The Lamb Stew and Lingering Thoughts
Yesterday my friend Shama picked me up in the morning and we went food shopping. That was a great treat for me, for it is such a long while since I did that. Kelly, bless him, does the shopping on Sundays after his morning walk with the pups. I had barely come down the stairs when Shama arrived at my back door before ten in the morning. I had not yet sat down for a cup of tea, so we sat for a quick repast. We then went to the Chinese supermarket, for they have good vegetables and my favorite English biscuits, McVitie’s. I do not like the chocolate-covered ones but love the plain ones. I love to dunk them in my tea. We then went to Farzaneh’s. Farzaneh is a Pakistani lady who has a shop which has Pakistani foods and a small area of vegetables. She is very sweet. She knows her clients and treats them almost like family. I go there for her lamb shanks. Her butchers are just as nice as she is. When they see me coming, they smile and ask me how many shanks I need. Yesterday their lamb shanks were small, so I got more than I usually do. I then made my way to the front of the shop and paid. Just as I was about to leave the shop, a sudden loud sound was heard. Startled, I lifted my eyes to see where the sound came from. It was a bolt of thunder! The skies darkened ominously, and a second later the heavens opened up and a deluge of rain poured down from the angry skies. As if mesmerized, I stood still looking up. I soon became aware of someone gently saying, “Lady! Lady! Get out of the rain.” He led me to shelter against a storefront. I turned my head towards him. He was a young man with concern in his eyes. I smiled at him. I appreciated his kindness. I recognized him as one of the young men who work at Farzaneh’s store. He stayed by my side until the rain subsided. Directly in front of me on the street, Shama had brought the car to the front of the store. The rain had made puddles. As I walked towards the car, the young man gently held me by the elbow as if I might break. He opened the car door and helped me in. He made a slight bow as he prepared to leave. “Wait! Wait!” I said. I tipped him. “Thank you,” I said gratefully.
“It is not necessary,” he said.
“But it is, thank you,” I replied. He made another little bow as he closed the car door.
I was soaking wet. Shama handed me a little towel. I would never have thought to leave a towel in the car. Gratefully, I leaned back against the seat in relief as we drove back home. I warmed up the food and made some salad. Shama set the table and I laid out the food for us and the dogs’ food on their tray. We all proceeded to eat.
After Shama left, I suddenly felt exhausted. The dogs and I went upstairs. I crawled on top of the bedcover and immediately fell asleep. The pups followed my example and curled up for a nap as well. I slept on and off until the next morning. My body ached all over. Sometime during the evening Kelly came home. He took the pups out and fed the dogs. I was in a deep slumber. I heard nothing.
The next morning the weather was cool and overcast. I lay in bed luxuriating in the sense of well-being that I felt. I did not want to get up. I leaned over and switched on the radio. Soothing classical was playing. I felt as if I was drifting on a soft cloud of contentment. Just as I was about to fall asleep, I remembered that I had to pack the meats and put them in the freezer. Since I was going to work in the kitchen, I wore my old comfy dressing gown. I worked quickly, then I started cooking the meal for that day. I made a celery stew. It simmered gently all morning. Once more I went upstairs. I showered and changed. As I came down, the smell of the stew rose to greet me. The aroma of the cooking meat took me back in time. I felt as if I was walking in one of the residential streets of Tehran on a summer day. From the open kitchen windows one could guess what each household was cooking. From some kitchens one heard the voice of a contented woman singing to herself or her radio playing a sad Persian love song. I slowly trudged down the stairs, for I am no longer young; I walk cautiously and my mind drifts back to times gone by too often. In my fond memory the melted mountain snow rushes through the joobs and waters the thirsty trees alongside the dry summer roads. I remember how sure-footed, vital, and young I was those many years ago, those many lifetimes ago…
With a sigh and a smile I remember the young, invincible me as I stir the stew in the pot, just like I used to stir the food I cooked throughout the years. I hum a Persian tune as I do so. How did all those years go by? I wonder. Where did they go, I ask myself as I stir my pot of stew…