For Whom the Doorbell Bing-Bongs
I came home normally, understanding that dinner plans for the evening were cancelled. My sister, due to an emergency surgery (she not at the receiving end, of course) was not coming over after all. I asked Sam if we should make less food, then, to which he responded in the negative. Not surprising considering the menu, and his fondness for taking leftovers to work for lunch. Soon, the curry smells enveloped the house, and though tired from a long day at work and a hot, sweaty bikeride home, I'm never too tired to cook a new recipe with Sam. Just when I had the chapaties cut into manageable balls, ready to be rolled out and dry pan-fried to flat, puffy perfection the doorbell sang its seldom-heard song.
"Oh. 'oo could that be?" Sam said conspicuously. My glance through the window revealed a snatch of short sunbleached curls that could only belong to one Jeremy Wendte, meaning that the culprit of the doorbell ringing was Elise! What a nice surprise! Back in two thinner, bronzer pieces from their failed curiousity- conquoring campaign of the Old World and the Ancient World, we all soon sat to a delicious Indian feast of chapaties, rice, dal, and oklahoma grass- fed buffalo rogan josh.
We discussed train rides, sweet Turkish tea, insufferable Jewish-American roots- finding trips to Jerusalem, storybook Bavaria, Lebanon (which was not on fire when they left it), Elise's coffee addiction, and also new events in Norman, my joining of the Oklahoma Coop, and Jeremy's thought-provoking hypothesis that the 70's roadbike (e.g. my newly procured Nishiki) is the new hipster bike, rendering those cruiser-type bikes a tad passe.
Easy conversation, of course, and comfortable. Overall, a wonderfully pleasant evening, for, in the words of Nicholas Grimald, "Of all the heavenly gifts that mortal men commend, What trusty treasure in the world can countervail a friend?" Nice to have you home, Elise!
P.S. How obvious is it that I have been reading to much of a combination of overly-florid travel writing of the Southwest and Alexander McCall Smith?
"Oh. 'oo could that be?" Sam said conspicuously. My glance through the window revealed a snatch of short sunbleached curls that could only belong to one Jeremy Wendte, meaning that the culprit of the doorbell ringing was Elise! What a nice surprise! Back in two thinner, bronzer pieces from their failed curiousity- conquoring campaign of the Old World and the Ancient World, we all soon sat to a delicious Indian feast of chapaties, rice, dal, and oklahoma grass- fed buffalo rogan josh.
We discussed train rides, sweet Turkish tea, insufferable Jewish-American roots- finding trips to Jerusalem, storybook Bavaria, Lebanon (which was not on fire when they left it), Elise's coffee addiction, and also new events in Norman, my joining of the Oklahoma Coop, and Jeremy's thought-provoking hypothesis that the 70's roadbike (e.g. my newly procured Nishiki) is the new hipster bike, rendering those cruiser-type bikes a tad passe.
Easy conversation, of course, and comfortable. Overall, a wonderfully pleasant evening, for, in the words of Nicholas Grimald, "Of all the heavenly gifts that mortal men commend, What trusty treasure in the world can countervail a friend?" Nice to have you home, Elise!
P.S. How obvious is it that I have been reading to much of a combination of overly-florid travel writing of the Southwest and Alexander McCall Smith?
posted by Laura Negus at 6:34 AM
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