By Craig Funston
There are some fundamental differences between males and females. Kids, if you need to know what they are, ask your parents; parents, if you’re still not sure yourself after all these years, ask your kids.
The main difference that comes to mind is the following: Women look into a closet chock-full of clothes and say, “I have nothing to wear,” whereas men look into a fridge chock-full of food and say, “There’s nothing to eat.”
If I had any doubts as to my gender, which I don’t, I confirmed this week that I am a male: When I looked into my closet, I was reminded that I have too many clothes—thanks to thrift stores and cheap sales—but I at least had plenty to wear. The problem was with the fridge (or, better stated, with the guy looking into the fridge): It was full of leftovers, fresh baking, plenty of beverages—and that was just the first shelf.
I solved the problem of “no food” by eating at the local golf course.
The reason we’re on our own is that my wife and one of the kids have gone to BC for ten days or so (not home yet, so I have to add the “or so” part to be honest). The happy occasion is that one of my married daughters has given birth to another son, so Mother has stepped up to the plate, as it were, to help take of the other children, cook meals, and so on.
In the meantime, the few of us left at the Back Thirty must fend for ourselves.
We’re doing okay, so thanks for asking. And for those who didn’t ask, we ‘re still doing okay.
I should quickly add that the one daughter still at home is a marvelous cook like her mother; as well, I have a son who likes to dabble in the kitchen. Between the two of them, my needs are well taken care of. It’s the time between when one or the other isn’t available that’s the crunch for yours truly.
Even at a skeletal roster of only four kids and parent, we hardly sit down together and eat a meal. Maybe that’s normal in many households; if so, that’s too bad. But in our case, we have kids working either full-time at the Post Office or part-time on a grain farm or a feedlot, or the old man (Maurice, bite your tongue) has gone to school a few days over the ten days, plus a gazillion (slightly colourful exaggeration) tasks and projects.
So it’s tough to find time to eat together. But before that happens, one needs to find the food in the fridge, then prep it–which brings me full circle back to my opening quip (“nothing to eat in the fridge”–in case your memory is too short).
There’s an expression in the Good Book that sounds like this: “Every man did that which was right in his own eyes.” We have adopted and adapted that one–making it a revised version, you might say– when it comes to meals at the Funston household, namely, “Every man ate what was right in his own eyes.”
My wife is a magician when it comes to putting meals together. She can look into the same full fridge that I do and come up with a gourmet meal that rivals any good restaurant. How she does it, I cannot tell. I think it has something, once again, with the female genes versus the male genes: She sees what it could be and heads for the oven, whereas I see what it is—and head to the nearest cafe.
One of my specialties when my wife is gone is the “BF Pork Roast”: The “BF” part is my late father’s initials and the “Pork Roast” part is actually more pork than roast, and to be truthful, more beans than pork. Okay, okay, I really exaggerate: it’s simply a cold can of pork and beans, eaten right out of the can…cold.
I even make it gourmet when I add a thick layer of cheese on top, nuke it, and dump it over toast.
People, I’m just doing my environmental thing by not wasting gas to cook it, nor water to wash it. I’m sure it’s the staple food of the Green Party.
Next time you see me, you’ll observe that I’m not wasting away. In fact, I’m more waist than waste. These trips away from home are good for me, even though I’m not the one who’s going. It makes me appreciate what my wife does when it comes to meals, if nothing else.
Now if there was some way I could get a little more creative with that can of beans…