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Gloria Teague

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Member Since: Before 2003

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Saturday Night Cocoa Fudge
Thursday, April 24, 2008  3:26:00 PM

by Gloria Teague



Memoir
Release June 2008
SATURDAY NIGHT COCOA FUDGE is a coming-of-age story of not only a freckled-faced girl of the 1950s in east Tennessee but the maturation of the women of my family. This book isn’t about a sugar-sweet mother and grandmother, nor is it about an unscrupulous family that crippled me emotionally. Rather it’s about sweetly flawed women who taught me what I was meant to be and what I was not meant to be.
Our neck of the woods was filled with folklore, superstition, and mystical ideas. My grandmother believed and practiced most of these, passing them onto the next generation. My world was populated with strange relatives, quirky neighbors and mysterious bible verses that could stop the flow of blood. Being a member of this bizarre family made life worth living. These people were so fiercely loyal in their love for me, for each other, I felt they deserved to have their story told.


Saturday Night Cocoa Fudge
Synopsis


I hate Dolly Parton.

“Good morning, everyone, and welcome to Knoxville's 'Cas Walker Farm and Home Hour’.” The announcer’s voice raised several decibels. “Now here’s the star of our show, little Miss Dolly Parton.” This was Mamaw’s alarm clock for all the school-age youngins in the house. I was so happy I didn’t have to go to school and leave my grandmother but I wished she’d turn off the television. I didn’t really hate the little brown-haired girl singing through her nose. Who would’ve dreamed she would grow up to be a legend in the entertainment industry?
Because I was born in a small town in the foothills of the Smoky Mountains, not far from Dolly, this is one of my earliest memories of growing up in rural east Tennessee. This memory sits alongside others like being taken to “The Wolfman”, the seventh son of the seventh son, to be healed of thrush when a medical doctor failed to cure me. It’s joined by the incident of the Klan and the lasting impression it had on my heart. Then there’s the viewing my first death when I was four years old, my own father, a man I really didn’t know yet was forced to kiss goodbye. This was all amid the loving cast of characters that made up my family, the people who guided me through it all. Though the book is a fictionalized account, it is based on very true events.
I remember cocoa fudge, how it laid heavy and sweet on my tongue. Watching TV on Saturday nights was an exercise in patience. The Lone Ranger was usually followed by wrestling, my grandmother’s favorite program. My grandmother would beat on the couch arm, screaming at the wrestlers, yelling at her favorite to “Watch out, he’s coming up behind you, you fool!” While that was on someone would attempt to make cocoa fudge. Depending on whatever the weather was, humidity high or low, damp or dry, the fudge was never the correct consistency. It was either “set up” so hard you’d need a hammer and chisel to get it out of the buttered platter it had been poured into before being put out on the kitchen porch, or it was soupy with varying degrees of density. Sometimes it would “set” just enough so that we could dip it out with spoons, usually the big tablespoons. We’d all sit on the couch together or in the floor, a scary movie would come on and we’d watch that as we all ate the fudge off the buttered platter and drank our RC colas. All you could hear was silver against ceramic and feminine sighs of contentment.
The women would have their hair up, large and small loops of hair held together by bobby pins. Fingernails and toenails always painted matching shades of red. Many Saturday nights were spent in our own version of a beauty shop. This may take place in a bedroom or even in the kitchen. The women would all get together to fix their own or each other’s hair. They tried different make up, used each other’s, and gave different opinions of how the other women looked.
They discussed men, their views on them and life in general, while they worked magic on themselves. I would sit on the sidelines and for the most part they didn’t notice me unless one or more of them would start to head into an off-colored conversation a little girl shouldn’t hear. Then my mom or one of my aunts would shoo me out of the room.
I think that every brand of cheap dime store perfume found its way into our house. The room would be swarming with so many different scents I could get heady. Cigarette smoke, hairspray, perfume, deodorant, and fingernail polish all created a fog that a little girl could get lost in.
On Monday morning the real world returned with a vengeance.
It’s a coming-of-age story of not only a freckled-faced child of the 1950s, but the maturation of the women of my family. This book isn’t about a sugar-sweet mother and grandmother, nor is it about an unscrupulous family that crippled me emotionally. Rather it’s about sweetly flawed women who taught me what I was meant to be and what I was not meant to be.
Our neck of the woods was filled with folklore, superstition, and mystical ideas. My grandmother believed and practiced most of these, passing them onto the next generation. My world was populated with strange relatives, quirky neighbors and mysterious bible verses that could stop the flow of blood. Being a member of this bizarre family made life worth living. These people were different yet were so fiercely loyal in their love for me, for each other, I felt they deserved to have their story told.



 
www.myspace.com/cocoafudge

 More News about Gloria Teague
Remember My Name - 2/10/2009 7:25:00 PM

Article sold - 1/5/2009 8:08:00 PM

Short story - 1/5/2009 8:07:00 PM

Booksigning - 1/5/2009 8:05:00 PM

Blog Talk Radio - 1/5/2009 8:03:00 PM

Booksigning - 9/13/2008 4:38:00 PM

Television appearance - 9/2/2008 8:41:00 PM

Almost there! - 8/15/2008 1:02:00 PM



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