I had a fight with my motorcycle whose name is Moishe (Moses the Liberator). We had a difference of opinions: Moishe was intent on going forward, while I was determined to back him up into his proper parking spot. For those of you, Beautiful People, who don’t know, motorcycles do not have a reverse gear; you back them up manually. Against all rules and years of experience, I attempted to do it with the engine on, in the process accidentally turning the throttle up. Moishe lunged forward, dragging me with him, but I managed to reach the break and stop him. He retaliated by running his back tire over my ancle, resulting in a triple fracture. As I lay on the ground, a cluster of onlookers started gathering around the small pool of blood forming under my scratched toes, which was quite a shocking site for South Beach: we can’t always distinguish between the sounds of gunshots and fireworks heard here fairly often, but here they saw blood with no shots. BLOOD… blood… blood… susurrated the South Beach vampires, and nobody noticed that my foot was turned at a right angle to my leg – sideways. In truth, there wasn’t enough blood to interest Lestat and his friends, but midday entertainment is also a rare occurrence in our party land, where life starts after 11 PM.
If you have never met Anne Rice’s famous Vampire Lestat, here is your chance:
Asked by a policeman, who materialized at the scene, whether he should call an ambulance, I declined. By that time, my husband heard the commotion and ran out of the house. “I am going home,” -I declared – “I’ll put ice on it, and it’ll be fine.” As the cop opened his mouth, my husband whispered, “Don’t even try to argue with her; it’s useless.” Holding on to The Boss, I proceeded to hop through the gate and to the porch, where I finally collapsed on the steps. Ambulance was duly called, and I was delivered to Mount Sinai Hospital ER.
The first doctor who attended to me tried to read me the riot act, “What would a fifty-year old lady want with a motorcycle!” He stopped when he noticed my husband smirking. I was laughing through pain, “I am always eighteen, Doctor, but my son is fifty-one, so perhaps you want to look at my chart.” His jaw dropped, but to his credit, he recovered quickly, and showered me with compliments, which I, following Ms Manners’ guidance, accepted gracefully. “We’ll fix you temporarily,” – he said, “but you’ll have to have surgery. Meanwhile, I will take you on a fabulous trip. What’s your most favorite place in the world?” If he is a joker, I’ll play along: “Florence, Italy.” “Have a nice trip,” he said, and the nurse plunged something into the IV port. The trip was spectacular! I did not see the actual Florence, but the fluidly morphing shapes and colors felt like spirit and essence of this most beautiful city in the world. I did not want to come back from this little psychedelic vacation. But they supplied me with Percocet and sent me home.
It took a full month for the swelling to subside sufficiently to schedule surgery, which I finally had three days ago, acquiring two titanium screws and a plate. During this month I refused to take Percocet and feel sleepy because I had to finish the semester. Since I teach online, my students didn’t know and still don’t. My poor husband had to assume triple responsibilities: in addition to running his business, he had to take on all the household duties, including cooking (under my supervision), and take care of me. Being confined to bed or, alternatively, the couch, prevented me from cooking and thus from creating new posts.
However, food for Shabbos must be made, and prepared foods, available in Kosher stores, are not exactly compliant with The Boss’ diet. He bravely stepped up to the plate, or, rather, the grill, placed cut Mahi Mahi on it, splashed balsamic vinegar and sprinkled Mrs Dash on top, and set the timer on 5 minutes. I did taste the final product, and it is yummy!
Of course, tonight it will be properly plated (by me, sitting on the couch). Visualize a delicate oval Royal Bohemian platter, fish pieces attractively arranged on bed of baby greens, with feathery dill sprigs and capers scattered over them, and a fresh lemon rose in the center. Sorry, Beautiful People, we cannot take photos on Shabbos, but we have enjoyed every Shabbos of my forced immobility, and we intend to fully enjoy the Boss’ culinary creation!