Meat the neighbors

March 24, 2007

I called to check up on my folks today, and to see how my mother enjoyed her 80th birthday. Stories from home tend to be on the weird side, but I’m used to it. I’m also used to thinking there is a fair strain of crazy running in my family. Maybe it’s what attracts the pheasants. It’s attracting something, anyway.

My Mom went out on her birthday, and when she got back, there was a present, stuck between the doors of the house, left by a friend from church.

It was a gift of food. Not really surprising. Church women do stuff like that, from time to time. If someone dies, you bring them a hotdish, right? But for a birthday? I’m thinking, cake, cookies, maybe some muffins. Or maybe a nice fruit basket.

My mother’s friend left her

a meatloaf.

My mother was in a tizzy. “I wasn’t going to eat it. I just put it in the fridge and threw it out on garbage day. It could have been sitting out there all day, for all she knew. And I didn’t know what was in it. Maybe there were eggs…”

And, uhhhhh, meat?