MARTHA, I LET YOU DOWN

By no stretch of the imagination could you call me a perfectionist. I'm more like an "imperfectionist" in that I'd rather do several projects that are "good enough" than spend hours getting one thing just right. It's a system that works for me. But last night was an exception…

Every so often, the stars line up and I have a clean house, a well-manicured lawn and a well-stocked fridge all at the same time. It's a Martha Stewart moment for me and I relish it, walking around my house as it radiates with Feng Shui. I was in this Zen-like state last night when a disturbing thought shook me out of my reverie. We had nothing to eat. Oh sure, there were lots of ingredients, but nothing you could call a meal. As much as I hated to mess up my clean kitchen, I knew there was no way out of it, I had to cook. Especially since our boys were home from college, they were always hungry.  

Since I'd have to clean the kitchen anyway, I decided to make several dishes at once: a vegetable curry for dinner, mini corn muffins for breakfast, and a spinach quiche for whenever. I mixed the muffin ingredients together and spooned the batter into four muffin pans. While I waited for the oven to heat up, I defrosted the frozen spinach in the microwave and started chopping vegetables for the curry. 

I have to clear something up at this point. Although my last name is "Venkataraman," you shouldn't assume that I'm Indian. The name came with the guy. And, while I have visited India, I didn't go there to take cooking lessons. Nevertheless, I do enjoy a good curry and I can usually follow a recipe. 

After I cleaned and chopped my vegetables and shoved all the peels, stems, etc. into the garbage disposal, I lined up my beautiful rainbow of onions, peppers, eggplant, cauliflower and potatoes. Just then, the oven beeped its readiness and I crammed all four muffin pans in at once. The muffins wouldn't take long and soon started to smell delicious. Our two dogs, Abby and Phoebe, were already camped out by the kitchen door, hoping for a sample. They were dreaming if they thought I would give them any.

As I heated the oil in the pan for my curry, I poured myself a glass of Merlot. I was sure Martha would've done the same. Then, following the recipe, I poured a tablespoon of mustard seeds into the hot oil and waited for them to pop. I didn't have to wait long before they started popping like popcorn and then hurtling themselves all over the kitchen. Hot oil pinged me everywhere at once. I tried shoving the pan to a back burner to make it stop (splashing hot oil in the process), but it was no use. The mini-grenades kept coming at me while I yelled, "Ow! Stop!" As if they cared. Just then, the timer went off for the muffins. Reluctantly, I put down the towel I'd been using to shield my face and sure enough, as I pulled out the first tray of muffins, a hot mustard seed flew into my eye--all the way from the back burner! The sudden shock made me drop the muffins, which scattered all over the floor. That was all the invitation Abby and Phoebe needed. They raced into the kitchen like they were in the home stretch of the Kentucky Derby to slurp up the hot muffins and cover the floor in dog slobber. 

I was so busy yelling at the dogs that I didn't see the fire raging on the stove where I had spilled the oil. In a panic, I looked for the fire extinguisher. Was it under the sink or in the garage? The hot mustard seeds were still coming at me as I ducked under the sink. Grabbing the extinguisher, I pulled the pin and swung around, knocking over my glass of merlot and splashing it all over my shirt. After the fire was contained, I took the rest of the muffins out of the oven. They were so burnt, not even the dogs would eat them.

I took a deep breath. What would Martha do? She would try to salvage her shirt, I thought. I turned on the water in the sink to wet the sponge and water started to fill the sink. I flipped on the garbage disposal but, instead of the water draining out, food started shooting up! Apparently, I had overloaded the disposal. I turned off the disposal and walked over to the fridge. I knew there was a bottle of club soda in there somewhere. As I reached inside, I knocked it over. Not thinking, I opened the bottle and club soda sprayed everywhere, like a scene from the Three Stooges. Soaking wet, I sat down on the kitchen floor and just started laughing.  I heard the front door open and my oldest son came in the kitchen, "What's for dinner, Mom?"  

I shook my head. "We're ordering pizza." I know that's exactly what Martha would have done.

