Pondering Christmas

But Mary kept all these things, and pondered them in her heart.

- Luke 2:19, King James Bible

I love this verse from Luke. It is about Mary, who even though she was the mother of Christ, tried to remember everything that happened on Christmas long ago. I mean, I’m pretty sure she did ALL the Christmas prep,  welcomed the shepherds (they did NOT call ahead), cleaned up after the gifts from the three Wise Men, and now she’s finally trying to get some sleep after her big day but keeps going over everthing that happened in her head instead.  

I can relate.

I am pretty lousy when it comes to  pondering things so I made  a few notes about my 2013 Christmas. 

My mom and I welcomed the Christmas  by attending a beautiful Christmas Eve Service at Resurrection United Methodist Church.

I spilled wax on my only clean pair of jeans. Both legs.

On Christmas morning I jumped out of bed before my boys and my mom to get ready for the morning.

I couldn't remember for the life of me where I stashed the candy!

Soon everyone was up and multitudes of carefully wrapped gifts awaited us.

Earle and I waited for the boys to wake up and when we did, the four of us waited for 

Grandma to wake up.  She will not appear in public in her bathrobe and pajamas so then the four of us waited some more.

Soon we were up to our elbows in a sea of paper surrounded by the gifts of the season.

Grandma got seven boxes of Chocolate. SEVEN. She was thrilled. She also got books and a Barnes and Noble giftcard.  She demanded to know why Barnes and Noble didn't open on Christmas.

I was especially pleased to see how much my sons enjoyed their gifts.

Nat really liked his  Star Wars Lego Jabba’s Sail Barge with 850 pieces for ages 9-14.

Zack and I fought over which came first, the Princess Bride book or movie.

I certainly loved mine!

Including the books I bought for myself and wrapped for myself.

And so did Earle!

But the additional Christmas expenses, not so much.

He cooked our traditional Christmas breakfast, blackberry pancakes, and we dug in!  

Note to self. Buy canned blackberries next year. The large fresh ones that looked so tasty in HT rose up out of the batter on the griddle like marbles in a plate of soup. 

After breakfast it was so nice to just relax.

While the guys played video games and Mom dove into the newest Anne Perry, I took an hour and a half morning nap with a full belly. It was a good thing I had to wear sweat pants.

We gathered around the table for a quick lunch before heading to the movies.

Cookies for lunch.

I chose 47 Ronin because it looked so horribly bad. Surprisingly, I really enjoyed it and when the lights came up I saw Earle had a few tears in his eyes. We were looking at each other and silently reflecting on the somber ending when I heard Nat say  “That may be the worse movie I've ever seen.”

After the movie I learned my sister had been discharged from the hospital.

Good news indeed.

Then I prepared a Southern Living Pecan Encrusted Salmon recipe for Christmas dinner.

We scraped off the pecan topping – ick. The yeast rolls were still frozen in the middle but hey, the salad was good!

And then more relaxing after dinner. Mom and I tuned into some fine Christmas programming.

I Love Lucy Christmas Special.  Fred and Ethel looked so much younger than I remembered!

In the evening Zack headed to Winston Salem to spend some time with his girlfriend.

His  safe arrival text reading “Yes, I am alive” was one of my best Christmas gifts.  

And we settled in for an early night and sweet dreams.

We always settle in for an early night. I couldn’t sleep. It’s 2:05 AM. But I’m happy to have time to ponder this perfectly imperfect Christmas in my heart. And more importantly the birth of the perfect Christ born into this imperfect world.

May he bless you, mankind and my cooking in 2014! 

Mary Frances Visits Duke Eye Center

Mama had an appointment at Duke Eye Center yesterday. She was up early and dressed. Not just dressed, but decked out in a suit, a tasteful fitted brown plaid affair with a white lacy ascot.  She looked like a fine English lady ready for the sound of the horn at a fox hunt.

As we left the house, I reminded her that it was still brisk and she’d need a jacket. As we headed to the door, she was not wearing one.

