My neighbor is approximately 78 years old, and just a very kind, little old lady. She's very active, so we don't get to see much of her, but we do share a sidewalk, and steps leading up to the garage.
Our neighborhood "does" the snow removal for us, which leads to about three inches of packed snow on the sidewalk, and very very icy steps and pathways. I always end up worrying a little bit about our little old neighbor, so a few times I've gone out and done what I could with a plastic shovel (metal blade, of course) to clear things off.
One day, she caught me doing it, and I told her I really should try to find one of those ice chippers. Well she said she had one, and gave me the code to her garage. I never found it, but found a metal shovel, and figured that's what she thought I meant.
Fast forward to early this week. With the melting and the freezing, our entire walkway is a sheet of ice, getting as thick as about an inch and a half in one spot near the drain. I happen to meet our little old lady on my way to make lunch before work, and I tell her, I never found that ice chipper in her garage... but we sure could use one. Well she goes straight to the garage, digs around, and pulls out this ice chipper from a pile of things her poor kids are going to have to sift through and throw away 15 years from now.
I was hungry. But since she had produced this chipper, I almost felt required to get at least some of the ice taken care of. She went into her house, and I got to work. It wasn't an easy task, and soon enough, my muscles were feeling quite sore. I was down to a t-shirt and still chipping away when she popped her head out with two huge egg salad sandwiches. "Come and eat!" she said.
Grateful, but a little worried that I would have to choke down some sort of recipe I wouldn't like (remember, I am a very picky eater), I sat down in her kitchen and cautiously took a bite of the sandwich while she told me and showed me all the things she'd been sewing for her grand kids. The egg salad was very plain. No celery, no crunches really, at all. It was some sort of miracle. "I wasn't sure exactly what you liked, so I didn't really put too much in it," she offered, as if she could read my mind. I smiled, and hungrily devoured the two sandwiches, all the while eying the large pile of reddish mystery chips that remained on my plate.
Then, as I finished my last sandwich, there was nothing left to do but go for the chips. Usually, I'd smell something like that before deciding whether I should put it in my mouth, but I didn't want to be rude. In went the chip.
I like to think I hid my reaction well, but as I gulped down the rest of my pop to knock out the taste, the only thing going through my mind was, "how am I going to get through the rest of these with no beverage to chase it with?"
Once again, the all-knowing neighbor read my mind. "You don't have to eat the chips."
I gave her a grateful smile, listened to the rest of her story. Since I had work at four, I checked the time. 3:30. I had been out chipping for at least an hour, and had no clue.
But I couldn't really just go straight to work after eating the meal... The meal, in my mind, was an implied payment for chipping. I didn't feel right taking the payment and not finishing at least one more area. So out I rushed, knocking off one last area in record time, and driving, sweaty and in a rush to work, just in time.
I guess this story has three lessons at the end of it.
1. Old people can read minds.
2. There's no such thing as a free lunch.
3. This randomness should prove you never know what I'm going to write about on here.
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