A Weekend In the Country
Simple trip, simple plans, plenty of bumps in the road.
Dear Readers, Once you read the following, you’ll understand why this week’s story is a little late. Oh, and please give that little heart up there a click that’ll help America Eats! earn some attention from Substack!
My sister Sue is moving into an apartment above her daughter’s garage. The apartment has taken longer than originally planned to construct and, still, there’s some finishing work to be done. But Sue’s been staying in a small back room of her daughter’s house for a year now and the need to get into her own place cannot be overstated. As any fond sister would do, I drive down to Philadelphia and help her move in. We are hardy crones, so what could go wrong?
Things start out kind of wiggly:
I’ve been feeling weird lately, a dull pain in my chest, persistent shortness of breath, and overwhelming tiredness. Blood pressure is slightly above where it should be. Still, there’s the sister thing and I pack my blood pressure cuff.
Sue’s daughter lives in the country, about an hour outside Philadelphia, and the route is completely unfamiliar. Once off the interstate, the roads turn steep, with a whole lot of sharp curves. Area residents think nothing of going more than 15 miles over the speed limit and whiz by a slow poke.
I overshoot her daughter’s driveway, make a U-turn smack in the middle of a hairpin curve of limited visibility. With the help of a ‘Jesus, Mary, and Joseph’ prayer, several cars veer around me.
Sue is in the apartment, surrounded by boxes and plastic-wrapped furniture. My back immediately is unhappy.
I’m assigned to make sense of where things should go in the kitchen cupboards and drawers. It’s a good thing I’m familiar with how my sister cooks.
After doing the best I could, we contemplate the arrangement of heavy furniture which requires shifting around unpacked boxes.
This results in more shortness of breath, dull pain, and my blood pressure shooting up.
I call my doctor.
Sue cooks dinner, incredibly tasty tuna steaks accompanied by bismata rice. We discuss how the world needs to listen to our common sense advice.
My doctor doesn’t call back.
In bed early, conk out right away.
Next day begins and ends on an unsettling note:
Blood pressure is a new high and am not out of bed yet.
Sue, the highly experienced nurse practicioner, runs through a thorough review of my symptoms.
We’re off to the hospital.
I feel guilty about messing up her weekend’s plans.
A word of advice: Try to schedule your emergencies for early Sunday morning. We’re seen right away.
I tell everyone in scrubs that I don’t want to be admitted.
The nurses and the doctor are full of good humor on this subject.
Sue and I pass the hours between tests going through the thousands of photos on her phone.
The doctor’s diagnoses is that I lied about not being stressed. He prescribes rest, a vacation, and a follow-up with my doctor to review of my heart meds is strongly suggested.
We stop to buy hoagies for lunch then are back at work by one. Much is accomplished by the end of the day.
Things now turn interesting:
Wind barrels in out of nowhere and we take to staring out the apartment’s many windows to watch the surrounding trees bend and sway. Not all of those trees look in the best of health. Some look to be on life support.
Rain carves lots and lots of little creeks around the house. We move our cars into the garage and decide it would be prudent to retreat to her daughter’s more protected house.
Just as I put on the kettle for tea, the lights begin to flicker, then suddenly go out. According to the town website, power won’t be restored until 1 a.m. Then the internet goes down.
It’s very interesting how fast night descends in the woods.
Sue’s daughter’s house is between a home for wayward boys and a prison where someone recently escaped by climbing over the wall. The nearest neighbors are a good way up the road. They appear to have generators. This house where we’re now hunkered down does not.
There’s surprisingly few flashlights and candles in this otherwise well-furnished house. We go out into the wind and rain to Sue’s apartment and gather up all the candles we can find. On the way back to the house, we pick up firewood and kindling for the small fireplace.
Sue lights a fire. We make ourselves cocktails and eat leftover tuna and salad.
The house grows cold. Sue, I and her daughter’s small old dog begin to shiver.
We decide to retire early.
Right at 1, I’m awaked by the outdoor lights popping on outside the bedroom where I’m sleeping. Everything is right in the world again!
About 5:30, I hear a huge boom, followed by a mighty crack. Power goes out again and I lie under the quilt contemplating the odds that the woods will catch on fire from a live wire.
The few internet bars left on my phone are enough to bring up the town’s website. This time around, the power will take four days to be restored.
The next morning’s events:
Dawn is bright and dry but tree branches are strewn about everywhere.
I decide to back my car out of the garage and park it on a slope by the house. Then Sue drives us to a diner that’s far enough away that the car will recharge our phones and battery packs. It takes even longer because many streets are blocked by the tattered remains of mature trees.
Order the diner’s special pancakes and french toast and cups of hot tea.
When we return, we work on putting Sue’s bedroom together so she can move out of her daughter’s house and finally sleep in her own home.
Our brother and sister-in-law come over and, with more patience and back strength, completes chores that have frustrated us.
Somehow we all fall into parsing the contentious subject of whether or not our grandfather had syphilis.
They leave for home about the time the rain and wind begins to pick up again.
It’s more than time for me to drive home again. My sister packs a half a dozen freshly laid eggs for me and we hug. It’s a family joke how I always leave something behind on my trips and so I tell her to just keep anything I’ve forgotten for the next time I’m down.
Get in the car, turn the motor on, put it into reverse and the car begins to slide backward at an alarming speed.
The car’s brakes won’t work! The garage is fast approaching! The steering wheel locks as I swerve to do as little damage from the inevitable collision.
The car somehow stops. I get out, return to the house, yell for Sue. She comes down, starts the car up and tries to move it slowly forward.
She says the brakes are wet.
I scream something that’s very unprintable in polite company.
We stand around awhile until it seems possible the brakes may be dry. When I try the car again, it appears to have healed itself and off I go toward home
I forgot to pack my beloved pillow.
The End:
It’s an uneventful drive home except the empty gas tank warning light flashes on after I pass the last I-95 rest stop gas station.
Lead a long line of cursing drivers as I slowly drive over the Goethals Bridge to the first exit in Staten Island. Just as the car begins to stall, I find a gas station.
My husband greets me in the driveway. “You’re late!” he smiles and takes my bag.
He’s spent the last two nights eating nothing but Stouffer’s dinners. He admits to watching a guy movie, The Beekeeper.
The need to pass out comes around 9:30 and I take the pillow from the spare bedroom.
So glad to be out of the woods and back home!
What was your weekend like?
Jesus!! Glad you’re “out of the woods”, Pat!
Pat: You make the ordinary, the mundane, the health scare, everything you write, extraordinary. Glad to know you weren't admitted, that you made it through all the perils, and you're home, hopefully resting.