Do you know anyone who talks a lot? Maybe someone who talks out what they are doing even if it is very simple and the kind of self-talk most of us keep to ourselves? You do? Great. I’m married to one. Some days, after a while, I need to head off to my quiet space, aka the guest room, craft room, and the place all miscellaneous stuff goes, close the door and take deep cleansing breaths.
One such evening occurred this week. Hubby was doing something on the computer in our home office where our chairs back up to each other and he was having difficulty creating whatever it was he wanted to create. “No, not there, I want a text box”. “Ahhhh, why can’t I highlight this”. “NOOOO, I only wanted page 42 printed, not the whole thing”. It continued and I, in the midst of paying bills, chose to leave the room and watch some television in the den.
That worked! Reasonable quiet for ten minutes or so. Then hubby decided that he needed a break and went into the kitchen to prepare an item he was making for a potluck. The recipe came from a friend who graciously shared it when hubby complimented him on the food. Now hubby enjoys making it and has added his own notes and variations.
Open kitchens. Not my friend. I like to be able to go into the kitchen, shut out the world, and cook. Perhaps with quiet classical music, or with country, or maybe 50’s Rock ‘N Roll. Just me and the discipline of gathering, measuring, mixing, and baking. I speak only when I have done something wrong, fortunately not very often. But hubby is not of that same mindset.
Den and kitchen are one in our house and as I watched Jeopardy on TV hubby began his culinary efforts. “Honey, where is the food processor? Oh, yeah, I remember, in the cabinet where I put it the last time I used it. . . . . . . where is the blade? Oh, duuuh, just look inside the accessory bag. Should I save the liquid from the can? I wrote in the recipe that I should save it in case I need more liquid. Was that for a better flavor?” This line of questions continued, though there was no wait for an answer, until the actual preparation began in earnest.
As I tried to listen to Jeopardy I heard the step by step of the preparation. “OK, drain 2 cans. Let’s see, I need something to drain them into. OK, here’s a bowl. Do I rinse this? No, I didn’t put that in the notes. Into the food processor, pulse until smooth. Pulse, pulse, pulse, that looks about right”. This continued as the sorting, measuring, adding and processing continued.
Me? My brain was on overload and tension rose. Den TV off, I scurried to the guest room and shut the door. TV on, ceiling fan on, I told myself to calm down. Everyone has his or her way of doing things. It worked for about ten minutes. Knock on the door. “Honey, are you OK? Why are you in here? Do we have a lemon juicer other than the big electric one?” I told him that we did and it was green plastic and in the bottom drawer next to the stove. He gave me The Look. You know the one. The one that says that he heard the words I used and knows that there is a drawer next to the stove, but that he will never find it and he will make at least 2 more trips between kitchen and guest room before it is in his hands, so I might as well get up and get it now. Luckily that happened just 2 times that evening. Inside the guest room with the door shut I turned up the TV a bit and busied myself sorting through very old photos. Eventually the food item was prepared and with some tweaking the next day it is perfect.
If you are at the baseball tailgate Saturday be sure and tell him that it is good, but if you ask for details you might get them, and that could mean a long talk.
Every Day Is A Good Day. VJ
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