Sunday Dinner and a Tic Tac

Day 14

In days gone by Sunday afternoon a short ride in the family car to grandmas for dinner. I grew up in the Royal Oak, a suburb of Detroit, and grandma lived just a few city blocks away with her second husband whom I called grandpa. The smell of chicken and hot grease filled the small two bedroom house. My grandma loved to cook and her fried chicken was legendary.

Grandma raised my father as a divorced mother during the Great Depression. She worked as waitress and my father would sell vegetables from the garden for extra money. They lived in a small studio apartment above a garage and the extra money helped pay the rent. During those years she learned to conserve everything. Including the grease she used to fry the chicken. After frying, when the grease had cooled she would pour it back into the container and save it for next time. I suspect that was part of the reason her chicken tasted so special.

My brother and I would tear off our coats the instant we came through the side door. The house would be so warm from the cooking in the kitchen, we broke out in a sweat even on a winter day. The yard seemed so big because the lot next to the house was empty. My brother and I spent many a day imaging we were secret agents or big hunters in deepest, darkest Africa. We had no Gameboy or Xbox. No cable tv or internet. Just a branch fallen out of a tree or an occasional cardboard box and our imaginations. It was all we needed.

I moved to northern Michigan shortly after my grandma passed away. She was 97. The last few years of her life were spent in a nursing home. She wanted so much to leave but she couldn't get out of bed. My visits grew farther in between as she would always ask me to take her home and I would make up some reason why I couldn't.

It's Sunday and I go to visit my mom. I know there will be no fried chicken. My grandma and my mom were polar opposites. My mom knows basic cooking but she would rather not. At the place she's living she pays monthly for three meals a day. She complains about each and every meal. Yet she won't cook in her room. I eat either before or after I visit. While I'm there, if I'm lucky, she'll offer me a Tic Tac. Just one. Who eats just one Tic Tac?

Until next time.

Ken