Leta wanted to celebrate her 60th birthday with all of her grandchildren. She had
six of them. Her daughter Vivian and her husband Ed had three: Don (age 15),
Larry (age 3) and Linda (not quite 1). Her son Dale and his wife Kate also had
three: Connie (age 10, nearly 11), Christine (age 6), and Alan (age 3).
She was single at the
time, having divorced her husband Claud Bassett in 1952 and learned that he
died of cirrhosis of the liver less than a year later. She believed it served
him right. While nearly everyone she knew enjoyed alcoholic beverages, the rest
of them exercised some restraint and control. Claud was simply a drunk. He hid
it well from nearly everyone, even from her. But over time, she began to recognize
several indications of his extensive alcohol use. After all, she spent many
hours in pubs and bars.
During the four years
of their marriage, Claud had squandered all of her savings and her assets with
his drinking, gambling and lifestyle. By the time of their divorce, she was in a
delicate financial state. She had already sold her house to pay his debts, and
what meager funds that remained went to maintain her as well as she could for
as long as she could.
In February, because
she refused to believe that she was once again penniless, and perhaps pushing
the fates for a change, she spent three weeks with her sister Mabel in Florida.
The trip had been wonderful, but upon her return, she was forced to address her
situation.
The party would be her
last big bash before she would have to find a job. Vivian was concerned.
“Ma, can you really
afford to have a lavish birthday party?” she asked.
“I don’t see how
having a nice meal with my family is considered lavish.” Leta replied.
“It’s ten dollars a
person!” Vivian clarified, “not counting alcohol.
“But there won’t be
that many of us, and besides, three of them are babies. They won’t eat much at
all.”
“Why do we need to go
to a restaurant? Why don’t I just make a nice dinner at our house?”
“Because you are
cooking Easter dinner two weeks later. That’s too much, darling.”
“It’s not too much. I
cook dinner every Sunday.”
“Vivian, you have two
little ones!”
“You can help me.”
‘I don’t want to cook
for my birthday,” Leta said finally. I want to enjoy myself.”
Vivian planted both
feet on the floor and straightened. She always took this stance when she was
prepared to make a declaration or a final stand.
“Let me call Kate, and
see if she will do it.”
Leta felt her temper
rise. Her daughter-in-law had a vivacious three-year-old and enough to manage
with her own housekeeping. “I don’t want anyone to cook my birthday dinner. I
want to eat at a restaurant!” she snapped.
They let the matter
rest for a few days before addressing it again. Having chastised herself when
yet another bill needed to be paid, Leta was in a more compliant mood. In the
end, they had a more simple restaurant meal at noontime after church. Her
youngest granddaughter slept through the entire meal. The two three-year-olds
were weary and after fussing for a short time, dozed in their high chairs. Her
children treated her—for her birthday. Afterward, they returned to Vivian and
Ed’s for birthday cake.
By the time, her son
Dale took her home after a light supper at Vivian’s, she was feeling grateful
and happy.
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