She's good at numbering, calories be dam**d!
After spending the day in Jasper, my Mom's birthplace, we pulled out and headed back to the little cabin we'd rented. I asked where she wanted to have dinner, having a special restaurant in mind. Famous for their pies, and that's enough credentials for me. She asked me, "how would you feel about just having watermelon, one of those striped ones?"
She eats like a single woman. I cook for a 200 lb. man. He has yet to come in, after doing yardwork all day, and ask, 'Bev, what would you think about a slice of cold watermelon for supper?' Tossing out the window the idea of sitting at a table, having people bother us with trivial things like would we like more water, I said, 'well Mom, watermelon is, you know, mostly water, and I think maybe we should have something substantial too.'
I eat like a woman married to a 200 lb. man. He feels strongly about a living sacrifice happening most nights, then showing up on the table. Habit has taken it's toll on me.
She hesitated, then being the best of travel companions, asked me, 'do you think there's any good barbecue around here?'
Barbecue? Goodness gracious, we are in Texas! So we programmed Katie, my GPS with the British accent (because she talks more slowly and I can sure use that in DFW traffic, plus she just sounds nicer) (I named her Katie after the new princess.) Katie gave us more possibilities than you could shake a stick at, because we were in Texas where beef rules.
After making a few 'legal u-turns' we'd snagged ourselves two striped melons from a dear old man on the roadside, and barbecue good enough to be featured on American Pickers, or at least that's what the owner told us. Threw it all in the car, drove back to our little cabin in the woods, and ate. She ate like she hadn't had Texas melon and BBQ for years, which she hadn't. I had the gift of sitting at the table, watching my mother who is getting smaller all the time, eat like a 200 lb. man.
In my book, that's great numbering of days.
She eats like a single woman. I cook for a 200 lb. man. He has yet to come in, after doing yardwork all day, and ask, 'Bev, what would you think about a slice of cold watermelon for supper?' Tossing out the window the idea of sitting at a table, having people bother us with trivial things like would we like more water, I said, 'well Mom, watermelon is, you know, mostly water, and I think maybe we should have something substantial too.'
I eat like a woman married to a 200 lb. man. He feels strongly about a living sacrifice happening most nights, then showing up on the table. Habit has taken it's toll on me.
She hesitated, then being the best of travel companions, asked me, 'do you think there's any good barbecue around here?'
Barbecue? Goodness gracious, we are in Texas! So we programmed Katie, my GPS with the British accent (because she talks more slowly and I can sure use that in DFW traffic, plus she just sounds nicer) (I named her Katie after the new princess.) Katie gave us more possibilities than you could shake a stick at, because we were in Texas where beef rules.
After making a few 'legal u-turns' we'd snagged ourselves two striped melons from a dear old man on the roadside, and barbecue good enough to be featured on American Pickers, or at least that's what the owner told us. Threw it all in the car, drove back to our little cabin in the woods, and ate. She ate like she hadn't had Texas melon and BBQ for years, which she hadn't. I had the gift of sitting at the table, watching my mother who is getting smaller all the time, eat like a 200 lb. man.
In my book, that's great numbering of days.
