A German Shepherd and a 1963 Volkswagen Bus Taught Me All I Need to Know About This Moment in Time.
(not the exact bus in question, but pretty darned close.)
It was April 1st, 1974. I was brand new to the earth, just 2 months old.
My mother, 21 years old at the time, was eager to introduce me to her best friend, Dora Henderson. Dora still lived with her parents. Her father was a dentist in town, and they had a big, new house up on a small hill that elevated them above the non-dentists in town.
My father had just been picked up by Uncle Michael, who isn’t actually my uncle, but my dad’s best friend. They were on their way to play golf at the cheapest course in town.
My mom put me in my rudimentary 1970’s front-facing bucket-style car seat, and buckled me into the front seat of their olive green and putty colored 1963 Volkswagen bus. In the back of the bus were all the amps, instruments and their appropriate cases for the band that my dad played in. Poco, our white German Shepherd, jumped in for the ride, sat shotgun on the floor between me and my mom, and off we went.
The bus had a tendency to pop out of gear sometimes, if you hit a bump or nudge it just right, as long-sticked gear shifts can do. This bus was particularly finicky. As long as you maneuvered the clutch just right and kept your foot on the gas, it seemed to do just fine. Both my parents had become experts at keeping it in gear without any issues.
My mom pulled into the long, uphill driveway at the Henderson’s house, and parked just in front of their garage, shifting into first gear before she shut off the engine. The driveway was flat enough, and having lots of experience driving the streets of San Francisco, she felt confident this slope wasn’t enough to require the emergency break to be engaged. She hopped out and headed to the door, leaving me, an amp, several guitars, and Poco in the car to wait.
About 10 steps later, she turned around to get me from the car, so that when the Henderson’s opened the door, they’d get to see me straight away. She tucked me close to her chest and headed back toward the house. The Hendersons welcomed us both in and began the normal ogling and cooing over my new existence on the earth.
Some time went by, and Dora’s younger brother - who had been playing with a friend nearby - walked in the house and said “Leslie, why is your bus upside down in the driveway?”
Everyone went running outside to find that sure enough, the bus was upside down, halfway down and perpendicular to the driveway. No one knows if the car popped out of gear on its own, or if Poco the hefty German Shepherd went wandering and whacked the stick shift with his weighty tail. In the end, Poco was fine, some of the equipment was not, and the roof of the Volkswagen required a lot of un-crinkling.
There’s no telling whether or not I would have survived that accident. At only two months old, and in basically a beta tested car seat secured only by a lap belt, it seems unlikely. What I do know is my mother’s decision to go back and get me was something she felt grateful for her entire life. Meanwhile, I didn’t know how narrowly I escaped death until yesterday, when my dad told me the whole story.
I’ve been sitting with this story, and wondered where the learning is. Is there a “trust your gut” lesson in here? Possible, but highly unlikely. My mom didn’t go back because of a ‘gut instinct,’ she went back because she wanted a brand new baby girl, wrapped in a pink crochet sweater and bonnet knit by my great-grandmother to be the first thing her best friend saw when she opened the door. It had nothing to do with instinct or gut feelings.
The thing I keep coming back to is this: there was no possible way to know the bus would roll backward down the driveway, catch the edge and tumble over itself a few times. It was, essentially, happenstance.
It can be tough to look back and think of all the times in your life this kind of lesson has proven true after the fact, but in a time like now, isn’t it painfully obvious? There’s really no possible way to know what will happen next.
My favorite part of this story (and probably the lesson here) is the date: April 1st. It was April Fool’s Day.
When Dora’s brother came in the house to announce the tumbled bus, no one believed him. They laughed and said “Oh, April Fools!” Until they looked out the window and saw it for themselves, it was an unbelievable tale.
My mother called the golf course to see if they could relay a message to my dad. When my dad and Uncle Michael arrived in the Pro Shop, the clerk said “Mr. Meline, your wife called. She says the bus is upside down and she needs your help.” Naturally, my dad and Uncle Michael laughed as well, thinking it was quite a creative April Fool’s joke my mother had played on them. Even as they drove up the hill to the Henderson’s, just before they saw the bus ass-over-teakettle in the driveway, my dad was certain that my mom was pulling his leg.
If there’s a lesson to be learned here, now, in this unbelievable current moment, it’s these two things:
You never really know what’s going to happen next, and sometimes you have to see it to believe it.
Grown Up Mac & Cheese
I can’t tell you how many times I’ve made this dish since learning about it. It’s one of those easy ones that you can make without a recipe once you’ve done it twice.
Now, I won’t lie, there’s nothing healthy here. Well, maybe the cauliflower… until you drown it in bucketloads of heavy cream (actual measurement) and Pecorino Romano. Thanks to Alison Roman, author of Nothing Fancy and Dining In for making sure that I successfully gain the COVID 15.
INGREDIENTS
Kosher salt and black pepper
8 ounces rigatoni, ziti or campanelle
Extra Virgin Olive Oil
¾ cup fresh coarse or panko bread crumbs
¾ cup finely grated pecorino cheese, plus more for serving
1 large shallot, finely chopped
1 medium head cauliflower (about 2 pounds), outer leaves and stem removed, broken into pieces about 1-inch in diameter
1 cup heavy cream
1 tablespoon finely grated lemon zest, plus more for serving
½ cup finely chopped chives
Red-pepper flakes (optional)
PREPARATION
Bring a large pasta pot filled with salted water to a boil. Cook the pasta until al dente; drain and reserve about 1 cup of the cooking water.
Meanwhile, heat 3 tablespoons olive oil in a large skillet over medium heat. Add bread crumbs and season with salt and pepper. Cook, stirring occasionally, until they’re evenly toasted and golden brown, 4 to 6 minutes. Add 1/4 cup pecorino and toss to coat, letting the cheese melt and clump among the bread crumbs (think granola-like clusters). Remove from heat and transfer to a small bowl or plate; set aside.
Wipe out the skillet and heat remaining 3 tablespoons oil over medium heat. Add shallot and cauliflower and season with salt and plenty of black pepper. Cook, tossing occasionally, until the cauliflower has completely softened and both the cauliflower and shallots are beginning to caramelize and brown, 12 to 15 minutes.
Add heavy cream and 1 tablespoon lemon zest and bring to a simmer, then let the cream reduce and thicken, 2 to 4 minutes. Season with salt and plenty of pepper; if pasta is still cooking, remove from heat and set aside until pasta is ready.
Return the skillet to medium heat and add the pasta to the cauliflower, along with the remaining 1/2 cup pecorino. Add 1/4 cup pasta water. Cook, tossing to coat the pasta. Simmer the sauce until it’s thick and glossy, and almost resembles macaroni and cheese, adding more pasta water by the tablespoon as needed, 4 to 6 minutes.
Remove from heat. Divide pasta among bowls and top with pecorino bread crumbs, chives, more lemon zest, red-pepper flakes (if using) and more cheese if you like.