Yesterday felt as though there was bad mojo in the air. You know, on those days when I seem to drop everything and my day is like one foot nailed to the floor. No, I'm not losing it. I've been like that all my life. Most days are great, things go smoothly, and I feel like I accomplished something. But there are days once in a while when I feel like a complete bumbling fool.
When little annoying things go wrong for Carol or me, we can usually make troubles seem small by injecting a little humor and laughter into the moment. For example, picture me dumping my hot lunch yesterday--Salisbury steak, potatoes, gravy, cheesy covered broccoli and all--all over the floor, table, and my chair in the sun room. Carol and I giggled like school children as I cleaned up the mess.
It's also helpful for me to recall classic moments in Carol's history, particularly one day early in our marriage. At the time, Carol was working in a bank, a job she hated, and one of her co-workers had gotten on her nerves. She held her bad day inside her and prepared dinner. She was opening a bag of uncooked rice when it accidentally tipped over and dumped its contents into a silverware drawer that was open. There it was a drawer full of rice. It might it as well as have been gunpowder. That's when the force of her bad day caused her to explode into the most unbelievable tirade of profanity and stomping feet I had ever seen. It wasn't really the rice in the drawer, it was that woman at work who made her day miserable.
I had a good day, so I was able to weather the moment without reacting negatively. Instead I worked to calm her down sympathetically as she explained why she exploded. I sat her on a chair and in my best impression of her, reenacted exactly every moment of her outburst--stomping feet, fists flailing in the air, all while loudly repeating her profanity. The gamble paid off. She screamed with laughter. I love it when I'm her favorite comedian. Making her laugh at herself at that moment was priceless. We hugged each other and realized that we just didn't want the rest of our world to define our moods and let others get to us.
Yesterday, after lunch, as Carol returned to teach her kindergarten class only a mile from here, I was responsible for cooking a whole chicken in the slow cooker for dinner--nicely seasoned with lemon, paprika, and rosemary. As it simmered for its scheduled six hours in the slow cooker, I continued away from the kitchen in the sun room, putting the finishing editing touches on my short story. Carol had a writing workshop class last evening, so having a nice dinner ready before she leaves the house is helpful for her schedule.
Thirty minutes before she was to arrive home, I checked on the chicken. WHAT THE HELL??!! The cooker was completely off. I had no idea what time it had turned off or why. So I did what any normal person would do. I panicked. Instead of a clock finish, I turned to the meat probe that comes with the cooker, inserted it into the chicken through the lid, set the heat setting to high, and to look for 180 degrees F., the recommended safe temperature to tell when chicken is done. The probe read out on the cooker was 140 degrees...just right for salmonella. When Carol arrived home after work, I reported my progress as the temperature read 152. I'm happy to report I was not beaten for my incompetence. lol. We decided to take a walk and laugh it off as I secretly prayed to St. Julia Child for a miracle. Twenty minutes later, we came back and the temp had reached 178. Yay! Two minutes later, it was done.
I had recovered from a bad day as soon as the sun set, like a hapless vampire whose powers are weakened by daylight. The chicken was delicious, by the way, and Carol's laughter with me instead of at me is appreciated. Oh, yeah, and the short story is ready for my editor.
