"And the Angel Said Unto Them ...."

Let me warn you now -- this is going to be a long post. I can hear you saying: "Honey, your posts are always long, unless it's 'Wordless Wednesday'!"

But as I embark upon telling this story, it will take some time to do it properly, to set the mood, to provide what I think is some necessary history, and to convey the message that was delivered to me. It's a meandering tale, but an important one ... and one I've been trying to write for 2 months, which finally crystallized in honor of today's 100th post. So let me begin ....

On Friday night, June 25, I was visited by an angel.

As those who've been following along for awhile know, in mid-May my boyfriend Tom had asked me to take "a break" -- whatever that was -- after some significant life situations that required some peace and privacy to sort out and recover from. No visits, no email, no nothin'??? Sure sounds like a break-UP to me. I cried, I mourned ... but that was difficult with no body to confirm the death. I moved on because I had no choice but to do so; and one of the ways in which I did that was by committing fully to this blog.

I signed up for the NaBloPoMo to provide a daily distraction to myself, something to focus upon that was fun and which utilized my talents -- it brought me amusement and a bit of a boost to my shattered self-esteem. So many of you responded to my daily blathering about food and whatnot -- sharing a laugh with me, supporting me, encouraging me, complimenting me, inviting me into your lives while following along with mine .... Truly, with abundant gratitude, I thank each and every one of you for helping to restore me and for becoming my friends.

And then, on June 18 -- and remember, the number 18 has significant import in Judaism as it represents "life" -- I received an email from Tom. He had been sitting at his desk, cleaning up icons and other peripheral nonsense on his computer. He looked down the list of his "favorites" and found Food Floozie. He hadn't checked my blog prior to that, feeling it was an intrusion upon my privacy ... but he clicked on it that day, just because.

Interestingly, given that I usually put my posts up a little bit after midnight, this didn't open up the Friday post "L'Chaim -- To Life!" It opened up "Thursday Thirteen -- 13 First Dates" ... hmmmm. He scrolled down to see what vile retribution I may have spewed about him, only to find that I had been very fair ... and also to see that there had been no resolution between us. Because of very confused circumstances, he'd felt our relationship was over; his memory of events was incomplete, and he hadn't realized that there was so much still to be said.

So he emailed me and asked if we could talk. And we did, the very next day, sitting on the grass on a gorgeous sunny evening

Full disclosure, though it may seem odd to others: we were sitting at the gravesite of my beloved friend Wendy's daughter Julia, whom I consider to be an intercessor and thus whose "home" is a place where I seek comfort. Tom had asked where I'd like to meet, and that was the one place that kept calling to me ... Julia kept calling to me. I believe she was watching over us, guiding us -- our process was remarkably smooth despite delving into extraordinarily painful realms.

After several hours of explanation and illustration and sorrow and comprehension and tears, it was as though the proverbial cloud had lifted. Tom and I started to relax, to joke, to behave with each other more as we had in the past, though there was still some tension and there were still some boundaries. He asked if he could give me a hug before we left, and that solidified our reunion.

Tom and I got together several times that week, after Jeremy and I returned home from Chicago. His daughter had a 2-hour layover in Detroit that Friday night, the 25th, as she was on her way to Seattle; so Tom picked up some sandwiches from Ann Arbor's famous Zingerman's Deli, I finally got to meet Cassidy (she lives in Philly), and we had a lovely picnic at a local park. (FYI: Tom ordered "Mary's Commute" with chicken salad and applewood-smoked bacon, so I reciprocated by ordering "Tom's New Job" with turkey and Swiss and cole slaw ... awwww.) We dropped Cassidy off for her connecting flight and decided to enjoy a gorgeous evening by the waterfront in Detroit ... hoping, perhaps, to find some ice cream along the way. So we drove on down to the big city for an adventure.

A radio station was sponsoring a concert at Campus Martius Park featuring a local band, the sun was shining intensely, the weather was neither hot nor chilly ... it was a fabulous beginning to the weekend.

We happily found a small ice cream shop on a side street, and one which wasn't a chain but rather one which was locally owned. One of the gentlemen behind the counter was wearing dress pants, a button-down shirt and a tie; presumably, he'd come from his day job to work at his own shop in the evening. And the other gentleman, who was more chatty, helped me with my usual brain paralysis to settle upon just one flavor of ice cream when they all sounded luscious. (I later found out that the shop is called Happy Cream Ice Cream and Deli. I was too giddy and infatuated to be in my usual blogger mode and take notes and photographs, so I had to do some hunting.)

