BoomerBlix

The Poem for Women that We ALL Wish We Had Written

 

Pamela Redmond Satran (Source: NYT)

I didn't write it--sure wish I had. Neither did Maya Angelou, although she gets 99% of the credit. No, it's Pamela Redmond Satran who has watched her wildly-popular poem get shared, placed on posters/mugs/t-shirts, and be attributed to the late Ms. Angelou since May 1997.  (Within a month of the same year, Chicago Tribune writer Mary Schmich wrote the famous "sunscreen speech" that would be credited to nearly everyone who thereafter gave a commencement speech.)

How must it feel to have written something so spot-on that it not only takes on a life of its own, but becomes permanently associated with one of America's most-esteemed authors?  If it were me, I'd be royally pissed, because no one could possibly believe I'd written anything so good. Maya must have been a magnet for anything inspirational.  When the United States Postal Service released the Maya Angelou commemorative stamp last year, the stamp included a 1967 phrase from another ripped-off poet, Joan Walsh Anglund: "A bird doesn’t sing because it has an answer, it sings because it has a song." Oops.

Having done my bit to set the record straight, the poem is still a wonderful perspective for every woman, no matter our age or experience. It's a personal reminder to me of how far I've come...and that I still need to get a cordless drill.

A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE
Enough money within her control to move out
And rent a place of her own
even if she never wants to or needs to
Something perfect to wear if the employer
or date of her dreams wants to See Her in an hour

A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE
A youth she's content to leave behind
A past juicy enough that she's looking forward to
retelling it in her Old Age

A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE
A set of screwdrivers,
a cordless drill, and a black lace bra
One friend who always makes her laugh
And one Who lets her cry

A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE
A good piece of furniture not previously owned
by anyone else in her Family
Eight matching plates,
wine glasses with stems,
And a recipe for a meal that will make
her guests feel Honored
A feeling of control over her destiny

EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW
How to fall in love without losing herself
HOW TO QUIT A JOB,
BREAK UP WITH A LOVER,
AND CONFRONT A FRIEND WITHOUT
RUINING THE FRIENDSHIP
When to try harder
And WHEN TO WALK AWAY

EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW
That she can't change the length of her calves,
The width of her hips,
or the nature of her parents
That her childhood may not have been perfect
But it's over

EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW
What she would and wouldn't do for love or more
How to live alone
Even if she doesn't like it

EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW
Whom she can trust,
Whom she can't,
And why she shouldn't take it personally

EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW
Where to go
Be it to her best friend's kitchen table
Or a charming inn in the woods
When her soul needs soothing

EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW
What she can and can't accomplish in a day
A month
And a year.

Written By: Pamela Redmond Satran 1997

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Can Money Buy Happiness? You Bet!

"It is pretty to see what money can do."   (Samuel Pepys (1633-1703) wrote in his diary entry on  21 March 1667)

There is money squandered, and there is money that returns dividends many, many times more valuable than the cost of the original investment. 

Here are some things I consider my finest use of funds:

• Contact lenses:  Born near-sighted, I had glasses at age three.  Even then, I knew the cute pink frames were poor compensation for this affliction.  In third grade, boys called me "four eyes." By high school, I begged for contacts, but my parents considered them a luxury, and told me I could have them only when I could purchase them myself.  A summer job at a dentist’s office gave me “visual freedom.”  After a hellish adaptation to hard contact lenses--the only way they came in 1967--it would be forty years before I reconsidered putting on a pair of glasses, even for stylish or practical reasons.  Cost:  $100
• My divorce:  The marriage wasn’t going well, and I had started my own Credit Union savings account—against my husband’s wishes.  At the time, I wasn’t sure if I was saving for a new car, a piano…or a divorce.  When the last straw came, it was an easy call.  Cost: $2500
• Wine classes:  At the time, I was dating a chef.  Not wanting to look stupid, I signed up for a class on French wines, which turned into a year of classes on varietals and vintages of every kind.  I found that I really enjoyed wine, and that I had a great palate.  The relationship suffered when we went to a blind tasting contest, and I did better than the chef.  But the lessons have stayed with me all these years.  Cost: $900
• Consultation regarding my life’s purpose:  Here I thought I was supposed to be always responsible for everything and everyone.  Never mind that it was a staggering burden.  Lo and behold, I’m meant to:  Have fun!  Create!  Explore!  I can’t begin to describe the sense of liberation.  Right now I don't even have a houseplant. Cost: $200
• My personal stocks:  Yes, I am the proud owner of shares of Apple and Facebook, with more planned.  And a few others, some pretty successful, which together comprise my Retirement Travel Fund.  I choose them myself, watch over them lovingly, and add a share or two at a time.  My financial advisor is impressed enough to want to count them in my investment portfolio, but I refuse to relinquish them.  They. Are. Mine. Cost:  $100 a month

