Boat cuisine

Last week or so, my husband made a Costco run. I can get a lot of material out of my husband’s Costco runs. His shopping habits in general, in fact, yield tons of funny stories. Did I tell you about the night-vision deer camera? Did I tell you about the Stanley Cup swag (maybe I had a hand in that one, too)? Did I tell you about the decades-old Mercedes convertible? Sit down. Pull up a chair.

So back to the Costco run. He actually got a lot of useful stuff, including a three-bottle carton of Clorox bleach (I gave some away) and enough toilet paper that we were able to supply ourselves, my sister-in-law, my mother-in-law, and two elderly neighbors. He got some chips and salsa, which are always useful; and a case of my beloved Diet Coke. But he also picked up some less-necessary items, including a very large bag of frozen fish sticks.

Full disclosure: I actually like fish sticks. Always have, always will. As far as I’m concerned, there are few better lunches than a plate of fish sticks and some Campbell’s tomato soup. But not everyone shares my love of fish sticks.

Still, food is food; and times being what they are, I decided that we need to incorporate those fish sticks into a dinner menu. Waste not, want not, know what I mean? So I made a delicious and elegant dinner of mixed vegetables, bowtie pasta with garlic and olive oil, and fish sticks.

I know. We live like royalty.

My sons, 18 and 15, hadn’t seen fish sticks since they were toddlers. When they were little, I tried, unsuccessfully, to get them to love fish sticks as much as I do; but I finally gave up. Presented with his meal, my older son looked at the plate and said “I don’t know about the fish sticks. I mean, I don’t really eat seafood.”

His brother scoffed. “Seafood? That’s not seafood. That’s Ocean McNuggets.”

*****
That was a week ago, more or less, give or take. It all runs together now. It’s the day before Mother’s Day and in keeping with my normal policy, I won’t be cooking this weekend; not even fish sticks. I did make eggs this morning, but eggs don’t count as cooking,

It’s 12:25 PM. I’m not really dressed yet, and I’m watching “The Third Man” on AMC. I love black-and-white Cold War cloak and dagger movie dramas. Postwar Europe, especially Germany and Austria, was a dark maze of conspiratorial Soviet vs. West intrigue; or at least that’s how it was in the movies.

The postwar United States of movies and literature was completely different; optimistic, and full of blithe can-do and will-do energy. I’m reading Helene Hanff’s Underfoot in Show Business, all about her early years in New York, writing plays and working in any job in the theater that she could get her hands on. I love this book, filled with stories about sharing kitchen and bathroom space with neighbors and eating at Sardi’s and cheap coffee shops, and sneaking into theaters, and budgeting for nylons and cigarettes and carfare, and making friends and being young in New York in the 1940s and early 1950s.

It’s almost 1 PM on a Saturday and I’m on my couch, still in pajama pants and a sweater and fuzzy socks, watching and reading about cities full of people going places and doing things amid crowds of other people. Has it been so long since this was just normal everyday life?

*****
Now it's Mother's Day, and I hate Mother's Day. I hate everything right now. Today is the first day that I've felt that I really can't do this anymore. I can't muster the energy to do anything and I couldn't do anything even if I wanted to, which I don't. What do I do if this drags on for six months longer? And what do I do if it doesn't? I forget how to have a normal day. I forget how to manage a life that involves leaving the house and seeing people and doing things. I don't know if I can do it anymore.

I'm so tired and sad. I don't want to be in the house anymore. I don't want to know what anyone is watching on Netflix. I don't want to laugh at any more corona memes. I don't want to hear the police radio all day long.

*****
What the hell was that? I was going to just delete those last two paragraphs, but that’s what came out of me yesterday and there’s no point denying the truth. I’m all about keeping it real.

Yes, it’s Monday now and Mother’s Day 2020 is in the rear view mirror. I don’t know why I said that I hate Mother’s Day because I don’t. It’s fine. It’s neither here nor there. My temporary hostility toward Mother’s Day was just a symptom of yesterday’s mental health crisis. I’m better today. Not great, but better.

As promised, I didn’t cook on Saturday or Sunday because it was Mother’s Day weekend. I don’t know who decided that it’s a weekend now but this seems to be prevailing practice and I don’t like to rock the boat. But the weekend is over now and the kitchen awaits. I shopped on Friday night and I know what I'm going to make. I even cut some vegetables yesterday to make today’s prep easier. With the hard part of cooking (figuring out what to cook) done for today, I can approach the early evening with calm equanimity. No one will starve, and no one will have to eat fish sticks unless they want to. I can’t promise anything more than that.

*****
It’s Tuesday now, and dinner last night was fine, but I’m right back to where I started, which is figuring out what to have for dinner again. Ocean McNuggets doesn’t sound bad to me. I’d eat them still-frozen, right out of the box, if I didn’t have to expend another drop of my already-limited mental energy on what to cook for dinner. That’s the thing about dinner. It’s a job that’s never done. People expect to eat, every damn day.

I had an idea last night and just as quickly as I thought about writing it down so I wouldn’t forget it, I started thinking about something else, and then I forgot. With any luck, it will come back to me. Maybe it was an idea about what to make for dinner tonight, which would make it actually useful. But if not, then another harebrained idea will come along to replace it. Meanwhile, I don't think anyone wants to eat Ocean McNuggets today, but I’ll figure something out. And I don’t hate everything today, so it’s all good. It’s all good.