I backed the van out of the ice-covered parking spot, and headed for the highway that would take me downtown. Saying goodbye to Nana, as she headed back out west, was a sad occasion, but roast beef dinner at my parents' would be warm and joy-filled. Janelle would be there with her husband, Patrick. Hopefully, he wouldn't be too disappointed to be the only son-in-law there. My husband was too tired, after a 50-plus work week; even for roast beef. I was tired too, but I really wanted to see Nana one more time, and my girlies needed to see her too. The three of them were discussing Pokemon in the back of the van. "Uxie EX is my favorite card," Ashlin gushed. Laurie, always wanting to be like her big sister, tried to follow the maze of pokemon facts, "That's the rarest one you have, isn't it?" she remembered. She did a better job of it than I ever could - all that random data. We pulled up to the apartment building and found a parking spot on the little side-road. "Thankfully, there's no need for money in the parking meter on Sundays," I thought. "Don't forget the ice cream," Marcella said as she climbed out of the back of the van. Marcella was not distracted by the pokemon-talk. She was looking forward to mashed potatoes, gravy, roast beef, and then, ice cream!
"Sorry we took so long," I sang out as we came in the door, "I had to take Colin home and then stop to pick up the ice cream." Janelle was videoing us on her camera. "Look at you, skinny-minnie,"she said. I wished it was true. Nana was sitting on the couch, writing in a book for Janelle. It was called "Memories for my Granddaughter." I went into the kitchen to see if I could help. "Can you mash the potatoes, Joey," Mom asked as I gave her a hug. "Sure," I answered, and searched for the masher. Dad came to carve the roast. This was how it was always done. Mom cooked it and made the potatoes, veggies, and gravy, but Daddy always carved the meat. "Aaaahh! we have to eat soon before the yorkshire puddings fall," Mom panicked. We crowded around the table, the kids squabbling about where to sit. Nana took my hand as we waited for Dad to thank God for the food. "Here you go, JoJo," Nana gave me the beef. I took a tiny piece. Potatoes, gravy and lots of vegetables were my favorite, but the meat I could definately leave. As we ate, Nana gave us little tid-bits of memories of her childhood. She seemed to be back there in her mind, because of the memory book. "When my father would go to the market, he would get up about three in the morning and bring us bannock with jam, and tea in bed before he left. I remember watching for him to come home all day; we could see about a third of a mile down the road before it turned." "Did he bring you treats from the market?" I asked. "Yes," Nana remembered, "He would bring american apples, nice red ones, or sometimes dulce, or a sugar stick." There was a bit of table talk, as Nana pondered these memories - some "pass the potatoes" and a "c'mon just have a little more, then I can wash the bowl!" I scraped up the last of my peas - delicious! "A little way down the road," Nana said, between bites, "there was a hazelnut tree. And my father would go sometimes and bring us back hazelnuts. They were a real treat." "Did you roast them?" Dad asked. "No," Nana was surprised at the idea, "we just ate them." "Ooooh," Dad liked to tease Nana, "I don't think I'd-a-been eating them without roasting them, first." "No," Nana was serious, "they were really delicious. We ate them just as they were." Dad's eyes twinkled when he was being a tease. He winked at me and took the last bit of mashed potatoes. Nana was quiet for a bit. "My father used to tell us how his father..." she started, "well, this would have been in 1845 or '46 during the potato famine. He remembered walking and seeing people dead on the sides of the road with grass in their mouths." She sort-of choked out that last bit. I looked up, a bit startled. Nana was holding back tears. Here was an eighty-something year-old woman crying at the memory of something she had never even seen herself. I felt a lump in my throat. Mom had tears in her eyes, too. "There was just nothing to eat," she explained. We understood. Nana reached for my empty plate and stacked it on the others. I got up to carry them to the kitchen. Mom put the tea on, and I scooped out the ice cream.
