Snapshots

22 02 2008

Life With a Science Guy

A few days ago, George happened to be standing nearby as I made my lunch. A container of mesquite-smoked rotisserie chicken pieces sat on the counter, and I was selecting bits of it to go in my salad. After silently watching me pick several chunks of chicken from the dish, he spoke up. “Every time you put your fingers in that container, you inoculate the chicken.”

I grinned but said nothing for a few moments. We’ve been around this block, oh, maybe, eleventy-jillion times? “I’m only touching the pieces I’m using.”

“That’s what you think. Even leaving the lid off and exposing it to the air contaminates it.”

I laughed. “Well, George, if I don’t take the lid off, how am I supposed to get the chicken out?”

“I’m just saying.”

This from a guy who will happily engage in gag-inducing conversation over dinner if someone asks a biology-related question (which my kids used to do constantly when they lived at home. And people wonder how I stay so slim!) In spite of the chicken episode, I wouldn’t describe George as germ-phobic–although when we were undergrads and he studied the bacteria in the mouth, he developed an aversion to kissing. (He got over it.)

The same day George scrutinized my chicken-picking technique, I watched him eat a small pile of fresh blueberries with chop sticks. CHOP STICKS! Is that awesome, or what? I think a good Halloween prank would be to tie him down and make him watch a finger-food episode on the food channel.

The next day at lunch time I placed the chicken container on the counter, opened the lid exposing it to millions of contaminants, poised my fingers above the pieces and said, “Hey, George, check it out! I’m inoculating the chicken!”

I know. You wish you had a science guy.

Rumba: The Dance of Love

Unless this sentence is the first piece of my writing you’ve ever read, you probably know that a.) dancing is a big part of my life, and b.) I love it. George has always been a great sport about hitting the dance floor with me at wedding receptions or other events, but in general he could take it (rarely) or leave it (gladly).

We look pretty good on the floor and even receive compliments from strangers, but that’s because I whisper nonstop instructions. He just sort of sticks to basic movement and lets me add all the flourishes. I suppose it works, but we know we’re faking. I’ve always (not-so-secretly) wanted us to take ballroom dancing lessons together, so he would internalize the steps and get comfortable leading. We tried lessons briefly a few years back, but he said it required too much thinking and he wasn’t having fun. George insists that he’s good with his hands and bad with his feet. I don’t buy it, though. For example, he’s an ace racket-ball player. Sure, it’s a hand-eye coordination sport. But you have to be light on your feet and move all over the court. He also swims a mile three times a week. He may be focused on his arm strokes, but his feet are doing their job. If you ask me, I believe “too much thinking” is the problem here, not a lack of foot coordination. When he relaxes, he’s terrific.

Anyway, several couples in our church recently signed up for ballroom dance lessons, and they’re all basically beginners. In the name of spending time with friends, George agreed we could join the class. We’ve had one lesson so far: the two step and basic rumba. George did great! And I think he had fun. But even if he’s only doing this for me, that’s not so bad, is it? After all, the rumba is called the dance of love.

Political Message Number One, in which our heroine swoons and almost faints

The phone rang this morning. OMIGOSH, IT WAS A PERSONAL (recorded) MESSAGE FROM BARAK OBAMA!!! I felt pretty special until I tried to respond and he ignored me. Then later this afternoon, John McCain called, too. I guess Texans are popular right now. Haven’t heard from Hillary yet, but we’re not super-delegates, so there you go.

And that, folks, is the last you’ll hear about election ’08 on The View From Here. You’re welcome.

Croatia update

I leave in FIVE days! I should probably start packing.


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8 responses

22 02 2008
jaezesse

Yay! This is funny!

23 02 2008
madisonrichards

Just Shows To Go Ya

If we were all the same, most of us wouldn’t be necessary… I for one am rather glad there are Georges in the world! (I’m sure you are too)

BTW – no, I didn’t take that cool photo on my blog. Wish I did though! The few times I’ve actually seen that kind of “God light” streaming down, connecting heaven and earth, it’s been amazing and awe-inspiring.

25 02 2008
Anonymous

Now, how many places can you read about inoculating chicken and the rumba in one place? Jeanne, my friend, you provide us a unique and valuable service. 😉 Thanks for the laugh, as usual.

Jen T.

25 02 2008
Anonymous

Chris gave me dancing lessons for my birthday (I love dancing, he hates it–I say he hates it because he doesn’t know how, so after much prodding, he gave me lessons).
Of course that was two months ago and we have yet to step inside a dance school.
Heather Goodman

26 02 2008
jeannedamoff

Yay! You read my blog and left a comment! Now you need to write something in yours. ♥

26 02 2008
jeannedamoff

Re: Just Shows To Go Ya

I’m very glad there are Georges in the world. Very glad indeed. 🙂

26 02 2008
jeannedamoff

Unique? I don’t doubt it. Valuable? You’re way too kind. Thanks for appreciating my brand of “service,” Jen. Come to think of it, laughter is my favorite currency, so if I make you laugh, then I suppose I have done something valuable after all.

♥, J.

26 02 2008
jeannedamoff

Chris sounds a lot like George. I’m hoping as his confidence grows, he’ll progress from toleration to enthusiasm. I wish you and Chris could join our class. It’s really basic. The teacher is a soft-spoken older man, and he doesn’t try to introduce too much too fast.

I say, if he gave you lessons, pounce on the opportunity. I’m sure there are some awesome studios in your area. Don’t let him off the hook. Birthday promises are sacred. (Thus saith me.)

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