Peppers and Car Parts
One day last week the battery in Hiromi's work car died unexpectedly overnight and threw his morning departure schedule into a tizzy. That evening he extracted the battery from his car and put it into a box in my van. The next day I took the uncooperative battery to the auto repair shop to have it tested to see if it needed replacement. It did, and I bought a new battery. Finally today, after satisfying himself that the alternator was charging properly, Hiromi installed the new battery, and his '84 Chevy Caprice with the crumpled rear fender is in as good shape as it was before. (Which, according to the boys in the household really means it is in as miserable shape as it was before. We all agree that this car is no beauty, but only Hiromi feels compelled to defend it anyway.)
After this early morning battery-installing exertion Hiromi decided to take a nap. Right then I knew that my hope of spending a morning working together in the garden would not materialize. So while he napped I went to water the eight beds in the cut flower garden. If Hiromi made it to the garden it would be the veggie garden and it would likely happen in the heat of the day when I planned to be napping. So much for weekend togetherness.
Sure enough. I was just finishing up lunch when Hiromi, all refreshed from his nap and earlier lunch, recruited Victor and headed for the garden. "Okra and tomatoes? That's what you said needs picking, right?" he called over his shoulder.
"Right."
Scene II: Miriam emerges sleepy-eyed from having taken a nap.
I noted the tomatoes piled high in the sink and in a dishpan and the okra in a second dishpan, and . . . .What was that? Two huge buckets of peppers in the kitchen--a five-gallon one and a slightly smaller one. I blinked in disbelief.
I recognized the Holy Mole' peppers, the Anaheims, the tiny tangerine ones, the miniature yellow ones, and the sweet lavender, red, white, green, and yellow bells. (I really had fun this year selecting pepper seeds.)
"There's a tub of squash outside. Do you want me to bring that in here?" Hiromi said.
"Sure. It shouldn't stay outside in the heat," I mumbled.
He brought in the squash--the whole bushel. I recognized specimens from my collection of winter squash--the ones I had been leaving on the vines till they were fully mature. Overgrown zucchini and other summer squash rounded out the bushel. The kitchen floor was filling up.
It's late on a Saturday afternoon. What will I ever do with all this stuff? No room in the fridge for everything. Not enough time to can salsa, (which is what the pepper abundance was planned for). I can't gripe. They were trying to help. . .
One by one I sorted through the buckets and dishpans. Sweet peppers in the half bushel basket, hot peppers in the wire basket. Holy Mole's in another dishpan. "Must can" tomatoes in one dishpan, slicers in a round basket for the counter, "can wait" tomatoes in a bucket. I still didn't know what I was going to do with my neatly sorted veggies. At least it looked like I was doing something. Then it was time to cook supper. While I did this I made up a story to tell Hiromi that would convey how I was feeling about everything. I felt very clever for thinking up this analogy.
"Hiromi, the next time you need a battery taken out of the car, I'll offer to do it for you. While I'm under the hood anyway, I'll just grab anything else that seems to be loose and put it all in a bucket. Some of the parts that don't seem loose, I'll either pull on to get them loose or cut wires or hoses to disconnect them, and I'll add those to the bucket. Then I'll bring the bucket into the kitchen and you will thank me for taking out the battery."
Hiromi looked at me blankly when I told him my story. Then he looked at Victor without a trace of amusement and said, "Mommy's making up a funny story." (It's really pathetic when I'm the only one laughing at my story.)
"Did you get it?" I asked hopefully.
"No."
I hate it when I have to go into a straight-out, ungraceful, in-your-face explanation of exactly what is wrong with picking an unexpected bushel of peppers and an extra bushel of squash on a Saturday afternoon after I have gone into relaxation mode. That car parts story was such a good one, and it went entirely to waste--just like the peppers and squash will if I don't figure out in a hurry what I can do with them.
After this early morning battery-installing exertion Hiromi decided to take a nap. Right then I knew that my hope of spending a morning working together in the garden would not materialize. So while he napped I went to water the eight beds in the cut flower garden. If Hiromi made it to the garden it would be the veggie garden and it would likely happen in the heat of the day when I planned to be napping. So much for weekend togetherness.
Sure enough. I was just finishing up lunch when Hiromi, all refreshed from his nap and earlier lunch, recruited Victor and headed for the garden. "Okra and tomatoes? That's what you said needs picking, right?" he called over his shoulder.
"Right."
Scene II: Miriam emerges sleepy-eyed from having taken a nap.
I noted the tomatoes piled high in the sink and in a dishpan and the okra in a second dishpan, and . . . .What was that? Two huge buckets of peppers in the kitchen--a five-gallon one and a slightly smaller one. I blinked in disbelief.
I recognized the Holy Mole' peppers, the Anaheims, the tiny tangerine ones, the miniature yellow ones, and the sweet lavender, red, white, green, and yellow bells. (I really had fun this year selecting pepper seeds.)
"There's a tub of squash outside. Do you want me to bring that in here?" Hiromi said.
"Sure. It shouldn't stay outside in the heat," I mumbled.
He brought in the squash--the whole bushel. I recognized specimens from my collection of winter squash--the ones I had been leaving on the vines till they were fully mature. Overgrown zucchini and other summer squash rounded out the bushel. The kitchen floor was filling up.
It's late on a Saturday afternoon. What will I ever do with all this stuff? No room in the fridge for everything. Not enough time to can salsa, (which is what the pepper abundance was planned for). I can't gripe. They were trying to help. . .
One by one I sorted through the buckets and dishpans. Sweet peppers in the half bushel basket, hot peppers in the wire basket. Holy Mole's in another dishpan. "Must can" tomatoes in one dishpan, slicers in a round basket for the counter, "can wait" tomatoes in a bucket. I still didn't know what I was going to do with my neatly sorted veggies. At least it looked like I was doing something. Then it was time to cook supper. While I did this I made up a story to tell Hiromi that would convey how I was feeling about everything. I felt very clever for thinking up this analogy.
"Hiromi, the next time you need a battery taken out of the car, I'll offer to do it for you. While I'm under the hood anyway, I'll just grab anything else that seems to be loose and put it all in a bucket. Some of the parts that don't seem loose, I'll either pull on to get them loose or cut wires or hoses to disconnect them, and I'll add those to the bucket. Then I'll bring the bucket into the kitchen and you will thank me for taking out the battery."
Hiromi looked at me blankly when I told him my story. Then he looked at Victor without a trace of amusement and said, "Mommy's making up a funny story." (It's really pathetic when I'm the only one laughing at my story.)
"Did you get it?" I asked hopefully.
"No."
I hate it when I have to go into a straight-out, ungraceful, in-your-face explanation of exactly what is wrong with picking an unexpected bushel of peppers and an extra bushel of squash on a Saturday afternoon after I have gone into relaxation mode. That car parts story was such a good one, and it went entirely to waste--just like the peppers and squash will if I don't figure out in a hurry what I can do with them.
posted by Mrs. I at
9:42 PM
2 Comments:
What a wonderful way to go about "trying" to explain what went wrong; telling a story. At least it was a good idea. :)
By
Anonymous, at 9/02/2007
I feel your pain.
But I loved your story (and the story-within-your-story).
By
Dorcas, at 9/04/2007
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