Small purchases at the time, huge payoffs.  Some more than I ever anticipated.  If anyone tries to tell you money can't buy happiness, send them to me.  Meanwhile, I keep saving for future investments. You should, too.

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The Things That No One Ever Says To Married People

The Things That No One Ever Says To Married People

Singles vs. Marrieds. I've written about it many times. So has the rest of the world...it's daily fodder for the Huffington Post. Seems there's always a new study showing who's happier, healthier, richer, prettier, stronger. Meanwhile, the single population grows:

• Last year, the number of single adults in America topped the marrieds--50.2% are now singles, compared to 22% in 1950.
• Pew Research did a survey with adults and found that only 46% of them really wanted to get married; 25% did not...and the jury was still out for the other 29%.
• Even more telling: Once people have been married, 46% chose to remain single after divorce.

What prompts today's Blix is the perplexing fact that when married people say they're happy, others believe them. When singles say they're happy, others think the singles are putting on a good front--that it's impossible to live alone and be content. In fact, three Israeli researchers found that people became angry at singles who chose to remain unmarried; these singles were judged more harshly than other singles who said they were looking for a romantic relationship.  

Bella DePaulo, PhD, studies single people and the stigma of being unmarried. She maintains married people enjoy privileges, much like being white or male. Just being married grants certain status and rewards. To verify her belief, she and two colleagues developed a list of statements to determine if you're among the "privileged." Take a few minutes to read these ten statements and respond "yes" or "no." (Singletons: Insert "single" for "married" and your favorite person for "spouse.")

1. I can count on finding huge numbers of movies, TV shows, and books featuring characters desperately seeking to join my marital status and being celebrated when they succeed.
2. I do not find lists of reasons why I am still married on websites and in magazines.
3. I do not receive unsolicited advice about what I did wrong that led me to get married, or what “issues” I have that left me in the sorry state of matrimony.
4. I enjoy the presumption of maturity: People assume that because I am married, I’m more mature than I would be if I were single. If I act in an immature way, people don't assume it's because I'm married.
5. I can give large sums of money or estate property to someone important to me (my spouse) without paying taxes.
6. If I decide to raise kids, no one will presume that because I'm married, my family is at-risk or dysfunctional. Or that my kids will become juvenile delinquents.
7. I can be the star of expensive celebrations of my marital status and I won’t be called selfish or self-centered.
8. I can assume that an important person in my life (my spouse) will be included in social invitations, such as the "plus one" at weddings.
9. I often pay less for insurance simply because I am married.
10. If I make the argument that single people are privileged in particular ways, no one will say I am doing so because I am bitter.

For the full list of 32 questions, click here to see Dr. DePaulo's full blog post. She covers Social Security benefits, faulty research, and my pet peeve, the single supplement. (The extra twist of the knife for traveling alone...) 

No one is looking to revolt against marriage. We're just asking that our "stereotypes" be put on the same level as the those of married folks. And my special plea: Quit making me pay more to go places by myself!

 

 

 

 

 

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Women: Go Buy a Swimsuit...Today!

  

Credit: lingeriebriefs.com

Last year, I complained about "The Agony of the Swimsuit Search," the painful process that leads to poor self-esteem and a grumpy attitude towards life.  In that Blix, I wrote, "And here's The Big Question:  Can I be a feminist and still want to find a swimsuit that makes me feel pretty?"

One year later, I'm here to say: It doesn't matter.  Go buy a swimsuit and have fun. Today.

