The ham

The other day I came home for lunch and decided to put dinner in the oven for my family for that night. Derek had bought a ham a few days prior and I know how much Abigayle loves ham, so in the oven it went at 12:30. I figured by 5:30 it would be just right to eat.

I picked the girls up from my mom's on the way home from work and said "Guess what's for dinner?" from Abigayle "Ohhh, please be ham, please be ham!!!!"

Me: "It's haaaaaammmmmmmm!!!"

And then from the backseat "Ham,ham,hammmhammhahammm" Ah, the ham song!

Walking in the door, it smelled so yummy! The girls quickly set the table and I went for the oven, pulling the roasting pan out and setting it on top of the stove, holding my breath in anticipation as I lifted the lid and . . . .
What the??????, beneath the lid lay  black,charred, blown-out  remains of what was once  a ham.

 Abigayle walked over "What's wrong with it?" tears welling in her eyes.

Now, I've never claimed to be  Paula Dean or Rachel Ray, but come on! How does one  mess up a PRE-COOKED HAM??, maybe that was the problem, the pre-cooked part, maybe it didn't need to bake in a 350 degree oven for the better part of five hours, but I was not defeated, at least not yet!

I smiled, "Oh, it just looks funny, it will taste good!"

So, I started to cut, and instantly knew this was only going to get worse. Derek walked over and grabbed a piece and in his mouth it went and just as quickly, out it came. "We're not eating that."

Abigayle crying now, "I wanted haaaammmmmmmmm!"

So out  came the good old  hot dogs and white bread, and as we sat down to eat, my wonderful husband looked around "Hey Abigayle, you could have cooked this meal."


"I'm not old enough to use the microwave!!!"

Insulted,  I chimed in " You know, it doesn't really matter what we're eating, as long as we are together, and had you (you being Derek) not bought such a cheap ham, I'm sure we would be eating it right now." Ha! my only defense, the quality of the ham and the price paid for it, because  we all know it wasn't my fault it charred beyond the point of recognition.

Abigayle looked at me, then back over at the stove "That looked like the rear end of a donkey"

Really? Because I've never seen the rear end of a donkey.

And then from  Derek "Rear end of a donkey blown up like the fourth of July"

Looking at Amelia to see what kind words a  five  year old had for my attempt at a family meal and she smiled her toothy grin and  said "These hot dogs are the best!"

Amen to that!

Ahhh. . . . This time of year. .

So as the 1st of October came and passed, I thought back to my childhood and realized that my less than enthusiastic  attitude towards the hunting season is very well justified.

Bob, my dad, was an avid hunter and every year I got to look forward to the carcass of a deer hanging from a tree, not just any tree, this was the tree that the rest of the year posed as my "boyfriend", I believe my sister shared the same "boyfriend". I would go outside and strike up a conversation, wooing this attractive being and occasionally plant a big ole smoochy on him-- I distinctly remember one incident when I was in the kitchen with my mother and she looked out the window and began snickering "You better watch out, he might just kiss you back!" What the?  She looked at me and said "Your sister is  out there kissing the tree!"  why that two-timing son of a ! I ran outside and sure enough she was sitting by MY TREE!!!!!!

My poor tree, who in early fall would have Bambi strung up by his two back legs hanging upside down-- it was horrifying!

Years later, after a garage was added to our family home I was terribly surprised to open the garage door after arriving home from school to yet another deer strung up with it's innards exposed. . C'MON!!!! BOB!!!  A girl shouldn't be witness to this barbaric nonsense. For the rest of the years I lived at home, every day in the fall I  would open the garage door as if Chuckey, the Lakeshore Strangler, was going to be  hiding behind the door.

It got even better when the skinned hind quarters were brought into the house laid upon the plastic covered kitchen table and  hacked up with a handsaw, the sound of a saw going through bone was forever etched into my 5 year old mind and  the highlight, well that  was the smell.

And then for the next 6 months Millie,my mom, got to work her magic with the venison-- let's see, venison burger, venison chili, venison sausage, venison lasagna, venison spaghetti, venison tacos, venison meatballs and for a real treat venison dipped in egg, rolled in crackers and friend. . mmmmmm, tasty little morsels.

 Millie got and A+ for creativity and Bob, well he headed back out into the great outdoors for more. Which was another reason hunting season was not a happy time, Bob went AWOL for months-- and we, me, Marci, Marie and my mom were left alone.  I can say one thing for sure and that is that Millie tried to entertain the troops-- we ate dinner to the likes of the Fonz signing "Fonzie, Fonzie He's our man, if he can't do it no one can!", and ABBA, and The Bee-Gee's. She served up hamburgers laced with food coloring "mmmm, I'll take the blue one this evening, thanks mum!"

The line was eventually crossed by my cousin and soon to be brother- in -law when they  proudly displayed their "buck" to me, as if they were showing me rare diamonds and pearls.

 "Ummm, is that a dog???? "

"Do dogs have horns? Duh! You're such a girl"

"No, dogs don't have horns and neither does that. . what is it 45 pounds??? You're both DEEEEESGUSTING!!!!"

My bad. . . because when I went back outside an hour or so later my car was wrapped with intestines.

So you see, it's not that this repulsion for hunting just sprung up out of no where, it's legit!  I truly feel sorry for those deer and more so for the poor women who have to creatively come up with ways to cook the meat so it doesn't taste "gamey" and more so for the kids who have to be witness to carcases displayed like trophies.

Run Bambi, Run!!!!