It was the best of times. It was the worst of times. Our cooking day together last weekend took many unexpected turns, but ultimately, we landed on our feet. Ben and I planned a supper of grilled pork steaks, ranch potatoes, and broccoletti. We started the day with everyone pitching in to clean the house. While vacuuming, Ben declared that this was something to write in the book of good todays.
At first, I couldn’t figure out why vacuuming and cleaning the kitchen would make it into the “Book of Good Todays,” because cleanliness is not something Ben appears to place great store in, but I eventually understood that it was the teamwork that meant something to Ben. There is something satisfying in working towards a common goal (in this case, a clean house.) Of course, one can’t discount the anticipated Triumph ride and pork steak.
Though it was chilly, the sun was brilliant, and we wanted to get out in it. Phil was working during the meaty part of the day, so Ben and I did a “bike walk” on our own (he rode while I walked.) When Phil got home, we said we wanted a ride in the Triumph. After bundling up, we started out, top down, for parts unknown. On Grampian, the car began to sputter, dying moments later on a side street. This has never happened before. Yes, the car is 58 years old, but somehow, we didn’t see this coming.
Luckily, we were two blocks away from our friend, Rob, who came to the rescue with a gas jug (which wasn’t the problem) and a ride home. Thanks, Rob!
Phil spent the next 4 hours on the phone with Triple A. At a certain point, Ben and I heard him say loudly into the phone, “No no, P as in pig, not T as in train. SPrunger. I don’t actually care how you say my name, but if the right name facilitates confirmation of my contract, that’s great!” Phil is the only guy I know who can deliver that line, after hours on the phone, with 100% sincerity, positivity, and enthusiasm.
The Triumph problem turned out to be pretty simple to fix (for someone who knows what he’s doing) and we had the functioning car back 24 hours later. Meanwhile that afternoon, all I wanted was sunshine on my face. Ben sat with me on the patio, and then in the sleeping porch when the wind was too much, keeping up a lively stream of conversation on a continuous loop. I reached into the train case where I keep books that anyone sleeping out there might want to read. I pulled out a book of poems and began reading them aloud to Ben. He stretched out on the church pew we have up there and drifted off a bit. Poetry will do that.
Sure, we grilled some meat, roasted some potatoes, and cooked some broccoletti, but that isn’t the story.
The story is that some days require a change of plans. Some days you watch your weekend dwindle like sand through an hour glass while you’re on the phone with Triple A. But if you can find your way to the “Book of Good Todays,” chances are you have something to say.