IRRATIONAL FEARS

Even if you are the most well-adjusted person alive today, somewhere buried deep in your psyche lives an annoying little kid who looks a lot like you and has an irrational fear of….something. Who knows how it started? Maybe you read a scary story once, or maybe you were hurt or almost hurt doing something, but now it is forever imprinted in your brain…to be afraid.

My own fear of lightning (Keraunophobia) is just one of my mother’s many fears, handed down at a susceptible point in my childhood. I know for a fact that my mother was never struck by lightning, nor did she know anyone who even came close, but the minute she heard thunder, she tore out of the house, stopped our game of “kick the can” (even if we were winning!) and herded us into the house so fast we didn’t know how we got there.

And she was “the lightning police” for the entire neighborhood. One day, the kids across the street were swimming in their above-ground pool while their parents weren’t home (!) and it started thundering. With nary a thought for her own safety, my mother dashed over there and made them get out of the pool NOW. While she did not enjoy other people’s misfortune, quite the contrary in fact, she still felt compelled to tell you whenever some unfortunate soul, often on a golf course or a baseball field, had been struck dead by lightning, usually out of the clear blue sky.

Living in Florida, the lightning capital of the country,  helps to keep my fear alive and well and I’m quite sure I’ll never shake that one off.  I am also afraid of bears but it’s only a problem when we visit a National Park where they happen to live, so that fear doesn’t limit me so much.  But, as I grow older, I am developing some new fears including: Catoptrophobia (fear of mirrors), Barophobia (fear of gravity) and Geniophobia (a fear of chins).

My friend’s mother was afraid of riding in elevators, (a combination of acrophobia and claustrophobia) which was quite a manageable fear, and my younger son was afraid of clowns (Coulrophobia) for quite a while after seeing the movie “It.”  As long as he never joins the circus, he should be alright.  My older son suffered from Lachanophobia (a fear of vegetables), but he is slowly outgrowing it.

I know many people who suffer from Ergophobia (a fear of work), Phronemophobia (a fear of thinking) and Gnosiophobia (a fear of knowledge), but they don’t find it debilitating in the least.  Thankfully, I don’t know anyone who suffers from Ablutophobia (fear of washing or bathing) and I personally could never associate with people who had Hippopotomonstrosesquippedaliophobia (a fear of long words, of course). 

Luckily, people with Paraskavedekatriaphobia (fear of Friday the 13^th) only have to freak out three times a year, at most, and sometimes only once a year, but the ones I feel most sorry for are those who suffer from Panophobia (fear of everything) and Phobophobia (fear of fear). Is that what FDR meant when he said: “The only thing we have to fear is fear itself”?

Even if your particular fear doesn’t have an official name, don’t feel bad, I’m sure there is someone who feels the same way you do. You could probably even find a support group online, unless of course you suffer from Cyberphobia (a fear of computers) or Anthropophobia (a fear of meeting new people). Then maybe you should just go lie down until you feel better, but don’t look under the bed, just in case.

THE SWEET LIFE

My mom used to say I had "candy radar." She was right, of course, I do, but I can't take credit for it. I was born this way, it's my unique superpower. No other superhero can claim it--and I'm not sure they'd want to. No matter where I am, no matter what else is going on, I can always sense the presence of candy. I'm not kidding. Even if I was in a burning building, and a fireman threw me over his shoulder to carry me to safety, I'd be wailing: "Who's going back for the jar of jelly beans?" 

It's not like I go looking for candy, you know. Well okay, I do, but most of the time it just appears in my line of vision, with no effort on my part. But, before you recommend a twelve step program for my sugar addiction, you need to hang on a sec. I said I had candy radar--I never said I ate all the candy I came across. Think of me more as a divining rod, a candy psychic as it were. I'm a Tootsie Pop cop, a Baby Ruth sleuth and a gumdrop gumshoe all rolled into one, ha ha.