“Mom, you need a coat.”

“No, I don’t need a coat.”

“Yes, you do need a coat.”

“Well, I don’t need a coat, I don’t feel the cold anymore.”

“Just because you don’t feel the cold doesn't mean you don’t need a coat.”

“I don’t want a coat.”

“Mom, what if we got in an accident and were on the side of the road and it was cold and you needed a coat?”

“I don’t think I will need a coat.”

I picked up the coat and took the mountain to Mohammed.

“Put on the coat.”

She acquiesced, but the look she gave me confirmed that she genuinely was not happy with the decision.

We loaded into the car for her 1:45 pm appointment. And yes, it was cold but you didn't hear her say so.

The parking lot at the Eye Center was characteristically overflowing. We were actually seeing her specialist there a month early. The ophthalmologist she saw in Roanoke Rapids at her last 6 month checkup was not her usual one. He discovered that her corrected vision in her left non-dominant eye had fallen to 20/200. I had watched her take the eye test and in growing horror realized she could just barely read the E on the top of the eye chart and nothing else! She struggled and tried, but nothing. This meant either surgery or injections and Duke would tell us which and when. It was not a happy thought.

After checking in at Duke we settled into two chairs to begin our long wait. The place was jammed as usual, a TV set was blaring on the wall, and snippets of conversation drifted our way.

“How on earth did you let someone hit you in your bad eye with a rubber band?”

“We let my son take the easiest high school classes because who really needs algebra?”

“ The snow is supposed to start this afternoon…”

Ready for a long wait, Mom started reading her book and I,mine. We were antsy to get going knowing that this appointment would result in a path of that was not of our making. We were about to board a train and we didn't know when or where we were going.

Mom soon uncharacteristically abandoned reading. I continued with my book, it was awful and I abandoned reading too. The two of us sat and listened for “Mary Draper” to be called. We did a lot of sitting. And a lot of listening. After an hour and half we won the golden ticket back to our first stop: vision testing and pressure screening.

We were escorted back and I anticipated a replay of our previous appointment. Again, I could see the eye chart from my position and as expected she proceeded with flying colors with her right eye. “About the same” the technician assured us. On to the left. I held my breath, and then the most beautiful sound: “P E C F D.” She was reading the eye chart! She continued to other random letters and the technician said again “About the same as last year.”

What the ?!!!

Before I could absorb this new development,  Dr. M’s Fellow  stepped in with a clipboard and consent form. “Pictures with dye this time.” Mom signed and we moved to our next location.  Her eyes had been dilated and she asked if she looked like the pictures of puppies with big eyes. She definitely did. 

 

After another 30 minute stint we were rewarded with another “Mary Draper” and a very slow moving gentleman took Mom in for the test. I settled in to read again, but this time chose Mom’s book instead of mine.  I got off to a good start and then a very large man wedged into the chair next to me. He filled his space, the shared armrest and a good bit of my space. I tried to shift right in my seat, away from his bulk, but there was too much of him to escape. He didn't speak, but instead made heavy sighing noises and occasional snorts and I tried desperately to be transported by my book to a place where I could exhale without touching a stranger. What was taking so long?

At last Mom’s voice. “My daughter’s over here.”  The slow moving man handed her over and we haltingly crept back to the primary waiting room.

As we slowly walked Mom looked over her shoulder with disdain. She said under her breath “That man was so slow. I never saw anyone so slow.”  He must have been slow indeed.

We settled back into our original seats and waited. By now we were about 3 hours into our visit. As Mom couldn't read we began to bond with our neighbors, learning about their problems and how far they’d traveled. The family across from us had been there since 10:00 am!  Eventually a volunteer distributed candy (thanks!) and coffee (no, thanks!)

And just when we felt we couldn't wait another moment, the Fellow reappeared and called us back. (Mama got a little cheer from our neighbors.) He then  very carefully reviewed Mom’s pictures and history and started his exam. By now it was about 5:45 pm. He was polite and thorough, but he couldn't understand why Mom couldn't keep her right eye focused on his ear while he examined her left. (1. She is 87. 2. She had been waiting over 4 hours.)

