Tuesday, August 24, 2004
Lessons
You’d think there would be news, but there isn’t. I did not go to see Buzz’s new puppy last night. Because I went to see Rob instead. I think I’m slightly addicted to his presence.
We went and had wings, which was fine. We each ordered 20 wings, which is reasonable because I used to be able to eat a whole ton of wings in an evening. Not so any more. I could not finish the wings at all, and had to leave seven. There were too many of them, for one, and the “medium” ones I had ordered weren’t that tasty, just piquant and kinda bleah. They were OK, mind you, and if I hadn’t had to eat them and concentrate on them, I would have been fine. But I also had teriyaki wings, which were much better, and couldn’t finish them because I had eaten too many of the less-desirable “medium” wings. That was a disappointment. I should really have stuck to 10 wings, total, just teriyaki, and everything would have been aces.
But Rob? Frequents the wing place we went to. So he had exactly what he knew he wanted, which is great for him. He had honey-garlic and lemon-pepper wings, ten of each. He doused the honey-garlic ones with some sort of foul-looking hot sauce, and ate all but one of them. Presumably, he liked the lemon-pepper ones better, because he finished those, and then he slid the last lonely honey-garlic-with-hot-sauce wing onto my place. I originally thought it was in an effort to make life easier for the clearing girl, but as he twirled it in the remaining teriyaki sauce, I caught on. HE WAS DISGUISING IT TO LOOK LIKE A TERIYAKI WING!!! Thus adding to my disgrace of not being able to finish my wings, and augmenting his own prowess at ordering exactly what he could consume. It had to do with honor or something like that.
I pointed it out, let him know I knew. But I gladly took the bullet for him, because I guess I’m expected not to be able to eat 20 wings, and to possibly over-order. And I’m not a regular there, so they’ll just whisper to themselves “that girl Rob brought doesn’t know how to eat wings…” and I’ll never see them again. Not, also, that it matters. If there’s one lesson I’ve learned in my life, it’s that it’s OK not to eat everything on your plate. In today’s world of dangerous obesity, high cholesterol and anti-fat-fanaticism, it should be acceptable to send some food away.
Something else I’ve learned, in spite of my parents’ lessons: It’s OK to throw some things out. You don’t need to save every scrap of everything that comes into the house. I’m all over recycling, but seriously (and this is something The Mac is inflicted with as well), I have struggled with the ability to just toss stuff you don’t immediately need. Like string, twist-ties, bread-bag ties, elastic bands, scraps of paper, plastic bags, paper bags, old shoe-boxes, clothing that no longer fits, broken coat-hangers, empty bottles and jars and lids that don’t fit any of them, USED windshield wipers (thanks for that one, Dad), tiny screws of all sizes, nails, push-pins and tacks, rivets (yes, rivets), take-out chopsticks still in their paper wrappers, plastic cutlery, unused take-out napkins, plastic containers that once contained yogourt or margarine or anything at all really, and pretty much anything else you can reasonably or unreasonably carry into the house. I come from a long line of packrats, and it’s totally understandable why my house is crammed full of stuff.
And the scary thing is that I’m a lot better about it than my parents, whose house is, and I’m not kidding here, completely full. They don’t have room to get any more stuff because the house is full, packed-to-the-rafters, of stuff. Ping-pong table that no one uses? In the basement. Old toys that the kids played with 20 years ago? Over the garage and some in the basement. Magazines it took my father 50 years to collect? ALL crammed into the basement. Spare beds? Everywhere you can think. Lamps that don’t work? In the basement. Old window-covering rods that are no longer needed? In the basement. Their entire wardrobes from 30-50 years ago? In the basement. Their basement is a repository for the history of modern humanity. If it was once useful and good, but has since been improved and replaced, it now resides in the basement.
The Mac has a similar difficulty with divesting himself of now-useless stuff. His ex-girlfriend left a ton of stuff at his house when she inexplicably left TWO YEARS AGO, and most of it is still there. I don’t think it’s because he gets too emotional to deal with it. I think it’s because he thinks it might be needed or wanted one day, and who is he to throw it out and be blamed later?
The only one of us who escaped this affliction unscathed is our sister. The middle child. She can shop like a seasoned pro, and obtains many, many possessions. Somehow, though, she is mysteriously uncluttered and unfettered by them. Her house is clean – showhome clean most of the time – and every thing has a place in her house. I’m not sure if she learned this behaviour out of necessity – because she had so many things that she HAD to keep them insanely organized or they would end up consuming her – or if it’s a genetic malfunction that allows her to just give away, throw out or sell her less favoured items (thus creating room for nice new ones).
One of the hardest things for me to learn was that you can, indeed, throw out food. If you can’t eat it, or you don’t like it, or it’s not “optimal” any more (i.e. fresh), you can pitch it. It’s OK. No one will come and yell at you, or make you take it back. I used to be extremely paranoid about that, to the point where I couldn’t buy anything I wasn’t 100% certain I would immediately consume. It’s hard to get through an entire loaf of bread on your own. It’s virtually impossible for me to get through a jar of pickles before they go bad. In fact, I have two jars of pickles in my refrigerator that have been there for over two years. I haven’t thrown them out, but as soon as I need a pickle, and find out that they’re not good any more, out they’ll go. And I won’t feel bad about it, either.
