Meals on Heels

I was blissfully musing that things have been quiet in our crazy a$$ ghetto fabulous building. I should have known better.  On Friday, I was buzzing around the apartment, whizzing down to do laundry, shoving things in the oven, and cleaning, because some of our friends were coming over for dinner. I put in some extra effort since it was their first time over. After that, it's a take me as I am, free for all, kind of deal.


I sat down with five minutes to spare to see what else there was to do before the madness that is my four year old, Lanes, was due back from preschool. All of a sudden, an alarm goes off. It sounded more like someone hitting two metal dust bin lids together. At first I thought it was the panic button in the elevator. It is not uncommon for folks to get stuck in it or to be sandwiched by the doors--it's a dangerous metal Venus Flytrap. 


I debated going out and seeing if someone needed to be rescued, but it was in the middle of the afternoon and there were other people who could play hero. I was too darn pooped. Plus, I have lingering resentment that no one came to rescue me when I was trapped. My far more fortunate spouse, P, had a whole bunch of folks rooting for him when he got stuck. Not fair.

Any old how the sound was incessant. I looked out door and of course, I live on the most dormant floor in the building. I looked out the window and saw people had actually left the building. That's not a good sign considering most of those people stayed in during the great flood of '11.


The usual cast of characters had assembled outside: my friend, the cleaning lady with her tired eyes and equally tired mop, the nice Indian lady who is battling moldy walls,  the friendly guy who reminds me of a creepy ice cream van driver, the older Spanish man who thinks my name is sweetie, the lovely French Canadian couple who has a daughter a year younger than Lanes, the  new family from the 11th floor that came down with a bread maker, etc.


I realized that the good news is that the fire alarm works! Granted, you can't hear it if you are sleeping in the bedroom, but still. Like that's important. As I grabbed IDs for the entire family, I couldn't think what else needed to be saved--perhaps because I don't have a bread maker.  I should get one so I can keep our IDs in it. 


Suddenly, as I was loitering around talking to the neighbors, I noticed that there were two old men missing. As you all know, I love old people. I was helping this old man get out of a taxi one day and he started talking and then the next thing you know, he introduces me to his father! His father! Oh my goodness! They were living together on the first floor, since they take turns being rescued by paramedics.


They recently moved up because their apartment got flooded out. Not an uncommon experience, here in ghetto fab, but in their case, it was with sewage. Yep. I'm not sitting on any of their furniture, ever. Any old how we became friends.


I saw their beat up van was in the parking lot, but they were missing. Oh no! I was about to run in to rescue them, all the while hearing P's voice in my head ''are you mad to run into a burning building?", but although the nice French Canadian couple saw smoke on the 10th floor, no one else, including the firemen, did. 


As I was about to enter the building, I see Senior sitting on a stoop. When he saw me, his face crumpled and he said Junior was in the hospital and he was all alone. He said he was managing but about to run out of food.


After the firemen gave us permission to go inside, I quickly packed up food I made for the party and gave it to Senior along with two cans of soup that he could just put in the microwave. 


Yesterday, I went to the mall and got him some freshly baked bread and when I knocked on the door, Junior opened it and said they had just run out of bread, and it's amazing that I showed up with a loaf. They have decided to call me Angel! So see, not only Redbull, but compliments can give you wings.


Both of them were gushing about how delicious my food was. My food! I didn't even start cooking til 2010 so I was grinning like a jackass. Of course, if they found it so scrumptious it probably means that they have been living on Ramen noodles rather than me being the next Top Chef. So guess who is going to take them up some  homemade Bai Kra Pao stir fry today? Me!


However,  I don't know how that will go considering they thought the pasta had a little kick to it. Hmm. I'll add lots of white rice. And some antacid. Or perhaps I should give them more soup and a couple bottles of Ensure.


They said they had no one. Now they have me, by force (I can see P shaking his head in defeat). Sometimes, he just goes with my madness--no point fighting it.


No wonder P thinks I have a bleeding heart.  Hallmark ads and ''The Lion King" make me cry.. I'm not sensitive, I just have overactive tear ducts. Don't even get me started on BCSPCA commercials. I was this close to getting a rescue puppy the other night. 


It would make Lanes happy, and she would give him an unfortunate name like Bumpy, but as P says, we have to move out of the ghetto and I need to find a job, so plans for furry additions to the family will have to wait. 


Lanes has settled on getting two goldfish, who she has already named Bemy and Chany (at which point I feared greatly for the names of my future grandchildren).  The deal is she gets them after our trip to the motherland this summer only if she looks after them (I don't like fish poop or the smell of fish water or fish for that matter). Speaking of which, folks in SL, if you are free to meet, please do let me know.


In other news, Lanes and I are eagerly awaiting her next field trip, which is to the planetarium. Truth is, I might be more excited about it than she is--I'm really a kid at heart!  Last night, she was talking in her sleep and she was asking her teacher if they are going to the moon. 


When I teased her about it in the morning she said her teacher drove a blue, orange, and yellow rocket to the moon and she and I, and all her friends and their moms were playing with fountains and rocks on the moon while snacking on chocolates and candy. Apparently, it's a happening place and it only takes 40,000 minutes to get there.


With that I must sign off as I have to go get Lanes and drop off the food to my two favorite senior citizens. Plus it takes a while because they love to tell me about how the health care system failed them. Twenty five minutes tops for that conversation. It's a good thing I'm good at nodding and hearing without listening. And they said that was a bad thing in school! More musings from BC next week, and folks in SL, do let me know if you want to meet up:)....