Skip to main content

Water Shoes

We took our first road-trip since the beginning of the pandemic and met the families of three friends in all many different states along the way. Meeting people in a setting as normal as it could be under the circumstances was as bewildering as it was refreshing. Every time, I reminded myself this is how the world used to be once. One of our friends said people will refer to this period we are experiencing as Pre-C and Post-C and she is probably right. At every service area, we found most restaurants closed for business and the few that were opened, running short staffed and without their full menu. People are not sure what they are meant to do about masks - keep them on as if they were not fully vaccinated, keep them somewhat on so as to make others comfortable in their presence or not bother at all. 

The population seems to be a mix of the three making for a complicated situation. One of the small towns we stopped for gas had very limited offerings at the only fast food establishment that was operational in the vicinity of the gas station. We needed some dinner and drove around until we found an open sea-food establishment. We were told to order in ten minutes as they were closing early. There were two or three other patrons in the establishment and the two owners were hovering over the full set of customers. I did not notice any waitstaff.

The food was unremarkable and expensive. The duo offered many apologies and asked if they could remake our order. We did not have the heart to bother them - maybe they did not have enough staff in the kitchen either. If may be the lack of practice but the quality of the cooking was far from professional and this place had terrific ratings on Yelp - maybe they were great Pre-C. They had managed to keep lights on but it was not all there.

The world felt fractured, broken and trying to heal with people milling around confused about what to do with their new found freedom. We are all going through the motions of normalcy trying to behave as we remember ourselves from Pre-C times. But it does not fit or make sense for what the world has turned into. There may not be a path to return to the way things used to be but we are yet to accept that reality or shape our lives accordingly. 

Reading the history of the seafood establishment we had visited made me sad: 

In May 2001, Tim decided to leave the corporate world and pursue his passion as a waterman. For 10 years, he caught crabs and delivered them to local crab businesses. During this time, he and his wife, Ava, always had the idea and vision to open their own place so they could offer the freshest crabs at the best prices. In 2011 Tim and Ava opened this restaurant.

This was clearly a labor of love, something that had taken risk-taking and giving up the stable, tried and true. Now after twenty years, they might be forced to close shop and hang up their water shoes. 

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Cheese Making

I never fail to remind J that there is a time and place for everything. It is possibly the line she will remember me by when I am dead and gone given how frequently she hears it. Instead of having her breakfast she will break into a song and dance number from High School Musical well past eight on Monday morning. She will insist that I watch and applaud the performance instead of screaming at her to finish her milk and cereal. Her sense of occasion is seriously lacking but then so is mine. Consider for example, a person walks into the grocery store with the express purpose of buying detergent because they are fresh out of it and laundry is only half way done. However instead of heading straight for detergent, they wander over to the natural foods aisle and go berserk upon finding goat milk on sale for a dollar a gallon. They at once proceed to stock pile so they can turn it to huge quantities home-made feta cheese. That person would be me. It would not concern me in the least that I ha...

Part Liberated Woman

An expat desi friend and I were discussing what it means to return to India when you have cobbled together a life in a foreign country no matter how flawed and imperfect. We have both spent over a decade outside India and have kids who were born abroad and have spent very little time back home. Returning "home" is something a lot of new immigrants like L and myself think about. We want very much for that to be an option because a full assimilation into our country of domicile is likely never going to happen. L has visited India more often than I have and has a much better pulse on what's going on there. For me the strongest drag force working against my desire to return home is my experience of life as a woman in India. I neither want to live that suffocatingly sheltered existence myself nor subject J to it. The freedom, independence and safety I have had in here in suburban America was not even something I knew I could expect to have in India. I never knew what it felt t...

Under Advisement

Recently a desi dude who is more acquaintance less friend called to check in on me. Those who have read this blog before might know that such calls tend to make me anxious. Depending on how far back we go, there are sets of FAQs that I brace myself to answer. The trick is to be sufficiently evasive without being downright offensive - a fine balancing act given the provocative nature of questions involved. I look at these calls as opportunities for building patience and tolerance both of which I seriously lack. Basically, they are very desirous of finding out how I am doing in my personal and professional life to be sure that they have me correctly categorized and filed for future reference. The major buckets appear to be loser, struggling, average, arrived, superstar and uncategorizable. My goal needless to say, is to be in the last bucket - the unknown, unquantifiable and therefore uninteresting entity. Their aim is to pull me into something more tangible. So anyways, the dude in ques...