Meet lots of freinds and enjoy good times at area restaurants

Aug. 29, 2002 – Jo Ann and I were recently in Grenada on a Friday night about dinner time.
That’s not exactly true. We were there looking for a small adventure that included food and not a trip to WalMart.
We had committed the next night to keeping Michael and Deanna’s children while they went to Starkville to celebrate their anniversary. We were so pleased to be keeping the children, I didn’t question his place of choice for their night out.


So, part of the reason we were out Friday night was in anticipation of everything but an adult night, in or out, on Saturday.
Fiori’s on Highway 8 seemed to be the least crowded, which we found on checking in was because the owner’s son was getting married and the rehearsal supper was to be at the restaurant later that evening. All but a small section of the dining room and the lounge were blocked off.
On getting our name on the list we were visiting at the front door with Steve Weeks, who grew up across the street from us in Bruce, and his date for the evening.
They were called to their table and two ladies appeared.
As they joined the queue we began to introduce ourselves and realized that we were not complete strangers.
One of the ladies was Mrs. Mary Belle Moore, widow of the late Walter Moore of Oakland, who I knew from early days in Yalobusha County. He, like my father, had earlier served in the Mississippi Legislature and was a landowner and businessman.
She now divides her time between Grenada and Oxford. She had moved to Grenada when her husband died and a house they bought in Oxford for their children to use as they attended Ole Miss became available.
She spends her time in Oxford, mostly at the University Turner Center in the swimming pool. She uses aqua exercise, or “water-walking” as I have referred to it, when it has been suggested for the very low impact aerobics recommended for those with arthritis or other crippling disease or injury.
She said she knew me from reading this column in the Coffeeville Courier. She said she read it second-hand from Mrs. Ross in Oakland, whose daughter, Linda Ross Aldy, a former student of mine at Ole Miss one summer and who now lives in Jackson, I had asked about.
Her companion was Mrs. Lois Stevens of Grenada, whose husband John had been with Magnolia Federal.
We agreed to share a table to save time and had a protracted visit over lightly sautéed roughy, covered with a crab meat sauce, while Mrs. Stevens had the crab cakes.
Topics ranged from Ole Miss, old days in Yalobusha, west Indies salad, children, grandchildren, and on and on.
In later life we have found ourselves limiting, without conscious effort, most of our outings to family and our extended family, the Salters in Forest.
It’s not that we are anti-social, for we were quite the opposite until our daughters reached their middle teens and too old for baby sitters.
By the time they were all grown, we had become loners, getting away on the spur of the moment with no time to plan.
And, now, with nothing to keep us from making elaborate plans to do things, we still don’t. We do such things, but not with much planning—spontaneous as, some who are prone to rationalize, call it.
Saturday night went equally well.
Samantha voted for C.C.’s in Bruce, because she likes to order chicken strips and then eat barbecue pork from Mimi’s plate. Eli also likes the strips and fries and the baked beans from my plate. Zachary likes the strips and candy treats on the counter as you leave.
So we terrorized, entertained, offended, or amused the regulars as we completed the meal without spilling a drink or  falling from a chair.
However, there were some rather unusual sounds of reproach and laughter as we planned for an upcoming trip to Gulf Shores on the Alabama Beach.
It has been years since we carried our daughters to Dauphin Island, on the west side of the Mobile Bay, and we are looking forward to it. However, we don’t plan to go as far east as we did on our wedding trip 47 years ago to Destin and Fort Walton.
More on that when we return, hopefully not blistered.

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