So what have we learned here today? That it’s OK to leave wings on your plate. You don’t have to cover up the evidence. Take pride in just leaving them. It indicates great confidence that you know you’ll have another meal and live another day!
We went and had wings, which was fine. We each ordered 20 wings, which is reasonable because I used to be able to eat a whole ton of wings in an evening. Not so any more. I could not finish the wings at all, and had to leave seven. There were too many of them, for one, and the “medium” ones I had ordered weren’t that tasty, just piquant and kinda bleah. They were OK, mind you, and if I hadn’t had to eat them and concentrate on them, I would have been fine. But I also had teriyaki wings, which were much better, and couldn’t finish them because I had eaten too many of the less-desirable “medium” wings. That was a disappointment. I should really have stuck to 10 wings, total, just teriyaki, and everything would have been aces.
But Rob? Frequents the wing place we went to. So he had exactly what he knew he wanted, which is great for him. He had honey-garlic and lemon-pepper wings, ten of each. He doused the honey-garlic ones with some sort of foul-looking hot sauce, and ate all but one of them. Presumably, he liked the lemon-pepper ones better, because he finished those, and then he slid the last lonely honey-garlic-with-hot-sauce wing onto my place. I originally thought it was in an effort to make life easier for the clearing girl, but as he twirled it in the remaining teriyaki sauce, I caught on. HE WAS DISGUISING IT TO LOOK LIKE A TERIYAKI WING!!! Thus adding to my disgrace of not being able to finish my wings, and augmenting his own prowess at ordering exactly what he could consume. It had to do with honor or something like that.
I pointed it out, let him know I knew. But I gladly took the bullet for him, because I guess I’m expected not to be able to eat 20 wings, and to possibly over-order. And I’m not a regular there, so they’ll just whisper to themselves “that girl Rob brought doesn’t know how to eat wings…” and I’ll never see them again. Not, also, that it matters. If there’s one lesson I’ve learned in my life, it’s that it’s OK not to eat everything on your plate. In today’s world of dangerous obesity, high cholesterol and anti-fat-fanaticism, it should be acceptable to send some food away.
Something else I’ve learned, in spite of my parents’ lessons: It’s OK to throw some things out. You don’t need to save every scrap of everything that comes into the house. I’m all over recycling, but seriously (and this is something The Mac is inflicted with as well), I have struggled with the ability to just toss stuff you don’t immediately need. Like string, twist-ties, bread-bag ties, elastic bands, scraps of paper, plastic bags, paper bags, old shoe-boxes, clothing that no longer fits, broken coat-hangers, empty bottles and jars and lids that don’t fit any of them, USED windshield wipers (thanks for that one, Dad), tiny screws of all sizes, nails, push-pins and tacks, rivets (yes, rivets), take-out chopsticks still in their paper wrappers, plastic cutlery, unused take-out napkins, plastic containers that once contained yogourt or margarine or anything at all really, and pretty much anything else you can reasonably or unreasonably carry into the house. I come from a long line of packrats, and it’s totally understandable why my house is crammed full of stuff.
And the scary thing is that I’m a lot better about it than my parents, whose house is, and I’m not kidding here, completely full. They don’t have room to get any more stuff because the house is full, packed-to-the-rafters, of stuff. Ping-pong table that no one uses? In the basement. Old toys that the kids played with 20 years ago? Over the garage and some in the basement. Magazines it took my father 50 years to collect? ALL crammed into the basement. Spare beds? Everywhere you can think. Lamps that don’t work? In the basement. Old window-covering rods that are no longer needed? In the basement. Their entire wardrobes from 30-50 years ago? In the basement. Their basement is a repository for the history of modern humanity. If it was once useful and good, but has since been improved and replaced, it now resides in the basement.
The Mac has a similar difficulty with divesting himself of now-useless stuff. His ex-girlfriend left a ton of stuff at his house when she inexplicably left TWO YEARS AGO, and most of it is still there. I don’t think it’s because he gets too emotional to deal with it. I think it’s because he thinks it might be needed or wanted one day, and who is he to throw it out and be blamed later?
The only one of us who escaped this affliction unscathed is our sister. The middle child. She can shop like a seasoned pro, and obtains many, many possessions. Somehow, though, she is mysteriously uncluttered and unfettered by them. Her house is clean – showhome clean most of the time – and every thing has a place in her house. I’m not sure if she learned this behaviour out of necessity – because she had so many things that she HAD to keep them insanely organized or they would end up consuming her – or if it’s a genetic malfunction that allows her to just give away, throw out or sell her less favoured items (thus creating room for nice new ones).
One of the hardest things for me to learn was that you can, indeed, throw out food. If you can’t eat it, or you don’t like it, or it’s not “optimal” any more (i.e. fresh), you can pitch it. It’s OK. No one will come and yell at you, or make you take it back. I used to be extremely paranoid about that, to the point where I couldn’t buy anything I wasn’t 100% certain I would immediately consume. It’s hard to get through an entire loaf of bread on your own. It’s virtually impossible for me to get through a jar of pickles before they go bad. In fact, I have two jars of pickles in my refrigerator that have been there for over two years. I haven’t thrown them out, but as soon as I need a pickle, and find out that they’re not good any more, out they’ll go. And I won’t feel bad about it, either.
So what have we learned here today? That it’s OK to leave wings on your plate. You don’t have to cover up the evidence. Take pride in just leaving them. It indicates great confidence that you know you’ll have another meal and live another day!