Usually Dr. M. joins us immediately after, but as he was running behind we were sadly relegated back to the waiting room. The sun set. The desk closed. People went home. Still we waited.

At last a nurse called “Mary Draper” one last time escorting us to yet another exam room. When Dr. Mruthyunjaya walked in, he brought in a wave of peace and calm. His warm smile and genuinely affectionate manner made us feel our wait was completely worthwhile. He visited with Mom, noticing her ensemble and asking about  small details of her life. He included me in the conversation and a feeling of warmth pervaded the room. In a relaxed manner he described what the day’s exam had shown: no change from a year ago! He said perhaps her poor score prior was probably the result of dryness the day of her exam and recommended some OTC eye drops.  He wants her back for a visit in a year, unless, he stressed, something changes, in which case to contact him straight away.

He left then, telling my Mom Happy Birthday and Merry Christmas, and stopping to give me a hug on his way out the door. We were both elated! Mom said the good news was all she wanted for her birthday. I said it was a miracle! We both thanked God and remembered the prayers that were said on her behalf.

As I reflected later on the visit, I realized that the meeting with Dr. M was a small reminder of what it will be like when we at last stumble into heaven. All the trials and tribulations leading up to that beautiful moment will be worthwhile and all our earthly worries and concerns banished. We will be at peace and recognized as  unique children of God and appreciated for who we are. And most of all we will be loved. What a beautiful promise we have from the risen Christ!

When Mama and I left the exam room, it was pitch black outside and the waiting room was a ghost town. We floated outside and stepped into the chilly night.

Mom let out a quick “brrrrr” and concluded “Good thing I brought my jacket!”  

The Thrill of the Hunt

Growing up in Seaboard in the 60s and 70s, no one had yardsales. Or garage sales (not many garages!) or tag sales. They were strictly big city, like MacDonald’s, shopping malls and swimming pools.  They sounded like fun but who knew? Besides, did we really want or need anyone’s castoffs? 

As a young woman in Durham I found myself in a leadership position with the United Methodist Women where I was introduced to the wonderful world of yardsaling. Once a year, we solicited donations and plopped them right in front of the sanctuary during the community yard sale and then watched the quarters, dimes and nickels roll in. I learned about pricing, haggling and early birds. When it came time for our second yardsale, I invited the parents thinking this might be fun for them. 

Dad was all in! He was hooked from his first perusal of boxes and baskets and kitchen ware and trinkets. Anything was possible: finding tools, kitchen wares, tools, fabric, tools, old toasters, typewriters or tools.  For my VERY financially conservative father, part of the thrill was that he could buy ANYTHING he wanted; it was ALL within his budget. Guilt free shopping. And the chance for tools.  Pretty soon he and Mom were making regular pilgrimages to Durham to yardsale with me. 

Mom however had to be wooed. She minced around the first few yardsales and in fact WAITED IN THE CAR for most. Obviously sifting through other’s personal and used belongings was beneath her. I took items to the car to try to win her over and she would regally nod yes or no. 

At one Chapel Hill yardsale Dad and I spilled out of the car onto the vast front lawn of a genteel house. It was yardsale heaven. In particular I found a 1940s deck of playing cards with models of the world. These cards were bedecked with nude beauties holding strategically placed items representing their country of origin. For example a plate of spaghetti over the naughty bits adored lovely Italy and wearing a red, white and blue tophat ONLY was gorgeous Miss USA! And a steal for only 50 cents!!!  I showed them to Dad and he added them to his stack of stuff and bought them for me, probably shelling out 3 or 4 dollars total. As you might imagine Mom was HORRIFIED at the nudie cards and even more HORRIFIED that my father had unabashedly purchased them for me. Had we no shame? I was thrilled and continue to hold this purchase as the bar to which all yard sales are measured! 

