By Ann Cueva
For The Voice
I can rarely attend funerals. The people who count know this about me, and also know I am mourning for their loss.
When my husband died, I stood by Pastor Meitzner as he eulogized my husband stoically, soberly, solemnly, and silently with a two-year-old on my hip and a four-year-old by the hand. I could hear my nearly 90-year-old grandmother, Alta Fredrick, keening at the graveside, “Why not me? Why Allan?”
Several days later that week my endearingly frank, transparent friend, Kathy Bell, showed up to visit with a salad and said bluntly, “You didn’t cry.” I told Kathy the truth. If I had allowed a crack in that dam, I would have been throwing grave dirt like a Tasmanian devil, screaming “It’s not fair. It’s not fair. It’s not fair!”, and pounding the cemetery grass. The cemetery crew would have been excused and another crew would have been called in—the ones who carry straight jackets in their equipment bag instead of shovels.
Since then I have not been able to attend a funeral with any comfort. If I must, I put up the dam and it looks like I don’t really care. My husband attends funerals for loved ones on my behalf who we are going to miss; if a relative dies, my other relatives surround me quickly to make sure I remember the reason for the funeral is our deceased family member and not my uncontrollable weeping; my very dear friend, Connie Eatough attended her own grandson’s funeral with my spirit in her pocket. The drowning of a teenager was simply beyond what I could do. I knew I would see her grief and soon it would appear I was the one who had lost a grandson when really my tears and attention-grabbing, gut-wrenching sobbing would have been for Connie and her family.
There are some funerals I can attend. When death has brought to the door a sweet release from pain and suffering, I feel gratitude. I feel proud of the person who endured their pain. I know I will miss them, remember them, and probably write about them, but I will be grateful peace has come to them.
As you might suspect, my role is in the kitchen preparing the post funeral meal. It was a hard decision about what recipe to give this week. I couldn’t decide between my real funeral potatoes—the ones boiled whole, peeled, and grated or the emergency funeral potatoes—the ones using frozen hash browns. To be honest, I’ve made both.
Instead I decided to provide the recipe Kathy Bell brought to me. You’ve all seen it a million times. It is the 24-hour salad that looks lovely layered initially but when served soon looks like a hot mess of peas, mayo, and an uneven distribution of all the ingredients. You either get a big wad of lettuce or a mush of cheese, bacon, and mayo. Kathy brought this in a 9 by 13 casserole, and it was perfect. Those darn English teachers; they even know how to fix the basic structure of a salad!
In a two-inch deep casserole or 9 by 13 glass casserole (depending on the size you are making), Layer:
Shredded iceberg lettuce, spun very dry
1 cup of petite frozen peas, unthawed but broken up
1 cup of thinly sliced carrots
I chopped green pepper
1 bunch of sliced green onions
Mix 1 cup of mayonnaise with 2 T. sugar and I T. of mustard
Spread lightly over the top of the salad
Cover evenly with one cup shredded cheddar cheese and one pound of crisply fried bacon bits (drained well).
Cover tightly with Saran wrap and refrigerate overnight. Right before serving, embellish with a few cherry tomatoes sliced in half.
One Comment on "Ann’s Adopted Edibles: Funerals"
Thanks to Annie for the column-just received it in the mail from a friend. Annie has been a friend and nurse to my family for 47 years. Love you Annie.
Kathy Bell