It's true. Yesterday, I knowingly put some frozen chicken breasts on the kitchen counter and then walked away for, like, six hours, until a small pool of pink liquid had gathered under those now-flaccid cuts. And then, instead of throwing them out, I grilled the chicken up and served it to my family, complete with a nice splash of lemon juice and olive oil atop it!
(Spoiler Alert!) NO ONE DIED! In fact, one family member even complimented me on the dish!
Have I really grown so concerned about my children's impending personal bankruptcy as they ponder buying cars and renting bad-landlord apartments that I've actually decided it's better to just poison them with air-born bacteria than face the inevitable difficulty of witnessing their penny-pinching, Ramen-riddled near futures?!
One word--no.
And, while I have no intention of making room-temperature chicken a regular menu item, I do think there's something to be said for making our peace with this messy, hard-to-lasso life, which is a difficult enough task without fretting all that raw poultry.
Right now, for instance, my siblings and I can wish all we want that our parents were excited about the idea of giving up their independence but, as the saying goes, wishing doesn't make it so. And that means that this next chapter of our lives--even without considering the trajectories of our own children's lives--will probably be messy and frustrating and, I hope, laced with more compassion and patience than I can muster up at this particular moment.
Best, then, to accept what Dennis Trudell called "this sloppy, raggedy-assed old life" and find the sweet spots, the quiet and lovely moments in which we are most alive, and savor them.
[Disclaimer to my Home-Ec teacher: Ms. Keep, I want you to know that I almost always follow safe food-prep procedures and try really hard to plate up colorful, well-balanced meals for my family)
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