As fate would have it, I was home for a snow day the same day Jill was off from work. Just after I cleared off my car she called to chat.
“So besides snow storms you’ve been having a lot of Ma’s food lately, hu?”
“Yeah, I guess….I probably shouldn’t tell you…”
“Did I tell you that’s its 75 degrees here today?” she asked.
I laughed and thought I can play that, too. “And did you see that I had tomato soup last week?”
“YES! I saw that picture on your blog—unlike the one of pierogi you texted—and thought hello, that’s my favorite! Wait, I lied. Did I say it’s 75 degrees? I think it’s 78.”
We went on from there in our own, private duet: something between We’ll always be bosom buddies, and Anything you can do I can do better, laughing as we did.
“Don’t worry,” I reassured her.” When I come out in April I will bring pierogi—they won’t spoil in eight hours, especially if I use ice packs—and some of her canned goods: tomatoes, her apple sauce.”
“And pickles. I’m flying Southwest, and bags fly free so screw it, I’ll bring two suitcases. In one of them I’ll bubble wrap food to bring out for you.”
“And bring wine home in it.”’
“Oh my god, we’re brilliant.”
We devolved into the spirit of our previous back and forth, because that was more fun, and funny—it was 82 in San Diego, she was wearing shorts and flip flops and might go for a walk on the beach before having lunch in Del Mar; I also had on hand kapusta, beet soup, cream of mushroom soup, and more tomato soup—and it ended like this.
“Enjoy your lunch in Del Mar.”
“I will. Thanks. I promise not to send you pictures.”
“And I promise not to blog about it.”