Witching Hour


Witching Hour

It's Witching Hour at my house, that golden time in mid-afternoon when it's too early to fix dinner but my mother's deeply ingrained instincts tell her it's time to "rastle up some grub for the youngin's".

Today food-processor pieces-parts came out along with three cupcake tins, two casserole lids, a cake tin, a jello mold, tupperware. After she sets the table for the Invisible Visiting Harem, and the galley-style kitchen counters are overflowing, the food starts coming out of the freezer.

She has an entree she has taken out of the freezer so many times and set on the counter that I call it Katie Perry Casserole and give up; I just won't eat it but let her play with it. Today she started hacking up a pan of brownies with a fork and serving it, which is actually much preferred to the pecan pie she destroyed with a wok knife or the double chocolate chocolate bundt cake she carved into chunks and deposited in a pyrex bowl. (All knives are gone now, thankfully. I didn't like those brownies anyway; they had weird awkward wonky bits in them.)

Then the fresh food starts coming out of the refrigerator--tuna fish, mac and cheese, pork tenderloin, orange juice, slices of bread. And that's when I step in and offer her some real food to snack on while I start dinner.

You know that crusty silverware basket that clings ferociously to the dish drainer? She carefully poured its contents into a glass of water and orange juice, and drank it like a cocktail. What was THAT about???

Just when I think she can't possibly surprise me ever again, she does. I CAN NEVER get that silverware basket detached.


Like this article? Share on social


Sign in to comment

Tracey Martin

Jan, thanks for sharing. It can be so frustrating. My mom isn't quite there but is beginning to have obsessions with foods. Begging for 5 more of this and 8 more that.


Jan, ditto to what hussy said. I look forward to reading about your latest adventures…