A Bad Peach

Our memories can be funny -- especially what we remember vividly

I’ve added a new “feature” to my homepage. It is an inventory of the books read previously in my history bookclub. It is uncreatively titled BookClub. What better rabbithole than books?

My last two posts about the State Fair led to a modest number of UNSUBSCRIBES. Writing about stuff you enjoy is a good plan even if some are not interested. Today is a humorous personal reminisce — another experiment I suppose.

Photo by Siebe Warmoeskerken on Unsplash

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The Spring of 1974

Baseball was still America’s pastime. My brothers and I had our favorite players. My older brother followed Willie Mays while my younger brother liked Johnnie Bench. This trip became indelible for me because Hank Aaron was my baseball hero. Our family was getting ready to embark on our first airplane trip in the early morning of April 9th. Mom, the consummate planner, tried to anticipate all of our needs. It was the days of “traveler’s checks”, AAA TripTiks, and coin purses. Airline travel in 1974 was nothing like what prevails today. Coach travel still meant you were an honored guest, rather than one step above checked baggage in the friendly skies.

Mom had a lot on her mind. While my brothers and I thought of what it would be like in Disney World, Mom was considering what could go wrong. My maternal grandmother, whose world seemed to center almost entirely on food, was a challenge. She had moved in with us as her health and mobility had declined. Our home was a modest 3-bedroom, 1-bath rambler. Two teenage boys and a ten-year-old sharing one room had become our reality when Grandma moved in.

What is Food-Obsessed?

After surgery for a broken pelvis, my grandmother transitioned to assisted care living. The facility was affiliated with a faith-based provider. On a trip to visit my grandmother with Mom, we were met by a stern nun at the entrance who needed to speak to her. It seems my grandmother would sit strategically next to a man with bad vision at lunch. When he was not looking, Grandma was taking his liverwurst sandwich and putting it in her pocket for later enjoyment. When Mom confronted Grandma about the sandwich her credibility suffered as Mom noted a stain on her housecoat pocket. Her poor-visioned pal had some tempting three-bean salad and her pocket was perfect to hold an afternoon snack. Mom had been conditioned, since early childhood, to be her caretaker. The thought of leaving Grandma at home without steady supervision was a real concern.

Mom was focused on everyone getting a good night's sleep, while I was focused on the Dodgers versus the Braves on a special Monday night baseball game. The Braves were hosting the Dodgers but most fans weren’t concentrating on who might win or lose. Henry Aaron entered the game with 714 home runs. He had tied the immortal George Herman “Babe” Ruth only four days before and the all-time homerun record could fall at any time.

Despite Mom’s concern about our sleep, I was unwilling to miss each time Henry came to the plate. In the fourth inning, Hank hit a ball into the left field bullpen and in an instant, the Babe was no longer the king. I went to bed that evening excited for the day ahead.

We arose ready for an early morning flight and the beginning of our adventure. We arrived early for our flight and waited to board a flight on the now-defunct Eastern Airlines. What we all would later realize is that an adventure for Grandma was also in progress. In hindsight, this would become “Home Alone” for Grandma with no one to keep her food desires at bay.  Keeping Grandma on her respective diet was a team effort. Grandma thought nothing of snatching food from an adjacent plate when no one was looking. The collective conscience of the family would no longer guard the refrigerator.

While hard to imagine for the modern flier, in those days flying was a joy. Shortly before takeoff, the flight attendant instructed the passengers to look behind their Velcro-attached headrest pads. One lucky passenger would win a prize. To my surprise, I won the contest and was rewarded with a fine packet of stylized aircraft of the Eastern Airlines fleet and a set of wings to pin on if I wished. The artwork images of early and current planes in the Eastern Airlines fleet captured my interest as we made our way from Buffalo to Atlanta. The connection in Atlanta made the trip even better. The layover was brief, but there was enough time to get a newspaper. A special edition of the Atlanta Journal-Constitution celebrated the home run of the night before. Now I had something to occupy my interest as we resumed our trip with a flight from Atlanta to Orlando.

We packed so much into that trip between DisneyWorld, Cape Kennedy, and Miami/Fort Lauderdale. I am sure that everyone (except Mom) received sunburns beyond reason that only copious amounts of Noxema might relieve. Meanwhile, back at home, Mom’s brother would stop by and check in with Grandma. Nevertheless, she was largely in charge of her diet for the first time in years.

We arrived home tired, sunburned, and full of good memories. When we broke through the door, Mom pivoted from vacation mode to caring for her mother. Like most teenage boys, we checked the refrigerator for something to eat. Some of our bags were still in the trunk when one of us reported there was no food in the refrigerator. I imagine there may have been some condiments and perhaps some maraschino cherries but not much else.

Sure enough, we found Grandma sprawled akimbo in her bed looking far from her best. Mom was “reasoning” with Grandma. Soon enough we were all in the doorway of Grandma’s bedroom assessing her condition. We still remember that the only admission grandma would cop to, prone on her back on the bed, was “on the third day I ate a bad peach.”

My Dad, ever the optimist, decided that the solution to “the grandma problem” would be to bring her along on our next trip to Florida. That is a story for another day.

The Poll & Music

The song today is from the “Eat A Peach” album by The Allman Brothers Band.