2016-464-E Arts - Eno Publishers - Spring 2016 Arts Grant Agreement

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DocuSign Envelope ID:A7B705FD-OEDD-4AC5-8764-8905D8B8991 F reminded me of those owls that people put on their houses to scare off woodpeckers. She never moved but she was working all the time. Mercifully, a high school friend who had worked at the restaurant a couple of years was working the breakfast shift. Christy showed me how to roll my limp blonde hair over a tube sock and twist it into a passable bun. Amazing! While I'd already learned a lot about previously unheard of uses for newspapers and tube socks,I just wanted to work with the food. I wanted to holler"Order up!"to the cooks, Annie Faye's grown sons: William,who was only slightly warmer in demeanor than his mama, and Danny,the prankster whose determined cheer was enough to offset his mother and brother's dour nature right by itself. So far,restaurant work wasn't glamorous. I'd had enough talk about hair buns and window cleaning and wanted to, literally, see how the sausage was made. Most of all, I wanted to end the day sitting in the booth where the waitresses sat. They rolled silverware, counted their tips, and drank gallons of sweet tea. After work,you could help yourself to barbecued pork or chicken but no seafood. That stuff cost money,Annie Faye growled in a manner that I no longer took personally. Let's Cook,EXCLAMATION POINT Michael Parker That there might not have actually been an exclamation point at the end of the cooking column my mother wrote for my father's weekly newspaper in the mid to late Seventies is only further proof of the merciless irony shared by me and my four siblings. Everything—school,politics, our choir director's too-small Hang Ten lime green pantsuit, our wacky fundamentalist neighbor who came over to our house on rainy days and sang Nearer My God to Thee in a vibratoed lisp—was fodder for our trash-talking. Every other word out of our mouths was couched in quotation marks, italicized by smart- assedness. The great gulf between the way the world might have seemed to those outside the immediate family and the way we pitched it makes such slight matters of punctuation irrelevant,for to our minds the name of the column was always announced with exaggerated exuberance. LET'S COOK! We had other names for it. Because a high percentage of the recipes called for a package of dried powder, we called it LET'S COOK WITH LIPTON'S ONION SOUP! In that era of polyester and Fresca,much of what was called salad contained marshmallows or 6