Planning Dinner

Life is sort of like fixing dinner; whether or not it's good or bad depends on how you make it. (Oh no, this sounds like a line from Forrest Gump!)

Think about it. There are many ways to go about fixing dinner that can be read as metaphors for constructing a life. You can plan everything out like a gourmet meal taking time to choose only the best ingredients, scouring cookbooks for the perfect recipe, and choosing the right wine to complement each course. Or, you can wander into the kitchen at 6:30 p.m., tug open the fridge door, and peer aimlessly into the cool interior until something strikes your fancy. Yet another option blends these two diametrically opposed approaches with some forethought of dinner rattling around your brain as early as 4:30 p.m. giving you ample time to pick up any ingredients you don't already have and thumb through your file for a favorite dinner menu. Whichever way you go about making dinner might indicate the way you live day-to-day life. At least that's the theory my friends and I knocked around over lunch today.

Friend one - who is single and perpetually runs a little behind the rest of the world - subscribes to the "Let's see what's in the fridge tonight" theory of life. She rolls out of bed each morning unsure of what the day holds. Will she have the kids write an essay? Will she show an interesting PBS special in preparation for a new literature unit? Will she be able to plow through the stack of yearbook deadlines looming on her desk? Only time will tell. Luckily, she has first hour prep, and by the time she idles into school she's awake enough to remember where classes left off the day before and where she's heading now. Still, if something interesting pops up on CNN in the middle of the day, she's not adverse to recapping the event and having a class discussion before assigning the kids a response essay. This quick change, follow-the-moment philosophy of work also applies to the rest of her life. She seldom makes advance plans with anyone, preferring to call up friends and family on a whim. This style makes her life interesting, but also often leaves her on the outside looking in since other people aren't as available on short notice.

Which brings me to friend two - who is married and runs her job, her life, and her family on such a tight schedule that no one would dare to flinch or breath out of turn. Lesson plans are written (I should say typed lest you get the idea she would have any sort of hand-scrawled notes lying on her desk)at least a quarter in advance. Any deviation from her pre-ordained schedule could be disastrous since each incremental step is crucial to the successful completion of any given project or unit. (Heaven help us when we have bus evacuation drills or someone pulls the fire alarm!) She is Wonder Woman incarnate, deftly deflecting any sarcastic bullets students shoot her way while using her lasso of truth to grade three sets of research papers in a single week. Her home life is similarly regimented in an effort to squeeze as much activity out of a day as humanly possible. Her kids are enrolled in karate, ballet, piano, and swim. She shuffles them efficiently among their destinations each afternoon, taking along her "mom bag" (a tote filled with all the things she needs to do coupons to be clipped, permission slips to be signed, family photos to be scheduled, and dinners to be planned) which helps her maximize her time. Whew! She can do more in 24 hours than most normal people do in a week, but she, too pays a price. All this go-go-go means she never gets to see the beauty in her backyard or daughters' faces.

Finally, there is the middle of the road approach that includes enough planning to provide structure and enough leeway to follow anything exciting that comes along. I like to think this is my philosophy of cooking and life. I plan out each quarter, but my notes are written hastily in pen and then marked through repeatedly when I change my mind. I see the big picture of where I want my students to go, but I've been known to chuck the vocabulary lesson in favor of writing poetry in the grass on a spring day. This kind of balance makes my life work at home too. I have specific tasks I attend to without fail - paying the bills, fixing dinner, getting groceries, balancing the checkbook. I've been known to host eight-course dinner parties for 12 people, but some nights I'm content to rummage through the fridge waiting for something to strike my fancy. Theater tickets purchased months in advance bring me pleasure, but so does an impromptu game of pool and dancing to the jukebox.

Truly, I think most people live this way - trying each day to plan far enough in advance to pave the road ahead, but not so far that all you see is asphalt on the horizon. Striving to strike this balance is another lesson I've gained from feeding my family every day. After all, we love those complicated meals, but we sacrifice together time to accomplish them. In turn, that sacrifice helps us realize that frozen pizza and movie nights are just as special.