That doesn't mean I don't eat candy. Au contraire! There's nothing like the burn of an Atomic Fireball rolling around your mouth, or the mouth-puckering sourness of a Lemonhead on the tip of your tongue. And nothing compares to the perfect piece of dark chocolate, melting like butter in your mouth and sending happy thoughts to your brain. Of course, I have gone overboard once or twice. I'm not proud of this, but I once ate a half pound of Jelly Bellies while working at the register in my college book store (you can't really call it an "impulse buy" if you've been eyeing it for three hours). But those days are over. My teeth and my waistline now insist on moderation. 

Also, I need to set a good example for my kids. My oldest son doesn't care much for candy, but the younger one is another story. If I buy a pack a Sweet Tarts and stash it in my glove compartment, Josh will find it (and eat some). But it wasn't until the day that I took him to my office and he went straight for the dark office in the corner, opened the desk drawer and found a large bag of candy that had been placed there only hours before, that I knew. He had candy radar, too. 

Perhaps one day the world will need people like us for some higher purpose. After all, they can train pigs to sniff out truffles and they're even training dogs to sniff out cancer, surely, they can use people who sniff out candy. I only hope they use our superpower for good and not evil!

IT ALL STARTED WITH A LOUD SNEEZE

It all started with a loud sneeze. One minute I was chatting on the phone, and the next I was down on all fours, chanting “ow ow ow OW!”  I had never thrown my back out before and I wondered if I would ever get off the floor. From this new perspective, I realized that I could now “keep my ear to the ground” and my “nose to the grindstone” with no effort at all.  Eventually, the spasm subsided and I crawled to the bathtub to take a hot bath.  A few days later, a physical therapist recommended back exercises for me.  Her favorite was “wall-sitting.”  Wall-sitting is simply standing with your back to the wall and then bending your knees until you resemble a human chair. Then you stay that way as long as you can.  She also recommended a half hour of Pilates. I vowed to wake up early every day to fit all of that in.

 

The next week I went to the dentist for a check-up. He told me that, at my age, I should brush twice daily, floss, use a Water Pik (like a pressure cleaner for your teeth) at night and then stimulate my gums with a rubber-tip between each tooth, front and back. I vowed to stay awake a half hour later every night so I could fit all of that in.

The next week I went for my annual check-up. My doctor told me that, at my age, I should be doing 30 minutes of aerobic exercise three times a week and also working out with weights to keep up my bone density. He added that if I wanted to remain flexible, I should start doing Yoga. I decided to give up my lunch hour and also wake up an hour earlier on the weekends so I could fit all of that in.

The next week, I went to the dermatologist for a check-up. She told me that, at my age, I should stay out of the sun at all costs and slather myself with sunscreen any time I saw the light of day. So, I bought a case of sunscreen and vowed to spend an extra fifteen minutes getting ready every morning so I could fit that in as well.

After a month of my new routine, I was so sleep-deprived that I started combining things so I could stay in bed longer. I became the “Queen of Efficiency.” I flossed my teeth while I practiced being a human chair; I rubbed sunscreen on while I jogged in place and I stimulated my gums with a rubber pick while holding a Yoga pose of a tree. Instead of lifting weights, I juggled the cans of beans as I was making dinner and carried the dog out of the kitchen. Finally, after I started doing deep knee bends while I brushed my teeth, I found I didn’t have to wake up early anymore. This getting older stuff is totally manageable; I don’t know why everyone complains about it. Excuse me, I feel a sneeze coming on…

I’M NOT TALKING ABOUT YOU, OF COURSE…

I’m not talking about you, of course, but pet owners can be so annoying. Oh, I know what you’re thinking-that I just don’t understand and that, clearly, I have never experienced the joy of pet ownership. To that I say you may have a point. But, seriously, why the need for a bumper sticker that proclaims:  “I love my Labrador Retriever”?  Are you hoping that fellow Labrador enthusiasts will feel a kinship towards you and avoid rear-ending your car?  Or, are you hoping they will pull up next to you at a traffic light to chat about Labs?  I don’t get it…And I also don’t understand people who plaster pictures of their pets all over their office (or cubicles) at work.  They have dozens more pictures than I have of my kids (does that make me a bad mother? do they enjoy making me feel inferior?)  And they always want to tell you stories, lots of stories about how brilliant, charming and adorable their pet is and why their pet should perform on the Letterman show.

