Maggie’s Musings

I’m getting more and more jobs offsite, at least for part of the week. This has broken up my work routine somewhat and has me out of the office a whole lot more than I used to be. Della misses the company, but not the huge meeting table that sits in my room, which she’s immediately laid claim to for her clients and customers. Problem is, now all her clients are starting to tease me as much as Della when it comes to my out-of-office escapades. “Shall we put a candle in the window for you?” one asked the other day, as I dragged myself upstairs to my desk after a long, long drive to a client site. I was thinking of sarcastically asking one or the other of them if they’d mind giving me a ride to and from work to save the cost of a candle, then realized that half of Della’s clients are as blind as she is, if not more. No, you wouldn’t need a candle then: you’d hear me screaming from miles away. No, you wouldn’t need anything more than that. I took a pass on the idea.

Della likes to blog, though. I guess she just can’t get enough of herself - ha ha! Just kidding, Della. Actually, she has a lot of friends online and some of the blogging companies have made some half-hearted attempts to make their sites more accessible. It’s tough, though, when it’s not your problem, but someone else’s. Let one of their developers try to work online after an eye test with full dilation, for example, and you’ll see how quickly they change their minds. Too bad it’s a temporary condition. After a few hours they’re back at work, as normal.

I’m always trying to find things that will help Della communicate and keep in touch with her friends and clients online. There, of course, is the big bucks route with high cost and complex blind adaptive software. This is the stuff that comes with screen readers, magnifiers, special tools, the whole nine yards. Unfortunately, you have to be independently wealthy (or have just robbed a bank) to afford one of those. Della hates them anyway. I guess that’s part of the problem, too.

Well, I had an eye exam with dilation today and as my world blurred around me I found myself browsing in a few shops in Harvard Square. I needed to stop at Radio Shack anyway, to get some good ol’ tech-ie stuff for me, but then wondered if there was anything there that might help Della out.

Hmmmm. How about an audio recorder that uploads to a computer? That way she could leave messages that way on emails and blogs. It would be a free-standing recorder that could be connected to a computer later, so she could wander with it, recording her thoughts (or cussing up a storm, depending on the mood).

Well, I took a chance and brought one home and now have to set it up so she’ll be able to use it. The interface is tiny, with an LCD screen she will never see. There are “record,” “stop,” “play,” etc. buttons so she’s be able to do that - if she could just find the buttons. We’re talking tiny, here! The dang thing’s smaller than my Blackberry.

Step one: I hied myself to a crafts store and got some of the fabric paint that Della’s got painted liberally throughout her house. It’s on the microwave buttons, on her computer keyboard, her burglar alarm, her clock-radio, everything. Big dots of garishly bright colors. Hey, it works! Cheaper than anything made specifically for blind folk. Now you’re talking mega bucks with those: thousands of dollars that most disabled (and therefore unemployed) folks won’t be easily scratching up.

We’ll give it a try, though. I’ll dap some of those paint blobs on the stop, record, etc., keys and let her feel around for the on-off-mute switch and the computer connector. They’re both on the left hand side, fortunately. Well, I’ll just be dabbing away.

Of course, I’ll need to set up the software on her computer. She’s perfectly capable of doing it, but her tolerance for frustration is a lot lower than mine, so it’s safer on the computer and on the software if we do it that way.

Well, maybe Della will have fun blabbing this way, for all the world to hear. Goodness knows, she loves to yap!

Still waiting for spring, although it’s showing signs of an imminent arrival. I want that garden in, that tiny little strip of land that sits next to the sunny side of the house. Imagine about 25 postage stamps lined end to end and you’ve got an idea of how much dirt I have to deal with. Not much.

I compensate with pots and window boxes. My front porch is full of potted annuals: dusty miller, coleus, impatiens, snapdragon begonia, salvia - anything that can take a little shade. My front yard, untended from last year, needs a thorough cleaning out. I’ll probably put in some new perennials and add the remaining annuals from the four- and six-packs from the garden shop.

Della used to be quite the gardener, before her vision gave way. She and I went to a garden shop the other day and Della could tell which aisle we were in just by smell or touch. I can recognize herbs and some vegetables, also the annuals I regularly plant, but little else. Della could identify everything in the shop without seeing an actual flower, bush or tree.

