Waste Not Want Not

So, to add to the growin' list of things I'm no longer asked to do, we can add grocery shoppin'. I suppose everyone can sympathize with the unexpectedly large grocery bill after a hunger-tinged shoppin' binge, but imagine addin' havin' the uncontrollable urge to grab and purchase everything you see that makes your taste-buds dream to sing. And I do mean everything.

If the checkers at the store don't already know me and hate me, they soon will. Of that I'm sure. If I don't have so much stuff that it requires them assistin' me to the car, (and there's just not a lot of them to go around, it's a small place, I get that) then I end up with so much stuff my card gets declined. My mom learned real quick-like that givin' me the debit card was pretty much insane, and so opted for the new cash cards which she could fill to her fancy.

Either way, I still manage to stock our house with a sturdy supply of groceries – enough really to feed a small army at any given time. So, it wasn't the first time, nor was it a surprise to once again hear my mother's shrill voice yell up to me this mornin' that I'd “done it once again.”

“This food is all about to go bad Jeaux! Why do you buy so much? You know we could never eat all of this! Just trash. It's all going to go to waste. Money right down the drain.”

Still wipin' the sleep from my eyes, I sauntered down the stairs to better hear what I wished I could not. Maybe if I were closer, at least she'd stop yellin'. Her voice couldn't help but rise a solid 3 octaves when she tried to yell...our shout...or cry...or was really really happy....you get my drift.

“Mom. Stop. Yellin'. You know I don't mean to.”

“Leave the girl alone,” my father said suddenly comin' to my rescue. “You're the one who didn't want to have to reorganize the freezer to make room for half of that.”

My mother has a very specific order in which she likes to keep all her fruits, vegetables, meat, canned items...well again, you get my drift. And then there's me, like a two-year old right behind her, constantly puttin' it all in disarray.

“Well what do you propose we do with all this food then? Just let it go to waste? Look at these vegetables – they're already showing signs of rot! And I'd hardly give that meat another two days. I can't put together a dinner party that fast, even if I did want to feed the whole neighborhood.”

I don't know when my mother got so tired. I remember a time, a long time ago, but I do remember a time, when I think that's exactly what she would have done.

“That's a great idea Mom.”

“What's a great idea?” she asked lookin' confused.

“We should feed the neighborhood.”

Her face didn't seem to register my suggestion. Well, her suggestion really. So, I turned to my dad.

“Dad, you can throw most of that stuff on the grill right?”

“I suppose so honey-cakes, there ain't a whole lot that can't be cooked on a grill.”

“Well there ya go Puddin' Pop,” I teased my mother. That's dad's little nick-name for her, but she knew I was tryin' to chastise her with it, and so didn't seem none too pleased with my snarky lil comment. But I just sailed right on by her “you better watch it girl” look and reminded her of her brilliant idea.

“We can throw all this stuff together easy Mom. I'll do it. Dad will grill, and it'll just be your brilliant idea. I'll call Kevin and Rachel, I'm sure they'd help tell folks around here. And once they get a hint of dad's BBQ on the grill, if we're out front they'll come from miles anyway. It'll be a big hit, I swear. A good ole' fashioned block party.”

“A block party?” my mother queried rhetorically to herself. As she mused over the idea, I could see her face transform as though a light bulb had gone off.

“Yeah, we can even go over to the hex and let the old-timers know there will be a free hot meal today,” I suggested. The “hex” was basically a hexagonal corner on the wrong side of town where a number of streets and railroad crossings met, and was where most of the homeless in town called home.

Light-bulb off.

“I don't know that the neighbors will like that Jeaux.”

“Well, the neighbors aren't the ones with a truckload of food to cook and give away for free. Why not at least offer it to the people who really need it?”

“This is a nice neighborhood Jeaux. And we're still fairly new here. What will people think if I've got every beggar in town lunching in my front lawn?”

“Umm...I dunno Mom...like you're a damn fine Christian woman?”

That shut her up.

And made my dad grin ear to ear. I tell ya, I think he actually likes my new-found forthright way of speakin' to my mother...it tickles him. I'm pretty sure within the first year after my condition took hold I expressly released upon her a wave of information I'm sure he'd been dyin' to say for years.

“Okay, but let me at least call some of the girl's from the church over. Maybe they'd like to help.”

Yeah, help you keep up appearances, I thought, but somehow managed not to say.

“Call everybody Mom. We're havin' a party!”

