Thursday, December 2

She isn’t kidding.

Think back to Thanksgiving now, people. It was but one short week ago. Remember wherever you were, and now picture me in New York. Mine seems good already, right?

The holiday itself was uneventful: My mother and I aborted the let’s-go-be-miserable-with-family plans of yesteryear, and opted for a lovely if non-traditional dinner at Gotham.

On Saturday, I went to Jersey City, where my Grandma treated me to some kick-ass baked ziti, meatballs, sausage, and chicken parmesan. She didn’t think this would be enough food.

Yet she loathes cooking now, which I think is the result of all the dishwashing involved in cooking ten thousand meals over sixty or seventy YEARS. Seriously, I remember times when the entire family would be over there, stuffed into the upstairs apartment, eating ALL DAY. Let’s call that twenty-five people eating about ten different dishes for approximately eight to ten hours at least once each week. What you get is a very tired woman and twenty-five stuffed, fat, bossy, and loud family members, each about ten thousand calories richer.

I’m her youngest grandchild, so despite all this, she still makes the ziti when I come over.

She sent me away with some ziti and chicken draped in sauce to take on the plane. She even packed it in what looked like an airline food tray, incredulous at the idea that I could travel for “six hours, Jess, how do you do that?” without real food. Why can’t I just eat the stuff they provide? Because, she says, “it’s not good for you to eat that crap.”

Although I probably wouldn’t go to the trouble of packing my own meal, she’s right about it being crap. I received tons of jealous stares in flight. Thank You, Grams. Delish as always.

The only non-food-related part of the trip was when my Mom and I reworked her newly-single finances. The best was our adventure at Citibank, where we had two perfect examples of how adorable (and infuriating) my Mom can be:

My Mom loves her checks. They’re top-stub and they have a pretty paisley design with a gold imprint at the top. So in trying to move her from Bank of Crappy Staten Island, to slightly less crappy Citibank, she gave the poor new-guy-to-being-a-banker such a hard time. Half-way through the process, she announced, “You know I won’t be able to have an account here if I can’t have these checks.” We finally found some top-stub checks and she settled for a “completely boring” design.

Next came the numbers game. I warned the man in advance that he was dealing with the same woman who once tried to haggle her way into “better numbers” on a NON-VANITY LICENSE PLATE with an unfortunate employee of the DMV.

When Mr. New-Banker handed her the temporary card, I saw her face drop. I tried to convince Mom that there was no way that she could CHOOSE THE NUMBERS on her Citibank card. She was a little dejected, but luckily, exhausted from all the check manipulation she inflicted on the young man behind the desk, she gave up her desire for “more fives and sevens” on the ATM card.

The same morning, I tried this, (not there, but here) and I am in love.

Happy Thanksgiving.


Blogger Rebecca said...

I'll take your uneventful T-Day over my overly eventful T-Day if you wanna trade. You made my mouth water with the ziti noodle talk. Yum, you can have my grandma too. :)

December 2, 2004 at 12:39 PM  
Blogger Chicka said...

I think I love your ma and gram. Are they currently looking to adopt? I promise I'll leave the gooblings behind (unless they WANT more to spoil rotten. Whoops...too late.)

December 6, 2004 at 9:16 PM  
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