She just shrugs and looks a little sad. Then she takes me under wing and becomes the teacher. “Feel this,” she says. “you can tell it’s a [name your plant/flower/shurb here] by the shape. See, it’s serrated and long.” Then she’ll find a fragrant flower. “Oh yes,” she’ll say, “that’s a [whatever]. This one will attract butterflies, too.” She amazes me. Yes, I know she’d rather see the item in question, but since she can’t she’s perfected the next best thing. Even blind, she’s a better gardener than I’ll ever be.

Della also tries to get me to close my eyes and navigate the world. She’s done this a few times, even though I invariably chicken out. She’ll often put a spare cane in my hand and have me find my way around my house by tapping it against things as I move. Oops, that’s a wall. Let me brush the cane against it as a guide. Uh oh! Found a chair, better give it clearance.

I still won’t go outside and do that, though. I’d feel very conspicuous and I think the neighbors might think I was making fun of blind people. Or, worse, they might think I was going blind. Yes, fear and pity. Just the thought of that makes me understand exactly what Della has to deal with every day she’s out in the world.

So, we sit on lawn furniture at the garden shop, chatting about this and that. Della inspects my selection, making sure the lucky winners are the best they can be. She sighs as she smells the fragrant shop and hears the other customers talking quietly among themselves. “Ready to go?” I ask her, reaching for the low cart full of flowers, herbs and vegetables.

“Yes,” she says. “But did you get the fertilizer too?”

Ooops. That Della. She got me again. “Back we go!” I say, and Della smiles.

Easter is on its way, a certain harbinger of spring. Della’s being a bad sport about it, but I don’t mind. I get to celebrate not one, but two, spring holidays. Easter, of course, is one. The other is Passover, via my husband, Alex.

Easter for me is not a huge deal. I enjoy it for the traditions and for the foods. This is the time of year I make frequent trips to tiny, out-of-the-way Polish delicatessens and load up on home-made kielbasa, real rye bread and babka, ham, eggs, sweet and sharp horseradish varieties and more. When I was a kid we did more. I still remember our Easter bonnets, patent leather shoes and white gloves. The churches were packed to the rafters. We usually got there late and had to settle for seats far in the back.

Alex and his family still observe Passover with a seder with all the works. There’s another food-filled night (or nights) for you. His family makes just about everything from scratch, including harosset, gefilte fish and matzo balls. They even grate their own horseradish. It’s an all-night affair with wonderful food and live music. Alex comes from a family of musicians and music lovers.

Alex’s family always made me welcome, even though I’m not Jewish myself. They almost always have company for the seder and invite Jewish as well as non-Jewish friends and family. It’s very inclusive. In some ways it reminds me of Wigilia, the Polish Christmas Eve celebration that my family observes. Alex comes back to Buffalo with me each year and we frequently have Jewish friends visit for the holidays. In the past, a few have joined us for the meal as well.

It’s still pretty cold outside, with a snow/ice storm predicted for the weekend. Pretty soon, though, those spring buds will be poking their heads through the snow. I can’t wait and intend to drag Della out for a few gardening sessions!

Cooking is a leisure activity for me, and I seem to attract others who feel the same way. Alice DesChamps and I originally bonded over food and, in a funny way, so did Della and I. She loves junk food and wouldn’t be caught dead with a carrot in her hand. That signaled a need to me, though. Food is nurture and comfort. It’s a warm kitchen holding off the cold of dead-winter. It’s companionship and fulfillment in an emotional as well as a physical way. Sit down with a woman friend and gossip the hours away over a pot of tea. Get together over a cooking project. You can’t do that with a frozen TV dinner. It’s a solitary experience. Of course, so is making dinner by yourself, but at least the act brings back memories of company and comforting ritual.

One of my favorite comfort foods is roast chicken. Alex and I are busy people and we’ll often settle for a store-prepared bird, one that’s already roasted and ready to eat. That’s okay, I suppose, but there’s nothing like doing the same yourself. Maybe it’s a control thing, too. This is my way, this is how I want to do it.

So, here’s how I do a roast. The method changes somewhat, depending on the time of year. Oh yes, I have an herb garden too:

1 5 - 6 pound roasting chicken. Splurge and get a good quality one. The raw materials do matter, here.
Olive oil (not extra-virgin)
Dried herbs in winter: oregano, thyme and rosemary (optional)
Fresh herbs in summer: oregano, thyme, rosemary (optional) and sage
Powdered garlic
One medium onion, quartered
1 clove garlic, pricked or slit with a knife but kept intact
1 small lemon, pricked or slit
Kitchen twine
Preheat oven to 350 degrees.