Now here's the only food connection other than the sandwiches, so pay attention or it will fly on by! Tom ordered chocolate ice cream while I -- with the aforementioned assistance -- ordered a sublime Banana Pudding ice cream that came complete with vanilla wafer cookies in it ... sigh.

The ice cream was fabulous, the value was tremendous (huge servings for very reasonable prices), Michael Jackson songs were being played all day long in tribute on the anniversary of his death (yahrzeit [YAHRT-site] in Yiddish), and we will definitely go back again.

We walked across the street to sit down -- across the wide avenue from the band so that we could carry on a conversation, but close enough to feel a part of things right outside the Compuware Building. We relished our ice cream, we talked, we kissed, we combined ice creams to create an equivalent to my chocolate banana pudding (a recipe I still need to share with all of you, because it is divine!). Once we had finished, Tom and I took each other's hands, just sitting quietly together and holding on tightly ... very tightly, as our heads bowed towards each other.

And then an older African-American man walked up to us from a few feet away. He was short, dressed in a bright blue t-shirt and dark pants, sporting dreadlocks that came to his jawline. He didn't look scruffy, per se, but he clearly was someone who lives a difficult existence. His manner wasn't aggressive, and he stated without hesitation that he wasn't seeking money from us despite holding the ubiquitous red plastic cup that sadly identifies both beggars and alcoholics. His eyes showed that alcohol might sing a Siren song to him at times, but there was no odor of it on him when he spoke to us. He was polite, deferential and -- as he shook our hands -- profusely apologetic for interrupting.

"I don't know if you two were praying together, but it looks like you were. And you look like you're very much in love." We smiled broadly and nodded, affirming our love for each other. I cannot replicate this man's speech pattern -- Tom has wished we had a transcript of our interaction with him, and it would be really helpful right now. He spoke quickly and in a staccato fashion, and repeated himself frequently ... it was as though he's accustomed to being dismissed by society, accustomed to not being heard or listened to. (And he punctuated many of his statements by offering an Obama-style "fist bump," seeking consensus, too.) But what he was saying was important enough that he needed to keep reiterating it.

He mentioned that "she" -- we presumed his wife, but he told us that he's been trying to get her to marry him and she keeps refusing -- was inside ... the only thing open in the Compuware Building on a Friday night, besides the lobby with the pretty-colored mobiles pictured above, is a bar. He loved her very much, and they'd been through a lot together, but he just didn't feel that they were a team. To hear this man tell his story, he was doing the necessary work in the relationship and the woman he loved was taking it for granted. He didn't feel loved or appreciated in return for who he was, despite any complications in his life.

This man wanted more for us. He could see that we were in love, that we were clinging to each other's hands as though we might lose each other again and couldn't bear that thought. He kept talking to Tom, mostly -- apologizing to me in the process, but explaining that men needed each other and had to do some bonding periodically, sharing on their own spiritual level. He was partly sharing his sorrow at not having the fulfilling relationship he dreamt of and partly bemoaning the complexities of women and partly celebrating the joys of love.

"You've gotta try." Over and over, he reiterated that statement -- "You've gotta try." Life is hard, and there are all sorts of problems from health to money to children to work that can drag a person and a relationship down. This man had recently been released from jail, and he'd spent some time without a home, as well. But you've gotta try -- you have to talk, to share, to trust, to confide, to work at it. The relationship sometimes has to take precedence over the individual. You've gotta try. This man felt as though he was trying very, very hard ... sadly, though, the woman he was trying for didn't seem to be returning his devotion and his efforts.

After a significant amount of time listening intently to this man's story and remarking on his earnestness and sincerity, I asked if I might interrupt for a moment. Politely he nodded and extended an invitation to me.

"This may sound odd, but I believe that God sends angels to deliver messages that we need to hear. You said that you could tell that my boyfriend and I are very much in love, which we are. But we've only just gotten back together after some difficult experiences. We're trying very, very hard to get past the hurt and the pain, trying very hard to make things work this time. And then here you are, coming up to us on a Friday night and reminding us of the very lesson we need to hear, to remember -- that we need to try."