So, I called Rachel and Kevin over to help. Kevin thought it was a brilliant idea. Rachel not so much.

“You mean you're not going to charge people anything? I bet you could get $5 a plate for your dad's BBQ.”

“Why? We already paid for the food with the intention of eatin' it ourselves. What's the point.”

“I dunno, you could at least make your money back.”

I took one look at our lavish house and rolled my eyes. “Because we so need it and all.”

“Well, I think it's a great idea,” Kevin chimed in. “We used to have block parties for 4th of July all the time when I was a kid. I don't know why we ever stopped.”

Rachel looked at him like he'd gone crazy. “Umm, because you're forced to schmooze with a bunch of people you spend the better part of the year trying to avoid?”

“But why do we do that?” I asked.

“We're busy. We don't want to be stuck in the yard talking for hours bitching about the new chairman for the housing authority. Or being reminded of that time we borrowed this, or forgot to remove that, or parked on the curb, or forgot to wear underwear to check the mailbox on a rather windy day...I could keep going.”

“No I think I get your point,” I laughed.

“Well we don't have to be that way. Maybe if we were all more like friends we wouldn't have to avoid each other all the time. Maybe then the conversation wouldn't be so mind-numbingly dull that we'd rather gouge our eyes out with a spork than sit through ten minutes of it. Maybe then, instead of the trashcan being forgotten in the street to get ran over, they'd just bring it on up for us like a friend would,” Kevin asserted.

“Okay, whatever. All I heard was party anyways,” Rachel smiled, “Where do I get to start?”

“Umm, wherever you want I guess. We're just gonna cook up the food and spread the word. You wanna come with me to knock on some doors?”

“Yeah. Probably not.”

Kevin laughed. He could have answered that for Rachel easy.

“What's the theme?”

“Theme? No theme,” I answered simply shruggin' my shoulders. “Spread the wealth,” I offered smilin'.

“Spread the wealth?” Rachel asked sneering. “What do you want me to do – put Monopoly money in the trees? No. No that won't work. I'm sure there are plenty of pumpkins left at the store they'd love to get rid of. We'll just do a fall theme. Quick. Easy. Fast clean-up.”

“Oh my mom has tons of Thanksgiving decorations and stuff, just ask her, I'm sure she'll load you up.”

“Perfect!” Rachel squealed, obviously pleased.

“So, you're with me then?” I asked Kevin.

“Looks like it doll,” he said flashin' his best make-me-melt smile.

I couldn't help it, but to reach up and kiss his face. I got the eye-roll from Rachel, but I didn't care. The dynamic between the three of us in that regard was beyond my realm of comprehension. If it weren't for the fact that I could never truly commit myself to Kevin, and that she and he knew (no matter how powerful their physical connection) that they would never really work, it would be a regular cat fight between the two of us, I'm sure.

Kevin and I decided to walk to the end of the street and start there, then work our way back.

It was nice. It had been a long time, I realized, since Kevin and I had been alone. But, just like “old times” Kevin grabbed my hand. We walked in superb silence the 5 blocks to the end of the street.

Mrs. Sputterworth (though we all called her Mrs. Buttersworth behind her back, because she no kiddin' looked like the real deal as though she'd stepped straight from the bottle) was out front already prunin' her lawn. Every blade of grass had been tediously manicured to the finest detail. Her apron ballooned in front of her with the trimmings of Bermuda and leaves she'd picked.

Kevin was a favorite of hers, so I let him give the invitation. Her already flushed cheeks, turned even rosier as she fussed, “Oh my goodness, a block party? Well I haven't even done my hair.”

“You look marvelous as always just as you are Mrs. Sputterworth. Please join us. We won't be ready for a few hours yet, so there's no rush,” Kevin said. I swear, one look from Kevin could make a real-life troll feel beautiful. Mrs. Sputterworth smiled and her eyes brightened, and alongside her reddenin' cheeks, she looked much like a blushin' school-girl gettin' asked to her first dance.

“Of course. Of course. Jeaux, you tell your Mother I'll be right along. And I'll bring some of my German Chocolate Rum Cake, I hear she loved it at ya'll's house warmin'.”

“That she did ma'am,” I replied. My knees started to bend in a small curtsy, but Kevin kindly knocked me to the side with his hip before I could unwittingly insult the poor old woman. She may have been an easy laugh but she really was a nice lady. I picked up a blade or two of grass, shovin' them in my pocket, mumblin' "missed one" to try and assist in my cover-up.

