Salad, Ted?

When my mother was in her nineties, someone asked her, “Audrey, what is the secret to your longevity”?  She gave a three-part answer. 

• Number ONE, I love the Lord with all my heart, and He has sustained me through thick and thin all the days of my life. 
• Number TWO, I have a good cry every day.  If you don’t have a good cry, it’s not a good day.
• And Number THREE, I eat lotsa salads.

Bullet # 1

As to her loving the Lord, religion for her was not a spectator sport.  She was always ready to give an account of her faith, being garrulous, outgoing and enthusiastic about almost everything.  She was an avid reader, and a dog-eared copy of Thomas a Kempis’ “The Imitation of Christ” was her favorite book.  She loved church and did not discriminate.  Becoming a Catholic when she married my dad, she also held onto her Texas Bible Belt roots.  It was not unusual for her to celebrate 7:00 a.m. mass at Saint Joseph’s, and then catch the 10:00 a.m. over at Trinity Methodist for some “old-time religion” – Wesleyan hymns and fiery preaching.  Oh, how she loved those old hymns.  When she lived with our family in her dotage, I would sit on the side of her bed, open the hymnal and sing her to sleep; and from Thanksgiving to New Year’s, Handel’s “Messiah” filled our house, which often reduced her to tears.

Which brings us to Bullet # 2

Audrey was a world-class crybaby.  Her heart was more often on her sleeve than in her chest.  Happy or sad, heroic or tragic, big or small, nothing wasn’t worthy of tears.  She could be in dire straits over finances, or she could be in the thrall of joy over a ceramic plaque from “Paint Pals,” crafted by a granddaughter; either way, the reaction was a torrent.  Audrey could have taken a write-off on her tax return, naming Kimberly Clark Worldwide (makers of Kleenex) as a dependent.  She could be anxious, but she didn’t brood, just cried it out.  The takeaway is:  Audrey would get over it and move on.  There is a Piatt family trope that Audrey could drive us all crazy, but was perfectly sane herself.  Cannot dispute it.  Yep, she cried about almost everything, although I do not remember her ever crying over salad. 

Which brings us to Bullet # 3

Salad was a constant in our lives.  Every night of our lives, salad was served; and Audrey did make good salads.  There was never just a hunk of iceberg and a dollop of Thousand Island.  No sir!  There were interesting lettuces, nuts and seeds, varieties of vegetables and fruits, including frequent slices of avocado; and she often made her own dressings. 

Yet, even with her great green delights, our dad never took even one forkful.  Every night she offered.  Every night he refused.  If you asked him why, the best he came up with was, “I wouldn’t want to rob a rabbit of a good meal.”

This exchange took place almost nightly for their forty-four years of marriage.

“Ted, would you like some salad,”?

“No thanks.” 

Ever hopeful, she put some on his plate anyway.  When we were done eating, she would ask,

“Hon, are you going to eat your salad,”?

He shook his head, “No.”

After giving our dad one last opportunity to accept, she would pick up his plate and scrape his uneaten serving of salad unto her own plate, and down it.  Mom loved salads, but she hated equally to waste anything. 

Audrey’s salad ritual seemed weird, almost comical, to her sons; and it may seem peculiar to you.  But remember, she was about 95 when she was asked about her longevity, on the way to her ultimate destination of ninety-nine.  We cannot really question any of her secrets for a long life, can we?