Evelyn Follett

I'm sitting here in front of my computer screen thinking about turkey and dressing.

One of my sisters, the professional chef, used to cook the family dinner. She slaved for hours and was usually too exhausted after the fact to sit down and eat with everyone.

Too, she loved the adoration, the lip-smacking compliments that always accompanied her meal.

Sit down and eat! the family always exhorted. She waved us off and sipped her beer, her face showing the satisfaction of a job well-done, becoming flush because she drank a lot of beer.

She was, befitting a pro, a dressing specialist. She used to throw some wild nuts into her concoction that gave the stuffing a special lift.

Her gravy always killed. Her turkey always had the exact measure of tenderness that kept you returning to the dinner line like a fat fool.

Evelyn was my oldest sister. She was born in 1925 and always had powerful stories to tell about living through the Great Depression. When she died in 2000, I attended her funeral service.

She'd given up beer by then and had become, at behest of her youngest son, a reborn Christian.

My eldest sister...

She was a beautiful, large woman, and what a cook!


TS