Rain, rain, go away, come again some other day – are words that I never thought I’d ever be saying. But right now my mind is so framed as to welcome about 14 dawg days of August. I probably have quite a short memory, but I can’t remember a summer that was not dry and hot. But not so this year; our Southern Ontario weather has been relatively chilly and wet.
I don’t think I would ever go so far as to say I love the weather to be hot and sticky, but I certainly do enjoy the temperature when it is blue sky, warm, and breezy. I can remember when as a country kid, when I was about knee-high to a grasshopper, I marvelled at the little dust devils that used to whirl across the hay and grain fields. I was not aware at the time that those little whirl winds had big brother cousins, which had a velocity that could roll over cars, rip off roofs, and wipe out entire towns.
One of my father’s favourite sayings was, “It’s so hot out there you could fry an egg on the sidewalk.” How that became known to a rural route dweller down on the farm is beyond my apprehension, but I suppose its coinage could have originally stemmed by the accidental dropping of an egg, on the walk, while dwelling urban in Fergus, as we once did. I was only four years old when our whole family moved to enjoy the official life of the true country hick livin’ down there on the farm.
I do remember vividly an occasion where, in post upper teen years, partly showing off, and partly proving a fact, frying a couple of eggs on the hood of our car. It worked quite well. Having, at the time, swapped my souped-up Harley Davidson 45 motorcycle, for a beat up, bright red Mercury convertible of 1948 vintage, with V-8 engine. We were at a beach. The weather was hot, hotter than hot. And it was sticky, The only problem I had in featuring this fabulous feat, was the Little Lady’s reluctance at the time in giving me what I needed to keep the raw eggs from initially sliding off the slight slope of the hood.
Panty-hose was not yet invented, and nylons were held up with a garter. What I needed was one of her garters. But she, having been brought up Baptist, and we, yet three years from setting a wedding date, coincidently proved to be quite a challenge. But as word spread and the crowd gathered to see what was being bragged about, she finally wavered. Prudently, she disappeared behind a nearby parked truck and came back, slipping a garter rolled up into the palm of my hand.
As the noon high sun reflected off of the shiny red hood, I carefully unrolled one garter and placed it on the flattest area. Then tapping two brown shelled eggs, first one then the other, cracking them gently on the hood ornament, I dropped them precisely in the centre of said unfurled, well-placed garter. Seven minutes later, there they were – two beautiful, well cooked, sunny-side-up, fried eggs. Both of which, with neither a wiggle or jiggle, fit well on a large sized sesame seed hamburger bun.
Looking back on it now, I fully realize that I missed out on a, “once in a lifetime” opportunity. I should have patented the idea, and sold franchises clear across this nation of ours; who knows, maybe world wide. I can see it now, giant advertising billboards, on every major highway, featuring a large picture of my Little Lady, lying scantily clad on a beach towel in front of a red convertible, holding a large “Garter-Fried, Taste Bud Teasing, Tummy Pleasing, Double Brown Egg Sandwich.” Who would have any doubt that I could have been a multi-millionaire by now, politely pushing Bill Gates down into second place?
Well, I guess y’ can’t win them all, can y’?
Take care, ‘cause we care.