Hey! Remember how Val used to have such trouble understanding irony? So much that she had to consult her non-driving son in order to determine whether a situation was or was not irony? Those days are done, my friends. For today, this very day, the 31st of July, in the year 2015...Val found irony. Contrary to popular opinion, it did NOT bite her on the butt.
My sister the ex-mayor's wife was cleaning out papers from a bill and letter holder on Mom's kitchen wall. No bills. No letters. But some interesting items. The capstone, the topper, the piece de resistance was a page ripped from a magazine. From the test kitchens at Taste of Home.
IT WAS A CHART OF FOOD STORAGE GUIDELINES!
Indeed. The woman who once served me 4-YEAR-OLD ranch dressing at Thanksgiving dinner, the woman who gave my boys Kraft Macaroni and Cheese that was still orange but tasted like stale cardboard, the woman who did all her shopping at Ye Olde Expired Food Shoppe...all along had a table of storage guidelines for various foodstuffs, right there in her kitchen! FYI, the recommended time for a bottle of commercial salad dressing is 6 MONTHS.
Oh, yes. I am positive that is a prime example of irony.
But that's not the best laugh I had today. Nope. Mom, even in absentia, is able to turn over my giggle box. We found a copy from some book, page 46 and 47, on the subject of "Make Your Own Slime." But that's not the funny part. I'm sure Mom had a reason to read these slime-making tips about two cool slimes you can make at home. The best part was her handwritten notes, around the corners. Notes which had nothing to do with slime or slime-making. I hope.
E. Welch. Ben R.'s mother. Fell out of bed. 93? Broke both legs at hospital. Okay. Sis and I were not laughing about some long-ago nonagenarian breaking her legs. And we think the note meant that the lady was IN the hospital, not that the hospital is where her broken legs occurred. It struck us as funny that Mom would write such a note on the slime instructions and leave it in her kitchen for decades.
There was another note on the opposite corner.
Jim. 16 ft driveway. no head trom. cracked ribs. a lot of ribs. Sorry, Jim. This one had us roaring. No idea why Mom would make these notes. She had a phone on the kitchen wall across from this letter holder. Maybe one of her old lady friends called to fill her in on the infirmary list. Maybe it was a prayer request chain from church. Maybe it was just Mom. No idea.
In between Jim's ribs and Miz Welch's legs was this number: 1-800-AAA-HELP
This tops the dream I had about Mom last night. Where she took the whole family out to eat at McDonalds, gave the raised eyebrow to a lady who had a blanket wrapped around her son, and proceeded to enclose us all with a black piece of canvas, like a rectangular privacy tent.