Lunch Break

This week I've elected to temp at my father's business. Judy, who is normally the Office Manager, is out of town on vacation. I am taking over. Her desk is abnormally messy, and she keeps old plastic spoons, expired coupons and salt packets in her drawers and pen holders.

This afternoon after much debate, consisting of me driving one direction, then turning around in 3 point fashion, I decided to grab some grub at my grandparents' house. Harry and Celeste live in a condo. It's about a block from my dad's office in Glenview, a suburb of Chicago. They live on the Penthouse floor of the complex, and when I knocked on the door to be let inside, I could hear Harry shuffling, then yelling, "Just come on in!" But the door was locked, which I made known, shouting through the door, "It's locked!"

Then Gana answers the door. She's their new assistant person from Mongolia. Neither Harry nor Celeste would readily admit they need an extra hand, what with Celeste getting her knees replaced Thursday and Harry just returned from the hospital after a fall in the shower.

So, I'm making an egg salad sandwich, and Celeste asks me if I want some cake. Harry offers a selection of cookies and then they both see the pie, and ask if I want that, too. Too? I just had some pie. Rye bread for the sandwich? Yes, I say. But, anyway, I've sat down at the round table between the two of them, and I begin to enjoy the first bites, and then Don St. John calls. So, Celeste picks up the portable phone to answer, looks at the Caller ID. "This must be Don St. John." Chuckles all around. "Yeah, Harry? I know him. You wanna talk to him. Yeah, OK."

"Who is it?"

"It's Don St. John. What do ya mean, 'Who is it?' Gees."

He's using a letter opener from 10 years ago with my grandma's face on it to open their excess mail accumulated from too many days before.

"Oh, Don. Well, say 'Hi,' Brigid." So I do.

"Hi, Don. Yeah, I'm their granddaughter. You know? You wanted to say, "Hello," too? Well, alright. Hello." The conversation lulls, "I'll give you over to Harry." So I do.

"Hey Don. Yeah, I don't think I'm going to be able to go to [Insert miscellaneous Old Man get together]. No, it is too bad." The conversation continues for a bit, then his blue eyes light up. "Celeste," he says, putting the receiver on his lap. "Don's son-in-law got a knee replacement in the spring, and he's now out playing baseball on the team this summer." The team is comprised of one of my uncles, Don (who just turned 90 according to my grandma) and other sprightly men of all ages.

"Oh, really, Harold? Maybe I'll join the team now." She's so witty. Her little lips curling into a smirk. The one their accustomed to make after over 50 years married to Harold T. Stanton. " Go ahead, ask him if I can join."

He puts the phone back to his ear, making a silly kissy face to her. "No, she can't catch. The only thing she's caught was me!"

Laughter.

Then comes the Celeste punchline. "No, I got stuck with you." And the lips curl into a kissy face paired with a wink.