ping pong spirit (this post is total mess)

Responding to the 12534.

(Beloved? Cyrano? Doubles? Dopplegangers? Outside? Inside? Dang. I'm giving it away for free. This riff should be a separate post.)

[Note: I didn’t write the following. I don’t recall the source, a letter on Salon maybe. But I was impressed with the idea so I saved it for myself.]

20 April 2008

In early January on a rainy Saturday, a good friend came over to visit. After several hours of watching me make food for the coming week(s) - five pounds of carrots peeled and cooked; five pounds of potatoes scrubbed for mashed or roasted potatoes; several batches of biscuits and cornbread made up; and the prep work for a cheese tart; two apple cakes; a roasted chicken; a pork roast - well, you get the idea. She slaps her forehead and says: "Would you like to earn some money cooking for my parents???"

Her parents live nearby. They are in their 80s, and live in their own home. They like good food, but her mother has stopped cooking. They don't like to go out every night. My friend had tried everything in the world to supply them with good food. (She has no skill in the kitchen.) They like to sit in front of the TV and watch movies (like Ronnie and Nancy!). They want a good meal and they always have wine.

Long story short: My friend invested in some of those hospital type trays. I make 3 dinners for them each week: meat; a starch; and a vegetable. I make two batches of biscuits or cornbread; two desserts - apple cake and chocolate pudding pie are favorites; and a salmon tart. I make the trays up and wrap them in aluminum foil, label and date them - and deliver them. For this, she gives me $150. A bit high, in my view, but they are thrilled to pieces. I've made everything from chicken with matzoh balls to liver and onions to chicken bog. This money covers my own food bill - and I enjoy doing it.

Ash Wednesday

a dove flew overhead
light reddish-orange drops on snow by my car
a man in parking lot says "slippery"
I sign my name (first name only) in the
book and write "slippery"
I have taken care not to fall on my walk
though it was slippery and a couple of times
I slipped
Keep to the path
I thought of that poor luger who died
He looked frightened, in the photo I saw of him.
He was frightened.
Dominoes.
Cross-country ski tracks in snow.
I felt as though someone had laid out the
path for me, made it safe. The mail has come.
D says the whole universe has arranged itself
around me. He says this sarcastically.
Seems so, I laugh. Seems I have the mojo. Who knew?
It's like a Philip K. Dick novel, he says.
If you say so. I never read one. You did.
You and I plays on the radio.
Was that you in the window across the way
that night the pines were dancing?
I saw a man - you - in the window looking
back at me. I stepped back into the shadows
of the kitchen and continued to watch the
trees dance, reach and dance.
I wasn't frightened - not that time.
Interdependence.
On my way out of the parking lot
trying to get out the car lost traction.
Slippery. I don't know what to do, I said.
The man with the skis and his companion came to my aid.
Just don't give it too much gas, she said - we'll push.
They set me free. Thanks, I said.
Thank you, passing strangers.