He hadn’t had reason to cook for a group in a long time. He lived alone in a small mobile home with his dog and his way of life. Each meal he prepared was just enough for him, and the leftovers went into the dog’s bowl. His kids didn’t come by very often, they had lives that reminded him of his own many years ago. But tonight, all of them would come for dinner which he looked so forward to. He had to make room in his small home, hoping the youngest of his grandkids wouldn't break anything as their nervous energy made them want to touch everything that wasn't glued down.
He rose early to go shopping for the ingredients he needed to cook his daughters favorite, meatloaf, mashed potatoes, sweet peas, and applesauce. Of course, he got kids drinks, cookies, ice-cream, and puddings in all flavors. He hid them so his desert concoction would be a surprise. Lovingly he peeled potatoes, made the meatloaf and set placings for six around what would be a full table. They wouldn't notice all the work and endless piles of dishes required to prepare this feast, but that was ok with him.
The arrived a bit late, but he kept things warm until the laughter and screams of childhood rang the bell. He greeted them with smiles and a deep-felt love knowing times like this are as special as all of them are to him. Dinner was a huge success, and the bowls of ice-cream covered with pudding and a cookie stuck in the top were enjoyed by all. His dog got so many sneak handouts below the table, he crawled off to his quiet place and went to sleep. He was offered help to clean up the colossal mess but declined telling his kids he wanted to hear all about their lives, dishes could wait.
The evening ended, and with doggie bags in hand, they all hugged him and expressed their thanks and love. He watched as they piled into their cars and drove away back into their own lives 'You and me again fella" as his dog sat by his side probably wondering what the hell was all of that? The house seemed so quiet now, and the mountain of pots and pans waited for him. It was late by the time his small house looked like it did almost every day. He sat in his recliner, scratching behind his best friends' ears, falling asleep and dreaming about what to prepare the next time.
www.facebook.com/mikeoconnor-author
www.michaeloconnorwriter.com
No comments:
Post a Comment