TIME TO DIE!! (picture is a cake made from cupcakes)
I had just returned home from having a nice leisurely lunch with two old school-friends in Barrington Passage. Camo was glad to be home as it was rather hot sitting in the car for so long. We heard a soft knock on the back door and was pleased to see Julianne, our next door neighbor who is married to a lobsterman. His traps and pots and buoys and fishing gear had all been brought to their dock yesterday; another lobster season ended until next November.
Julieanne passed me a dark green garbage bag as I asked "what's this?" Inside were four fresh lobsters, compliments of her family. We chatted awhile and then she left. I realized later I was so excited I forgot to even ask her inside for a tea or coffee.
I immediately dumped the four heavy crustaceans into my kitchen sink where I noted each claw was tightly wrapped with a heavy, thick, lime green rubber band. I knew this was to prevent them from fighting with one another while awaiting their death sentence.
I stood there watching them squirm, listening for any sign of crying or complaining. Hearing nothing, I called for Camo, my dog, to come see them. He ran into the kitchen and I lifted his thirty-one pound body up to the sink. As I held him, he sniffed but didn't seem impressed, scared or even the least bit interested. Suddenly, my back tugged and I dropped him to the floor. Darn back! If it wasn't one thing, it was another!
To take my mind off my throbbing backache, I happily envisioned all four lobsters, cooked and dripping with garlic butter. Or maybe I'd sautee them in hot butter, add cream and serve over mashed potatoes with peas and a warm buttered roll; a tall glass of cold milk and a frosted brownie or a piece of homemade rhubarb pie for dessert. Or use less cream and stuff a warm hot-dog bun full of the rich delicious meat, potato chips and coleslaw on the side.
But I started to feel sorry for them; so lonely outside their own element. Just when spring has finally sprung, they have to die. Why? So people like me can swiftly eat them and feel satisfied? I questioned why I just didn't carry them out back of my house, Blue Haven, and drop each freed one into the ocean where they could have a wonderful life again; at least, until next November.
But selfishly I proceeded to prepare them for death row. First, I called my niece, Luella, who is married to a lobsterman and asked her "how to cook lobsters". I put cold salted water into a roaster and turned the two burners on high. I hurriedly snipped off the rubber bands on two lobsters and gently dropped them into the cold water. There wasn't enough room for all four.
Then I had second thoughts. "Is it too late to save them?" I peeked into the big pan and saw one trying to escape. "Oh no", I said sadly "he doesn't want to die today!" I attemped to rearrange them, forgetting about the claws being unwrapped and he immediately seized the two middle fingers of my left hand! Instant PAIN! Immediate PANIC! His grip was fierce and cut like a knife and felt like a vise. I screamed aloud: "OH NO; OH MY GOD!!"
I mustered all my strength from my right hand and pried his two strong-as-super-glue claws apart. Blood spurted out in gobs and I hurried to run cold water over my aching, swollen hand. I hurriedly dialed my niece again to ask if I needed a rabies shot, still bent over with my aching back. Relieved to hear that I didn't, I rinsed more blood off and wrapped my injured hand in a towel. And worried she and her co-workers were probably laughing at me.
I proceeded to look inside the roaster by lifting the lid but I forgot that it may be warm; it was HOT! I jumped back after dropping the lid and saw and felt two burned finger-tips! "What is WRONG with me?" I asked as a few tears began to fall in frustration. I suddenly felt so ALONE!
Now I was mad! "How DARE he?" I had been contemplating saving his life and that of his siblings or whatever they were, until he treated me with total disrespect. I peeped in the pot, using two holders and saw the little bastards were nearly red now and heard myself say aloud, in a shrill, menacing voice that I barely recognized as my own: "TODAY YOU DIE!!"
I had just returned home from having a nice leisurely lunch with two old school-friends in Barrington Passage. Camo was glad to be home as it was rather hot sitting in the car for so long. We heard a soft knock on the back door and was pleased to see Julianne, our next door neighbor who is married to a lobsterman. His traps and pots and buoys and fishing gear had all been brought to their dock yesterday; another lobster season ended until next November.
Julieanne passed me a dark green garbage bag as I asked "what's this?" Inside were four fresh lobsters, compliments of her family. We chatted awhile and then she left. I realized later I was so excited I forgot to even ask her inside for a tea or coffee.
I immediately dumped the four heavy crustaceans into my kitchen sink where I noted each claw was tightly wrapped with a heavy, thick, lime green rubber band. I knew this was to prevent them from fighting with one another while awaiting their death sentence.
