Butter

As a child of the Great Depression, my mother had it better than most. 

The Boyd family was far from wealthy, but my grandfather did have a job – he was an engineer on the MKT (Katy) Railroad - and they lived on a place that was large enough to have a vegetable garden, a milk cow and a flock of chickens.  Even with their large family (mom had eight sisters and one brother) there was always enough food to go around.

Because they did have plenty, my grandmother was in the habit of inviting a less-fortunate parishioner or two home from church to share Sunday dinner.

At one of these meals, an elderly maiden lady – I guess PC speech was around then, too; that does sound much nicer than old spinster. - was slathering an extremely generous portion of butter on a biscuit.  The poor old gal probably hadn’t seen, much less tasted, fresh churned butter in months.

My Aunt Frankie noticed what she was doing, and in a voice dripping with all the sarcasm an eight-year-old could muster, said “Well, have some butter, Miss Evans.”

Miss Evans was embarrassed,  my grandmother was mortified, Aunt Frankie probably didn’t sit down for a week and “Have some butter, Miss Evans” became part of the family history and the family lexicon.

If you ever hear that phrase, you can bet that:

  a. Someone was being a little too greedy, and

  b. Whoever said it probably has a Boyd gene  or two in  their DNA.

 Update:  My Cousin Norma just talked to my Aunt Barbara who was there when it happened.  She confirmed the story, but said it was Aunt Claire, not Frankie, who made the comment.  I always thought it was Frankie, but she’s probably right.