Outwitted, Outplayed and Outlasted

The first time I remember being in awe was the time when Nana Peterson answered the puzzle on Wheel of Fortune before any of the letters had been revealed. The answer was "Abraham Lincoln."



1st Set
Nana was up for a visit, probably around Easter. She usually came up around holidays. I remember because it was warm out on the day in question. It all began the night before. Nana was sitting at her usual spot at the kitchen table, eating cow’s tongue. While the rest of the family was simply thankful to be eating something else, Christine, the picky one, was disgusted - to put it mildly. As we watched in horror while Nana ate her dinner, Christine was compelled to make a comment or two, or six, about what she thought of Nana's dish. Finally, Nana could take no more. She dropped her cutlery, and left the kitchen without a word. If I close my eyes, I can still hear the sound of the knife and fork hitting the table. As Nana sat on the living room couch and sulked, Christine quietly enjoyed her small victory.

2nd Set
The next day, Christine I were outside the front of the house talking about the previous night's events. At the time, my parents had a station wagon with a color scheme that can be best described as varying shades of beige. I was sitting on the hood, and Christine was pacing in front of me with her head held high. As time passed, we became more and more boisterous. We were saying things like "Screw her!", and "She deserved it." We sat and laughed as we replayed the events.

3rd Set
Right in the middle of me saying, "Where does she get the nerve to think she could...” I froze mid-sentence as something caught my attention. I turned to my left, and sheer horror ran through me. There in the front seat of the station wagon, in a classic London Fog trench coat, sat Nana. The afternoon shade and the addition of more beige gave her the perfect camouflage. I turned back toward Christine and lowered my voice, but it was too late. "She's in the car", I whispered.

"And," Nana responded, "I heard everything you said." The comeback was underway.

4th Set
Christine and I did the only thing we could do. We ran inside, hiding in her room to regroup and plan our next play. We quickly realized that we needed help, so we called for Mom to come in. Mom's reaction, understandably, was that we were screwed. She decided to get Dad to weigh in. "Bring in Dad? Are you nuts?!", we said. Dad is a kind, generous and doting father, but his temper can sometimes get the best of him. Things were not looking good for us.

5th and Deciding Set
Dad actually found the whole story funny. This unexpected reaction began to make the whole thing feel like we were in The Twilight Zone. Dad convinced us to suck it up and apologize. It felt like a set-up, but at this point we had no choice. It was time to face the one woman firing squad. We were so young; we had so much to live for! We made our way to the kitchen and there she was, judge, jury and executioner sitting behind her bench. Christine did all of the talking and, as she admitted, with tears in her eyes, "We love you, Nana" a smile crossed Nana's face.

Game, Set, Match.

The Table

I spent a great deal of time at my parent's kitchen table growing up. It was there that we sat as a family. It was the centerpiece of our house. There have been some changes to the kitchen over the years, but some details are constant. The original paint that was later covered by wallpaper, then paint, followed by wallpaper, and even more paint, covers the same four walls. The floor that at one time had been covered with carpet, and has seen its share of linoleum designs, still covers the same area. Those few square feet have withstood many miles of foot traffic over the years. When my parents bought the house, there were six feet, then eight, ten, twelve, and John Michael finally made it an even fourteen crossing that floor several times daily. The cabinet on the far left still holds glassware and over on the far right is the pantry with everything else from plates, mugs, and cookbooks in between. I do not think there is a member of the family that could not enter that kitchen and make a cup of tea with thier eyes closed.


The table has been changed once or twice, but no matter what the shape or design has been, there is no question who is the occupant of particular places at those tables. Dad sits with his back to the porch door at one end with Mom to his right. The seat to his left had famously been occupied by his mother on her many visits. Gene sat at the other end, and the inside corner went to the poor sap that showed up last for dinner. The other rest of the spots were up for grabs. There used to be a television that sat on the back corner of the table. Now, with fewer occupants in the house needing a place at the table there is a radio, an overflowing cup of pens and pencils, notepads, and a newspaper or two or three.


We wolfed down our breakfasts before school, and shared countless dinners at the table night after night. That table has been the scene of some of our family's finest moments. Our dog Lady snatched a whole roasted chicken right off of the top of it, took it downstairs and proceeded to devour it. Lady's second greatest hit happened under the table when she threw up on Dad's foot. We were all unsure if it had really happened. Time stopped for a moment but in the end, all but one of us had never seen anything so funny. When Nana Peterson would visit she would sit in her spot and survey the scene. From her perch she would give her sometimes unwelcome cooking advice to Mom, tell stories about life as a nanny to one of Manhattan's richest families, and drive my sisters crazy. She would bring snacks that were new and exciting to us kids. She taught me how to play cards from that spot and she and Mom would sit at the table and chat for hours after most had gone to bed. There was and will always continue to be time for a chat over a cup of tea in that kitchen.


Writing about that kitchen would not be complete without mentioning the food that has graced the table. Mom and Dad both have their own talents in the kitchen. No one makes scrambled eggs with cheese like Dad. He can also take credit for chocolate-chocolate cake, cheesecake, mashed potatoes, and the man knows his way around a grill. Mom comes at it from a whole different direction. Chinese rice, roasted chicken, baked ziti, and glazed carrots are a few that I cannot find a way to duplicate. What I have had near complete success with is eggplant parmigiana. I learned from the best. Mom would take the time to go through each step of the process with me. Eggplant parmigiana has about five ingredients in it, but you should set aside a few hours if you want to do it right. Peeling, cutting, frying, layering and baking are a small price to pay for what you get out of it. When I make it these days I can place myself in that kitchen and hear Mom organizing the scene with her instructions. The dish has since become a favorite of my wife's family out here on the west coast. For them it is a rare treat that I make for some family gatherings. For me it is a trip back in time the room where I learned some of the greatest lessons of my life. All the while I am creating new memories in my own kitchen at my own table with my own family.