BRAINPAN LEAKAGE

Nope, not the pizza. They make okay pizza, I guess, but the truth is I got kind of burned out on them quite a few years back. You see, during my college years I had friends who worked at Dominos and we were all the time ending up with pizzas that hadn’t been picked up, or pranked deliveries, or simply an employee discounted “pie” as they called them. We were eating Dominos pizza all the time, so I pretty much had my fill. I mean, I’ll eat it if it’s there, but given my druthers, I’d rather have a Saint Louis Style (thin, crispy crust with provel cheese) from Imo’s or one of the local mom ‘n pop pizzerias.

But, like my usual self, I’m off on yet another tangent. I didn’t come here to talk to you about pizza today. I also didn’t come here to talk to you about the little rectangular tiles with the dots all over them either.

Well, yeah, I guess actually I did plan to talk about the dotted rectangles, but only metaphorically, and just at the beginning. Are you following that? Good, because someone has to. I’m starting to get lost…

Anyway, on with the metaphor. You know how when you’re a kid – or even an adult – you tend not to actually play dominos the way the game is meant to be played? Instead, you spend hours painstakingly lining them all up in intricate patterns, with specifically prescribed distances between each, and then after all that hard work you knock the first one over and watch the 30 second (if you’re lucky and have A LOT of dominos) chain reaction. Go on, admit it. We’ve all done it. Sometimes we even do it with boxes of Hamburger Helper and crap like that you find in the cupboard. Well, at least I do… But I guess we won’t go there…

So anyhow, memories are like that too. You knock one over and the next thing you know there is this whole cascade of memories rattling around in your brainpan. Some good. Some bad. Some funny. Some, not so much. Well, that’s what happened this morning. I was sitting here, minding my own business, taking care of the morning email – well, the night’s email that I was just then seeing in the morning, but…yeah…digressing again – So…There I was… Minding biz… Doing email thing…

That’s when it happened. A particular email from a friend sparked a memory about my wife’s maternal grandfather (now long deceased). It’s kind of a cute memory, and a story I’ve told to many folks to illustrate a point about aging and reality. But, as with Dominos the pizza, and dominos the game, it’s not the actual memory I intend to share today. Yeah, it basically went clack, knocked over another memory, then another, and the next thing I knew there was this other memory left standing – improper spacing of the dominos, I assume, which means I must be having gaps in my memory…but, we won’t go there either…

So… I have absolutely no clue if I have told this story here before or not, but I’m going to tell it again anyway. Why? Because it’s funny and besides, this is my blog so I get to run off at the mouth in it all I want. So there. (hmmmm…wonder why they don’t have just a plain old “sticking tongue out smiley” on this blog interface…)

Okay… On with the tale.

Now, this is a true story. I am telling you that because as you read it and visualize it, you are going to be imagining an episode of The Benny Hill Show or Monty Python going through your head. But, I’m here to tell you this really happened, and there were a whole host of witnesses.

Back when EK’s grandparents were still alive, but most definitely in their waning years, they resided at a very nice assisted living facility. On holidays – Thanksgiving, Christmas, etc – the family would gather out there for a big dinner in the dining room, then retire to their apartment for visiting, etc. This all went on early in our marriage, so EK and I were young and spry back then (trust me, that factoid comes into play later)… Anyway, time marches on and eventually folks pass away, cross over, kick the bucket, expire, or whatever euphemism you wish to apply. In the case of EK’s grandparents, her grandmother went first. Now, as one would expect, and as statistically happens, her grandfather began a steady decline following her loss. After all, his wife of almost 75 years was gone. He ended up moving out of the apartment proper, and into the attached nursing facility. He didn’t last terribly long after that.

Yeah, I know, I said this was a funny story and the above is not funny at all. I realize that. But, we are getting to the funny part and it has nothing to do with death. Well, maybe a little… It actually has to do with life in the face of impending death.

