2/15 First Post
Somebody died. That’s not surprising- obituaries are printed every day. The difference is that somebody died who was a member of our church. The difference is because the Holy Wife is a Deaconess who is in charge of putting together any luncheons, or whatever, at the church after the funeral. The family wants a luncheon.

She called the other Deaconesses to arms, or ovens, whatever the case may be. Most quickly volunteered to bring a cake. Some volunteered to bring a Jell-O salad- but not enough. She asked one woman to bring Jell-O and was told, “I do cakes, I don’t do Jell-O.” Did Nancy Reagan have a “Just Say No To Jell-O” campaign? It was kind of silly to refuse on those grounds, but that’s okay, it’s all-volunteer, nobody is encouraged to do anything that’s illegal or offensive to their sensibilities.


So the Holy Wife looks at me and says, “I’m short one Jell-O salad. Could you make one for me tonight?” Panic. The pulse races. The adrenaline pumps. No. I have never made Jell-O in my life. No I can’t. I don’t do Jell-O I do pie. But can I refuse the Super-Wife? I cannot. Sure, no problem. I love her more than Nancy Reagan, and it won’t do the kids any good to see their Dad cower from Jell-O. It’s time to start sweating over Jell-O.

2/15 Second Post
I fell asleep again and feel pretty good after a five-hour nap. Unfortunately I had no insightful dreams about Jell-O. Too much time was spent looking through cookbooks and the Internet. Surely there must be a Jell-O recipe like I want. But I cannot find one. Then comes a realization like the brightest dawn- I can call my sister. This would be the most elementary problem for her.

She doesn’t get too artsy. She says I basically have two options. Just make the Jell-O, add the fruit cocktail, and after it jells put a layer of whipped cream over it. Or wait till it becomes thick and beat the whipped cream into it. Ever the straight shooter she basically tells me to quit screwing around and get it done. The easiest way is the first.

I decided that no matter how I did the Jell-O I'd do it wrong- that's just the way it is. So I waited till she was scheduled to be off and started boiling water. If she got home late, like usual, she'd get the Jell-O, and whipped cream in layers. If she got home on time, she'd get to make a choice. She got home on schedule.

I told her I was going to make the Jell-o, add the fruit and she could put the whipped cream on top in the morning after it had cooled. Of course, that was wrong. She wanted the whipped cream and Jell-O mixed together. I told her we'd have to wait until it had at least cooled somewhat. She knew better. That’s what she gets for reading the instructions.

After dissolving the Jell-O I added the juice from the fruit cocktail. She asked me what else I was going to use for fluid, I told her 7-Up. She said there was some chilled in the fridge, got it, and I added a cup. She knew from the instructions we could use ice cubes to speed the cooling. She got some ice cubes in the measuring cup and I topped it off with more 7-up.

It wasn't long that it started to thicken. She wanted to add the whipped cream but I protested. It seemed to me that it wasn't nearly thick enough to take a beating and stay beaten- it would just dissolve into a milky-Jell-O-fruit mass. But we were not waiting. In went the whipped cream, still frozen. It floated like an iceberg. A glimmer of hope- maybe it would help cool it more. Nah, the mass of whipped cream is marginal compared to the pot of Jell-O. I went from hopeful to doubter to Thomas-had-nothing-on-me.

I held the creamberg down and shaved off its sides till it looked like pack ice on a red sea. Then the wife went to work with the electric beater. Apparently in touch with her male side- she really likes to play with her kitchen power tools. In no time at all it was beaten into dense foam.

We poured it out into a large pan and added the fruit. It seemed to me that the fruit and remaining syrup would just settle to the bottom. The bottom fruit layer wouldn't be gelled at all. It would be a runny mess. It would not be good. No matter, it's out of my hands and into the refrigerator.

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