October was no exception. A photo-of-the-month prize was waiting for me in Milwaukee, and Kim thought it would be fun to ride along, and practice Spanish in the car rather than on the couch. Time flew by with the lesson completed by the time we reached the TV station, and after we proved identification and received this framed photo of Faith, Kim asked if we could hunt for a new devotional for her.
On the way to the bookstore she asked about my previous day’s bike ride with friend Marla – laughing hilariously as I explained the riderless horse trotting down Taylor Avenue which we had to cross to continue the bike path. There ahead of us was a mom in distress – a rope in one hand and a bucket (of oats we guessed) in the other. Our husbands were shocked, picturing their 50 something just had leg surgery and 60 something wives circling around on bikes helping to round up a runaway horse!
As we finished the tale we ended up at a bookstore across from a large mall. Beckoning us from across the street was an upscale Chinese restaurant we’d both longed to visit ‘someday’. We looked at each other and moments later Kim was warning our charming waiter, Ben, as he seated us that “things happen” when Gramma is around, while quickly summarizing the previous days adventure. The dark-haired 20-something paused astonished, queried where I would find a horse, then laughed with us and took our order. The meal was delightful as Kim and I made up stories about the other patrons and what was “really” going on in their lives. Ben stopped by from time-to-time, seeming to enjoy bantering with us. As I figured the tip with my remaining cash, I added a neat gospel tract that looks like a million-dollar bill, and a check for the meal – explaining to Kim how Grandpa challenged me that I couldn’t live a month without the credit card. Ben casually picked up the folder, heading for the hostess’ desk, and soon returned frowning. It seems the restaurant did not take checks!
Kim started to giggle, asking if I was going to have to wash dishes or be taken to jail. (notice she did not ask if WE were going to wash dishes). I told him I did not have the card with me, but would call my husband for some back-up, and Ben went to “see what he could do.” I stuffed the tip, tract and check in my purse, and began dialing Ken while asking Kim what she would do if they did take me to jail. She laughed and said, “Guess I’d call someone for a ride home.” No protective action, calling for help for me or pleading to not take my Gramma –I noted sadly to continued giggles, and “Uh, oh – you’re in trouble now” pointing as I hung up the phone with Ken to a tall middle-aged man with a “manager” name tag approaching our table.
He seemed to be evaluating the situation as he approached and as I explained that Ken had a backup plan, he said, no, that’s fine – you look honest and we will make an exception and take your check. Kim told him she liked adventures with Gramma but was relieved her Gramma would not have to wash dishes or go to jail! We joked a bit as I grabbed the papers from my purse and once again stuffed them in the waiter’s folder for payment. Ben brought our cute oriental boxes with leftovers and commented as we rose to leave that he would ‘never forget the Gramma with the check.” We thought the incident was over, chuckling on the way home, but later that evening when I retrieved receipts from my purse, out fell the check to the restaurant! Apparently all I’d left was the “million dollar bill” and the tip.
I couldn’t resist calling Kim first and telling her what I’d found in my purse. “Gramma, Gramma, she lamented, you really are in trouble now. He thought you were honest and you didn’t pay.” The manager at the restaurant was pleased, but surprised to hear from me minutes later, reviewing how he and Ben thought the other had retrieved the check when they examined the folder after we left. When I found out the waiter had offered to do the “right thing” and paid the bill, I offered to bring cash immediately, but was told Ben had already gone home for the day, refused a credit card, insisting he wanted my check! Kim and I agreed Ben should get an additional tip and a note, which we included with the check. Now Kim is begging me to take her back while they “still recognize us.” She wants to walk in showing Ben we have the cash. I’m not so sure he will think it is as funny as she does.
Speaking of funny....Doesn’t everyone have Chocolate Pudding on the Ceiling?
For months a tour of our home included the chocolate pudding splotch left on the ceiling panel. This odd trophy of Ken’s masculinity was shown with more pride than any fisherman or wild-game hunter – it was the pride of one who’s survived marriage to an estrogen-rich female.
Each MPI (Menopause Incident as the family called them) gave warning as regularly as PMS had: irritability, nervous klutziness, hot and cold - emotionally as well as physically; and each time Ken tried in vain to out-maneuver IT. Grateful he didn’t have to spend a fortune on orange hunting equipment to prepare for battle, I even hoped he would win, just once, but I knew it was not controllable - I was as much a bystander as he.
