The lady or the tiger?

Had my groceries delivered to my door for the first time last night. Ordering on line was a piece of cake (so to speak), but putting everything away was the challenge. Do I lather up each item with soap and water or coat the food I am planning to put in my mouth with disinfectant wipes? Hmmmm. Door 1 or Door 2? I heard not to wash fruits and vegetables with soap and water. This, if you do, apparently will allow you more time for reading in the bathroom. Washing with water or scrubbing with a vegetable brush should do the trick. Check. Took me over an hour to figure out how to make everything safe to bring inside and I’m not the least convinced any of it actually is. Someday, if blessed, we’re going to say we lived through this assault on our population. For now, however, we are deep in it and I am running out of gloves. The kid who brought the groceries looked to be about twelve. Guess they are having trouble hiring people. He waved at me through the window and smiled displaying a mouth full of braces. What an odd time. I gloved up and sorted through my bags on the front porch. When ordering I checked the substitutions acceptable box. I didn’t know this meant if you ordered toothpaste if out they could send you Preparation H. I had to pull the paperwork on the order to see what my original intention was on so many items. Ah well, I shall not complain, or is it too late for that?

There are so many mixed messages floating around. One’s whole perspective can be based on what TV news channel you tune in to.  A friend will call suggesting one plan of action and ten minutes later someone else will call to tell me something totally the opposite. On the plus side I, am tearing through Tai Chi and meditation videos like applesauce through a baby trying to keep my energy and my mood in check.

If the social networks I frequent are any gauge, everybody seems to be in the kitchen cooking including myself. At my house last weekend it was banana muffins, today it is chocolate chip cookies. Thank God for Yoga pants. When not feeding my face, I am catching up on my paperwork. Yesterday I went through a stack of stuff I have been avoiding for months clearing off my desk. That was gratifying. I rewarded myself with a muffin, and quite possibly a muffin top, if I don’t find another way to find my joy.

If, as I said in the first paragraph you have indeed washed your fruit in soap and water and are spending more time in the bathroom, good news! Yesterday an anchor on a morning show said with so many people confined to their houses, reading has made a comeback. I hadn’t realized it had gone out of style. If I don’t have a book on a table somewhere in my house I feel naked. Reading is an integral part of my life. I’ve mentioned often I like the feel of a book in my hands. Kindle is fine for those of you who enjoy it but I like to actually turn the page and place a bookmark in a physical book before placing it on the nightstand and turning out the light. Just me, sort of a personality quirk.

Most of us have our little quirks, some more distinctive than others. Food quirks can be interesting. For example, I knew a man once who had to touch his food to the end of his nose before eating it, and another who had to sniff everything before it entered his mouth. Some people don’t like their food to touch on the plate or eat each menu offering in a specific order, potato, peas, meatloaf, repeat. I lean towards counting my food. For a snack I often have four crackers and four small chunks of cheese. Not five, not three, but four. I know! Most likely a food disorder tucked in there somewhere. Some people swear catsup on eggs is the best while others gag at the thought. A close friend of mine dips his grilled cheese sandwiches in catsup.  Once I dated a man with a very selective palette. Menu choices in his case were limited to corn, peas, potatoes, and meat. At twenty-seven a green vegetable had never crossed his lips and there wasn’t one fruit other than bananas he would consume. Cooking for him was about as challenging as watching the grass grow. The only boy in a family with four girls raised by a single mom, mom was a dominant presence in his life. The way she told it she had never insisted as a child he do anything that didn’t make him happy. After a short time I gave him back to her with a note pinned to his lapel, “Returning attached – he doesn’t make me happy”.

This train of thought took me to other men I’ve known along the way. Having been married four times this is an engine having left the station often and been derailed as many times as it has begun a trip.  One of the men in my life, shall we call him No. 2, lined his clothes up in the closet according to days. Monday, navy suit with white shirt and red tie, brown shoes, etc. You get the idea. This routine never deviated as long as I knew him. Had a tornado alert been issued warning “imminent danger, run do not walk immediately to the shelter” when pushing across the yard, wind pressing his lips back from his face, shingles flying through the air, if it was Monday he would have be wearing his navy suit. I’m not lyin’ here.

Aside from quirks people also have “tells”. Tells are subtle body movements or behaviors letting others know what they are thinking. Gamblers often speak of these. A player who twitches his right eyebrow when sitting on a royal flush or another who perpetually clears his throat when bluffing about the pair of twos he’s holding in his hand. When lying, a person may display any number of telltale hints their story is not true. Could always tell when my children were knee deep in the throes of a whopper. Young people, well known for providing one word answers such as “nothin” when asked what they are doing, suddenly become founts of information when involved in a lie. They go into such vivid detail relating their story you could write a novel around the plot they have woven and create a best seller.

Body language tells can also include animals. Makes me think of those funny videos showing dogs caught with pieces of batting hanging from their mouths standing next to a destroyed piece of furniture. They stare pitifully at the wall or divert their eyes while questioned by their owners about who tore up the couch. Reminds me of Barnaby, a golden retriever we had many years ago. He really was comical. At times when he lived with me I found him less than funny, but looking back he makes me chuckle. One weekend we had invited friends from my husband’s office, a couple and their two kids, over for dinner. The wife was kind enough to have baked a delicious looking white coconut cake. Yum. After consuming a huge dinner a walk seemed in order. I left the cake on the table. On the way back the conversation turned to the cake and everyone was looking forward to enjoying a piece. Gathering some plates and utensils when home I went in search of dessert. The table in the dining room was empty except for a trail of coconut extending down to the floor and forming a line across the hardwood floor. Hmmmm. Following the suspicious evidence down the hall it ended at my bedroom where I found Barnaby sitting in the corner facing the wall tail wagging nervously. Knowing he was in trouble it appeared he had already put himself on a time out. “Barnaby”, I asked, “what did you do”? More tail wagging ensued but he never looked my way.  When I went to stand next to him his tail began to nearly beat a hole in the carpet. Looking down I could see his ridiculous dog face was now a mass of coconut and frosting. The empty well licked plate was all that remained of the cake.

I get it, Barn, lying isn’t in my wheelhouse either. Should I ever need to lie to save my life I’ll need to have a prayer in reserve to slip in before I go. My face gets red, I shift from one foot to the other, I overstate, and generally leave all my cards face up on the table. Couldn’t be more transparent if “LIAR” raised up emblazoned across my chest. Not a good scene for me.

Another interesting personality tic is how superstitious people behave. People who won’t step on cracks in the pavement or refuse to walk under ladders for fear of bad luck descending on them. Beings for whom Friday the 13th is a day to stay home, pull the covers over their heads, and hope for the best. One guy I dated back in my twenties entertained an interesting superstition. It seemed he had struck a good luck bargain with the statue of Jesus bobbing back and forth on his dashboard. He raced U-boats or what they call unlimited hydroplane boats, more of a death wish than a vocation to my estimation. These boats skim across the water at speeds upwards of 200 MPH.  Each time we entered or exited his car I observed him giving Jesus a friendly pat on the head before securing or releasing his seat belt. When I questioned why he was doing this he said he believed performing this ritual would keep him safe during his races. I guess this is sort of like football players wearing the same pair of socks, or baseball players allowing their beards to grow during the season to ensure their team makes it to the playoffs.

Funny isn’t it no matter how alike we may be we each have little differences which make us unique and well, distinctly us? Sort of like personal fingerprints. So from distinctly me to distinctly you have a great and healthy day.