Kansas Snapshots by Gloria Freeland - July 26, 2024

"Thief of joy"

I'm not certain whether television or TV dinners arrived first in our farm home, but both were welcome additions. While mom was a good cook, during her years as a teacher, there were many nights when it was so much easier for her to pop the frozen meals into the oven and have supper ready to eat a half hour later.

I don't recall any of us three kids complaining either. In fact, once the little fold-up trays appeared, we could eat in the living room while enjoying whatever program was on the television. It was something like having a picnic in our own home.

But I do know there was some controversy that involved the notion that the food was unhealthy and another clear indicator that the world was "going to hell in a handbasket" - whatever a handbasket is.

Don't get me wrong. In a blindfolded taste test, I would never have confused mom's fried chicken or Thanksgiving turkey for the fare we received in the three-compartment Swanson or Banquet dinners. But we enjoyed them, even though the peas were a bit puckered and the mashed potatoes had an unnatural machine-like consistency that hand mashing never created. Even after TV's allure dimmed, we continued to partake of the occasional frozen dinner, but at the kitchen table instead. In their later years, Mom and Dad enjoyed being able to pop a frozen meal into the microwave when they just didn't feel like cooking. The bonus was that in the summer they could have a hot meal without heating up the kitchen.

Husband Art's experience with these meals-almost-ready-to-eat was virtually identical to mine. He says the difference between people who can enjoy both the "real thing" and the packaged version and those who cannot is that the latter people keep comparing the two. He says this comparison thing is natural. He kids me that it's good he's so much like my late husband Jerome because when Art does something that irritates me, he knows I'm not thinking, "Jerome would never have done that!"

I've known people who had good marriages, but were unfortunate to lose their partner early and wouldn't consider getting married again. I've always dismissed their statements that they would never again find someone like their partner as an unwillingness to engage, but perhaps they just couldn't help but compare.

Art has this problem with movies. If he sees one he really enjoys, he always finds a remake disappointing, even if he recognizes the latter was a better production. This comparison aspect is so strong that he won't even watch a later version.

For some time, he had a similar reaction to yellow cars. In his early years, the Yellow Cab Company's vehicles were - surprise, surprise - yellow. After they had seen years of service and were worn out, the company would sell them. So when he saw an individual with a yellow car, he knew it was an old cab on its last legs. But time has erased that comparison and he's OK with yellow cars now.

Regardless of its popularity, I cannot warm up to eating sushi with uncooked fish or meat. When I pop a piece in my mouth, all I can think of is I'm eating raw flesh. In a similar fashion, when our French friend Francis orders steak tartare - uncooked ground beef for those unfamiliar with the dish - I have a similar reaction, even though it's not actually in my mouth. A common presentation - adding a raw egg on the top - doubles down on my response. Art says he feels the same, yet he'll eat a steak that, in his words, "has just quit mooing."

President Theodore Roosevelt is credited with the notion that "comparison is the thief of joy." Not appreciating TV dinners, yellow cars, remakes, and sushi illustrate his point. If we pass through life with an internal list of what might be called "how things should be," we may miss out on many good experiences. If the thing being compared is ourselves to others, a bad evaluation can prompt a lack of joy that can quickly lead to depression.

But comparisons also can serve a positive purpose. Our friend Lins has been experimenting with making croissants. The ones she made were very tasty, but a tad denser than most we've eaten. Our feedback will help her to make hers even better.

While we were in Wales, one day I decided to brush my hair so I had some bangs (or "fringe" as British friend Jan called it) rather than my usual stand-up and brush-to-the-side style. Both Art and I were surprised how much it changed my "look." Neither seemed better, just different, and I left it that way for a while. After several days, I asked Art what he thought. He said the bangs gave me a certain "Judy Dench" pixie-like quality, whereas the usual made me appear more distinguished. I’ve always loved Judy Dench, but I'm choosing distinguished. Being able to consider both without it having to be a good/bad comparison means I now feel as if I have another option I can exercise, rather than a standard to meet.

Like many things in life, it’s complicated. I'll never pass up Art's Thanksgiving meal in favor of a dinner from the freezer. But there have been many evenings when my tummy said "feed me," but my bones were weary. On those nights, a few boiled potatoes with a piping hot Banquet pie sure seemed like a Michelin meal.