Last night, my youngest son called me to ask me how to cook a steak, He had no barbecue, no grill pan, no cast iron pan. Just a nonstick pan and an oven--no broiler pan either. When he moved into this house, I sent up a number of pots and pans, but clearly, I wasn't imagining him cooking steak.
I thought about the scene in Apollo 13, where the engineers dump on a table in Houston all the materials and devices available in the space capsule for return home from that interstitial place between the moon and earth. I am being dramatic, but you get my point.
Michael and I did our best to give him directions, and the next call informed us that the butter/oil combo had caught on fire, my son had to put out the flames with baking powder, and the pan was now ruined, chipped, peeling, and revealing an unnatural shade below the Teflon.
Okay, on to plan B.
That's pretty much how I've felt in my life. Plan A ends in flames and now on to Plan B. Plan B can be tasty and wonderful and succulent, but I had to go through the flames to get there. I have scars from the places the fire licked my skin, but now, wow, here I am. The most obvious example I can think of is leaving my marriage. Who wants to walk through the fire? Who wants the high temperatures? Why bother? Why not hang in space until the oxygen runs out? Why not forget the steak and just have cereal? It's so easy not to move, to stay put, to let the flames burn out and just watch TV instead.
Sometimes, though, the fire calls. Sometimes, you can't ignore it.
My son called us back after Plan B, an oven baked steak on an improvised broiler pan.
Causes Jessica Inclán Supports
Women for Women International Goodwill Industries Lindsey Wildlife Museum Freecycle.org