We all woke up to what had been forecast by Environment Canada--a blizzard sure enough. I had peered out into the dark the night before at bedtime but squinting against the window could not see any sign of the prophesied snow storm. Paul had booked into a Toronto hotel in order to get to an important morning meeting. I had brought home my laptop and work in preparation for a snow day.
But as we all slept the snow came, although not quite in the quantities foretold. In the early morning I looked down from our bedroom window to see my car buried deep in a snow drift and knew that it would not have made it out of the driveway. Brenda had wisely parked at the end of the driveway so that nothing would keep her from work. She is driven, like her father.
After breakfast I changed the message on my work phone, and left one inviting people to call me at home, then set up my laptop and folders on the kitchen table.
Downstairs the girls slumbered on in quietness and made up for it in much bouncing around and giggling once awake.
What is it about a snow day? It feels like being temporarily marooned on a desert island, removed just enough from reality that it feels like a special kind of holiday--even if you are working.
I had not been working long when the phone rang.
"Hello," said a familiar bright and cheery voice. It was Frances. I stopped the timer with which I keep track of when I am actually working and turned my attention to my friend.
"So how come you didn't say anything to me about the apple pies," she demanded to know. Frances is the one friend who is a steadfast Luddite . She not only isn't on Facebook, but she doesn't "do" email; and, in her words, she "binges and purges" on this blog. My goodness, to communicate with Frances, you have to actually talk!
She was only about 3 days behind the rest of the world but felt quite out of the loop, which called for a good chat and a lot of catching up, finally arriving at the end of the story of the pies; having explored all of the twists and turns that got us here, to both of our complete satisfaction.
She wanted to join in, to be a support, but explained that financially, right now, that would be difficult and she lamented her inability to give as she wished she could.
"But people are helping in all sorts of ways," I said. Some are buying pies, some are giving apples and some are coming to peel and chop."
That was when Frances's voice registered excitement.
"Do you need apples?" she asked, "And how many?" Brian, her husband, works at the Ontario food terminal as a buyer.
"I would love some more apples," I said, "I will use whatever comes."
Once she knew what kind, she hung up to call him.
A few minutes later Frances called back. She had begun to pitch the story of the $20 pies to Brian, telling him why we were raising the money, just giving him the background so he'd understand, when he interrupted her.
"No Fran," he said firmly, "Not in this economic climate. Not when people are losing their jobs."
"And apples are going to change that?" asked Frances confused.
"Apples? You just want apples?" he said, "How many?"
And that's how I've landed under an avalanche of the best and freshest apples money can buy from a man who couldn't ask people to buy pies but sure can get apples.
The beautiful quote I shared on Monday's post bears repeating here:
From each according to his ability
To each according to his need.