Soup for the Soul
"No, it's Ash Wednesday," my mother explained. There was a pause on the phone, then she asked, "Are you still going to join me for mass? Then we could have some chowder for dinner."
"I don't know, Mom. Let me call you back. I gotta go to the bathroom." Though not a lie, it wasn't the reason I was getting off the phone. She allowed me to hang up.
But I was clearly frustrated, this after a long day.
The day before I saw someone for the first time in a year that I realized still meant something to me, my ex-girlfriend's mother, and she glared straight ahead, pretending I wasn't even there. Although I was off to the side and her glower was directed down her path of movement, I still received a swift kick to the gut. It lingered in me for the evening. That night I had a horrible "sleep" and awoke annoyed because of dreams I could not control. I had a rough Wednesday at work--Periods 4 and 6 resembling that of Period 5. A student was caught talking during his test, who then persistently claimed sound never escaped his lips. After work I bought a tripod and cable release so I could start on my photography project. Buyer's remorse kicked in after looking at my receipt in my parked car. Later I went to my shrink, who I found was late. Eventually there was a phone call and explanation, so I waited, the session starting an hour later than normal, and it wasn't an uplifting one. Don't go thinking it was a downer, just one with emotion. I left, wanting to pick myself up, wanting to spoil myself. I thought about the tripod I just purchased, but that wasn't something that would lift my spirits. Being hungry, I felt I could go for some greasy goodness, along with something salty and sweet. I decided--cheeseburger, fries, and a chocolate shake.
My mom had invited me to dinner after Ash Wednesday mass, which I was courteously asked to as well. I, determined to give myself a meal that I could savor, asked her if it would be okay for me to order the burger. Why would I ask? I was determined to have my happy meal either way. But I wanted to verify if my instincts were correct. If I had the burger in front of her and her bowl of seafood, would she give me her disappointed look throughout the meal, thus ruining the pleasure in consuming my dinner? The answer she gave me was yes.
"Matt, I thought we could both get a bowl of clam chowder," she suggested, using her sweet voice. "I figured you'd like that, since we both like New England clam chowder."
I tried to explain my bad day and need to indulge myself.
"But you're not supposed to," she said. "It's Ash Wednesday."
She was trying to be pleasant with this slightly touchy issue for me, religion.
I reciprocated, oh so maturely. "I don't think me exchanging a chunk of beef for a bowl of soup is equal to what Jesus gave up for the world."
She sighed, probably remembering that the son she invited was the stubborn one. "Well, it's the least we can sacrifice."
I scrunched up my face in frustration. I didn't want to have a faith or religious conversation that day.
I tried again, she gave me her answer, and I got off the phone. I stepped into the bathroom, changed my mind and came out, pacing. I just wanted a burger, fries, and that shake. And shakes don't go with mollusks.
Why couldn't it be okay to have one measily burger?
Why couldn't it be okay to settle for the clam chowder that one night?
Later on, looking down at what was in my hands--the avocado, lettuce, tomato, cheese, bacon, the grilled beef--I turned to my roommate and stated, "With this bite, I am one step closer to hell."
"I don't know, Mom. Let me call you back. I gotta go to the bathroom." Though not a lie, it wasn't the reason I was getting off the phone. She allowed me to hang up.
But I was clearly frustrated, this after a long day.
The day before I saw someone for the first time in a year that I realized still meant something to me, my ex-girlfriend's mother, and she glared straight ahead, pretending I wasn't even there. Although I was off to the side and her glower was directed down her path of movement, I still received a swift kick to the gut. It lingered in me for the evening. That night I had a horrible "sleep" and awoke annoyed because of dreams I could not control. I had a rough Wednesday at work--Periods 4 and 6 resembling that of Period 5. A student was caught talking during his test, who then persistently claimed sound never escaped his lips. After work I bought a tripod and cable release so I could start on my photography project. Buyer's remorse kicked in after looking at my receipt in my parked car. Later I went to my shrink, who I found was late. Eventually there was a phone call and explanation, so I waited, the session starting an hour later than normal, and it wasn't an uplifting one. Don't go thinking it was a downer, just one with emotion. I left, wanting to pick myself up, wanting to spoil myself. I thought about the tripod I just purchased, but that wasn't something that would lift my spirits. Being hungry, I felt I could go for some greasy goodness, along with something salty and sweet. I decided--cheeseburger, fries, and a chocolate shake.
My mom had invited me to dinner after Ash Wednesday mass, which I was courteously asked to as well. I, determined to give myself a meal that I could savor, asked her if it would be okay for me to order the burger. Why would I ask? I was determined to have my happy meal either way. But I wanted to verify if my instincts were correct. If I had the burger in front of her and her bowl of seafood, would she give me her disappointed look throughout the meal, thus ruining the pleasure in consuming my dinner? The answer she gave me was yes.
"Matt, I thought we could both get a bowl of clam chowder," she suggested, using her sweet voice. "I figured you'd like that, since we both like New England clam chowder."
I tried to explain my bad day and need to indulge myself.
"But you're not supposed to," she said. "It's Ash Wednesday."
She was trying to be pleasant with this slightly touchy issue for me, religion.
I reciprocated, oh so maturely. "I don't think me exchanging a chunk of beef for a bowl of soup is equal to what Jesus gave up for the world."
She sighed, probably remembering that the son she invited was the stubborn one. "Well, it's the least we can sacrifice."
I scrunched up my face in frustration. I didn't want to have a faith or religious conversation that day.
I tried again, she gave me her answer, and I got off the phone. I stepped into the bathroom, changed my mind and came out, pacing. I just wanted a burger, fries, and that shake. And shakes don't go with mollusks.
Why couldn't it be okay to have one measily burger?
Why couldn't it be okay to settle for the clam chowder that one night?
Later on, looking down at what was in my hands--the avocado, lettuce, tomato, cheese, bacon, the grilled beef--I turned to my roommate and stated, "With this bite, I am one step closer to hell."
posted by matty at 11:23 PM
6 Comments:
:) I'm think you'll be granted forgiveness for the bit of cow you consumed. Though, being a non-Catholic, I have the freedom to assume these things out of turn. I'll be crossing my fingers it all works out. We all have bad days; it sounds like a necessary evil.
Hey... I'm Jewish and I enjoyed steamed pork buns yesterday. Got hell?
Do you think God canceled hockey this year to punish you for your Ash Wednesday burger?
I was so shocked when I checked in this morning and discovered that there was no mournful NHL post.
Liz took the words out of my mouth (or my keyboard, I guess). Who wants to start a pool on what time Matt posts an angry diatribe on hockey?
I think now he's not posting anything about it just to spite us.
It's a lengthy mourning process.
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