Kindness and grace: 40 in forty

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Yesterday was absurd. I went to the DMV twice-it's a half-hour drive each way- and still do not have a new license. Fairly defeated upon leaving the second time, nearly four hours after arriving for the first, I decided to try and do something productive so headed to J.Crew to make a return. As I parked, I misjudged the curb and punctured my tire on its blade-like edge. 

As I sank to the ground with the front right part of my car, a man came over and said, "You know you popped your tire, right?" 

Ah, yes. I suspected as much, not least because of the whistle-whoosh the air made as it rapidly flew from the jagged hole in my sidewall.

Needless to say, I did not get to J.Crew. I did, however, learn all about sizing tires during the forty-minute wait for roadside assistance to arrive and was able to call and find a nearby bodyshop with one tire that would fit my car. 

After Vick attached my spare and put the torn tire and scratched rim in my trunk, I headed south to the Tenleytown Shell station where Jim helped me immediately and taught me a ton as he worked. I ate lunch-a crumbly granola bar for which I paid entirely too much-while I watched.

Later, I went by our old house to check on a few things, and I found this. 

People, how on earth would that catch a curtain to its right?

I later made the worst dinner in the history of the world. All in it was a wash of a day, but I was reminded of two important things that I wish to share.

40 in forty wisdom:

  • Always carry reading material with you. You NEVER know when you'll have multiple hours at a DMV, in a car with a flat tire, or in a lengthy line at the market, bus stop or anywhere really. I may have wasted four hours and still need to return to the godforsaken DMV, but I did read a few chapters of my book, and that was nice.
     
  • There is kindness and grace all around you. Be open to it and give it back. As I later told the boys, I could have folded inward yesterday, pissed to the nines about the time and money and energy I didn't want to spend in the ways I had to spend it.

    Or I could take the chance to learn about tire size when the first shop I called taught me how over the phone so that I didn't head their way if they didn't have what I needed. I could thank that nice man then and also when he recommended I call Shell next "because they're good."

    I could shake Vick's hand, even though he said it was too dirty, and thank him for his kindness in helping me so quickly.

    I could smile at Jim and listen as he taught me that every time someone changes my tires they should remove all the rust and sediment from the rim before putting on the new tire because otherwise, the rubber may not seal properly. ("Most people don't because they are lazy and don't care, but it's safer and better this way, so ask.") I could ask Jim how long he's been doing car work because he sure knows a lot, and I could accept his kind offer to refill my spare and check the pressure in my remaining tires. I could thank him profusely for everything and for charging me only a reasonable and fair amount and nothing more.

    I could be grateful for being able to afford this surprise car-work and that my kids were happily and safely at school instead of being lugged around with me.

And so I did and so I was. 

Trying new things on for size: micro-seasonal eating and other traditions

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For those who grow their own food or eat with the seasons, you well know the difference between a plump tomato just plucked from its vine and still warm from the sun and its sad wintry counterpart, the mealy, pale, flavorless orb. The former needs no ornamentation, the latter requires a dramatic amount of it.

I've learned a lot by eating seasonally. What's available in my garden or at the farmers market is what's at the peak of freshness because it's what grows well at that given time.

I've also learned a lot by eating in an even more micro-fashion; the old When in Rome. What's available fresh in any given city or area -Gullah food in coastal South Carolina, for example- or what is traditionally served on a given holiday in a certain part of the world -the Christmas Eve Feast of the Seven Fishes in Italy, place-specific stuffings on Thanksgiving Day in America...

Although St. Patrick's Day in the U.S. is most definitely a uniquely American variation on its real Irish counterpart, celebrating the day because it's also Oliver's birthday, has led me back to the annual delight of a corned beef and cabbage feast. 

Literally, I make this once a year, but it's a culinary way to mark this bit of time in March. It's a way to make Ol's birthday mean that much more, linking it to a tradition and country larger and beyond him and us and our family. It's an excuse to read books, study traditions and learn more about a culture, people and language we might not otherwise. 

Sometime during the week leading up to March 17, we start toasting each other with Sláinte (meaning Good Health in Gaelic), talking about the whys and hows behind the celebration of St. Patrick, learning a bit more each year about Ireland and its history, and looking forward to visiting that country some day.

The capstones are Ol's party and our family dinner, and even though the boys still don't like turnips, still prefer raw cabbage to poached, and the unyielding fact that we have zero Irish ancestry, I like the tradition of the whole thing and appreciate the ways in which food can enlarge perspective and understanding and palate, all in one delicious bite after another.

We gain so much by seeking to experience new and unfamiliar tastes and experiences, places and tongues, people and systems of belief. Doing these things is the path to greater understanding: of self, other, and the countless ways we're all connected. If we don't do so, we stagnate and become smaller, closed, less engaged and committed to the greater global community than we can and should be.