Ed Ames

For the last few months, ever since Mom complained that I only feed her pasta for dinner instead of meat, I’ve been giving her a choice of meals to choose from each evening.

Last week I presented her with three cheese ravioli or Salisbury steak with mashed potatoes and corn.  After carefully reading each meal’s description on the front of the box, she shrugged and pointed at the Salisbury steak.  As I turned to go back into the kitchen to begin preparing her dinner she stopped me with, “Don’t get that anymore.”

“Don’t get what?” I responded from the kitchen doorway.

“The meat and potatoes kind,” she said.

“You mean this meal?” I asked, waggling the Salisbury steak box in her direction.

“Yes,” she replied with a firm nod.  “I don’t like the ground meat and potatoes kind.  If there’s a vegetable, then I guess that’s okay, but not just with potatoes.”

“Okay, but this one will work, right?”

“I guess so since corn’s sort of like a vegetable.  But I don’t like the meat that comes with just the potatoes, so don’t get those.”

I mention this conversation to Bill later in the evening and his take on it was, “Well she’s probably figured out that whatever that stuff is, it tastes like dog food and she just doesn’t want it anymore.”

“But I started buying them again because she complained that I only fed her pasta and she wanted meat once in a while.”

“Well maybe she’s bored with the same old dinners.  Maybe we should mix it up and get another brand that has different varieties.”

Which is what we did.  And that brings me to Ed Ames.

Last night I gave her a choice between Chicken Pasta Primavera and Teriyaki Chicken with vegetables and rice.

From her throne on the loveseat, she pondered the labels for almost a full minute as I patiently held them in front of her.  She’d squint at the colorful picture on the box front, showing a promising depiction of the meal to come, then move her lips slightly as she read the description of the contents, then shift her attention to the other dinner and start over.  She finally seemed ready to make a choice.

“What’s Ed Ames?” she asked, tapping the Teriyaki Chicken box with her index finger.

“Ed Ames?  I think he was a singer and he was on the old Daniel Boone TV show.”

“No, no, not him.  Inside the box,” she said, tapping even harder on the label.

“What’s inside the box?”

“Ed Ames.”

“Mom, why do you think a dead actor would be inside your TV dinner?”

“That’s just stupid, I don’t think that.  Why would anyone think that?  I’m talking about the stuff in the dinner.  The ed ames.  I don’t know what that is.”

“Ed ames?  Edames?” I muttered, turning the front of the box around so I could read label.  “Edamame!” I exclaimed.  “It has edamame in it.”

“That’s what I said,” Mom huffed.  “I didn’t say some dead person.  I said edamees.”

“They’re soy beans, Mom.  They taste good and they’re good for you.  Bill and I eat edamame all the time.  You’ll like them.”

“Well okay then,” she huffed, turning her attention back to the 6:00 news.  “I suppose that would be better than having some dead guy for dinner.”

ed ames


2 Comments on “Ed Ames”

  1. Dianna Carter says:

    FYI…Mr. Ames is, as of this writing, very much alive and quite hail and hearty at age 88.

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