Another Dead Battery

It rained on Thursday, and I didn't want to go out, but I needed to get a plastic colander to strain the kefir my daughter and I were making. A few days before, I attended the first in a series of cooking classes based on the research of nutrition by Dr. Weston Price, a dentist who in the 1930's studied indigenous cultures around the world and determined that humans achieve perfect physical form and health only when they consume "nutrient-dense whole foods and the vital fat-soluble activators found exclusively in animal fats." The first class covered whey, cultured milks--kefir and buttermilk, fermented vegetables--Kim Chi and Sauerkraut and chicken soup. (If you're interested or curious about this sort of cooking, you might want to pick up a copy of the cookbook, Nourishing Traditions by Sally Fallon, President of the Westin A. Price Foundation or visit the foundation's Web site www.westonaprice.org. My daughter and I had spent the day making everything I learned in the class and so far our food was looking like it was supposed to--especially the chicken soup. The broth had been simmering for about twenty hours and the house smelled like company was coming.

Because I'd probably never use the plastic colander for anything else, I decided to pick one up at the nearby thrift shop. Just as I was pulling in to the parking lot my cell phone rang. I talked for about twenty minutes before I went into the store only to find that they didn't have any colanders. Now what? We live in a town filled with second hand stores, and the other one that came to mind was in Grass Valley--about 5 miles away. I put the key in the ignition, turned it to the right, but --GUESS WHAT-- the battery was dead! (Deja Vu--see previous Blog). Apparently, my lights had been on the entire time I was on the phone. I looked around to see if there were any boys in trucks who might come to my aid, but no one was hanging out in the rain and the thrift shop was filled with mostly stoop-shouldered women with grey hair. Nevada County, for anyone who doesn't know, is a big retirement community. I was left with two options: call AAA and perhaps wait an hour or so for the truck to come; or call my husband and listen to a lecture about my carelessness. I held my breath and pushed #2 on speed dial. As I waited for my husband to arrive, I prepared for the inevitable lecture--no matter what, I wasn't going to react.

Ten minutes later the truck pulled up and my husband jumped out, cables in hand. "The battery must be getting old," he said as I started the engine, grateful that he placed the blame on the car and not me. I didn't volunteer that I had been yacking on the phone and forgot to turn off the lights. And for once, he didn't act like a father and lecture me, and I didn't react by turning into a child. Instead, I thanked him with a quick hug, told him I'd have dinner ready by six, and headed for thrift shop #2. By the time I arrived, the shop was closed.

Still dazed by the stunning adult behavior my husband and I displayed, instead of being upset about not getting to the store while it was open, I resigned myself to the fact that the kefir would just have to wait another day. On the way home I realized I had one more option--the dollar store. Imagine my amazement upon seeing that the first shelf by the door was filled with colanders in an array of colors. I picked up a white one, paid my dollar plus tax and walked out the door. The car started up right away and five minutes later, I was in the kitchen adding the "secret ingredient" to my chicken soup.

That night as my husband, daughter, son, and I sat around the table enjoying the soup, I realized that sometimes it takes a dead battery and a quest for something as ridiculous as a colander to make me realize how far I've come and how grateful I am to be surrounded by so many opportunities for growth.