Spitting Seeds

"Meals were taken at the family table, all together; the family talked. More accurate, adults talked and children listened. Sunday dinners were tradition, with grandmother at the head of the table, taking such a long time to eat that no one thought dessert would ever be served. A monogrammed linen napkin spread across her lap, Mrs. Horne “patted her food,” never took too much into her mouth, chewed with her mouth closed, and covered her plate with her hand as she shook a liberal amount of salt onto everything. She never made a clinking sound with her spoon against the glass as she stirred plenty of sugar into her iced tea. She sipped her soup from the side of the spoon’s bowl without slurping, This same lady ate squirrel brains with eggs for breakfast and could spit watermelon seeds like a champ." ...from The House on Harrison Steet

Never do I eat watermelon that I do not think of my grandmother. Such a lady. Yet, during her final years, all that lady-like behavior was forgotten when Mother or Gordon brought her a treat: chunks of chilled watermelon with a shaker of salt on the side. I'll never forget visiting her with my mother on one such occasion. We were all having a fine time, enjoying the fresh red meat melon, wiping the familiar sweet juice from our lips and chins when "Spppt!" happened. Then, it happened again.

I looked over at Mother whose eyes were widening. She was struggling to swallow watermelon and a laugh. Following her gaze, I saw Nana enjoying her watermelon chunks. The eruptive "spppt!" came from her as she spit the watermelon seeds with flair as if a trophy hung in the balance.