It's summer again. We wait for it all year, planning vacations and cook-outs. Somewhere during this time, the opportunity to be in water will present itself. Hotel, resort, lake, river, ocean. For way too many of us, panic sets in: Omigod, I'm going to have to wear a swimsuit. Yes you are, girlfriend. We all are. So let's get to it.

Think back to when we were in grade school. We went to the public pool every single day that was warmer than 70 degrees or not raining. I had one swimsuit for the entire summer--my mom sewed the pool pass on the left shoulder. I can't tell you a thing about the color or pattern of any swimsuit, except they were all one-piece. I just put it on and rode my bike to the pool, not giving a damn how I looked.

High school and college brought fewer opportunities to actually be in water. Mostly swimsuits were for tanning, after we slathered on the baby oil. Or to tempt boys. But we now cared about what we showed off.  Body image and social acceptance had kicked in. We copied the styles that Colleen Corby was wearing in Seventeen--never mind that we didn't have a prayer and would never look cute in a triangle scarf.  

On to adulthood. If we had children, we wore swimsuits out of necessity. To the pool, on vacation, at the beach--so we could keep the kiddos from drowning. The crazy thing? Our bodies were changing, but we didn't have time to stop and consider. We bought something that fit, hopefully concealing our flaws. And off we went, cellulite and all, enjoying life.

You know the rest. Middle age arrived and we believed we couldn't let the world see that we were...getting older. As if every other woman our age had somehow escaped this fate. Some of us didn't get a new suit for decades. We didn't need one, because there was no way in hell we were going to expose our thighs or stomachs or butts to anyone we remotely knew. Maybe we'd pack a swimsuit for a trip or cruise to wear around complete strangers or our families. But that was the limit. 

Years passed. And you know what? Well, maybe you already do--it just took me a little longer to figure out. We have always looked good! Our bodies have always been exactly right for each season of life. We are our own worst critics. In ten years--five, even--we'll look back and realize we looked absolutely fine "back then." And we'll wish we'd put on a swimsuit and jumped in the pool every chance we had. Who gives a shit what other people think? 

So. I've reconsidered The Big Question in last year's Blix. I remain a feminist, but now I know I'm pretty in a swimsuit. And so are you. Get out there and be Your Gorgeous Self!

When Singles Get Sick: Not for the Timid

The Single Woman Gets Sick...1857

Last Saturday I woke up, full of plans for the day. A long walk, some writing, maybe a movie...who knows, I might even do a little housework! I went downstairs to make some coffee, but decided maybe I was still a little tired. Plenty of time, so I went back to bed. And slept two more hours, something I never do.

When I woke up, I knew I was sick. Flat-out, nausea-and-vomiting sick. Blazing headache and unrelenting vertigo. I spent the next 24 hours in a horizontal position, either in my bed or on the cool bathroom floor.  Miserable...and alone.

Here's the thing: when you live by yourself, you also get to be sick by yourself. No one pops in to see if you'd like a soothing orange popsicle or a refreshing glass of ginger ale. Craving chicken noodle soup? Great, just haul yourself out of bed and make it. As soon as the room stops spinning.

On one hand, I could sleep for hours without anyone asking me what was for dinner. When you're nauseated, that's a real plus. On the other hand, I could sleep for hours without anyone remotely concerned with my alarming state of health. I managed to get to the kitchen once; otherwise, I was glued to the bed, willing to sell my soul for a beverage. You think I'm exaggerating, but I'm here to tell you that I peed once in 24 hours. Dehydration ruled the day. 

Single people know what I mean. We can plan for the flu, keeping a few items ready. I happen to like canned peaches when I emerge from days of feeling awful. Others prefer childhood favorites, like macaroni and cheese from the blue box. Sherbet. Grilled cheese. Applesauce. Jello. Since no one is going to dash to the store on our behalf, we need to be prepared. Then pull on our old ratty robes, run our hands through our greasy hair, and go to the pantry. At which point we decide it's not worth the effort, and return to our sickbeds. Not a recommended method for weight loss.

In a day or two, we'll recover. (Although each of us vaguely wonders how long it would be before others realize we've gone missing...) We'll manage to shower and brush our teeth. Change the bedding. And re-enter society. We've navigated illness without someone to put a cool washcloth to our brow, plump our pillow, and check to see if we're still breathing. A small victory, to be sure.