Clean chicken. Remove fat and giblets. Loosen skin over breast and gently push individual layers of onion as far forward as possible towards chicken, taking care not to rip skin. Tuck onion around legs as well.

Take remaining onion, garlic and lemon and stuff cavity. If it’s summer, then take some springs of fresh herb and tuck them under the skin and into the cavity as well.

Combine equal parts of dried oregano, thyme and garlic powder. Use about half as much salt, pepper and dried rosemary (if using). Pour enough olive oil over mixture to make a loose paste. With fingers, rub mixture over outside of chicken.

Tie legs together using kitchen twine and place in roaster. Some people like to tie the wings together, but i usually don’t bother. If you’re using a meat thermometer, push into thigh (dark meat), making sure not to touch the bone.

Bake the chicken approximately 20 minutes per pound. For most birds you’ll get in a supermarket that’s usually anywhere between 1 1/2 to 2 1/2 hours.

After chicken is cooked, remove from roaster and let it sit for a few minutes. Meanwhile, remove the lemon, garlic and onion from the chicken cavity. Squeeze the lemon into the pan juices and then scrape everything into a fat-skimming measuring cup. If you don’t have one, pour it into a heat-proof measuring cup or other vessel and wait for the fat to rise to the top. The point is to skim the juices and leave the fat behind.

At this point I have Alex do the carving. It’s kind of a guy thing, for some reason. Here, dear, I’ve done everything else: you carve.

Then, enjoy! Have a quiet dinner with your family, or invite a few friends over for a dinner party. Alice is very good with wine and almost always brings an appetizer and/or side dishes. Della brings herself, her appetite and her sense of humor.

That’s good enough for a cold night. Just make sure someone else does the dishes. Enjoy!

I’m excited about 2008. My business is finally starting to stand on its own two feet and is growing steadily and strongly. I’ve had to shed some branches here and there, and be less of “everything to everyone,” but it’s found me a viable niche. What a good feeling! I’ll be writing more about my adventures with Della and the gang and might drop off a recipe or two from some of our group dinners. Alice and I love to cook and everybody else loves to eat. Alex does help with prep and is great in a supermarket. He actually knows where things are and brings home what I ask for. Della keeps me honest, realizing that there’s more to life than pate, granola and organic chicken. Cheese curls! She swears by them, but I don’t mind. She’s good at poking fun at me and reminding me that I take life way too seriously. I’ll say one thing, though. I don’t get any complaints during dinner. In fact, I get very little conversation at all, except things like “pass the potatoes,” “Are there any more crab cakes?” and “Wow! Who brought the cake from Whole Foods? This chocolate is intense!” Stuff like that.

Since I’m thinking about my life, I’m also thinking about offering my computer skills to folks who could use them but don’t understand what’s inside of these boxes or these laptops. It’s a big, black box and folks have no idea of what you can do these days. Heck, look at me with my blog! Maybe I’ll put up some of my own voice postings and add some videos to keep things lively. That would be fun.

But, seriously, a lot of organizations could benefit from an introduction to the newer, interactive, internet. It’s a fun place, but a productive one. And - I do love this part! - it’s either free or very, very cheap. What’s to hate?

So, everybody, I’ll be starting a chicken for our dinner party as soon as I get Della and lead her to the kitchen. She’s getting better at helping, a lot less unsure of herself. Then Alice will breeze in and take over the stove while I rest and sip some wine with Alex. Who knows who else will show up? Someone, or more than one, usually do!

Bon Appetite!

It’s a cold night and Alex and I both wanted something hot. Even though the fridge was fairly full, I was in the mood for soup and couldn’t find the ingredients I wanted, namely carrots and maybe celery. Definitely carrots, though. Unfortunately, I’d just taken the last two for a pot roast I’d done the night before. Hmmm. Now what?

I looked in the fridge and pulled out items that would work in lentil soup and carrots be damned. I took some onions, some garlic and a package of spinach, which taste very good with lentils. I also pondered the use of lemon, to give it a tang.

The soup turned out wonderfully (I never used the lemon with this one, though). The lentils retained their shape and the broth was flavorful. In fact, you could actually taste the onions and garlic in the broth and that, added to the flavor donated by the lentils, made for a lovely dinner.

