Paté, Paste and Patience

By Barbara Laughlin

As Camille ages, Brian feels it's time that Camille moves closer to him. Camille doesn't share that view and proceeds to prove it through Adult Education Courses to show she is still relevant. She enlists her friend Sarah to attend 'Intro to French Cooking' with her. All goes well until their perfect souffle deflates with a thud. Camille's 'Internal Construction Class' leaves her nauseous from the dry wall and Camille's, entertaining but often inconvenient, rollator gets covered with wallpaper paste. All is not lost as Camille's great grandson, Pyke, is able to convince his grandfather, Brian, that great grandma Camille can swing a mean hammer and is still way cool.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: May 2, 2022
• ISBN: 9781667841588

Book preview

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© 2022 Barbara Laughlin

Print ISBN: 978-1-66784-157-1

eBook ISBN: 978-1-66784-158-8

All rights reserved.

Once, we were young and beautiful. Now, we are just beautiful.

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1

R eady, Camille? I’ll be right over. Sarah says.

You bet, I reply. I hang up the phone, smiling. Sarah and I were going out for lunch on this beautiful Saturday and she just called to tell me she was on her way. Sarah and I go out for lunch almost every Saturday. We have about five different restaurants we frequent and we are about to go to one of our favorites.

I’m pretty satisfied with the way I’ve structured my life. Embracing the fact that seventy three years old is definitely not the new fifty, I accept the physical adjustments I’ve needed to make, like using Amy, my rollator. I have interests that occupy my time, a close friend in Sarah, and a close, albeit distant relationship with my son, granddaughter, son in law, and their son. I hold reality checks with myself, checking to see what is going well, what isn’t, and what I can do about it. So... what’s not to like?

Sarah arrives five minutes later. She only lives a few blocks away. I give the house one last quick once over, checking for the normal stuff we are told to check for and head out the front door for a sure to be relaxing lunch with my best friend. Sarah has already popped open the trunk for me. She lowers her car window and does her usual want any help with that?, and receives the same answer from me as always, nope, I got it. ‘It’ being Amy, the name I have given my walking assistant, a rollator. Rollators are walkers but with wheels so we can just walk with the reassurance that in challenging terrain, it’s got our back. Or balance, I should say. That challenging terrain might include gravel driveways or ramps in restaurants. Folding Amy up and tossing her seventeen pounds in Sarah’s trunk, we’re off for another fabulous lunch.

Arriving at the restaurant a few minutes before noon, we are seated immediately. May we have the third booth from the end, please? I ask. This beautiful day has really encouraged your patio dining, and every time the wait persons go in and out the door, there is a flash of sun that is blinding.

Without a reply, they moved us to the third booth down. Sarah sends a smile and a thank you.

Isn’t it nice in here? I love the wood interior and the wood fire smell of delicious food being cooked on it. Just everything about this place!

All those things and more, Sarah responds. It seems forever since we’ve been here. Actually, I think it was during that cold spell we had. When we didn’t have to worry about the flash of light in booth one because it was too cold for anyone to sit on the patio. Sarah observes her best friend for signs of taking offense at that last remark. No, none. There never is. Sarah loves Camille for everything she is. Calm and self-assured, she is never afraid to ask for exactly what she wants, all the while never, ever rude.

I scan the menu. I’ve memorized this whole thing, but I always check to see if I may have missed something. Closing the menu and putting it in front of me to signal we are ready to order, I check with Sarah to make sure she is ready, too. We both confirm that we will order the same favorite that we always do.

The waiter returns, orders taken, and we settle into some light conversation while we wait.

Unexpectedly, the waiter soon returns to our table. Much too soon, it seems. With a nod to my rollator, he says, we will have to put it in the back by the wall. It could be a fire hazard.

A fire hazard? I say with thinly veiled sarcasm. To who?

After avoiding my gaze by staring at Amy, he tells me that in case of fire in the restaurant, it could impede the customers’ escape.

And what about my escape? Are you the waiter I should summon to help in that circumstance? You are telling me you will take the time, in all that confusion, to retrieve my rollator for me so I might have a fighting chance of getting out of here alive, along with the rest of your customers? The waiter breaks this awkward moment saying he will go explain the situation to the manager and will be right back.

Upon returning, the waiter was obviously more relaxed. The manager says that you are most definitely right about this matter and that your rollator should remain close to you. He’d also like to thank you for bringing such an important matter to his attention.

After the waiter left for the second time, noticing I was still disturbed by the whole incident, Sarah broke the awkward silence between us saying, The waiter was only following house rules. Let’s try to enjoy our lunch.

I can’t just let it go, Sarah. This issue is over for the Wood Fire Restaurant, at least for today, but this problem doesn’t stop with this one incidence. It’s everywhere! This total disregard for people who need special help, be it a walker, a cane or wheelchair. In addition, have you ever noticed how when spoken to, people always talk to us louder and slower? As a whole, they stereotype us, implying we are in decline physically, and sometimes even mentally. Did you notice how he spoke a little louder when he spoke to me? If I need a little aid in walking, I must also be going deaf, right? You can’t possibly understand, Sarah. You can hop, skip and jump anywhere you want to go. Okay, that is an exaggeration, but you know what I mean. Having been told that my source of safe navigation in the restaurant constitutes a fire hazard, and I should put it in the back of the restaurant, ticked me off a wee bit.

Within minutes, the wonderful smell of lunch gets closer and closer, arriving in front of us looking delicious.

Finishing lunch, we head to my house. Trying to appear unruffled while putting away the take home bags in the refrigerator, I say, I don’t want to be a pain in the derriere, but restaurant people need to think these things through. If there was an explosion in the kitchen, who is going to take time to help the mobility compromised if they take away our walking aids? They’ll need to treat us the way the rest of their customers are treated to keep us coming back.

I often thought about where are all the people that require a little aid in walking are. Want to know what else I think? I think that you have to be one of the rare individuals that have given your mobility aid a name and act like she is your friend.

Smiling, I say, You jealous? I continue on, I’ve got a great idea. If you’d stay for dinner, we can put the leftover chicken on a salad. Sound yummy? We can watch a movie after.

If you have black olives to go on that salad, it’s deal, Sarah accepts.

After supper, we choose a Hallmark movie because they always end well. Or at least end with the main character being content with how their lives turned out. We settle in for the evening, knowing there will be a happy ending.

Another fun movie, but it’s time to head home. Thanks for the fun and interesting day, Sarah says, emphasizing the word interesting.

After Sarah leaves, I settle down with a book before bed.

The phone rings and I wonder who would call this late. The caller identification says it’s my son, Brian, who lives in Denver. He must have forgotten the time difference. As usual,