Neighbors

We had an elderly couple living next to us in Detroit. He was 15 years older than his wife. They had an arranged marriage from 'the old country'. The husband was a sweet man who used to make his own wine in their basement. the wife was not a nice person. She was demanding and very, very cheap.
Mrs. G. would call my mother and ask her to send my brothers over to mow her lawn. One of the boys would go, but it wasn't ever good enough. We had a hand mower, not a gas or electric mower, so it was not an easy task. Mrs. G. would go out and look at the lawn then tell them they had to do it again, the other way. Then she would give them one dollar.
Mrs. G. would call my mother and ask her to send me over because her house needed cleaned. I hated going! But my mother said that we need to help our neighbors. I would vacuum, sweep, dust, mop, fold clothes and whatever else she needed. I would either get a quarter or fifty cents and a St. Christopher's medal. I had more St. Christopher's medals than my Catholic friends.
Mrs. G was a heavy woman who could not stop drinking wine. She had to have weighed well over 300 pounds by the time her legs were totally incapacitated. Every morning - I mean EVERY morning - my parents would go to the G.'s house and help her to the porta-potty then to her wheelchair. Mom would help sponge bathe her and brush her hair.
Eventually they got a type of hoist to get her out of her bed because she was so heavy.
Mr. G. tried to help, but he was old and fragile. So, he asked us to come to dinner at their house for a REAL Italian meal. My parents accepted and on a Sunday in between meetings we went to their house for a home cooked Italian meal.
Next to my plate was a full glass of grape juice. I loved grape juice. We didn't have it very often because it was an expense m parents felt we needed, I guess. Anyway, I took a gulp of grape juice and about gagged. I turned to my father and said something about the grape juice tasting bad. He shushed me and told me to be polite, drink it anyway.
We had fresh bread, real Italian spaghetti and home made lemon cake. It was great. When I got used to the taste of the grape juice, I enjoyed it also.
We were finishing up the cake when one of their daughters came in the back door. (They had 13 living children.) She came bursting into the dining room wielding an empty wine bottle. I'll never forget the exchange that took place:
"Ma! Did you give these people this wine? You know they don't drink alcohol!"
"That's not-a wine! That's-a grape juice!"
The daughter apologized to us profusely. Mr. G.'s wine that he used to make was quite potent. So, Mrs. G felt that the wine that was commercial was not real alcohol.
my dad teased me for years about being an 'alky' because I drank a full glass of wine a dinner. I had a headache for the rest of that day.