My Mother Ate an Elephant My mother perched on the scaffolds and asked me, "How do you eat an elephant?" I imagined garlic sauteed elephant chops and ketchup covered elephant loaf and elephant ears at the carnival "One bite at a time." So much simpler. She turned back and kept painting that old house that was the perfect size. And when she'd finish a section, we'd move the scaffolding and she would paint another bite of the elephant. We planted another elephant in the garden at my great-grandfather's farm. My mother drew the plans, cut the wood, nailed the beams and the shingles. Bite by bite, the new house in the garden grew. Once, when I was home from school, she and I wired the three way switch in the hallway, which for a while, would only turn on if the light in my sister's soon-to-be closet was also on. I was up in the rafters, and she would turn the power off while I twisted and pinched the connectors and I'd call down that I was ready, and...
