Today I am mighty-proud-of-myself Bridget. I think I might have done some good today, which of course would be so much better if I didn’t gloat about it, but what can I say, I don’t believe in heaven or any other afterlife-reward-system, so I suppose in my case, it doesn’t matter.
Many years back -not sure how many and I don’t want to think about it right now because it makes me feel old(er)- I attended a weekend seminar. I had been saving my money, and time for this adventure, and I wasn’t the only one. Everybody seemed excited about the topics, the speakers and our surroundings.
Last night I found spinach leaves and noodles on the kitchen rug, what either means I am getting sloppy, or the dogs got into the trash -again. The case was easy to solve. The guilty party was trying to hide behind the fridge, but couldn’t help look around the corner, when I came in.
My husband is a picky eater. He searches for fat around the meat and pushes food, which he thinks might not please him, to the side. “I cannot stand the texture of fat,” he says, and I can see the disgust on his face when he looks at my marbled ribeye.
Like so many of us, I love to plan meals, and I love to cook. Spoiling my husband and friends is part of who I am. Cooking is my way out after a long workday; I leave my frustrations on the cutting board when I chop off heads of carrots and other willing victims.
It all started out with an old soup dish that I found at a resale shop, it reminded me of the soup bowls we used when I was a child. They were so much smaller than the ones I have in my kitchen cabinet now. Come to think of it, everything was smaller back then and so were we.
Most of us are very fortunate. We can afford to go overboard, and we do it every year around Thanksgiving. We cook for an army of people, even though there will only be a handful at the dinner table. Instead of one side dish, we have four or five.
Years ago I decided that our refrigerator was just too cluttered, and I asked Santa if he could bring my husband a man-cave fridge. A small icebox, just for beer and water – a dream come true during football season. It was a present for both of us, I got more room in the fridge, and he got his long talked about beer-fridge.
McDonald’s and Taco Bell serve healthier food than Olive Garden and Cracker Barrel. Who would have thought? The third annual report of Friends of the Earth (www.foe.org) is as interesting as last years report.
I cannot cook just for the two us. I tried -it does not work. There is this little voice in me that misguides me each and every time. The common sense, I so hope I might have, flies out of the window as soon as I step into my kitchen.