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!

One-month anniversary

On June 23, Robert and I celebrated our one-month anniversary! :)

He spent the day of the anniversary at work. I spent it working on unpacking and cleaning the duplex more. We planned to go on a date (dinner and a movie) when he came home from work.

Around 5 p.m., Robert sent me a text saying, "Sorry...running late. Be there soon." I texted him back telling him to take his time, that I was just sitting here working on the duplex. He walked in the door about five minutes later, with a surprise: three bouquets of daises--two purple and one white--and a "For my Wife" anniversary card--which he doctored to read "one month anniversary" wherever necessary.

The flowers with the "For my Wife" card. This was the very first wife card I have ever received. I will keep it, as nerdy as that may be. It's so special and unexpected that it brought tears to my eyes as I was reading the card. Robert gave me a big hug and said, "I didn't want to make you cry, baby." But it wasn't sobbing, of course...just a few tears. Well, inspired by the realization that we had arrived to a month almost without even noticing it, as well as receiving my first wife card. Somehow it just hit me.

Our wedding colors were lavender/lilac and celadon (which is a light sage-ish green). The combination was very spring like, which was our goal. When Robert and I were planning the wedding, we both basically picked a color that we loved and really wanted in the wedding. Then, we went to Hobby Lobby to check out fabric combinations of the colors so that we didn't turn out with a Barney-themed wedding. The result was wonderful: it was all about the spring flowers, particularly daisies. I loved the look of all of our wedding favors as well as the wedding itself. It was so fresh and relaxing, I thought, and very subtle. It was perfectly tuned for us. :)

Happy one-month anniversary to us! :) We had such a wonderful month, and I'm so surprised it's already been that long. I love my husband so much, and I can't wait to see what the rest of our months have in store for us!

Update: Honeymoon recap posted!

Hey all!

Of course, I still haven't figured out how to override the backdating option. At any rate, I have posted the honeymoon recap. Please scroll to June 16 to read it! Oh, and a warning: it's long. But it comes with some pictures, so that's a bonus.

Hope you enjoy!

Adventures in Newlywed Land

On Saturday, June 13, my husband loving leaned over me, bending close to my ear as I slumbered peacefully, and whispered, "Baby...we have a problem." As I surfaced from my dream and his face came into focus, I realized this particular problem was serious. Immediately, I had visions of one of the animals puking all over creation, or bleeding, or having gotten into terrible fights with the other animals. I sat up on my elbows and urged him to explain what was wrong. My brain was so focused on the potential problem with the animals that I couldn't understand him when he said, "It's raining in the guest room." It's raining in the guest room? Even on a good day, that could be confusing, never mind having just awoken from dreams and momentarily panicking over a potential vet visit.

He wasn't wrong, though. In fact, it was raining in the guest room. The A/C unit had been clogging up for years, and finally on June 13, the drip pan overflowed into the attic and ceiling.

Robert called his parents (our landlords) who had done business with a local refrigeration company, and we got the repair process underway. The A/C guy came out within about an hour of calling him (surprising for a small town on a Saturday morning) and unclogged the unit as well as vacuumed out the water from the attic. It helped a little, but the ceiling was still stained, and there was still some water pooling in part of the ceiling.

Next step: call the ceiling repairman to come and replace the ceiling.

On Monday, June 15, the repairman arrived to get started on the ceiling. Unfortunately, all he could do at the time was offer a consultation. Even more unfortunately, I was the only one at the duplex at the time because my husband had to work (my semester hasn't begun yet, so I've been doing the housewife thing lately). Living where we do, there is a pervasive sense of deferential treatment and good ol' boy mentality that fails to impress the educated, liberated, self-respecting woman. Call me proud, call me a bitch, but I simply cannot tolerate being treated as "the little wife." This is how I've been treated by most of the painters and repairmen we've had recent business dealings with, and it simply fuels my desire to leave. Fortunately, my husband is as fed up with it as I am, so I feel justified and validated in my emotions.

For one reason or another, the repairman was unable to come fix the ceiling until Monday, June 22. We thought. So, rather than work on packing up my old apartment to continue the move, I was stranded at the duplex waiting on the ceiling repairman to come. He never did. He finally did call Monday afternoon (he called Robert) and explained that he had gotten stuck at a job that took longer than anticipated. When he finally arrived on Tuesday morning, he came with two men who spoke little English. That didn't bother me so much as the moment when he left the duplex with one of the men to go pick up the sheet rock...that...they didn't bring with them...? He left one of the men in the duplex with me, and this man was the one who only spoke one or two words of English. I felt completely out of the loop and uninformed because our repairman insisted on only speaking with Robert about the plans for the room.

