SOUTH OF SIXTY

Observation on  ‘Who is This Man in My House”

I do not like to cook.  I am not a good cook.  Fortunately, I’m married to a man who didn’t marry me for my cooking.

He probably didn’t know I wasn’t a good cook.  He probably assumed all women could cook because all the women in his family are great cooks.  Thank God he was blinded by my beauty and overlooked the check list for marriage that included “can she cook”.

The first meal I cooked for him as his wife was tuna casserole.  He didn’t even try to eat it.  Just looked at it and said “please don’t make this again because I can’t stand cooked tuna”.   He then made a peanut butter-jelly sandwich for supper.  I was shocked!  It was the best thing I could cook.  My two roommates and I had it once a week for 18 months!  It was CHEAP to make!   But since I had never liked it either, I never cooked it again.

I cooked dinner every night the first five years we were married.   Worked great the first two years when he was home every night.  The next three years he took flying lessons after work every night and didn’t get home until 10:00.

I continued preparing a home cooked meal.  Ate by myself and made him a plate.  Around 10:00 pm he’d get home, eat the cold plate of food (no microwaves in 1967) and go to bed.  By the end of the fifth year of marriage, I had an epiphany!  Why was I cooking a meal to eat alone, washing the dishes after I ate and then washing his dishes the next morning.  Obviously we didn’t have a dishwashing machine.  I was the dishwashing machine.

I had not been liberated yet.  My childhood years were the ‘50’s.  I was programmed to be June Cleaver.  In the cultural revolution of the ‘60’s, my only rebellion was to figure out I was NOT June Cleaver and no amount of trying was going to make me like her.

I was ready to quit cooking when husband went to Air Force Pilot Training.  I didn’t have to work that year.  I felt real bad about sleeping late when he got up a 3:30 am to be at the Base by 5:00.  So I got up and cooked his breakfast at 4:00 am.   FOR A WHOLE YEAR!  Then went back to bed, slept late, lounged in the pool all afternoon, and cooked supper.  I liked that life.

After pilot training and relocating permanently to San Antonio, my work and his work enabled us to eat out more often – or buy it and bring it home.  I cooked less and less.  The last twelve years I’ve rarely cooked.  My life was good.

Jimmy just had knee replacement surgery.  He had one last year also but the weather was still good and I could bring cooked food home from all kinds of restaurants where I paid THEM to cook it.  And his niece was here the first week he was home and prepared and froze wonderful meals for us to eat after she left.  This year surgery was the start of bad weather in Missouri.  Ice storm, snow storm.  I knew I was going to have to cook this time around.  I bought food for a month.  I was prepared. 

Except for one small issue.  Jimmy isn’t a demanding husband.  Jimmy is a great patient.  He’s never complained about hurting, didn’t need me to help him in and out of bed or anything.  I just had to cook.  Issue:  Jimmy suddenly got real picky about how his food LOOKED!  How it was PUT TOGETHER.  Real picky.  By the third day he was home from the hospital I was asking “WHO IS THIS MAN IN MY HOUSE”?

I was already tired from going to and from hospital.  I have had some health “issues” the past few years that make it difficult to get around quickly – or at all some days. Getting him home and settled was exhausting for both of us.  But we did it.

First morning home from hospital.  Since I wanted to take care of him, I foolishly asked “what do you want for breakfast”?  His reply:  “Three sausage patties, two biscuits and gravy.”  I said why three sausage patties?  “I want two sausage patties, one to go on each biscuit, and one just to eat.  I want gravy over the sausage and biscuits”.  I asked “You don’t want one biscuit open faced with a sausage patty on each part”?  He replied rather abruptly (I thought) “No, I want two biscuits each with a sausage patty and gravy over all that.  Then I want one sausage patty by itself with no gravy.  And orange juice in a small glass and coffee”.  I laughed and said “you’re joking, right”.  His reply “no, I’m not joking”.  That’s what I want for breakfast.  Me:  “you’re pulling my leg”.  Him:  “no, that’s what I want for breakfast”.  He was really abrupt this time.

Jimmy knows I’m not a morning person.   Never have been.   Never will be.  He knows my body aches all over in the mornings.  He knows I need coffee and a bit of something to eat before I can even remember my name.  He’s always been, most of the time, patient with me being slow in the mornings.  Not this morning. 

When I asked the question, I was just being polite.  I KNEW he would say “just a bowl of cereal and coffee”.   Attorney rule:  NEVER ask a question to a person on the witness stand to which you don’t know the answer!  I’m not an attorney.  I asked the question.

I came oh so close to saying “forget it, what kind of cereal do you want”.  But he was just home from hospital and I figured in pain – otherwise he would NEVER have asked me to COOK at 8:00 in the morning!  He said he wasn’t in pain.  Not a good remark to make to me.

So I fixed his breakfast EXACTLY as ordered.  One and one half hours later I had cooked his breakfast to order, scrubbed the stovetop from all the grease, mopped the floor from the stuff I dropped, and loaded the dishwasher.  I didn’t even eat!  After cooking that much grease early in the morning – I had a bowl of cereal!

A couple days later, being the loving wife, I asked “what do you want for lunch”?   Now, I thought the directions for breakfast were a bit over the top, one thing about lunch was more over the top.  

Hubby wanted a ham sandwich.  I could do that.  Ham, Miracle Whip (we are from the Texas and always thought Miracle Whip WAS mayo) and bread – maybe a lettuce leaf.  I’m a purist with my own sandwiches.  Meat and bread – and Miracle Whip!

I asked what he wanted on that sandwich.  His answer:  Thin sliced Hillshire Farm ham with the thin slices spread out, sliced tomato, lettuce, Miracle Whip – and then the one that made me know he was on pain meds.  Two Vlsasic Stackers Zesty Dill pickles.

I pulled the jar out of the refrigerator, took out two slices.  Looked at slices, looked at sandwich.  Asked hubby:  “How do you want them put on the sandwich – long ways or sideways? I WAS BEING SARCASTIC.  He seriously answered “sideways”!  Sarcastically I asked again.  “You sure you don’t want them long ways?”  “No, I want them SIDEWAYS!”

Hubby didn’t know I was being sarcastic – and won’t until he reads this.  But I’m looking at the sandwich and saying to self “it’s just a sandwich for cryin’ out loud.  What does it matter how the ham is put on it or the pickles sideways or long ways”?  But he got it as ordered!

Obviously, cooking of food isn’t something I like.  Presentation of food – if I’m paying for someone else to cook it – I want “presentation”.  If I’m cooking it – take it like I dish it up – it’s just food!

I started writing this story shortly after his Dec. 7^th surgery date. 

I've cooked a lot of meals since then.  And there were other instances of his “quirks” with food presentation.   But I guess I forgot them in the daily life of three meals a day.  He is now driving himself to outpatient physical therapy and most mornings, brings me a bowl of cereal and coffee.   Aw, life is good again!

He did say one thing last week that made me realize how much the very few pain pills he took affected him.   I said something about being glad we could go out and eat again.  He said yes, you did cook a few meals while I was recovering.  A FEW??????????? 

I didn’t argue with him.  He doesn’t remember – he was drugged.  After all my efforts to do something I hadn’t done in YEARS – cook every day – I could have made him HIS version of a sandwich and he would have never known the difference!  But I wouldn’t have felt that I’d taken good care of him if I hadn’t cooked homemade meals for him.  And taking care of him was all I really wanted anyway.

Denise Ball Carrigan

January 21, 2010