Universal Meatballs
I have a good friend going through a horrendously bad time right now, the kind of lifetime crisis that either kills you or changes you so fundamentally that you will never again be the person you were before. I recently went through something similar, although I don’t think I let it take as much of a chunk out of me as it’s taking out of her, mostly because I’ve had my ass kicked by the Universe before. I know that when you keep trying to make something work, and it doesn’t no matter what you do, then you need to relax and figure out what the Universe is trying to tell you, because the Universe will continue to make your life hell until you do.
Like, for instance, tonight. With the meatballs.
My housemate, Jenny, has been doing most of the cooking recently, so I thought tonight, I would cook. Something simple the kids might actually eat: spaghetti and meatballs. I heated the skillet, put the water on and proceeded to make the meatballs. Easy peasy, everything’s going well. The oil seems a bit hot in the skillet, so I turn it down a bit, then I get distracted because homework is still going on and Light needs me to sign her homework sheet. When I turn back, I notice the water isn’t boiling. It isn’t even steaming. I flip over a meatball and it’s charred beyond recognition. I flip over another, and another. They’re all charred. Huh?
It takes me a moment, because I’m slow. Turns out, I put the meatballs on high and the water on medium, so the water’s lukewarm and the meatballs are hockey pucks. Well, okay, I figure; I can salvage this. I’ll just pour the meatballs onto a plate and cut off the burned parts. They’ll be all covered in sauce, anyway. It’s still okay.
(I admit, it doesn’t look appetizing, but it’s Monday night. You can skate on a Monday.)
So, I hit the vent on the range hood, open a window, and keep moving. I take the skillet off the burner to cool it a bit, turn up the heat on the water, and start in on cutting up the meatballs. I grab a jar of sauce and toss it into the skillet, where it immediately boils up and gets hardened and crusty at the edges. Whoops – still too hot. Okay, okay, I think as I cut another chunk of charcoal off the side of a meatball, that’s okay, this can still work. I glance at the water – it’s steaming, but still not boiling.
That’s okay, I think, it’ll boil, it’ll boil, I just have to not watch it. So I turn my attention to the sauce. Which has mushrooms.
Now, I’m getting demoralized. See, my kids won’t eat spaghetti with mushrooms so while I love them, I never buy sauce with mushrooms in it, which means I’ve put in the wrong sauce. I grab the jar and check it out – it’s chunky mushroom, low sodium, pure Jenny. Great. Now I’ve burned the meatballs, the water still isn’t boiling, and I’ve used the wrong damn sauce. Ugh.
Then I look at the top of the jar.
Then I look closer at the top of the jar.
You can’t see it real well in this picture, but those first four numbers stamped there? Know what they read? 2006. As in, expired three years ago 2006. In my defense, the jar wasn’t even dusty. But still.
“I’ll go get Frisch’s,” Jenny says, and for a moment, I want to argue. Maybe the 2006 is just a serial number. Maybe the kids will try mushrooms tonight. Isn’t char on meat supposed to be good for you? Maybe…
And then, I stop. It’s been a rough little while for me. I tried so hard for so long to make my life fit what I wanted to believe it was. I tried to mold reality the way I wanted it to be, the way I wished it was, the way I was sure I could make it if I just worked hard enough, if I was strong enough, if I was good enough… But things kept getting harder. Everything I tried to do failed, every time I put out one fire (with my cooking history, I feel the need to say these are figurative fires) another one would flare up behind me. The Universe was sending me a message: It is what it is, and it’s never going to be anything else, accept it. Finally, I hit the point where I was too exhausted to be strong or good or work any harder. I had to get out, and in doing so, I had to shed everything I believed about myself and go find a new life where I didn’t have to bend reality to my will anymore. In the same way, the Universe has been sending my friend similar messages, demolishing her with similar failures, and I was the one who told her; Accept it, work with what your life is, not with what you wished it was. It’s what I did. I packed up my kids, moved across states, took a leap of faith. I had no idea it would work, that I’d find another home, that I’d ever feel like myself again.
