COUSIN BOB (THANKSGIVING 1954)

"Gratitude is when it is stored in the heart and not in the mind.." -Lionel Hampton

This is a true story. I wasn’t around, of course. But my mother used to talk about it. My parents had just moved into their new salt box house on Fairfield Road. It was 1954. It was Thanksgiving.  My father  bought a new chair for my mother. An antique Victoria Rosewood with  curved back and legs. He paid  for it on what we’d now call layaway.

My mother was very fond of that chair. She tried placing it in different rooms. She’d sit in it and imagine having tea. She liked it best in the front room. That way everyone could see it.

She’d  invited one of the neighbours over for dinner. Something she had never done before.  Miss Rose. A bookkeeper in  her forties. She brought a pumpkin pie that still needed to be baked. My  grand parents who lived in the new house with my parents, met her at the door and took the pie to the kitchen.  And there was one last guest: Cousin Bob from back east. 

Cousin Bob was in town for a conference of some sort.  He wore a brown cowboy hat, indoors or out, a black suit with a fancy lace up bow tie. A cigar hung from his fingers. He never lit it, the entire time. He was loud. He was big. He was tall. He told anyone who would listen that he was in “oiillllll”. He said it quite a few times for optimum effect. Miss Rose’s eyes glittered when she listened to him.

He asked for “Gin”.  My mother offered him iced tea. He looked at the crystal goblet filled with cold tea. He took out a  a silver flask and plopped in a  good helping of something.

“Keeps my gears goin’,” said Cousin Bob. He offered a snort to Miss Rose, who turned him down. She fanned herself.

Then the party got really going. “Oillllll is where it’s at,” intoned Cousin Bob.  Everyone agreed. Oil most definitely was important. He shared his flask with my dad. Miss  Rose giggled  a lot. She was sitting on my mother’s new chair.  Cousin Bob  adjusted his cowboy hat. My mother asked him to take it off. He laughed. My mother gaveup. Miss Rose fanned herself even more.

My mother was called to the kitchen. The turkey was ready to be sliced. Steaming veggies  piled into bowls and placed on the dining room table. Cranberry sauce gleamed from cut glass crystal. Iced tea was replaced with goblets of wine.

Miss Rose asked Cousin Bob how long he’d been in oil. 

“I reckon  about twenty years. Oilllllll is where it’s at, “ he said, wiping his face with a white hankerchief. My grandparents nodded. Miss Rose agreed with fervour. My father  said it was time to eat. 

Then it was dinner. Cousin Bob was asked to give thanks. He gave thanks for the meal, and for oil. Miss Rose giggled . My mother rolled her eyes. Cousin Bob had two helpings of everything. He  asked Miss Rose if she’d ever considered a career in the oillllllll industry.

After dinner, there was coffee and the pie Miss Rose had brought. My mother baked it while  dinner was on. It had kind of runny.Turned out Miss Rose had not  added any spices or sugar, either. Not to worry, my mother brought out her ever present shortbread.  Cousin Bob ate about five pieces. Miss Rose poured coffee for everyone.

He burped about a dozen times, saying  and said “ Pardon me,” after each. “When you’re in oillllllll, like I am, you gotta be po-lite.” My mother rolled her eyes again.

Then it was a rousing game of charades. Cousin Bob was pretty good. Followed by Musical chairs. My father worked the record player. Miss Rose and Cousin Bob and my mother did the honours. 

He was the last one to sit down. He was the only one to smash  my mother’s cherished Victorian chair into smithereens.

Cousin Bob was aplologetic “ When you’re in oilllll, like I am…”

Then my mother said: “ Oh for goodness said, he runs Cousin Bob's Big Oil Bottles.”

Nonplussed, Cousin Bob cleaned off his hat. “ Like I said….I’m in oilll. Now don’t you go worrying about this here chair. I’ll get it fixed up rightly so.”

He then told everyone he had a surprise for each of them. He lugged in, from his car, quarts of cooking oil. “Cousin Bob’s Big Oil”. Samples for the conference. He gave two to Miss Rose.

He thanked my mother and father for a wonderful time. He winked at Miss Rose as he left, broken chair in a paper bag. 

Six months later they were married on the front lawn of the Fairfield house. My mother made a turkey dinner with shortbread and salad with  “Miss Roses's Salad dressing” ( a new venture) sitting on the tables. 

And the little Victorian chair, all fixed, but never as sturdy , sat nearby. I still have that chair, and has never  been used since.  It’s weathered many moves all of these years, and has a place of honour, though I am sure it secretly still wants to play musical chairs…….

Photographs 2022