This is Broom Hilda
It’s all her fault. She’s the one who turned my home into a desolate wasteland. Sure, my mother lost the land in a Black Jack game, but Broom Hilda made the whole thing worse.
The Story of Broom Hilda
In a small shop downtown that was not red, but brown;was a little girl, who always frowned. Her ma was too mean. Her pa was too strict. When she complained, she was beat with a whip.
How could she not scream and fuss, how could she not be a sourpuss.The only thing that the shop did sell, was vinegar and brown paper.
The store next door, was bright hot pink. They sold fine linens and decorative inks. And right next door to that, was a coffee shop with velvet mats. In fact, every store in that downtown, sold the finest fineries that could be found. All except Broom Hilda’s shop, that sold nothing but, vinegar and brown paper.
She was not satisfied with that. She wanted more, as a matter of fact. But she was not allowed this happiness. Her parents just did not approve of this. Broom Hilda had no toys or dresses. Broom Hilda had no joys, no yesses. Her parents tried to hide her eyes. They kept her locked up, which she despised. They did not want her to see all those pleasures in life, which just caused greed. Broom Hilda did escape one day, in the chaos of a parade. She snuck inside a pastry shop and hid behind a broom and mop. And just because no one was looking, she reached behind her and stole some cookies. And with one teeny tiny single bite, she, at last, had found her heart’s delight.
Yes, indeed, this pleasure was very good, so she snuck into every shop in the neighborhood
She stole pastries pies and caviar, chocolates, bon bons, and Cuban cigars,licorice, incense, and scented bath salts. She snuck them up to her little room, only pretending that she was still filled with gloom.
She stole for weeks, and months, and then for years, never more did she cry her eyes out with tears
And then one glorious bright summer day,she was caught red handed, to her dismay,by a traveling man called Dynamite Dan.
“So you think that you can steal from me, all those things you think you need?”,
“Well, guess what, you little heathen, no longer will you be a stealin’”
“For from now on, until eternity, everything you want, will be yours for free.”
“Go home now, goest to your door, go on home and steal no more.”
And from then on, it was Christmas every single day, but remember, that everything has it’s price. What happens to all that stuff when it’s no longer new and beautiful? It has to go somewhere. For most people, it’s out of sight, out of mind. For most people, you just stick your garbage in a plastic bag and some nice man takes it away to some magical place called far far away. But back when it all started a long time ago, in the town where we lived, there was no such place to take things that you didn’t want any more. All we had back then were things that you could bury, and they would turn back into soil to fertilize the mango trees, the tomatoes, and cilantro. But Broom Hilda invited into my life a new kind of madness.
Her name wasn’t really Broom Hilda, it was really Hillary Darlene, but I always thought that was a dorky name so I changed it. I didn’t change it recently, I changed it back when I was a little kid, and the name just stuck. We didn’t call her Broom Hilda to her face, though. That’s just not cool. We did it in a socially acceptable way, you know, behind her back so as not to hurt her feelings. We cared about Broom Hilda’s feelings, only because she had a hot temper. Hell hath no fury like the wrath of Broom Hilda scorned. And the same goes for my Aunt Dorcas.
This is a picture of my Aunt Dorcas. Oh, don’t worry, it’s not a mug shot. She told me that it’s a drivers license photo.
Its a class “D” license, and it’s different from the regular ones. Or at least that’s what she said. Anyway, she was supposed to inherit the mango plantation from her mom and dad because she was the first born child, and that’s just the way it goes. The firstborn child always gets the inheritance, that is the way it has been since the beginning of time.
These are her parents, Bill and Melba. These are also my mother’s parents. Bill died when my mom was 2.
Anyway, my Aunt Dorcas was disinherited because she married a Mexican coconut smuggler. This is a picture of my Uncle, Don Pedro Sanchez.
He married my aunt, years before I was born, and I hear it was quite the scandal. Supposedly my grandparents were extremely prejudice of Mexicans. I recently found out that he wasn’t even Mexican. He was from Peru. His parents were Lutheran missionaries from Connecticut.
I found out last year, that he wasn’t smuggling coconuts after all, like they’d told me. He was involved with the Peruvian Cartel, and wanted to get my family involved in their smuggling of ahem, Peruvian medicinal herbs that weren’t exactly legal. That’s the only reason he married my aunt, but when the deal fell through , he was kicked out of the cartel. And because this whole affair started a big family feud, Don Pedro and Aunt Dorcas moved to the city and opened a vinegar shop.