He Should Donate his Brain to Science. Also, we have a special on beans.

This is a little tidbit from a year ago.
It was only a few days after Thanksgiving and there was a nice chill in the air. I love when it's time for the first pot of chili. When you look thru the pile of blankets for the extra fuzzy one, your reindeer socks and you begin to crave grilled cheese sandwiches.

I called my hard-working husband and asked him to pick up a can of chili beans on the way home.
He was excited over the chili but asked if we could forego the beans? Not because he didn't like beans in his chili mind you but because he has difficulty in grocery stores. This is one of those things that truly makes me scratch my head. It's a simple concept, food all lined up on shelves, big signs over the aisles pointing you to the food, people work there wearing the same vests (where you can find them) all there to point you to food. It seems easy to me but not to my Don. He would rather rewire a house. 

No baby I say, we need the beans.  

I grew up in a home where men cooked. My daddy made pancakes on Saturday mornings, he fried eggs and made bacon. He made the best chicken and dumplings you ever tasted. He cooked at the hunting club.  I  heard all the stories of big meals of deer steak in gravy and big "cat head" biscuits. My brothers both cook. My oldest brother taught me many things about being a good cook, correctly he would say.
Steve was only fifteen when he would have dinner waiting on mama when she walked through the door from work. The look on my mothers face told me, at that moment, she loved him the most. I was okay with that, because the roast beef, corn bread and potatoes were delicious. 

Donald said, stay close to the phone in case I need you. [It's beans baby, just a can of beans]
As expected, the phone rings in about fifteen minutes. Here's how it goes-
"They do not have any chili beans."  "Donald, yes, they have beans honey. Where are you? Go to aisle three and..." "WAIT, I'm going to aisle three now. I see pork n beans, northern beans, green beans, .. what kind of beans?"
"Donald. Chili beans. You know, for chili?"   "Yea, yea.. chili beans. No. There do not have chili beans"
(long pause, as I beat my head against the wall)
"What do I do now?"  Donald, baby. I tell you what, find someone that works there and ask them. They will take you to the chili beans. I'm going to get busy here okay?
I want to say- You are 64 years old, use your skills, find the beans.
Ten minutes later he calls back. "Leisa, there is not a can of chili beans in this store. I'm telling you."  At this point, I'm feeling rather foolish and I begin to doubt there are beans at Publix. (that's how good this man is)
I direct him across the highway toward home and to please stop at Piggly Wiggly, "its on your way." Because now even I believe Publix has no beans.
This sounds reasonable to him and he's off.
I am now standing in the kitchen doing the prep work all the while thinking, this was an intelligent man when I married him.  My husband IS Richard Dean Anderson. He's MacGyver for goodness sakes!

This man can do anything, repair anything, run a room size computer at U.S.Steel, repair a car that needs an alternator with a gem clip and a twinkie. He once presented a finished house plan to an inspector for review and the Inspector said in all his years he had never seen a hand drawn plan from anyone like this. It was perfect and Donald did it all with a twelve inch stick ruler and a engineers pencil. Right down to the last hand-drawn brick. but that same man can't find a single can of beans in a store. It's like a maze to him.
All the prep work is done, it's been at least an hour. I'm waiting on the beans when I get another call. "Baby, they just don't have any beans." What? Has there been a run on beans? Store #2 doesn't have beans either?
You know that thing you do when you are about to pass out? Your head gets fuzzy and you can't hear well. It's like you are in a barrel.  I hear from him, "No, I'm still at Publix"..
I begin to get dizzy, I'm guessing it's my blood pressure.. I can hear my mothers voice, she would be cackling with her head thrown back about to wet her pants. She loved my husband. In her eyes he could do no wrong and she would be laughing her head off at my misery.
Okay, you know what Donald. Just come home. I would like to eat this da*n pot of chili before the late evening news.
He says one last time, "I'm sorry baby, there's just not any chili beans to be found"

My patience has worn thin, I add the remaining tomatoes to this BEAN-LESS pot of chili and head to the bathroom to shower and cool down, telling myself I will feel better after a shower. [I also begin to understand why people drink]  

After my shower, I emerge from the bathroom to find Donald gathering his clean clothes for his shower.  I tell him I'll have the grilled cheeses done when he gets out. He thanks me and heads to the bathroom.
I walk into the kitchen and there on the counter are SIX cans of mild chili beans. S-I-X stinking cans of beans.
I storm into the bathroom with a can of beans in hand, what the stinking heck , Donald?! He looks through soapy eyes and very calmly says,  Oh, a guy helped me find them. 

We have extra beans, if anyone needs them.