Wednesday, December 29, 2010

An acquired taste

Leftovers are strange, really. I've never been much of a leftover eater; it used to be any leftovers I was willing to eat were either Chicken Casserole, or Beefaroni, which, if you think about it, aren't the most appetizing meals to consider the second time around. As I've gotten older though, I've come to appreciate leftovers as a convenient and quick meal whose benefits often outweigh their inherent grossness.

Aside from the fact leftovers are destined to become the blue and gray goop in the back of your refrigerator, leftovers are gross because no two meals cook the same way. Pasta and bread-based dishes need a sprinkling of water first in order to heat right and not dry out. Soup and chili are best reheated in a saucepan, and with constant stirring to prevent burning. Taco fixings make for decent salads a day or so later, but forget about resurrecting authentic tacos once they've made it into the fridge. And I can promise your holiday dinner won't leave you with that warm nostalgia of a few days earlier after two minutes in the microwave.

Leftovers, like most everything in life, are a choice. You have to want to eat them in order to brave the recesses of the fridge, and then you have to accept the challenge of warming them up. If you make a mistake, there's no going back for a redo. You've got to live with it, whatever the outcome. Of course, you don't eat the cold bits by themselves, nor do you dive fork-first into the scalding parts. To enjoy leftovers, you've got to take the good moments with the not-so-good moments. After you're finished, it'll all taste the same anyways, so don't focus on the details, just eat it.

Tonight, I ate leftovers for dinner--beefaroni, if you're interested--because it's my parents' anniversary. I wanted to be able to tell them when they asked that I had eaten already, and that they should go out to eat like they always do. I also wanted to escape their intensifying discussion going on across the hall.

Don't get me wrong, my parents don't argue often, but like any couple, they have their moments. They're not going to get a divorce or anything, and they've been married forever...something like 30 years, I believe.

Still though, it's hard to watch them work their issues out from an impartial point-of-view. By impartial, I mean, I spend enough time with both parents individually to understand what about the other is driving them crazy. Part of me wants to step in and help them negotiate stuff, but I know it's not my place, and honestly, I don't /want/ to fill that role.

Tonight's drama came about because my mom's been taking care of her mom at the nursing home, spending almost all her time there and my dad was way on the grumpy side today. My mom doesn't always get to tell my dad what's going on at the nursing home, and she's probably exhausting herself going every day; she comes home looking stressed and frustrated every day, but most of it is exhaustion (or on some days, frustration at the quality of life there). My dad reads my mom's emotions, and he wants to help, but he can't find any way to get past what must feel like a distancing barrier between he and his wife. Because my dad can't get past my mom's exhaustion and frustration, he himself gets exhausted and frustrated, which contributes to my mom's feelings, and it goes on and on. Just recently, it's felt like a back-and-forth war of attrition between the two of them.

I don't mind that my parents have issues. All couples do. I just don't want to be a spectator when it happens.

My parents have shown me one thing though in the course of all their arguments.

Marriage is about forgiveness, acceptance, and loving them anyways. Both parties involved will screw up at some point. It's inevitable.

Just as Christians need to pick up their cross daily, husbands should put the wife above himself, placing her needs first.

I am thankful to have had parents who, though they had quibbles every now and then, were able to practice all of these things before I even knew they were biblical principles. I am also glad to be among the few who can say his parents have never divorced.

Happy anniversary Mom and Dad.

Edit: It's a day later, and my parents went out to dinner to celebrate their anniversary, holding hands as they walked to the car.

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