My favorite ice cream is Baskin Robbins Chocolate Peanut Butter. It is hard to find here, but this is a good substitute. I treated myself today, because I had to see my surgical gynecologist. Y’all know what that means; I thought a reward was in order.

The first time we met, I did not make a very good impression on the Saxophone Player’s Mom.

Doug had invited me over to watch a movie, and she hardly said more than two words to me directly. I was in awe of her, though. She kept a spotless house, which was decorated with her own artwork. She moved with elegance and grace, and I knew I was in the presence of a superior being, She was intellectual, well-read, and a world-traveler. I was so thoroughly intimidated, that at the end of the evening when she implied I would be sleeping over, I was horrified. She thinks I’m a loose woman! I had made the worst possible impression.

Thinking about that evening now, I can’t help wonder if The Saxophone Player’s Mom was not actually perceiving something Doug and I were still quite oblivious to: was she discerning the Saxophone Player’s true feelings for this awkward and painfully self-conscious young woman who didn’t know what a music CD was and drove a 1972 Toyota Corona with a rusted-out undercarriage and a trunk that she kept closed with a bungee cord? Perhaps, she was all ready mourning the inevitable division of her son’s affections.

The Saxophone Player is with his Mother now, serving by her bedside as she transitions into a new stage of life. I am praying the Lord make a way for me to spend time with her, before she is too lost in herself. My Mother-in-Law and I never became best friends, but that wasn’t because she was unkind to me. I was always just too focused on being good enough, instead of realizing I had all ready been accepted.

That young bride looks so comfortable in her kitchen. Hard to believe she was virtually clueless!

Well, I could boil pasta and open a jar of Newman’s Own (serve the hot pasta, and pour the sauce straight from the jar). I could kinda boil an egg, and made a decent potato salad, pasta salad, and tuna salad. Oh, and I could also make Eggs & Tortillas. That became a staple, along with Kraft Macaroni & Cheese with a can of tuna and frozen peas. I made a tuna and canned green bean salad, too, but Doug wasn’t very impressed with that one.

Thinking about it now, it seems hard to believe I had so few cooking skills, and so little interest, but at some point in my childhood someone told me, “You’re a baker, not a cook,” and I believed them. It didn’t help that I grew-up at a time when women were being pushed out of the house and into the work place. Learning to cook was so 1950’s!

Doug liked cooking, but he didn’t know any more than I did. He had a Rice-a-Roni version of Mexican Rice, and at one point he learned to make Linguine with Clam Sauce. (That was an instant hit.) His most ambitious recipe was learning to make his mother’s Chicken & Noodles for our first Easter. With handmade noodles! It was good enough to become a tradition, but Easter still only came once a year.

Maybe, it was my shelf full of  cookbooks, or the lovely, wedding shower gifts that filled our kitchen. Maybe, it was discovering our income could not support eating out five times a week, or maybe it was Doug speaking longingly and lovingly about favorite dishes his Mom used to make. I’m not sure when or why, but at some point I decided I just had to learn how to cook.

So, I began to cook. The first thing I made was meatloaf, because that was something familiar my Mother had made, but what Doug really wanted was Tuna Casserole. (Can you hear the angels sing?) The way he spoke of Tuna Casserole, you’d think it was Heaven sent! I had never eaten it, and the only recipe I knew of back then had a mushroom soup base, but it was still a far more advanced recipe than anything I had ever made. Even a sauce from a can of soup required more skills than I had ever used in the kitchen. However, from the way Doug talked about his Mom’s Tuna Casserole, I knew I had to take the plunge and try. And, it wasn’t half bad. That Tuna Casserole was the start of my learning to cook.

The other day, on our way to our prayer meeting, Doug said to me: “You know what I’ve been wanting?” I didn’t have to ask. I knew. Twenty-five years later, I can hear it in his voice. Longingly and lovingly he asks, and I very gladly oblige. Who knew a man’s stomach was so close to his wife’s heart?

By the way, I make my sauce from scratch now.