Saved by the Ell

Blog soundtrack:



When I got up this morning, I was inspired. It wasn’t because I had an interview with Alicia Keys for the position of Head Blogger (a position that I had applied for) or because I got a spot on the Metromint cycling team nor was it because I had just been hired by The New Yorker to write a monthly column. I was inspired by something or someone I couldn’t even put a noun or a proper name to.

After my English muffin and coffee and a few minutes of news, I turned off the TV, left the couch, and I immediately sought out my cookbook. It was, I think, unusually cold for May today; it felt like a Fall day actually. A Fall Day + Temperatures Below 50 Degrees = Crock Pot!

My Mom was a major crock pot cooker in the 70s; and, sadly, I used to look down on the crock pot then, which was odd given that everything that came out of it was great and super easy for my Mom. And, what’s not to love about the crock pot? Fix it and forget it!

Within 10 minutes of perusing the cookbook, I decided it was a chili day, because it was a chilly day. I made a grocery list. And, I was off to shop.

When I came back from shopping, I unpacked my groceries. I set up my Bose iPod dock. And, I began to play chili-makin’ music.

While I was frying hamburger and chopping onions, my cell phone rang; it was Melissa. I answered and she asked, “How are you?” I said, even surprising myself, “Fabulous!”

After ranting to her for an hour on Monday, she said, as expected, “Really? What happened?” I said, “I’m cooking. I’m making chili.” She said, as expected, “Are you cooking with wine perhaps?!?!”

I laughed, because I wasn’t cooking with wine. For some reason, I just willed myself to be ebullient. Amazingly, to myself mostly, I don’t think I ever realized that I had the power to make myself be so.

After our conversation ended, I went back to adding a bit of this and a bit of that to my crock pot. As I went down my recipe list, I came across “8 ounces of tomato sauce.” Somehow, I had forgotten to shop for this.

I panicked for a second, and then I thought differently. I thought, “Ellen.” Ellen is my neighbor.

I rang her cell phone. She answered, and I asked, “Ellen, do you have tomato sauce? I'm making chili.” She said, “Do you need kitchen-ready tomatoes?”

I answered, “No. I need tomato sauce. Is that the same as spaghetti sauce?” She answered, “No. But, I have kitchen-ready tomatoes.” I said, “No. I don’t need tomato paste either. I need tomato sauce.”

She told me she was having breakfast at the local greasy spoon. Then she offered to go to the local market and pick up tomato sauce. I hesitated; I didn’t want her to bother, but then she made the decision for me by saying, “I’ll get it at Hannaford’s. I’ll be home in 15 minutes.”

I had known Ellen for 10 years. As I said in previous blogs, we had shared a lot. We shared good times, bad times, parenting, and then, on some level, tranquil domestic partnership while being married to other domestic partners. We called each other at least once a month to ask “Do you have any butter?” or “Do you have any sugar?”

If I didn’t know any better, when I moved into my house 10 years ago, I married Ellen in a quickie ceremony that took place midway between my yard and her yard. We were always a phone call or a child away from each other. She had saved me many times, merely by handing me my house key when I had locked myself out or by taking Iz off my hands for an hour to attend Noah’s football or baseball game when I was frazzled.

About 30 minutes later, I had all my chili ingredients in the crock pot. I went into the bathroom to wash my garlic and onion-soaked hands; they smelled good to me, and I wondered if to some men, this might be a very alluring perfume! I bathed them in soap, and I thought, “Yeah, probably not!”

Just then I heard the front screen door open. I wasn’t alarmed as I heard footsteps make their way down the hallway; I knew it was Ellen. I then heard, “Jean?”

I came out of the bathroom. Ellen handed me a plastic bag heavy with cans. She said, “I got you two in case!”

I thanked her profusely for the tomato sauce. She said, “Don’t worry. If you hadn’t called me, I never would have remembered that I needed sugar for my tea!” God works in mysterious ways, and so do neighbors.

Ellen paused and asked, “So, does your recipe book have any chicken recipes?” I said it did. And in five minutes, she left with my recipe book; tonight, it appeared that the block would rockin’, because the crock pot would be knockin’ em dead at more than one house on the street.

When I got home from my bike ride later in the afternoon, the house reeked of chili. I loved that, because it reminded me of the days when I arrived home from school to my parent’s house. There’s no scent like what's cooking at home.

I checked my voicemail; Melissa had called. She wondered if I was at the gym or on my bike. (Am I that predictable?) Then she said, "I still wonder why you were that happy this morning. I still think you were drinking!"

In a way, I’m glad that I sounded so happy that I might be drunk. I was happy, and if you ask me now why I was so happy, I couldn’t really tell you why. But, I can tell you that I was saved by the “Ell” today, and that I’m so very fortunate to have her in my cell phone contacts, in my neighborhood, and in my life. ♥