Feeding My Grandma

Warm, fresh-creamed corn filled the last remaining compartment of the round Tupperware container. Two fluffy cathead biscuits, a hand-sized piece of country fried steak, and mashed potatoes topped with a generous helping of black peppered, sawmill gravy took up residency in the remaining slots. Frail hands struggled to snap the lid in place; years of use and vigorous cleaning had warped the hard plastic. Atop the lid, a faded "Property of Elizabeth Ryan" written in black marker was still visible, worn down by time and gallons of hot, soapy water.

She had three identical containers she used for Operation Feed Mrs. Willey. When she dropped off this evening's dinner, she would pick up the one from the previous night. The plate not in use was boiled in hot water, scrubbed with soap and water, then returned to its place in the cabinet to await its turn. I hadn't figured out why my grandmother went to such great pains to clean them, but I'm sure she had a perfectly good reason. My grandmother was full of perfectly good reasons.

Thankfully, the homemade peach cobbler just pulled from the oven remained undisturbed. Sensing my relief, my grandmother smiled at me and said, "I doubt Mrs. Willey will finish a third of this plate, the poor thing. No sense wasting the good stuff, right Jakey."

I grinned at her.

"Boys, remember, I go in and you wait for me outside. I'll just be a minute. Whatever you do, don't come inside," she admonished. She'd given us the same instructions the past three days, but never let on as to why we couldn't come inside.

"She can't cook?" Alex asked, which I thought was a very astute question for a six year old.

"She's not all there, Alex; she's had a hard life."

"Why do you take her food, Grandm...

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...nt of a smile on her face. A thawing of the disappointment.

"How does she live in that smelly, dirty house?" I asked.

"Jake, we all adapt to our environment. All she sees are her cats. In her eyes, she's surrounded by love. She just sees things different is all."

"I don't understand, Grandma," said Alex, vanilla ice cream dribbling down his chin.

"That's alright, buddy. You're not supposed to."

"I think there's a dead cat or two in there." I said.

"You're probably right, Jake. That house should be condemned. It isn't safe and I don't like going in there, but I'd hate to be responsible for someone losing their home. So I don't say anything."

"So when Mrs. Willey finishes eating, she leaves the rest of the food out for her cats? That's why you clean the plates so much?"

"That's the reason."

"Grandma, can I have dessert?"

"Not tonight, Jakey. Not tonight."