I'm not sure if I mentioned this or not but my brother, Blaine Houserman, has been in town a couple of times in as many months. He arrived in early August along with his son, Josh, and then returned last week at some point. He decided to use this as a home base for his journey to some sort of film festival in Toronto. He lives a nomadic life, much as I could, due to our particular job descriptions. (I will be practicing such shenanigans soon as Perpetual informed me that we are leaving for the state of Maine in something like two weeks.

For once, I've done absolutely no prep work for this trek. I am trying to be more like P and casually, whilst whistling, wait till the last possible moment to pack madly and exit, stage right. I can't believe it but I am going to give his way a try. If you read about a woman who had some sort of nervous break with reality somewhere in the New England region, no worries, it will just be your not so humble columnist. Digressing to the max and in parenthesis—check. I can now move along with this enthralling (?) saga.)

At any rate, for those of you who are familiar with our charming family dynamics, it will come as no surprise to you that our dear mother began planning massive food ingesting conventions the second Brother Blaine made his way into her back door and said hello.

For those who haven't a clue of what I speak, my mother, all 27 pounds of her, lives for food. She LITERALLY plans the next meal whilst daintily taking a bite out of the current one. This generally unfolds as she is taking her very first taste of said food, just to illustrate a bit further. Not to mention but Mother is the utmost in hospitality and proper etiquette so she would never dream of having a person over for a visit without being able to offer appetizers, cocktails and the like. We are so much alike in that department. Just in case that slipped by, it was your dose of sarcasm for the day.

I have never, in a year of full moons, seen anything like this. I mean, I adore food as well but must curb my enthusiasm due to battling weight my whole life. Currently the weight is winning that particular skirmish.

“Where should we go for dinner?” “Have you given ANY thought to what we should plan for dinner?” “Well, I guess we WON'T be going out for dinner tonight. I suppose I will just have to whip up a five course meal myself.” Those are samples of what might be overheard as one breezes by Jackie Houserman when family, friends, strangers, the guy working on the sump pump, or any other innocent meal victim is in her path. At least she's inclusive in terms of inviting all to tag along for the big eating event of the century—or what we plain folks call dinner.

Also, any occasion qualifies as a reason to shovel food into one's mouth with speed and agility, preferably at a local eatery.

If Matilda Wingnut dies, we should take her spouse out to dinner asap—good gravy, where are your manners? If Person A just finalized her divorce after being happily (in her mind) married for 30 years then it's abundantly clear what must unfold. We will go to dinner and she will enjoy it—Mother's treat, of course. If Unlucky Driver wrecks his/her car then a luncheon is an absolute necessity to ease the nerves of the accident victim—everyone knows that.

On that note, I just remembered something and it actually has to do with the subject at hand. I realize that in itself is a shock but try to simmer. Not only does it relate, it also demonstrates how Mother reacts in any given situation. I shall now impart the details in order to fill space and put you in collective comas simultaneously. (While you are knocked out, we will raid your refrigerators to gather the goods for our next Mother-planned-meal.)

My dear friend, Glenn Milosh, had a traffic mishap directly in front of Mother's house several years ago. We heard the hideous sound of crumpling metal, (this would be ACTUAL metal as it was an older vehicle, kept in pristine condition, that did not consist of fiberglass, heaven forbid), and we darted over to ascertain the damages, call 911 or do other good Samaritan duties.

Much to our chagrin, we noticed that Glenn was within the crunched up former station wagon. Mother approached, asked how he was, told him an ambulance was on the way and proceeded to offer him comfort via coffee. Well, he was clearly shaken over the whole deal so he told her he'd love some. Within seconds, she had arrived, much in the style of any butler named Jeeves, tray poised on outstretched hand. The contents on the silver serving platter consisted of coffee, creamer, real and fake sugar selections, spoons, saucers, dainty cups, etc.

Thank goodness she reached the vehicle, in which G was still stranded, just about the same time emergency personnel did because, one should not consume any kind of food or drink directly after an accident. We all pretty much knew that but her social skills had kicked in and our dear Glenn was too shocked to notice. (I believe she even had some sort of danish perched atop the above-mentioned tray, now that I reflect.)

This brings me to Greenville. What Greenville has to do with anything will soon be revealed so just calm down and try to awaken for the rest of this silly piece.

Mother has a favorite restaurant in the Greenville region. Therefore, she oft' mentions, in a nonchalant manner, that we should really take So and So to Greenville for dinner while he/she is visiting. As was stated earlier, this could pertain to anyone from the friendly neighborhood plumber, who is only trying to fix the pipes, to the unassuming UPS man who is delivering a package. I have to point out that Jehovah Witnesses have stopped coming around for fear that they will be forced to have the discussion in Greenville.

Basically, she lives and breathes Greenville and receives sheer delight any time she ends up schlepping one of us along with her.

We did go this time because I believe she made the reservation directly after placing the phone back on the receiver when my brother called to confirm his trip. Blaine: “I'll be landing on a Tuesday but pretty late in the evening.” Mother: “No problem. I can make a reservation for Greenville for the following night.” Blaine: “Here we go again.” Mother: “What?” Blaine: “Oh, just saying how excited I am. I love going to Greenville and I can't wait to get there just so I can tag along!”

Honestly though, it is a wonderful eatery - See Greenville page 4

Greenville

- from page 3

and we all had a great time with that woman, especially because she insisted on paying the bill. My father always said, “Lisa, remember one thing. Never pass up a free meal.”

I know I kid about that gal but we do enjoy the heck out of her. She is a constant source of entertainment, she is charming in every way and, here is the most important part, she can always aid me in filling up column space. For that alone, I salute that food destroying, Greenville loving, dinner planning machine, known as Mother—or Jackie Houserman, depending.

THE END.