Parks and Rides - Sue

Yesterday, Phyllis and I drove over to the park 'n ride where the bus picks up people to take them to the airport. We wanted to find it so that the morning that I leave, we won't be wasting time looking for it. Situations like that cause Phyllis to bite her nails and pull out her hair, stomp her feet and scream.

First, we went to where Phyllis had caught the bus a couple of years ago, maybe three. I forget. Anyway, it was at the old parking structure when the airport was down at the end of Martin Luther King Boulevard. But every entrance was blocked off there, and I screamed, "We can't get in there! We'll never find it!"

Phyllis's eyes got big. It's always best to remain very calm when Phyllis gets nervous, especially if she is driving and you are a passenger. Even if you feel like chewing on the dashboard and punching your fist through the windshield, resist that temptation because that will only get her more hysterical. (hysterical: Originally defined as a neurotic condition peculiar to women and thought to be caused by a dysfunction of the uterus.)

First we went this way, and then we went that way, and desperation gave way to humiliation, regret and finally, apathy. "We'll never find it," I said. "I may as well as never have been born."

"What's that?"

I looked at her like she was the most pathetic excuse for a representative of the human race to ever embarrass the rest of us. "To bring forth young, give birth to, to bear a child. What the fuck do you think it means?"

"Not that! That blue sign. It said, 'Park N Ride' that way."

Suddenly I sat up straight. I heard angels singing, not anything recognizable, but just a harmonious chorus of a long "Oh" syllable. Clouds parted and long rays of light pointed down at the next blue sign, showing us the way.

We made a couple of more turns, listening to the angels and following the rays of light and the signs, until we came to the new Park N Ride. There was a big, full parking lot, and shelters where the buses queue up. There was light everywhere, like being hugged by liquid warmth. There were a few people milling about, waiting for a bus, and they were all smiling, slapping each other's backs and telling funny stories. One man who looked Asian said, "Welcome to new Parks and Rides!" We waved and gave the "thumbs up."

Phyllis yelled, "I love sesame seed chicken!" Gawd!

We headed for home. "That wasn't so hard now, was it Phyllis?" I asked. Her eyes got big again, always an indication that she is having a violent emotional episode. She peeled out and took a corner on two wheels. I thought singing might calm her, so I sang a verse of a long "Oh" syllable, but she started chewing on the steering wheel. This was going to take some time.

I'm going to Florida for a few days, and God only knows how she's going to stay calm while I'm gone.

Stewed Tomatoes and Corn...Phyllis

Sue is one of those people who are right-brained and left-brained. There is a word for that, but if I go look it up, I will spend the next forty-five minutes surfing the internet, looking at shoes on zappos.com, looking at hats on hats.com, looking at suspenders on suspenders.com and checking my bank balance. I say she is right-brain/left-brain because she earns her living at a left-brain occupation, however all her interests involve art, music, writing, and other right-brain activities.

Sue is very good at all these things, but there’s one area…cooking…that she is, how should I say it?...a fountain of untapped potential. The kitchen is one place where she seems to think she doesn’t have to follow any rules. In the kitchen, she just makes stuff up. And…well, here’s an example:

Take some meat out of the refrigerator. Whatever is in there is fair game. Hahaha….get it? Game. Put that in a saucepan. Throw in a can of corn. Then plop in a can of stewed tomatoes. Serve it up in an empty cottage cheese container. Are your taste buds doing the Macarena?

“Do you want some of this?” she offers.

“No! Don’t even show it to me!” I decline.

Sue buys stewed tomatoes and corn by the case at Sam’s Club. When we start to run low, say when there are only about ten cans left on the shelf, she buys more. What does this have to do with right or left brain? Well, I’m just not sure which half Sue is using when she cooks. And I’m using immense latitude in using the term, ‘cook.’ One thing I will say about Sue, though. She is very generous with her cans of stuff. If I’m cooking something like macaroni and cheese, she will say, “You can put one of these cans of stewed tomatoes in there if you want.”

“Ok, thanks…no.”

Then one day out of nowhere, Sue announced, “I’m a raw foodist! I’m eating only raw foods from now on.” So, there were raw carrots, raw celery, raw broccoli, leaves, and grass. That lasted about a day and a half. Then she wasn’t a raw foodist anymore. Sue is a Midwest farm girl, a real meat, potatoes, corn and stewed tomatoes kind of girl. A real plop-it-all-into-a-saucepan-and-heat-it-all-up-together kind of girl.

I have to be fair, though. One time, before we lived together, she came to visit me in California. She made shrimp baked in butter and lemon over rice. That was delicious.