I am in Knoxvile, Tennessee, where I am becoming acquainted with my new grandson. He is stil working on the finer points of personality develoment; I suspect this will take a while, but certain patterns are starting to form and he has the household jumping and yielding to his will. I remind him that this, the first few weeks of life are truly the only time that the world revolves around one person, and that he should make the most of it while he can. Of course one beatific little smile, or o-shaped pout and the world falls at his feet once again.
Meanwhile I am enjoying Knoxville. I have long thought it was not a bad town. I think I was more positive when Miriam first moved here and I have learned to see more potential during the intervening years. Still, when G starts talking about the post-retirement move, a little panic sets in. At this point the panic revolves around grocery shopping but this is not unique to Knoxville. I forget how lucky I am in my proximity to New York City and the Culinary Institute. In many ways Dutchess County is closer in attitude to Knoxville than NYC, but in terms of provisioning I am truly spoiled. I am surrounded by good farms that produce vegetables, poultry, meat, and cheese, all of which survive because of the availability of New York City restaurants and farmer’s markets, and which for the most part do not survivce due to the efforts of local residents. This cornucopia was not there when I moved to the area. The local farm-stand-evolved into upscale market sells good fish and meat as weill as fine olive oils and vinegars, not always up to my standards, but superior to most of what I have found so far down here. I suppose if we moved I would have a vegetable garden again, or lose interest in food, or become well acquainted with my UPS delivery person.
But this problem would not be unique to Tennessee. Besides. Miriam is looking for a position beginning next fall. Who knows where the new family will end up.
Otherwise, I am enjoying the mild weather, cooking, cleaning, and holding my grandson. Grandparent duty is more than adequate pay for a little scut work. And as for cooking, well it has been some years since I fed a family regularly for three meals a day, I am enjoying it. But then I always cooked, even when I worked full time and G’s kids would spend summers or vacations with us. I thought nothing of coming home from a long day of work and puttering in the kitchen. 45 minutes was my workday time-frame. If I could put the meal together in 45 minutes or less I was content with the effort involved. I can’t remember when I last had a job I left by 5 PM, when I was working full time anyway, but I also can’t recall when I didn’t thnk preparing the evening meal worth the effort. Weekends of course were play time, when I could experiment in the kitchen and tackle grander culinary delights.
How strange my step-children found this emphasis on family meals. How oddly they occasionally looked at me when I insisted that everone be at the table at dinner time. How many times do I recall my incomprehension at a young adult who would go to MacDonalds 30 minutes before dinner time and then be too full to eat. It is hard to enforce new standards and habits on people whose normal routine is different, and in whose lives you are not an authority.
I don’t expect anyone will continue the good works when I am gone, but I am happy to feed them in the meantime, just as I am happy to prowl the aisles of the local WalMart and Kroger as well as various esoteric food markets looking for something to put on the dinner table. So far I find WalMart preferable to Kroger, or at least I don’t find the difference to be worth the effort. The produce does not shine at either one, but I have had more success at WalMart. Surprising. I don’t really dislike Walmart, in fact there are quite a few thins I like about it, and I have no trouble buying groceries there. It is just too large and overwhelming as a whole, and liberal intellectuals are not supposed to like WalMart, because they don’t pay their employees enough or offer insurance to all of them. Support the local markets I am told. But we all like the cheap prices. We also all forget that our local markets don’t necessarily pay a liveable wage either, or offer health insurance; at least they don’t where I live. Perhaps some people are more fortunate.
And so I explore this world of big box stores and cheap gas. Put me on a limited access freeway and my inner Texan comes out, zipping along happily with the other American gas guzzlers. Add to this the fact that gas is over a dollar cheaper than it is at home and I have no qualms exploring even though some little nagging voice tells me that I should. Give me a chance to explore Super Target, or Hobby Lobby or some other wonderful example of American Marketing and I enjoy the challenge. Think of it as a sociological study. Imagine how wonderous this must seem to much of the world. Who am I, beneficiary that I am off American wealth, to complain of the availability of more food and stuff than any person needs or could ever use up.
It is a wonderous world my little grandson has been born into, far different than the world either I or is parents entered oh so many years ago. What will it be like when he is our age?