The Crab Chronicles

The Voice of the Third Wheel

Since the end of the 20-year odyssey I think of as The Great Husband Hunt, when I was 22-42 years old, I have settled comfortably into my spinsterhood. No need to feel sorry for me. I am just fine with living alone and I prefer my own company to that of anyone else. However, I wanted to explain to my married friends why it’s so difficult for me to be friends with you.

All of my close friends (with two exceptions) are single people. Three are divorced. One is gay. There are other friends in my circle who are not best friends but who are certainly dear friends, and in some cases related to me. I call a lot of people “cousin” and I am proud to do so.

In the last couple of years I have invited several couples over for dinner. I like to cook. I am a pretty decent cook. Married folks come over and eat with me, and leave. Now, this may be because men tend to gobble down their food and look around for a TV to watch. Women, at least in the south, tend to linger at the table and chat.

Some of my best memories are of Mom and our guests sitting around the dining room table chatting for hours after a meal. I was usually the one quietly gathering up plates and napkins and heading for the kitchen, but always wanting to be within earshot because those after-the-meal conversations invariably contained all sorts of interesting stories. I didn’t know when I was a kid how lucky I was that I was the baby and my older cousins always left me to go play big kid games. Quietly listening in to the grownup conversations gave me a great appreciation for stories, and some interesting insights.

“You know why she left him right? Bad to drink.”

“Well Memaw never could make a decent meringue and so what? Her fried chicken made up for it.”

“If you go over there you’ll see why he’s never home.”

And so on and so forth, and Little Pitchers DO have Big Ears, trust me on that.

Married people tend to make me feel like the third wheel. Usually I’m closer to the wife, but not always. So I’d like to say this, for the record: wives, I am NOT after your husbands.

Jealousy has utterly ruined several nice friendships I’ve had with couples. Unfounded jealousy, I must add. (I always want to say to the wives, “If you don’t trust him, why are you still married to him?!” I was always taught that trust is THE foundation of a marriage, and without it, you might as well split up. I think it’s true. I would never stay with someone I couldn’t trust because I’d be miserable.)

I have NEVER tried to break up a marriage. I wasn’t raised that way.

On two occasions in my life, when I was Young and Stupid, and I got crushes on married men, but I never acted on them. Nothing improper ever happened.

I deeply appreciate couples who seek out my friendship and make me feel welcome, and not like a Third Wheel. I cherish those friendships because they are so rare.

I recently had a great phone visit with an old friend from high school who has been with the same person for more than 40 years and cannot even remember being single. She was astonished I never married and I don’t date. I am open to both, but I don’t actively seek out guys to date or marry, and that’s okay with me. I am fine being on my own.

She paid me a backhanded compliment, probably without realizing it. She assumed that someone with my looks and personality would have landed a great guy long ago.  I didn’t, but not for lack of trying.

I do believe in reincarnation. I have great hope that in the next life there will be some awesome guy for me, and we can ride off into the sunset together. If so, I will make it a point to cultivate friendships with single folks.

below, me with my brother and his wife, about 1989

Delicious and Easy Salmon

I used to hate salmon because so often when I had it, it was dry and/or bland. A few years ago I discovered a way to cook it that's neither dry or bland, and is super easy.

Publix makes a bourbon salmon that is very yummy. I must admit I hate bourbon. Never drink it.

However, the bourbon salmon filet is delicious. The flavor is not overwhelming. A teetotaller would not find it too "alcoholic" tasting, I guarantee. I don't drink.

The easiest way to prepare it, in my view, is this: take the filets out of the wrapping paper and put them in a shallow dish. Fill the bottom of the dish with good orange juice. I like Simply Orange. Cover the top tightly, either with a lid or with foil. Pop it into a 350 degree oven for about 30 minutes. The orange juice steams into the fish, keeping it moist, and the flavors complement each other.

You can also just put plain salmon filets into the orange juice and bake. In that instance, I would recommend making Elva's Sauce, recipe below. I didn't put measurements because I always just shake in what looks right, and taste.

