The Saga of the Soy Sauce

January 23, 2006

Spiritually Speaking

T'was the week after Christmas when I went to play Scrabble
with Denise at Denny's in Oneida. We do that sometimes.
It is rare that we can coordinate our schedules. And we have
don't want to be at the restaurant during peak hours or we
might be asked to leave when we whip out the Scrabble
board, score sheets and timer. Denise has all the tournament
equipment. I appreciate her sharing it with me. We get lots of
comments and stares while playing in public, but we're immune
to distractions. We are seasoned Scrabble-holics. We respond
with a polite smile and just keep right on playing.

I had promised my sister Becky that I would bring supper
that night after our Scrabble marathon. (We play two or
three games. It takes one to two hours.) After we each won
a game, we were ready to quit. I called Becky to see what
I should bring her and Dad and me for supper. She suggested
a Chinese take out place that was in the same plaza as
Denny's. Perfect. I went there. I ordered. I waited and
I took the food home for a cozy supper. I had picked up
some packets of soy sauce and hot mustard which no one
used. I put them in my coat pocket to take home with me
and promptly forgot they were there. Ever done that?

Life continues at it's hecitic unruly pace. There is always too
much to do and too little time and money. Know what I mean?
I needed to do something that would soothe my soul and
relax my mind. I went to church to see the Youth Group off
on their skating outing. I was going to a concert in Cicero.
It was a group called Moscow Nights – a group of mostly
youth from Russia who do a program of Russian folk music
and dancing. It was just what the doctor ordered even if a
doctor didn't actually order it for me.

Those who know me also know that I take a canvas chair
with me wherever I go. I can sit on the average folding chair
or standard pew for about three minutes before my back
rebels and I'm pacing in pain. I prefer not to draw this much
attention to myself in public, hence the chair. I usually sit
in a back corner and mind my own business. But the Cicero
UMC has those nice areas to accommodate wheelchairs –
several of them and near the front too. A kind gentleman
(yes, there are some left in this world) helped me to move
my chair from the back corner up toward the front.

There was an adorable energizer bunny type toddler sitting
in front of me. We made faces and finger wrestled until
he and his mother headed for the back of the sanctuary
and, I suspect the bathroom. The program was lively and
beautiful. I was enjoying the whole experience until I
felt something wet and sticky on my fingertips when they
brushed against the hem of my jacket which was thrown
over the back of my chair. I looked down and there was
a brown gooey puddle on the floor. How embarrassing!
It smelled funny, too.

All I had was used tissues but I had a bunch of them. I sopped
up the puddle and sopped up the rest of the offending liquid
in the bottom of my coat pocket. I truly wished that I was
still in the back corner by now. The girls were singing.
The music was lively and lovely. And I was trying to
clean up my mess without anyone noticing. I think I did.
No one asked me what had happened. I didn't tell anyone
that anything out of the ordinary had happened. My jacket
had a damp spot and I smelled a bit funny but I still managed
to thoroughly enjoy the concert. I did leave directly after
and did not stay for refreshments.

Did you figure out what had happened? A package of soy
sauce had sprung a leak. I threw all the packets away lest
the scene be repeated. And, even though I had cleaned up
the floor, I felt I must tell someone in case the church floor
still had some sticky residue and/or lingering aroma.

I sent an email to the associate pastor and explained what had
happened. I think he had a good laugh at my expense and
passed the information on to those who needed to know –
and probably a few who didn't need to know but just because
it was such an entertaining tale.

The biggest irony here is that I went back to the same church
the next night for a worship service. I'm told that they are
planning on frisking me for soy sauce whenever I attend
anything there from now on. There's no profound lesson to
be learned from all of this. Just a humorous reminder to
slow down and find ways to enjoy life – whether it be at
playing Scrabble, having dinner with people you truly love,
attending a concert or being part of a spiritually nourishing
worship. And maybe a new commandment, which, if
obeyed might save you from what happened to me:
Thou shalt not carry packages of soy sauce in the pockets
of thy winter jacket for more than a few hours. It mayest
add great flavor to take out food from the local Chinese
restaurant but it does NOT add anything but a gooey,
sticky mess to a floor. I recommend that if I am coming to
visit, it might be a good idea to frisk me for condiments.
You may keep anything you find. Deal?