One of the stories my 86 year old mother shared with me on the ride to see her Parkinson’s doctor in Toledo:
“So, there’s a new guy at Hillside, a nice looking man, and they sat him at my table. [Every two weeks they mix up the people at each table for meals.] He walks real straight, doesn’t really look his age. All the other women were jealous, I think. They all wanted to get to know him. Well, I certainly wanted to make an impression. I didn’t say much but I wanted to make an impression.
“It was dinner and they served spaghetti and meatballs. Oh boy, it was going to be tough to make an impression. Spaghetti and meatballs is not the food to serve when you want to make an impression [and you have Parkinson’s with tremors]. I tucked the point of the napkin in my blouse so I wouldn’t get food all over my clothes. Then I took a deep breath and forked up some spaghetti and meatballs. The fork actually made it to my mouth but the food on it didn’t. The meatball fell on my pants and then onto the floor, the spaghetti landed on my chest, and there was a lot of sauce all over my face.”
Both of us were laughing raucously, she so heartily she could barely get the words out. “Boy, did I make an impression.”