My First Prophesy

On a Saturday morning in 1965, I was a seven year old, sitting in the living room in our Chino California Home. It was 11:00 AM, and the best part of the week was now over. Saturday Morning cartoons were finished for the day. Suddenly, there came a knock at the door. It sounded no different from any other knock. But what was on the other side of the door represented one of those turning points in a person’s life where nothing will ever be the same again. My Mother was summoned to the door where her signature would be needed.


I could vaguely see through the small opening from where I was positioned that the man standing outside the door was wearing a uniform. He carried something in his hands that obviously had tremendous significance. I was about to learn that he was in possession of a sacred treasure, and the long awaited moment had arrived for it to be conferred upon its new owner.


It was one of the must cherished possessions that any family could lay claim to. It was in a box. Upon taking possession of this “Pearl of Great Price” it was carefully taken into the kitchen and placed ever so gently on the dinner table. With excitement starting to build, my mother, a friend of hers, and my two older sisters, Paula and Cindy came quickly to the kitchen where the air of intensity began to build and the anxiety was so thick, you could cut it with a knife. They huddled around the new member of the family as if to ceremoniously welcome it with open arms.


The object was worthy of all the homage that it was about to receive from the Lemmon Family Household. The box was opened, the contents meticulously extracted with the utmost attention to detail. It was carefully and tenderly placed into the table. There it was, sitting there in all its glory. Right next to it was the box, which contained in big bold letters, spelling out the words, “Veg-O-Matic” from Ronco.


This was the new fangled contraption that had all the world out here in “TV land” in such a tizzy, the grandfather of all modern food processors. Little did I realize that I was about to witness a show that would turn out to be far more entertaining than Rocky and Bowingkle, Beenie and Cecil, Might Mouse, Top Cat and Huckle Berry Hound combined. From my vantage point on the couch in the living room, I had a front row seat to one of the greatest shows on earth. If Shakespeare was right, that “all the world’s a stage and the men and women merely players” (As you like it 2/7), then for the next hour, my attention was held captive by every detail of the performance within the kitchen’s stage. The Veg-O-Matic was a unique vegetable slicing machine made of a strong durable plastic.


Its operation was simple, but ingenious. First, the vegetable was placed on top on the cutting blades that was suspended by a platform. Over the top of the vegetable, was a plunger that was guided by rails on both sides. Grabbing the plunger with both hands, one on each side, and with a quick but firm thrust downward, the vegetable was forced through the cutting blades falling into the empty space below. Presto, you have your sliced vegetables.


The unit actually worked great and to watch it in action was really quite impressive. Furthermore, it was lightweight, portable, easy to maneuver, and great for storage with the plunger in the “locked down” position. Back to the stage, The women folk were delirious. You would have thought they had died and gone to heaven. There had never been this much excitement in the Lemmon house before. They quickly moved into action. Vegetables were removed from their hiding places, and arrayed on the table to fulfill the measure of their creation in the grandest of ways.


For the next hour, the girls re-defined the meaning of “slicing and dicing”. First, the potatoes went in. One good thrust with both hands on the plunger and “Wham”, you had sliced potatoes ready for the frying pan. Turn one of the slicing rings sideways on top of the other, and “Wham” you had French fries. With each plunge of the apparatus, shrieks of sheer ecstasy and joy came flying out of the kitchen. They intermittent OOOHs and AAHs sounded like noises we made watching fireworks on the last forth of July. Then came the Peppers. Slicing and dicing to their hearts content.


Oh yeah! Life doesn’t get any better than this. Next were the onions, quick, easy, and no tears.. It was fun seeing the amazing machine works its wonders. But the thrill of seeing others immersed in something joyful to them was even more rewarding. Then, one of my sisters placed a large ripe juicy tomato inside the plunger and left it there while she went to scoop the prior chopped items into a bowl to be mixed together. I sat there in my comfortable place on the couch and starred at the tomato.


As I gazed upon it, I knew immediately that that something was about to go very wrong. Though I was only 7 years old, I knew about tomatoes. I knew that you can’t just take a tomato, slam it down against a blunt edge, (which is what the cutting blades were) and expect it to cut. In order to pierce a tomato skin, you either have to puncture the tomato skin first with the tip of the knife and then cut it back and forth using a sawing motion to slice it, or use a serrated edge knife with a slicing motion back and forth. Furthermore, the fact that the Veg-O-Matic had 8 fairly blunt slicing blades would evenly distribut e the overall load across a wider area and reduce the chances of puncturing the skin even more, like laying across a bed of nails. Being yet a child, I was not a master communicator. Nevertheless, with my Seven year old vocabulary, I did the best I could.


I got up off the couch and walked into the kitchen. Pointing to the little dark area at the top of the tomato where the stem entered, I said, “mommy, mommy, mommy, if you push that thing down right now on the tomato, all the stuff on the inside is gunna all come out of this little hole right here and splatter all over the whole kitchen”. Talk about persona non grata! (A person that is not needed, wanted or appreciated). I got an earful from all the girls. “Scram”, Beat it”, “get out of here”, “go away” “stop wasting our time, were trying to get something done here, can’t you see?” I had invaded their territory. They were defending what was theirs from the evil invader.


I know when I had been beaten. I knew when to quit. I retreated back to my front row seat on the couch in the living room to resume the show. Now however, I was no longer a part of the audience. I had become member of the cast. I now had a vested interest in the outcome of the play. Not a moment had passed, when all had gathered around the Veg-O-Matic once again. My mother grabbed the unit with both hands and lunged into it with all her might. KABLAAAAAAAM!!!!!!!!! A red hand grenade exploded in the kitchen and ……it……was…….everywhere!!!! Wedged in between the plunger and the blades was a flattened tomato skin that had been disemboweled in the must brutal manner.

The red juicy innards of the tomato cam flying out of the stem hole with so much force it reached the far corners of the room. For the next ten minutes, four women were on the ir hands and knees with wash cloths, scrubbing every square inch of that kitchen. It was on the floor.

It was on the ceiling. It was on the stove, the range, the cupboards, the table, and the walls. As I witnessed the event, a little grin came across my face. I discovered something that was intuitive to me, that they either could not or would not see. They finished cleaning up the mess. I wondered if someone would come into the living room and say something to me about my performance on their stage. It never happened. They simply went on their merry way like it was nobodies business.

I learned that morning that we all are given our own gifts and that sometimes even out of the mouth of babes, come great words of wisdom.