Tuesday, July 16, 2013

Dear Jesus, Food

Mother has a different way of handling food.  She buys lots.  And then stores it forever.  Until it gets used.  OR until one of us can get our hands on it when Mother is not paying attention (aka out of town = never) and feed it to the chickens.  Also, she is really good at letting food air marinate (aka keeping refrigerated food on the counter for longer than I would like to know).
 
Expiration dates mean nothing to Mother.  Smells mean everything.  Don't throw food out that has mold.  Just cut it off.  Scrap it out.  It's still good, somewhere.  Microwave it an extra 3 seconds.

Yup, we don't waste food at Mothers.  Eat what you're served or pay $1.  And over the years we have had fun with it.  Because there was/is no other choice.

Growing up, Bruver Bear Chuck would often say, "I'm a hungry hyena and this is my bone" - to food that was less than appetizing.  And then he would proceed to cram his food in his mouth as fast as he could.  You know, food spewing everywhere.  He would also refer to oatmeal as "great grandmother's soggy old feet".

And once Sister Bear was practicing her culinary skills and thought that making the largest pan known to mankind of frozen, breaded chicken patties covered in alfredo and spaghetti sauce sounded perfect.  Did I mention the pan was an illegal size of hugeness?  Can't waste food, so we sat down to a gag-induced dinner.  The fellas really out did themselves.  They had 2nd helpings to finish off the pan.  And then all ran across the road to throw up.  Did I mention that we also had dinner guests that night?

Thanksgiving turkey carcasses are left on the stove,14 too many hours.  And some how in this bacterial oasis, nobody has ever gotten sick.   Maybe it's because we pray extra hard to bless the food.  Or, perhaps our bodies have built an extra 13 layers of protection in our stomachs. Not quite sure which it is.

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Dinner last night consisted of cream of chicken soup that expired in 2009, stuffing that expired in 2011, and some sour cream that smelled like a rotten chicken butt hole (didn't check the expiration on that one - just smelled)

We survived. Without even a smudge of a tummy ache.  That's the power of Jesus, baby.  (You know, pine-sol commercial?)

Anyway, if anybody would like to throw up an extra prayer for me over the next 4 weeks regarding my stomach accepting the food presented to me - I would greatly be pleased.

Take Aways
1)  Never ever ever take a microbiology class.
2)  Always pray before eating.
3)  When life tastes like grandmother's soggy old feet, find something to snicker about.
4)  Don't be ashamed of having dinner guests over if your dinner didn't turn out the way you wanted.  Building community and memories is way more important than a little episode of puke.


2 comments:

  1. I remember once when I was over your sister on her 3rd go around or so with a plate of food (so prob served to her dinner the night before, breakfast, and then lunch b/c she wouldn't eat it) and shoveling the entire thing into her mouth then asking to be excused and running outside to spit it in the woods lol.
    Carolyn

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  2. I remember being told frequently "you don't have to like it, you just have to eat it!"
    and I remember the copious amounts of shredded wheat that was bought and you had to eat it like a cow! Fond memories! :)

    McKinley

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