In watching this handsome, self assured TV chef go about his demonstration of how to prepare trout almondine, he tells us about his service as a Marine in Iraq. As an aside to how a vanilla bean’s aroma reminds him of something the troops were warned to avoid as a poison because it smelled like vanilla.
Then he mentions his three sons, so I know he’s married--or was, and sufficiently endowed for he and his wife to become a father three times. All the time he’s so cool explaining how to fry the trout, then throwing together some panna cotta.
Why does my mind wander and begin nagging, “I wish I was a man such as I perceive him to be?”
It’s the image on the screen, it’s my mood slipping into classic “I don’t like me” mind fuck. A long ago secret wish to be someone else besides this body I’ve been occupying so long. Details like is he straight or gay, is he happily married, is he addicted to some sort of drug or booze? Would he be someone I’d like to spend time with? Why can’t I settle for who I am? All my life I’ve been comparing myself to others and especially men I can never be--and on and on and on.
Well, the food is cooked, the show is over and Mr. Wonderful fades away and so does my yearning and envy. Who knows he probably has as many devils to battle as I do.
Besides the grass is always greener on the other side of the bed.
Time to stop wasting energy on mindless self destruction and TV which has its moments too.
The quiet in the room an gentle sound of the rain drops striking the window panes reminds me of another day long ago and geographically far away--almost in another life. A little boy proudly rides his 24 inch wheeled Ranger bike over to his friend’s house. They admire his newly acquired birthday present and celebrate his graduation to a two-wheeler. Friend’s mother calls him to the telephone (it’s one of those new one-piece cradle phones--not like the old two-piece upright one at home.) The message is from big brother advising him to come home because of the rain storm and emphasizes be very careful because you are likely to slip and slide and fall and crash your new bike. Brother was especially emphatic about the imminent danger of the trip home. Sufficient to scare the wits (we didn’t say “shit” in those innocent times) out of the neophyte two-wheeler pilot.
The rain stopped long ago and far away memories stopped too. The whistle on the tea kettle beckons.
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