I heard the sound of clanking metal and I knew Arbner had arrived. Each morning when she came to care for the babies and tidy the house, she stopped at the kitchen stove to begin the ritual of seasoning my new iron skillet. This had gone on for well over a month and I had begun to regret ever buying the darn thing. The sound of clanking metal and slamming cabinet doors before eight o'clock every morning was almost unbearable. She would heat the oven, give the skillet a good 'greasin', and plop it in the oven for its daily 'seasonin' session.' She only removed it as she left in the afternoon.
The skillet was not a pleasant subject between Arbner and me. I was in my mid-twenties and she had to be over seventy, so according to her I still needed 'tendin.' She always had a lecture waiting for me on baby-rearing, cooking, or just life in general. I would hear her mumbling low, 'I don't know why she went out of here and bought a bran'-new fryin' pan--she oughta known better than that.' I would smile to myself and hope that would be the only admonishment I would receive that day.
One morning, I listened to the banging and mumbling in the distance as I looked down at my beautiful baby girl. As I gazed at her little porcelain face, I realized I held in my lap an unseasoned skillet. Every day I would slowly and patiently 'season' her in hopes that she would one day become the lovely Southern lady we all want our daughters to be. It is a slow and tedious process. Southern belles and Southern skillets--don't get in a hurry on either one. It's an hour-by-hour, day-by-day, lifetime endeavor.
(from THE GRITS GUIDE TO LIFE, story by Sandy Eichelberger)
Although this story comes from my GRITS (Girls Raised In The South) book,
I think it covers most every one of us. . .everywhere. . .
It's certainly worth a little thought. . .
for Moms, GrandMoms, and Great Aunts (like me).
So excuse me while I go 'season a pot'. . .with a little love. . .
A PERFECTLY SEASONED SUNDAY TO YOU