5.08.2006
Those were the days...
THOSE WERE THE DAYS... Finish the story. Start with...
Back in 1938, before I ever heard of sliced bread, One Nation under God, and saw my first television, I was a captain. I like to say this because what I was a captain of inevitably disappoints many people. I mean, does hearing, "I'm a team captain for the Modesto String Beans Corps," disappoint you at all? Funny how that works, isn't it?
My favorite days as team captain were those odd July 16th casserole bake-offs when the town's leading moms would get together in Town Square and compete for the hearts and stomachs of the judges. I have to say, I was a pretty damn good captain. Each year, on July 15th, our team de-stringed pounds and pounds of the beautiful beans String Bean Jane, as we used to call her, grew in her acre of land out back. We de-stringed and we parboiled. And then we opened cans upon cans upon cans of Campbell's Cream of Mushroom soup. It was like a factory, like an assembly line. Lines and lines of us all operating with robotic precision. I was amazed to see us churn out 60 casseroles in a single day each year. But, then again, I was an organizer in those days. I could set up a system like no one's business. And those casseroles tasted like heaven! We'd won the bake-off fair and square for nearly a straight decade. String Bean Jane's string beans tasted of the blessed earth of fair Modesto.
But that was before Calamity Louise came to town and destroyed everything. Calamity was a calamity-- there was no way else to describe her. She swung those cans of Progresso soup like they were twin pistols right from the holster of her apron. I'd never seen anything like it, nor had String Bean Jane, who immediately befriended her.
"You have to show me how to do that, Louise," she said on July 14th, one day before our baking fest.
"I'm starting a new team, and I need all the help I can get. You join me, I'll show you the soup trick..." Calamity was indeed a foul calamity.
"Sure! I need a few new tricks around the house to amuse Harry," String Bean Jane said.
"Your dog?" Calamity asked.
"My husband. He's dreadfully bored all the time, and I can't figure out what to do about it," String Bean said.
"You've got it. Your beans and my soup will nail this year's contest."
"I wouldn't count out Joanna's team. They've won every year since 1928. She's pretty mean, and damned if she's not a great captain. She runs a tight ship." High praise indeed from String Bean.
"You just come by tomorrow, and we'll whip up a bit of delight with these little cans of mine. Campbell's makes crap soup."
String Bean dropped by later that day to drop me the news. "Sorry, Joanna... You can't have my beans this year-- Louise and I are entering the contest together."
"What?" I bent over to retrieve my jaw from the floor.
"You're just going to have to go to the market tomorrow instead. I'm teaming up with Louise this year."
"Are you joking me? Why?"
"I can't talk about it, Joanna. It's really too embarassing..." She turned and left, slamming the door behind her.
I phoned up the team for an emergency meeting. We were all equally flummoxed, pissed off, and despairing all at the same time. It wasn't a pleasant feeling, really. And we'd have to use those horrible canned beans from Joe's General Store. Bleech! I hated those, much as I love a real string bean casserole.
I hung my head as my team paraded our measly 30 casseroles to the Town Square. Jane and Calamity were already there, beaming with an intensity I'd never seen on anyone's face before. Dammit!
After the competition was over and the judges had, of course, declared Calamity the winner, Jane stopped by our stand. "I'm sorry guys, but Harry's been really bored, and I needed to you know... turn him on in the intimate way... I just love that soup can trick! I can't wait to try it out on him tonight over dinner!"
Poor Jane! She'd told me about how boring her night life was, and I sympathized. While Harvey wasn't exactly exciting, he did leave me reasonably satisfied. Still, we didn't have a friggin' trophy, and that made me a most grumpy of the grumps to poor Harvey that night.
The next day, I was taking my mid-day stroll and did a bit of a double-take. I'd have thought I was facing Harry, but for the large black circles surrounding both eyes like a tar pit.
"Harry! What on earth happened to you?"
"I can't tell you, Joanna. Really, it's quite embarassing. Do me a favor, though, and stay away from that Progresso soup stuff. It really hurts!" Harry turned and bustled away.
I couldn't stop laughing when I ran into String Bean Jane later that day. She blushed a bright red, and said, "I just couldn't get the hang of it, Joanna... Will you let me back to your team next year?"
"Sure," I said, laughing.
