Recently I was heating some tomato soup on the stove. I turned to do something else and got distracted for what seemed like only a moment. The burners on the stove are nested under the heavy cast iron grate and above the white enamel tray that is shaped to catch and collect any spills. I noticed the area under the pan of soup had turned the same color as the soup, the fire was out and I could smell gas. You don’t have to be a detective. My distraction took longer than I thought. It had boiled up the sides of the pan and over the edge, run down and across the bottom of the pan, dripping soup at every opportunity, quenching the flame. With the fire out, remaining tomato soup settled back down into a hot pan. I noticed the smell of gas, did the math and shut everything down.
I hate it when I make a mess but had I known I was making a mess I would have done something different. My soup & sandwich were delayed for a few minutes but I am none the worse off. I have cleaned up that stovetop so many times I know exactly how many paper towels to tear off and when to switch to the big sponge, then to the smaller sponge with the squirt-spray cleaner. The old, familiar self anger had given way to resignation, simply doing what needed to be done. I still hate making the mess but I don’t hate myself for the making. Whatever got short changed in the process, it will get done. Time lost is a metaphor for time spent fixing stuff you should have done better the first time. Whatever I happen to be doing, time is just the bracket I use to frame it.
Still, I visualize the soup starting to steam, little circular currents foreshadow foam-like bubbles that will soon collect on the side of the pan. It doesn’t give any warning, just erupts up and out, down into the fire. My soup mess cleaned up quickly; not the first time. Thinking about the subtle, silent, implied warning; as if the steam were saying, “It won’t be long before I come up out of here.” it seemed to know I wouldn’t bet back in time but still it counts as a warning. I know we’re not supposed to attribute human attributes to non human entities (talking steam) but I do anyway.
I hate it when I make a mess but had I known I was making a mess I would have done something different. My soup & sandwich were delayed for a few minutes but I am none the worse off. I have cleaned up that stovetop so many times I know exactly how many paper towels to tear off and when to switch to the big sponge, then to the smaller sponge with the squirt-spray cleaner. The old, familiar self anger had given way to resignation, simply doing what needed to be done. I still hate making the mess but I don’t hate myself for the making. Whatever got short changed in the process, it will get done. Time lost is a metaphor for time spent fixing stuff you should have done better the first time. Whatever I happen to be doing, time is just the bracket I use to frame it.
Still, I visualize the soup starting to steam, little circular currents foreshadow foam-like bubbles that will soon collect on the side of the pan. It doesn’t give any warning, just erupts up and out, down into the fire. My soup mess cleaned up quickly; not the first time. Thinking about the subtle, silent, implied warning; as if the steam were saying, “It won’t be long before I come up out of here.” it seemed to know I wouldn’t bet back in time but still it counts as a warning. I know we’re not supposed to attribute human attributes to non human entities (talking steam) but I do anyway.
Before the steam went to a rolling boil it was more than steam, it was a sign. When it found its voice it made me think of a Denzel Washington movie, The Equalizer. The polite, peaceful Denzel found himself in a room full of Russian mobster-thugs and their kingpin boss. They insulted and challenged him trying to provoke a fight but he was unruffled. On his way to the door they mocked him as he turned the handle. Instead of walking out he pulled the door closed and locked it. Turning to them he offered, “You still have time to do the right thing.” He checked his watch, set the timer and stepped forward. When he checked his watch 0:28 seconds later all of the Russians were dead on the floor. In his calm demeanor Denzel made a calculated if not condescending disclaimer. “You should’ve taken my offer, you should have done the right thing.”
Cleaning up the sauce pan that had tomato soup dried inside and out, I imagined it telling me in Denzel Washington’s voice, “You should’ve stayed close, paid attention to the steam. That would have been the right thing.” The pan is clean, so is the stove top and there is more soup in the pantry. Lesson learned, at least for now. I won’t walk away from hot stuff on the stove again, not soon.
Writing is usually therapeutic and I finish feeling better. Lately it has been difficult to get back up on the horse (falling off the horse metaphor). The Equalizer was a movie. Everybody got paid and went home happy. In the moment when I plunge into the first paragraph, that's different. My ideas are usually dark and unforgiving. If I want to write and finish feeling better I have to keep unfolding one experience after another until something reboots my compass. I think I’ve been dealing with depression all throughout the pandemic but denial and making believe only go so far. All of the classic symptoms are there. I know the rules, I did a year of guided recovery in 2001-02 and you would think I should have seen it coming. I have some serious work to do, writing will be part of it. The recipe calls for good rest, good diet, structure, vigorous exercise, help others (volunteer) and lean on your friends. Where would we be, how would I get by without my friends.
Cleaning up the sauce pan that had tomato soup dried inside and out, I imagined it telling me in Denzel Washington’s voice, “You should’ve stayed close, paid attention to the steam. That would have been the right thing.” The pan is clean, so is the stove top and there is more soup in the pantry. Lesson learned, at least for now. I won’t walk away from hot stuff on the stove again, not soon.
Writing is usually therapeutic and I finish feeling better. Lately it has been difficult to get back up on the horse (falling off the horse metaphor). The Equalizer was a movie. Everybody got paid and went home happy. In the moment when I plunge into the first paragraph, that's different. My ideas are usually dark and unforgiving. If I want to write and finish feeling better I have to keep unfolding one experience after another until something reboots my compass. I think I’ve been dealing with depression all throughout the pandemic but denial and making believe only go so far. All of the classic symptoms are there. I know the rules, I did a year of guided recovery in 2001-02 and you would think I should have seen it coming. I have some serious work to do, writing will be part of it. The recipe calls for good rest, good diet, structure, vigorous exercise, help others (volunteer) and lean on your friends. Where would we be, how would I get by without my friends.
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