Dish

Last week I visited Washington, DC. I lived there when I had my stroke. For this visit, I said hello to my friend Aarti, who is still there. Aarti asked me if I wanted to pick up my boxes from her place. I had completely forgotten my boxes. She had taken my dishes right after my stroke, when I moved away.

So this past weekend, I went over to Aarti’s place. Blast from the past. There were four boxes that she had stored all this time. There was fragile kitchenware carefully wrapped in yellowed newspaper with old stories from the Washington Post. There was some handmade pottery. There was a lot of cheap glasses too, plus random mugs, bowls and plates. I guess I thought my stroke recovery would be over in the blink of an eye, and I would return to my old life, in need of dishware. Silly me.

I took the handmade stuff on the plane home. For everything else it was time to go. Aarti said she would give away the rest. Or maybe she would use it for a party and then give it away.

Thank you Aarti. I have great friends.

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