Friday night Norm and I usually go out for dinner. It’s kind of like our official date. I feel lucky and grateful.
I don’t remember you and Dad ever going out for dinner—or any of us as a family. Not even to McDonald’s which I believe was the only fast food place around other than White Castle in the city. I remember asking what that was when we were driving to the hospital to see you. I wondered if it was a real castle.
Did you cook every day? Did Suzanne or Warren ever have to fix dinner for you? What did you do when you were sick? I vaguely remember a TV dinner once in a while, but that might have been something we ate after you died.
I do remember always making this cod that came frozen in a box when I was cooking for Dad and Ruthie. I recall Dad telling me, “This is something you can cook.” Yeah, since all you had to do was peel the cardboard off the rectangular frozen hunk of cod, put it on a cookie sheet and bake it until it was done. I decided when I got older that I’d never make it for dinner because I was really sick of it.
Maybe had you lived longer, you and Dad would’ve gone out once a week for dinner too.