I at the soup with Trader Joe’s whole grain crackers, which I love. Alex decided to make himself a smoked turkey sandwich to accompany the soup. Overall, it was a top rated meal and an extremely easy one to boot.

So, the next time you’re hungry but don’t want to fuss with long recipes, try this soup:

Maggie’s Lentil Soup
Great for a cold Boston evening!

4 - 6 tbs olive oil (not virgin, or it’ll burn)
One large or two small onions, chopped
Two cloves of garlic, chopped medium-fine
8 cups of water
1 1/2 cups of lentils, rinsed and drained
Two good fistfuls of spinach
Salt and pepper, to taste

Heat olive oil in dutch oven. When oil is hot, add onions and garlic. They’ll start to sweat, that is, they’ll begin to shed water and become a bit more limp and glistening. Saute onions and garlic until they’re starting to get brown, but not all the way there. Add the water, then the lentils. Stir, then add a few grinds of fresh peppercorns. You can use black peppercorns, or mix it up with black, white and pink peppercorns. Both ways are fine. Hold off on the salt until the lentils are cooked, or they’ll get tough.

Put the soup on a low boil and let it cook for about 30 minutes. Then add the washed, chopped spinach and stir to incorporate. Cover and continue to cook on a low boil for another 10 minutes. Add salt to taste and you’re finished. I used a scant 2 teaspoons total and that was fine.
A cold day and a hearty yet light meal. Add bread or crackers for the perfect dinner!

My, it’s snowing up a storm today. I decided to stay home rather than brave the snow-clogged streets to get into my office. When you work for yourself, a vacation doesn’t really exist but you need to take one from time to time anyway. So, I guess today will be my winter vacation day. It’s not much, I’ll grant you, but it’s necessary at this point. The snow storm came just at the right time!

Della, Alex and I did a little Hanukkah and Christmas shopping the other day. I’m afraid I may have been the one to introduce my husband to “Christma-kkah,” that curious shopping enhancement that Christian spouses, friends, etc., spring on their unsuspecting Jewish mates. I’m sure before he met me, Alex exchanged the usual small tokens that are much more typical of Hanukkah. Since then, we’ve been St-Nicking it up big time. His parents have been very gracious about it, perhaps enjoying the indulgence of their “inner shopper” as well. Be that as it may, we had an invitation to dinner that weekend and decided we didn’t want to come empty handed.

Alex picked up Della on his way home from work and the three of us bundled up for our seasonal excursion. Fortunately, there’s a gift shop almost directly across the street from my house so the trek in the cold was not over-taxing. Divinity’s Splendour Glow had been there for years and I fell in love with the place the minute I walked in the door. It was small, with a warm wood floor and charm beyond charm. I remember walking down aisles of multi-colored scarves, bubbling tranquility fountains, earth-toned hand made bowls, candles, statues and scents. The greeting cards were nice, too, along with the kids’ stuff. Alex had to practically drag me out of there by my hair.

Meanwhile, Della was a bit nervous about going out in the dark - being nearly blind is tough anytime, but at night she lost everything. Nonetheless, she said she wanted to come along. It had been a while since she’d Christmas shopped anywhere other than her computer. She missed the interpersonal side. Actually, the main challenge would be for me, since the shop was small - charming, but small. I usually led Della with us nearly two-abreast. She placed a hand on my shoulder and walked slightly behind me. That was sure to throw a vase or tranquility fountain onto the floor.

Alex finally suggested I just call the shop and ask them if it would be okay to bring Della. I knew the owner, a fellow entrepreneur with whom we stood our own two-abreast against the big-box, corporate world. I did my gift shopping at her place, she had me proofread and layout her newsletters. It worked for both of us. Who needed to send money to global headquarters in London or Los Angeles?

I picked up the phone. “Hey, it’s Maggie Szczep,” I said. “Got a question for you.”

“Hi, Maggie!” The shop owner, Renuka, replied. “What’s up, my dear?”

“I have a friend who’s almost blind and she’d like to check out your shop. I’m a little concerned about her breaking anything. Do you have any ideas? She’s a really good shopper.” That part I whispered.

She laughed. “Just as long as she pays for what she breaks, that’s fine with me!”