Elva's Fish Sauce

1/4 - 1/2 cup Mayonnaise [we like Duke's]

fresh lime juice [we love lime because it's sweet and has no seeds]

dill weed

onion powder

Lawrey's seasoning salt

Mix everything together in a small bowl. Go heavy with the dill weed. Taste and adjust seasonings to your taster.

Side Dishes

If you're like me and you live alone, you have no interest in spending a lot of time preparing meals, but of course healthful meals take some preparation. I love yellow squash and zucchini but I hate washing and peeling and chopping it. (I quit eating peel years ago when I had a bout of colitis).

My trick is to buy fresh spinach or coleslaw cabbage, heat up some olive oil and garlic, and saute away. Adding in a splash of balsamic vinegar or low sodium soy sauce and onion or onion powder enhances the flavor as well.

I know fresh spinach is disappointing -- it shrinks to nothing in a hot skillet. When I am watching TV at night after dinner I often sit and de-stem the spinach and pull out any weird looking leaves, and stick the perfect spinach leaves into a bag. The next day it's easy to grab a hand full of leaves, saute them for a moment, and pull them off the stove.

I am trying not to eat carbs but if you eat carbs, I suggest picking up a tub of pre-made mashed potatoes. I like Bob Evans mashed potatoes. Microwave with some butter and garlic and yum.

#easysamonrecipes, #easysidedishes, #freshspinach

Dad's Day

In cleaning out my house to get it ready to show I have run across so many forgotten but very cool old photos and documents. The other day I found Dad's baby book, started in 1930. It contained a number of tiny photos, too small to scan in, but treasured by me nonetheless.

Left, Daddy as a baby. My grandparents were poor, but they clearly adored their sons. Cordelia wrote in his baby book periodically for years. There were even some photos of Dad as about a 10 year old.

When Dad was born in November of 1930 the family was living in Jacksonville, Florida. His brother Lewis was about 6 and Bobby was about 4. Below, the boys with Grandaddy.

My grandmother Cordelia must have been disappointed when her third child was not a girl. She had two boys already, and a girl's name picked out [don't know what it was, though.] Then comes her third son. She had no boy name chosen so she named him "Anthony" - the name of a drugstore near the hospital. Nobody else in the family had that name.

Dad was a pistol from day 1, clearly.

Below, a note from Cordelia about him: Age 3, Dad decided he wanted to be called "Slick" -- my grandfather's nickname. Not sure why Grandaddy got that nickname, the origins of it. Might have been given to him during his brief career as a professional gambler, in South Georgia.

When I first read Cordelia's notes under Dad's photos as a 6 year old I was appalled. She let him go downtown alone?! Then I remembered that in those days downtown Hephzibah was a very short walk from their home.

Another note in the baby book talks about him having a good tan - when he was less than a year old! Of course, they lived in Florida. I remembered that my dad had really unusual skin. Despite having light brown hair and green eyes his skin was always quite brown. He never wore sunscreen, despite Mom's entreaties. I never saw him get a sunburn, either. He always spent a lot of time outside. He liked yard work, swimming, skiing, tennis. His back would turn mahogany brown. Mom said he was part pirate. Who knows.

I miss Dad a lot. He passed away July 11, 1996, of cancer. I had just turned 34 years old. It seemed so unreal, that he would be taken from us like that. For months afterwards I felt like the whole world was off whack, like everything was just WRONG.

I will say this for him, though. Tony Thompson packed a lot of living into 65 years. He was a busy guy.

He tried very hard to be a good father. He didn't know what to do with a little girl, since he'd had no sisters. He didn't do tea parties. I didn't brush his hair or pick out his nail polish like I did for Mom. We went to movies though, and we talked about everything. People used to say I was a lot like him. He was a ball of fire, unlike Elva [Mom] who was laid back. Maybe that's why they were such good friends. They were opposites.

Sometimes when I am worried about something I talk to Daddy, and ask him to help me, if possible. Death is simply a doorway. He's on the other side of it, but I feel him around me often. He came to me in a dream and told me to adopt my son. Sometimes I sense him when I smell his aftershave. Sometimes I clearly hear his voice in my head.

He wasn't perfect, but nobody is perfect. He tried to be a good daddy and he loved us fiercely. That was enough. I will miss him until the day I see him again in heaven.