The Cloth of Life

I recently went on a trip to Wichita, Kansas to visit my friend Gwen. It was hot. It was humid. But it was wonderful. I rediscovered a high school friend, and it was an enriching experience.

It’s a funny thing - how we lose contact with people we grew up with, then find our way back to our pasts. Youth has a way of living only for the present and discarding anything not deemed important at the very instance of its importance. Does that statement make sense? I am a prime example of that ideology. I hated my surroundings as a teenager. I couldn’t wait to leave it all behind. Once I started living a new life as a married “woman” all things from the past faded away. I did not dwell on any of it. I maintained few contacts with friends from school because we were all so different. Our lives took different courses and their paths did not merge with mine. I lived singularly for the moment each day of my life. I never would have believed I would come full circle and seek out those who were part of the everyday life I thought I left behind.

Gwen and I lost contact with each other the day after graduating from high school in 1974. Thirty-five plus years rocked along with both of us living separate lives. One day I chanced upon her brother’s name on the alumni website and zipped him a note inquiring about Gwen. I almost didn’t send the email because one never knows if life has taken a bad turn for a family and that simple question of “how’s so and so?” might be answered with an awkward “dead long time ago” type of statement. In that moment of questioning myself about possibly opening wounds for a family I hesitated, but my curious nature got the better of me and I hit send.

Not more than a few days went by before I saw Gwen’s name in my inbox. We caught up via internet conversations, but it remained very casual for a long time. Another couple of years passed by, and I discovered that we were drawn to write more and more. I found myself sending written pieces to her to review before I would post them on the blog. I could rely on Gwen to be totally unbiased and completely honest in her reviews, and I valued that honesty. Suddenly I had the urge to physically see this person on the other end of the cable line. I wanted to hear the voice of this interesting, artistic individual who loves dogs as much as I do. Thus the trip to Wichita, Kansas was planned.

While preparing for my junket, I had a story come to mind that Gwen once ‘confessed’ to me. Gwen readily admits to not being a cook, hence she is not equipped with many of the tools of the trade. A skillet, a fork, a spatula, a plate and barbeque tongs are probably the only occupants of her kitchen cabinets. Well, many moons ago Gwen was given the task of baking a cake for a boss. I can't recall if she actually volunteered or if she was conscripted for the task. What I can remember is that she didn’t own a mixer. (Refer to list above) Not a problem. She took a fork, manipulated the handle and mounted it in the chuck of a drill and voila! Mixing with Black & Decker 18volt model BS24 will go down in history. Hey, she even had it easier than I did with my General Electric stand mixer because you just pull the trigger on a variable speed drill and it speeds up. You don’t have to turn a knob left handed while you scrape faster to keep the mix moving. Black and Decker with complimentary fork jammed in chuck did scraping, slow blending and mixing in one fell swoop. I could imagine her in the garage grinding the handle of the fork down to fit the chuck, jamming it in place and hitting the switch. Picture her pulling the variable speed trigger back and forth with the drill making its whir-whir sound as she revved it up, nodding her head and muttering, “Yeah, that’s the ticket. Mixers? We don’t need no stinking mixers.” [reference to an old movie for those of you too young to catch on] I laughed my ass off when she relayed the story and told it to everyone I knew.

While planning what I should take with me to Wichita I decided to treat Gwen to a few tastes from Texas. I wanted to start with a couple of bottles of a favorite local wine that I picked up on a recent road trip. A few months back I took a few friends to tour the Piney Woods Winery. Piney Woods has won several prominent awards, but it is a little bitty place in the woods north of Orange, Texas. Prior to my best friend’s arrival from Arizona I called the winery to get information on buying wine and to check on tour info. When the gruff voice of the elderly proprietor answered, the exchange went something like this:
“Piney Woods Winery. We do tastins’.”
“I would like to inquire as to which establishments in Houston sell your product.”
“You can buy wine here when you come for a tastin’.”
“We are not coming for a tour, yet, but we want to buy wine in Houston.”
“Oh, you’re in Houston? When do you want to come for a tastin’?”
“Not for a few months. Where can I buy your wine in Houston?”
“Oh, Specs would be the place. And some others. Let me find my pencil and I can write down when you want to come for a tastin’.”
At this point I hear mumbling and shuffling in the background.
“Hold on. Can’t find my pencil.”
“Oh, oh. Looks like my dog ate my pencil. Just ring the bell when you come for the tastin’.” And he hung up.
Maybe his product is so good because he is his own Quality Control department.