“Very funny,” I chuckled. “Usually she hangs onto my backpack when we’re in tight quarters, or I take the tip of her cane and guide her that way. So far, we’ve had no problems. Believe me, I grow eyes in the back of my head whenever we’re out. I don’t want her to go plowing into anything, either. That hurts, and more than just her pride.”

Renuka thought for a minute, conferred with another store clerk, then came back to the phone. “Tell you what,” she said. “It’s a week night, it’s not too crowded. Come on over, we’ll keep an eye out. I wouldn’t recommend you coming on Saturday but Wednesday night? I think we’ll manage.”

“Thanks!” I said, and meant it.

“No problem,” she said. “We’ll see you in a few.”

Alex wrapped himself in scarves and sweaters while I helped Della bundle up. “You’re sure it’ll be okay?” she asked, a bit nervous. “I’d hate to break anything.”

“Not to worry,” I assured her. “I cleared it with Renuka. We’ll take care of you.”

“But what about her dishes and statues?”

“Walk behind me and we’ll be fine.” Shopping with Della could be a challenge in tight quarters. It frustrated her no end. I tried to reassure her as best I could and felt a second pair of eyes springing through the hair behind my ears. I didn’t let her back away from challenges like that and, ultimately, she appreciated it. We all have our own interpretation of “normalcy.” For her, it often meant being able to walk through a small shop without breaking anything and humiliating herself. I re-tied her scarf - my own nervous gesture - and told her not to worry about it.

Alex led the way across the street, making sure Della could go at her own pace without getting run down. The cold was offset a bit by holiday lights strung across the trees in Arlington Center and along Massachusetts Avenue. I particularly enjoyed the site from inside the warmth of my car. Still, there was a pleasant immediacy in walking directly beneath them. Della said she could make out something light, but had no idea what it was or how it really looked. I patted her hand on my shoulder and walked the rest of the way to the store.

Renuka stood at the door, smiling. We walked in and made the round of introductions. “Thank you for letting me come,” Della said in a shy voice.

“My pleasure!” Renuka replied. “You just let me know if you have any questions and I’ll be glad to help.”

“Hmmm,” Della mused. “Do you have jewelery? And do you mind if I use a flash light to look at it?”

I led Della to the front of the store and let her look for items which interested her. A shop clerk took out various pieces for Della to examine. Meanwhile, Alex and I perused the store, looking at a variety of potential Hanukkah gifts for his folks. A half hour later I had picked out Christmas presents for my mother, my father, my sister, my brother, my sister-in-law and my brother-in-law. Alex was still looking at baby blankets for our new-born nephew and had no idea that greeting cards were right behind him. I’d looked over at jewelery for his mom and a blue-brown hand-made serving bowl with a geometric cracked glaze. I’d pondered candles and fancy menorahs, still waiting for my husband to look up from the CD rack. I finally walked over to him. “I thought we were buying a Hanukkah present for your parents?” I asked.

He totally ignored me and looked over in fascination at a multi-striped, snuggly baby blanket. “What about this for Sam?” he asked.

“Sam’s already got a baby blanket,” I replied.

“Well, he doesn’t have one from us.”

“Alex, the kid’s two months old. He doesn’t know from baby blankets or who they’re from.”

Alex showed me a few CDs. “Maybe we should get one of these for Ed and Janet.”

I rolled my eyes. “Sam’s parents aren’t going to be interested in a baby blanket and a baby CD,” I observed.

“Well, it would be for the baby.” He pondered. I worried. “Or, maybe we should get something for them, too. Along with this stuff, I mean.”

I decided to switch tactics. “First, can I show you the stuff I was looking at for your parents?”

Alex looked up. “My parents? Oh, right!” He followed behind me to the blue-brown bowl. I also showed him the smaller items I wanted to pick up for my family’s Christmas. He nodded and then settled in at the bowls, examining one, then the other, then the first, then another one after that.

I figured I was good for at least 30 minutes, so I wandered back to Della to see how she was going. She and the shop clerk were going at it mile-a-minute, with Della chatting about this or that friend and the clerk swapping out jewelry and scarf samples and matching them for price and taste. They both looked like they were having the time of their lives. Now they were talking about Della’s hair, pure white and cut short. It was the usual it’s-beautiful/I-hate-it back and forth conversation. I barged right in. “So, how you guys doing?” I asked.

