Perfection is reserved for very few things
June 4, 2007
Listened to the show Saturday and it was not bad. At first I was feeling a bit sorry for everyone with the show being broadcast from a baseball field and all those storms threatening, but the truth of the matter is I would have given my eyeteeth to have been there. There isn't much as exciting as an impending storm, and there would have been the off-chance I would have ended up frolicking in the rain with Mr. Keillor and Mr. Hudson and Ms. Scott and Mr. Dworsky and a whole bunch of people I'd not yet met. We could have gotten a round of "Kum Ba Yah" going, or hummed "The Battle Hymn of the Republic" or simply played "20 Questions" until the storm passed and I believe I might have lost my mind with joy.
Which is exactly what Mr. Sundberg thought happened during Sunday afternoon's storm when he turned into the driveway and there I was dancing around under the eaves, rainwater gushing in torrents over me and my new blue bathing suit. I waved to him as he drove into the garage. He came out under an umbrella and stood there a moment shaking his head, rain spotting his khaki pants. "I thought you were going grocery shopping this afternoon," he said. I'll do that tomorrow, I told him. Just wasn't up to it today. "Well, may I ask what you ARE doing?" he said. It's not what I'm doing, I told him. It's what I'm not doing. I'm not stuck inside because it's raining. I'm not feeling miserable because there's no sun today. No, Siree. And I wouldn't be wearing this suit, either, except Mr. Johnson across the street has been at his window for a good hour now. I know his eyes are bad, but who knows HOW bad, and I wouldn't want to risk an unplanned visit to my friends over at the county jail.
Mr. Sundberg went up the steps into the house shaking his head. On rare occasions, I imagine he wishes he'd married someone a bit less, well, whatever it is that I am. Or a bit more of whatever it is that I'm not. Which is fine with me. I've never aspired to perfection where wifehood is concerned. Perfection is reserved for very few things air temperature, clean windows, and pie crust among them.
I could have married someone else, too. Someone who might like how I go with the impulse to ride my shopping card through the parking lot or to stand in the rainwater pouring from the gutters. Someone who might sprinkle rose petals on the porch on my birthday and write poems on birch bark and bring me tea in bed. But that same person could be allergic to cinnamon and have an aversion to garage sales and auctions, and think it silly to fall asleep holding hands. And then where would I be?
I say, bathing suit or no, get out there and dance in the rain. Someone will love you, if someone doesn't already. And if someone already does, they'll either overlook it, or come on out and join you, and wouldn't that be something.
Peanut Butter Fruit Dip
8 oz cream cheese
3/4 cup brown sugar
1/4 cup white sugar
1 t vanilla
1/2 to 1 cup peanut butter
Cream. Serve with sliced apples and bananas.
Sour Cream Fruit Dip
1 small pkg vanilla instant pudding
1 c milk
1 c sour cream
1 t vanilla
Mix and serve with bananas, pineapple, apples, pears, etc.