Death by Tuna... almost

For Thanksgiving we traveled to Idaho to visit with my side of the family. We had a very pleasant afternoon at my cute niece's house, eating scrumptious food, playing cards and Wii, and doing puzzles. We then spent the night with my dad at his home.

Friday morning we slept in, dad cooked breakfast, and then the kids bundled up to go out and ride the four wheeler ATV on the farm. As noon approached, we began packing up to return home.

Knowing that we like tuna sandwiches, dad mixed up a big bowl of tuna. Nathan was thrilled and proceeded to make himself a thick sandwich. Everyone settled down to eat lunch. I had eaten a big breakfast and so wasn't really hungry, so I politely declined.

Everyone began to eat, and it was oddly silent around the table. Being absorbed in my laptop, as usual, I didn't notice the furtive looks exchanged among the kids. Then Nathan said, "Mom, do you want the rest of my sandwich?" He had only taken two bites. Strange, for a kid who likes tuna as much as he does. "Why, don't you like it?" He shrugged. "I'm just not that hungry, I guess."

I didn't want his sandwich, so he tossed it in the garbage. A little while later, I noticed that there were four sandwiches with only a couple of bites out of them in the garbage. Hmmmm. Suspicious.

I took a spoon and tasted the tuna. Whoa. There was something seriously wrong with this tuna. At first I thought that dad had made it with mayonnaise or something equally nasty. Then I realized the taste of tuna was overwhelmed by a strong bitter metallic taste! No wonder the kids couldn't eat more than a few bites; I couldn't even swallow the little bit in my mouth!

I mentioned the off flavor to my dad, and he tasted it and agreed that something was wrong with it. "I'll go check the date on that case," he said, as he headed for the basement.

The tuna was old, alright.



How old, you ask?




Well, I'll tell you.





Wait for it.







Sheesh, but you are impatient.









The case of tuna was purchased in...








1972!


Ack! My kids ate 36 year old tuna for lunch!

I think my dad is living in a time warp. He still wears polyester shirts from the 70's and sees nothing wrong with that. He just finished restoring a 1947 Garwood boat after 2 1/2 years of working on it. I love ya dad, but let's face it: you are o-l-d. Older than the Moonwalk. Older than Elvis. Older than The Garden of Eden. Older than dinosaurs. Older than DIRT.

I'm older than your tuna. But just barely.

Love you dad! :waves:

Thanksgiving Blues

We hosted Thanksgiving dinner this year. We trade off years celebrating the day with my family and three of Tom's siblings and their families.

I didn't give the holiday much thought; indeed, I kept forgetting that Thanksgiving was on Thursday of this week. I've noticed that I do this when I am feeling stressed about something--my mind just refuses to think about it until it absolutely has to. Late Wednesday night I remembered why--this is the first holiday since my mom passed away. It was last Thanksgiving when I first learned that mom was sick. I remember being very concerned, but hopeful that with good medical care she would get better. It never occurred to me that she might not see another Thanksgiving.

I feel that I should apologize to Tom's family; I wasn't a very festive hostess. The plentiful food was very good as usual, but nothing really hit the spot for me. I was happy to see everyone and their cute kids. I normally enjoy visiting and laughing and playing games. I just didn't have much laughter in me this year, and my pathetic acting skills weren't up to the task of hiding it. Forgive me, Amie and Jen, for being even more reclusive than usual. (I'd apologize to Jessica too... but she's used to me by now, I think.) I'm like a wounded animal sometimes; I just want to go hide somewhere and lick my wounds. I wasn't angry or grouchy or irritated, even when Hunter (Taylor?) found himself a bottle of bubbles and spilled it on the floor. I was just sad.

I'm sure next year will be better.