Traffic jam in the kitchen

What’s that saying, it always rains when it pours or something like that. There’s the Bible verse that states that God won’t give you more than you can handle. He and I have just had a talk and I told him enough already.

It was late afternoon and I was just about to get in bed for a nap — we old people do that a lot — and somehow I twisted my leg and let out a scream they had to hear in Fernley. I tried to ignore the pain and got into bed, but when I tried to get up, during the night, it was even worse and I simply could not even move.

Now my son Doug just got out of the hospital not long ago, and he couldn’t take me to the Emergency Room and there I stood like a wooden statue, frightened and hurting like I have never hurt before. Doug had to call 911. A nice couple of young men came, and one was able to lift me and get me into their ambulance and off we went for yet another visit to the ER. I’m getting to know the room numbers and the personnel.

X-rays were taken and while it shows I have arthritis, it doesn’t show too much else. I’m in one of those “keep the knee straight” gismos and if in a few days I don’t feel a lot better will need more tests. I’ve already been told they will not replace my kneecap, I’m too old and Obamacare will not allow that kind of surgery. All we can do is wait.

So here we are mister. I’m in a wheelchair or using a walker and old misses with a cane or a walker and I met in the kitchen. I was going to get us some dinner; TVs thank you; and Doug was trying to feed the puppies. Our walkers bumped, we looked up at each other and burst out laughing. All I could think about was that at least we have some kind of humor, it’s that or go crazy.

Our living room looks like a hospital. Doug has a nurse and a therapist twice a week and has one of those things he uses to exercise his legs. There’s the wheelchair and now two walkers and of course knee blankets and most of all two just plain getting too darned old people with too many complaints. I keep reminding Doug that at least we are still alive, not quality alive, but alive. All I can do is shake my head. There we had my son Don to help, but now he’s gone. There will be a lot of those TV dinners served at this residence.

Now to change the subject, and yes, it’s about food, but just one kind of food; Philly steak sandwiches. I promise you this will be the last time 1 will talk about them, but I have a personal reason for doing it now, which I will keep to myself. But here goes.

There is nobody in this town more qualified to say just exactly what a Philly steak sandwich should be. I was born 90 years ago in South Philly and worked, not once but many times in restaurants that served this special sandwich. It was invented about the time I was born. Now here is how you make this treat.

On a grill cook sliced onions in butter, when opaque push to the back. Now comes just what kind of beef vou use. You must use beef sliced paper thin — no you cannot take a slab of the same meat sliced Mamie, his wife was an accomplished seamstress, making lot of nice things for Jeanne and I when she had time. She too worked, as mother did, in a department store. And then there were the Stokes on mother’s side, grandpop with his tool shop in the basement and grandmom Stokes helping to keep their own house going by baking.

I wish now, at hindsight, that I had questioned my grandparents more about their background. My children ask me questions, and I cannot answer them. And now, so many years later it’s too late. My core family is gone. It’s an odd feeling, although I have my own family now, I often feel kind of alone.

Edna Van Leuven is a Churchill County writer. She may be contacted at news@lahontanvalleynews.com.