Precious Moment

I have a precious moment with Bruno's computer, which has all its keys in working order, so I need to spit out a post that has been rattling around in my head for days, but which I just didn't have the will to copy/paste all the n, b, spaces and question marks into:

Teamwork

Yesterday, mid-morning, as I'm lying on my left side and talking on the phone and Mama Ratka is in the kitchen, working on lunch, dinner, or tomorrow morning's breakfast, the doorbell rings. I hear her open the door, and then hear her walking down the hall toward me.

She arrives at the bedroom and tells me in Croatian that there is a man at the door. We continue in Croatian, and I ask who he is and what he wants, and she tells me he is the guy working on the side of our house (there is a guy working on the side of our house?!) and she doesn't know what he wants because she can't understand him.

OK, what to do now. I know the wrong answer to that question is for me to get up out of bed and see what he wants, although that would certainly be the simplest. I think for a moment, and then ask my friend on the phone whether she would mind if Mama Ratka handed the phone to the man at the door, and my friend could find out what he wants and then tell me. I manage to relay this concept to Mama Ratka in Croatian, and she heads off for the front door with the phone.

As she's walking away, I realize it would have been simpler to hang up with my friend, have Mama Ratka bring the landline to the guy at the door and then call him myself from my cell. But at this point a plan is in motion, so I sink down into the pillows and wait.

I hear talking at the front door, and then I hear the front door close. But no Mama Ratka returning the phone to me so my friend can relay the message. Instead, I hear the phone ring, and hear my friend talking into the answering machine. Hmmm.

A few minutes later, Mama Ratka reappears at the bedroom. She is holding the phone, which now smells like oranges, and a towel. It seems she didn't think the man at the door looked very clean and decided to clean the phone before returning it to me, hanging up on my friend in the process.

I use my cell to call the answering machine, and discover that the man is pouring cement near where my car is parked and would like me to move it so he doesn't get any cement on the car. OK, I would really like that too! Now, how to make this happen: Mama Ratka doesn't drive. I ask in Croatian if she would feel comfortable just backing the car out of the driveway. Nope. OK. I utilize all that is left of my Croatian vocabulary to tell her that my car keys are in the glass bowl on the small table in the front hallway (thank goodness I finished the Croatian lesson on prepositions before Mama Ratka arrived). And then I ask if she will go ask the man to move the car for me, and then return the keys to her.

She tells me she doesn't think she can communicate this in English. I ask her for paper and pen, and write a note to the guy, explaining the whole ridiculous situation, all the while wondering if he has already poured the cement and left for lunch by now. But Mama Ratka finds the keys, delivers the note, and the car gets moved and the keys get returned. And when she returns to the bedroom to report all this, the two of us burst into giggles and shake hands congratulating ourselves for our teamwork.

Mama Ratka is clearly the legs of this operation. And I guess that makes me the gal with the words.