I Mean What is There to Say?

Hey Chroniclers…how ya doing?

I feel that maybe I should start these particular Chronicles off with a warning. What warning? I’m not really sure, but if you feel you have to peel off at any time because, well, I think you’ll get the drift as you read on.

A little over a week ago, our son and his wife gave us some heartbreaking news. A couple, close friends of theirs, and our friends too because, well, they’re awesome, and I guess they think geriatric people are cute. Anyway, that's neither here nor there.

I’m burying the lead. Our son gives us the awful news that they lost their son.

Tragic.

He was only 23 years old. No, we don't know what happened. He just passed away suddenly.

But my boy goes on to tell us that there's a food chain and asks if we want to get involved. Of course, me, the eager beaver, I answered, “Yes, of course, we do. Mom’ll make her lasagna.”

Now, as you can probably surmise, I got into some really hot water for that suggestion. For several reasons.

Let’s start with number one: I volunteered without checking in with the HB first, even though she was standing right next to me. Two, because I'd volunteered the HB to make lasagna, which as some of you probably know isn’t really a quickie, let-me-just-whip-this-up kinda meal. Oh, and three, did I mention what condition our kitchen is in? There’s nothing in it! There's no counter ,and no sink. We have a stove, a fridge, and a microwave so small that a college co-ed couldn’t heat a cup of noodles in it sitting on top of a card table.

Oh, and the major biggie; the only time I spend in the kitchen is walking through it to get to the refrigerator to grab a Pepsi with mini icebergs in it.

In my defense, there's a reason I volunteered her to make lasagna. If you don't know the HB's lasagna is heaven-sent. I mean, it is just mouthwatering.

Anyway. Yeah, I did it. I suggested lasagna.

So on Monday, the HB & I packed up her lasagna after she'd worked on it for hours. We took it over to our friend's house with a bottle of Daou, and we arrived. Of course, they're not alone. There are always people around because, as a community, and as a family, we all want to surround them with that blanket of love.

We were told to make enough for six, but my wife doesn't know how to do that. She always makes enough for a platoon. And it’s a good thing, two of her best friends were there. Her sister and her sister’s husband were there, when we walked into the kitchen. The original plan was to meet and hug everyone, say a few comforting words, drop off the vittles that the HB cooked, and then give them some space.

We tried to take our leave, but they insisted that we stay and break bread with them.

And that’s when it happened. I knew it would because IYKNYK, right? Anyone who’s had the HB’s lasagna has had this feeling

“OMIGOSH THIS IS GREAT!”

“Holy cow. Your lasagna is ridiculously good.”

They just could not stop commenting on the HB’s lasagna. The HB’s lasagna; it’s like a long, warm hug from your favorite relative. And that’s what I wanted them to feel from us, and that’s why I volunteered the HB to make her lasagna.

I’m just gonna have to endure her side eye for a bit. But for me, it is worth it.

Wow.

Drink ‘em if you got ‘em.

RIP Dom

#coffeehousechronicles