Right around 1 year before EK’s grandfather simply gave up altogether and allowed himself to die, we gathered out at the assisted living facility for Thanksgiving dinner. What with grandma being gone it was a much more somber celebration than it had been in the past, but it was still very nice. At this point, grandpa didn’t move around so good. He could walk, but not a great distance by any means. So, since it was a nice day, as is often the case with Saint Louis around Thanksgiving – fairly cool, but with the sun shining and not bitterly cold – the family decided a nice walk around the “lake” in front of the facility would be in order (actually, where I come from it would be called a pond, but here in Saint Louis they think it is a lake, so I just go along with them). So, with grandpa loaded up in his wheelchair, we set off for a liesurely afternoon stroll.

Now, as much as the family tried to lighten the mood, the tone was still very somber. After all, grandma hadn’t been gone all that long, and holidays were kind of her thing. In fact, she used to “save up” their dining room “meal tickets” so that the family could gather with them. And, from the stories I have heard, grandma used to cook up a storm and put on a hell of spread during the holidays. I met and married EK a bit too late in life to have enjoyed those particular family gatherings, but the get-togethers at the facility were still wonderful.

So anyway, back to the story… We made our way down the hill on one side of the small “lake” then came around the end, and started up the hill that banked the other side. The path itself was a concrete sidewalk so the going was smooth, and the direction we were heading would take us right back to the nursing center, and grandpa’s room. All good. Well, we made it about halfway up this side when everyone decided to stop for a bit to “smell the roses”. Admittedly, the scenery was nice and serene, and we all thought it might be nice to just rest a moment and look out over the “lake”.

We all turned to face the tableau and drink in the splendor of nature. Some geese were flying overhead making geese noises, there were a few wispy clouds in the blue sky…the crisp autumn air was filled with the loamy smells from the carpet of leaves that had fallen off the trees in the small, urban wooded areas at our backs. We were all gathered together, enjoying it as a close knit family unit. It was pretty much “Norman Rockwell Family Postcard Perfect” as we stared out across the glassy water at the bottom of the somewhat steep, grassy incline before us.

It stayed perfect for about 5 seconds, because then I heard the screaming…

Yes, screaming. Well, maybe more like a yell than a scream. In any event is was somewhat weak, but still quite audible and filled with maybe a bit of fear, but mostly what sounded to be complete surprise. And, it seemed to have started nearby, but was now moving away from us…

Wondering what was going on I brought my gaze quickly downward and saw, much to my horror, grandpa, still seated in his wheelchair, arms flailing as he rolled ever faster down the bumpy, grassy hill toward the lake. You see, it seems that my brother-in-law (who shall remain nameless, and I have several so it will be easy for him to remain anonymous) had neglected to set the brake on the wheelchair. Due to our position on the rise, and the fact that he had turned grandpa toward the lake so that he could see what everyone else was enjoying…well, to put it simply when he let go of the handles to point at something, gravity took over, as it tends to do.

Here is where the young and spry comes into play… Quite obviously we were all terrified. Here we have a somewhat frail, 90 year old man, hurtling toward a “lake” in a wheelchair, down an incline, on a crisp autumn day. The water in the “lake” wasn’t exactly warm as you can guess. So, while some gasped and screamed, others of us sprang into action, running headlong down the hill after the wheelchair.

Well, as it turns out, grandpa had way too much of a head start on us, so, weak cry, arms flailing, and everything you can imagine from an episode of one of the aforementioned comedy shows later, he hit the water. Now, grandpa was a very practical and intelligent man, so rather than allow himself to be catapulted across the “lake” when the front wheels of the chair struck the muddy edge, he stuck his feet straight out in front of himself and held on. This manuever saved him from taking a chilly swim, however, he still ended up “wading” so to speak as he slipped down in the chair. When all was said and done, the water ended up at about his knees as I recall.

So, as one could expect, a bit of minor panic ensued. My mother-in-law was extremely concerned for her father, my brother-in-law was concerned – and completely mortified, EK wasn’t far behind me coming down the hill, and my father-in-law and one of my other brothers-in-law who was there that year were neck and neck with me in our race to save gramps.

