Mashed

I can recall my days of being on "The Hill" in Huger, that's

pronounced Hue-gee. My grandfather died in 1987, after which my granny fell into a state of depression being in the house they built, then mostly all alone. Except for those times that we made our way over there for weekends and holidays. I only had the privilege of knowing, "Margaree" for 6018 days and Granddaddy for 3,894. But within those short times, the lessons taught and love displayed, I can never put a value on.

This week, Keith and I made our way to the Chef Store. I am a clearance Queen. In fact my siblings and I are the clearance kids. But I find the better deals and I call everybody to see if they want it. My  personal gift of love. Well Gerald, my oldest brother called to tell me about a case of chicken being on sale. I heard the "75" part. When we got there, I saw the boxes of chicken with "75" on them. We picked up two boxes. Before making our way on the chicken aisle, we picked up "hamburger meat" as I like to call it for $.75 per pound. So we assumed the chicken had followed suit. Keith had started calling people about the deal. I wanted to confirm, so I asked a worker and it was "75" dollars per case for a 40 lb box.  3 boxes and a big shame turned into one box of wings and 20lbs of Hamburger meat.

Today, I decided to cook an old school meal: fried chicken, pork and beans with rice. I wanted to try a buttermilk bath on the chicken. I washed, seasoned and marinated the chicken. In betwixt cooking the chicken, rice and pork and beans, I found time to make me a seafood bag. The Juicy Crab could never.

My first batch of chicken cooked too fast. I will admit it's been over a year since I fried chicken. I set the first batch to the side, because I realized it wasn't done.  I cooked the next batch on much lower heat. Then, I remembered the words Margaree had first said and what Sadie reiterated after she left me. Whenever I cooked chicken to ensure no one bit into raw chicken, "you have to mash it to see if it's done."

Fried chicken can look like it's done physically. Beautifully browned, then when we break the skin, we can see blood-- proving that it's still raw.

I began to "mash" each piece of chicken. You see, if the chicken is not done, when you mash the chicken you hear the grease "accelerate" to accommodate the extra juices from it not being done.  You know the sound of throwing frozen french fries into hot grease. The louder the noise, the rawer the chicken. If the chicken is done, you hear little to nothing.

It reminded me of how we see a person who looks good on the outside, but oh the insides! How the designer jewelery, clothing or well out together individual could be underdone.Those with the biggest bark are often the ones with the most emptiest insides.  Some choose to let the external beauty flourish, while the internal beauty is flawed. While some discover the process to become done-- with the raw pain and hurt that life has given them. In this season, I've learned to listen to the words from individuals more so than there actions. To be honest, nothing surprises me  as to what I see anymore, because the pandemic has kept us inside, but to hear what comes out  an individual's mouth is immeasurable. These days in the spoils of life, it seems life we are thrown in hot pot of grease. It's overwhelming, we often look for some form of rescue, which could be best compared to pulling the chicken out the grease before it's done. But if we remain steadfast as we are being "mashed", we will see all that uncooked mess in us is almost done, we just have to listen. I'm writing this as I'm sitting on the couch feeling the cool breeze of the ceiling fan, after cooking. 

#ItsDone #AGirlWorthFightingFor #WeBlogging #InThisSeason