Things I No Longer Worry About

• Did I leave the iron on?
• Did I take the meat out of the freezer so it's thawed when I get home? (There's no dinner for the family if I forgot.)
• Did I miss that important phone call?
• Will the dimestore have my size of typewriter ribbon? Or must I go downtown on Saturday to the office supply store?
• Did the bookstore already phone me saying they had my special-order book? (Why must all the books I want be "special-order"?)
• Will my airplane ticket arrive in the mail in time for my trip?
• Running up long-distance phone charges; so I'd call after 7:00 p.m.
• Will I have enough cash at the checkout?
• Did I shake every bit of sand out of the driver's side floor mat so my father won't know I went to the beach?
• Am I wearing two different color nylon stockings?
• Can I run to the grocery store in time for them to cash this check?
• Is my slip or my bra strap showing?
• Do I have a dime with me at all times in case I must make a phone call?
• Oh no, I have no quarter for the collection plate! All I have is my last dollar bill!

I'll never forget the time I went on a movie date and for some reason my mother was convinced we had gone to see a terribly forbidden movie, The Happy Hooker. Planning to catch me there, she dragged my father that evening to that movie, the first they'd probably seen in a theater in 20 years, and probably the last in their lifetimes. The joke was on them. I think Ray and I saw that evening The Towering Inferno.

My Favorite Carpet Stains

It was either 1986 or 1991 when the Divine Cabin's carpet was installed, and Demetrius, bless his heart, and I had it cleaned around 2003, when we'd just moved in and he still helped me move furniture. Since then I have despaired of its dinginess and invited fewer and fewer guests, such is my carpet shame. At first I cleaned any stains. Then the despair was such that I left them. Hot, humid days drew from the carpet the smell of pee from an elegant housecat who died of bladder cancer in 1999.

The stains tell a story. From bottom to top: a coffee stain. I never used to drink coffee. I never used to drink it in the living room until two years ago. Spilled it once and cleaned it but you could hardly tell. Next time I spilled it, left it. Next, another coffee stain, this one sneezed into being while I sat in my rockin' chair. Tried to mop it with a towel. The orange-pinkish stain is cough syrup taken on an empty stomach, so vile that I sold the ranch halfway to the bedroom and lay on the floor for an hour, unwell, as the pink soaked into the fibers. When the stain dried it did not bother me. No one else would ever see it. Cats ralph cold tuna and hairballs all the time and no one cares. The tobacco-colored stain at top left is not a stain but a shadow on a carpet so grimy even shadows are brown.

This year the landlord agreed I need new carpet. The measuring guy found asbestos tiles underneath the current carpet. No need for alarm; asbestos floor tiles were popular in the 1950s through 1970s, before people knew better, and if unbroken are perfectly safe. But he said if the carpet removal cracked or broke any tiles the installers would depart at once with the job unfinished. Hearing this, the landlord engaged an asbestos-removal firm to do the job the day before pad and carpet installation.

Thinking right now about a new-carpet party, but what if someone made a stain? Or is that just the way life goes? Happy Summer Solstice.

Undaunted

Emma was born in 1892, and in 1980 I lived in her basement and she gave me a 1940 seafood cookbook pamphlet, me being a Midwesterner living on the east coast where fish was the cheapest food, and I have treasured the cookbook, especially the Fish Roll recipe I made several times to feed hungry me and drug-addled friends, all so mentally ill we stayed out 'til 4 a.m. listening to bands like The Young Snakes and Rubber Rodeo singing songs like "Life Sucks, Then You Die," and vomiting, etc. Emma didn't like when police came to the house looking for "Eric" or whoever. . . "Unexpected guests will not daunt a hostess who knows how to make a fish roll," said the cutline beneath the illustration -- and in honor of those days we used to sleep ("crash") on bare hardwood floors, today having on hand 1.5 cups of  leftover cooked fish and an onion and some parsley in place of green pepper, I got out the cookbook (pictured) and made the frugal fish roll (result, pictured).

I used one of those baggies of Bisquick baking mix. The recipe was supposed to serve 6. In 2019 it serves 3. Great way to make leftover fish appealing.

A daunted hostess? Me, never. In grad school out east, fellow grad students, easterners and Midwesterners, all of us extremely thin, dropped by my place to chat and after a while might venture, "Uh, you wouldn't have, like, anything to eat around here, would you?" Food has always been my second-highest priority, after rent.