Finally my mother came round. It was the books that did it. She finally realized that books were one of the universal items to be found at yardsales (along with mugs, frayed baskets and acid washed jeans.)   She scoured stacks for children’s books, old books, bestsellers, any and all books. 

Eventually Mom and Dad bought maps of nearby Roanoke Rapids, purchased the Friday papers and mapped out yardsales for the next morning. They prioritized based on the juiciness of the ad copy and neighborhood. And they set off before dawn. Yes, my parents had turned into Early Birds. 

Their skills grew as Dad eventually learned to haggle and especially enjoyed the “what would you take for the whole box?” strategy. He was happiest when he returned home and sorted through his prizes. My sister got into the game as well and found scads of things for her grandchildren. 

Dad checks out the yardsale setup at Seaboard UMC in 2005.

Mom and Dad loved playing this little game - a 2005 yardsale find! 

Yardsaling became a way of life for us. I went with my Durham girlfriends and my family regularly and my boys suffered from an overabundance of books, games and puzzles. But I enjoyed every minute of it and they may not admit it, but they enjoyed the spoils as well. 
These days yardsaling is not easy for my mom. She can’t walk very far with her “push buggy” and wheelchairs are tough to maneuver in yards or drive ways. So as you’ve read in these pages we’ve converted our hunts to thrift stores and flea markets. 


Sunday brought us the opportunity to do both kinds of hunting. We attending the TROSA yardsale at the State Fair Grounds and the Flea Market. It was only a touch warm, sunny and beautiful! We didn’t find much at the yardsale, but of course managed to snag a few books including another battered copy of Clyde Edgerton’s Raney. (I always buy and give away any of these I find – one of my favorite books! )

 Mama at the TROSA Yardsale 8/4/13

And once we wrapped up the yardsale, Nat’s girlfriend Lilly joined us and we trailed up and down the aisles indoors and out to find the perfect going away gift for Zack’s departure for Berkely. The yardsale gods and goddesses shined on us. Here it is!  

Zack's Going Away Gift 

This little vintage ceramic monkey will be on his way to the great state of California. I didn’t buy him at first, but  more I thought about him the more I had to have him! I was relieved to find he was still waiting for me. The owner was taking down his stand, but the little monkey was still there and priced at $16.50. I offered $10.00, the owner counter offered $12.00 and we both ended up happy.  Dad would be so proud! 

I was not sure what this jaunty little monkey was really for (soap dish?), but I came home and found him pretty quickly online.He is a man’s caddy – you put change/cufflinks in the bowl, hang your watch on his arm, and tuck your wallet into the slot on the side. Obviously it is what every young man needs! Zack didn’t know he needed one, but is relieved, I’m sure, to have it. 

So gather your  (ceramic or dusty artifical ) rosebuds while you may! If its nice this weekend, fill your pockets with quarters, hit the road, keep a keen eye out for yardsale signs and find what you never even knew you needed! After all, it's the thrill of the hunt...

Man vs Beast

HEAT  #1

Last Saturday, we returned from the beach and were happily unpacking. I had just popped into the “potty room” part of our bathroom when I saw a movement behind the plunger and squealed for Nat. It was the giant anole lizard that Zack had spotted lounging by the fireplace earlier in the week. Our four attack pugs must have ignored it for days!

Nat grabbed a plastic container and we shut the exterior doors to the bathroom, blocking the space under the doors with towels. My heart was pounding like a fat man on a trampoline. Nat handled the front line, tossing out the flotsam and jetsam near the toilet bowl. The anole had frozen in place. Standing safely behind Nat, I assumed  goalie position and was ready to spring if Nat missed. Luckily for the anole and my heart, Nat snagged him on the first attempt. The anole went WILD wriggling and writhing to get out. Nat quickly secured him by slipping a lid underneath and handily took him to the fire road behind our backyard.                                                         MacHardys: 1. Wild Kingdom: 0.

