Miss Havisham: A fictional retrospective based on real experiences

Today, I found myself wondering, "What would have happened if Miss Havisham had been married rather than left at the altar?"

This is a speculation based on real experiences. Mine.

(Note: Please be gentle in criticisms--I have only read Great Expectations once, back in high school which was over 10 years ago for some parts of it. I cannot and do not and will not claim to be a scholar of Victorian-era literature. I have limited interest in Dickens in general. I'm a Shakespearean.)

There's probably a very good reason why Miss Havisham's fiancé skipped out on their wedding. Much of it probably stemmed from a tendency of hers toward the nutty and the fixated-pack-rat. I doubt her general insanity suddenly blossomed from nowhere the day after her failed wedding.

That said, what would it have been like if Miss Havisham had been married?

Probably, it would have gone something like this:

"My darling, my dear, we need to move your belongings from your former home into our lovely new home."

"Yes, my love, let's work in the kitchen today."

(A moment lapses as the new wife opens the refrigerator...which perhaps would not have been in Miss Havisham's domicile at the time. But allow for some anachronism.)

"My love, oh no, oh come quick!" (she cries)

"What has happened, my darling, my dear wife?"

"My beautiful flowers...they're...they're...deceased!" (she wails, thrusting the vase of crumpled bridal bouquet closer.)

"Oh my darling, my dear. It has been over two months, after all. Surely these lovely flowers have given their all. It is time to say goodbye."

The new wife nods, mournfully regarding the brown, formerly white, and wilted, formerly pert, daisies and roses. The balls of perfectly white hydrangea, which had previously given such body and shape to the bouquet two months ago, now crumble to the touch. Her groom holds open a large garbage bag (potentially also an anachronism), and she slowly deposits the disintegrating blooms. As he ties off the bag, tears well up in her eyes and she turns away. Yes, she cries over the death of her bridal bouquet. Two months after the fact.

This is my speculative retrospective. And this was a true experience. It happened today. Granted, Robert and I don't call each other "darling," "dear," or "my love," but I was infusing what I imagine could have been the lover's language of Miss Havisham and her fiancé. Maybe I missed the mark. Probably I missed the mark. But, the point is, sometimes I find myself tearfully throwing away empty boxes (such as the ones that once contained our china), and my decrepit bridal bouquet is no exception. Oh, and there was no drying these flowers. My florist said that it would be close to impossible unless professionally preserved immediately following the ceremony (and the nearest preserving location was about two hours away in any direction, which would be too late). My bouquet was primarily white daisies, which simply don't keep well once they die. And I didn't want to keep dry yellow and brown flowers because, well, it reminds me too much of the creepy old woman who is the subject of this entry.

So, I cried. But not for very long. And once I was over it, I was over it.

The wedding is over, that is true. And I am sad to know it's done. But I'm more excited of the future...and, as Robert reminded me, flowers die. It's what they do. And I like to think that because flowers frequently die, he will have plenty of opportunities to replace the dead ones with beautiful fresh ones.

Kitchen Anxiety

While I thoroughly enjoyed writing up tonight's successful meal in my blog, I thought I should make a quick note to any and all of my readers about my kitchen prowess.

No, kitchen anxiety.

I was blessed with the kind of mommy who can whip anything up at the drop of a hat, even on days when she is most tired and make it appear completely effortless and, sometimes, like a casual afterthought. "Oh, my children are hungry for dinner, again? I suppose tonight I shall serve them a lasagne from scratch." While I was never kept out of the kitchen (and was, repeatedly, handed a golden invitation to stay and watch, stay and help, stay and learn something, anything), I (im)politely kept my distance and safety net. If it comes in a box and requires merely hot water, I can do it. If it has a complicated recipe, with dicing and chopping and peeling and folding and tempering, I collapse into an insecure mess. Because my mom is a whiz in the kitchen, I had it pretty easy as a kid. I was far too stubborn to be lured into the joys of cooking, and my mom was (frankly) too busy to put up with my crap. I think she always knew, deep down, that despite my threats and fears that I would feed my own children hotdogs cut up in Spaghetti O's on a regular basis, I would somehow overcome my stubborn shyness and would find my way back into the kitchen. If out of necessity than for nothing else.

Well, I have found my way back into the kitchen. And I'm pulling out some of my mom's "old" (read: tried and true) recipes--comfort casseroles from my childhood, soups that take all day to simmer but taste divine, stove-top recipes that require constant stirring and attentiveness. I do this now because I have a husband, and somehow this need to feed sprang up where it originally had never been. I used to shirk the "duties" of a woman and fed myself whatever crap was cheap and fast and easy. I was only feeding myself, after all. Sure, I have to take responsibility for myself, but there's not much accountability (ha!). When feeding another person, however, and another person who happens to exude confidence in the kitchen, I feel like I should at least try harder.

But I still have this kitchen anxiety. And it rears its ugly head at the most inappropriate times. Take tonight, for instance. The recipe requires that the white sauce be stirred continuously. I have burned a number of white sauces in my day, so I grasp what "continuously" means, and I likewise grasp the direct consequences for ignoring the adverb. Tonight I stood there, watching my biggest pot boil up the veggies, stirring my white sauce for nearly half an hour...and then I started to see little brown flakes. Nothing terribly huge or particularly damaging, but alarming nonetheless. I called for Robert to come help me--he told me later that he recognized the tone in my voice and is learning how to cope with it. So, he springs to life, offering all kinds of help...and apparently all that needs to be done is to remove the sauce and the veggies from the burners and put them together--soup's on.