The man smiled broadly and nodded vigorously ... but I'm not sure he realized that I believe HE was an angel -- "our" angel, as Tom and I have taken to calling him. He absolutely agreed with the notion that messengers are sent, but I think it is abundantly clear that he, himself, had been sent to us on that Friday evening. He brought a message of hope, of reassurance, of insistence. Try. As the adage states: "Progress, not perfection." Try. At least make the effort. The person you love is worth trying for.

A few minutes later our angel then walked away, leaving us to contemplate having been visited by someone so unlike us, someone who is accustomed to being at the periphery of society and yet who felt comfortable approaching us when we were so immersed in our togetherness. He came up to us seeking nothing at all, not asking for money or cigarettes or anything else. Instead, he had been sent precisely to give us something -- to deliver a message of significant import to two people who not only needed to hear it but who would listen to it, to him.

Tom felt bad afterwards for not having asked for the man's name, and I agreed that it would be nice to know it; after all, a name provides an identity rather than leaving someone to be relegated to anonymity and not making any impact upon others or upon the universe. But in some ways, a name would have made the interaction more ordinary; being known as "Our Angel" bestows a grandeur beyond the mere human, I think. He's not just "Mike" or "John," but that rarified entity that most people dismiss or ignore -- an angel, sent specifically to us. A gift from God.

And so, in the past 2 months Tom and I have tried despite a flare-up of illness and despite some stressors and despite some issues that still require a bit of processing now and then. We have put "us" above everything. We remind ourselves that "Our Angel" told us we need to try.

I know that this very lengthy saga was only vaguely related to food, despite being the 100th post from someone whose very existence revolves around cooking food, eating food, photographing food, shopping for food, baking food, smelling food, writing about food, reading about food, talking about food, thinking about food, dreaming about food. I did, for the record, mention both sandwiches and ice cream! But this story was too important to leave as a draft, as it has been since June. It was fitting for an important occasion like today.

Try. You've gotta try. An angel was sent to convey this -- an unassuming-looking angel whom most people would either walk past without even noticing or actively try to avoid for fear of being solicited. But he was "Our Angel" -- I believe that with all my heart. He chose us, and we paid attention. And now it is my turn to share his message ....

"Come and Run From the Heat in the Middle of a Sunlit Street"

Jeremy and I spent a fabulous sunny Saturday afternoon this past weekend simply enjoying downtown Ann Arbor, now that the students have moved home and the townies can have the city back again. Yeah, I'm one of those kvetching, crotchety folks who inherently know that the students (and I even used to be one of 'em here) are essential to the identity of this university town, but who rather enjoy having parking spots and sidewalks and restaurant tables available for us, too ... at least during the summer.

The title of this post, for those who don't recognize the line, is from Neon Indian's "Deadbeat Summer." Now, thanks to working and/or going to school each summer from the age of 14, then "real life" as a grown-up and stay-at-home mom before divorce made me a full-time employee in the working world, "deadbeat" is not a term I have the luxury of applying to myself during the summer (or at all). Too many responsibilities and obligations, too little sunshine on my shoulders! But that first line of the song definitely describes our Saturday adventure -- which was a much-needed and wonderful respite -- as does the next one: "I'd rather get something to eat."



And so, eat we did! Indecisive as always, and wanting to post a new restaurant review since I haven't done that for awhile, I tried to determine where to eat since Jeremy had told me it would be my pick. Pizza? Mexican? And then serendipity -- a hot dog vendor at the corner of Liberty and Maynard.

Now remember -- I can't usually eat standard hot dogs, bacon, ham, etc., because the sodium nitrite gives me a crushing headache reminiscent of what it must feel like to have one's head flattened under a cement truck ... or hit by an A-Rod line drive, as Cleveland Indians pitcher David Huff was on Saturday at Yankee Stadium. But my sinuses had been acting up that morning, hinting at a pending infection, so I'd taken the "big gun" meds to ward off the demons. I dared to hope that perhaps I had enough medically-beneficial chemicals floating through my bloodstream to counter the nasty effects of the soon-to-be-introduced-and-usually-toxic one.

