This Evening’s Post Will be Brought to You by the Letter W

Whoot!!! Whoopie!!! Wonderful!!! Weepin’ Mother Mary and Joseph!!! Okay, I slipped that one in there to see if you were payin’ attention. Why am I giggling like a schoolgirl? Why am I jumping up and down? Why am I spinning the kitties until they are clawing and spitting like all get-out? Because for once the Gods are with me. Yep. For once I have spun the magic eight-ball and it came up GOOD NEWS. For once I rolled the dice and it was my lucky number. Are you all dying of curiosity now???

Hubby asked his brother and family for Thanksgiving dinner and They. Can’t. Come.

You can commence celebrating now. I know I will be…

Is It a Slam if She Doesn’t Know It’s a Slam?

Hubby went to lunch with his mother at a local restaurant. You have to first know about this restaurant. It is a family owned place that’s been in this little burg of a town since 1969. This town has a post office. A grain elevator. A Casey’s (that’s a stop and rob to you California people). A veterinarian. A burn-your-own restaurant. A feed store and this restaurant.

It isn’t huge on atmosphere. The radio is playing oldies in the background. The place has recently been remodeled and now has family photos and restaurant reviews on the walls and the crafty things that the ladies who own the place do in their spare time are still lined up on the window sill for sale a month after their Sunday craft sale has passed.

The ladies who own it and run it are sisters. When my hubby first took me there, the mom was still alive and cooking, too, but she’s been gone now for several years. The recipes are still the good homestyle cooking and believe me, there isn’t a place around that can compare when all you want is good food without the frills. They have a regular menu that rotates specials of the day… roast beef, pork roast, spaghetti, baked steak, … and they have been written up in the paper for their delicious pork tenderloin sandwiches. (You people in California will have to find a midwesterner and ask them what it is. I’ve been told by relatives who live out there that they are not to be found.)

When you want a hot beef sandwich, smothered with gravy and mashed potatoes… or a good homecooked plate of liver and onions… and several different kinds of home made pies… oh, this is the place to go. Mmmmm mmmmm….

The local farmers have a coffee thing going in the mornings. They sit in the dark and gossip and plan their days. My father-in-law was one of the key holders back in the day. He would be the first one there and get the coffee going and sit in the dark smoking waiting for the others to slip in the back door. Hubby tried going for awhile after his father passed, but he just enjoys sitting at home more. He says you have to be too alert to have coffee with that bunch!

At any rate, this is the local place where you can slip in for a good home-cooked lunch or supper and you can be in your farmer duds or just-left-working-in-the-garden-do-I-have-to-clean-up getup and feel right at home sitting next to someone who is dressed up to go on into the bigger town nearby to a movie or the local high school football game. The lunch crowd is varied, from big tables of the local farmers, carpenter, electrician, painter, and plumber… to the people who sneak out of the bigger town to get a quick pork tenderloin sandwich on their lunch hour.

Hubby and his mom were there at noon today. MIL is looking around the very busy restaurant. In one of her patented “looking down her nose” expressions, she makes some comment about “it appears there aren’t too many people around here who don’t work”.

Hubby: Not everyone retired 35 years ago like you, Mom.

BAM.

I’m sorry, I know it’s evil, but I love when he does that.