In my head

Some things never come out quite the way you think they should. When I was little I learned very quickly that I wouldn't become a great artist, because the beautiful drawing in my mind never quite made it's way out onto paper. The tree looking more like a stick, the river more like a blue line. Along a similar vein, my sister and I both took piano lessons and since she was only slightly behind me it was inevitable that we would eventually play the same songs. One day during highschool I walked through the room as Ellen was playing and asked her what it was. It sounded so beautiful. It was the song I had played a month earlier. It had sounded nothing at all like the song she had just been playing. I'm still wondering why my music teacher passed me on that one. Maybe she was sick of the way I was playing it.

Tonight I cooked. Now don't get me wrong, I can cook reasonably well. I can whip up some killer turkey burgers, and the one dish I invented, Nillson Chicken (after the late great Harry Nillson, because you put the lime in the coconut) I can cook superbly, although it tends to taste different every time I make it (If you want the recipe just write me). But tonight I wanted a good square meal, what my Grandmother always called a home cooking. Pork chops, mashed potatoes, corn, and broccoli. And oh yes, fried apples on the side. You can't have pork without apples. Ask any southern gal.

In my head, the dinner was going to be fantastic. In reality there was something a little wrong with each thing. Not that anything tasted bad. Nothing got burned, just a little too salty, a little too gummy, a little too mushy. Except for the corn. That came from a can.

I guess I really should put an apron on more often than once every five years. And next time my Grandmother cooks pay a little bit closer attention.