Because that certain week of each month was highlighted on the calendar, Ken and our three grown children were well aware of the danger, and conspired to keep me from the stove with a picnic birthday plan, returning to the house Cheri’s favorite dessert since age 10: graham cracker crust, chocolate instant-pudding and whipped topping. The girls bagged and stacked sandwiches in the refrigerator. I only had to make the simple dessert!
The blue carton of whipped topping was thawing from the freezer; remaining dessert ingredients were on the counter for morning preparation.
Nocturnal nightmares of drowning awoke us. IT had begun! Ken’s old joke about God promising not to send another flood tempted retribution. Luckily for him, I simply rolled out of the “boat” to change.
The dry nightclothes felt good, but fully awakened now; I padded to the kitchen, deciding I might as well begin the dessert. As I slid the completed crust in the oven my body’s warped thermostat also heated up and I “flashed” with such intensity, I dashed out into the brisk night air to cool off. Ahhh! Only minutes later, I returned to black smoke curling from the oven. The evidence in the trash, I started over until finally a 10x15 pan of crust, smoothly lathered with instant pudding, was slipped into the refrigerator at eye level over the sandwiches.
When our clan arrived, Ken soon had them all howling with his version of our early-morning events, so I slipped out to the kitchen to pack the picnic basket. As I opened the refrigerator to retrieve the sandwiches, I dazedly watched the lovely dessert whip past my eyes off the sandwiches, and smack the floor, sending chocolate pudding flying straight up to the ceiling then rebounding. My scream brought a family stampede to see Mom dripping with pudding and graham crackers and whatcha-gonna-do - laughing hilariously.
While the others wiped pudding from refrigerator and floor, I made another clothes change, smiling ruefully, until it dawned on me that one memory-maker had ruined another. There was no special birthday dessert!
I would have do something quickly to get the dessert, prepare it and still get to the picnic and air show (you don’t want to know what happened there!), so I slinked down the stairs, grabbed my purse and raced past all their gaping mouths for the garage. “Never mind about the dessert,” they shouted. Never mind about an annual memory since age 10? That is NOT something you tell a menopause-crazed woman!
Time was severely limited, so I had to rocket that car out of the garage and race to the closest store. Like a shop-for-a-minute contestant I tore down the aisles. At packaged desserts I grinned triumphantly - a sale on graham cracker crusts. Small? Large? Quick - think! Big family – get two large – ok, pudding – instant - two packages in hand when the incongruity struck me; large crusts - small puddings. Oh, no! Quickly I replaced them with two LARGE packages of pudding and fairly flew to the checkout, appreciating kind shoppers scattering for a wild-eyed grandma speeding for the express checkout-target.
The car's brakes screeched and I bounded out of the car as it landed in the garage.
Ken banned all but Kevin to the living room, and he found me staring in disbelief at two large boxes of non-instant pudding. (I’d forgotten that instant pudding only comes in small boxes. Kevin quickly solved my rising panic with a side-hug and then two boxes of instant pudding from the neighbors. I furiously whipped the pudding, and poured half into each shell. Stunned at the incredibly small mound of pudding in the center of each (large) crust, I ingeniously decided to have just one full pie by combining the thick mass from one crust to the other. It would have worked if the crust hadn’t followed as well, plopping down on top of the pudding in the first piecrust.
“Quick get the whipped topping,” Kevin whispered, “they’ll never know!” Gratefully, I peeled the cover from the familiar carton only to discover it was not new - I’d re-used it to store left over ham! Our eyes met as we both doubled over into laughter. Now what? I gasped through laughter, but he’d run to the basement freezer and pulled out a second similar carton of whipped topping. Setting it on the center of the table with a flourish in “Vanna-White-style” he reassuringly noted the carton’s condition - new - unsealed - surely containing only whipped topping. Then, still laughing, he propelled me toward the waiting family, and assured them all of dessert after the picnic and before the traditional birthday gifts and games. A few hours later Kevin and I elaborately produced a “mountain-top pie” – created by mounding the entire carton of whipped topping over the pudding and crust.
Ken loves to tell how a new game was added that day and everyone battled hilariously to rename the birthday dessert. You probably already guessed the winner named it Mom’s MPI Pie. You see now the advantage the MPI-survivor-spouse has over hunters and fishermen - his story does not need embellishing. It lasts well into the next MPI season, and he is guaranteed ongoing material!
Remind me to tell you about The Refrigerator Repairman and the hairdryer....the passing of the 1979 Impala....The time God surprised us with dinner for 6 months.... the Man with the Bouquet....AGWC - A Grandma Who Cares.... and the recent sister-visit to our past at Keshena.
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