Since I was already groaning about Thanksgiving before Halloween even hit, I decided to just forego the traditional Thursday Thanksgiving and had the fete last Saturday.
It was the only way I could get the folks that I really wanted to come. They’re all busy right before and the day of.
I decided it would be nice to invite some of our “old” friends, those folks we know over the age of 80, and it seems we know more of those folks every year.
Hubs went to fetch his Ma, also referred to as G’ma. She being the same G’ma that once pulled a wadded up bunch of napkins out of her purse only to discover a piece of mummified chicken inside ... remember me telling you that story?
Well, she’s been on a roll ever since.
Hubs went to fetch her at her new digs, the “independent” living facility, and she was all ready to go, had her fruit salad all put together but had forgotten the main ingredients: marshmallows and whipped cream.
She asked Hubs to take her around the corner to the store so she could get those items.
He said, “I’ll go in, you just sit tight.”
He pulled into a space right by the front of the store and had to quickly decide whether or not to keep the engine running or take the keys with him.
He took the keys with him.
“Stay right here. Don’t move. I’ll be back in less than five minutes,” he ordered her.
As he was hurrying around the front of the car, she opens the door.
“Stay there!” he said, talking to her like she was a dog.
She hesitated and said, “What are we doing here?”
“I am going in to get you some whipped cream and marshmallows for your salad.”
She nodded and closed the door.
He was just about to enter the doors of the store when he heard the car door open again and he hollered, “Stay there!”
She hollered back, “I need marshmallows!”
He nodded and rushed over to the car, putting her legs back into the car.
“Do not move!” he admonished. “Stay here or you’ll get in trouble!”
He hurried around the store like Walter Brennan, using his shoulders to lift his legs (try it, you’ll see what I mean) and was back outside in less than five minutes.
He looks out the grocery store doors and sees the car door open and a woman bent over.
He mutters an expletive thinking that she had opened the door and fallen out, and skipadeedoodahs over to the car to see his mother leaning out of the car, and another woman bent over trying to retrieve G’ma’s cane.
“I was trying to come into the store to tell you not to forget the marshmallows!” she said, irritated that she had dropped her cane in trying to get her legs out the door.
After Hubs thanked the other woman and got Granny tucked back in, off they went.
When they arrived, she quickly finished assembling the salad and it went straight away into the fridge.
After lots of conversation with the old friends and a big heapin’ plate of all the different items I had prepared for the day, she said she was ready for dessert.
Having said that, however, I must mention that she kept saying she was so full she was about to pop a button.
As I got the mixer busy whippin’ up the whipped cream, I put three different kinds of pie on a plate for her to sample. She took little bites of each, smacking her lips after each taste.
I pulled the bowl off the mixer stand and plopped down some big fluffy globs of whipped cream onto her plate and then turned around to put the bowl over by the desserts.
Suddenly, there was a burst of laughter right behind me from the little group of gals around the counter.
I peered through them, and there was G’ma, laughing hardest of all.
She’d reached out to get the napkin on her plate, picked it up, and wiped it across her mouth.
Only it wasn’t a napkin.
It was a big fluffy glob of whipped cream.
Not every one had the chance to witness it, and the boys were disappointed they had missed G’ma pulling another good one.
I asked her if she was ready for some of that fruit salad.
“I forgot the marshmallows!” she said.
She had another good laugh when I opened the salad bowl and showed her the marshmallows tucked in amongst the fruit.
“Where did those come from?” she asked, laughing.
“I don’t know, but would you like some in a dish ... or would you rather just reach in there and grab a handful?”
She had some in a dish, picking out all the marshmallows.
“I don’t like them,” she said.
I had to shove a big spoonful of whipped cream into Hubs’ mouth to keep him quiet.
Her mind is slowly going the way of a marshmallow — soft and fluffy. But her appetite is good.