The Holy One

Hey!  What are you looking at?  Are you looking at me?  Well, it sure seems like it.  Not that I’m the only one here, but . . .

What’s my story?  You wanna know my story?  Okay, how’s about I start here.

I don’t mind the cold.  It’s the hot that really wears on me.  With the cold stuff, usually all they have to do is rinse me off.  Presto, I’m sanitary and good to go next time.  That kind of cleaning I don’t mind.  A sponge, a soft one, is fine.

When it comes to things like spaghetti though, we are talking the worst kind of cleaning.  Thank God I don’t live in Italy or Sicily, especially. Not only are the noodles hot, but they’re sticky, and that starchy frickin’ clinginess grates on me.  Then the bozos scrub me.  Pretty hard.

And don’t even get me started on when they use me for something really steaming and gooey and sticky, like pressing jellies or jams, they push me to the limit of my sanity.  It hurts so damn much when they use hard scouring pads.  I wonder how they’d like it if they were scalded, or had a sunburn, and then someone rubbed them down with an abrasive pad?  The old steel-wool scrub is the most painful thing you could imagine.

My best friends are Cupa Joe, he’s our leader, Spoon T, Flipperman, and Valentyne.  They’re my boys.  Those are their street names.  Me?  They call me The Holy One.  

Looks can be deceiving.  Sometimes they kid me about my memory, say I can’t remember jack.  Well, let me tell you, despite my appearance, I got a mind like a steel trap.  But they’re my boys, so I let it slide, like water passing through me.

I remember one time the five of us went all the way to the attic.  We heard that the Dusties gang was looking to come down stairs and beef it out with Fresh Kids, all those fine, dandified newcomers, so shiny and polished and new.  Think they’re pretty good.  And in some ways they are.  They make the place look good, look up-to-date.

But we down here in the kitchen, we don’t like it when there’s bad blood between floors or even rooms.  We like to keep things on the low burner side down here.  Everybody knows the kitchen is the center of the home.  And we hold onto that honor with great pride.

So anyway the Dusties, they felt like they were being dissed by the Fresh Kids who’d just taken over the living room.  We heard about it, and we went up to the attic to make peace.  Cupa Joe, our leader, sat down with Dark Lamp, their main man, and talked about how all of us used to be Fresh Kids too, and maybe the Dusties could just cut them some slack because of it.

“They’ll settle down, pay their dues, get crushed, and nicked, lose their polish over time,” Cupa Joe resoned.

Dark Lamp, one undercover bad ass waiting to be scooped up and refurbished by some antique collector, agreed to hold off.  “Yeah,” he said, “I get it.  Up here we know we were all young once.  But if the Fresh Kids don’t settle down, Cupa, there’s nothing you or anyone else can do that is gonna keep us from going dowh there and beating the living stuffing out of them.”

Cupa said he’d talk to the Fresh Kids, and he did.  The Freshies turned down the volume and settled in.  All was right with the house.  The last thing we needed in this house was a battle between us, seeing as we’re part of a pretty disfunctional family.  It’s like they’re all on meds that don’t quite work.   But this family of ours is another story.

Anyway, I have a fine memory.  I remember how we kept the peace that time, remember everything that passes by me and through me. They can kid me about having a mind like a sieve, but what I really have is the mind of a colander, which is a whole different ballgame.

You never heard a saying like, “you have a mind like a colander,” have you? Well, that’s what I’m saying.

I’m not prejudiced against sieves.  I feel for them.  But the ones I know, like Joey Holes, Candy Mesh, and Flour Power, they are kinda punchy, like ex-boxers, always saying, “Did I tell you that already?”, or “What were you saying yesterday?”, or “Did you give me my birthday present yet?”  I tell you, sieves are almost as pathetic as the family in this house.

But as I said, the story of this family is a whole saga all by itself.  If I get a chance, I’ll get back to you about them.  For now, I just wanted to make sure you realize I’m not as dumb as I might look.  

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s