HEAT  #2

             On Monday, I am fixing breakfast for my mom. I step over to the microwave which is on a little stand away from the rest of the kitchen. Out of the corner of my eye I see what appears to be a large piece of rope between the microwave and the door. I blink. It’s not a rope. It’s a snake. Mama is watching me as I say to her very firmly “Go to your bedroom and shut your door.” You may remember that Mary Frances is terrified of snakes and closes her eyes even when they are on TV. (She tells me later that when she saw my face she thought I was having a heart attack!)

          

  Luckily my ace animal wrangler is home. Nat has not appeared yet this morning and so I begin to call him. I stand barefoot before the reptile which seems to be growing larger as my calls become frantic.  The four pugs asleep on the couch mere inches away don’t even flick an ear at all the noise.

Finally Nat emerges.  This time my fat man is doing somersaults on the trampoline. Nat very logically puts on shoes, long pants, and work gloves and then take my position so 

I can do the same. Again, I grab for a container and relieve him while he looks for some sort of tool to actually pick up the snake.

But the snakes goes on the move, bunching his body up against the corner and this time I slam the plastic container against the door. SCORE. He’s trapped and writhing in fury. After a bit of creative maneuvering Nat gets a lid on container and out to the fire road he goes again.

MacHardys: 2,Wild Kingdom: 0.

I suppose the black cat that crossed my path today should have given me the heads up for HEAT #3

HEAT #3. .

Mom and I arrived in Seaboard today and I just went upstairs to the room I sleep in to open it up and air it out a bit. The heat pump doesn't always cool it down, so I sometimes I turn on the window unit before bedtime.

When I open the door I freeze. Someone has been in the room. Items have been swept off of surfaces and the pictures on the wall hang tilt-a-whirl crooked. A large lamp has been knocked over.  I get the eerie “ghost walked over my grave” feeling as I try to think why or even how someone would get in Mama’s house and trash this room. It doesn’t add up.

Then I realize I left the closet door open last trip. And it connects to the furnace room downstairs which connects to under the house. An animal?

I look closer. The window frame near my bed has been chewed. Chewed frantically by some creature that desperately tried to GET OUT. I see weather stripping recklessly torn out of the window. And scratches on the glass. Now I am feeling the need to GET OUT.

I look but I don’t see a critter. I don’t hear a critter. I don’t smell a critter, living or dead. The bedding is undisturbed. But I am still creeped out. I turn on the AC, close the closet door and scamper downstairs where I sit writing this. I will eventually man up and inch my way upstairs and I will get ready for bed and I will pull up the covers and I will try to sleep. But I will sleep with one eye open.

It’s not over, but I think it’s safe to call it.

MacHardys:2, Wild Kingdom: 1.

Marlin Perkins would be proud.

The Small Stuff

My parents were both children of the depression when goods were hard to come by.  Their legacy to me is that everything has value. (This is a legacy evident in my overstuffed house, my happy trips to thrift stores and in the carefully staged interventions in which my family forces me to watch back to back episodes of Hoarding: Buried Alive.)

I’ve been searching for some of my mom’s documents recently.  I think they are at my sister’s house. She thinks they are at my mom’s house. Mom doesn’t know where they are. My sister’s tip was to look in Mom’s china cabinet drawers.  So one afternoon in April, Mom and I commenced our search.

To say that the drawers were stuffed is to say that Kim Kardashian has gained a little babyweight.  Each drawer required a fair amount of tugging to yield its treasure:

•  A box of GOOD PENCILES. Note that originally the box (lovely and inscribed with Good Wishes (?)) was reused to hold GOOD PENS, but my thrifty dad now used it for GOOD PENCILES. My dad was a mathematical genius who would often pull down his college calculus books FOR THE FUN OF IT. He read and recited poetry and did crossword puzzles, but somehow the spelling of PENCILS eluded him. And in case the writing on the box was not clear enough he added a fresh jaunty label and inscribed GOOD PENCILES again. Lest you wonder if this box was a foil for a stack of silver or cash, I include here a picture of its contents.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
•  TWO HANDMADE THINGS. I am not sure what they are. Mom insists that my dad’s mom made them and that they are hot mats. I had mom hold them up for a photo and instantly realized that perhaps they were components of an early bikini prototype.
  
