An Unexpected Reunion

When the doorbell rang around noon today, Heidi and I looked at each other. "Who could that be?" she said.

"You answer it!" I replied over Lucy's barking.

Heidi put Lucy in her place and headed to the door. I listened intently from my chair as she opened it, invisible to whoever might be out there. "Is it Heidi?" a woman's voice asked. "You might not remember us, but we used to live right over there. We're Jennie and Matt and Kelsey."

I jumped up and joined Heidi at the door. The people standing there had been our across-the-way neighbors when we first moved in here back in 1999. They had put their place on the market and moved down to southwestern Virginia shortly after the attacks on September 11, 2001, and we hadn't seen them for over 20 years.

I can't explain the elation I felt, but the hugs we gave each other were heartfelt and lingering. We had never been particularly close, but they were kind and friendly neighbors. Jennie and Matt used to hang out on their patio, which faced our front door, and we would chat often as we came and went. Once when Heidi's parents came for Thanksgiving, they stayed over there because Jennie and Matt were out of town for the holiday. "I still have that star-shaped basket your mom left with all the thank-you goodies in it," Jennie told us.

"That's where that came from?" asked Matt.

Back then Kelsey had been a toddler, and we watched her a couple of times. Now the 26-year-old woman standing in our hallway asked if we still had the magnetic marble run on our fridge. "It's at school!" I laughed as her mom explained that she had looked all over for one because Kelsey had liked ours so much. 

For some reason, I am often reminded of the image of their cute little calico kitten sitting in the front window meowing at me. I'm usually pretty good with names, but for the life of me, I have not been able to remember that cat's. It is exceedingly vexatious whenever I think about it, like an itch I can't scratch.

When Kelsey stooped down to pet Tibby, I took my opportunity. "Her name was Briar," Jennie told me.

Their place has turned over at least six times since they left, and is worth more than double what they sold it for. "They were worried we wouldn't be able to sell it at all after 9-11," Kelsey told me as we stood outside waiting for the others to join us for a group photo. She looked around and sighed. "I do remember it here a little bit," she said. "It's so peaceful and pretty." She smiled. "I'm so glad y'all are still here."

"Me, too," I said. "Me, too."

Summer Camp

There was a bit of frustration on the pickleball court with our friends this afternoon as Heidi, AJ, and I hit several winners. "You guys didn't get to do Pickleball Camp," I laughed, referencing the week the three of us spent our mornings on the court.

Later, as little Olivia's eyelids drooped and she staggered to her stroller after spending an hour with Heidi in the pool for the third consecutive day, her parents shook their heads. "Girl!" her daddy said, "You have to toughen up if you want to stay in Camp Heidi!"

It's Been a Good Day

I was pink-cheeked and sweaty as I approached the final uphill of my journey. After an hour and a half at the garden, I was carrying a bag of bounty on the last leg of the walk home when a neighbor hailed me with a swatting gesture.

I knew right away that he was asking if I'd been on the pickleball court, and I shook my head no and pointed to the bag on my shoulder. "I've been at the garden," I shrugged. "But we did play pickleball earlier."

"What's coming in now?" he asked, and I was only too happy to tell him about the eggplant, tomatoes, peppers, and okra I was carrying.

"Do you walk up there?" he asked, and when I nodded he answered, "Nice," with just a bit of a wistful sigh.

"I've been staring at a screen all day," he told me.

I regarded myself, tanned and happy, and considered the events of my day, baking bread, playing pickleball, gardening, then I smiled sympathetically and offered him a couple of tomatoes and the promise of a pickleball game tomorrow.

100% Homemade

I make a sensational summer tomato sauce, if I do say so, myself! Based on a recipe from the now-defunct pizzeria Gaffiato, it calls for a combination of chopped tomatoes and cherry tomatoes, along with shaved shallots and garlic sauteed in a big glug of olive oil, and a sprinkle of salt, some fresh basil, and rosemary. Although I make it year-round with canned and store-bought tomatoes, not surprisingly, it is at its peak of zesty perfection when prepared with fresh, sun-ripened ingredients. 

Over the years, I've intentionally cultivated more cherry tomatoes in our garden than we can put in a salad or eat out of hand for just this recipe, and it's a perfect way to use the imperfect tomatoes I can never bear to throw away. I grow my own basil and rosemary as well, so I always liked to consider this sauce as homemade as possible. 