Arriving at the edge of the “lake” and trying to avoid falling in ourselves, we dragged grandpa out of the water. My father-in-law and brother-in-law got on either side of him and more or less carried him back up the hill as I raced ahead with the wheelchair and soaking wet blankets. When we all reached the top of the hill they deposited gramps back into the chair and he assured us that he wasn’t hurt, but that he was getting cold from being wet, naturally. So, while the rest of the family straightened themselves out and started regaining composure, I lit a fire under my own ass and pushed gramps in his wheelchair as fast as I could up the sidewalk and into the nursing center where we could get him changed and warmed up.

Now, at this point, my own heart was racing and I was deeply concerned. I mean, after all, the man was 90 years old, he was soaking wet up to his kees and damp elsewhere because of the water splashing all over him. It was 45 degrees outside, his blankets were pretty much useless since they were cold and wet, and we were still about 100 yards from the nursing center at the top of the hill.

After we had traveled maybe twenty yards, I started hearing this odd noise coming from gramps. I dug in and pushed faster as I asked, “Are you okay, grandpa?”… I was CPR certified at the time, but really wasn’t in a hurry to put it into practice if you know what I mean. At this point, instead of getting an answer, I noticed that the noise was just getting louder and the wheelchair was starting to vibrate. It was then I realized that grandpa was laughing his ass off. Downright belly laugh guffawing…Almost to the point where he was going to risk not being able to catch his breath… I couldn’t help but start to laugh too. When he was finally able to stifle the laughing for a few seconds he said, “That was fun. Can we do it again?”

With that, we both burst into laughter yet again. We were still chuckling like a couple of wingnuts when I got him into his room and the nurse on duty starting helping him change into some dry clothes.

When the rest of the family arrived only a minute or so behind us, they were still in the concerned mode, and rightfully so. I think perhaps grandpa and I must have appeared to be total idiots to the rest of them because we were still grinning ear to ear, and whenever we looked at each other – or at the brother-in-law who let go of the handles – the chuckling would start all over again. But, he and I knew the reality… In that moment, he felt alive.

It might have been brief and I’m sure it was scary. I know I would have been a bit terrified if it was me in that chair, even at 30 instead of 90, but it still made him feel alive.

That was the one and only time I had seen the man laugh, or even really genuinely smile, since his wife had died. And, the memory of it seemed to be the only thing that made him smile for the year he lived aftwards.

Well, that and a glass of smuggled in Port Wine, but I’ll save that for a different blog, because we have now come back around to the beginning of our chain reaction – a joke about “smuggled booze” is the original domino that sparked my telling of this whole story…

More to come…

Murv

…but then, we already knew that, I suppose.

I reached this conclusion just moments ago… Well, bearing the statement above in mind I suppose I was merely REMINDED of the conclusion moments ago. You see, she made a comment that could only be uttered by an alien. That comment, I will relate to you below:

“No thanks, I’ve never been really big on cheese balls.”

Okay, all you filthy minded little monkeys need to jump on the ladder and climb right on up out of the gutter. We were NOT in the bedroom when she said this, we were in the kitchen. We were both fully clothed, and no propositions had been made other than I had offered her some leftovers from the Yule party this past weekend. We were NOT talking about anyone’s anatomy… We were talking about food.

Cheese balls have been around forever… They are a staple of all known party foods. In fact, some of today’s party foods have been spawned by the omnipresent and traditional cheese ball… But, that’s a totally different blog…

If you are invited to a party, even at the last minute, and need to bring something, you can always find a cheese ball at the store. Or at the very least, with almost no skill whatsoever, you can toss one together in nothing flat. I mean, even if you don’t have time to spend on an elaborate cheese ball (softening and blending the cheeses, adding spices and herbs, and all that jazz), a simple block of cream cheese, a couple of bags of shredded milk curd of your favorite flavor, a packet of dry veggie soup mix and voila! Cheese ball. Not only a respectable cheese ball, but to borrow a phrase from Alton Brown and twist it to my own convoluted use – damn good eats. Now, if you happen to have an extra thirty seconds you can even dress it up a bit. Wrap it in some Buddig ™ ham, or roll it in some crushed nuts. Voila! Now you have a semi-fancy cheese ball…really damn good eats.

