susartandfood posted: " As I've said repeatedly over the writing of this blog, I've stepped up to the altar four times in my life. David, was the last time "I do" was uttered by my lips, other than when asked at McDonald's "do you want biggie fries with that"? David and m" Susartandfood's Blog
As I've said repeatedly over the writing of this blog, I've stepped up to the altar four times in my life. David, was the last time "I do" was uttered by my lips, other than when asked at McDonald's "do you want biggie fries with that"? David and my relationship was like a fierce burning fire. It burned hot and wild, and then flickered and died. I don't regret marrying him. Some people never experience that amount of passion in a relationship. I loved him deeply, and though our paths separated, I'm not sorry for the ten years of knowing him. Looking back on my life, I have few regrets. Each marriage, except the third, (that one I simply skim over hoping like disappearing ink it will fade from the pages of my memory), brought something into my life even if it was just a lesson not bearing repeating. The third would be an actual regret, but what would be the point? History is history. It can not be erased or rewritten, even if some people in this country are working busily right now to try to do exactly that. You can rename it, restructure it, reword it, but it remains in tact exactly as it happened in spite all efforts to reverse it's course. But, I digress. Sometimes the soap box calls, and one must answer. lol
David, worked construction for the length of our marriage, which spanned ten years. Every day he showed up for work he carried a lunch in his scruffy old Igloo cooler. On double shifts, lunch and dinner were tucked away in there.
Being a pipe foreman on a construction job site is physically demanding work. In the refineries where David often spent his day hanging from lanyards high above the ground, he was exposed to hot, hot weather in the summer, and frigidly cold during the winter months. Since I was in charge of packing his lunch before the sun came up, whether warm or cold, I always made sure to pack him a substantial lunch.
My rule of thumb when doing something for someone else is not complicated. Simply stated, I base it on what I would appreciate someone doing for me. In the case of David's lunch, I tried to give him food I might look forward to if I had an hour to put my feet up in the middle of a hard day. On cold days this may have included a thermos of soup, or chili, a sandwich or some cornbread, a small salad, some yogurt for break or nuts and cheese, chips to snack on and a piece of fruit and something sweet for energy. It was a generous sized lunch pail. When hot outside, I'd give him refreshing sides to a couple of hearty sandwiches, such as fruit salad, coleslaw or perhaps just a couple of pieces of watermelon and a candy bar. Always he told me his coworkers made comments on his lunches. I liked to give them something concrete (no pun intended) to talk about.
On the occasion of our second wedding anniversary, it was a workday. I decided if I couldn't actually be there to celebrate with him, I would be there in spirit. The Dollar Store around the corner was the perfect place to stock up for my surprise. While there I purchased a red and white checkered tablecloth, napkins, utensils, and a plastic champagne flute. I cut the tablecloth down to lap size and tucked it into the Igloo with the other items. On top of his cold pak I placed a round of Brie and some toast points, a split of sparkling cider, a shrimp Louie salad, a piece of decadent chocolate cake and some long stemmed strawberries. I included a card wishing him a happy anniversary. I wasn't sure how this would be received when he opened it. Would he be embarrassed or pleased? When he came home, he told me he laid the whole spread out on the tablecloth, poured the cider into his champagne flute and toasted the rough and tumble bunch seated around him. As they watched him remove the items one at a time and place them in front of him, he told me one guy holding a half eaten bologna and cheese sandwich seated next to him stood up. The man walked over to the trash can and threw the remainder of his lunch into the container, saying "that's it, I'm getting a divorce". Now, I'm not abdicating doing this behavior every day. Who's got time in our busy world? just saying that once and a while when you're with someone you love, it doesn't hurt to remind them how important they are to you and make them feel special. I think when the day to day drifts into a relationship, we sink into a sort of routine way of being with each other. It doesn't hurt to put a little extra charge in the battery once and a while is all I'm suggesting.
