Please Pass the Macaroni Salad

by Donna Poole

It wasn’t the smartest decision I’ve ever made but I couldn’t help myself.

You see, our dear pastor friend had died. Because of my cancer treatments I couldn’t do any of the things I used to do. I couldn’t go to the memorial service to honor him and comfort his wife or hug his family members, also my dear friends. I couldn’t serve at the funeral dinner.

I’m no longer on one of the hospitality groups at church. Every January I still print up the sign-up lists for the hospitality groups and children’s church workers, but the last three Januarys I haven’t been able to add my name the way I always did before.

I’ve lost count of how many funeral dinners I once oversaw, but those days are no more.

Our church didn’t fix the entire meal for our pastor friend’s funeral dinner. The people in charge only requested salads.

My husband, John, started to call Martha and Marilyn, the two women on our church hospitality committee that month, so they could arrange the salads.

“Tell them I’ll make enough macaroni salad for one-hundred and fifty people,” I told John. “That way they won’t have to get so many other salads.”

He stared at me.

His Donna? The one who usually must take a nap after a simple shower because she’s so exhausted?

“Don’t forget you have the family coming here for Thanksgiving the day before, honey.”

“I know.”

“And Kimmee can’t help you make all that salad; she and Jenny have to shoot a wedding.”

“I know.”

“And I don’t know how much I can help you either. If I’m going to take Thanksgiving Day off to be with family, get ready to preach the funeral on Saturday, and prepare for Sunday, I probably won’t have much time available to help you on Friday.”

“I’ll be fine. I love that family and I can’t be there to comfort them. And I love Martha and Marilyn. There’s so much I can’t do, honey. Please, let me do this for everyone.”

“If you’re sure….”

“I’m sure. Make the call.”

The following days were a storm of activity, cooking, cleaning, moving furniture, setting up tables, and decorating for Thanksgiving. Thanksgiving was wonderful, a day of love and laughter, one of those days you keep in your heart forever.

After everyone left and we cleaned up I think I must have found our bed. I don’t remember.

The next morning, I could barely wake up. Then I remembered. Macaroni salad for one-hundred fifty! My feet hit the ground with a groan and a prayer. Well, the recipe was easy enough. Just in case you ever need it, here it is.

Macaroni Salad for 150

8 pounds macaroni cooked and drained

4 ½ pounds shredded cheddar cheese

8 pounds fully cooked ham cubed

3 bags frozen peas, 20-oz each, thawed

3 bunches celery, chopped (about 18 cups)

3 large onions, chopped

3 jars green olives, sliced (Sorry, I can’t remember the size.)

Dressing:

12 cups mayonnaise

12 ounces Western or French salad dressing

½ cup white vinegar

½ cup sugar

2 cups half and half

2 ¼ t onion salt

2 ¼ t garlic salt

1 ½ t salt

1 ½ t pepper

Directions:

In several large bowls, combine the first seven ingredients. In a large bowl, combine all the dressing ingredients; pour over ham mixture and toss to coat. Cover and refrigerate until serving.

“You call me if you need me,” John said.

“I won’t need you,” I promised.

So much for promises!

In generosity added to love I forgot to calculate one vital factor: Who has containers big enough to mix that much macaroni salad?

It wasn’t long before John was in the kitchen helping me. I still don’t know how we did it. I’m pretty sure our guardian angels were laughing, not helping. Finally, we got all the salad mixed and put into sturdy, disposable lasagna pans, all that would fit, that is.

There was a considerable amount of salad left.

“You know I love macaroni salad, honey,” John said as he started hunting for containers to put the leftovers in.

I looked at the kitchen. Every pot, pan, and bowl we had was dirty. There wasn’t a clean spot to sit even a coffee cup.

About then our granddaughter stopped by and were we ever happy to see her! We were more than ready to sit.

“Come in, Megan!” I laughed when she walked into the kitchen. “This is what a kitchen looks like when you make macaroni salad for one-hundred fifty people. Want some?”

“No, but thanks, Grandma.”

She looked around the messy kitchen with those wide blue eyes of hers and offered to clean it up, but I refused.

“Just stay and talk awhile, if you have time.”

Megan did stay, and her grandpa and I loved every minute. Lunch time came and went. She had to be hungry. Again, I offered macaroni salad. Again, she politely refused.

We hated to see Megan leave; we always do.

And then we tackled the kitchen. What a job.

“She…went to work repairing the ravages made by generosity added to love. Which is always a tremendous task, dear friends—a mammoth task.” –O’ Henry

When we finally finished cleaning up, John was ready for macaroni salad. We ate it several times that day.

By the next morning when John left early to deliver the pans of salad for the funeral dinner, I was already tired of eating it.

“Tell them to give any leftovers to the family or the kitchen help, okay?”

“I think they said they’re going to give the dinner leftovers to the homeless shelter.”

I’m pretty sure I made way too much macaroni salad. I’m pretty sure the people at the homeless shelter couldn’t eat it all. I’m pretty sure it ended up in a dumpster somewhere, but that’s okay. I was just glad it didn’t come back home because we ate the macaroni salad we had here way longer than it’s safe to eat it, and I haven’t made it since. Nor do I plan to.

A few days later I remembered something. Megan doesn’t like macaroni salad. And it seems I don’t either, not anymore!

Is it possible to have too much of a good thing? Maybe. I do believe I ate way too many pieces of Christmas chocolate candy. But I don’t think you can have too much generosity mixed with love. I’d do it again it a heartbeat; if I thought it could bring a little help and comfort to my friends, I’d offer to make salad for one-hundred and fifty people.

But you better believe it wouldn’t be macaroni salad.

The End

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These blogs are now available in book form on Amazon:

Backroad Ramblings Volume One: Stories of Faith, Love, and Laughter

Backroad Ramblings Volume Two: Stories of Faith, Love, and Laughter

All my books are available at amazon.com/author/donnapoole