The Mail: Carmen

This continues a series on the real mail I've recently received and the person behind the parcel.

A new way to keep a life list.

I was a little surprised to receive a box from the Puzzle Warehouse last week. Intrigued, I opened the box and found a 1000-piece puzzle, "Butterflies of North America," and a lovely gift note:

I know I have it comparatively easier living in community. I also have a host of hobbies (or at least instruments) that keep me busy when I am not preparing meals. I have been working puzzles, and they seem to keep me calm. Maybe [it] won't work for you, but at least it's butterflies! xo, Laverne

If Carmen is Laverne, then that must mean I'm Shirley. I could write a book about all of the experiences I have shared with Carmen since I first met her in March 2010, at the job interview that would bring me to the small city I still call home. We worked together for seven years in a parish-based campus ministry until my departure in May 2017. Andy Bernard in The Office once mused, "I wish there was a way to know you're in the good old days before you've actually left them." Sometimes, you get the rare privilege to know you are living in the good old days at the moment.

Easter card from Carmen, hand-delivered
earlier in the week with a homemade mask.

Our boss dubbed us Laverne and Shirley, and although I disagreed with him on many things, I thought his characterization fit us perfectly. We shared lots of laughter in the midst of absurd situations, many of them in the kitchen related to some fundraising dinner. Carmen has the gift of being able to cook a gourmet meal for four people, forty people, or a hundred people. When I met her, I could barely cook for myself, and now I found myself thrust into the role of sous chef, chopping vegetables for roasting, helping to make a six-foot-long Yule log we named Yolanda, hauling 35 pounds of butternut squash out of the West Side Market, and admiring the tenacity of the student volunteer we convinced to chop five pounds of shallots. Who cried more—the student or us from laughing at his tears (all in good fun, really)? I'm grateful for those times in the kitchen, where we built community and I learned how to cook. I can't even imagine living through this pandemic eating take out every single night. 

Carmen did not go to culinary school but music school, and that is one of the great talents that she shares. If we were on retreat or taking a trip for fun, I could always count on Carmen to bring her harp—or one of her many. At times, Carmen's harp playing boosted our prayer and at other times, the melodies she played lulled me to sleep. In an earlier blog, I had talked about my friend Cheryl who passed away. Twice during Cheryl's final month on earth, Carmen came with me and played her harp for my dying friend. What a beautiful gift!

One gift Carmen admits she does not have is that of the gift of nursing. Seven years ago this May, I had a bad cycling accident. Carmen drove six miles, scooped up my bike and me, and took me to the emergency room, even though I insisted I just needed to go to urgent care. However, my elbow was not where it was supposed to be, so she made the right call in taking me to the hospital. While we were waiting for the doctor to come in, she used an alcohol swab to clean up my road rash on my arm. I howled! The pain was about to get a lot worse, though, when I saw the x-rays which revealed a fractured olecranon requiring surgical repair complete with plates and screws. The whole experience brought us closer together as Carmen served as my caregiver for many weeks, taking me to surgery (twice), helping me to shower, and lining up others to help me since I could not drive. She's a better nurse than she gives herself credit for.

A spring ride with coordinating outfits to match the
spring blossoms.

A couple years later, Carmen bought her own bike and joined me on the trails. She is ambitious and she set a goal of riding a half-century, or 50 miles. Both of us trained the whole summer to gear up for this ride on the relatively flat towpath. At mile 52, I realized we still had not made it back to the parking lot. So, we were slightly off on our calculations, but we did it our way, yes, our way, making all our dreams come true.


That's how Laverne and Shirley roll.