Along with the wine I thought I’d pack a few homemade goodies. I had to prepare food for mother for the weekend anyway, so I added a bit more to the pots and loaded freezer bags with spaghetti & hand rolled meatballs, baked chicken, my version of Salisbury steak & gravy and I can’t remember what else I cooked up. I also baked bread - orange beer sourdough bread and whole-wheat beer batter bread. I was in my element and enjoying every moment of it. I carefully prepared a seasoning bag for one of the baked chickens with fresh garlic, rosemary needles and basil fresh from my bush on the porch. Cooking tip: don’t bother with fancy seasoning bags. Get a coffee filter, wrap your seasonings in it and place it under the meat as it is cooking or heating. You will get all the aroma and flavor and don’t have to worry about picking off crunchy rosemary needles or wilted leaves of basil.

My battle plan was to pack a large suitcase with plenty of padding to protect two bottles of wine and to serve as insulation to help the freezer packs keep the frozen goodies from thawing. I didn’t want to chance smashing the bread, so I packed it in my carry-on with my clothes. Also in the carry-on went the seasonings wrapped in the coffee filter zipped air tight in a baggie. While it seemed to get heavier the further I toted it, the bag of food and wine hit the scales just under the limit where the airline can charge more for a checked-in bag. The checked bag proved to be the least of my worries. I dropped the carry-on in the tray, took off my shoes and stepped through the screening area. Behind me I hear, “Ma’m. Please step aside.” The guard with the magic metal detection rod waves me to the side. I turned. A group of TSA agents were at the screen viewing my bag. The questions began. “Ma’m, can you tell me what’s in the bag?” Oh, no. My brain zipped to the bread….did it look like I was toting two homemade bombs? I quickly said, “If you are seeing something funny I baked two loaves of bread.” Aiming for a little humor I added, “And it’s really good bread as you can tell from the shape of me.” The lady behind me was grinning. “No ma’m. That’s not what we are looking at. What, exactly, is in the bag?” My brain felt like cottage cheese. I began to panic. I verbally tick off the list, “Clothes, house shoes, granny sized panties…” The lady behind me was now laughing. I started to stammer like an idiot. Another agent joined the team. He was accompanied by a beautiful German Shepherd. The dog just smiled at me. He was as confused as I as to why we were all gathered together. Finally, they clarified the question. “There’s a bag INSIDE the bag ma’m.” The function switch has flipped back on in my noggin. I breathed a sigh of relief. “It’s a zip lock baggie with a coffee filter wrapped around fresh garlic, rosemary and some basil fresh from the bush on my porch. It goes with the frozen chicken that is traveling in the checked bag. I didn’t want it smashed.” You know me. Plenty o’ talkin’ to make everything perfectly clear. The most recent agent added to the gathering at the screen looked closer. He stated, “She’s right. My wife cooks. It’s rosemary, and Officer Barney’s not interested.” I walked away muttering, “That poor woman further down the line with the oregano is gonna get pummeled."

Gwen met me at the airport. We talked non-stop the whole weekend. At every turn in the conversations we discovered parallels in our lives. We already knew that we both have an affinity for animals. I was a foster home for my local humane society / Gwen has served as a volunteer assistant at her vet’s office. We both have an old car, although Gwen’s 1970 Mustang (which she got in high school and has kept all these years) is older than my 1981 Lil’ Buddy Roadster. Both of us have an appreciation of our land and our history. We both dabble in photography. Her photos on her internet collection are truly wonderful and inspiring. One photo of a misty morning at her lake home is so hauntingly lovely that I was drawn to write a poem about the images it brought to mind. It is posted on the blog and is titled The Mist. We lost our fathers to sickness and death all too soon in life. Photography, art, music, nature, food, relationships and loves lost - it was delightful to reveal pieces of the puzzles that made up our lives that were so much the same, and yet we are both so different.

I mentioned earlier that I lost sight of many friends because the roads we traveled didn’t intersect. I now realize that it wasn’t the differences in our lives that pulled us apart. We all have to grow and mature through some process before we can see past our personal wants and selfish needs. When I left home after graduation, I was too young to see the worth of those around me. I had no idea they would someday enhance my life. I have such a wealth of friends in these years compared to those of my youth.

Life truly is a tapestry, and I am but one thread of it. Many threads together are far stronger than one thread alone. They weave together to make art and beauty, provide warmth and bind around us in support when needed.

I am so glad I took the time to travel to Wichita and visit with Gwen. I am honored to have added another friend to the cloth of my life.