I will never forget the time my mother almost cried.
(And my mother never cries).
When she couldn't find the tennis and squash racquets she bought from Seb and Rene.
And hand-carried onto a Pasi o Vaa from Fugalei to Mulifanua,
Held close to her side on the Fotu o Samoa.
One. Rough. Sailing day.
Then craddled from Salelelologa to Lmalava,
Only to be unstrung by her brother Tanumafili and converted into mea ka palolo, using Mother's finest mosquito net, made of fine chantilly lace.
Sent from Australia and kept in a pusa ku for many many moons.
That was the day she almost cried.
His punishment came in the form of my little sister.
Who, on the dawn of the catch, whined like a baby (maybe because she was a baby at the time, oops.)
Refusing to walk, or swim in the dark. (fair enough, she was only little, poor thing, sorry Lagipoiva!)
She cried because she was scared of the worms around her.
And fearful at the sight of palolo sticking to her tshirt
Tanumafili had to lift her on his shoulders, as he navigated over dark sharp corals,
And a stormy sea,
While positioning his povi masima bucket steady with one arm.
And catching worms with the other
with his newly sewn Wilson racquet with chantilly lace.
Two vows were made,
He will never unstring our racquets again.
And he will never take little sister with us on a palolo catch again.
okay enogh memories- While youre slurping worms this season, don't forget what they really are:
Would you like sperms with your fries? or fertilised eggs?
Yep, enjoy the reporductive organ meal deal.
"The terminal parts of their bodies drop off and float over the surface of the water, releasing sperm and eggs" (thank you wikipedia).
eh that's just me being jealous coz i can't get or eat them anyway.
here's an old post i did about palolos:
click here: Eating wringling worms
Maguia le weekend.