It’s rather pathetic, really.
Here I sit at home wondering what I’m going to eat for dinner.
It’s not like I couldn’t drive to a local restaurant, or swing through a fast food joint. I’m even a fair cook, but I’m not sure I want to expend the time and energy necessary to put a meal together. You see, my wife, Isaura, is on a trip to Israel.
A couple of months ago, her brother Tony called and invited her to go on this trip with him. He’s a dairyman in Utah. The dairymen association he belongs to takes their members to Israel occasionally to attend workshops to learn the methods developed by Israeli dairymen. Apparently, Israel produces more milk from their cows than anywhere else in the world.
So Isaura asked me what I thought. Should she go? My answer was simple. Of course! It’s not every day you have such an opportunity, especially when you can go with your brother. She left for Utah November 16, and returns to Sacramento International Airport November 28. This is why I’m bachen’ it.
It’s not like I’m alone. My ninety-year-old mother lives with us and is a wonderful cook. However, she had knee replacement surgery in October. There’s been a physical therapist coming to the house to work with her for the past several weeks. She’s doing great, but her knee is still causing some pain as she adjusts, and she tires quickly, especially after her therapy sessions. So she’s in no frame of mind to throw some hash together either.
Our daughters, Laura and Jenny, live in Turlock. When they come home it’s usually on Saturday morning for one of my big waffle breakfasts. So, no help from that quarter. In fact, they’re coming over for Thanksgiving breakfast, prepared by yours truly. My sister, Joy, lives in Clovis, so she’s no help.
I was a bachelor for a number of years. Good thing, too. I was hardly the “marrying kind,” until after I had accepted Christ as my Savior at age twenty-four. Isaura and I met at San Jose State University in 1975. We were married the following June after I had graduated. My typical diet in those bachelor days was to consume a can of soup, and a sandwich, my favorite was and still is peanut butter and jelly. I’d make BLTs, and tuna, but usually I indulged in whatever was easiest at the moment. I was always coming and going, rarely spending time in my apartment except to study and sleep.
As I write this article, Isaura is about half-way through her trip. My mother and I look at each other with the unspoken question: What shall we eat tonight? We’ve nearly wiped out the canned soup stash. I bought more bread for sandwiches last night, and another box of cold cereal, along with replenishing our milk supply.
But there’s good news! My secretary, Gayle, has invited my mother and me over for Thanksgiving dinner. She told my mom that she’d be sure to send us home with plenty of left-over turkey and stuffing. Phew! At least this won’t be my last column for the Ripon Record!
On the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus said, “Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink; or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more important than food, and the body more important than clothes? Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they? Who of you by worrying can add a single hour to his life?”
This is ironic, because I’m always the one taking off for parts unknown. On such junkets I eat out in restaurants, and I sleep in hotel beds. Now the shoe’s on the other foot, and I’m having to think about what I’m going to eat. Not to mention - my bed is awfully big!
Even in my temporary bachelor status, God cares about me, and provides. So, mom and I will survive while my wife is on the other side of the world. But, she can’t get home soon enough.
Bachen’ it is for the birds!