November Sonata
By Connie Corcoran
Overture
On a bright new morning, the still chill air listens for absent creatures gone to winter burrows, while cowbells clank in the frosty field. A chainsaw rips in the distance. Pie tins strike the freezer lid, heels knock floorboards and the kitchen door bangs shut on a broken spring. Tart cherry, pumpkin and apple pastries wait outside the kitchen din for the hush of dark, when cups will scrape saucers and chatter blend with the crackle of kindling in the pot belly stove ‘til gold forks prick plates for the last crumb.
First Movement (1954)
Women’s voices rise and fall conducting preparations: cheesecloth rubs polish on silver, crystal pings softly on lace and linen on oak, turkey drippings sizzle and pop, pot lids rattle on hissing burners, water runs off steel slashing potato peels. Tires crunch gravel, car doors slam: “Hi Sis,” “Here are some bread and butter pickles,” “George and Nan will be here soon,” “Hey Johnny, catch!” – the leather football slaps skin. Ice cubes drop in goblets, 18 chairs scrape wood on wood: “Bless us oh Lord and these thy gifts…”
Refrain
Pass the potatoes! Are there more potatoes? Could I have the potatoes please? Who ate all the potatoes?
Second Movement (1995)
The young father winks, dons his frilly apron over a 200-pound frame and turns on the TV. He grins a melody: “Me and Kyle were just down in the swamp chasing water moccasins. Heh-heh-heh. We’re going to take the 9’ers to the Super Bowl all by ourselves this year. Mom has her new stocking cap all ready to go…” A heavy pot clatters in the sink. Ten pounds of potatoes thud onto the counter. Water splashes off the knife blade as he washes, peels and dices. Eleven chairs bump table legs.
Third Movement (2003)
The first-niece received a framed copy of Uncle Chris’s famous potato recipe as a wedding present from her widowed aunt. It is the only decoration hanging in her kitchen. She called in tears: “Mom, they aren’t having any mashed potatoes!” The second-niece’s fiancée declined his grandpa’s invitation: “They don’t make a big deal about holidays.” But Christine isn’t coming home. “No mashed potatoes?!” he cried.
Cadenza
A cold gray morning – the fire is loud, TV silent, 2 chairs wait at the table. The clank of cowbells echoes up from the canyon. A chainsaw rips in the distance.