People think that solo travel is the hardest part about being alone. I'm here to tell you, that's a snap.

Single Supplement: Punishment for Solo Travelers

 

Traveling alone? Only 200% more to see a pretty sunset!

There you are, the confident solo traveler. Note: I didn't write "tourist," but "traveler," a topic for another Blix. At any rate, you've researched your destination; planned to make the most of your time; and saved faithfully, so you can explore without pinching pennies. Your wardrobe is strategically planned--every item matches two others. You're ready for anything!

Except having to pay the "unmarried travel tax," otherwise, creatively called the Single Supplement.

Wikipedia's definition of the Single Supplement: "The single supplement is a premium charged to solo travelers when they take a room alone. The amount involves ranges from 10 to 100 percent of the standard accommodation rate." That's right, folks..."a premium."  And it's weighted much more towards the 100 percent mark. Unfortunately, it seems solo travelers must pay a penalty, since they can't seem to find anyone who cares enough to journey with their wretched souls.

The folks who impose this tax don't bat an eye as they explain that their tour/cruise budget is based on "double occupancy" and one person can't possibly spend as much as two. “To sell that stateroom to only one person,” said H.J. Harrison Liu, a spokesman for Royal Caribbean, “that wouldn’t necessarily make business sense for us.”  (Doesn't he just ooze compassion??)

Because Mr. H.J. Harrison Liu irritated me so much, I went to the Royal Caribbean Line website and priced out a 7-day Alaska cruise. For me? A Deluxe cabin: $5,218-$10,183. Balcony cabin: $3,665-3,883. Even a dull Interior cabin: $1,660-1,750.  My partnered friends? Here's what they each pay...Same Deluxe cabin: $2,609-5,011. Balcony cabin: $1,780-1,941. And a measly $845-875 for an Interior cabin. So, I can have my privacy--at twice the price.

Or, I have the option of finding my own roommate.  Apparently, I can visit CruiseMates.com and post a request for a buddy. This is about as appealing as...well, I can't even think of anything so awful. What a poor solution, as if singles are interchangeable, and can just share a room because, well, they're single and who really cares? A few companies, such as Rick Steves, offer the half-ass solution of telling singles that if they're not able to provide a roommate (again, randomly chosen--and with Rick Steves tours, singles are rotated throughout the trip) then bingo! you've scored a single room. Meant to be fair, it still feels second-class. (And to be fair again, RS also offers single supplements. I know--I've paid for them six times.)

There has been progress with some cruise lines and tours companies.  Not universally offered on every itinerary--and, as they say in the ads, "certain conditions may apply"--a savvy single can book without wondering who will show up to claim the other bed. Sadly, these are high-end companies, so you may end up paying as much as you would have with the mainstream cheats. Check out Avalon Waterways, International Expeditions, Abercrombie & Kent, and Tauck. And newer ships by Norwegian Cruise Lines have started to include 100 sq. ft. interior cabins designated for singles...after all, we don't deserve much room, and certainly not a window. The Norwegian Epic offers 126 "studio" cabins, meaning 126 of the 4,100 passengers are singletons. Still, it's a start, so I should be grateful.

What makes this all so outdated is the fact that the number of singles is at an all-time high, and not expected to stop climbing. The most recent data released by the U.S. Census Bureau showed that there were 102 million unmarried people, 18 and over, in 2011. That's more than 44 percent of all adults! Only five years earlier, the number was 92 million. It won't be long before half the county is single. Add to this another fact: more and more people--partnered or not--enjoy traveling alone. American Express reports that 12 percent of American adults intended to take a solo trip in 2013, up five percent from 2012!  

Times are changing, for sure. Smart companies will look at demographics and quickly adapt to be ahead of the curve and sweep up singles. We're ready and we have money.  Most, however, will continue to charge me and my imaginary friend double, for as long as possible.

 

 

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Home Alone at the Holidays

Credit: thedailymeal.com

Time to talk about how Singles feel about the holidays.  And to do it without sounding maudlin.