•   A 1982 CALENDAR/LINEN TOWEL FROM AUSTRALIA. Is it a calendar? Is it a linen towel? IT’S BOTH!  This beauty was no doubt courtesy of my dad’s cousin Peggy who lived in Australia. I suppose it was too nice to actually use, so was buried in a drawer instead. (Sorry Elaine, I snagged it for myself and brought it to Durham. Where it will no doubt languish in a drawer because it’s too nice too use.)
  
•  A PAPER BIB EMBOSSED WITH MY NAME. I have no provenance for this item as Mom doesn’t remember how we happened to have it. But we better save it……
  
•   A box of DRAWING INSTRUMENTS. What the @#$% happened to the puzzle?
  
•   A PLASTIC PILL BOTTLE. Filled with....... PEN CAPS!!!! ) This may have been my favorite find!
  
•  ASSORTED OFFICE SUPPLIES. These boxes, carefully labeled in my dad’s draftsman block, illustrates his careful stewardship of pens, markers, and rubber stamps. While I did find the GOOD PENS box, I searched in vain for a BAD PENS box.
  

 While it was great fun rooting through these drawers (and we did actually throw away some things!!!) we did not find the missing documents. However I did get a terrific refresher course in some lessons my parents taught me.

1.       Everything has value. (Wise people save the nice things they have. Fools use up everything as soon as they get it. Proverbs 21:20)
2.       Organize your stuff.  (But everything should be done in a fitting and orderly way. 1 Corinthians 14:40)
3.       Some things are too valuable to be used and must be saved. ( I came not to judge the world, but to save the world. John 14:27)

Okay, I know I took those out of context, yet stewardship is what it’s all about. Taking care of our belongings, ourselves, our families, our friends, our communities, our country, our earth.  I am working at home and in Seaboard to save, share,  recycle or toss stuff.  If there is hope for the alcoholic, the drug addict, the gambler, the thief, then surely there is also hope for me and my kin: genus packratus.

I’ll be sure to let you know when the Hoarders: Buried Alive camera crew shows up

I take Mama to the Thrift Shop

What is it about thrift shops?? They smell funny, they are full of things cast out by their original owners: jackets with worn out elbows, books with tattered covers, crooked lampshades, half burned candles, dolls with frizzy hair….

And yet….on Thursday Mary Frances and I headed into the new (to us) Durham Rescue Mission Thrift Shop like cats with our tails on fire. After a morning of Disciples Bible Study and a fine luncheon at Hardee’s, we were ready to open Pandora’s Box.

I made a firm vow, as usual, I WILL NOT TO BUY ANYTHING I DON'T NEED! My house is full to the gills already, especially where books are concerned. And if my boys come back from their road trip to Illinois and find I've “accumulated” more…they will never let me hear then end of it!

Mama and I entered the Thrift Store and just gaped for a second at the cavernous space; we were used to the small, tidy Goodwill Store. I just didn't know where to begin, but she sure did. From the doorway she made a beeline for the bookshelves in the back like some kinda book seeking missile. Good thing we latched the basket onto her walker. We were gonna need it.

We dove in. They had a great selection. I would find ones I thought Mama would like and she’d say “no” and she’d finds ones she thought I would like and I would say “no”.  I adamantly REFUSED any books for my grandchildren, as I have yet to acquire even a daughter-in-law.  After much hemming and hawing we settled on a great subset which included: 

                ... a book in Japanese which Mary Frances found for Zack. We hope it’s Japanese. We don’t really know!

2                 ... a book on painting landscapes- Nat and I are trying to teach ourselves to paint. 

3                ... the novel A Reliable Wife – I bought for myself even though I have it on my Kindle  waiting to be read. 75 cents can turn a read into a beach read – no worries about getting sand in the electronics. When I got it home, I flipped through it and to my surprise, found a photo of a beautiful little boy inside. Look at that face!

