My Mother's Small Portions

I am frivolous, and I resent the fact that I am. This early afternoon, as I was contemplating ways to make a box of macaroni and cheese stretch as far as it possibly could, I thought of my mother, the meals she used to cook for my brother and me, how filling they were, how completely unfrivolous she has always been. Mama used to stretch a box of dollar store mac and cheese into a full meal on a regular basis when Jeffrey and I were little boys. Boiled elbow noodles and powdered cheese sauce mixed with chopped hot dog or browned and drained ground beef, a can of mixed vegetables. Dinner was served, and god, was it filling. We were never hungry little boys.

Thursday nights we always ate canned chili and store brand hot dogs, red and boiled, on light bread and Fritos. In the winter, lots of beef stew and peanut butter sandwich dinners, pinto beans and corn bread. Skillets of fried Spam and potatoes. I never ate anywhere besides home and my grandmothers' houses, and they ate like we did. I thought everyone did.

I was shocked this weekend spent at a cabin in Pigeon Forge with six of my closest friends when I saw the food they all brought. Ashley and his salmon fillets, peeled and de-veined shrimp. Jeremy and his expensive cheeses, Parmesan not from a green sprinkle can. Virginia's wheel of brie. These things I'd never dream of buying.

Even when I can afford higher-end groceries, I often don't buy them. It's class guilt, I think. Experience has taught me that things like expensive food (or weekend cabin trips for that matter) are frivolous. Money is better spent elsewhere, like on unexpected doctor's visits and prescriptions. Last minute car repairs. And I'm the king of unexpected crises of those varieties. Every damn time I reach for the non-off brand whathaveyou at Kroger, I hear Mama's voice, the voices of my aunts and grandmothers, back and back and back, telling me to think, to plan, to save my pennies here to pay on the dollars I'll have to spend later. And I listen, do as I'm told, and I always seem to have the money for those unexpected things, though I worry that might change with the current state of the economy. But that's a different blog post.

The point is, I can't spend a dime of my hard earned money without toiling over it. I can't have a meal at a restaurant without calculating what sacrifices I'll have to make at home for the rest of the week to make up for exorbitant spending or buy a tank of gas without contemplating canceling my cable service. I know what my means are, and I hate living beyond them. That's the cardinal sin of salt of the earth, lower-middle class people, my people. So, I feel badly for going on a weekend getaway when I should be saving for the unexpected. When I remember how when I was little, Mama was always on a diet, because she was conscious of her weight, but also because she wanted to make sure her husband and two boys had enough to eat. I was raised on my mother's small portions, her practicality. I worry I'll never be as unfrivolous as she is.

Fall, come before I Break.

I am looking forward to fall break. I need it oh so badly. I don't care that when I come back, papers will begin, grading will begin, the end of the world as I know it will begin. I just want to take a few days to go home, see my family, friends, and dogs, and of course shop at thrift stores and read a book for fun. I'm sure most other 22-year-old men would want more excitement out of their vacations, but catching a movie with friends, eating at a restaurant with my parents, reading a novel for fun--all of that sounds like paradise.

Next week is going to be hell, pure and simple. I have a 15 minute presentation in my Milton class on Debora Shuger's article "Gums glutinous heat." It has something to do with Puritanism and chastity in the masque, Comus. My professor promised me the article gets a bit kinky. I told him to bring it on.

I also have to prepare for my midterm in that class, due Oct. 8th. I'm scared, because I just haven't been pulling together all the reading so that it makes a statement I can write an essay about. Maybe a review of my notes will enlighten me.

I also have plays to read, critical articles to summarize, poems to read and write, and a meeting with the director of graduate studies to plan my schedule for next semester. Then, I have to fight with financial aid (I know it will be a fight) to get my promissory note signed so I'll get my loan money in a timely fashion and pay off my New York trip. (I'm going to New York over xmas break, by the way. 7 days, 7 plays, 3 hours of graduate credit. I can't wait!)


Grad school is wonderful; I really feel like I'm learning a lot. But it really is hazardous to my health. Wanna know how many hours of sleep I got last night? 4. Wanna know what I ate for dinner tonight? Mac and cheese I whipped up in the short break I have between my Renaissance class, which is over at 5 and my Poetry class, which starts at 6:30. I feel like I'll self-destruct in 30 seconds.

This weekend, I'm going to the farmer's market, whipping up some vegetarian dishes (from my new vegetarian cookbook!), and maybe going for a hike on Saturday with some English grad students. I'm definitely going to the Greek Fest (www.greekfesttn.com) tomorrow night with a bunch of my colleagues, and I plan to gorge myself on spinach pie, lamb, and baklava. Interestingly, one of the MAs is the priest at the Greek Orthodox Church in town, where the festival is being held.