My friend Melinda and I were chatting a few weeks ago.  She's a smart, accomplished single Boomer, lives up in St. Paul.  We were talking about Thanksgiving (rebel spirit that she is, she was serving her family roast beef and Caesar salad, instead of turkey) when she said, "You should write a Blix about what it's like to be single during the holidays."

Great idea, Melinda!  But where to begin?

Shall I start with the general sense of just having to endure the whole season?   This can range from a mild, but stoic tolerance to painful, forced-grin occasions.   It's not at all that we are Scrooges, or that we begrudge anyone their delight in the holidays.  It's the annual struggle of finding our own way to fit in.  As experienced and usually-comfortable-in-our-skin Singles, it's odd to find ourselves returning to the same spot.  So here we go again.

It's difficult to explain.  When we're in the mix with other Singles and couples, maybe a work function or a casual cocktail party, no sweat.  What gets tricky are those invitations to join another family. It starts to feel a little schizo.  Part of us wants to be included, part of us wants to avoid it.  Maybe because being around a happy family, with their inside jokes and histories that require no explanation, can actually make us feel even more lonely.  We want to share the day, and yet we don't.  To add to the confusion--and trust me, it is confusing!--we can't predict which way we'll feel on our drive back home.  Content, with the rosy glow that comes from having had a "happy holiday" experience?  Or bummed, because we don't really belong?

Melinda thinks there is a difference between Thanksgiving and Christmas.  One matters more than the other.  For her, Thanksgiving  is more family-based, and therefore tougher to navigate. Christmas is more general; people don't usually invite you over to watch them open their gifts.  Besides, by Christmas, we're in the home stretch of the whole holiday thing.  New Year's Eve is a cakewalk.  Still, I need to think about this a little more.  I can't quite identify a particular holiday as being kinder and gentler to Singles.

For me, the hardest part of being single--and alone--at the holidays is going into the grocery store.  I can sidestep the malls, which are ridiculous with carols blaring before Thanksgiving.  It's easy for me to dismiss the glitzy shopping scene; we all buy too much, anyway.  However, I have to eat, and therefore, I have to buy food.  It's when I see displays with the special ingredients for holiday foods, that I weaken.  Memories of past celebrations come stampeding back.  I wistfully recall tasty party dips, containing many blocks of cream cheese.  Baking supplies, nuts, candies, fancy baskets and cookie tins.  Fruitcake.  Yes, even fruitcake.  I happen to love fruitcake.  That's when I go white-knuckled, wishing I had someone to cook  for, and with.  Someone to clink my champagne glass with.  Veuve Cliquot, of course.

You see my point, now, on the maudlin thing.

"What do you want from us, then?" ask the steadfast married and coupled readers.  Let me first say we don't want your happiness; in fact, we cherish and encourage it.  We applaud it--it gives us hope, makes us smile.  Second, the season doesn't really shake our self-esteem, as much as it may sound like it here.  We're not morose, or in danger of hurting ourselves.  We're simply trying to muddle through.  How much is sheer seasonal hype, how much is what we actually need at this time of year?  Even though Boomer women slightly outnumber men, it's still a two-by-two society.  And it's more pronounced during the holidays, different from the rest of the year. 

So, precious partnered friends, please keep inviting us.  Understand that we may or may not accept.  I hope this Blix explained.  And know that come January 2, we will heave a huge, collective sigh of relief...until Valentine's Day.

 

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The Challenge of Cooking for One

 

 

Saucepan for One--Wayfair.com

We recently talked about eating alone. Today I'm taking the topic back a step...the challenge of cooking for one. And I don't mean making a pot of chili on Sunday and living off it all week. All single people do that. Five days later, we can't face one more kidney bean. Some of us even toss out the last bowl or two. Which I do.

No, I'm thinking of regular meals, the kind you have when there are others around to help consume everything. I'm thinking of the happy variety that happens when you can make a multi-course dinner knowing there won't be leftovers building up in the refrigerator because you didn't calculate correctly--or you still cook as if the entire family were around, including two teenage boys. Which I do.

A batch of brownies? An apple pie? Oatmeal cookies? Unless you're hauling them to work the next day, or have hungry neighbors, there is simply too much to keep before they go stale. Not to mention the temptation factor.