By the end of the day, this was the room's state:

Before he could spray on the popcorn ceiling, the sheet rock had to dry for a few hours. A few hours became the rest of the day, and they never returned. Once again, I was kept out of the loop and was stranded because I thought they were coming back.

They had planned to return on Wednesday morning, but another job took priority, so we received an apologetic phone call in the afternoon explaining that they weren't coming out. Fine. At least I was free to run errands and accomplish my own chores. Until I was informed that a plumber was coming out "sometime today" to replace the toilets in the duplex. So...I was stuck again. By the time the plumber left, it was time to go to the grocery store and grab a few more ingredients for a dish I was making for my friends that evening.

This morning, Robert and I were up by 7:30, waiting for the ceiling repairman to come back. He finally arrived around 10, and, as he was preparing to spray the popcorn on the ceiling, realized there was a hole in the hose that was hindering the process. He came out to talk to me (surprise of surprises) and said, "Well...I don't have something to plug up the hole on my truck, so...." So...? "...so...I'm gonna go check some of these local stores and see if they have something" (local stores = Home Depot, Lowes, Ace...I'm pretty sure they'd have something) "but otherwise I'd have to go back to B---, which would mean I'd get back later today to finish this up. Unless you want me to come back tomorrow."

I raised one eyebrow at him, smiled, and said, "Oh, no no. That's fine. Are you telling me you can finish this entire job today?" He said, "Yes ma'am. Or tomorrow." I shook my head, "Today will be fine." He shrugged and said, "Oh, well, I don't want to strand you here all day." Too late, buck-o. You didn't seem concerned about that over the past week. I replied, "Don't worry. I have plenty to keep me busy here today." Like updating my blog.

The reason I can't wait until tomorrow is because I really don't want this job to continue to drag on. My semester begins on Monday for an abbreviated term which is stressful in itself, and I will not be okay with repairs dictating whether or not I can stay in my office for a full day while I grade papers.

Back to the adventure. The repairman went out to the stores to find something to plug up the hole. About an hour later, he returned and was able to spray the ceiling. By that time Robert returned home for lunch, and the repairman seemed relieved because now the man of the house was home and could speak business matters with him. Thank goodness.

Here's the popcorn ceiling finished. The picture is a little small and it's difficult to tell that the walls need repainting (notice where the wall meets the ceiling).

Once the popcorn was finished, the repairman came out and asked Robert about payment plans (the in-laws/landlords are taking care of that, thank goodness), and then he said something that hit both mine and Robert's ears funny.

Repairman: Yeah, so, I guess we'll be finishing up today. (Left to do: allow the popcorn to dry, and then repaint the walls, closet doors, and trim where there has been damage.)

Robert: That would be great. We really need this to be finished today.

Repairman: Yeah, she said it needed to be finished today, but it could be finished tomorrow.

I just sort of smiled...in a way that Robert can translate to understand that I wasn't actually smiling.

Robert: Well, I'm working all day for the rest of the week, and she goes back to work on Monday, so we really need you to finish today.

Repairman: Okay, then.

I mean, really. Maybe I'm over-thinking it, but the conversation struck me as so strange. Why emphasize that I requested he finish today? What was he expecting? Did he expect Robert would say, "Oh, she's just the wife. You can finish tomorrow"?

My final annoyance: when Robert started to leave after his lunch break, the repairman followed after him, turning to me and saying, "Hang on...I have a quick question to ask...." I figured "hang on" was indicative of a promise to return and inform the person staying at the home to wait. I apparently figured incorrectly. He had a conversation with Robert and then left. I had no idea he was gone until, ten minutes later, I looked out the door and saw his truck was gone. I texted my husband to get the details, which he was happy to give me yet surprised I didn't already know.

Now I am still waiting for the popcorn ceiling to dry so that the repairman can return to repaint the room. We truly hope it will be finished today rather than tomorrow. We have a great deal of work left to do in my old apartment, and I hate to waste the day away just waiting on repairmen who give me very little detailed information on their plans.