Last week, I told you about me and my family surviving Thanksgiving day in Chicago after contracting a horrible stomach virus.
My son-in-law, Alex, who I refer to as “my favorite child” cooked 90 percent of the meal, including the turkey and ham, because my daughter Sydney and I were both too sick to get out of bed. And as I mentioned, I’m not a turkey eater but I do enjoy a good ham.
I managed to eat a sliver of ham and one tablespoon of mashed potatoes for Thanksgiving. Alex had smoked the ham on the grill, laboring for hours, just to get the grill temp to the right degrees because it was a warm 9 degrees outside that morning.
Alex and Sydney said they’d enjoy the leftover turkey but not the ham, and mentioned throwing it out. I told them there was nothing better than beans cooked with ham, but they weren’t interested. There was about 10 pounds of ham left so my son-in-law convinced me to freeze it and bring it back on the airplane. I didn’t argue with him, I was in.
Alex cut up half the ham in slices, kept the other half whole, and stuck them in the freezer until it was time for me to leave.
A few days later, Sydney and I weighed and found that we’d both lost about six pounds each. I was so dehydrated that I had to keep myself from guzzling water, or deal with the consequences. Alex was the only one left standing.
After posing for our annual holiday photo, we all stated that we were thankful for our health. At least we sur-vived and had leftovers to enjoy.
On the Sunday after Thanksgiving, my first flight out got cancelled so I was booked for the next flight, which was around 4 p.m. and that was only if it wasn’t a full flight. If it was, I was looking at a midnight flight or possibly flying out that next morning and arriving late to work.
Sydney had laid my 18-month-old grandson, Cooper, down for a nap when I received a message stating they had two seats left on the 4 p.m. flight and to get to the airport ASAP. I retrieved the frozen ham from the freezer and double bagged it inside my suitcase. Sydney called me an Uber and I stood outside with my luggage as my driver drove up and said, “Hola mamacita,” which means “hello gorgeous” in Spanish. He then took my suitcase, crammed it in his trunk, and off we went.
I realized that the young man couldn’t speak a bit of English but he knew where I was headed, and we didn’t have any problems communicating on our way to the airport. He put his arms around himself and shivered, asking me if the temperature inside the car was okay, and I told him it was and better than it was outside. He gave a thumbs up, and I would give a thumbs up back.
I sat back and enjoyed the ride knowing the ham was coming back with me to Oklahoma as my Uber driver put on some Latino Christmas music. When we arrived at the busy airport, he jumped from his car, threw out my suitcase like the Sunday trash and said “Adios mamacita” (goodbye gorgeous)!
I’d never felt more beautiful as I laughed, and walked into the chaotic airport.