Trust me, I'm all for feeding myself well, and I enjoy cooking. Some would say that I'm pretty good at it. So it's not a lack of motivation that trips me up. It's the "mini-ness" of the effort.  

There are two aspects to any food preparation: First the shopping and then the cooking. 

The shopping: Say I want to make a something that calls for a fresh herb. I can hardly bop into the produce department and ask for six basil leaves. No, I have to buy one of those pricey little plastic boxes with forty basil leaves. I can--and will--try to use more of them, but inevitably, most will end up sadly shriveled. I'll feel guilty  and will avoid recipes requiring basil for a long time. Cheese gets moldy. A dozen eggs last over a month.

I have a refrigerator door full of specialty items, purchased for a recipe.  Fish sauce, jalapenos, capers. Three kinds of mustard. Four kinds of vinegar. Both salted and unsalted butter. I'm not complaining, because it's fun to make all kinds of foods. I'm just saying that that "condiment creep" happens over time.  In my cupboard, it's the same story with spices. Even if I buy the smallest bag, flour becomes rancid. Cornmeal gets those tiny bugs. 

One fish filet. Two slices of pancetta. Three ounces of spaghetti. Mini-ness, indeed.

Now comes the preparation. Allow me to share a recipe--with my comments in italics-- from "serves ONE: Simple Meals to Savor When You're on Your Own" by Toni Lydecker. Ms. Lydecker means well, and does her best to downsize foods for the solo cook. But I am never going to go to the bother of making a single serving of ratatouille or one salmon croquette.

Spicy Rice Noodles with Pork  (Sounds nice, huh? I agree!)

2 ounces dried rice noodles (sticks) or cellophane noodles (These come in 8 ounce packages.)
1 Tablespoon black bean and garlic sauce (See my remark about about "condiment creep.")
2 teaspoons soy sauce (This is okay...soy sauce is a standard.)
3 ounces boneless thin-cut pork chop (One single pork chop! Now the freezer starts to build up with extra  bits of meat that will need to be used before freezer burn sets in.)
1/2 medium carrot (Where can I buy one carrot?)
1/2 celery rib (You can see where this is going, right?)
1 scallion (And the other four that came with it? What happens to them?)
2 teaspoons peanut or vegetable oil (Takes a long time to use up oil, 2 teaspoons at a time.)
2 teaspoons grated ginger root (Great! Another thing to buy and then watch dry up.)
Crushed red pepper, to taste (Like soy sauce, I actually have this on hand.)

I won't continue with the directions, which instruct me to slice and dice the carrot, scallion, and ginger. And to cut the lonely pork chop into 1/4 inch slices.  By the time I'm doing that, I'm already wondering how I'm going to use the other eight carrots and celery ribs, along with the scallions and ginger. Cooking like this sets off a chain reaction; I'm always chasing the next recipe that can use these ingredients before they get wilted and slimey. 

It's a funny thing, this cooking for one. I've been at it for over nine years now. Some days--and weeks--I do better than others. Overall, I manage quite nicely, and do find ways to use the carrots, celery, and whatever else comes my way. It's important to me and a huge part of self-care. 

There's your glimpse into a single cook's kitchen. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm off to make a pot of chili. Or maybe just a big bowl of popcorn...after all, no one's watching.

Next week: Holiday Cooking for One

 

 

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Eating Alone…What's Your Pleasure?

"Place Setting for One" by Anna Bryant annabryantpainting.com

How do you handle the idea--and reality--of eating alone? Do you indulge in your favorite comfort food, eating an entire pot of macaroni and cheese (the kind from the blue box, with the bright orange powder) without bothering to put it in a bowl? A frozen dinner? Perhaps just order a pizza, maybe with toppings that no one else likes? A bowl of popcorn?

Or do you cook for yourself? Really cook? My friend Mimi does. She is forever saving recipes to her Facebook timeline, with a note along the lines of "Saving for myself. Must try!" I know that she actually does make many of those recipes. As a longtime single, she has learned the importance of self-care, especially in daily eating.

What about people who find themselves in the kitchen alone, while spouses travel or are off to book club?  I don't have any statistics on what married/partnered or men/women do in these circumstances. I suspect there is more microwave reheating than breaking out the copper cookware. More scrambled eggs than quiche Lorraine.

