This story, which took place when my son was around ten years old, lacks any substantial value. However, when the weather gets cold, I fondly recall an icy trip across Austin with two young boys on a swim team.
“Oh my goodness! I’m so stressed,” I told my husband after bringing our son and a teammate home from swimming practice. Traffic had been horrendous. Slick roads threatened safety and sleet and darkness impaired visibility. I felt particularly anxious knowing that the team member/young friend had been blind from birth.
Although I usually didn’t consume liquor, my husband demonstrated sympathy by fixing me a strong drink. “You need this,” he comforted. The first sip was disgusting. Amazingly, subsequent sips improved, and by the time I finished the first glass, I wanted a second.
Feeling much more relaxed and pleasant, I started dinner. I explored the kitchen cabinets and refrigerator looking for possibilities. It seemed strange that everything I chose turned out to be the color red. “Red sauce helps almost every dish,” I reasoned. “Catsup improves the worst concoctions.” Leaning over the bar, I slung each dish Frisbee style onto our white table. Red spills began creeping across the table.
Happily, I called the family to dinner. I still see their amazed faces staring at the red splashes of food. Everything tasted delicious so it surprised me that the family ate very little and left me contentedly devouring every dish by myself.