I’m surrounded by green this weekend. We’ve celebrated St. Patrick’s Day with friends from church at the annual Corned Beef and Cabbage dinner, and today we’ve been out in the glorious weather that is such a surprise at this time of year, with grass and chives greening up, and an array of flowers and shrubs in bloom.
The “green” memory that has been floating through my head is one of my parents on a trip to Biloxi and the Gulf Coast that must have taken place during the 60s or 70s. They had decided to travel south along the Mississippi by car leaving about the second week of March. Dad wasn’t interested in spending his time in a motor home, so they drove and stopped at Holiday Inns along the way.
Dad was always big on breakfast, so they started each day early. As they got into southern Illinois grits began appearing on his plates. The next day he’d tell the waitress that she could leave the grits off the plate, but the cooks couldn’t imagine anyone going without grits, so Dad got them whether he wanted them or not.
By the time they arrived in Biloxi, St. Paddy’s Day was just around the corner. Dad went to breakfast hoping against hope that they would leave the grits off his plate. The waitress proudly set the plate before him, and lo and behold….there were GREEN GRITS!
I wish I could tell you what he did. He may have just resigned himself to the grits, or perhaps he sent the plate back. I can’t recall. Mom and Dad told us about the green grits when they got home, and it’s always been one of those family stories that has amused me.
I know….I’m easily amused. *G* But I’m with Dad…..no grits for me, green or otherwise!