Remembering Bud

Mr. and Mrs. V lived across the street from us in Pines Lake. Mrs. V was my “other mother” and Mr. V scared me a little bit. Ok, a lot. He was a big man who I thought looked like John Wayne with the same kind of swagger and stern squint in the eye. They were a blended family with five kids… most of them teenagers by the time I came around.

All my life I heard the story of how Mr. V, “Bud” came across the street to babysit my brother and sister on the morning I was born. I always thought it was odd that a man would “babysit.” As legend goes, he made Rick and Shelly peach milkshakes with the fresh peaches my mother left sitting on the kitchen counter the day before. My first stop home from the hospital wasn’t even at home. It was across the street to meet Mr. and Mrs. V.

Years later I did the math and my father confirmed my suspicions. Yep, I’m on this earth by the grace of God and the V’s Christmas Party.

Each year on Christmas Day the V’s would have an open house for family and friends in Pines Lake. Bud would start cooking weeks beforehand. That’s what he loved to do. Cook.

After opening presents on Christmas morning, we would dress in new clothes, trudge across the street and go in through the basement door. The V’s had a finished basement that was toasty and drafty at the same time. The afternoon was filled with savory foods that Bud made himself. For the life of me, I can only remember sweet pickled mushrooms. If allowed, I would eat all of them.

One day when I was about seven, I spent the entire day with Bud. I’m not sure why he got the job of babysitting me but he did. I was so intimidated by him and I don’t think I made a peep all day long. It was a sad, yucky, cold, rainy day and I spent most of it tip-toeing around their museum-like house. That was the day Bud made Peking Duck. I remember looking through the oven window at the ducks going round on the rotisserie and thinking how similar they looked to the ducks down at the lake. That made me a little suspicious.

As it got closer to dinnertime, Bud tried to engage me with food prep. The older kids came home and I made pistachio pudding from a mix with one of the girls. I had never seen green pudding before and politely declined to have any for dessert. That was significant because I never turned down dessert.

Dinner was a loud and noisy affair. My Other Mother wasn’t there so it was Bud, the big kids and me. There was a fire in the double-sided fireplace and I could see through from the kitchen table to the dining room. The dancing fire, glow of the chandelier, and boisterous laughter made the gray, winter day recede. The big kids tried to draw me out of my shell but I was too self-conscious. I stole sideways glances at Bud when he bellowed with laughter. How could this big, stern man be so jovial?

Decades later, I wonder what he used to think of the timid, little, redheaded girl. He probably just laughed and shook his head every time I ran and hid behind someone’s legs.

Visit Heather at the EO for the 7th installment of Just Write.