Last night, I prepared for dinner a turkey breast with homemade stuffing – or, in this case, dressing. The meal choice sparked memories, and the conversation turned to 2001.
I came down with pneumonia as Gary was preparing to spend the week of October 8th at the Fluno Center in Madison, Wisconsin, where he was taking a continuing education management course. He had no choice but to pack his bags and head to Madison for the week.
It was a rough week. I have vivid memories of sitting in the family room, alternately dealing with the heat as I spiked a high fever and, when it broke, freezing to death. I had a follow-up visit with the doctor, that I was somehow able to drag myself into the car to go to. I learned that my lungs were full, and I was still sick.
Thankfully, we were on the bus route, and the kids were old enough to get themselves breakfast and down to the bus for school.
By Thursday, we were eating the last of the food that I had in the house, with it looking dire that I could get to the store to fill the fridge. Dinner was looking pretty lean. Thankfully, Gary was scheduled to return home the next night following the last class session. We could do this!
The kids were home from school, and at 4:30 (or so my memory tells me), we heard a car drive up the driveway, and then the doorbell rang. Looking out, I could see my mother-in-law’s car and Marie standing on the step at the side door. Opening the door to speak to her, she quickly backed off the step. Today, we would say that she was practicing social distancing. Then she said something that was music to my ears: she had brought us dinner. BUT!!! She would not come in, and I was only to open the door wide enough for her to pass the dishes through.
Standing there in my nightgown, I cracked open the screen door just enough to grab a dish and put it on the counter next to the door. First to enter was a turkey breast, warm and smelling delicious. Next was a container of stuffing. We cannot remember if it was her homemade or if she had run up to Van Abel’s for a container. Most likely, the latter. None of us remember a veg, but if she had gone to Van Abel’s, she might have added an order of corn to the order for dressing. Last but not least was a pineapple upside-down cake, fresh from the oven.
Closing the door, the three of us yelled our thanks. Waving goodbye as she drove down the driveway. She was heading a few blocks south to Rennes Health Center to visit her husband, Butch. Her daily visits were the reason that she would take no chance in catching whatever I might want to spread. Butch had had a massive stroke on December 30, 1998, and moved to Rennes in early 1999. Daily visits were the lifeline for both of them.
Marie had spent the better part of the day preparing a meal for her family. And we were grateful. All three of us have vivid memories of how good the food tasted; we can still remember how thankful we were that Grandma Marie had taken the time and effort to feed us.
Gary returned home the next day. He filled the pantry, stocked the fridge, and life returned to normal. I could not shake the pneumonia and did not have clear lungs until after Halloween.
But the warmth of the memory of sitting down to eat that night will never leave us. A meal prepared with love. And for our family that night, a life-saving dinner delivery.
