LIVER 1958 for COUSIN BOB

"Christmas is doing a little extra something for someone..."

                                                                                - Charles M. Schulz (Creator of Peanuts )

Cousin Bob made a surprise visit to my parents, one day late November 1958.  He  carried a folding metal chair. He placed it down in the kitchen, dusted it off and sat down. The metal scraped against  his long key chain. He was also carrying an accordion case.  He slid it into the kitchen. My mother stared at the box.  Then looked at my father who hid behind the newspaper. 

  "I've been taking lessons the past couple of years," boomed Cousin Bob.  He was loud. And happy.  My mother was at a loss.  My father lit two cigarettes and  alternated each one. Cousin Bob mopped his head. The chair groaned under him.

He told my mother he brought his own chair this time. Last visit was four years before. Being a large man of substantial proportions he had broken my mother's antique settee chair with the curved back. She spent months gluing it back together. She tried to send him the bill. He sent her a pair of slippers.

Now Cousin Bob was parked in her kitchen, sitting on a folded chair.  It didn't look too strong.  My mother looked at my father,  who purposely  smoked furiously and peeked over his newspaper.

My mother offered Cousin Bob a large glass of sherry.  His eyes lit up like an owl. He thanked her kindly  and sipped  at the beverage that was ice cold from living in the fridge.It was her cooking sherry but he enjoyed that sherry like it was the finest vintage.

Cousin Bob unpacked his accordion and harmonica that he attached around his head.  He said he would play some tunes while waiting for dinner. He was going to warm up with a glissando. My mother stuck her head in the fridge, trying to figure out what to feed him. 

"A glissando is a glide from lower to higher key," said Cousin Bob, oblivious to my mother's rummaging. "It goes like this..." He demonstrated. My mother jumped.  My father stamped out a cigarette and started another.

"Liver!" My mother brought out a packet and waved it at Cousin Bob. "Oh how nice," he said in between  chords. " I love liver," he bellowed.

That was supposed to be my father's dinner. He scowled. at Cousin Bob.  My mother hauled out onions and  a jar of homemade pickled beets.  Cousin Bob nodded enthusiastically. He played carols . Lots of them.  He hummed along over the din. My mother fried up liver and onions. My father scowled some more. But not too fiercely. The tunes were familiar and  catchy.

Cousin Bob finished playing twelve Days of Christmas for what seemed like the fifth time. He stashed the accordion under the table.  My mother plopped down a huge plate of liver and onions in front of him. He asked for ketchup. He used up whatever was left . My parents watched him eat their dinner.

 After Cousin Bob finished everything on his plate, he burped at last twenty times. My mother told me years later, she actually counted his burps. She placed in front of him  a small leftover Xmas cake, from a few years ago. Her last one. She kept it in the freezer and hacked off slices as was needed. Cousin Bob  drank a huge mug of tea. He ate what was left of the fruitcake, and said it was the best meal ever.

My mother sighed. She asked Cousin Bob to play  more carols. She sang  along. In her tuneless , offkey voice, drowned out by the instrument. My father  tapped his foot. Cousin Bob beamed. He only stopped once to ask what they would be serving  Christmas Eve......

Photographs 2023