Even so, it occurred to me last summer that I could be growing my own shallots and garlic, too, and this sauce was my motivation to plant those alliums last fall. Regular readers may recall that I have had a bumper crop of both shallots and garlic, and they are at last stored nicely, waiting to be used. And now? The tomatoes have finally come in, and this morning I was able to make my first batch of sauce all homegrown vegetables and herbs.

Perhaps I'm biased, but the results were amazing, and ever so satisfying to this kitchen-gardener. Tangy, balanced, fresh, and sweet, the sauce is like summer on a spoon.

So now? I'm wondering where to put that olive tree and seawater evaporator.

Byways

Knowing we would hit the Beltway right around 5 PM, I made an executive decision to override the map app and go rogue. "I just know we're going to get on I-70 and watch the time keep creeping up," I told Heidi as I took exit 3B and headed south to Berkeley Springs. "I hate being in stop-and-go traffic at the end of a long trip." 

Just then the traffic ahead of us slowed to a halt, and the map app insisted that we make a U-turn. I held my ground though, crossing over the C&O Canal, and 15 minutes later we rolled past the familiar sites of Maria's Garden, The Cat Cafe, the Star Theater, and the old bathhouse and pool. Then it was Tony's Butcher Block, Midway Bowl, and Capacon State Park, and clear roads through the mountains all the way to Winchester.

Our ETA stayed stable at 6:12 all the way through the horse-country towns of Delaplain and Marshall until we hit I-66, where our arrival time ping-ponged up and down by 20 minutes every few miles or so. When we were offered the option of getting on the Beltway, I resisted again and drove straight into town. We hit one more backup, but by then we were almost home, and we knew the shortcuts to take.

Pulling into our parking space at 6:08, I considered all the ground we had covered on our 400-mile journey from north to south, and grateful for our safe arrival, opened the back hatch and started unloading the car.

Every Walk a New Adventure

You might think that these quiet, tree-lined suburban streets would be calm and uneventful for more urban dog walkers like ourselves, but you would be wrong. The curving sidewalks that pass by neatly mowed lawns and cookie-cutter houses are full of hazards and distractions. 

Bunnies and squirrels of course, but we have also encountered a mother deer and her still-spotted twin fawns. In addition, the fences conceal dogs who run along and bark ferociously, triggering an equal reaction in Heidi’s folks’ dog, Briggs, every time. 

This morning an off-leash dog bounded out of his garage and straight at me and Heidi and Lucy, his owner bellowing to no avail for him to return. A big pittie, he didn’t seem aggressive, but we couldn’t really tell in the moment. Heidi and I shouted “No!” And Lucy danced in a circle on her leash as he neared us, and then circled back to his owner. No harm done, but our hearts were pounding as we continued on.

By far the most perilous jeopardy we encountered was the stray tennis ball on someone’s lawn; Lucy spotted it first and nearly dragged me down straining to retrieve it. A few houses down, I saw another one, but fortunately? I was ready, and Lucy missed it, and so our walk continued on without further happenstance.

Nothing but Cake?

Some say the spirits of your loved ones are with you whenever you are reminded of them. If that’s the case, my mom has been with Heidi all weekend. 

When we were in Rochester, MN 4 years ago for my mom’s treatment at the Mayo Clinic, Heidi and she loved the fact that there was a Nothing Bundt Cake store within walking distance of the condo. Many nights after dinner, the two of them would split a mini chocolate-chocolate chip bundt cake. I’m not a big dessert fan, but I have to admit the place makes a pretty good cake— moist and flavorful.

A few years ago the chain opened a store near us, and we’ve gone out there several times to get their “bundtinis” to celebrate friends’ birthdays. Of course every time we set foot in the place, we talk about my mom. And now? There’s a Nothing Bundt Cake right down the road from Heidi’s folks in Buffalo. 

We have passed by several times on this trip, and Heidi has been itching to stop and get the bundtini sampler, a dozen tiny Bundt cakes in all the available flavors, to share with her family. Each time, though, the store has been closed.

Finally, today, we made it in and got our pretty little box of cakes. But when Heidi opened it up to show her mom, we were dismayed to see that the signature frosting was missing. Heidi was on the phone in minute. “I was just in there,” she started, “and I got a dozen bundtinis. Aren’t they supposed to have frosting?”

What followed was a long conversation, mostly because the person on the other end couldn’t believe they would have let a box of naked bundtinis leave the store. When the situation was ultimately resolved, they offered us the option of bringing in our cakes to be frosted AND another dozen bundtinis free!

Mom would have been very pleased with that outcome.