In her charming book, "What we eat when we eat alone," Deborah Madison takes a casual question and starts asking people how they feed themselves when nobody else is watching.  She asks people of all ages, in all phases of life and relationships. Then Madison--an award-winning chef--gives us 100 recipes, based on what folks told her. They look tasty...except the Leftover Spaghetti Sandwich, which includes the soggy salad bits from last night's dinner.

Food is intimate. I think how we feed ourselves when alone is a reflection of how we feel about ourselves. To illustrate this, I offer a peek at what cooking and eating alone can look like, from my friend, Jim Livingston. Happily, he has agreed to let me use his description of cooking for one. It is maybe my favorite story about the reasons for--and joys of--eating alone. 

I’m standing over a hot stove, a Viking range if you must know, scrubbing the bottom of a big pot with a wooden spoon, sprinkling flour into the sausage grease and the extra oil to make a dark brown roux on my way to a gumbo of some kind—haven’t decided which, fish or fowl, I got the makings of either in the fridge—and I realize that all this work is just for me because I’m the only person present tonight, and I have to wonder why I’m cooking for myself.

The short answer is I spent the weekend in rural Illinois, where I come from, and where favorite recipes begin with cans of tuna or chicken soup and end with crushed Kellogg’s Corn Flakes, frosted or not. The long answer follows.

I learned to cook back in the 1990s, when my then-wife went back to work full-time in the city and I proudly took on the role of ardent feminist husband, willing to get the kids to school, to deal with the teachers and the principals, to attend the extra-curricular events, and . . . to make dinners that were approximately edible.

The culinary inspiration was my friend and colleague Bruce Robbins, a man famous in these parts for his uncanny ability to make unlikely ingredients—say, pomegranates, yuck—into dishes that you don’t just eat, you enjoy and discuss them, and then you beg for the recipes. He did the cooking because his wife was pretty much always on the road or at her UN job.

With Bruce as my model, I set out to cook dinners that would satisfy the tastes of my kids, then six and three years old, but also appeal to my then-wife and my own sensibilities. This was not easy, because my motto in those days was “No Mammals,” by which I meant that I—we—would not eat cows, pigs, nor even rodents. At that point in my life, my elective affinities included squirrels. So I scoured the cookbooks and taught myself—and my kids—to eat a lot of chicken and fish, prepared in, shall we say, imaginative ways. Also beans, mostly refried, and rice, largely brown, a balancing act between obesity and idiocy because the protein never outweighs the sugars, the carbs, and the calories.

I relented in the late years of that decade, as most of us did in imitation of our indulgent leader, Old Bill of the large appetities, and started cooking huge slabs of meat for the family on the grill, from which red-stained repasts I would of course abstain, accumulating secret pleasures from this contrived absence and sufficient calories from the alcohol on hand.

And now here I am cooking, strenuously, for myself. Why?

It’s a reaction formation. On Saturday morning, I watched as the sister-in-law of an old friend prepared her casserole for the big family reunion that afternoon, out in Oregon, Illinois. The ingredients were two huge packages of frozen hash browns, two cups of sour cream, two cans of Campbell’s cream-of-chicken soup, and—I stopped my accounting at that moment, excused myself and went to the bathroom, where I huddled for ten minutes in hopes of escaping memories of my grandmother slathering something, anything previously edible, with layers of Velveeta, as if she were a bricklayer with a trowel and a wall to build.

I have nothing against packaged food, mind you, except that it poisons children, but this return to my Midwestern youth moved me to get out the frying pans, break out the white wine, and turn up the fire on that Viking range.

Just for myself.

Amen. And Bon Appetit!

 

Announcing the Solo Series!

Hello, BoomerBlix Readers!

I am launching a new series, focused on all the aspects of a solo life. Over the next weeks and months, I will be writing about how single people think, feel, and behave in a world made for couples. I won't forget those "single" times for folks with partners, either; business travel can make for a solo life for the partner left behind.

Before you turn up your nose, please know that this will be an interesting series, with topics you may never have considered. We are all getting older, and the likelihood is great that most of us will spend time as a single person.

Let me know what you think of the Solo Series!  

Suzy
[email protected]