fat.” I respond with a contented smile. Yes, Jewells you did.

One Comment leave one →
  1. Jonny permalink
    October 30, 2011 6:21 pm

    This is my favorite.

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