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| This brightens our dull days for me |
Colin had a minor
surgical procedure today, one of those where they tell you to bring a licensed
driver who will not leave the premises. So I was his designated driver—since I
didn’t drive for two years and there was great family concern about my getting
behind the wheel again, just the idea of me as a designated driver is enough to
strike fear into some hearts in my family. But I was determined to meet the
challenge—and to plan ahead.
Anticipating a long,
boring morning in a sterile waiting room, I packed a bag. My purse wasn’t big
enough, so I got one of those recyclable bags every other store gives you these
days. Into it went a bottle of water (unnecessary—they had water available in
the waiting area); a buttered biscuit and a half a bar of dark chocolate with
peppermint (unnecessary because I wasn’t there long enough to get hungry though
I was anticipating a pre-lunch famine); two pairs of glasses in their cases—sunglasses
and readers (unnecessary because it wasn’t
sunny and I never had time to read
more than email and Facebook). By the time I got the bag loaded, it was so
heavy I could hardly manage it with the walker. But I felt like I was going on
a campout.
And all my
preparations were unnecessary because everything went smoothly and quickly. We
got to the one-day surgical center at eight-thirty and left at ten-forty-five.
I was called back to see Colin twice—once before the procedure and once when he
was in recovery. In between I visited with a woman who has three adopted
children through the Edna Gladney international program. I saw her T-shirt with
“Gladney” on it, and when she kindly asked if she could get me water, I mentioned
the shirt and told her I am the proud mother of four Gladney babies, although
they’ve long since grown past the baby stage. So then we had a wonderful talk
about Gladney and adoption and big families and all that’s entailed. Time
passed so quickly that I never even got to read the two books I had on my
Kindle just in case.
And then we were
off to Carshon’s. Colin does not consider a trip to Fort Worth complete unless
he has a Rebecca sandwich at Carshon’s—hold the Russian dressing, please. We visited
with staff who have helped us for years—after all, Colin’s beating eating there
at least forty-five years.
Tonight we had
Doris’ casserole for supper, at Colin’s request. I’ve told that story so many
times I’m sure you all know it, but here goes. When my ex was a resident, we
went to a small dinner party at another resident’s home. The wife, named Doris,
served this casserole called American Beef Casserole that had won a Mrs. America
cooking contest or something like that. We loved it, and the wives who were
there have cooked it over the years. One calls it American lasagna, because it’s
basically a meat and tomato sauce layer, a noodles and cream cheese/sour cream layer,
and grated cheese. I’ve even had the catering department at TCU cook it for a
luncheon. It’s ubiquitous and delicious-and I ate too much tonight. After
residency, I never saw Doris much but once, when I did, I mentioned the
casserole—and she didn’t even remember it!
At dinner, Colin,
Christian and Jacob got to reminiscing about past family holidays and looking at
videos—and I thought what wonderful memories my grandchildren will carry
through life. Like the Thanksgiving they hunted for Big Foot on my brother’s
ranch and actually found his foot prints (don’t ask!).
Nine-thirty, and
my “big baby,” (nearly fifty), is asleep on the couch, and I’m ready to go to
sleep. A long but happy day.
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