I stood there watching them squirm, listening for any sign of crying or complaining. Hearing nothing, I called for Camo, my dog, to come see them. He ran into the kitchen and I lifted his thirty-one pound body up to the sink. As I held him, he sniffed but didn't seem impressed, scared or even the least bit interested. Suddenly, my back tugged and I dropped him to the floor. Darn back! If it wasn't one thing, it was another!
To take my mind off my throbbing backache, I happily envisioned all four lobsters, cooked and dripping with garlic butter. Or maybe I'd sautee them in hot butter, add cream and serve over mashed potatoes with peas and a warm buttered roll; a tall glass of cold milk and a frosted brownie or a piece of homemade rhubarb pie for dessert. Or use less cream and stuff a warm hot-dog bun full of the rich delicious meat, potato chips and coleslaw on the side.
But I started to feel sorry for them; so lonely outside their own element. Just when spring has finally sprung, they have to die. Why? So people like me can swiftly eat them and feel satisfied? I questioned why I just didn't carry them out back of my house, Blue Haven, and drop each freed one into the ocean where they could have a wonderful life again; at least, until next November.
But selfishly I proceeded to prepare them for death row. First, I called my niece, Luella, who is married to a lobsterman and asked her "how to cook lobsters". I put cold salted water into a roaster and turned the two burners on high. I hurriedly snipped off the rubber bands on two lobsters and gently dropped them into the cold water. There wasn't enough room for all four.
Then I had second thoughts. "Is it too late to save them?" I peeked into the big pan and saw one trying to escape. "Oh no", I said sadly "he doesn't want to die today!" I attemped to rearrange them, forgetting about the claws being unwrapped and he immediately seized the two middle fingers of my left hand! Instant PAIN! Immediate PANIC! His grip was fierce and cut like a knife and felt like a vise. I screamed aloud: "OH NO; OH MY GOD!!"
I mustered all my strength from my right hand and pried his two strong-as-super-glue claws apart. Blood spurted out in gobs and I hurried to run cold water over my aching, swollen hand. I hurriedly dialed my niece again to ask if I needed a rabies shot, still bent over with my aching back. Relieved to hear that I didn't, I rinsed more blood off and wrapped my injured hand in a towel. And worried she and her co-workers were probably laughing at me.
I proceeded to look inside the roaster by lifting the lid but I forgot that it may be warm; it was HOT! I jumped back after dropping the lid and saw and felt two burned finger-tips! "What is WRONG with me?" I asked as a few tears began to fall in frustration. I suddenly felt so ALONE!
Now I was mad! "How DARE he?" I had been contemplating saving his life and that of his siblings or whatever they were, until he treated me with total disrespect. I peeped in the pot, using two holders and saw the little bastards were nearly red now and heard myself say aloud, in a shrill, menacing voice that I barely recognized as my own: "TODAY YOU DIE!!"
With my sore aching back, my two bloodied, scarred fingers on my left hand (still wrapped in the towel) and my burnt, scorched fingertips on my right hand, I found three advil and a box of band-aids. I suddenly felt sick to my stomach.
Today is the first day of our annual "LOBSTERFEST" and I had planned to join the festivities this evening in Barrington. But here I sit with the furnace back on as the thick fog has rolled in on the Island again, a woolen blanket over my lap and a heating pad against my back. I can barely manage the remote control with my bandaged hands so I sit quietly until the whole scene is repeated in my mind and I begin to laugh; softly at first, then hysterically until Camo starts to look at me as if I am insane.
All I need now are more unplanned guests to pop in asking for lodging as they have the last three nights in a row. Though thankful for them, I am tempted to hang out my "NO VACANCY" shingle. Then I think of the $75.00 per bedroom and I selfishly don't. The candles flicker, the sterio plays an old Roy Orberson tune and Camo is curled up near by, still glancing up at me every now and then as if to say "You all right now?" But he sees me smiling.......
The lobsters are enough to feed an Army; I think of cold lobster sandwiches for tomorrow's lunch or perhaps I'll have scrambled eggs with lobster and pile it between toasted bread, like a Western, for breakfast. And to think I was going to allow them to just swim away from me!
"Time to die" alright. I haven't looked forward to eating something this much for so long, I can hardly wait!! But with my luck and those mean ol' lobsters, I'll probably get food poisoning or have an allergic reaction to them. If I do, look for PART 2.......
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