THANKSGIVING DAYS
It’s over, all ten guests have left. My son-in-law and grandson-in-law are both handy and know I’m not, so when they visit they fix things or point out things that need fixing. We now have two new overhead lights in our driveway, and a new bulb in the oven — our son-in-law seemed amazed I didn’t care whether there was a working light in the oven. He also vacuumed part of the basement floor where’s there a green rug. It seems greener than before, maybe because most of the green was hidden by white splotches. Who knows what those were.
The morning after Thanksgiving I discovered one of our visitors had unearthed from somewhere a set of handsome silverware that didn’t look like ours but apparently was from way back.
So far we’ve only found one new spot — from red wine — on our living room rug. That’s not bad, considering our recycling bin is overflowing with empties.
Hours before Thanksgiving dinner, my wife Irene and I went for a walk. One of our neighbors was in his yard. and I introduced Irene to him. About a year ago I had got out of my car and shook the hand of this neighbor who lives four or five houses away. We had never talked before.
I told Irene that day I had finally met the Hispanic man I frequently saw outside his house. His name was Jose, I said.
That’s how I introduced him Thanksgiving Day. “Irene, I want you to meet Jose.”
“Jose” said, “my name isn’t Jose. It’s Roberto. Actually it’s Froberto with an ‘F’ in front of it.”
Both Irene and I said, “Froberto” a couple of times because it’s a fun sort of name.
The man, formerly known as Jose, said he was from Puerto Rico and his father had trouble saying “r”s. Plus, “he was drunk when I was born and he gave me the name “Froberto.” Way to go, Dad.
We laughed about that and chatted for a while. I should have apologized, but didn’t, for getting his name wrong.
The day before Thanksgiving I went to a bagel place with instructions from our daughter to get a dozen bagels, at least half of them plain, plus cream cheese and nova. This son of Indiana didn’t grow up with bagels, but Irene and I now have them a couple of times a week for breakfast.
This wasn’t the bagel place where I normally go. While waiting for my turn, I noticed a bin full of red and green bagels. Rainbow bagels, a sign said. Yikes. Who would buy them?
After Thanksgiving dinner, I asked our two younger granddaughters — one 16, the other about to be 20 — “Please tell me you’ve never had rainbow bagels”.
They both said they had and that they were good. I’ve tried to be a caring, considerate grandpa but somehow I’ve failed these children or they wouldn’t be going around eating rainbow bagels and admitting it.
-0- (Posted November 27, 2023)
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