Mise en place right here. Not shown: butter and apple cider vinegar, and these two things make a dressing.
The idea is from the coleslaw served at Zep's Epiq Sandwiches. This is based on theirs except heated.
I saw this in my mind before I got up and made it. This picture right here.
Since I am so good at picturing the inevitable then why don't I picture my kitchen all cleaned up?
Maybe I did and that's coming more slowly. And maybe it only works with food. Perhaps I am in a two steps backward for every one step forward phase right now. It happened before. This pattern is familiar.
If you came over here you might say, "Why don't you put those two stools away? Why don't you put that blue cart away? Why don't you move the chair back into position? Why is this table sticking out? And I would say, those are my touch spots. Those things out of place are how I get around without using a cane. So, nanner, nanner, nanner, you big bully. I got reasons over here for being so out of sorts. I get around here like a Gibbon monkey. A monkey with a sprained wrist and two uncooperative legs.
I just now reminded myself of Mary McDonald again.
Blind woman who I met at the campus library. She was sitting outside in the sun on the edge of a planter with her dog. I approached her with a proposition for reading. I had just graduated and I was looking for something like this. She was my first opportunity.
"It's either work in a hospice with AIDS patients or read for the blind. I cannot deal emotionally with AIDS patients right now so I am offering my service to you."
She gave me a dressing down. A severe once over. She had to make sure I was serious. That I wouldn't cop out. I told her that I was concerned about the same thing about her. She had better be serious or I will drop out and seek someone more steady.
We understood each other.
I must have read a lot of textbooks. She graduated. We switched to the books that she had been waiting for. Notably the Vampire Lestat. Then another one by Anne Rice. Then several others including The Handmaid's Tale. She did not care to wait for them to be printed in Braille and she isn't that good with Braille anyway.
She smoked pot. Fine. What the heck. We live in Colorado.
During one of the weekend readings she asked me if I'd like to have a glass of water. I said, "yes."
She got up and walked straight into the kitchen door jamb. Hard. It hurt. Badly.
I said, "WHY DIDN'T YOU TAKE CARE TO AVOID THE DOOR JAMB? GODDAMNIT, MARY, WHAT'S WRONG WITH YOU?
She's blind. That's what is wrong with her. But Mary is the clumsiest least skilled blind person that I have ever met. Come on. A door jamb! You can avoid that easily playing blind in the dark at home.
Frustrated, "What do you expect of me?"
"I expect you to be skilled. At least in your home. I expect you to know every inch of this place. I expect you to swing through this whole place like a Gibbon monkey."
"I am just not very good at this."
"Maybe we can develop some techniques."
"Maybe."
That is the story.
Here is another.
This was during the Handmaid's Tale, read on weekends, an incredibly difficult book to read aloud for its wild out of kilter meter. Short sentence, short sentence, short sentence, short sentence, v-e-r-y l-o-n-g s-e-n-t-a-n-c-e t-h-a-t t-a-k-e-s t-h-e w-h-o-l-e p-a-r-a-g-r-a-p-h. Short sentence, short sentence, short sentence, short sentence. See, she is a woman on the run and she is keeping a journal.
Hours of this. My mouth turns dry. My lips crack. My voice gives out. I must read a full page ahead to see where this insane book is going while my mouth is way back there on previous paragraphs, so my vision is split, my mouth is separated from the words that I am searching, I have a headache coming on when I notice outside on the sidewalk three blind men one behind the other. Sunglasses. White canes with red tips. No dogs.
"Mary, are you expecting visitors?"
"Oh! Yeah. Hope you don't mind. This shouldn't take long. They will be here briefly then leave."
"?"
"They've come to drop off a bag of pot. Then they will leave. I hope you don't mind."
"I can use the break."
I am sitting in a stuffed chair. Mary is sitting in her stuffed chair. The sofa is empty. The line of three men walk the length of the sidewalk painfully slowly. Apparently the largest man with the best eyesight up front. A man behind him with his arm on the first guy's shoulder. A third guy with his arm on the second guy's shoulder. Each with a white cane. They walk up the driveway. They traverse the sidewalk up to the front porch. When the three men crossed the large porch and rang the doorbell then the two labradors bark their alarm. Worst guard dogs ever. Clever as they are as seeing eye dogs. One dog retired. The two are perfectly crap guard dogs.
The men entered the living room and sat themselves on the sofa with coffee table in front of them, Mary to their side and me facing all four in an arc.
The first man reached into his front shirt pocket and removed a pre-rolled joint. He lit it and he puffed it. Twice. Then handed the joint to the blind man in the middle. "Here. I am handing you the joint."
The second man felt through the air, found the guy's arm, felt his arm to his hand, felt his hand, felt his fingers, found the joint burning, took the joint and puffed it. Twice. Then he held out the joint to the third blind man closest to Mary. The third man felt through the air, found the guy's arm, felt his arm to his hand, felt his hand, understood the orientation, felt the short burning joint. Took a puff. Twice. Handed the butt end of the joint to Mary. "Here, Mary, I am passing you the joint."
Mary felt through the air, found the guy's arm, felt his arm to his hand. Felt the guy's hand and understood the orientation of the burning joint end. Took the butt. Puffed it and ground the end into her ashtray.
The first blind guy lit up another joint from his pocket and the most frustrating pattern in the history of smoking pot was repeated. Mary tapped out the second butt in her ashtray.
The first blind guy lit up a third joint and repeated the incredibly frustrating pattern. I was sitting there watching the most pathetic joint circle in the history of smoking pot. I felt like jumping up and grabbing the joint and putting it on their lips and saying, "The joint is in front of your lips. Puff! Again!" Then hold the joint in front of the second guy's lips and tell him the same thing, then the third, then Mary. Everyone would get way more puffs with me as facilitator, but no, I just watched them all flail miserably. They are simply the worst pot smokers I have ever seen.
An odd thing. Odder than that. The largest black man apparently had the best eyesight. When I stood up and walked across the living room floor to the dining room, in front of a large dining room window, apparently my silhouette stood out in sharp contrast. The man LOOKED at me, incredibly wide-eyed, his eyes veritably bugged out of his head AT ME. He was making out what he could in the moment that he could. I must say it was a bit shocking having the guy go, bong, stare at me so intently.
It's like they got no manners.
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