A Funny Thing Happened on the Way . . . (11/14/2014)

. . to the surprise birthday.

"Mimi, did you burn something in the kitchen?" Bonnie asked as she stuck her head in the living room.

"No, why; what are you talking about? I baked a cake and I have some home-made soup simmering on the stove."

I put my laptop down, got up from the couch, and headed back to the kitchen I had left 15 minutes earlier after spending several hours preparing tonight’s dinner.

Entering the kitchen, I nearly stumbled over the floor fan that was whirring busily in the middle of the floor and felt the blast of cold air blowing in from the opened door of the kitchen.

"What’s going on?" I asked.
.
"We’re trying to air out the kitchen from the burnt smell."

"What burnt smell? I don’t smell anything," I replied as I walked over and lifted the lid from the big pot of soup simmering on the stove. Taking the big spoon ladle from the counter, I dipped it into the soup and stirred slightly.

Whoops, I thought, as the spoon touched the bottom and I realized it did, in fact, have a layer of food stuck to the bottom. I grabbed a small bowl and dished up a big spoonful into it.

"Tastes fine; the pot is just burned on the bottom," I replied. "We can just pour the soup off into another pot and leave the scorched bottom to soak."

I had scorched the bottom of the pot making soups and sauces a few times in my life. No big deal.

Bonnie and Mike exchanged perplexed looks.

* * * * *

I’d spent the night at Jake and Bev’s (son and D-I-L) and we had discussed the menu the night before. I would go to Krogers the next morning (today) and buy everything to make chicken/vegetable/rice soup and then stir up a single layer chocolate cake with cream cheese icing. Mmmmmm, just the right thing for this sudden turn of cold weather we were having.

Unbeknownst to Jake, this was going to be an early birthday surprise dinner. As far as he knew while we were making these plans on Wedneday night, however, tomorrow’s dinner was just a regular Thursday night with kids popping in and out and, oh, isn’t it great that mom decided to stay over and cook homemade soup the next day.

Ha!

Bev had left the list of food to buy when she left for work the next morning and I bundled and trundled over to Krogers. Once home, I started my chopping and dicing and stirring and simmering and baking.

I had chopped up bite-size chicken pieces and dropped them and three cans of broth into the big pot and once it got simmering, added the other ingredients as I got them chopped. Switching the burner from "Med" to "Lo" once each ingredient began to simmer. Then turned the burner to one notch above "Lo". I thought.

Then I mixed up the cake and baked it. It was now cooling on the counter.

Finally, around 2 p.m., my cooking chores complete, I headed for the living room and my Lap Top to connect with Cyperspace once more.

* * * * *

Bonnie and Mike (her boyfriend) continued their clean up activities (Bev had asked them to stop by and straighten up the house before our special dinner that evening). Then they left.

Once they were gone, I closed the kitchen door to the outdoors, turned off the floor fan, and put it away. And returned to the living room to check e-mail once again.

Less than an hour after Bonnie and Mike left, Bev got home from work. She commented on the smell. I explained what had happened. She dipped a spoon into the soup.

"Oh, Mom, it’s burned, really burned. I can taste it."

"Oh, no, please. Are you sure? I tasted it. I didn’t taste anything burned or scorched. It tasted delicious to me."

"No, Mom, really; I’m sorry, but it’s burned. Really."

About that time, Jake arrived home. He noticed the ‘burned smell’ as he entered the house. We filled him in on the conversation. Of course he grabbed a spoon, as well, for his own taste test.

"Yep; it’s burnt, Mom. I mean, really burnt."

"I just can’t believe this. I don’t understand. I put the burner on one notch above "Lo" and it has been simmering for a couple of hours."

Bev and Jake both hugged me because I was beginning to tear up.

"It’s okay, mom; really. This stove is funny. It cooks hotter than you think. Really, it’s okay. We’ll order pizza. No big deal."

But it was. A big deal. To me. I had wanted to make a delicious home-made soup; a special home-made dinner for my son. For his surprise birthday.

Maybe it will be a funny story . . . some day.

But not today.

* * * *

There is a happy ending to the story, however In fact, a very special wonderful ending.

It goes like this –

Jake loves cameras and photography and takes pictures wherever he goes. Some of his equipment has been broken or not working properly for some time and he comes home from work and searches online and studies books on cameras and photography. Relaxes in bed looking and studying. Almost every night.

Bev had wanted to surprise him this year with this special camera he wanted. But they didn’t really have the money. A few weeks ago she was talking with Skyler, one of Jeff’s close friends, who had become like another family member. (Jeff is Bev’s son from first marriage). Sky now works at the Sheriff’s Dept. He stopped by recently, as usual, and Bev mentioned she had an old antique gun her father had given her. She showed it to Sky. He said he wanted to buy it. Even though it was a $500 gun.

Bev was thrilled; this could go towards the camera. Maybe she could scrape up enough money after all.

Unfortunately, a few days later, Sky called to say he couldn’t afford to buy it now, after all.

Jeff just happened to be there that day and when Bev hung up the call, she explained to Jeff what she had hoped to do.

"Let’s just pray about this, Mom." Let’s just ask God to some how – some way – provide the money so you can get this for Jake."

So they held hands and prayed. And Jeff left.

About 20 minutes later, Jeff called. "Mom, mom," he was almost shouting, "you’re not gonna believe this. Guess who just called me."

"Okay . . . who?"

"Dad. Dad called. And he’s sending you a check for $2700 for the back child support."

"OHMYGOSH, Jeff! That is amazing. It’s more than amazing. It’s a miracle."

(Need to explain here that Phil, Jeff’s dad, has not worked in two years and so has been unable to pay his Child Support.).

