This was Grams first Christmas as a resident of N.D. and I was going to make it as special as I possibly could. Needless to say, I didn’t want to pack up Grandma, 2 medium sized dogs, presents, and luggage into my little Mazda, with hazardous road conditions, to drive to my parent’s house. Plus, if we actually made it there I would have to constantly monitor her and dole out her medications. It was much easier to stay right where we were.
In preparation for the long holiday weekend I purchased a ton of food. Christmas Eve we invited Grandma’s best friend (when she can remember her), Jeanne, up for our evening meal. I made lasagna and we had pie with eggnog flavored ice cream for dessert. Tomorrow, we would have Cornish game hens, stuffing, carrots, pasta salads, and more pie for dessert and we would just have leftovers for supper
There is one important item I am leaving out though, the taco dip. I love taco dip. I wanted to dig into the taco dip, but I waited. As I drove home that night (after stopping off at Wal-Mart to grab another Cornish game hen so Jeanne wouldn’t have to spend Christmas alone) I thought about that taco dip. Oh, it was going to be so good.
I awoke Christmas morning to find that it had snowed quite a bit. So much in fact, that there was no way I was going to make it to Grandma’s apartment. I felt bad at first, but at least she could go down and eat with Jeanne. I, on the other hand, was screwed. All the groceries I had purchased were at Grams. All I had was a half-frozen Cornish game hen-seriously, a Cornish game hen and condiments.
I was unable to leave my house until Monday when someone came to shovel me out. This whole time, while I survived on my game hen and knoephla, I dreamed of the day I would see my taco dip again.
First thing Monday after work I drove to Gma’s. My stomach grumbled and my mouth watered as the elevator ascended to the 3rd floor. My mind raced…taco dip…taco dip…taco dip. Oooh…leftover lasagna. FOOD!
I entered the apartment, greeted Grams, ran to the fridge, ripped open the door, pulled out my taco dip container—empty. Empty?
Me: Grandma? Did you eat all the taco dip?
Gma: No.
Me: Grandma? How did you eat the taco dip? Do you know where the utensils are?
Gma: No.
Me: Grandma? You didn’t even open the bag of chips? (I looked down at the empty container and was sure I saw the tell tale signs of a finger swipe.) Grandma, did you eat this all with your finger?
Gma: No.
I still had a chance. I had the lasagna.
Me: Did you eat some of this?
Gma: No.
Me: (I looked down at the dish. It looked as though she had grabbed the lasagna and mushed it with her hands.) Are you sure, Grandma?
Gma: It was good.
Me: So, you ate some.
Gma: No.
As I cleaned up the fridge, (she had moved the eggnog flavored ice-cream from the freezer and it leaked everywhere) I realized I had learned a very important lesson that day. Only bring food the day of, if you want to eat any of it.
In preparation for the long holiday weekend I purchased a ton of food. Christmas Eve we invited Grandma’s best friend (when she can remember her), Jeanne, up for our evening meal. I made lasagna and we had pie with eggnog flavored ice cream for dessert. Tomorrow, we would have Cornish game hens, stuffing, carrots, pasta salads, and more pie for dessert and we would just have leftovers for supper
There is one important item I am leaving out though, the taco dip. I love taco dip. I wanted to dig into the taco dip, but I waited. As I drove home that night (after stopping off at Wal-Mart to grab another Cornish game hen so Jeanne wouldn’t have to spend Christmas alone) I thought about that taco dip. Oh, it was going to be so good.
I awoke Christmas morning to find that it had snowed quite a bit. So much in fact, that there was no way I was going to make it to Grandma’s apartment. I felt bad at first, but at least she could go down and eat with Jeanne. I, on the other hand, was screwed. All the groceries I had purchased were at Grams. All I had was a half-frozen Cornish game hen-seriously, a Cornish game hen and condiments.
I was unable to leave my house until Monday when someone came to shovel me out. This whole time, while I survived on my game hen and knoephla, I dreamed of the day I would see my taco dip again.
First thing Monday after work I drove to Gma’s. My stomach grumbled and my mouth watered as the elevator ascended to the 3rd floor. My mind raced…taco dip…taco dip…taco dip. Oooh…leftover lasagna. FOOD!
I entered the apartment, greeted Grams, ran to the fridge, ripped open the door, pulled out my taco dip container—empty. Empty?
Me: Grandma? Did you eat all the taco dip?
Gma: No.
Me: Grandma? How did you eat the taco dip? Do you know where the utensils are?
Gma: No.
Me: Grandma? You didn’t even open the bag of chips? (I looked down at the empty container and was sure I saw the tell tale signs of a finger swipe.) Grandma, did you eat this all with your finger?
Gma: No.
I still had a chance. I had the lasagna.
Me: Did you eat some of this?
Gma: No.
Me: (I looked down at the dish. It looked as though she had grabbed the lasagna and mushed it with her hands.) Are you sure, Grandma?
Gma: It was good.
Me: So, you ate some.
Gma: No.
As I cleaned up the fridge, (she had moved the eggnog flavored ice-cream from the freezer and it leaked everywhere) I realized I had learned a very important lesson that day. Only bring food the day of, if you want to eat any of it.
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