Liz Ciancone
Special to the Tribune-Star
TERRE HAUTE — We were playing the weekend game at the Sports Center recently. Ben was pointing out to me the several fundraiser dinners which would get me off the hook on food preparation for the weekend. There were fish fries and, his favorite, a chicken-and-noodles feeding frenzy.
Alas, as I explained to Ben, I haven’t been able to face a plate of chicken and noodles since I had my tonsils out when I was 12.
It’s a long and sad story. Actually, it was my brother, Ed, who had infected tonsils, but the doctor figured I would need a tonsillectomy sooner or later, so both Ed and I were checked in for the grand opening. Since Yorkville was some 12 miles from the hospital, it was decided that we would overnight at the hospital and undergo an inspection before being checked out.
Anyway, Dad and Mom arrived to take us home the next morning. Lunch was waiting in a big pot on the stove, but before digging into lunch I wanted to run to the chicken yard to check on Rosie, my pet chicken. I could explain the significance of “Rosie” as a name, but that would unnecessarily prolong the story.
The short version is that Rosie was not in the chicken yard to greet me when I clucked a greeting. Nor was Rosie in the chicken house nestled in the straw awaiting the birth of the daily egg. I was perplexed, but decided I might think better on a full stomach even though my sore throat would preclude anything good and crunchy.
I went to the house and into the kitchen where Mom had ladled up a plate of — you guessed it — chicken and noodles!
I spooned up a bit of lunch and began to relate the mysterious saga of Rosie and wondered aloud what could have happened to her? Where could she be hiding?
Mom’s silence spoke volumes. Her glance at Dad told me the rest and I fled from the table in tears. It could have been any of the other chickens in the yard. Why Rosie?
Mom did her best to make amends. I don’t think she realized Rosie was so special to me. She coaxed me to eat my lunch, but because chicken and noodles was the only lunch on the menu, I simply could not do it.
And, I haven’t been able to face a plate of chicken and noodles since. I know it isn’t Rosie, but it is chicken and noodles and that’s where Rosie ended up.
Sorry, Ben!
Liz Ciancone is a retired Tribune-Star reporter. Send e-mail to opinion@tribstar.com.