Well, I need to set the record straight: I have indeed owned pets and have even lived with other people’s pets. In fact, my favorite roommate in college also happened to own my least favorite cat in the world. This cat hissed and nipped at me any time I encroached on his territory, which apparently was the entire apartment with the exception of my room.  I tried to win him over, but he was unimpressed. The most amazing thing was how oblivious my roommate was to her cat’s open hostility.  She explained that he liked me-he was just being “standoffish.”     

When I was a kid, my father brought home a Basset Hound and named him Boris. He was kind of cute, in a droopy sort of way, (the dog, not my father) but, if Boris liked us, he kept it to himself.  He also had one particularly unendearing quality, he smelled terrible! And no amount of bathing could change that. Naturally, my mother didn’t want him in the house, except at night when he slept in the utility room-with the door tightly closed. Undaunted, my father bought Boris a dog house. If Donald Trump decided to keep an outside dog, he would buy this exact dog house. It had all of the amenities, including indoor/outdoor carpet and a fan, and it was huge!  Our tree house wasn’t half as nice, not that I harbor any resentment. Well, not anymore. My Dad was so proud of that dog house that he actually took people outside to take a tour.

One day, it was pouring like it would never stop. My dad looked out the window and then slammed his coffee cup down. “Unbelievable! Boris is standing out in the rain! Why doesn’t he go in his dog house?” My dad marched outside and, while we watched through the window, he tried to show Boris how to go into the doghouse by crawling on all fours and going into it himself. Boris just stood there as the rain pelted him from every direction. Frustrated, my dad proceeded to half-carry, half-shove the recalcitrant hound into his palatial home. But, as soon as Boris was inside, he turned around and walked out again. After spending an hour in the rain trying to keep the dog from getting wet, my Dad came in the house, exhausted and soaked to the bone, muttering, “What a stupid dog…”

Soon after that, we had to give Boris away due to his other bad habit, which we didn’t even know he had.  One after another, our neighbors began calling to complain. It turned out that when we weren’t home, Boris howled non-stop. He was so loud, he was scaring their children.  They couldn’t hear their TV sets even with the windows closed. So it was “Bye bye Boris,” we hardly knew you.

And don’t think my experience with pet ownership ended there.  No Sir, it did not. When our boys were young, they convinced us that we needed a dog. Foolishly, we decided to rescue a dog from Animal Control, not realizing that our chance of finding a normal dog there was practically zero. As it turned out, cute little Sunny was in a class by himself- a little Cock-a-Poo with a big problem. It wasn’t a problem for him, it didn’t faze him a bit, but when Sunny received anything more than a passing glance, he became so excited that he wet the floor. Sadly, we could only be friendly to Sunny when we were outside; inside, we had to maintain a cool cordiality from a safe distance.

We were prepared to live with Sunny’s strange quirk if it hadn’t been for his other issues.  First, he started snapping at non-existent flies; then he started licking his left front paw incessantly for no apparent reason (although I’m sure he had an excellent reason for snapping at imaginary flies). The vet prescribed Prozac for his OCD (yes, dogs can have OCD), but it didn’t help. Soon after that, Sunny started jumping up on the table and peeing on the mail (on purpose!) and he had to go.

Several peaceful, pet-free years passed and our memories faded to the point that when our youngest son begged for a dog for his birthday, we capitulated. Somehow, we ended up with not one but two dogs, sisters named Abby and Phoebe. Vivid memories of Sunny suddenly returned and we waited for the nightmare to begin again but now times two! We waited and waited and…nothing happened. Well, something happened. We discovered that we had two perfectly house-trained dogs who were sweet and good-natured and only barked at the mailman. Soon, we learned how brilliant, charming and adorable they could be and so clever that they were sure to be on the David Letterman show one day. I just happen to have some pictures, would you like to see them?