Entries for January 2005
Wallaby Fillets in Port Wine Reduction Sauce
It was a warm fall day and I was scheduled to get married that afternoon. How I’d gotten into this situation is something I’m still trying to understand. Six months earlier I’d been having an iced cafe mocha at Arabica with Alison. Her friend Melanie came over with her friend Melinda, then ten minutes later we added another table to make room for Melinda’s friend Henry who claimed to have been in my class in elementary school.
As soon as he sat down I knew I was in trouble. Melinda, who claimed to be a bit psychic--having predicted the winning curling team in not one, but two winter Olympics—drew in her breath and said “I see a fall wedding with you in winter white.�
Then she turned her head and gazed right at me. I stared back, shaking my head and narrowing my eyes in an effort to look belligerent and unattainable. She stared back with that obnoxiously cute little smirk she has and just nodded. I blanched and made such a swift grab for my mocha that I spilled an entire gulpful down my shirt. I was then so consumed with wiping up the sticky brown goo that I wasn’t paying full attention when introductions were made.
Finally, having composed myself, I heard Melinda ask Henry so what was “Carrie like in school?�
“She was sort of quiet and hung out with the smart kids.� He said.
“Wait who are we talking about?� I asked.
“You.�
“But I didn’t go to school with Henry; I went to an all girls school.�
“Henry went to Boulevard for elementary school. You went to Boulevard for elementary school. It was a long time ago, and you probably don’t remember.�
“Where did you live?� I asked.
“We lived in the gray stone colonial where Larchmere merges with West Park.�
“Ah, that was my mom’s favorite house, but we never knew who lived there. You must have known a different Carrie, in a different year. The only Henry I knew at Boulevard lived on Kemper and he moved away after a year.�
“Carrie, don’t be silly. Of course he went there, but that was so many years ago, that you couldn’t possibly remember. Here I got you another coffee, drink up and listen.�
I took a sip of coffee (way too sweet by the way) and listened. Suddenly I found myself doubting my own recall. Perhaps it wasn’t Mr. Gideon we’d had in fifth grade. Maybe it was Ms. Pennington.
After a few more sips I began to imagine that I had known Henry in school. Just look at those eyes I thought. So deep and blue. Maybe I used to swim in them when we all played Blind Man’s Bluff.
The next six months were a blur. I’d begun to doubt my memory so Melinda moved in with me to make sure I was OK. Henry came over twice a week to watch movies, play cards and what not. He always won. I had this vague notion that sometime long ago I’d been the one who usually won at cards. But it didn’t matter, he was so pleasant, so calm, so reassuring.
At some point he asked me to marry him and I said yes. His mother offered to plan the wedding and I just nodded in agreement. Melinda helped me with the dress and accessories.
“Why am I doing this?� I asked her one day.
“You’re in love.� She said.
“Um, I guess, but shouldn’t I be eloping? That was always my plan. No big wedding, no fluffy dress, just a quiet service with the minimal number of attendants as required by law, then some cool party for friends, a barbecue perhaps.�
“No, silly. You only said that because you didn’t want to make a fuss. But deep inside you wanted it all.�
“No, I’m pretty sure I imagined wearing black. Not satin but something comfortable that I could wear with my biker boots. Denim comes to mind.
“Have another cup of coffee dear. You’re obviously delusional.�
“O.K.� I said as I took one more sip towards oblivion.
Finally, two days before the wedding, I moved into the hotel where we’d be having the reception. Melinda wanted to come along but somehow I convinced her that I needed some quiet time. During the first day I sat diligently at my desk writing thank you notes and watching Jerry Springer on the telly. On the second day I began questioning how anyone could sit through Jerry Springer for more than 30 seconds and decided to go in search of a good book. In the hotel bookstore I found a reprint of “100 Days of Solitude� and proceeded to stay up until 4:00 am reacquainting myself with the story.
At 8:00 I was awoken by Melinda and Henry’s mother pounding at the door. After I undid the latch, the latter wafted in through a cloud of tawdry perfume. I stared at her head in awe wondering if her hair tasted as much like cotton candy as it looked like it might. (Not of course that I wished for a taste, but I couldn’t help wondering what flavor it might be. Lemon? Champagne? Motor Oil?)
“Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear.� She said. “We’re so dreadfully behind, your hair is so flat, we’ve got so much to do. Here you’ve got to review these seating cards, and sign off on the menu. And for god’s sake, wake up. Here drink some of Melinda’s lovely coffee.
Gazing down at the menu I saw mesclun greens in raspberry vinaigrette, grilled vegetable, and endangered Wallaby fillets in a port reduction sauce. Holding back my horror I pretended to take a sip of the coffee--which I’d finally deduced was drugged--screamed “Oouch, this is too hot, I better go get some ice,� then ran out the door in my bunny slippers. Taking the stairs instead of the elevator I wandered through the lower levels in search of the kitchen. Finally after a few wrong turns I came upon a large stainless steel room in which a man wielding a knife was screaming into the phone about Kangaroos. “When I said fresh, I didn’t mean ALIVE� he said. “What am I supposed to do with these?�
“I’m so sorry about that sir.� I yelled. “I’ve been sent to take those off your hands. Your fillets will be arriving any minute.�
“Oh mon dieu� he declared as he hung up the phone. “I thought these hopping beasts were going to overrun my kitchen. Here take them and get out. Grabbing the three creatures by their frayed rope leashes, I led them out the door to freedom.
Somehow we got ourselves to the zoo where the administrators took care of the animals, listened to my story and brought in the police. Henry, his mom, and Melinda have been jailed for attempted fraud. They were under the mistaken impression that I had a rather large Swiss bank account, when in fact I had a rather large ceramic piggy bank that had been made in Geneva.
I, for one, have sworn off coffee, but if you ever hear me discussing white dresses, please run my blood work and check with the police to make sure Melinda is still in jail.
Copyright © 2005 Heidi A. Cool
Hail to the Chief
Once upon a time there was a big country ruled by a parliament with a bit of input from a king. The king was a decent enough fellow--not the sort who would go down in history as the greatest of all time, but also not the sort that made the peasants throw dung and Molotov cocktails at his carriage.
He ruled at a time when people were relatively content. The wealthy raked in their dividends, the middle class got by, and the disenfranchised still had little hope for getting their share. It was just typical of the times, and while everyone knew there was room for improvement, none really blamed the king.
Actually a few did blame the king. They had ideas of their own. One of these fellows was the king's brother Wallace. Wallace thought the country was falling into an abyss of moral turpitude that only he could remedy. He also wasn't getting nearly as many juicy dividends as his brother so he wanted to remedy that as well. The only way he could see to achieve this goal was to become king himself.
Of course there are rules to becoming king. Traditionally if one isn't born to the crown, but has a powerful army, one can take over through a violent coup. Such leadership rarely lasts, because soon some other fellow comes along and does the same thing. Now instead of being head of state, one finds his head cut off and displayed atop of pike. Messy business.
But if one is born to the family, one has more options. A sharp knife to the throat of the monarch serves quite well if one is second in line for the throne and can find a scapegoat to take the fall. In this case it is best to find a scapegoat that everyone can agree upon. If you can find someone with different religious beliefs who has already professed to disliking the king, that's even better.
Wallace had no moral qualms about killing his brother, but the idea of watching him bleed made him a little queasy. So instead, Wallace brought together his best cronies to hatch a new plan. Well-versed in the ways of marketing and public relations, the cronies decided to send the king on a series of state visits to countries chock full of natural resources and people who dressed and prayed differently than did they.
While on tour they arranged for the king to simply disappear. The people were in shock. Never had such a thing befallen one of their own. Wallace took it upon himself to calm the nation. His cronies wrote up a series of inspiring speeches in which he coerced the masses into condemning the evil others. The media picked up the pace spreading the word far and wide that Wallace would not allow such atrocities to spread unchecked. As acting monarch he declared war, invaded the offending nation, and quietly filled his coffers with the shiny spoils of war.
The people cheered, for they knew they were spreading their own values of goodness and decency to the world. They had no idea that one of their own countrymen had taken the king to a remote island to live out his reign in silent exile. They had no idea that the people they were killing already possessed their own notions of goodness and decency.
