A Styrofoam Easter

 

Holidays, any holiday, can be difficult when those you love are no longer here to celebrate with you. Like most, I often feel a little sad, but I try to think about the good memories, both as a child and into adulthood. I especially like remembering the times that make me laugh, maybe even laugh until I cry, which is always the good kind of crying, right?

When Joe and I lived in Ohio, every Easter Sunday he would drive me and my mom to Pittsburgh to spend the day with my sister and her family. I don’t quite remember how many years we did that, but it was often. I probably baked a dessert or two, but Mom would make a couple of side dishes to add to the meal. One of the dishes was baked noodles. It was quite simple, just boiled noodles blended with lots of butter, seasonings, and corn flake crumbs, and then baked in the oven until the crumb topping was crispy. Out of politeness, Joe commented that he loved the noodles. In actuality, he was not all that fond of noodles made that way, but he loved June and wanted to be complimentary and make her feel good. But from that time on, she made it a point to make those noodles just for Joe. Never mind if anyone else liked them or not!

She would put the food in this styrofoam cooler so nothing would spoil on the 2-to 3-hour drive to Pittsburgh. Nothing ever spoiled. But oh, that cooler! The lid would move ever so slightly and create this squeaky noise – er-ee, er-ee, er-ee. It wasn’t loud, but it was there. For 2 or 3 hours (depending on the traffic), er-ee, er—ee, er-ee. Mom never heard it. She was very hard of hearing, especially of any type of high frequency sounds. You have heard of the patience of Job? He had nothing on the patience of Joe! There never seemed to be anyway to fix that squeak. No matter what position you placed that darn cooler, it would squeak.

When I think back on it, I suppose we could have bought Mom a new cooler, not styrofoam of course, and explained that a metal cooler would keep things that much safer. But we never did. Just like Joe never told her about the squeak or the noodles that were not his favorite. I always felt so fortunate and grateful that Joe loved my mom, so much so that he felt the squeak and the noodles were pretty small stuff. It wasn’t much of a sacrifice on his part. He thinks back on those times now fondly.  He even told me a while ago he wouldn't mind if I made those noodles again. Maybe they were not all that bad after all.

I hope you have a very Blessed Easter, or if you don’t celebrate the holiday, enjoy your day and make wonderful, and funny, memories. Thanks for stopping by.