“Oh great!” the woman replied. Renuka smiled from where she stood nearby and rang up another customer. “We’re trying to find some necklaces or bracelets and accessories for a few of Della’s friends. I’m helping her select colors,” the shop clerk continued. Della couldn’t see colors to save her life. “We’re trying to see what might go with this…” The woman showed me a gold, large-beaded necklace and two matching scarves. They were both gorgeous. Like a lot of folks, I got a great deal of satisfaction out of vicarious shopping. We’d do Della’s Christmas shopping and, at the end, she’d get to pay for it all. Worked for me.

Alex, on the other hand, was holding two bowls and I could smell something burning in the vicinity of my wallet. He had the baby blanket under one arm and a CD tucked in there, too. I walked back to him - quickly. “So,” I said. “What do you think?”

“These are really nice,” he enthused. “I love this geometric pattern.”

“So, should we get that?”

“On the other hand, my mother does like earth tones and this one is more brown.” He lifted up a different bowl. “Can you wash these in the dish washer?”

I gave Alex a look that he completely missed, fortunately. “No,” I said simply. “What about a Hanukkah card?”

“Okay.” He turned back to the bowls, then got distracted by a jewelery box.

I walked back to Della and her personal sales associate. “What do you think, Maggie?” Della asked, looking extremely satisfied with herself. “Four matching sets!” I examined a tasteful assortment of necklaces, bracelets and scarves. “Three for Christmas and one for Hanukkah.”

“Lovely!” I said.

“Lovely!” The sales clerk echoed. “Shall I gift wrap those for you?”

Della nodded and with a “thank you” handed the assortment to the clerk. “How about you and Alex?” She asked.

I thought for a moment. “Good thing it’s Wednesday,” I said. “By Saturday we should be ready to make a purchase.”

Della rolled her eyes. “Oh dear,” she said. “I thought he hated shopping.”

“I thought so too. He’s got this baby blanket for our nephew that he hangs onto like Linus in Peanuts. Hang in there, Del. I need to collect my husband…if he’ll be collected.” I walked back to Alex, still examining bowls and baby blankets. “Well?” I asked. “Made any decisions?”

“What do you think?” he asked.

“I like the geometric patterned bowl,” I said. “I think it would look great in their dining room.”

He put the other ones down. “Okay,” he said. “Let’s get this. And the baby blanket and the CD for Ed and Janet.”

“For Sam.”

“Uh, yea. Same thing.”

We brought our purchases to the register and Renuka starting ringing us up. “Where’s the card for your folks?” I asked, looking around.

“I thought you were going to get it,” Alex replied.

I wasn’t ready press the “kill switch” yet, but I was starting to get close. “They’re your parents and it’s your holiday! For God’s sake.” Were we about to embark on a 25 minute card hunt? “Do you give me permission to choose a card and just bring it to the cash register?”

“Yup,” he said.

Good, no protracted negotiations there. I walked quickly to the back and picked out a card I’d been looking at before, then added it to the pile of Christmas cards already on the table. Renuka rang them up, along with the bowl, the baby blanket, the CD and the presents I’d chosen for my family. Della had already rung up her purchases and stood near the door, smiling and bundled up. “Thank you so much,” Renuka said. “I really appreciate your business.”

I smiled back at her. “We’ll be back. I don’t need to buy something made in China. I’ll keep my money right in town, thank you very much.” That was a point of pride with me. If people were going to pay me and not some outfit in Oklahoma for my services, why not return the favor? The world was getting too big. You took care of your friends, your family, your neighbors. I wish we all did that: the world would be a happier and a safer place. I hoped so, anyway.

Purchases in-hand, we returned to the cold outside the shop door and headed for home. Della was tired and Alex insisted on driving her back, even though I’d offered. “You’re tired, too,” he told me. “You get ready for bed. I’ll take this lady home.”

Della and I hugged each other goodbye, before she slipped a small bag around my wrist. “That’s for later,” she whispered, then felt her way into Alex’s car. I stood at the front porch, braving the cold for a moment longer, and watched Alex pull out of the driveway and onto the street. He was a good man. I was a lucky woman. Della’s bag still hung from my wrist. I let myself back in the house and turned on the hallway light, letting myself warm up a bit before taking off my coat. I pulled down my hood and removed my gloves, then looked in the bag. Inside were two small boxes, one for me and one for Alex. Inside was a card with an envelope that read: “open now.” I pulled it out and opened it, per Della’s instructions. Inside was a note, written in Renuka’s hand:

