TheBanyanTree: J-E-L-L-O

[LLDeMerle]

There is quite a bit of discussion among my husband's family regarding
Jell-O, so much so that when I recently purchased the first box of
Jell-O my hands had touched in years, I was promptly jeered for "caving"
to the merits and wonders of Jell-O, not to mention the superior fine
taste one need possess in order to appreciate the delicacy, and by the
son of my mother and father-in-law, at that.  The one who lives at *my*
house.

Mom has been a Jell-O aficionado since at least World War II, I'm
guessing, and I mean a JELL-O-EVER-*DAY,* MEBBE-EVEN-*TWICE* type of
aficionado.  My sister-in-law, Diane, relayed her dismay, when, upon
marrying *her* husband, my husband's *brother,* it was requested of her
where the Jell-O might be.

"Jell-O?" 

"Yah.  Jell-O."

"JELL-O???"

"Yes.  We always had Jell-O."

"Well," she responded with incredulity, "In *my* family, we couldn't
afford LUXURIES such as JELL-O!"  

I don't know about the description of Jell-O as a luxury being a valid
point.  I think she was just taken aback at the audacity of her new
husband in questioning her pro-active meal-planning decisions and was
making a quick, aggressive play for the upper hand through STRATEGY.

Well, finally, the family tenacity won out and ended up indoctrinating
yet *another* full generation of Jell-O Nazis, specifically, Ron and
Diane's offspring, now loose on an unsuspecting world with the family
Jell-O agenda in hand as they graduate from college and collect
roommates and fiances of their very own.

I have often kidded my husband about Mom's Jell-O fetish, and I do
declare, I had a very difficult time keeping it together when at the
folks' one day, she got to musing about a dream-trip to the Jell-O
*MUSEUM.*

"There *is* such a place?"

"Oh, yes, and I'd really like to go. They have *everything* about Jell-O
there! I can't wait to see it all! It would be a lot of fun!"

In her defense, Mom is a retired chemist, however, I share with some
trepidation my tentative discomfort, when, as she delivered her
philosophies on the joys and social benefits of Jell-O, Mom turned
positively GIDDY at the prospect of an excursion to Jell-O-Land and
which escalated into a perfectly scripted crescendo where she
momentarily lost control and giggled,

"There's always room for Jell-O!" 

This, I thought, is an official jump-of-the-tracks.

I froze and my blood ran cold as I realized that I was witnessing, in
the flesh, the now-documented result of the affects of commercial
television indoctrination.  I tried to remain composed while struggling
to remember the number for 911 *and* making a mental note in giant black
Magic Marker to cut the plugs off of all the TVs I would encounter,
thenceforth, before deciding this was an event best blocked from my
memory and proceeded to rewind and record over with Leave It To Beaver
episodes. 

Which brings us to our most recent visit, yesterday.  Last night did not
bring with it the usual Jell-O creation.  We did, however, have 2 kinds
of jam; strawberry and raspberry, HOME-MADE, of course, by our favorite
Culinary Scientist, and that's sort of like Jell-O.  At dinner, today,
however, we were not disappointed when a Jell-O product was presented,
our attention heralded and directed toward the new and exciting snack,
Jell-O Pudding *Bites.*   There was a great deal of build-up in the form
of a Shakespearean-like soliloquy before I was implored to save the
world by placing one in my mouth, a shallow ruse, I discover, to insure
that Mom would have someone to agree with her that the things were
absolutely, positively...wretched.

She held the bag out to me.

"I left them on the seat of the car, they got hot and *then* they
weren't so bad," was her accompanying comment as the item landed in my
mouth.  Too late to remind her that she was, theoretically, trying to
PER, rather than DIS-suade me, meanwhile, I am discovering, live, that
Jell-O Pudding Bites are just as bad as I all-of-a-sudden remember
Jell-O pudding itSELF being in the *first* place.  The flavor, and I use
the term loosely, duly reminded me of why we never have pudding in our
home.  Ever.  My Life of Various Despised Foods passed before my eyes
and I was forced to revisit beets, Fritos and Green Bean Casserole,
followed by cheeseburgers, carrots and rhubarb before I had to call
every thought captive to Christ lest I become overwhelmed and rendered
unconscious.

"I can't think of what it is they reMIND me of...." she wonders for the
oh, I've-lost-count-because-she's-so-cute time. 

"Well," I offer, "I can't figure out if they are chocolate Gummy Bears
or those little rubber feet on the bottom of your kitchen chairs." 

No officially declared decision, but the needle on the meter leans way
past "It Just Doesn't Get Badder Than This."


There's a relatively happy, or at least, noncommittal ending for you,
except for the part where we arrive home to the wreckage of the ice
storm, including many broken trees and no power on the north and east
ends of the county.  

Next time: Rosamarina and mayonnaise salad.


::shudder::



LL