"It's not funny!" she said, and then a guffaw escaped her pursed lips.
Back in 1938, before I ever heard of sliced bread, One Nation under God, and saw my first television, I was a captain. I like to say this because what I was a captain of inevitably disappoints many people. I mean, does hearing, "I'm a team captain for the Modesto String Beans Corps," disappoint you at all? Funny how that works, isn't it?
My favorite days as team captain were those odd July 16th casserole bake-offs when the town's leading moms would get together in Town Square and compete for the hearts and stomachs of the judges. I have to say, I was a pretty damn good captain. Each year, on July 15th, our team de-stringed pounds and pounds of the beautiful beans String Bean Jane, as we used to call her, grew in her acre of land out back. We de-stringed and we parboiled. And then we opened cans upon cans upon cans of Campbell's Cream of Mushroom soup. It was like a factory, like an assembly line. Lines and lines of us all operating with robotic precision. I was amazed to see us churn out 60 casseroles in a single day each year. But, then again, I was an organizer in those days. I could set up a system like no one's business. And those casseroles tasted like heaven! We'd won the bake-off fair and square for nearly a straight decade. String Bean Jane's string beans tasted of the blessed earth of fair Modesto.
But that was before Calamity Louise came to town and destroyed everything. Calamity was a calamity-- there was no way else to describe her. She swung those cans of Progresso soup like they were twin pistols right from the holster of her apron. I'd never seen anything like it, nor had String Bean Jane, who immediately befriended her.
"You have to show me how to do that, Louise," she said on July 14th, one day before our baking fest.
"I'm starting a new team, and I need all the help I can get. You join me, I'll show you the soup trick..." Calamity was indeed a foul calamity.
"Sure! I need a few new tricks around the house to amuse Harry," String Bean Jane said.
"Your dog?" Calamity asked.
"My husband. He's dreadfully bored all the time, and I can't figure out what to do about it," String Bean said.
"You've got it. Your beans and my soup will nail this year's contest."
"I wouldn't count out Joanna's team. They've won every year since 1928. She's pretty mean, and damned if she's not a great captain. She runs a tight ship." High praise indeed from String Bean.
"You just come by tomorrow, and we'll whip up a bit of delight with these little cans of mine. Campbell's makes crap soup."
String Bean dropped by later that day to drop me the news. "Sorry, Joanna... You can't have my beans this year-- Louise and I are entering the contest together."
"What?" I bent over to retrieve my jaw from the floor.
"You're just going to have to go to the market tomorrow instead. I'm teaming up with Louise this year."
"Are you joking me? Why?"
"I can't talk about it, Joanna. It's really too embarassing..." She turned and left, slamming the door behind her.
I phoned up the team for an emergency meeting. We were all equally flummoxed, pissed off, and despairing all at the same time. It wasn't a pleasant feeling, really. And we'd have to use those horrible canned beans from Joe's General Store. Bleech! I hated those, much as I love a real string bean casserole.
I hung my head as my team paraded our measly 30 casseroles to the Town Square. Jane and Calamity were already there, beaming with an intensity I'd never seen on anyone's face before. Dammit!
After the competition was over and the judges had, of course, declared Calamity the winner, Jane stopped by our stand. "I'm sorry guys, but Harry's been really bored, and I needed to you know... turn him on in the intimate way... I just love that soup can trick! I can't wait to try it out on him tonight over dinner!"
Poor Jane! She'd told me about how boring her night life was, and I sympathized. While Harvey wasn't exactly exciting, he did leave me reasonably satisfied. Still, we didn't have a friggin' trophy, and that made me a most grumpy of the grumps to poor Harvey that night.
The next day, I was taking my mid-day stroll and did a bit of a double-take. I'd have thought I was facing Harry, but for the large black circles surrounding both eyes like a tar pit.
"Harry! What on earth happened to you?"
"I can't tell you, Joanna. Really, it's quite embarassing. Do me a favor, though, and stay away from that Progresso soup stuff. It really hurts!" Harry turned and bustled away.
I couldn't stop laughing when I ran into String Bean Jane later that day. She blushed a bright red, and said, "I just couldn't get the hang of it, Joanna... Will you let me back to your team next year?"
"Sure," I said, laughing.
"It's not funny!" she said, and then a guffaw escaped her pursed lips.
