Two weekends in a row, I've been at Grandma's. First for her sister's funeral and this weekend for Easter.
Visiting Grandma is always an adventure. It is usually about 26 C (78 F) in her apartment, so you need two forms of clothes -- one set for outdoors and one set for indoors. Usually, I immediately throw off any sweater or socks as soon as I walk in the door, because I will melt. I go through my spare room and remove most of the blankets (there are always three on the bed. More in the closet if you get cold) and then I set up my stuff.
Because of the new gluten-free diet, I've had to bring some of my own food to Grandma's. I knew that, despite having explained it to her the week prior, I would have to explain my food choices again. I mean, despite having told her something 5 minutes prior, I usually have to explain it 5 - 10 times again. I brought hard-boiled eggs, yogurt, and some wheat free cereal.
Grandma was horrified I would have brought my own food. Grandma is from a generation of women who need to be the perfect hostess. The Perfect Hostess always has enough food for her guests. I explained to Grandma it wasn't that she didn't have enough, it was that I couldn't eat it. I didn't expect her to have things available for me. I thought she understood.
I was wrong.
I woke up every morning to the counter covered in breads, buns, muffins, cakes, etc. with a note that said "Help yourself" in crinkly, shaky, old lady writing. Every morning, I put it all away and sat down to my egg, yogurt and cereal.
It was like she was taunting me.