Dear Maggie and Alex: Ms. O’Connell graciously wrote this out on one of her cards, since I didn’t have a thick felt-tip pen handy. I know I can be an old sourpuss sometimes, but your friendship means the world to me. These aren’t from the shop, but from an old, old place in my heart - the part of my heart you’ve come to fill. Thank you for taking me to the shop this evening. It’s been so long since I’ve had the chance to do something like that again. Just walking in the door and hearing door chimes ring nearly brought me to tears. The floor felt nice, too, not linoleum or concrete. It must be lovely inside. There were some nice scents. I was able to see most of the jewelry, too. I was pleasantly surprised. Sometimes the smallest things are what give us the most joy. It felt nice not to order online this year. It felt nice to be out in the cold and to smell pine again. You’re both the greatest. Love, Della.

Well, I thought. No matter what was in those little boxes, I knew I had my Christmas present right there in my hand. I felt a warmth from the inside spreading to meet up with the warmth seeping in from the room. I took off my coat and boots, slipped into sneakers and then went to the tree and plugged it in. I sat down with a small glass of egg nog and looked at the lights for a long, long time.

Boston’s a mecca if you’re into food. There are gourmet food stores galore and a selection of unusual foods in your average supermarket. The demand is there. I’m blessed indeed.

I went for a long walk yesterday afternoon and ended up at a gourmet food store about an hour’s walk from my home. Alex was raking leaves at his parents’ house and I just needed to get out and about. It’s chilly this time of year, but walking always warms me up.

I picked up a few items to complement a larger supermarket shop. I came home with potato and ravioli gnocci, berry granola, frozen chicken tacos, a bag of baby arugula and lettuce salad mix and a very nice looking frozen vegetarian pizza. The toppings included black olives, mushrooms, green and red peppers, artichoke hearts and more. I’m not a fan of meat on pizza (What! No pepperoni?! No!) and rather like the veggie toppings. I wasn’t in the mood to start a big cooking project when I got home, so I thought a specialty-food pizza and fancy salad would do the trick nicely.

I was feeling rather contented with myself until Della happened to call. She always asks me what I’m making for dinner. It’s usually something with chicken since I’m not a big fan of beef and don’t tolerate pork particularly well. Lamb? Yum, but pricey. So, we stick with chicken.

Well, I swear you could have heard Della’s screech from where you live when I told her what I’d just bought at that store. “What kind of pizza?!” she roared. “With vegetables!? Oh lordy, me!” Della loves pizza, but not with anything even close to a vegetable on it. Tomato sauce, pepperoni, cheese - fine. Anything else? Forget it.

I was in for even worse when I told her about the salad. “Mooooooo!!!!!” she howled into the mouthpiece of the telephone. “I’m gonna put you out behind the house to graze the next time you’re over. It’ll save me a visit from the landscaper. My God, woman, what the hell do you eat?”

Well, Della and I have had this conversation before, although I’m usually the one asking her that question. Della’s idea of a three course dinner is a bag of cheese curls, followed by cheddar goldfish and then Cherry Garcia ice cream. And she says I I eat weird? I swear to God there isn’t a pot or pan in her kitchen anymore. She threw them all out at one point and stocked up on frozen dinners. Frozen dinners! I ask you, who eats nothing but frozen dinners? Oh, sorry - Della does.

Well, I have made some progress. I made her get out and wash her crockpot, so she can at least cook up meats and stews. Oh the battle we had over that. I won out, though, at least for the times I come over and she has to feed me.

Food is such a funny thing. Everyone is different and who’s to say which person is right and which person is wrong? Della grew up eating junk food, which no doubt explains her current preferences. I think I read somewhere that a sense of taste is created that way. We didn’t eat junk food when I was a kid. Sure, we had white bread and canned stuff, but I never crossed paths with a McDonald’s or Burger King in those formative years. That food sits in my stomach like a rock. It’s all grease, fat and salt. I don’t get into that much.

Oh well, better check on dinner. Pork chops with sauerkraut and applesauce tonight. I told Della that and I think she wants to come over for dinner. Figures.

I wonder at the world sometimes. When I was a kid, my folks taught me to take extra care if I happened to see a disabled person. A wheelchair, a white cane, or a guide dog were dead giveaways. Don’t stare, they told me. Don’t be mean. Go out of your way to make sure a blind person can get past because they can’t see you. Simple.