While My Wife Was in Asia, My Stomach Visited Italy

A lot of people have been worried about me while Sandy has been in the Far East. Most seem to be concerned about my ability to survive on my own. (What has my wife been telling them about me?) Actually, the truth be known, I’ve been so busy this past week that I haven’t had time to be lonely. And I’ve had so many meal offers that I haven’t had time to be hungry. In fact, rather than wasting away in my wife's absence, I probably will have gained several pounds by the time she returns home.

This past Thursday, for example, one of our Sunday School classes thoughtfully invited me out to dinner with them at a local restaurant. I was delighted to join them, but I made the big mistake of going out and eating a large lunch that same day. I went to an Italian place—Corrini’s, which has become one of my favorite restaurants in town—and I ordered the Stromboli—which is delicious but about as large as a catcher’s mitt. I ate the whole thing. (I was really hungry.) But even worse than overdoing it at lunch was my failure to realize in advance that I would be eating Italian cuisine again later that same evening.

At 6:00 PM, when my car pulled into the parking lot of The Flying Tomato—I erroneously referred to it as The Thrown Tomato when talking to the church staff the next day—it only then occurred to me this new restaurant in town was also Italian. Mama Mia! When I sat down with our group to order I decided that, after eating that big catcher’s mitt earlier in the day, I needed something "lighter" that didn’t involve a tomato-based sauce. So, I opted for the Fettuccine Alfredo, a tasty dish that some dieticians and nutritionists lovingly refer to as “heart attack on a plate.” They brought me a huge bowl of it, enough for two people, which I virtually emptied. My taste buds were thrilled, but my arteries were not.

So, as you can see, I’m not starving. By the way, what is it about Danville and Italian food? I mean, is that what attracted Jefferson Davis here when he decided to relocate the Confederate government to Danville back in 1865? And was the infamous wreck of the Old ’97 really caused by the fact that the railroad engineer was in too big a hurry to get to Danville for some baked ziti and calzones? Mmm, I wonder. But for whatever reason, there are Italian restaurants all over town! And they all seem to be doing quite well. (Danville must have been secretly settled by Italian immigrants more than 200 years ago!)

Anyway, the day after my Italian adventure, J. Landrum—whose wife Lydia is also in Southeast Asia— called me up to go out and get some lunch. “Where do you want to eat?,” he asked. “Anywhere but Italian,” I said. I had forgotten that J. hates Italian. It’s probably the only thing in the whole world he doesn’t like. So, Italian food wasn’t even on his personal radar screen. But obviously, my response made him happy. He then took me to a fried chicken eating establishment where the two of us promptly ordered fried fish. Go figure!

Then I went to a big dance recital at the George Washington High School Auditorium that evening. It was the second of 3 successive nights of the same performance. After seeing the huge crowd of reserved seat ticket holders as well as the large number of performers on stage, I decided that dancing is even bigger in Danville than Italian food! Several very talented young ladies in our church are involved in dance. It’s a wonderful talent that many of them use to honor the Lord through our excellent Creative Arts Team ministry. The recital was a great event. But, admittedly, I couldn’t survive the whole 3 ½ hours. Thankfully, however, no food was served at that event!

The next morning, which was Saturday, I drove up to Chatham to see church member Suzanne Stowe honored as Mother of the Year in a special ceremony on Main Street. Her daughter Marlena—one of the young widow’s six children—wrote a beautiful letter to the Chatham Star-Tribune in tribute to her mother. That letter proved to be the winning entry in a countywide competition. That afternoon, I worked a few hours with our youth in their Mission Danville Project, before heading out to a Honduras mission team reunion dinner. (More food!) I hurriedly stopped by my good friend Mary’s on the way (as in Diner) and picked up some mashed potatoes and gravy (more low-cal health food) as my contribution to the potluck meal.

Then, on Mothers Day, I was invited to eat with one family for lunch and another family for dinner. Wow. Never in my life had I been so honored on Mothers Day! It’s rather ironic, actually. Here I am, being feted like royalty while my wife—who is the one who actually gave birth to our son—is halfway around the world eating rice, bamboo shoots and bean sprouts.

In the midst of all this flurry of activity, I also found time on Friday to go down to the Circuit Court Clerk’s Office in Danville to make sure that I was properly bonded to do weddings in the Commonweath of Virginia. (I have some weddings coming up soon and I didn’t want them to slip up on me.) In some states where I’ve lived—Florida and North Carolina, for example—you didn’t have to register with any government entity in order to do weddings in the state. Some years ago in Kentucky, however, you actually had to go before the county's highest elected offical in order to receive authorization to do weddings. As part of that process, I had to swear an oath that was administered to me by the county judge/ executive. Part of that oath—similar to the archaic Kentucky governor’s oath that is still part of the outdated state constitution—required me to solemnly swear that I “have not fought a duel with deadly weapons within this state, nor out of it, nor have I sent or accepted a challenge to fight a duel with deadly weapons, nor have I acted as second in carrying a challenge, nor aided or assisted any person thus offending, so help me God.” Hmm. What do these people think we pastors do with our spare time?

Anyway, here in Virginia, I was happy to learn that I didn’t have to worry about the matter of dueling. And, fortunately, a nice lady at the Clerk’s Office was able to research my information and see that I was still on the books from where I had originally registered back in 1985. Thus, rather than having to pay the normal $10 fee, I only had to pay 50 cents for a photocopy of my original information. Wow, just think, I saved $9.50! That’s enough for me to go out and get a tasty Italian meal somewhere. Or, at the very least—and perhaps more appropriately—some Italian wedding cookies. But I think I’d better do that before Sandy gets back in the States. By the way—guess what—I’m scheduled to be a dinner guest at someone else’s home this Tuesday night. I'm not sure, but I think we’re having lasagna.

Pastor Danny