"Come Saturday morning, I'm going away with my friend" ..... There's a beautiful song (written for a film score, I believe) that goes like that; I think about it occasionally when I wake on a nice Saturday and realize I can do anything I'd like, all day. This was one of Those Days. And here I was in my old home town, on a U of M home-game Saturday – staying at the house of a philosophy prof who teaches at the rival school coming to town: Eastern Michigan University, in nearby Ypsilanti (EMU, love it!) I didn't dare to hum "Hail To The Victors" around that house.
It was a gorgeous morning, clear and bright, with a few little white cloud-puffs drifting across the blue sky. Mine hosts had gone out early, to shop the natural-foods and farmer's market circuits; I had a healthy breakfast (the only kind this B and B provides), and decided to enjoy the quiet while I could. I spent some quality time writing up the great "research" I'd done the day before, visiting my roots in Lakewood and Dexter. When I got hungry for lunch, I realized the Big Game was well started and it was safe to venture out. I drove over to my beloved Washenaw Dairy and got a "black-and-white malt" – the best kind, made with vanilla ice cream, chocolate sauce, and lots of malted powder. Back at the guesthouse, I found a garden chair and put it out on the lawn under a tree; grabbed a good book and my journal, and settled in for a quiet afternoon in the garden. It was a lovely, restful time, after the running around I'd done on Friday.
So I don't understand why, by early evening, I was feeling rocky. I was not at all hungry, feeling alternately cold and too warm, and with a pretty upset tummy. Bah. I got into comfortable clothes, crawled under the covers in bed, and lay there feeling basically blah – trying to read, unsuccessfully.
There was a knock on the door: my "landlady" – bearing a bowl of steaming hot homemade vegetable soup, the gleanings of early foraging at the farm markets. Would I like to have it?
You can never know why, when or how such works of mercy come into your life; but that soup saved mine, that evening! I ate some of it, fell asleep early, and woke feeling great on Sunday morning.
It was a gorgeous morning, clear and bright, with a few little white cloud-puffs drifting across the blue sky. Mine hosts had gone out early, to shop the natural-foods and farmer's market circuits; I had a healthy breakfast (the only kind this B and B provides), and decided to enjoy the quiet while I could. I spent some quality time writing up the great "research" I'd done the day before, visiting my roots in Lakewood and Dexter. When I got hungry for lunch, I realized the Big Game was well started and it was safe to venture out. I drove over to my beloved Washenaw Dairy and got a "black-and-white malt" – the best kind, made with vanilla ice cream, chocolate sauce, and lots of malted powder. Back at the guesthouse, I found a garden chair and put it out on the lawn under a tree; grabbed a good book and my journal, and settled in for a quiet afternoon in the garden. It was a lovely, restful time, after the running around I'd done on Friday.
So I don't understand why, by early evening, I was feeling rocky. I was not at all hungry, feeling alternately cold and too warm, and with a pretty upset tummy. Bah. I got into comfortable clothes, crawled under the covers in bed, and lay there feeling basically blah – trying to read, unsuccessfully.
There was a knock on the door: my "landlady" – bearing a bowl of steaming hot homemade vegetable soup, the gleanings of early foraging at the farm markets. Would I like to have it?
You can never know why, when or how such works of mercy come into your life; but that soup saved mine, that evening! I ate some of it, fell asleep early, and woke feeling great on Sunday morning.
2 comments:
SOUP SAVES!
Great story.
PS - and let's not forget the corollary: PIE FIXES EVERYTHING
(I have this refrigerator magnet)
Even Rowan knows PIE FIXES EVERYTHING. We'll teach him about pi, later.
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