And so, Jeremy and I walked on up to Delicious Dogs on the Run and chatted with a charming woman named Autumn who was wearing a Tigers cap and listening to the game ... gotta love a gal who loves baseball!!! (Oh, and how agonizing was Galarraga's almost-perfect game last night, 'til the ump blew the call on what shoulda been the 3rd out in the bottom of the 9th?!?!?) Hot dogs, jumbo hot dogs, kielbasa, turkey dogs, vegetarian creations, combos ... oh, what's a girl like me to do??? Autumn very helpfully recommended her own favorite, the Polish sausage; and so Jeremy and I each ordered Combo #3 with the sausage, a side of chips and a drink for the most reasonable price of $4.50 per person.

I asked if I could take a photo, explaining that I have a food blog and love to promote local businesses; Autumn was happy to oblige, and promised to look up Food Floozie even though I have apparently run out of cards and had nothing to give to her as a memento. (Gotta remedy that little situation ....)

After slathering my hot dog in mustard and digging a Vernor's (a sweet ginger ale made in Detroit that took me years to get used to, which I now love) out of the cooler after Jeremy chose an iced tea, we meandered across the street to sit in the sun and devour a truly fabulous lunch. The Polish sausage had exceptionally good flavor, was very juicy, and the skin had just the right "pop" when bitten into. The soda was not just chilled but downright cold, which was just what was needed on a hot day. Truly, it was perfection ... :)

And then it occurred to me -- with all my schmoozing and picture taking, I had completely forgotten to pay for our meal!!! So I ran back to Autumn's cart with profuse apologies; she, too, had neglected that little detail, so I didn't feel so bad -- it's not like I was intentionally doing a dine-'n'-dash!

I wholeheartedly endorse Autumn and her delicious wares, and I will definitely go back -- no headache for Mary after so many years of having to buy specialty items or feel like an outcast when others could enjoy a quick treat with protein and I was relegated to a bag of chips or a pretzel. Maybe it was Autumn's charm and welcoming smile that beat back the sodium nitrite heebie-jeebies ... I don't know. But until you've been denied something as simple as the pleasure of a hot dog on a summery day, you can't truly appreciate how genuinely I relished every single bite. Sometimes, it's the little things ....

Tomorrow, I will regale you with the tale of Comet Coffee, the most extraordinary coffee experience -- so, so far beyond being merely a coffee "shop." It was our next stop, the place to run from the heat ... but why use up all my stories in one post, when I've gotta write some sorta shpiel each day of this month for the NaBloPoMo???

Blah, Blah, Blah ... NaBloPoMo

Anyone who knows me, or who has read virtually anything I've written (email, blog post, chat, grocery list, "notes to self," whatever), knows that I am ... shall we politely say? ... a tad verbose.

I've been teased about the length of my Facebook comments, which inevitably require people to "Read More." I once lost half -- HALF! -- of a missive when I was still exchanging very long and informative/confessional emails with the most recent ex before we actually met, because it had exceeded the unstated text limit. (And the portion that went through was pretty substantial, too!) And God help me when I resort to Tweeting, since I can't bring myself to type "thx" or "4" or "r" or "u" and pretend that they're real words.

I do words, and I do them well. I'm old enough to have some sense of both my strengths and my weaknesses, and writing does happen to be a strength ... thank goodness, since I have SO MANY weaknesses it needs to compensate for! I delude myself that my sentences are complex, fluid, rhythmic, amusing ... don't all writers/bloggers have a certain amount of conceit in our abilities, or else we wouldn't be spewing forth as we do??? But really, in short (ha!), I'm long-winded.

And so it only makes sense that someone like moi should take on a challenge of not only writing, but writing every day -- if you're going to blather anyway, you might as well make a game of it. And thus, my resolution for June: National Blog Posting Month. 30 posts, one for each day of the month, no leeway for illness or crises or naps -- man, whoever is runnin' this show must be a dominatrix!!!

So, if you haven't gotten tired of me yet perhaps there's still a chance! I make no promises of brevity, but I'll at least do my very best -- cross my heart -- not to bore you this month ....

P.S.: I'm adding this to the Tuesday Tag-Along hosted by Twee Poppets, and also to Follow Me Back Tuesday hosted by a quartet of feisty babes, where I politely introduce myself to other bloggers by dropping in on their sites and then they'll come and visit me, as well (I hope ... ?). If you're gonna spend 30 days typing up fascinating diatribes, after all, it's nice to have an ever-expanding audience of friends and followers to support you ... :)