Monday, May 15, 2006
Here comes the beef
Or maybe the broasted chicken with wild rice and green bean casserole. Whatever’s walking down the aisle, you end up in a face off between side dishes and rolls, the entrée you hoped for decidedly missing. Is there anything stranger than being a stranger in a familiar land? When the extent of your day is fending off drunken Chester chicken pick-up lines, can you fight the urge to ask, “Why does ‘Git ‘er done’ include adding bacon to my string beans?”
Why am I driving down the same road that made sense five years ago, wondering if I can veer to the right, the left or maybe just put it in reverse and tear away? I can ask the question in a million ways, but it boils down to the empanada filling of humanity: Since we’re all so fluid and changing, why am I so blatantly not a part of the mix?
Here I am, climbing down the wedding RV stairs, continuing to wish that I packed a lunch (for the entire weekend). We walked into the neighborhood bar, past the bikers in their leather chaps, underneath the “Chicago Bear Trap” wall hangings and gathered as a wedding party in front of the crowd. The groomsmen had long since eaten the bridesmaids’ sandwiches, so we were hungry. I don’t know what I was expecting, but Louis Rich had thrown up on the table and all that was left was some artificial crab dip and a plate of messy chocolate-mint brownies. Later, as my blood sugar raced from scavenged cookies and brownies, I climbed back into the bridal bus and found myself standing. Again.
As the seated groomsmen passed a flask of Doctor’s and I lurched with each passing turn, I felt blessed to see this wonderful friend begin her new life with her new husband.
Yes, you read right. I felt blessed. This was a girl who took me to the first place in town with a veggie burger for cheap. This was a girl who brought me flowers after a car accident (still one of the kindest gestures I’ve experienced). Over the years, she’s muddled though the foibles of a new vegetarian cook with smiles and the reassurance only the best roommates can bring. This was a true friend.
Now, five years past sharing a great apartment with a pool, we’ve gone our different ways. She’s a homeowner, married to a hunter. Spending her summers grilling hamburgers and brats on the lakeshore. I’m living closer to the Reflecting Pool than any lake and enjoying a Soy Pup on my rooftop grill in the summer smog.
As the opposing viewpoints of high-fastening pants, inappropriate dresses and bad country oil mixes with my high-strung, city-stress vinegar, I find myself accepting the difference as something cultural and experience it that way. We made a perfect vinaigrette this weekend, Wisconsin and I. Compelling me to embrace the past and the different paths we take as lives grow and opportunity knocks us on our…
Why am I driving down the same road that made sense five years ago, wondering if I can veer to the right, the left or maybe just put it in reverse and tear away? I can ask the question in a million ways, but it boils down to the empanada filling of humanity: Since we’re all so fluid and changing, why am I so blatantly not a part of the mix?
Here I am, climbing down the wedding RV stairs, continuing to wish that I packed a lunch (for the entire weekend). We walked into the neighborhood bar, past the bikers in their leather chaps, underneath the “Chicago Bear Trap” wall hangings and gathered as a wedding party in front of the crowd. The groomsmen had long since eaten the bridesmaids’ sandwiches, so we were hungry. I don’t know what I was expecting, but Louis Rich had thrown up on the table and all that was left was some artificial crab dip and a plate of messy chocolate-mint brownies. Later, as my blood sugar raced from scavenged cookies and brownies, I climbed back into the bridal bus and found myself standing. Again.
As the seated groomsmen passed a flask of Doctor’s and I lurched with each passing turn, I felt blessed to see this wonderful friend begin her new life with her new husband.
Yes, you read right. I felt blessed. This was a girl who took me to the first place in town with a veggie burger for cheap. This was a girl who brought me flowers after a car accident (still one of the kindest gestures I’ve experienced). Over the years, she’s muddled though the foibles of a new vegetarian cook with smiles and the reassurance only the best roommates can bring. This was a true friend.
Now, five years past sharing a great apartment with a pool, we’ve gone our different ways. She’s a homeowner, married to a hunter. Spending her summers grilling hamburgers and brats on the lakeshore. I’m living closer to the Reflecting Pool than any lake and enjoying a Soy Pup on my rooftop grill in the summer smog.
As the opposing viewpoints of high-fastening pants, inappropriate dresses and bad country oil mixes with my high-strung, city-stress vinegar, I find myself accepting the difference as something cultural and experience it that way. We made a perfect vinaigrette this weekend, Wisconsin and I. Compelling me to embrace the past and the different paths we take as lives grow and opportunity knocks us on our…
