Waffles

Let's face it...it was bound to happen sooner or later. I'm surprised it took this long.

I made waffles this morning for my sons for breakfast. I'm normally not a big "breakfast" person, I don't particularly enjoy pancakes, waffles, bacon, sausage and other traditional breakfast foods. I'd rather have a turkey sandwich for breakfast. But my husband LOVED breakfast. He was the one who would break out the Aunt Jemima's on Saturday morning, and make pancakes.

So this morning, I decided to splurge for the kids and make the big traditional breakfast. When I went to look for the pancake mix, there wasn't any. We didn't have any Bisquick, either. So I went to the computer and looked up a waffle recipe from scratch. I made the waffles, served the waffles, and after the kids took a few bites, they looked at me really sadly. "What's wrong?" I asked.

They looked terrible. They wanted to tell me something but they didn't want to say it. They kept giving each other looks, as if to say, "YOU tell her." "No, YOU tell her." But I already knew what it was. "I'm sorry Mommy. We like Daddy's waffles better."

Damn.

I assured them that it was OK, and explained that I had to make them from scratch this time, because we didn't have any pancake mix. They actually looked relieved, as if they were thinking, "Oh thank goodness it's not Mom's fault. We can dislike the waffles and not feel bad!"

I knew the feeling. After my own dad died, I really missed his French Toast. Mom's never tasted the same.

After the waffles were in the compost bin, my younger son took out some pizza rolls from the freezer and made them for breakfast. All three of us chowed down on them. No hard feelings.

But rest assured I will be buying pancake mix on my next trip to the grocery store.

Getting Real on TV

I was watching one of my favorite shows on TV the other day and there was a story about a widower getting married. He was having a conversation with his Godfather on the morning of the wedding, and he was talking about his first wife, Rebecca.

"Rebecca’s on my mind all the time now that I’m getting married again. And the longer she’s gone, the more perfect she becomes when I think about her. You know, but the truth is, she was beautifully human. Never hung up a damp towel in her life. Never filled up the car when the gauge was on “E”, and every once in a while she would use the word “impact” as a verb. And I would do anything to bring her back, but I can’t. And I don’t want to be alone."

First, I need to say kudos to the writers for this monologue. If that writer has not lost a spouse, I’d be very surprised because I could not believe the way he or she captured the feelings of a grieving spouse.

The monologue makes two points that really resonated with me. First, he admits that Rebecca was not perfect. I can definitely say that Bobby was not perfect. He left socks on the floor, toothpaste in the bathroom sink, dirty dishes in the kitchen sink, and for some unknown reason that I could never figure out, he would put his dirty clothes on top of the hamper instead of inside of it. But even though these are true, he does become more perfect as every day goes by that he is gone, and I would give anything to see those socks on the floor again.

I am also happy with the way the writer of this show acknowledges that the widower would do anything to bring back Rebecca, even though he is marrying his fiancée that day, whom he does truly love. I don’t know any widow or widower, no matter how much in love they may be with their new partner, saying or even thinking, “Boy, am I glad so-and-so died, because if they didn’t, I wouldn’t have met so-and-so.” This might sound harsh, but it is how I feel. So it was refreshing to see a widower (albeit a fictional one) admit those feelings, even on his wedding day.

"If it's any consolation..."

I was at work today and ran into one of the maintenance guys, Vinnie, who knew my husband also through work, and they even shared a birthday. Bobby and Vinnie sort of got to be "work friends", although they never hung out outside of work.

Vinnie asked me how I was doing, and I said the usual, "I'm okay, doing the best that I can." He then went on to tell me how he missed seeing Bobby at work, and how he thought about him whenever he thought of his own birthday. Then he said, "I have another friend named Bob, who I talk to a lot, and whenever I go to call him on my cell phone, I see Bob's number right under his. If it's any consolation, I can't delete it. I just leave it there."

Well, you know what? It is a consolation. I like hearing people tell me that they can't or don't want to forget him. It doesn't take away any of the pain of missing him, but it does give me a sense of relief that someone else out there is still thinking about him. I really want, (or need?) for him to be remembered.

Another Ending

I decided on a whim this evening to take my younger son to The Lone Star Steakhouse for dinner. We hadn't been there in a while, in fact, the last time we were there was with Bobby. The place was packed, which I thought was a little unusual for a Sunday night, and we were told there was a 15-20 minute wait. So we waited.

When we were seated, the server introduced herself (Kelly) and told us immediately, "We are out of a lot of things on the menu. Tonight is our last night."

"Forever?" I asked, a little confused.

"Yes, forever. They just told us last week we are closing. They are tearing down the building to build a Buffalo Bill's Brewery,” she explained.

Under normal circumstances, this would not bother me. But under my abnormal circumstances, tonight it did. Not because I'm a big fan of the Lone Star Steakhouse, but because Bobby and I made a wonderful memory there about 13 years ago when our oldest was just a baby. We went to eat there, and my son had his first piece of pumpernickel bread. He gnawed on that bread forever, and it was so cute. We got such a kick out of it, and talked about it for years to come, entertaining our now-14-year-old with the story.

I remember where we sat in the restaurant that night. I remember looking at my son in the high-chair, which was pushed up against the booth. I remember that it was also our first time at the Lone Star, and how much we loved their pumpernickel bread that they served warm.

It made me realize something: the memories that Bobby and I made are finite. Now, I know we are all mortal and everything that we do is finite, but in my case, the end has already come and gone, and no more memories will be made, and I'm young enough for it to bother me. And now, one of the places that reminded me of a wonderful memory is going to be torn down. It made me realize another cold hard truth...that one by one, the memories are all going to be torn down, and no new ones will be made to take their places.

I never knew the Lone Star Steakhouse could make me so sad.