I just want to say to y’all that I prepare a family meal most nights of the week. All food groups included, mind you (note: Reisling is a fruit. As is a good Merlot.). This superwomen feat is accomplished after a full day in the office and an hour’s drive staring down I-75 to get my tired butt home. This needs to be said, not in a manner of womanly bragging, but merely because I crave a written record of it for posterity’s sake.
And don’t we all know that avoiding take-out cuisine is, of course, an exercise in significant hard-earned-dollar saving, as well as an opportunity to chow down on healthier noshables? But there’s another deep seated reason for me. Cuing my favorite psychology major son to study this one . . .
I find something rather therapeutic about chopping things into little bits. A cringe worthy statement when taken out of context, I know. Ah, but perhaps not as creepy as it need be. Consider this; a mindless task requiring no deeper thought than positioning that carrot (or onion or potato) in a safe enough manner so I don’t chop off a fingertip. It’s a simple pleasure going all Rachael Ray with my favorite chef knife to make teensy diced morsels for that turkey pot pie or my favorite potato soup.
The day’s memories of contrary budgets, computer problems and personality clashes fade into a misty vapor as I create itsy cubes of food. Ah, for the first time today, everything behaves exactly as it should. Right there at my fingertips. I am in control of my universe.
Yeah, this is how I process stress.
So anyway, this past week was especially ego defeating. By Friday, things got to be even too much for the sturdiest of my chef knives. So, I sigh heavily and accept my fate. It’s gonna be a take-out night.
|I’m feeling a tennis ball in my destiny.|
Let’s get Chinese, I say. The Husband agrees, and not because I have expert knife skills, but because he recognizes the heavy sigh I just let out. Always best to keep Momma happy, he knows, to maintain a harmonious household.
And somehow our Chinese take-out Meal for Two results in four fortune cookies. Did I really order that much? Huh, apparently so. Stress eating, the second of my fortes. Been practicing for years, so I’m actually pretty darn good at it.
Let’s check your fortune, Micron!, I say, snapping the cookie doppelganger in half. No you don’t get the cookie, sorry dude. This is for entertainment purposes only. To be clear, my personal entertainment, but anyone can jump on the Friday Night Fun Train if they want. Ahem, here goes:
|Destiny has a good mouth feel, sez Micron|
“Go above and beyond you duty. You will benefit from it.”
Misspelling notwithstanding, this is a match for Micron, I think. This dog still has a destiny and I stand by that belief. There’s too much Micron happening here and he must be shared with others. Somewhere out there, he is needed desperately. And we’re working hard on that, so check in with us later this month for more news.
Alrighty then, next up is Yaxley’s profundity cookie.
“Welcome each day as a fresh new beginning.”
Is that true dog attitude or what? Dogs don’t hang onto all that crap that happened yesterday, do they? This morning we’re gonna go outside and discover what’s out there to sniff. Then we’ll eat a bowl of kibble that will feel so good in the belly that a nap is required. I can’t speak for anyone else’s dogs, but mine don’t need therapists to help with personal issues they can’t let go of. They are the therapists. If we do come back in another life, I want the each-day-is-a-new-one canine view to get me through the next life.
|The perfect nap, sez Yaxley, now, bring on what’s next.|
Ok, that’s getting a little deep. Time for comic relief, which in our house, is the Jagerhund. So, Jag, what’s up for you?
“To attain enlightenment is to be aware of your own Buddha.”
I’m reminded of the immature, but always spit-take funny, “in bed” ending for fortune cookie readings. No, I know that doesn’t fit well here. I have another ending for Jager: “belly.”
|You know, Food Lady, sez Jager, you could
cut back on the kibble yourself.
Time to cut back on the kibble, Jager, I say. You look like a snausage on four toothpicks. He just smiles and wags his tail at me, though. With three dogs in the house, his motto is any attention is good attention. Rub my Buddha belly for luck, he says.
Uh oh, one cookie left. For the boss or me? Well, he did go out and get the stuff, so I’m feeling generous and forfeit. This one’s yours, I tell the Husband. Let’s see what the fortune cookie has in store for you. I crack the thing open and . . .
So people, this is where opposites attract. You may not have noticed, but I can run a little on the cynical side of the tracks. But the Husband? He is persistently optimistic, darn him.
Yeah so, I crack the thing open and . . . the cookie is empty. No fortune inside. None at all. Inside my head, I thinking, holy cow I hope he’s careful on the drive to work tomorrow. But him, oh no. No dark thoughts swirling around in his happy noggin. Get this, “That’s cool,” he says, “I can write my own fortune.” Can you believe that?! Where do these kind of people come from anyway?
Ok, ok, I got it. Here’s my plan for next week.
- Go outside my comfort level. It’s the only way to grow personally.
- Start each day with a fresh frame of mind. Leave my problems on the doorstep.
- Lose weight.
and of course . . .
- Make my own fortune
I don’t usually turn to take-out profundities to make a life plan, but really, this is a good as anything else I’ve come across lately.
And maybe this can be the week the Husband won’t have to walk into the kitchen to tell me, Honey, put down the chef knife. That’s enough carrots. And anyway, I thought were you making chili tonight?