Published 12:00 am Wednesday, December 2, 2009
As parents, grandparents and teachers, we realize that there is a great paradox in the knowledge we pass on to those in our charge. We savor the time spent with our youngsters, teaching and training them in the things that they will need in life ó knowing that if we are successful, we are really training them to leave us. And most children begin lobbying for independence at a very early age. I hadn’t strapped my granddaughter in her little car seat more than a half dozen times ó under her studied observation, of course ó when she seized the buckle out of my hand one day, looked me steadfastly in the eye and announced, “By ‘self!”
One more little job mastered. One more task Grandpa could relinquish.
But in another of life’s great ironies, as our young folks move on and decide they need our help less and less, us mature folks come to realize that we depend on each other all the more.
When our sons were younger, they had the obligatory teen rock band and our house was ground zero for rehearsals. Well at least we knew where they were … boy, did we know! Every nail in our house was loose as we nourished these budding musicians during those years.
And while we didn’t begrudge them the finished basement den, “Taking Care of Business” wasn’t our idea of dinner music upstairs. On more than one occasion, we’d call up friends and ask if they’d like to have dinner with us ó at their house! Those with teens of their own understood. We’d wrap up the casserole and trimmings and drive off, ears ringing, to these friends in need.
Another couple we know are big into pesto. When the herb garden basil crop is harvested, fast action is required to preserve it. An accepted method is to chop it up into a kind of slurry and then freeze it in ice cube trays. When frozen solid, the cubes can be popped from the trays and put in plastic bags for storage in the freezer. On cold winter nights when comfort food is called for, a couple of cubes are thawed out, the oil, garlic and pine nuts are added and some pasta is cooked. Let the icy winds howl!
One night, however, the winds howled up a prodigious ice storm and the power died. Furthermore, it looked like it would be out for quite a while. Well, light a candle, and … but wait! The freezer! Precious basil! They quickly put into motion what we now call The Great Pesto Preservation Project.
Luckily the cell phone system was still in operation and this resourceful pair was soon on it ó looking for various friends outside the no-power zone. Could you fit a bag in your freezer? Perhaps two…? I can almost hear the plaintive pleas. Ultimately though, they commandeered enough freezer space to save their crop. Just a little help from their friends.
My mountain neighbor asked me for help last fall. Jim has collected wine for many years and he knows what he is doing. He reads all of the authorities, studies the trade journals and can tell you if the grapes were stomped by young ladies from Tuscany or the Napa Valley.
If he discovers a particularly promising vintage, he lays in a case or two and forgets about it. Just sipping with him is an education. Wines from different vintages mature at different times. The wine from some mediocre grapes is as good as it’s going to get as soon as the cork is popped into the bottle and the label is put on. Really good wines, though, are at their best after several years of aging. And Jim doesn’t drink much wine before its time.
One November evening ó I don’t recall if the wind was howling or not ó Jim revealed that he had some nearly 10-15 year-old cabernet sauvignons that were at their prime.
And, Jim said, “I can’t drink them fast enough by myself.”
Well, I’d had some sips of Jim’s better stuff. These experiences taught me that I only thought I was drinking wine when I was gargling the stuff that came in jugs and boxes. I knew that I was letting myself in for some hard labor during future evenings ó toiling away at a 1998 Lewis Cellars Reserve in front of a crackling fireplace.
But what are friends for?
My wife told me later that a tear rolled down my cheek as I agreed to assume this duty.
Chuck Thurston is retired and lives in Kannapolis. His email address is cthurston@ctc.net.