“Well then I'll see ya'll in a few hours,” she said turnin' to go, and squealin', “Oh what will I wear?”

“I think she's happy,” I said smilin' as we left her driveway.

“I doubt she gets invited to many parties these days.”

“I bet you're right,” I replied, turnin' to see Mrs. Sputterworth practically skippin' to her front door.

At the next house, Kevin quickly relinquished the reins, sayin' “Your turn.”

Of course. Nobody wanted to talk to Mr. Mason. He may as well have been related directly to the mass-murderer himself for all the neighbors liked him. The kids didn't even attempt to venture near his porch durin' Halloween lest it was to fire a rotten-egg missile at the front door.

But we couldn't possibly, in good conscience, throw a block party without at least tellin' him it was happenin'.

He opened the door in his same gruff, “Go away, I don't want any” fashion, to see me. I had had something else entirely in mind, but when he cracked open the door, I saw the faint letters across his worn t-shirt, M-A-R-I-N-E.

Holy shit, I thought, it's Veterans Day.

Before I could stop myself, I burst into song. His very own personal singin' telegram, I even threw in a little choreography wavin' my arms like a flag in true patriotic fashion as I began to sing:

“I'm proud to be an American
Where at least I know I'm free.
And I won't forget,
the men who died,
And gave that right to me!
And I proudly stand Up
Here today
to invite you
To a partyyyyy,
Because there ain't no doubt
I love this land
God bless
your service to
the countryyyyyy.”

Cheesy? Yes. Incorrect lyrics? For sure. Poor poor dancing. No question.

But he smiled. And he swung the door wide open.

And I swear he actually chuckled as he asked, “Now what's this all about?”

“We're havin' a block party down the street Mr. Mason. We would be honored if you could join us. Food'll be ready in a few hours.”

“Short notice hmm?”

“Yes sir, for us too. Just thought of it today.”

“And that little jig you just did there. Just think of that today too?”

“Just this instant actually,” I answered honestly, hopin' it didn't spoil any meanin' he may have gained by my words. Impulsive they may have been, but I realized lies, they were not. I really did want him to join us.

“Well...” he paused, lookin' from me to Kevin (who I think was still tryin' to digest what was currently takin' place - findin' it all even more unexpected than usual – Mr. Mason did smile after all). “How could I say no after a show like that? I may be a crotchety old bastard, but I have to hand it to you hunny, you know how to deliver a cordial invitation. See you two later on. Now git, before every solicitor in town thinks I've had a sudden change of heart.”

And with that, the door was shut in our faces and we were off to the next house.

Door to door, it became kind of a game to see who could come up with the most personalized and invitin' way of encouragin' our neighbors to our party.

I won.

Duh.

By the time we made our way back to the house, the grill was already smokin' and the decorations were bein' put into place. Between my mother and Rachel, the lawn looked like the perfect picture of the first Thanksgiving. All we needed were a few pilgrims to adorn the picnic tables with.

It was a hit.

Women from my mother's church arrived early and started makin' plates. Word had been sent to the hex that there would be a free meal, and those in need started to filter in among the rest. Though I felt bad for them - that they felt the need to quickly remove themselves once their food was in hand - I was glad that there didn't seem to be any misgivings about their attendance from the rest.

As I watched them walk with their paper plates in hand, I couldn't help but wonder why I didn't do this more often. The kids were laughin' and playin' together. The adults were split-off into odd little groups, some minglin', others entrenched in conversation they probably found unexpectedly interestin'. It was good.

Even Mr. Mason actually showed up. A hush came over the crowd in our front lawn when he walked through the gates. But Kevin, always knowin' the thing to do, quickly removed everyone's concerns that perhaps Mr. Mason was there to break up the party.

“Can we have a round of applause for our very own WWII veteran, Mr. Alex Mason. Thank you for your service Mr. Mason!”

A hearty round of applause erupted from our small crowd, and a few even belted a couple verses to “He's a Jolly Good Fellow.” People were feelin' better than I'd even imagined.

We were a small community. It didn't even take a lot of effort. And the benefits of our new-found camaraderie, even if only temporary, would surely have some sort of lastin' effect. I had to hope.

Let's be honest, some days (especially after days like last week had to offer), I just need to know that I can be good for somethin'. Seein' all the smilin' faces of our neighbors – well, I feel like I helped save more than just the food from goin' to waste.