Now, if you are blessed with both time and talent, go for the superbly fancy cheese ball (I will refrain from giving you a recipe here because that’s not really what this blog is about) and hey, you get orgasmically good eats.

So… Fancy, semi-fancy, or just plain, the cheese ball is easily had. And, if you don’t want to make it, you can probably get one at the local supermarket at almost any time of the year. But, at this time of the year, if you can’t find one, you aren’t looking. There is, to say the least, a veritable glut of the softened, rolled, curd confection in supermarkets during the holidays. After all, it’s the party season, plus all you need to do is consider the source – way back when, cheese, grain, and root veggies were pretty much what you had to live on when Winter solstice rolled around. They were food items that would keep, and could be stored away for the cold months when you didn’t have fresh stuff growing in the field… But, again, that is another blog…

Now, let us look at the versatility of our beloved cheese ball.

1) You can always take them to parties and they are an instant crowd pleaser – except where aliens are concerned, of which we have established my wife is one. Being an evil redheaded alien, I suspect she is probably their leader…

2) Leftover cheese ball makes a great snack on the leftover crackers the day after the party when you are too hung over to even think about cooking, and all you want to do is toss something down to quell the hunger. HINT: At this point, in order to keep from messing up the house any more than it already is, the leftover cheese ball on cracker should be consumed over the sink.

3) Leftover cheese ball works well as a sandwich spread to liven up that bologna or pressed ham/pickle loaf lunch meat you are taking to work with you between two slices of leftover bread from the party.

4) If folks show up unexpectedly, leftover cheese ball and crackers makes for a quick impromptu party snack. HINT: 10 seconds in the microwave and you can roll it back into a ball so it looks like new and they think you prepared it just for them alone. Simply pop it back in the fridge for a few minutes before serving.

5) Leftover cheese ball will last almost indefinitely. If you get a bit tired of it after the party, just put it in a Ziploc™ or Tupperware™ container, and stick it in the fridge. A few months later when you are looking for a midnight snack, dig it out and slap it on some Triscuits™ or Saltines™. HINT: If it is fuzzy, simply scrape off the moldy portion, discard it, and enjoy what is left. If the mold is blue, then don’t discard – it simply means you’ve got yourself a bleu cheese ball. (This is NOT to be confused with Blue Balls… As I said, climb on up out of the gutter…)

6) If you have run out of room in the fridge, then suck all the air out of the Ziploc™ (they have special ones with little vacuum pumps for that now to make it even easier) and toss it in the freezer. It will survive in there as long as, if not longer than, fruitcake.

7) If it is a port wine cheese ball, and you are out of booze, no worries. The wine is already in the cheese.

7A) If you are going to a wine and cheese party, by taking a port wine cheese ball you have covered all your bases, effectively killing both of the proverbial birds with a single cheese ball.

8) Leftover cheese ball – and even leftover cheese balls, as in many of them – along with a bit of milk and chicken or vegetable stock can be quickly and easily turned into cheese soup for a lovely first course.

9) If you are feeling really ambitious and are looking to impress folks, leftover cheese ball and a shot of brandy will render you a perfectly respectable fondue.

And, lastly…

10) A frozen cheese ball in a tube sock makes a great impromptu weapon if you have a household intruder. Then, merely pop it in the microwave for a few seconds, and you have a lovely snack to serve the cops who respond to the 911 call.

These are but 10 of the possibilities for the ever versatile cheese ball. I could go on and on, but the reality is, your own imagination is the only limiting factor. Cheese balls are one of the single greatest inventions of mankind, and most assuredly one of the most perfect foodstuffs…

So, anyone who doesn’t like them must be an alien, just like my wife…

More to come…

Murv