Recently I had the opportunity to spend the weekend with the “in-laws” for a couple of days (in quotes, well, because we STILL can’t be legally wed in California, but I digress…)
I was there assisting with landscaping and tent raising for the winery. By assisting I do mean manual labor in 100+ degree heat. The Dust Bowl looked a bit like junior varsity weather activity compared to the heat in which we were working.
I am happy to help when I can because, as Ryan says, showing the Jones clan my care for them is best in the way they know how to receive it-through backbreaking chain-gang labors of love.
So of course proper hydration and nutrition are necessary to give fuel to the body while working in such conditions. As a bit of back story, I grew up on a farm in rural Michigan. Granted, my parents are not farmers, but I have been exposed to the delicacies of country living and the necessary thick skin, still, for the majority of my life.
So with that said, after a long day of work it was time for dinner.
A delicious tri-tip dish had been prepared for us. Ryan’s dad makes killer tri-tip, but this particular incarnation gives me pause in using the descriptor “killer.”
As I took my first forkful of peppered beef, I looked down to find Mickey Mouse smiling back at me from my plate. This was concerning because we weren’t using Disney dinnerware. I was alarmed to discover that a sizeable shard of porcelain with Mickey’s face was embedded in my dinner entree. When I raised my concern, it was then that the cook fessed up that a couple of bowls had broken in the fridge and it was possible that some shrapnel had fallen in to the dinner.
I guess this meant it was still fit for consumption and no fair warning that we were eating a meal tossed with bits o’ Corelle…
So the rest of dinner went off without further hitch, though I ate plenty of vegetables and carefully picked at my remaining main course.
Having survived that round of dietary gymnastics, fast forward to breakfast the next morning.
Ryan generously cooked breakfast for me, I believe to ensure that my princess palette was not further disturbed by abnormalities and additional misplaced objects.
As I finished my 3rd bite of delicious scrambled eggs and tomatos I was thirsty. I had poured myself a small glass of milk (they were out of OJ) and swallowed it down to rinse the yumminess out of my mouth. Poor choice.
No sooner did I swallow fully a large gulp of milk than the realization raced across my tastebuds, brain synapses and stomach that the milk was spoiled. Not overindulged, but rotten. And I had even checked the expiration date to be safe.
No such luck.
In the end I think both were tests to see if I could handle myself with the calmness needed to not have the “in-laws” think I was a thin skinned city slicker. I passed-not quite with flying colors-but I passed.
And next time I may bring my own rations…
