I woke up laughing this morning because of what happened yesterday that I didn’t write about. To appreciate the situation I’m about to describe, it would help to know that 1) our island has a 35 mph speed limit in most places; 2) my friend’s husband, L, has Parkinson’s, is in denial of his diminished capabilities; and 3) there is an unusually long, steep hill near their home. A few weeks ago, L’s son convinced him that he should not drive his big car any more, by appealing to L’s sense of right and wrong. “What if you stepped on the gas pedal instead of the brake and killed a child? Instead, you could get one of those new electric cars, that will only go 25 mph. That way you’d be unlikely to hurt anybody except yourself.” L agreed.
So did his wife, although after helping L research electric cars on the Internet she became increasingly concerned about his choice: although relatively inexpensive ($6,000), it was not suitable for winter in these parts because of not having a hard enclosure, and the particular model that excited him had very little leg room for L, who is a tall man. But she could not coax or argue him out of it. “Okay,” she told him, “it’s your choice. You make the arrangements. I’ll drive you to the mainland to meet the dealer, but I’m not going to be part of it; I’ll go off and do the grocery shopping.”
The appointed day, a cold, blustery one, arrived, and she left him to deal with the situation. When she arrived back at the ferry, she saw him huddled in the vehicle, right at the head of the ferry line. Soon the boat arrived and he was the first car on. He came back and sat in her car during the trip, because he was. . . duh!. . . cold, and. . . double duh!. . . his legs were cramped.
When the ferry arrived at our island, he was the first driver to leave the boat. My friend realized, in horror, that his top speed was about 15 mph, and that every car on the ferry—50 or 60--would need to follow him on the 17-mile route across the island. Too stubborn to pull over, he led the creeping cortege toward their home. A somewhat smaller line of cars, some having turned off on other roads, followed him up the long hill towards his driveway, now at 11, 10, sometimes nine mph.
Three-quarters of the way up the long hill, in a huge rainstorm, his electric vehicle ran out of juice. He must have known it was happening, as he was able to park mostly off the road, at the edge of another driveway. Ignoring the backed- up traffic, he tried to get his wife to push his car. She told him he was crazy and that if he didn’t get in her car and come home with her, she’d leave him there.
Later that evening, he told her he thought he’d made a mistake in getting the car, but she still felt so humiliated and angry from his flawed decision and the slow procession across the island that she couldn’t discuss it then. When she finally gained perspective on the situation, a friend said: “Maybe you could rent him out. I bet other husbands would pay for that so their wives could see how good they are by comparison.”
* * *
Anyway. . . today was an amazing day that I never could have foreseen, and I ate alkaline all the way through! Yesterday, I learned that our priest had broken his forearms, and at the 8 o’clock service we found that painful truth was true. He’d been on vacation with his wife. While putting luggage in the car’s trunk he’d stumbled over a suitcase; hurtling towards the tarmac, he put out his arms to break the fall and fractured the arms instead. I started wondering what I could do to help and guessed maybe the best thing would be to make a lamb stew and take it to him and his wife, as she has had her hands full being his arms, so to speak.
As I was making the stew, with fragrant turnips, beets, onions, carrots, yellow squash, and chunks of lamb floured and sautéed in a little olive oil with lots of pepper and some salt, I realized there were a few other people who might enjoy a stew too. Packing up portions for six people, I remembered another friend who is by himself because his wife is in a nursing home on another island, and asked Jack if he’d like to take a seventh meal to the friend. Jack is such a trouper! He likes his friend very much and enjoyed a couple of hours watching football with him while I took the stew to the other recipients. Best stew I never ate!
Jack had noticed that I’d not left any for him and our houseguest, so I stopped at the store on the way home and found ingredients to make another one, this time reserving some vegetables for my own portion. In this second stew, I used a little paprika in addition to the salt and pepper, which also enhanced the veggies’ flavors.
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