2014 Moments I’m Thankful For, Interspersed with Food

It’s been one month since Phil’s left leg was amputated below the knee. Since then, our friends have been splendid. I sent a group email: “surgery went well. We’re going home. Food welcome.” The first day, Eric moved furniture to make room for the hospital bed, Judy called, said, “go look in your mailbox,” where we found a warm zucchini bread and Kitty and Richard brought Thai takeout…

January. I unthinkingly park on ice, heading uphill. Trying to leave, my wheels spin. Men walk past, on their phones. I spin again. A pretty young Latina says cheerfully, “I can try to push you.” When she does, two men stop—shamed into it, I imagine—and in moments free me. I pull away, yelling thanks, but they and my pretty Latina are already on their separate ways.

… Alice baked lasagna, some to eat now, some to freeze, Michael made banana bread cake and sister Susan sent a ham and a cheesecake, pears and truffles. Miki and Thad sent a box of caramel corn, sausage and cheese…

February. On my walk, I turn down my home street the same time as a black guy in wool cap and fatigue jacket, carrying a bag from the recently re-opened Lincoln Market. Since we’re walking together, I ask how the store is and chitchat ensues. At the icy intersection with 26^th, he holds out a gentlemanly arm, which I take. “If we fall,” he says jovially, “we fall together.”

…Jim and Carol sent mustard and relish and sausage, cheese and crackers; Janet and Ella brought butternut squash vegetable soup and salad and pumpkin pie, daughter Snow had a German chocolate birthday cake delivered to the house and sent a card that brought tears to her father’s eyes…

March. I proctor standardized testing makeup, an onerous task for students. They missed the test because they were sick and half of them are wheezing and sniffing still. They have to miss class for this, get behind, but nonetheless, as they finish and hand me their tests, they say, “thank you.”

…Paige and Tom brought apples and lentil soup and zucchini bread, Linda fixed roast pork and green bean and potato salad, Kathleen came with a roast chicken, coleslaw, apples and caramel sauce…

July. I complained that it was Saturday, we were entitled to dessert and didn’t have any. As I went outside, Phil said, “if you see Jenn, ask her if she knows of dessert delivery services.” “Sure,” I retorted, “like that exists.” But Jenn’s getting in her truck and for the hell of it, I ask her. Turns out she’s going to Olive & Finch and would be happy to pick up something. Which she does. And then refuses to take payment. Research shows that having good neighbors improves your health. I get that.

…Alice returned with Chinese chicken and rice, Bob T with calzones for lunch, Bob J with almond croissants for mid-morning coffee, Martin with bagels, lox and cream cheese…

August. We found our lunch choices uninspiring. Phil said, “let’s go to the pub.” Two blocks away, at the Whittier Pub we cover the horrors in today’s news, our disgust with the do-nothing Congress, what kind of world our grandchildren will live in, with climate change, etc. A song comes on, one we haven’t heard in decades. What are the chances we’d hear it right now? Bobby McFerrin’s “Don’t Worry, Be Happy.”

…Marilyn and Kathryn brought dessert pastries, Dennis appeared like a whirlwind and transported Phil’s computer workstation downstairs, Jean brought her homemade chili and all the toppings, Eric and Jenn dropped off Rosenberg’s macaroons, Denise and Bill sent a giant frozen chicken pot pie…

September. At the gym, I look down on the street below and the office building opposite, where an older man in dark suit struggles to get his two-wheeled cart loaded with boxes up the dozen granite steps to the lobby doors. A young boy walking past—backpack, jeans, tan T-shirt—stops to look, then climbs the steps to lift the cart the rest of the way. The old man turns his back and hurries into the building, without a word from what I can see. The boy continues on his way. Boy in tan t-shirt, on a Thursday afternoon in September, know that your gesture touches me, and that it matters.

…Jerry came to shovel snow when it was five degrees, John and Diane baked an apple pie, brought it hot from the oven to our door, Kitty made lentil soup and Mike and Donna brought home-grown pesto and shrimp pasta, Barbara seafood soup and beef stew…

In the first hard weeks, when Phil could do little on his own, and my workload doubled, I never had to cook and we ate well and what a difference that made.

…Jenn raked our leaves twice already, neighbor Carson shoveled the next snow, Kendra came with scones and cinnamon rolls frozen for later and Bob T came for lunch again, with turkey burgers…

There’s no better support group than this intentional, accidental, karma-driven or God’s will collection of priceless people we have somehow acquired. And we’re still thunderstruck by it.