My phone chirps at 7 with overnight texts about our May “women on the road” trip to a historic town in Illinois.
I am barely awake when more texts begin about food needed for Afghan families without SNAP (food assistance program). Most of these families have been in Muncie just a few weeks; one is expecting a new baby any day. Our church raised money to buy food for new Afghan residents, so MARRC reached out to the taskforce I lead. I send a group email to church members/friends who may be able to take one of the four to six families shopping by the weekend. The best way to contact these new neighbors is through their welcome families: that means more text and phone messages…and then waiting for responses.
Ramadan began a few days ago, and there is no halal beef or lamb available in Muncie. Some Muslims will eat non-halal chicken, others will not. For the latter, that means vegetarian meals between monthly trips to halal markets in Indianapolis. While Afghans eat meat in stews, rather than in large pieces like Americans do, meat is a basic part of their food culture and diet. Do they have experience eating vegetarian? I worry about protein (especially for children and the pregnant moms) when I watch what families put in their grocery carts if they don’t eat non-halal chicken. I try to steer them to beans with rice.
- quietly goes about his usual morning routine: cooking steel cut oatmeal, cutting fruit, grinding beans for coffee, putting away last night’s dishes, while my phone beeps incessantly.
8:30…We eat breakfast in the family room, warmed by the gas log. Over second cups of coffee, R and I reflect on the past weekend visit with our son, C., who lives four hours away. For a variety of reasons (mostly weather) it was an inside weekend, and the three of us engaged in long conversations about world events, family reminiscences, and his work. After months and months of waiting amid the politics rampant in any large bureaucracy, a significant promotion for him is in its final stages.
The morning whizzes by…I pride myself on excellent organization, a skill I learned from my mother. The secret is good notes, charts, to do lists, paying attention to detail. Every bit of experience I have keeping track of little bits of information is called into play with multi-layered Afghan food arrangements and contact information. Mid-morning, when there is no other way, I drive to one Afghan home, use my phone’s google translator, and manage to explain the help that is coming. As I come home into the drive, a male cardinal, bright red in the still-bare tree, trills out his greeting….or is he staking out his territory?
The yard is slowly returning to life. A carpet of blue squill/cilla spreads under the birch tree, and I am pleased that the squirrels didn’t dig up our new patch of crocuses. On sunny days like this one, when they open their lavender throats, I imagine they are singing to the sky. The forsythia bush along the north fence has good and bad years, depending on March weather. This year it is glorious….fully blossomed in bright yellow. But some plants haven’t fared so well. An expansive, 15-year-old patch of thyme appears to be dead, a major culinary defeat. And two relatively young lavender bushes are showing no signs of life. R. and I wonder: not enough snow cover during the cold months?
Our mid-day meal is weekend left-overs, which sparks more pleasant reminders. C. brought a charming, metal falcon that perches on a stand, yard art from his family in honor of R’s coming birthday. Its wings move realistically in the slightest breeze. C. tells us that English falconers give their birds common, every-day names. So R. named the new guy Curtis, and we view him in perfect silhouette from the kitchen windows.
By 2 pm the food project has sorted itself out. On Friday I will buy and deliver gift cards to the four non-SNAP families for Ramadan shopping Saturday at the halal market in Indianapolis. And each family has Muncie shoppers scheduled weekly until SNAP cards arrive. Time for a nap.
3 pm. Zoom gatherings with distant friends and relations is a gift of the pandemic. Zoom has been around for quite a while, I understand, but we didn’t use it to keep in regular contact between in-person gatherings. Every five to six weeks we gather online with graduate school friends we see in person only once a year. Usually the conversation focuses on personal check-ins…kids, grandchildren. But today the topic immediately is Ukraine, sharing what each of us has read or heard in the news, including the Irish perspective from A. in Dublin. We are all horrified by the reports of war crimes, the influx of refugees into Poland, and the scary options Putin has at his disposal.
6 pm. After an evening snack, I cut out bright yellow and blue pieces for a Ukrainian flag quilt block to put in our window. The designer asks only that quilters support an agency that supports children and their families in the Ukraine. That we have done.
7:30. Another zoom, this one with travel friends we met on a Road Scholar 2019 trip to the Balkans. There are five of us: a couple from southern California, a retired High School English teacher from Georgia, and R. and me. It feels like we have known each other forever. In February we gathered in San Diego, and in July we will attend the Aspin Music Festival together. Tonight our discussions focus on the possibilities for a 2023 trip. All of us have been privileged to travel extensively, so our task is to find somewhere none of us has visited, or places we are willing to visit again. Southern Italy? Malta? Morocco? The Canadian Maritimes?
By 10, I am ready for bed. It has been a day featuring work on behalf of others as well as pleasure for myself…in retirement, that spells success.
The morning whizzes by.