How To Smash Garlic

Grandma taught me how to smash garlic. She wouldn't let me touch it, though, because she didn't want me to smell like garlic later that night when there was a possibility I might be around cute boys. Or, at least, she hoped I'd end up hanging with some cute, respectable, "datable" gentlemen. According to Grandma, I needed to date more. Okay, so maybe I hadn't been on a date for a few months... Alright, it could've been seven, or eight; I lost track. That didn't mean I didn't have an enjoyable social life. Grandma wasn't convinced.

"I like a couple guys in my ward, but they've never asked me for my number! What am I supposed to do?" I asked the wise old woman, as she bit into a piece of penne pasta, testing to see if it was al dante. It must not have been, because she shook her head and tossed what was left of the piece back into the pot of boiling water.

"Jessie, you have to flirt with them." She grabbed up the giant chopping knife and hacked away at a big walla walla onion.

"Grandma! I do flirt! All the time."

"Well, clearly you need to kick it up a notch." Onions, garlic, and a splash of olive oil all went into the frying pan. It sizzled and sputtered and filled the house with a tantalizing aroma.

"I don't know if I can flirt any harder!"

"Oh, I know you can."

I laughed. She was completely serious. "I'm just not sure if I'm ready to start dating again."

"Yes you are." She tested another piece of pasta--it passed. Into the pot went the broccoli. "When Loren comes home from his mission, he isn't going to be attracted to a girl that doesn't have any fun. You need to show up at his homecoming with a string of good-looking guys tagging along behind you. If he sees you going out on dates with all these other guys... Oh, Jessie, he's gonna want you so bad!" She drained the pasta and broccoli and added it to the onions and garlic. I finished setting the table, and Grandma opened the window above the sink and yelled out, "Grandpa!"

From somewhere in the backyard we heard a, "Yo!"

"Dinner will be ready as soon as you get in here. And if you don't hurry, we'll start eating without you!" Grandma slid the window closed. Thwunk!

When Grandpa walked in we were sitting at the table. He sat down, and Grandma said, "After the prayer you're going to get up and put the hot dogs in the microwave and get the mustard."

"The mustard?"

"Yes, the spicy kind and the sweeter kind, whatever it's called."

"Honey mustard"

"Yes! That one."

I said the blessing on the food. I must not have spoken up very loudly, because there was a long silent pause after I said, "Amen." But soon Grandpa realized I'd stopped praying and said Amen loud enough for Grandma to hear and say Amen too. We settled into our seats, excited to try Grandma's new pasta recipe.

"Don't forget the mustard, Duane." Grandma said as she poured him a glass of strawberry-orange-banana punch. He got up, walked over to the refrigerator, studied the vast assortment of mustard bottles on the door of the fridge, picked out two kinds, and set them on the table.

"Did you get the hot dogs in the microwave? Three minutes." Grandpa shuffled back into the kitchen to zap the wieners. Grandma turned to me and smiled, "I get to boss him around, because he knows that if he doesn't help out, then I'll stop feedin' him!" We both laughed; Grandpa winked at me.

While we sat, eating our hot dogs and pasta, Grandpa and I discussed different styles of writing. Amid our conversation, Grandma piped in, "Why are you whispering?"

Grandpa and I gave each other a look, then he said, "Turn up your hearing-aid, Dear." She did.

"I called my Medical School back today." Grandpa announced.

"You did? When did you do that?" Asked Grandma.

"I did it when you were gone, so you wouldn't tell me what to say."

"Oh, of course you did."

"They asked me to be in charge of the 50-year reunion celebration."

"Oh, of course they did."

Then he went on to describe what they wanted him to do, and his past experiences with similar assignments. Grandma looked across the table at me and said, "He just loves doing things like this. But it's so hard to go to these reunions and see all these old people show up!"

Grandpa chortled, "Yeah! All these old geezers... limping in!"

"With white hair!" Grandma exclaimed. They both burst into laughter.

"And canes! Just limping."

"All bent over and overweight."

"Limping on in!" Grandpa wheezed.

Grandma sighed and said, "You can hardly recognize people. If you stare at them long enough, though, you start to see somebody familiar behind those old, wrinkled faces."

They smiled at each other, and laughed. I laughed too. Then Grandma said, "You know, when we die and they go through this house, they're going to say, these people were crazy! They'll go through my stuff and say, what was she thinking? She must have been crazy. Then they'll go through your stuff, Dear, and they'll say, what in the world was he thinking?! They both must have been crazy."

Grandpa winked at me.

Grandma reached into her ear and adjusted her hearing-aid.

I contentedly leaned back in my chair.

Just another evening at home with the geezers.