Corn Fritters … People … The Old Fart

This is what’s on my mind …

Shhh …I am not awake yet. I am just up and moving along with my day. My eyes are blurry and my brain seems to be walking behind me, like royalty.

I’ve walked the gardens.The Boy is still sleeping with Nick. I am sure that TheBoy is glad I got up so that he can have my whole side of the bed.

Yesterday, I tried making corn fritters like they made on America’s Test Kitchen.

They were a lot of work. Fresh corn. Shucking. Cutting of the corn. Taking half and putting it into the food processor and then sautéing that down in size. Sautéing the rest of the corn so it browned a tad, cooling it all down and then adding the chopped scallions, cumin, a bit of flour, salt and pepper and corn start home.

The was just the beginning.

Then you fry it in a pan with hot oil.

And that is where the problem came.

The corn acted like popcorn and snot huge pops of hot grease all over, including at my face. It got all over. The floor, stove, cabinets. But the face? That is when I said “Ouch,” put my face in cool water and turned the burner off … and then threw away the rest of the batter.

The four fritters that made it were delicious. But in forty-odd years of cooking, I have never had so much hot grease splatter, anywhere, especially on my my face. Thank corn relish that I had my glasses on.

I told Nick that I think I am done with such things.

It is a shame because they were really the best corn fritters. But nobody got time for that.

A couple of weeks ago, I wrote a post that made me sound like I was sad. I wasn’t sad, just a touch of melancholy, which that, mixed with lots of joy, is my nature.

It finally dawned on my, after talking it out with a friend, that I wasn’t sad, but a bit uncomfortable with enjoying myself and my work that, in our society, doesn’t have a price tag on it. Is it because if I think things are going well and I express it out loud or feel it and let it take over my mind and aura, the other shoe will drop? Am I tempting fate to acknowledge that certain things bring me joy?

Solitude brings me joy. Hard work brings me joy. Thinking and writing bring me joy.

The stunningly gorgeous red cardinal on the bird feeder, chirping, looking around and eating, bring my soul nourishment.

Throughout my life, I have filled my head with all sorts of folly, thoughts, worries, angst, supposition,other people’s thoughts … so many things that I had no control over. And some things I did.

I have worried about people liking me. That went into when we moved into the new house in the new neighborhood. I felt the atmosphere of high school, in a way. Meeting people, getting sized up, seeingif I were worthy of being a friend. I tried hard. I put myself out there. I wanted to.

But I don’t really like to do that. It is exhausting. Maybe it is if we were all freshman. And sophomores and then, will I get invited to the prom?

I think it is sort of natural. But that is not the contented me. It is the me that can’t last. Can’t sustain. It takes my energy.

Many people get their energy from being with people. They love to have lots of people around and laugh and chat and mingle.

That just isn’t me. Oh, a bit is fine. If I go to such a thing, if I can find a person or two to talk quietly with and laugh and have fun, I enjoy that. But I would rather do that somewhere quiet, like sitting on a porch, drinking iced tea, and engaging where I can hear. And think.

The funny thing is that I love my solitude, knowing that there are people close by. That is comfortable.

I think the thing is, I am a creator. That gives me energy. Where thinking is draining for many people. I love to think.Especially about projects and filing my head with new information and working towards something. I don’t really love feeling so exhausted, but I love seeing the results. Good results or not so good results, I love to give something my all.

I am not a good thinker when I don’t have a project. I wonder why so and so hasn’t called or why do I have to be the one to always make the connection and just, plain nonsense. Stuff that doesn’t matter and has no business being in my mind.

Do you ever think like that? Nothing good ever comes from that. At least, for me.

My friends that are aging with me, are pretty similar. Not all, but many. I think younger people think it is “Old Fart Syndrome.”

And it sort of is. but who really gives a toot?

Why is this so?

Do we just know how people are? Do we not want to set ourselves up for disappointment? Is it that we are tired? Tired from raising children, living in a society that has changed and gotten so fast-moving, and, well, in many ways, icky?

Some of it is our bodies. Good health is not a given. You can do everything right, and then turn the wrong way and down you go.

Our minds change, too. Or at least, I think they do.

What mattered before, doesn’t matter now. Singing peace within yourself, for some of us, is more important than impressing others or doing things that don’t bring us contentment.

And it isn’t just contentment, is it? It is more in the ls of personal growth. Whaat do we want to do, try, learn, before time and age has its way with us?

Love becomes more important, doesn’t it? Real love. Love from family and friends and the love we find in smelling roses and feeding them to make them grow.

I sort of dip my toe into the people pond, periodically. I love to hear do that. So, I am not quite a hermit. I love to smile at my neighbors and catch up … then go about my own business.

Isn’t if fun to get to the point that you have figured out who you are, what you are about, and what brings you joy?

I think it is grand.

The Old Fart,

Susan

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s