Bev purchased the camera with all the proper attachments. It cost $3000.

* * * * *

After our v - e - r - y special dinner last night, with all the kids and me and Bev’s mom present, Bev left the room and came back with a big wrapped box.

"Oh, by the way, Jake, this came in the mail yesterday so I thought we’d celebrate your birthday early. Hope you don’t mind."

Jake looked questioningly at Bev for an instant before he started opening the present.

Then . . .

I wish you could have seen the look on my son’s face . . .



(*) names are ficticious; events are true.

It Was Just a Phone Call . . .(09/19/2010)

Journal Entry--9/19/2010

Okay, so now I am blubbering again. I would like to call Lisa or CJ and share this with them but I don’t want to cry on the phone.

I just called John to see if he still wanted to get together and work on transferring some of these old 8mm films of my dad’s to video. Then we can isolate a specific frame and make a single still picture of whatever it is that we want. There are several I hope to do this with.  For my book.

So when I called he said he was waiting on some guy to come over (I forget the details) and then he was heading my way. So that saves me packing up the projector and film stuff and carting it over to his house in Franklin. No big deal but still nice not to have to lug the stuff around.

Then he said, "And I’m bringing New England Boiled Dinner."

WOW! I told him I had some food here we could eat (I baked some pork chops, green beans, and sliced potatoes last night and have plenty left.) But he said, "whatever you have can’t beat New England Boiled Dinner."

"Well, you’re right about that."

So he said he would be heading my way shortly and we hung up.

And that’s when I started to bawl.

Just like last night when Tom called. It was around 8:30 p.m. or so and he was driving back from Columbia and said he was just calling to check on me. He does that about once a week.

So we talked a few minutes. I mentioned that I meant to call him to let him know that I mowed the lawn this past week and the uneven ridges were mostly gone. That’s because he came by a few days before that and worked on the mower again to level out the blades so they would cut evenly.

He was glad to hear that. And then he said, "you know, it’s just amazing to me what a strong little woman you are. To think that you can ride that mower and that you LIKE to ride that mower and take care of things the way you do, that’s really something. I don’t think there’s too many women your age that would do – or want to do – something like that. I’m impressed."

"WOW!", I replied. "You just made my day. What a lovely thing to say."

His comments really took me by surprise – I usually think my kids, my sons, especially, just think I’m that Wacky Old Liberal Woman who really doesn’t understand the way the world works.

Then I said something stupid. "Who have you been talking to?"

"Nobody, I just wanted to call and see how you were doing. And tell you that."

Well, we talked a few more minutes and hung up.

And then I started crying again.

I thought about calling him back. I haven’t talked to anyone and didn’t want him thinking so.

Unless you count God. I talk to Him all the time about whatever. It’s just what I do. And sometimes I turn to Him for comfort because I feel sad about things. Things like the fact that my impression is that my sons don’t really understand me. Or if they do, they think I’m naive or silly or ignorant of how the world is, or kind of just a pain sometimes with my crazy ideas.

Like their dad, they tease me a lot. Like their dad, they seldom say things that are complimentary or express appreciation or just say, "I Love you, Mom.." If Jerry could have balanced out the sarcasm with compliments, I could have handled his sarcastic humor better.

In the case of their dad, the toll it took was severe and finally unfixable, and we parted ways. I wasn’t tough enough, I guess, to look past the sarcastic jokes and criticism to see a basically good man standing behind them. If I could have been stronger, wiser . . . if, if, if . . . who knows.

But sons are not husbands. And there is nothing, ever, that will separate me emotionally from my children. They are not their father. They are like him in some ways. Some of those ways are good, some not so good. But the bond between mother and child is stronger than between husband and wife and I thank God daily for the good men my sons have grown to be.

Like my grandmother before me, who I am so much like, I’ve picked a hard row to hoe. I chose it. Financially, it has been so difficult, for so long. And yet I am blessed to have what I have, be healthy enough to generally do what I want and need to do. Lots of times I find myself saying, "Okay, God, you and me. We can do this." And we do.

Sometimes it gets wearisome, though. Sometimes . . .

It was just a phone call . . . but it made my day.

* * * * *

A few minutes after talking with John about the dinner, he called back and said, "Let's meet at Tom's.  I have a really big pot of this stuff and they haven't cooked dinner yet so let's all go out there."

I thought this a little strange but said, "Sounds like a plan to me."   So I grabbed the puppy (Rocky) and off we went to Mt. Pleasant for what appeared to be a "spur of the moment" fun family get-together.

When I got to Tom's I came in thru the kitchen like always.  Jo (Tom's wife) was there but I didn't see Tom.  A few minutes later, in comes John with his big pot of New England Boiled Dinner.  Then Sam (Sammy Jo) and Tommy (Tom's children) came into the kitchen.  But no Tom.

After John deposited the pot on the stove and we all hugged as we usually do, Tom slowly sauntered into the kitchen.  Although it was quite warm, he had on flannel PJ bottoms, a tank top, and a fleece jacket on over the sleeveless t-shirt.  He took my hands as I started to hug him like I always do,, and held them out between us, preventing the usual hug. 

"There's something I need to tell you, Mom." 

"Okaaay."

"When I called you last night, I was at the hospital. A friend drove me there because I had a slight accident with my bike."

I had stopped breathing for a second but he was standing there, intact, talking calmly about what had happened so I got over the initial shock of what he was saying pretty quick.

He finished explaining what had happened (the Miracle I discussed in another post) which included the explanation of why John had called me back to say "let's go to Tom's."  They figured the best way for me to find out what happened would be if I could see that Tom was pretty much okay.

* * * * *

Did I mention how thoughtful and protective and good my sons are?????

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