Little brother and I take Grandma to Polish Church. It's a popular gig and every single seat is taken and they are standing at least 20 deep at the back of the church and overflowing down each aisle. I know you are supposed to suffer for the Lord (at least you are if you are a Catholic) but church pews are definitely not good for bad backs. Dolores joins me for the last half hour of the hour service and makes me shift increasingly in my seat. The priest has a few words of English 'for the visitors' at the end of the service and warns his congregation not to eat too much "as a Polish Easter can be full on".
No kidding.
Back at home the table is groaning under the weight of food. Salad, bread, bigos, grilled vegetables, kebabs and other meats and salami together with fruit salad, Polish cakes, biscuits, cheesecake and Easter eggs.
The weather is warm and sunny; unheard of for Easter. We are joined by my uncle, his wife and 2 small kids. My Grandma rushes back and forth filling up plates in a renewed quest to feed all present. Once she has finally taken a seat she sits with a tiny plate of her own. Unsteady on the garden furniture, she spills a little food down her front.
"Oops. Medals", she says.
Katy
(What's your Poison?)
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