Kentucky Fried Chicken

Mom, crazy for KFC

Sunday, November 22, 2015

Today I am grateful for Kentucky Fried Chicken.  I know my mom looks slightly deranged in the picture, but she gets that way when she eats KFC!  Following the excursion at the dollar store the other day, I took her to one of her favorite places, KFC.  Nothing like school-paste-potatoes and hypodermically-raised-poultry to top off a day.

 

But I know it’s not just the food she loves at that place.  It’s way more.  When she moved to Arizona after my dad died, she tried to make the best of it, but she was lonely.  She padded on making friends for several years.  Two of her women friends shared that their parents were moving to Arizona to be near them.  I might be paraphrasing the story a bit, but mine is the truth as I remember it.

 

The parents drove from Missouri and while on the way, the wife got horribly sick and died.  I’m not sure of the logistics, but the husband, Lawrence, eventually did move to Arizona. . .alone.

 

“I feel so sad for Lawrence. This move must be so hard.  It’s nothing like what he expected it to be,” my mom said to me one day on the phone, “How horrible to have his wife die on the way here.”  I agreed.  It was awful.  She asked, “Do you think I would be out of line taking him a piece of pie, or cookies when I’ve baked?”  No, not out of line at all!  Kind.

 

So she did.  And a wonderful, loving, lasting friendship grew, with them frequently having lunch at Kentucky Fried Chicken, until Lawrence, too, passed on years later. It made everyone happy. . .them. . . me. . . his kids. . . and even the Colonel.

 

So I publish the demented-looking-mother picture, knowing in my soul of souls that it’s not just about the soggy potatoes and nasty-greasy-steroid-laden-chicken. It’s about unexpected love in the twilight years. . .and happy memories.

 

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