Grapefruit Sale Week (part 1) -- A smorgasboard today -- Thursday, March 23, 2006

A smorgasboard today.

People must tire of clicking on this site and finding nothing new. So from now on, whenever I'm busy preparing long, meaty stories, in the meantime I'll throw out some snacks. Here are three that should have been served and eaten already. And however much now I hate to ruin dinner by serving snacks first, they're piling up and getting stale in the refrigerator.

1. The dog's okay. We're crazy. Bam Bam had to sleep downstairs in the offices again last night (I have nothing to do with this, so direct all hate mail to my husband [I dare you]). Bam Bam was about to be exiled permanently to the garage, but I managed to get his sentence adjudicated. If he pees or poops or gnaws the furniture or rips the carpet or ______ oooooooonce more (you get the picture), he'll serve time. The judge/husband wants to make an example out of this one, he does.

2. Yesterday I came to understand that enthusiasm breeds energy. If you lose enthusiasm in any area of your life, you no longer have the energy to produce in that area. So find out what you must do to keep things fresh. Maybe you need a break to revitalize creative juices (remember: God mandated rest when he created the Sabbath), or maybe a variation in your workout or routine.

3. Today I came to understand that all we earthlings are damaged. And we heal our damage by helping others. This works on the outside as well as inside. For instance, if somebody has damaged his reputation (outside), doing charity work can win him back respect (President Carter). If somebody has been damaged by another's thoughtlessness or outright cruelty (inside), helping ease another's hurts will heal his own. (Visit a nursing home. Ask at the nurses' desk who would appreciate a visit. They'll suggest somebody coherent and affable, and your visit will be very pleasant. You may just find a cherished friend, as I have.)

And now for dinner: the as-yet unedited and uncut story. [Translation: it will read differently tomorrow.)
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"Ooooh, what happent to you hant? " a Hispanic lady asks as we're picking avocados together late one night at Fiesta, a grocery store two blocks away from my home. I've lived in an Hispanic neighborhood for eight years, and I'm still often bemused at the people and culture.

My hand looks pretty bad. The back had turned dark red, then swelled, blistered, and turned brown. Next it began to peel, showing flaming pink skin underneath. I tell everybody who asks that I burned it.

"With what?" nosy people will continue.

With tile cleaning and bleaching chemicals. That could be, because I was cleaning my tile without gloves. But by the weird way my hand swelled, I rather suspect that I had gotten into some allergic brush on my long doggie hikes through fields and bayous. And I briefly suspected ebola, but I didn't want to panic my hypochandriac husband and son, so I never mentioned it. Anyway, a burn is safer to parade out in public than a contagious rash or disease.

"Ooooh, eet looks teddible! Haf you seen a doctor?" the nosy lady continues.
No!? For just a burn?
"Well, you shood poot someting on eet, like aloe vedda. You haf, no?"

Not content to nose alone, she calls the Hispanic grocer over for a look too.

"Loooook! Look at her hant!"

I, of course, dutifully hold my hand up for him to inspect, not wanting to embarrass the nosy lady, and at the same time wanting to downplay the scene by proving See? It's not so bad afterall. I'm not so nasty and unhygenic as you must think.

At first he stares at it blanky. Then he looks flustered, wondering what reaction we want from him, wondering what am I doing here, anyway? And what does any of this have to do with me?

"I no speakuh English veddy goot, "she addresses me, "but I tell you de best I can: Prrray to Jesus. Jesus loves you. He will helpuh you hant."

While glad for the encouragement, and warmed to hear of Jesus' care, I want to get away fast before she calls over more people and I become a freak show.
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Run-ins like these, while embarrassing, are often amusing and harmless, providing great fodder for Can you believe...! tales to entertain friends and family with. But some days, one must do everything he can to avoid these friendly/nosy people lest they sabotage his mission, as during

Grapefruit Sale Week (part 1)


Grapefruit Sale Week is a special event at our house. All year long, we eagerly await it because we drink so much juice--over a gallon a day, fresh-squeezed. And we prefer sweet Ruby Red grapefruit juice. So every season, when they go on sale, we buy thousands. And Sellers Brothers was having a sale.

Now the job falls to me to gather these grapefruits. No one will help me because no one can stomach the embarrassment: the whispers, the raised eyebrows, the nosy questions, and worst of all, the run-ins with the store managers when they see our carts overflowing with grapefruits. And not to mention the time spent hand-picking every one. They have to be thin-skinned, plump, and firm, and young enough to sit and ripen for some weeks without rotting.

Now, granted, I'm embarrassed and frustrated by these things, too. But amassing the grapefruits has to be done. And when something has to be done, one must set his feelings aside and just do it. He must tuck his chin and barrel through. No whimpering.

Warning: This attitude, while practical and productive, does not always sit well with husbands. For instance, when mine had quadruple-bypass surgery last December, he called me a heartless drill sergeant, a Hitler. And he whined that recovering at home with me was like being in boot camp.
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Awkward place to stop, I know. But more later when the Muses return.

posted by Susie Hovendick Chan