Good ol' reliable Grandma.

For some reason, it always happens that I go to visit my Grandma around mid-June. Must have something to do with the dwindling of birthday party season (string of birthdays from Mid-March to early June that encompasses many of my DC-friends’ birthdays), an over-worked liver, a depleted checking account, and escalating summer heat & humidity that just makes me want to lie on the couch at Grandma’s house and read a book, play Monopoly or watch a made-for TV movie. Also doesn’t hurt that all your meals are paid for, you’re force-fed donuts and pastries, you’re doted upon all weekend and she insists on stocking you up on any household needs or toiletries before returning home. In addition to a K-Mart run for a new iron, hair conditioner, trash bags and whatever the heck else was on my weekly shopping list, she also insisted I take her cooler and electric knife home with me because I made a positive comment about them. She also offered me her dining room table (seats 6), but I had to draw the line somewhere.

When I was growing up, you could bet your life on the fact that when you arrived, she would have just finished cooking a chicken casserole and orange Jell-O salad. However in the years since college, we’ve rarely gone to stay the weekend with Grandma and the times we have were after my Gramps passed away, so there wasn’t much cooking going on.

I called Grandma earlier this week to let her know what time to expect me on Saturday (around lunchtime). She asked what I wanted to do and if it would be OK if we just went out for supper that night because she doesn’t cook much anymore. Of course I told her that was fine with me (although I have had a 7-year long craving for chicken casserole and orange Jell-O salad. So much so that I made her send me the recipe in the mail. TOTALLY not the same when I make it).

My drunk walk home from the metro Friday night, all I could think about was chicken casserole and how I wasn’t going to get any this visit. The next morning, while driving to Martinsburg, I had planned on stopping for lunch, but hit traffic and ended up just wanting to power through and get to Grandma’s on time. I knew she’d at least have some rolls and lunchmeat for a sandwich. But I still had a grumbling belly and visions of Chicken Casserole in my head.

I arrived around 1pm, famished…and lo and behold, Grandma had just taken a Chicken Casserole out of the oven. Piping fresh. Not only that, but she had orange Jell-O salad AND she bought a box of “World Famous Stickies” from the Diner in State College (the one I worked at my Freshman year at Penn State). Apparently her local grocer stocks them.

A trifecta of comfort food. This was basically the Grandma visit home run.

Oh, and if you don’t think the reason she gave me her cooler was so that I could pack up all the leftover Chicken Casserole and Orange Jell-O salad for dinner this week, you are sorely mistaken, my friend.

Read it and weep, Evan.

(Side note, speaking of Evan—my kid brother—and because I thought it was hilarious: I took my Grandma to church Sunday morning and one of our old Sunday school teachers from when we were little happened to be there. So it reminded my Grandmother to tell the story of one of Evan’s visit to Sunday School when he was about five years old. Apparently, the teacher was telling the story of Jesus. “…And then they nailed Jesus to the cross so that we would be forgiven of our sins.”

Five-year-old Evan: “Um. I have a pwobwem wif dat.”)