I was normally allowed to bolt some food down in the kitchen between serving the various courses to the Mistress and Bill. Eventually I would wash and...dry the pots before wishing Her a very respectful goodnight and reversing the arrival process. Such was the routine of my existence.Of course, routines don't last forever and the first inkling that things were about to change came one afternoon when She had some friends round for tea. Having been warned of this the previous weekend, I arrived. For most of the first two years, I ate with my parents while Jesse was off in the oil fields. My mother wasn’t a particularly good cook. She had a standard meal format. Some kind of meat cooked to leather, some kind of potato mashed, some kind of vegetable limp and tasteless. And ice cream. Breakfast was cold cereal and milk four days a week and bacon and eggs two days a week. And on the seventh day, God ate oatmeal. I’d steadily gained weight from the time Willa was born. After Mother and Dad. More

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