I had breakfast with a man yesterday who was telling me he and his wife used to go out to eat and sometimes barely exchanged a word during their meal. For me that would be deadly. I am, you may have noticed, by nature a communicator. I would find that type of relationship very restricting and terribly unexciting. Really, you live together and can't find two words to exchange? Can't imagine that.
On the subject of communicating, last night I had two loquacious friends in for dinner. I hate to admit it, but I'm a bit out of practice in the kitchen these days. Since Rick died, the urge to cook has dimmed considerably for me. Not that I don't still find being in the kitchen cathartic, but cooking for one isn't nearly as inspiring as cooking for yourself and another person. Out of practice or not, it still surprised me that while gathering the ingredients for my meal, I found myself sharing space with a little anxiety. It's not like I was making something sophisticated at all, or even slightly challenging. Spaghetti and meatballs is hardly rocket science. I think it was I was that I making anything at all, that seemed to be at the root of the problem. Watching the time slipping by, and with less than an hour before my company showed up, I began to speed the pace up a bit. Of all people, I, Disaster Annie, should know better than to get caught up in a mad rush. As soon as I step on the gas peddle, surely something unpredictable is going to hit the fan. It didn't take long. Next to my sink I keep a large glass container that holds liquid dish soap. (Note to self......only use plastic containers by the sink.) I picked it up by the neck, because the nozzle was stuck. The cap fell off when I grabbed it, releasing the base into the sink where it broke into a number of large jagged pieces. One particularly large piece, was protruding unpleasantly out of my left ring finger. Whoops. Removing the chard from my skin, a torrent of blood washed down my hand. Oh-oh. Wrapping a paper towel around the gash, I wondered if I might need a tourniquet as I watched the towel quickly turn bright red. Hmmmm. Running into the bathroom, I washed the wound well with soap, OUCH. Next I rewrapped it with the towel, and grabbed a butterfly bandaid and some antiseptic ointment out of my cupboard. After some maneuvering, I got the bandaid in place and the throbbing commenced. Throb, throb..... throb, throb throb. Great. Back in the kitchen, my sink now looked like I'd actually butchered the cow prior to placing the ground meat in the frying pan on the stove. Guests were due to arrive in 1/2 hour. Brother. It wouldn't be Susie's house if there wasn't something interesting brewing. I'm just saying.
I managed to pull everything together. Thankfully the "boo-boo" was on my left hand, not my dominant hand, so things were moving along at a doable speed. Guests arrived, and I poured drinks for all, adult beverages at this point. We settled in to enjoy some pleasant conversation and light appetizers before dinner was served. Both friends are good talkers so anticipating this, before they arrived I'd prepped the garlic bread. I lightly sauteed the garlic in butter and slathered over the bread. It was then topped with freshly grated Parmesan cheese and chopped parsley. Yum, and double yum. Just before we sat down to our plates heaped with spaghetti topped with steaming sauce and plump savory meatballs, I tucked the bread under my preheated broiler. Timing, is everything. Tossing the salad, it wasn't long before the smoke alarm went off. Sigh, the garlic bread. Opening the oven door, the two cremated halves of what had been my beautiful bread sat on my cookie sheet fully engulfed in flames. Pulling the tray out and extinguishing the fire, the three of us stood at the sink viewing the burnt offerings. One of the other two said, "scrape them". Really? "No", I said, "some patients simply cannot be saved". At the trash bin I released the remains into the abyss. Yup, dinner at Susie's was complete. The alarm was fanned until it stopped "chirping" and I pulled together a quicker version of bread for the table. From that point on, dinner was a success, requiring no need of the services of the fire department or loss of life and limb. I call it a success.
All in all, the disasters gave us something funny to talk about. I'm sure I'm not the first person, nor will I be the last, to burn garlic bread or cut my finger while making a meal. The little things that seem so big at the time really are really only little things. In the end, whether the meatballs had too much salt (they did not), or the garlic bread hadn't gotten served at all, wouldn't have mattered much in the scheme of things. A good time was had by all, and that does matter. Cherish the people around you, and the times you share. This really is the magic. Happy Tuesday.
No comments:
Post a Comment