Thursday, October 15, 2009

Being a Brat

Sometimes, I can be such a brat. I’d rather be writing or cooking than doing anything else -- unless my kids, grandkids or soul sisters are around. But I can combine visiting with cooking, and this makes everybody smile. And I’ve begun doing my writing first thing in the mornings, so there’s a possibility of getting something else accomplished during the day.

I’ll never understand how Richard continues to enjoy my social schemes; they usually mean a lot of work for him. This is because my priorities quite often overlap in such a way that one commitment precludes another commitment, so Richard – bless his heart – ends up stepping into the breach. No matter what hair-brained scheme I come up with, he’s usually game to come along for the ride. Like Mamie’s garden that “we” helped plant. “We” mostly meant Richard because I had so many other things to do, like entertain our summer visitors, plan our trips, and cook.

When I cook for guests, Richard asks for a grocery list and a list of assignable tasks. He does the marketing, and is happy to prepare any parts of the meals that I delegate to him. He’s our official “salad man”, providing guests with detailed lists from which to choose their favorite salad ingredients. Richard also likes to cook.

I’m not fond of baking because baking is a rather exacting science. My wing-it methods don’t lend themselves to the scientific method. Exacting anything is right up Richard’s alley, so he often takes charge of making elaborate dessert presentations. I’m usually in charge of final preparation timing and serving of the meal. Then Richard pushes me out of the disastrously messy kitchen to “visit” with our guests as he wades through my mess.

When I decided that I’d really like to garden without the use of chemical fertilizers, I roped Richard into scooping chicken poop in Mamie’s hens’ laying house. Now, a horsewoman that we know from Charlie and Deborah’s bluegrass pickin’ sessions has accepted my offer to “let” me and Richard come muck out her stalls in exchange for what she calls “garden gold”.

Richard loves horses, so I know he’ll enjoy getting up close and personal enough with Mary’s horses to rub their velvety noses. I would think that picking up meadow apples would be a high price for most people to pay for a field of vegetables that won’t be harvested for another year and the warm snuffling of a velvet snout. But Richard is a patient man -- and, as I said, he loves horses.

My house needs cleaning in preparation for our guests. I’ve left the cleaning supplies in the corners of various rooms for the last week and no sorcerer’s apprentice has shown up to do the cleaning. My van was attempting to kill me for the last couple of weeks, so Richard took it to the local mechanic and ascertained that it needs to have warranty-backed work that was done in Atlanta repeated. Richard hates driving in Atlanta, so he’ll probably have me take the van down. And, you know, any excuse will do for me to go see Rachel’s family and my Atlanta friends.

Too bad Richard’s never been to Mary’s barn. I’m sure I could turn these other tasks into a way to have the “we” mucking out Mary’s stalls become Richard.