Photo: Cyndy Szekeres and Tomie in 2013. Cyndy was a classmate of Tomie’s at Pratt Institute. She has to her credit over 100 children’s books with sales of over fifteen million copies.
By Cyndy Szekeres
Years ago [late 1950s], in Vermont, where temperatures dropped beyond acceptable common sense, Tomie was thriving happily, in a farmhouse with two deep-down-low meowing Siamese cats. Every two minutes, “meow, meow.” They sounded like William Warfield singing “Ole Man River”… that low.
In New York City, I was adjusting to married life… a wonderful husband, the challenge of cooking. One of Tomie’s greatest accomplishments was to introduce me to my dear husband. It was logical that we share our first Thanksgiving together… see the country and all that good stuff.
I considered it my wifely duty to “do” the turkey… bring it stuffed, roasted and ready to eat. I was young, innocent… cooking ignorant. I’d done lots of “minute cooking”… i.e., boiling frozen peas, hamburgers, Campbell’s soup. How was I to know a turkey was more complicated… and this was before Pepperidge Farm stuffing! My first turkey… two pages of THE JOY OF COOKING instruction, hours in the oven… and heavy! Blood, sweat and tears, I aced it!
Wrapped lovingly like a baby… in red checkered napkins in a picnic basket… we were off to visit Tomie!
After a five hour bus trip, we arrived… big shock, the cold!
In this picturesque, but drafty house, we placed my offering on a platter on the kitchen table, for all to admire. Cold, that kitchen!! Refrigerator temperature. The bird would be fine there, until dinner time.
We spent the day huddled by the living room fireplace. All of us artists, we exchanged stories, much to tell, Tomie’s recent work to view. He painted everything! Greeting cards for income, furnishings out of inspiration… an umbrella stand made from a ceramic drain pipe glorified with his distinctive flower and fauna. And there were many signs that graced the village stores, all in Tomie’s hand.
We went out for a bit of sightseeing… after I added layers of clothing to my cold, ravaged body… everything we brought for a long weekend stay: including my husband’s undershirts, shirts and sweaters… all of it. It was cold! Tomie just laughed. The climate and country life suited him.
Back in the house, failing to nudge two sleepy cats from the warm spot by the fire… it was time to set the table, prepare our feast.
Cats are versatile creatures… going anyplace, jumping on anything, doing whatever pleases them… and these two did!
My beautiful turkey! Left in repose on the kitchen table, it had been neatly halved… to the bone… one whole side was gone… including drumstick… not a crumb out of place.
I should have known… contented cats, no meowing… stretching, cleaning greasy paws. My first turkey… savored by cats!
What would Julia Child have done? We were hungry. We turned the empty side of the turkey away from us, sat down and ate the other half.
The irony of it all, and it is Tomie’s fault… after multi visits, we now live in Vermont.
I’ve roasted many a turkey since then.
I never stopped liking cats.
But, I no longer enjoy William Warfield singing “Ole Man River.”