Tolstoy's Tarts

In my head, as usual, I've been planning what I would do with the two days I have off this week. Block Island would be nice. I called ahead to get a sense of conditions.... not too favorable. Oh well, a second plan might be to just enjoy the day without having to go or be anywhere. The rain on my window this morning helped me to slip into one dream and then another, my bladder floated along too, till we both couldn't take it any longer. I asked God to give me directions for the day, and with full confidence I took a shower, made coffee, then went into my head again (the price of being a writer) making all sorts of plans for the day. Funny how I found myself in the kitchen. Of all places, the kitchen is the one I'm always trying to get out off. I'm like the horse that heads back to the barn. Why does the horse head back to the barn? Do you think I could sit down and write? Me, who claims to be a writer? Oh no, not me. I have to, I am compelled to make this apple tart that will take longer than writing War and Peace. What did Tolstoy know of making apple tarts? With all those women to look after his needs, what else was left for him to do but scribble a few notes which, incidentally, these women went around picking up whenever he dropped them. In all fairness to Tolstoy, he did, in later years, write in favor of women. His love and compassion for them were in those notes. For men who find themselves loving women later in life, I bet it's the fragrance of our tarts that comes back to them, and in their solitude, they might wish to be close to the scent of them once more. Tom called to say that because of the rain, he and the guys on the job were being sent home, and would I like to play? Could he smell my tart? ''I'd love to play, what did you have in mind?" ''Would you like to take in a movie?" Tom asked. ''That would have been nice but I've committed myself to Lynne whose coming over at five to use the computer, so that won't work. Look Tom, you could still come for dinner. Would you...... could you....... do you think......... maybe pick up some sausage from the One More Club? Thanks........ Tom.'' Sausage and macs always seem to find themselves in my kitchen on an off day. Not that this day was that off. After all, it was just raining out , a few guys were sent home from work, and I had decided not to go to the Block. Maybe it would be a good day for my old writing pals to meet tonight. Tom's getting the sausage, Lynne's coming over to use the computer.... why not have the writing workshop too? I was already prepared with the off day menu of sausage and apple tart. If all these functions take place like they're happening in my head, it could well be an off day. At three o'clock, Tom arrived ( good old Tom) with sausage and other goodies: Smart Food Popcorn, Martinelli's Sparkling Cider--and for those who really wanted to space out--a bag of Spearmint Leaves, a main liner for the sugar addict. Tom may have been thinking snow storm, not rain. At five thirty on the dot the two ladies arrived to do battle with the computer. My writing pals did not get back too me so I assumed a no-show there. Still no justification for crisis food but the dinner was placed on the sideboard for those who wished to partake. I'm down to the final process of that apple tart which is placing the apples that had been sauteed in butter and sugar on top of the cooked filling and broiling till carmelized. I feel like Tolstoy must have felt when the last volume of War and Peace was published. Little communities of people set up space for themselves. Tom went to the spare bedroom, Lynne and Cathy had eyes glued to the computer screen, while I answered phone calls that came in. Kim dropped by to pick up dinner for her and Peter. She helped herself to the food on the sideboard, then left with the remains of the apple tart to be sold at a profit at L'Elizabeth's since I'm not sleeping with the head of Yasnaysa Polyana. Tom left, and I slipped into the guest room to watch a little T.V. when on it came, major earthquake in San Francisco. My concerns were with my sister who lives there and my niece that had just gotten an apartment in the Bay area. The computer stopped and the phone started ringing. My niece was able to get a call through to her mother. Although she was shook up and crying as she talked to her mother, she was alright. Her building was damaged with broken windows and plaster everywhere, but she had gotten out of that building to a safer place. My sister had called my mother too. She had just gotten out of work when it struck, but was able to get home where the quake had not hit. She had some personal disasters in her own life that were upstaging this natural catastrophe that had taken place in her town. I feel that when the rubbish of both disasters have been cleared away, she might see them as God's mysterious plan for mankind. The walls come tumbling down, so one might build again. If they were not broken, would we bother? All had settled down here too. All my guests had left. Was it an off day today? Was there a crisis? I looked at the sideboard where empty plates looked back at me.

Copyright; Ruth Mahoney October 17,1989