4             ... a book of illustrated Bible Stories that Mama couldn't pass up.  

By the time we finished the books Mama had to sit a spell and catch her second wind. I knew we couldn't tackle clothes.  I’m pretty selective and the racks went on and on, so we checked out the furniture instead. Mama lobbied for a $45 wing chair upholstered in tapestry with a book motif. NO.

Next up, toys and bric a brac. We did find an adorable pull toy. We held onto it to decide until later. We looked at hundreds of dishes, glasses, candles, candle holders, figurines, picture frames, rows and rows. A little vintage pottery bunny caught both sets of eyes and made the cut. There was something so charming about it and we wished we knew its story. Finally, Mama lost her steam and had to sit again while I finished up. 

All told, we spend $13.85. The toy made the cut. 

Because that’s what it is about thrift shops.

They weave together the past: “I had one of those, remember?”

With the present: “This is just perfect for….”

With the future: “One day there might be a little “tootie”….”

And that’s why we love thrift shops. How could we not?  Past, present, and hopeful future, all in one place.  Just like in churches. And families. 

PLEASE! Don’t tell Mama I said so!

There are many virtuous adjectives I can use to describe Mary Frances. One in particular is conscientious. When I was growing up, she always put everyone else first, rarely taking time for herself. She ate moderate portions (always finishing leftovers when the rest of us dug into fresh fare) and naturally stayed physically active by gardening, hanging laundry, and cleaning. The dial on her scales stopped and stayed at a pleasing 145 lbs. for decades.

And in the days of transfat, her beloved physician, Dr. Jonathan Jack decreed, “No more Oreos”. She listened and obeyed. And though she still indulged in a piece of chocolate when it happened to come her way, Oreos remained verboten!

Flash forward to a few years ago when all possible transfat has been banished from the land. I encouraged Mama to ask Dr. Jack about Oreos, and to her delight, they were “back on the table”, in moderation, of course. So after much sad deprivation, they became one of her basic food groups, three a day.

Then Mary Frances started staying more and more with my family in Durham. Food is never at a shortage here and Oreos became a regular at MY house. And then, well, she likes these coconut pecan cookies they have at the store, and oh, aren’t these chocolate chip cookie great?!

When my sister  first pointed out that Mary Frances had gained weight at my house, I was indignant! Though Mama ate well at my sister’s home, she wasn’t eating well when on her own, so I was only providing Mama with balanced meals! Of course she wasn’t gaining weight!

At the next appointment with Dr. Jack – I saw the truth at weigh in, and  it was hard to, er, swallow! And only then, did I realize that when I took Mom to the store with me, she always insisted on a detour to the candy and cookie aisle. And only when I tidied up her bedroom while she visited my sister, did I see what a chocolate hoarder she had become!

 Mary Frances loves the chocolate and is not ashamed to let you know. So she is showered with it by her friends and family and is simply delighted by it. She clearly rations it, and I have caught her indulging in a piece or two with a brilliant smile on her face.  She doesn't share though, not even the from the large  gold ballotin of Godivas my husband gave her for Christmas! (Earle has inquired several times, “What DID your Mama do with those chocolates?” They are safely squirreled away for her personal chocolate pleasure, of course! We haven’t been offered a single piece!!)

Around Christmas time, I mentioned to my oldest son that we are trying to keep a little less sweets in the house because Grandma had put on a few pounds. And with a twinkle in his eye, he looked at me and said “I know. She has a Cookie Belly.” And that she does. Her once slightly rounded belly has blossomed into a happy cookie belly – one we love and one we try to care for with moderation. (She is, after all, 87).  And when we see her dive into a chocolate desert at a local restaurant, or simply crunch into today’s quota of Oreos with a sigh, we are fed through the sheer vision of her joy.

Oh, but PLEASE, don’t tell Mama I said so!!!!