Wallace said they were right and that was all they needed to know. This made them all feel good about themselves, because even if they were out of work or down on their luck they knew they were better than someone else and that made them happy and righteous. In fact it made them so exuberant that a tiny fraction more than half of them voted to have the King declared dead so that Wallace could take the throne.
Thus only a few years after the King had disappeared, Wallace was crowned in the most elaborate coronation ceremony ever conceived. Dipping into royal coffers he spent so much that even some of the disenfranchised were put to work--for a full day. Wallace spent the night celebrating on the dance floor, never realizing that somewhere on a distant island another king was slowly and methodically making plans to return.
Copyright © 2005 Heidi A. Cool
Happy New Year
Weilheim, Deutschland
Saturday evening Doug, mom and I were walking through the streets of Weilheim when we decided to duck into the local church to examine the architecture and warm our toesies. Alas the atmosphere was anything but warm. Upon entering the building we noticed a group of parishioners seated in the dark. In dour monotone they took turns chanting. First the right side would say:
Unser Vater in dem Himmel!
Then the left followed with:
Dein Name werde geheiligt.
In turn they spoke each line until the following was complete.
Dein Reich komme.
Dein Wille geschehe auf Erden wie in Himmel.
Unser tglich Brot gib uns heute.
Und vergi uns unsere Schulden,
wie wir unsern Schuldigern vergeben.
Und fhre uns nicht in Versuchung,
Sondern erlse uns von dem bel.
Denn dein ist das Reich und die Kraft
und die Herrlichkeit in Ewigkeit. Amen.
After that they began anew reciting the prayer over and over drearily enunciating each syllable in a celebration of joy akin to a five-hour wait at the bureau of motor vehicles.
Stunned, perplexed, and oddly frightened, we tiptoed back out the door as quickly and quietly as possible in the hope that they'd not try to subdue us into their nightmare.
As we walked across the town square listening to the laughter of children and parents hurrying home for dinner, we relaxed and enjoyed our return to normalcy. We were so busy chatting about the experience that we didn't notice Saint Nikolaus's sleigh pull up until he was right on top of us.
Saint Nick, sleigh driver, and Knecht Ruprecht
Looking down at us, he opened his notebook and shook his head. With a disappointed look in his eye, he roared, "Sie sind ein heidnisches."
Naturally I heard this as "Sie sind Heidi nichts." And was wondering why Saint Nick would both say that I'm not Heidi and why he would be so
disturbed about it. Was my name in question or was it my very existence.
Was he implying a complete lack of Heidiness?
I didn't have long to ponder for as soon as the great red saint had finished his pronouncement, his companion, Knecht Ruprecht, jumped off the sleigh, and shoved us all into a rather musty smelling sack. Picking us up as though we were a mere sack of potatoes he tossed us into the sleigh and then rode into the night towards Munchen.
As our fear subsided, I came again to wonder about what he'd said. "Doug,"
I asked. "Why did he say I wasn't Heidi? It says I am right here on my passport. Why did he stuff us in the sack? If I change my name to Greta will he let us out?"
"No, your name doesn't matter. He didn't say you aren't Heidi. He said we're heathens. He must have seen us sneaking out of church and now we're being punished."
"What will he do?"
"If we're lucky he'll leave us in the forest. If we're not he'll take us back to his cabin and beat us with switches."
Suddenly the sleigh careened around a corner and we in our sack went flying off. Seconds after hitting the ground we started rolling down an incline not stopping until we hit the icy waters of the Isar. Panicking we kicked at the sack trying to escape before drowning, but the sack was too strong and we too uncoordinated.
With the saints against us we were seconds from drowning when just as suddenly a hand reached in and scooped us from the water. The sack was cut open and soon we were looking up into the eyes of our savior, a tall creature clad in chains with two enormous horns sticking out from his head. Without a word he led us to his car then drove us back to our hotel.
Thanking him as we left I asked, "Why did you save us?" With a glint in his eye, he laughed and said sometimes we heathens just have to stick together.
Copyright © 2004 Heidi A. Cool