Hey Good Lookin'. Whatcha Got Cookin'

I get calls from Dad at least once a day. The calls fall into two categories: I'm Lonely and I Need a Buddy or Complaints. I've been getting complaint calls all this week. Most of the complaints have gone like this:



"You know Himself took me shopping last week. I spent $250.00 on food."

"Yup."

"Well, I haven't had a meal since we brought the food in."

"What do you mean you haven't had a meal?"

"She hasn't cooked! Not a thing!"

"And your arms and legs are broken so you can't make yourself something to eat?"

I tried to explain to Dad that Ma isn't going to make home-made raviolis ever again. Cooking is one of the activities that's beyond her. She doesn't have good control over her hands. I reminded him how often she drops things: silverware, cups, papers.

"It's dangerous for her to try to cook. Moving hot pans about."


"What am I supposed to do?" his voice rose with frustration.

"You have a few choices."

"Yes?"

"Yeah, you either pay to have someone come in to cook." I know this won't be an option as he also rides Ma's I'm Not Paying Train. "You can have meals on wheels brought in, which would be cheaper on your grocery bill in the long run."

"No, I'm not doing  meals on wheels. The food is garbage."

"And you know this because you've eaten it?"

"No, but it's garbage." What he means is it's not Italian. No home-made gravy. No home-made ravioli, eggplant Parmagiana, no braciole.

"Then your only option, besides starving, is to take over the cooking."

At this point in the conversation, Popeye could be heard grumbling. "Cooking is woman's work..."

"Well, if you don't want to starve, cooking better become man's work."

My Way

The subject of the food delivery service has become a sore spot of late. Ma doesn't like the idea of someone else squeezing her tomatoes, and she doesn't like the idea of having to pay a delivery charge (even though the first 60 days delivery is free, and if she doesn't have to have her order this very minute, the delivery charge is five bucks)

As usual, Ma decided to take matters into her own hands. Remember OPD is a control issue. So Ma was going to show us and she waddled to the supermarket. According to Dad, it took a good couple of hours for her to make the two mile walk. Though you have to admire her ba...grit.

Ma did her shopping and then at the checkout told the cashier, the supermarket could deliver her order.

"They wouldn't deliver my groceries," she yelled at me during a phone conversation. She was very indignant and more so with me as if the whole thing was my fault. "I was so mad with them, I almost left the food there!"

It's hard to explain to her the food delivery service isn't really part of the supermarket though the supermarket lends its name to the service.

"After I picked out all my things and paid for them, they should have delivered my order!"

I'm pretty sure she wanted her order delivered for free, too.

"Ma, it doesn't work that way..."

"Well, it should! I want them to do it my way!"

Sing it, Frankie.

Take A Walk in My Shoes

At the last doctor's visit, Ma was whining that her "legs wouldn't go." They would go if she didn't spend hours on end sitting in a chair taking care of her "business." They would go if she got up and moved around a little bit.

The doctor told her she should do a little walking outside. He told Dad, Ma couldn't walk alone and he was to take her for a little walk outside when the weather was better.

Dad called the other day.

"I was so proud of your mother."

"Yeah."

"We went for a walk."

"That's great! Yesterday, was a nice day for a walk. You walked down to the end of the street and back?"

"Yes! And then she turned the corner with me and we walked to the supermarket. Of course, when we got near the store she had to sit down a while and rest...."

"Please tell me you're kidding? You didn't walk all the way over there."

"Yes, we went and bought $60 worth of groceries."

Help me, Lord.

"Are you out of your #%#$%# mind?"

"She insisted I take her! She said the doctor said she had to go out for a walk"

"Hello? Take her down to the end of the street and back, but not for a two mile hike!"

"Don't yell at me! She did alright," he said defending himself.

"Alright? No sidewalks pushing her walker over rough terrain? You call that alright?" I could feel the familiar pain throbbing behind my left eye and I reached for the aspirin bottle.

"We made it."

"I can't believe you were so stupid to take her. What would you have done if she had fallen? You can't pick her up. Don't ever take her that far again. Up and down the street, but don't turn the corner!"

"We got a ride home."

I popped another couple of aspirin.

"Sweet Jesus, please tell me you knew the person who drove you home."

"Oh yes. She's a member of the choir."

I ended the coversation with a reminder not to take her to the supermarket again.

When I was a kid and did something (Ma thought was) stupid, Ma would curse me.

"Just you wait! Just you wait!"

She didn't always finish the curse as she waved forked fingers at me. It was implied.

"Just you wait until you have kids just like you!"

At least, that's what I thought was implied. Now, I'm not so sure.

By the time Himself came home, I was able to find the funny in the situation. With OPD you have to laugh or go insane.

"When I was a kid, I had a Donald Duck with a wheelbarrow. Put him on an incline, give him a push and he'd waddle down the ramp. I bet that's just how Ma looked pushing her walker along the edge of the highway."

Himself laughed.

"You know what?"

"What?"

"If they can walk the two miles to the supermarket, they can walk the rest of the way to the Mahket!"

I swallowed two more aspirin.