But tonight, after so long of being in the wrong place and trying to make it right, I’ve pulled a classic Lani: burned a dish and smoked up a kitchen. I look down at my hockey puck meatballs and my not-quite-steaming water and my sauce that’s eligible for Medicare and I realize: I’m me again.
I’m home.
I tell Jenny that I’ll take a pork tenderloin, thank you, and as the Best Housemate Ever runs out to feed us all, I go about cleaning up the kitchen and airing out the smoke while my children finish their homework and complain about the stink. My life may not be what I thought it was supposed to be, but it’s pretty damn good and I’m pretty damn lucky. I send a silent prayer into the air that my friend, when she follows her Universal directive and flies over where I’m standing on her way from her old life to her new one, comes across the same incredible luck that I’ve had. I believe that she will. I believe that when the Universe bullies you into releasing what you have falsely believe to be necessary and true, it also makes you a promise. Do what I say, and I’ll take care of you. Trust me.
I’ll make you meatballs…
Just for the record, I would have eaten the meatballs, they weren’t that bad and Lani’s spaghetti is delicious.
It was the three years past its prime tomato sauce that sent me after fast food.
Sometimes we need to lie back and float and trust. As a not-quite-actually-reformed Control Freak From Hell, I have a problem breathing while typing those words. But damned if it isn’t what’s showing up for me too. Hope the meatballs were recycled into something yummy
As one who often disguises char with sauce, I’m hearing you. And you’re right, in life sometimes you have to let it all burn down around you. Glad you got something good to eat after all that trying!
This was a good story.
I hope that your friend lets the river carry her to a sunny shore.
It was aged sauce. As my father used to say, “You pay a lot of money for that in a fine restaurant…”
And yeah, sometimes you have to go for the drive-thru. It’s okay.
(Put the meatballs through the blender with a little water and dry taco seasonings and use them for tacos tomorrow. E.Z.P.Z.)
Yeah, the Universe is a cranky, stubborn grouch who needs a hug and maybe some sparkles. And we have had words. She has barreled over me more times than I can count, elbowed me when I was down (she cheats), and then laughed. [I may be stubborn, too.]
The hardest things are letting go of what we thought we were supposed to be and taking a leap of faith into what we might become. My husband’s grandmother used to say, “God can’t fill your hands with something good if you’ve got your fist wrapped around a bunch of junk.” Sometimes, the real trick is being honest with yourself about what’s filling your hands.
Lovely post, Lani.
Yes, it’s important to listen to the Universe. Because it can be a cranky B#$ch and Tower you when you don’t.
Of course, some of us need to be Towered before we get the picture. Sigh. Toni, I love what you’re grandmother said. I’m going to put it in my quote journal. The women in our lives are often the smartest ones, aren’t they!
Drive through is always a good choice. Applebee’s feeds me quite often.
It’s only bad when they recognize your voice when you call…..
“God can’t fill your hands with something good if you’ve got your fist wrapped around a bunch of junk.”
Gorgeous. I’m going to tattoo it to my hubbin’s forehead. When the Universe kicks him he obediently responds, “Thank you, ma’am, may I have another?” Ugh.
For 8 years I had a semi-annual appointment with the Universe for a teeth kicking until one day I looked up and said, “I’m tired as hell and I’m not going to take it anymore.” I packed up my cats, my books, and my music (the things that made life worth living) and drove across two states to hide under the bed in my parent’s guest room for nearly a year.
Best. Decision. Ever.
I hope your friend gets her epiphany soon and has the strength and wherewithal to heed it – life’s just too short to waste.
You know I would like the Universe more if she wasn’t right all the damn time. But, that’s my drag.
And, sadly, I’ve made meals that look like that before. My poor children.
Lastly, hopefully, your friend gets through for the better.
I love this story. The moment of realizing that you are going to be you again, no matter what–that’s huge. The moment when you realize this particular turn was good for you, even better.
The thing is, I think a lot of us get on a highway where we think we know where we’re going, and suddenly there’s some big accident ahead and you can’t go that way no matter how badly you want to or how well you planned.