The money fast has caused me to focus on the money aspect of a perpetual New Year’s resolution: to waste less food. For the money fast, I have committed to packing my lunch for work instead of eating out; eating takeout or in restaurants also puts a lot of food to waste because my portion size is so much smaller than the norm, and I’m not very systematic about the leftovers.
By “packing” my lunch, like most any other verb of physical activity, I mean using my outsourced production capabilities. I order to contract for the limited physical assistance I need to be disassembled and transferred to bed at night, I have had to commit to an aide’s three-hour shift every evening from 8-11. What this means in practical terms is that three hours out of every twenty-four, I have hands [my grown kids are fond of claiming to be ahead of me evolutionarily because they have opposable thumbs but I do not] and reaching arms for housekeeping, laundry, cooking by loading a crock pot for the next day’s cooking, or now packing a week’s worth of lunches. So the challenge of “packing” my lunches is not a physical task for me, but a matter of ingenuity and organization and planning, areas where I excel. I can do this.
I decided to make a batch of sesame noodles, which with some fruit and my newest favorite food, Greek yogurt, would make packable lunches. I already had sesame oil, whole-wheat linguini, soy sauce and peanut butter in the cupboard, so I went to Whole Foods to get a small piece of ginger and a modest assortment of shredded veggies from the salad bar, cheaper than buying a whole one of each of the veggies for one person’s batch of noodles. While there I also bought an $8 can of tahini, which I decided was a “staple” even though I only needed a couple tablespoons for the sesame noodles; my college-age kid will be home for the summer and loves tahini, so surely it will get eaten. So far, so good.
That evening the weekend aide boiled some linguini and mixed stuff under my direction. Trying to open the can of tahini, her efforts with the electric can opener produced an awful grinding noise. I realized that the last attempt at using the electric can opener was by the weeknight aide, a lovely man from Nigeria who apparently has never cooked anything before working with me, and is unfamiliar with American appliances, even implements I thought were pretty universal and low-tech, like the vegetable peeler. I can’t tell if the electric can opener is broken from the previous attempt, or if the weekend aide, who is from Cameroon but is also a mother who cooks, has it lined up with the can top or not. I can’t tell because it is her hands and eyes on the electric can opener, not mine. Note to self: go to Bed, Bath & Beyond, and get an OXO hand-crank can opener that will be aide-proof.
In the few seconds it takes me to ponder this, the aide opens the silverware drawer, grabs a kitchen knife, and happily and efficiently stabs the top of the steel can of tahini, proceeding to saw all the way around the top with the kitchen knife. Yikes! I only have mediocre kitchen knives which are difficult to sharpen and don’t hold an edge worth anything, and I’m pretty sure that sawing through the top of a steel can has hastened or precipitated this knife’s demise.
Tally so far for one batch of sesame noodles: an $8 can of tahini, one electric can opener, one hand-crank can opener, and one kitchen knife.
What I notice in all this, for the zillionth time, is how little control I have over producing my intentions, and how quickly I jump to technology, i.e.money, to troubleshoot, like the hand-crank can opener. The overwhelming majority of people with disabilities do not have dedicated aides or my resources to troubleshoot with.
OK, so actually the can openers and knife were casualties of my cost of doing business, not the sesame noodles. This week’s lunch menu: sandwiches, alternate days of roast-beef-with-provolone and peanut-butter-with-nutella. And fruit and Greek yogurt.
(Nancy is a wheelchair user. Thanks to her for her delightful and thoughtful sharing!)
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