Chapter 35

The mouthwatering aroma of delicious food hit us as soon as we got in the door from the piggyback ride.

Katelyn grabbed her kids to get them to their places at the family table.

Mel and I quickly washed our hands in the foyer bathroom and joined them.

Cassie hadn’t been exaggerating quite how ready the meal was.

If, as a kid, I would have been out of the house this close to serving up time, Mom would have made her serious displeasure known. But, as we’d been keeping her grandchildren happily occupied, we got a free pass and a warm welcome.

We smilingly accepted the heavily laden plates Mom passed over.

Mom had made sure my beloved would see me at my absolute gluttonous worst by serving her special fried chicken, onion sauce and dumplings with green beans. Always been my favorite meal, always will be. I muttered a quick apology to my arteries, promising them some serious cardio exercise the coming week to work off the calories. Dad pronounced a short Grace, and we were off.

Home cooking.

For some reason (and I’m sure the behavioral scientists will have a fancy name for it) Mom’s cooking just hits the spot, every time. Childhood memories, flavored with love, just my favorite meals, who knows. But it was just so special. You know exactly what I mean.

There wasn’t a whole lot of conversation for the first couple of minutes. The vocal silence was almost the greatest compliment we could pay to the cook – though Mel topped it by impulsively exclaiming “So good!” as she cut into her second dumpling. The genuine expression of near rapture on her face brought a big smile to Mom’s.

While the rest of us were being served, James and Katelyn had taken the kids’ plates over to the counter and chopped everything up into spoon-sized pieces. Not that Ben actually used his spoon on the fried chicken – though I noted his grandmother turned a blind eye to the switch to finger food. I winked at Katelyn – the two of us would never have gotten away with such an egregious breach of table manners.

Mel cleaned her plate and eagerly accepted a second helping when offered. Mom chuckled, “I know all you beautiful people in California have to look so trim and toned, but where I come from, you look a little skinny, honey. Wouldn’t hurt you any to gain a pound or two.”

My beloved grinned back at her, “That’s not the issue, Diane. I’ve always been sporty, and I do work out most days, but the problem is going to be keeping it at just a pound or two. If you keep feeding me this well, it’s gonna be more like thirty or forty pounds, and that, I so do not need.”

Mom took that as the compliment it was.

Dad had finished his plate and turned down another serving. He did thank me for bringing Mel to meet the family, which meant he got to enjoy a few special meals which wouldn’t have been served up otherwise.

(He freely admits he’s no longer the weight he was when they were first married, and that he’ll never get near that again, but he’s trying to limit any more increase. Mom respects that and doesn’t tempt him. In Los Angeles he’d certainly look on the chubbier side, but amongst ‘normal’ people here in Georgia, he looks fine.)

He took a drink of water from his glass. “Mike, did you hear about the More MARTA Atlanta proposal?”

(If you don’t know, MARTA is the Metropolitan Atlanta Rapid Transit Authority. Runs the public transportation system.)

“No, I don’t believe I did.”

“Hard to imagine, but they’ve actually come up with something that sounds almost workable. There’ll be a proposition at the November ballots for a half-penny local sales tax to fund investment and expansion. Looking good that it will pass. Proposing a ‘beltline’ which will come out to Emory and CDC. Should take quite a few cars off of the roads.”

“Won’t it just? I wish they’d thought of doing that before I had to commute to college.”

“Don’t we all? They’ve left it decades too long. These last few years, Atlanta has had one of the fastest growth rates in the whole country, and public transit should have been more of a priority. Much more.”

I’d noted that growth in one of the many journals that pass over my desk. The article had been identifying priority sites for expansion of medical needs, and my home city had been in the top ten. The 2010 Census had counted 420,000 people in Atlanta City and around nine and one half million in the greater metro area. Forecasts were suggesting those figures would be closer to 500,000 and eleven million by the 2020 Census, making Atlanta the fourth fastest growing area in the country in percentage terms, and higher than that in sheer numbers.

Hence the traffic being so horrendous and getting worse. Dad was stating the obvious – MARTA was playing catchup and was so far behind it may never happen. At least these proposals sounded sufficiently ambitious – whether they would ever bear fruit is a different matter.

I hoped so. You can often SEE the poor air quality in Los Angeles; I’d hate for my hometown to get that bad. Without major improvements in public transit, it might be headed that way sooner than predicted.

While Dad and I had been discussing MARTA, the kids had cleared their plates to their grandmother’s satisfaction; they promptly demanded ice cream for dessert. With chocolate sprinkles. I guess they’d earned their treat; they’re good kids.

We adults enjoyed a more sophisticated version of tiramisu, Mom’s special recipe. Sinfully rich and with a BIG kick. Mom refuses to measure the alcohol, just sloshes it in until it tastes right. Mel’s eyes sprang wide open when she took her first spoonful. I could see a request for the recipe coming up fast. The Marsala wine gives it the taste, the white rum the kick. I wouldn’t want to drive with more than two of Mom’s generous portions in my belly; with no cooking involved, the alcohol is still potent.

“Mom, I showed Mel your wedding photo. She reckoned Uncle Stan’s girlfriend was a real bad lot, eyes far too close together and shifty.”

“Exactly so. You’ve got a good eye for character, honey. I take it Mike told you the backstory? I have to remember to take the picture down whenever Stan and Pamela come to visit; Pamela doesn’t like being reminded that Stan dated someone else seriously enough to invite her to be in the wedding party. That girl was trouble; my mother and I were both pleased to see the back of her. Stan did a whole lot better finding Pamela.”

The conversation broke up at that point; Katelyn noticed Ben was wearing many of his chocolate sprinkles, and his sister was also in need of having her face wiped.

James and I volunteered to do the cleanup. Mel was co-opted to play with the kids until their bath time; from the laughter and squeals of delight that were audible in the kitchen, that was going well.

When she put her head in the door to tell me she was going to help with the tub, her eyes were glowing in a way that told me she was just loving spending time with the young ones.

Dad, James and I settled down to moan about the state of the world (and especially the Braves). Fredi Gonzalez had been fired a month earlier, and with the upset over the end of the 20-year lease of Turner Field, 2016 was looking to be a stinker of a season. We’d started with a nine-game losing streak, and Gonzalez went at 9-28. We hoped Snitker could pull some of that back, but things seemed headed towards a losing season.