BIRTHDAY IN A BLIZZARD [F, 2-4-22]

CHRIST IN WINTER: Reflections on Faith & Life for the Years of Winter

You may have noticed that my usual posting schedule for this column went haywire this week. That was partly by intention, and partly by blizzard.

Intention: The every-other-day schedule missed my birthday. So, I decided to leave three days between the most recent column and this one. It just seems that an old writer should write something wise and otherwise on his birthday.

Blizzard: Southern Indiana did not get the worst of winter storm Landon. [Landon is a nice name, but for a blizzard? Really?] But we had enough snow and low temps and wind and ice and rain and sleet and power outages to close us down. Travel advisory, meaning unless you are an emergency vehicle, don’t.  

Which upset the plans of the women folk to celebrate my birthday.

My wife and daughters are firm believers in the holy trinity of homemaking: candles, throw pillows, and wrapping paper.

I make it sort of hard, by proclaiming upon every gift-giving occasion, that I already have more than I can use or enjoy, so the only gifts I want are contributions to good causes, or something I can read or eat.

They are okay with giving money in my name to the homeless shelter or community kitchen, but they also want to give me something I can open. Because you can’t really use wrapping paper on a thank-you letter from Shalom Center or Hoosier Hills Foodbank.

This year older daughter Mary Beth finally broke down and sent me unwrapped books. Normally they first come to her so she can wrap them before sending them to me. But this time she just had the book store send them directly, which they did several days ago. Good idea, since no deliveries got through in the blizzard.

Younger daughter Katie Kennedy, although an author herself and thus highly willing to giving books as gifts, decided to go the food route, since that would also cut down on the amount of cooking her mother would have to do.

So, from Iowa she called the Kroger store where Helen waits in the parking lot each week while strangers put some of the things she ordered, plus several substitutes, [well, yes, they’re orange, too, but…] into her car trunk.

First, the telephone was answered in Russian. This would have seemed strange in a small town in Indiana to anyone else, but Katie learned to speak Russian herself right here at Indiana University, which provides instruction in more foreign languages than any other university in the world. Her reaction was, “His accent is really good, almost like a native speaker.” Despite the quality accent, he was not interested in talking about birthday gifts, only about NATO intrusions, and she realized that she had punched in the prefix for Moscow instead of Bloomington, so she said, “Sorry, Vlad,” and tried again.

This time she got the real thing and ordered many fancy sandwiches and salads and trays and such, to be delivered to our house. But, like everyone else, Kroger doesn’t have enough workers anymore to deliver stuff, so they said Helen would have to pick it up. “It’s no problem,” they said. “She can just come to her usual spot in the parking lot and we’ll bring it out.” This is Bloomington; they know these things.

Then the blizzard was prognosticated. Katie called Kroger’s on Tuesday to cancel the order, knowing Helen could not drive through the blizzard to pick it up. They refused to cancel the order. No, not what you’re thinking. This is Bloomington. “That’s so sad,” the manager said, “your father not getting his birthday present. Let’s wait and see. Maybe the blizzard will miss us.”

So she called yesterday. “Yes, we cancelled it,” the manager said. “No traffic moving. I sent the day shift home and the night shift isn’t coming in.” “Why are you still there?” Katie asked. “The National Guard is coming in to pick up a bunch of sandwiches,” he said.

I’m pleased. A tired and hungry National Guard member is getting to eat my birthday present. As good as a contribution to the community kitchen.

johnrobertmcfarland@gmail.com