I’m a day behind schedule in everything this week, because of the endoscopy I had on Tuesday. So here is Thursday’s blog, on Friday.
Yesterday I had lunch at my mom’s house, and she made egg salad sandwiches. I contributed a can of minestrone soup to the equation, and truly all that was missing was a glass of chocolate milk. Why? Because that is the lunch of my childhood.
When I was small, we lived with my grandmother, Lois. She took care of me during the day while my parents worked, and often we would take an outing. Lois didn’t drive, so we would take the Metro bus to the nearest little plaza, the only one in the neighborhood. There, we found three businesses: Super Duper, McCrory’s, and Your Host.
First, we would go to McCrory’s, which I can only describe as a sort of tiny Target. The selling point for me was the pet shop it contained, with the talking bird that Kevin and I had befriended. We would look at the fish and the hamsters, and then Gran would drag me over to the kid clothes and pick me out an itchy sweater or something. We would walk over to Super Duper, the local grocery store, and she would buy milk or bread or whatever was needed, and always made sure that I got a slice of bologna from the deli counter. I remember two distinct things about this market, the first being the long poles attached to the shopping carts that had wheels that ran along the celling and occasionally made sparks. Also, this is where she bought me Honey Joe.
After the grocery store it was off to lunch at Your Host. It was a little diner that had tiny jukeboxes on the table, and for a dime I could play Frank Sinatra’s “New York, New York” for her. We would order egg salad and minestrone and the best chocolate milk in the world, and we would listen to our tunes and enjoy our food before calling for a taxi home. The cab would come and take us back to the house, where we would unload our goodies and settle in for an afternoon nap.
When I eat that meal, I vividly remember these mornings with my grandma, who left us when I was still quite young. Mom and I don’t listen to Sinatra while we eat, but I like to think that she is there with us in that moment, enjoying a luncheon with her daughter and granddaughter. I like to think that people who have passed stay with us in a way, and the feeling I get from egg salad and minestrone soup just strengthens that belief.
That’s all for today, just a little memory. I have a project or two that needs working on, so I must bid adieu. Enjoy your weekend!