Solitary Week

As you read on Jenny's last post she and the kids have headed to Omaha as I stay behind for a retreat and work on research.  So in my procrastination I am writing this post.  I have made a few realizations this week.  One is that I can still survive without Jenny here.  It is a bit frightening to realize I will have to heat a can of soup on my own, which I did, and come up with gross scramble egg concoctions, which I also did.  Last night's dinner was scrambled eggs with salami, mozzarella, mixed with red onion, hot sauce and A-1 steak sauce.  Standing over the skillet with apron on I roared, "I am man!  I am not completely dependent on my wife to survive!  I can heat food with fire!"  I often imagine myself as a chef on some PBS cooking show explaining all the steps to make the "Sea-side Scrambler."  I would be the soft spoken chef on PBS, not one of these angry chef's I see commercials for.  Food for me is joy, not anger.

Not sure if it was procrastination or a brain-washing method Jenny has me on, but I even found myself sweeping and washing the dishes this morning.  It has been an arduous road to bring me to civility and sanitation.  As I finished sweeping and began reading I thought, "Huh...That was strange."  A memory came to mind.  The apartment that I shared with my friend Darryl our final year as undergraduates was disgusting.  We never cleaned it.  I mean never.  The white linoleum in the kitchen was black from the slush and asphalt brought in during the winter.  Across the wood floor were thousands of black rubber pellets fell off our cleats from the stadium turf.  The bathroom was dangerous to one's health.

I recall that one weekend Darryll and I were both out-of-town, maybe at a soccer tournament or visiting our hometowns or girlfriends.  Anyhow, a friend of Darryl's was passing through Chicago on her way out East and asked to stay the night in our apartment.  We agreed, without telling her the dire situation of our home.  I recall that she had called Darryll and scolded him for the unsanitary situation in which we resided.  She had to use the bathroom upon arrival, but could not bring herself to do it; so went to the dollar store, bought cleaner, cleaned the bathroom, then used it.  Shameful, on our part really.  The apartment was spotless when we returned.  Here was a woman, someone I never met (and would be embarrassed to do so now), cleaning our filth.  In a subconscious retaliatory way however, she did forget about a can in the freezer, which exploded.  I do not think we cleaned it out until final inspection day.  Darryl was the inspector as the RA.  Ironic.  

So those are my deep thoughts as I begin research on Erasmus and Thomas More.  Very enlightening stuff really.  I do feel a little smug and a sense of pride in the fact that I have really grown in domestic life over the last 6 years.  I will keep telling myself too, that I am not entirely dependent on Jenny for sustenance.  After all, I can scramble eggs.