Mrs. Butterworth's First Name...

DO YOU KNOW MRS. BUTTERWORTH's FIRST NAME? READ ON AND FIND OUT.

This is what I found yesterday up at the archeological dig I call the old homeplace. Mrs. B. and what I think is a perfume bottle I got in a Christmas exchange when I was ten. That perfume bottle came with a small tube of lipstick, a bottle of lotion, and fingernail polish. I gave two lovely notebooks and a pencil. (PS: after seeing the make-up, I secretly wanted my own gift back).

Mrs. Buttersworth brings back sweet memories. No one could make griddle cakes like Mom. Ours was a wood cookstove, and in the morning, whether it was winter, spring, summer or fall, the first sound I would hear was that stove lid or Mom shaking the grate to sift the ashes down. It wouldn't be daylight yet. I'd get to pull the covers over my head and stay warm (in winter) or jump up and run outside to watch the sun come up and see what the early birds were doing (in spring and summer) or pretend to be asleep until Mom called me (in the fall when school was in session).

There'd be oatmeal or cream of wheat sometimes. There'd be fried potatoes, brown gravey and biscuits sometimes. There'd be fried eggs and one-sided toast made in the oven (or in the little strange toaster we had that only toasted one side). But on the best of all possible days, there'd be pancakes, fried in the iron skillet. A whole stack of pancakes. And I could put 'em away with the best of them.

Sometimes, we'd get the little log cabins of syrup, sometimes whe'd get whatever was cheapest, and as my friend, Barbara Whittington, reminded me, we used to have sugar syrup cooked on the stove. But Mrs. Buttersworth was my favorite; when we got Mrs. Buttersworth, I got a new doll, when I was young enough to care about such. I'd make her a hat. She'd get to dress up for Easter in a new bonnet or she'd get one woven out of grass. But mostly, she got hats made out of scraps of cloth and tied on with a piece of string or a bit of ribbon.

So here's to you, little perfume bottle, for reminding me that my material value system hasn't changed much. I'd still rather have a notebook and a pretty pencil or pen.  And here's to you Mrs. B. for the sweet, sweet memories of wooksmoke, early morning, a kitchen cozied into lamp light, and stacks of Mom's best flannel cakes drowned in Buttersworth syrup.

NOW: DO YOU KNOW MRS. B.'S FIRST NAME?

It's Joy.

The makers couldn't decide on a first name. One wanted her to be called Jocelyn and one wanted Opal and one wanted Yvonne. So, when Mr. B. finally arrived, they agreed to put their names together and use the first letters of each. So she is JOY BUTTERSWORTH! Isn't that a great name for sweet memories?