The elation I felt at having successfully replicated my absolute favorite meal (and one I beg my mom to make me on special occasions, like back surgeries or Christmas Eve-eve) was extraordinary! I couldn't stop squealing, "We did it! We actually made potato soup!" (I realize for the public at large this may not be the feat it seems, but recall my kitchen anxiety.) Robert continued to correct me and said, "No...you made potato soup. I peeled a couple of carrots and potatoes." I am excited. I am proud. I am feeling at least optimistic that my children may one day get to claim my favorite comfort meal as their own, too.

I know I need to get over this kitchen anxiety because it makes the cooking process less fun than it should be. I find myself rather stricken by any moment that goes unexpectedly or against the recipe. In fact, the other night Robert and I had no menu in mind, but our stomachs were growling. We knew we had chicken breasts that needed to be cooked before they turned on us. Tired and disgruntled, I said, "Well...do I need to go to Winn-Dixie and get some Chicken Helper or something?" Robert laughed and said, "No, baby. We have a bunch of spices and bread crumbs. We'll figure something out." What does my genius husband prepare for us? Baked chicken spread with buttery bread crumbs and lemon pepper seasoning. The entire hour the chicken was baking, I was fraught with nerves. Every once in a while, I would look at him and ask if he was sure it would even be edible. I started figuring out whether or not we could afford to order a pizza, just in case. And of course the meal was brilliant. The chicken cooked, the buttery bread crumbs toasted, and the lemon pepper seasoned. We were well-fed that night and happy. But, do you know, I actually still went to bed feeling anxiety about that meal? I can't seem to win. I am either going to have anxiety about cooking with a net (otherwise, a recipe) or not, and those seem to be the only two options here.

Robert told me tonight that I am honing these cooking skills to such a point that he's no longer curious how dinner will turn out. (Had always been a joke between us, considering the first meal I ever made him turned out to be this gray mushy mess in the crock-pot...but oh-so-good, and he ate seconds. Good man.) He told me that the only thing I need to learn in the kitchen at this point is how to be confident in my ability to cook, and to cook well.

On a final note, I'm reading Julie and Julia. I feel a certain kinship to Julie Powell, and it's nice to know that someone like her was capable of overcoming her kitchen anxiety to such a point that she learned not only how to replicate Julia Child's recipes from Mastering the Art of French Cooking, but also to the point that she learned how to make mistakes in the kitchen and not fall to complete pieces. This is the hardest lesson of all.

Potato Soup!

Tonight, Robert and I were in the market for some delicious comfort food...and, for me, there is nothing more comforting than my mom's potato soup. I had never made it before, so I thought I should try. I also thought I could share the recipe with whomever reads the blog, so that you can try it yourself. :)

Potato Soup

Time: about an hour

Yields: 4-6 servings

Ingredients:

3 cups water

3 chicken Bouillon cubes

4 potatoes peeled and diced

1 large onion, diced

1/2 green pepper, diced

3 carrots sliced thin

Boil above until tender.

White Sauce:

1/3 cup margarine

1/3 cup flour

3 cups whole milk

Cook above over medium heat until thickened. Stir continuously. (As with all white sauces, the stirring is imperative.)

Add white sauce to potatoes and water.

Add 3 cups shredded cheddar cheese and stir until well blended.

Add a drop of Tobasco sauce. (I skipped this step intentionally in tonight's soup.)

Toppings:

Green onion, bacon pieces, cheddar cheese, oyster crackers

Basically, dress it as you might a baked potato.

This is incredibly delicious and you will likely desire several bowls of this amazing stuff. But...it will literally grow in your stomach. I would recommend eating a small bowl, sitting still for about ten minutes, and then going for seconds if you still feel hungry.

If you try it, let me know! :) And if you try it, I hope you enjoy it!

(Oh, and if you live near me, you should know that I am very likely to make you some delicious potato soup in the near future.)

Happy Independence Day!

I don't normally make a big deal out of Independence Day. In my natal family we would typically relax all day at home (maybe clean if it were a Saturday), and then go to City Hall to observe the fireworks display. My husband's family, however, celebrates the Fourth of July like Christmas. They invite as many people to join them at the lake for a cookout, fun on the water, and beer! This was my first year celebrating the 4th with them at the lake--last year we were all in Denver for a conference with my in-laws' company.

We had such a beautiful day today. It was warm, which is to be expected, but the heat wasn't unbearable once we moved to the dock and could enjoy a refreshing breeze off the water.

Robert drove up to the lake, which gave me plenty of opportunities to play with my "new," used Canon S3 IS. :)

I love some of the architecture on the lake. I don't know if there's a single developer at the lake as there are in many neighborhoods, but from what I understand (for the most part) is that everyone draws up their own plans and builds their own lake houses and boathouses. The architecture around the lake truly captures each family's personality.

Our beautiful day on the lake. I don't think we could have asked for a more perfect day to enjoy the 4th!

Of course, what we all come for. Beer, floating devices, and water. :)

Whether or not you celebrate it, I hope you still enjoyed the beautiful day! Happy Independence Day, everyone!