Yesterday was Mother’s Day. It started out sunny with few clouds in the sky there existed this sense of hope and good cheer. Well, the day never let me down.
Bob had promised to go with me to church. We attend a Presbyterian church here on our little island where the pastor, Pastor Joe, offers spiritual guidance ala stand-up comedian at times. He gives a great sermon. And, for someone who tends to become rather emotional in church, laughter is a nice juxtaposition to my usual teary ways.
After church, we headed over to the grocery store to pick up some accoutrements for our dinner later in the evening with mother. I had told her (and completely forgotten by the time I was in the store) that I would make BBQ’d ribs. She got all goo-ey about ribs the day before, just the day before, when I’d asked her what she might like for dinner.
“You’ve done enough.” Mom said.
“Okay, yes. But, well, would you like hamburgers?” I prodded holding the phone with my chin as I washed dishes in the sink.
“Sure.” She sounded chipper about the suggestion but, if you remember, her birthday was just Tuesday! She had just eaten a hamburger when we’d gone to Downrigger’s for her birthday, four days prior.
“Or, wait,” Suggesting another option for her birthday I said, “what about BBQ’d ribs?”
“Ooo. That sounds good. How will you make them?”
“Um. With BBQ sauce and out on the grill, outside.”
“Ooo. That sounds really good.”
So, the day before, on Saturday, we’d agreed on a proper Mother’s Day dinner and by Sunday around noon, the whole thing had slipped like grape jelly from my mind. Now, knowing mom hates chicken (due to a “chicken incident” on the farm when she was a child) and hates fish, ANY fish—fresh or otherwise (it tastes too fishy), hates shellfish, won’t eat pork because pigs are smart, hates eggs and, well, so much that I would be writing until about midnight tonight, I opted for beef. I know that mom loves beef, even though she had a pet cow, Daisy, as a kid. There’s not much understanding to be understood when it comes to mom so please don’t ask me any questions. Questions only lead to very long and windy answers. And, unless you have about four hours to spend, where you just want to listen to me talk, well, call but I’m not expecting the phone to be ringing off the wall anytime soon.
Beef it was. I got two packages of tip steaks, nice big ones. When we got home from the store, I called mom, again.
“I got the meat!”
“Um.” Oh, crap! “Uh. No. I got steaks.”
“I thought you said we were gonna have BBQ’d ribs.”
“I did. We’re still having it BBQ’d. But I figured we could forego the bone and just have the meat!” I was trying to sell it. I hadn’t gotten any BBQ sauce. I mean, I knew we always had BBQ sauce in the house. “They’ll still have BBQ sauce, just no bone!” Selling, selling, selling. “But, mom!”
“Yes.” Her voice sounded a bit diminished by then.
“I got…” Drumroll please! “Eclairs!”
“Oh! Nummy! I love eclairs!”
Which, of course, I knew. Thank you God for letting me spot them in the refrigerator section off the deli department at King’s. Thank you!
Enter Bob, my husband.
“How are you gonna fix the meat.”
“With BBQ sauce.”
“Did you get BBQ sauce? ‘Cause I used it all the other day on the ribs.”
But, his confidence in me instilled in me a sense of hope that had long passed, like in the fifth grade. He said, “But, I’m sure you don’t need BBQ sauce. You can whip up anything.”
Ahh. Sweet. However, not very timely. Still, I raised my eyebrows and sure enough in the spice cupboard sat an almost-full container of Stubb’s BBQ Meat Rub. Wee haw! My chef-ing wheels started churning (like butter, I might add!). And, after reviewing the contents of the refrigerator, I spotted a jar of Worcestershire Sauce (pronounced… ‘cuz we know, we’s been to Boston… worster sauce). Then, I pulled out my handy-dandy olive oil and some spicy mustard relish called Mama Lil’s Honkin’ Hot PeppaLilli Mustard Pickle Relish (thank you Ashley!). And, voila! What once was just plain old meat turned out to be smathered with a fantastic BBQ sauce-type-thingy-do.
Well, all-in-all, we had a completely enjoyable time with mom, again. She kept asking about the eclairs, all the way through dinner. I mean, it was like…
“I can’t wait for the eclairs!” and “Oh, when will we have those eclairs.” and “I’m going to hold off on eating everything so that I have room for my eclairs.”
Of course, I’m a fiction writer and tend to exaggerate and embellish. But, no lie. Mom LOVES eclairs. I just wish she would find out from Uncle Bert what the heck made Gramma cry all the time.