Forgetting What We Have

I've been away from TV, hot water, telephone and computers for about ten days (with only an occasional check of things at home.) It was a lovely retreat. I came back to tall grass, a musty house and piles of dirty clothes. I complained that it was hot, I was tired and that I had left the long extension cord in the country and I would have to piece together short cords to use my weed trimmer. Finally, the sun settled down for the evening and I began the grass cutting.

A woman I had not seen in the neighborhood came by on the sidewalk with a boy in a stroller and a young girl. I spoke and returned to cutting. Soon, they came back by and stopped. The woman said she had gone to a friend's house to heat some food for her two year old, but that no one was home and asked if I could heat it for her. An unusual request. I called my daughter to come out and get the food so that I could continue on the grass while I still had light.

I settled the family on my big front porch; the mother shed quiet tears and apologized that she had to ask this. Daughter brought out milk and lemonade while the food cooked and helped the little girl catch some fireflies in a jar. When the very strange assortment of fish sticks, pot pies, enchiladas, french fries were ready -- the remains of a freezer, it seemed -- she repacked them in their boxes and the family went down the street in the near dark.

I brought in my extension cords. I will finish the grass tomorrow and I will not complain. I have electricity.