I promised that I'd tell you how to get other people to cook for you. Here's how it's done. First, you're going to need a boat. Although any nice set of stairs will do the trick. But really, a boat is best.
About a month ago we had our boat moved from the Great White North (Puget Sound) down here to Tampa. By the way, her name is Tuition and for exactly the reason you think. On the day she arrived, Steve and I went to the marina, took delivery, cleaned all
the nasty highway gunk off the exterior, then hopped aboard as she was lowered into the water. A quick ride around to her new slip and we called it a day. The next day, with Mom, we set about the serious clean-up, making sure all systems were operating properly,
and everything was still properly stowed. The sort of things you do when you haven't seen your boat in 18 months. As we were packing up our cleaning supplies, I made one final check below (part of my duties as first mate) to make sure we were on shore power
and everything belowdecks was buttoned up and secure.
Have I mentioned before what a komplete klutz I am? Well, I should have. I'm really klutzy, like you wouldn't believe. I walk into walls and trip over furniture in my own home. I sport bruises of uncertain origin. In fact, I'm a legend in our family, far
surpassing anyone else. Normally, this is not really dangerous. However, when exported to a boat, my household mishaps become cause for concern. You see, I ACT as though I'm quite agile on the boat, scampering here and there like a trained sea monkey, leaping
from the boat to the dock with mooring line in hand as we bring her home, and so on. So it was on this day....
As I said, I was making one last check of the salon, and with my usual sea monkey aplomb, I flew down the stairs. But this time, my right foot slipped off the bottom tread and I landed with both feet flat on the deck. Hard. My knees immediately signaled
that something was amiss. They did this by buckling completely while sending frantic pain signals to my brain. Really excruciating pain. Steve heard my screams (couldn't miss them, being just a few feet away) and came flying down the ladder to the rescue.
Both knees were swelling, the agony was unabating, and it only helped marginally when he stacked life jackets under my legs. I always knew the coast guard made us keep them for a darn good reason. Steve all but carried me to the car, which cannot have been
good for his sciatica.
Flashing forward to later that evening, we find me lying on the sofa, unable to walk, even with the aid of the crutches provided by the friendly folk at our local urgent care clinic. Their verdict? "You're going to need surgery." Side note - office chairs
with wheels are a most excellent substitute for a wheelchair.
For the next 2 weeks Mom and Steve did all the cooking, which was howlingly funny to our son, because he knows I just can't not meddle when others are cooking. Knowing that Steve doesn't cook (although he'll happily grill whatever I hand him) and Mom hasn't
in years, I tried to keep it simple, suggesting only a generalized main dish like grilled chicken, or sautéed fish, something easy. I thought I'd do them a favor and let them choose the rubs, marinades, and the sides. This was a mistake. In fact, my whole
keep it simple plan was a mistake. What I should have done was give them my usual meal plans and my iPad so they could follow my recipes. Or perhaps directions to Taco Bell. I have now learned, the hard way, what a bad idea it is to be the lone cook in a home.
It's even worse if you're just the tiniest bit compulsive about cooking and kitchens. Not that I am, I'm just saying.
We had a lot of food that was sort of somewhat ok, but missing some vital ingredient. They gave it their best and I never said a word, not even when I could get around on my crutches and saw how they'd loaded the dishwasher (you don't want to know). Well,
there was the time when I asked them what sweetener they'd used in the teriyaki chicken. I got blank stares. They hadn't. Ah, well, it was still edible, as was everything they made for me. It was just... different. In an odd way. In a not-quite-there way.
So although it's possible to get other people to cook for you, I can't really recommend it. If you cook, cook. Let that be your thing and get over the desire to have someone else do it from time to time. That's what restaurants are for. Wanting more can only
lead to frustration for you and pleas from your family to get better soon.
On the plus side, Mom is learning that holding the onion in your hand and hacking away with a dull paring knife is not the best way to dice one. That was hardest of all for me, catching the occasional glimpse as she chopped something. Seriously, the woman
does NOT believe in large, SHARP knives and cutting boards. I now know why all her knives were dull, and why she had 6 paring knives. We're working on it.
As for my knees, they no longer resemble beach balls, I'm crutch-free and back in the kitchen, feeling mostly normal, if you don't count the constant ache. I had MRIs done on them last week, with a follow-up appointment with the orthopedic surgeon set
for for early August. His clerk called me Friday and said they wanted to see me this coming Tuesday instead. It's possible he'll tell me that my knees are healing on their own, but Steve doesn't think so. In his experience, doctors never move an appointment
up because they just can't wait to share good news with you. But then, he's been a little down lately, as our boat is sitting, lonely, in it's slip. He's feeling pessimistic over the thought of another month or more with me in dry dock. Tuition is not a one-man
boat and Steve wants his line-handling sea monkey back.
UPDATE - Well, it's Tuesday and I saw the surgeon this morning. The news was not all bad. I likely won't need surgery, but I do have a plate (horizontal) fracture in my right tibia, along with some cartilage damage. The break will heal, the cartilage not
so much. In the meantime, I've been ordered to resume using a cane or crutch, which I hate, because I don't need one to walk and feel like an idiot using them. I'm to avoid extended standing or walking, keep weight off of it, yada yada. He wouldn't budge,
even when I showed him that I can walk normally. He'll see me again in a few weeks to assess my progress. But really, I LOATHE the cane and crutch. So that's a big yuck for me. But no surgery is good, and I'll do my best to follow his orders. That means no
water park for me tomorrow, bummer. He did say I could go back on the boat, but no line handling. Steve says it won't be a problem, he'll (finally) teach me to bring her into her slip.