Umber (19.7 — Vera’s Story)
March 19, 2012 § 1 Comment
While I didn’t mind caring for Ervin, I had no enthusiasm for cooking. I found that, since Mama died, I was spending way too much of my young life peeling potatoes, scrambling eggs, frying bacon, glazing hams and washing dishes til my hands were red all the way up to my elbows. And I dreaded those endless Sundays. I loved my grandparents and uncles and my father, and I knew they loved me. But they all seemed so plain, so drab, and so dreadfully dull. Just like the meals I served them.