Dinner With Grandma

"I pinch them first then flush them down the toilet."  My grandmother is discussing her ant killing methods, and I guess flushing them isn't enough to drown the life out of the little suckers.  Oh s**t.  She took a bite of her beloved eggplant parmesan.  We would have been eating artichokes, but what a sight to see when an 87 year old woman (who grew up in the depression) skins each leaf to a bare skeleton as a ravenous hyena would to a zebra in an African everglade; rushing, of course, so no vultures can scam a bite.  Anyway, back to the eggplant.  I dread each bite only because I sit across from her and she has a tendency to talk while she chews.  Did mention she has no back teeth?  Well she doesn't and somehow manages to chew with the front teeth and tell a story about the Senior Center without choking.  She has not mastered this art, and the canvas is anything but clean.  I dread the moment each dainty bite gets shoveled into her mouth and her lips begin to flap.  As sauce, soggy breadcrumbs and her beloved eggplant become airborne I can't help but scowl.  Specks of food particles fly out of her mouth with reckless abandon and I can only wish I had a face shield.  Luckily the particles never make it to me.  They do however make it to the full pan of bubbling hot, cheesy and delicious leftovers.  I sure as hell won’t have seconds and make sure to take enough before she gets a chance to put a finger on her fork. 

All dinner long I look to my parents to see if they are seeing this phenomenon too.  They do and mock her chewing.  This seemingly cruel act is out of love and helps me forget about the things coming out of her rotting mouth.  She finishes each tasty morsel on her plate, shirt, and place mat savoring every bite as if she were sucking on gold.  I wish I had that much love for the simple things in life.  When playing music—really listen to each individual note.  Maybe then I’d have perfect pitch.  When reading Shakespeare—read every word as if they were the last things a lover would speak to me.  Savor each bite of eggplant parmesan as if I would never eat solid foods again.  So although eating dinner with my grandmother can be a grotesque and horrific experience I have learned to make things last; except for her hugs because she squeezes too tight and smells funny.