Thursday, March 12, 2009

F-e-e-d me.... F-e-e-d me....

In college I dated a boy named Seymour for a while.



A friend happened to take this picture of me sort of sitting next to Seymour. I had a burning yearning to be involved with the young man who was standing in front of us; he liked me as a friend, and it never went any farther than that.

On one of our early dates, Seymour took me to a reception at his parents' house (now that I think about it, he lived there too) in honor of the Bat Mitzvah of his younger sister. There was a large table filled with an amazing assortment of food.

Eat some of this! Try this!

His parents had come from England. His mother was English, and his father went to England as part of the Kinder transport from Germany. His mother had a strong English accent, which surprised me somehow. Idiot that I was, it didn't dawn on me that Jews could be English too. She was very nice. One of the most amazing things there ...

Oh, you really must try this! --

was a huge glass bowl filled with layers of cake and fruit and creamy stuff. Seymour said it was English Trifle. I had never heard of English Trifle, and I had never tasted anything remotely like it. It was.... it was... amazing. There was liquor in it, too.

There is a point to this story... bear with me, please.

Not too long ago I searched for his name on the Internet because I was looking through photo albums and saw the picture and was curious about what might have become of him. Seymour and I never fell in love, and the relationship fizzled, so this was just a trot down memory lane and not an attempt to resurrect a long-lost love. I did eventually find him, and he has had a very successful life; but before that, I made a mistake when I typed in his last name and I ended up on Web sites for the movie Little Shop of Horrors because the main character in the movie is called Seymour.

Poor Seymour. He creates a plant that has a taste for blood. And it demands to be fed.

FEED ME.... FEED ME....

I am not quite in the pickle that poor Seymour finds himself, and I won't give away the plot of the move, but sometimes I feel like I could be walking in his shoes when it comes to this blog. The blog wants me to write. It has come to life and is screaming at me to be written for.

WRITE ME..... WRITE ME....

And doggone it, sometimes it is hard to come up with stuff!

2 comments:

Donna said...

I think sometimes my blog needs to say to me, "Shut up, shut up!"

The Weaver of Grass said...

Do you make that English trifle - because if not and you would like to I can send you a recipe - it is a Sunday tea stand by here in the UK.