Week One: Welcome! (Really, Is That the Best You Could Do?)
Welcome to Being Human! this is our follow-up series to Be the Dog, in which I wrote about positive dog traits and my quest to become more dog-like as a human.
So why “Being Human”? (I mean, seriously, Ricki? You couldn’t think of a less obvious riff on “Be the Dog”? The only LESS original title would have been “Be the Human”).
Here’s the thing. After spending more than 52 weeks thinking about all the amazing dog traits I’d like to embrace, I realized that (a) I might have been a wee bit optimistic thinking I could adopt a new trait each and every week, let alone a positive trait; and (b) human nature is such that it’s almost impossible to adopt a new trait each and every week, let alone a positive one.
So what was my conclusion after more than a year living with our canine friends’ minds and behaviors? I mean, I already knew that dogs are great role models for love, kindness, learning, intuition, hearty appetites and a whole host of other traits that would be just perfect for humans to emulate. I already knew that those were traits I wanted to expand in my own life.
And given I wasn’t 100% successful in my attempt to Be (more like) the Dog over the past 52 weeks, what DID I learn?
It’s simply this: Humans are capricious. Humans are mercurial. Humans are unpredictable. Humans are well-intentioned (sometimes) but not consistent. Humans are quirky. Humans often try but don’t succeed. Humans are flawed.
OK, but is that a bad thing? Not necessarily.
The fact that we homo sapiens are somewhat erratic in our behavior certainly keeps life interesting, if nothing else. And for me, at least, humans are a constant source of fascination, curiosity and contemplation.
So, what the heck? Why not focus on us for a while?
In Being Human, my plan is to share weekly thoughts and stories about humans. These columns will highlight the quirks of human nature, both good and bad. And neutral. And confounding. And incomprehensible. And touching. And, well, human.
I might consider why we behave a certain way in a particular situation, such as resistance when the in-laws invite you to dinner for your anniversary. Or maybe how we tend to prepare certain foods exactly the same way each time (matcha latte, anyone?). It might be a common childhood experience, like the first time you rode a bike. Or the typical response when you receive a gift that’s just “meh” but don’t feel you can return it (maybe that anniversary gift you got from your in-laws?).
And, of course, there will be the occasional tale that has to do with dogs (including the occasional tail).
Whether we really are the only intelligent life in the universe (highly unlikely) or have already been visited by aliens (I think kinda likely), humans are an endless source of fodder for something like this very Substack. And why would I waste perfectly good fodder, especially when I’ve committed to writing here every week?
We’ll dig in in earnest next week. Stay tuned.
In the meantime, here’s a different fun read for you. Based on your comments over the past few weeks, it seems some of you are interested in reading excerpts from my fiction and recipes as well. Happy to oblige!
While I won’t likely share recipes too often, today’s story appeared originally as part of my recipe blog, in fact.
It’s the story of how my friend and I bonded in high school over the fact that neither of us had a boyfriend.
Looking back, I wonder why we didn’t see our own value at the time: we were both super smart and, as it turns out, reasonably good-looking. Yet we assumed the lack of dates meant something was wrong with us, rather than any other reason–maybe the boys were intimidated by our superior intellects? Blinded by our unusual good looks? Too busy smoking weed to take notice at all?
Whatever the reason(s), I look back and wonder how many hours of my life were wasted feeling rejected by boys who, if truth be told, I probably wouldn’t have wanted to spend time with, anyway.
But I guess that’s just all of us, being human.
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The Biscuit and the Scramble (To Woo Your Rake)
The close friendship between my buddy Sterlin and me was soldered back in high school, when we first discovered that we were the only two girls in the entire school who had never had a boyfriend (well, I guess there was "BB," too, but we figured that sleeping with the entire senior class had to count for something).
This revelation prompted an immediate sense of community between us, after which we spent endless hours (in the way that only teenagers can) on the telephone, musing about why we didn't have a boyfriend, how much we wished we could have a boyfriend, what we would do if we ever got a boyfriend, and what it was other girls like BB had that we didn't, allowing them to seemingly conjure streams of drooling boys trailing behind them like empty cans tied to a "Just Married" car bumper.
Entirely unjustly, we thought, these girls enjoyed a surfeit of boyfriends, while we had to make do with an unrequited crush on our French teacher, Mr. Krauser.
But then, we discovered historical romance novels, and our focus shifted.
You know the ones: innocent, nubile, yet spunky lass is swept away (usually literally) by swaggering, swarthy, self-assured rake with a (very well hidden) heart of gold. Over time, he wins her devotion, while she tames his savage nature.
Well, weren't we spunky, too? Sterlin and I began to daydream, starry-eyed, about meeting a similar hero (even though we never fully understood exactly what a "rake" was) and riding off into the sunset, where he'd unravel the secrets of our nascent womanhood and we would charm his wild heart.
In the books, at least, we could get close to the most desirable of men. For some reason, these novels (at least, the ones I remember) all sported titles pairing two nouns, representing male and female: there was The Wolf and the Dove, and The Flame and The Flower (both Kathleen E. Woodiwiss masterworks) or perhaps The Raven and The Rose or The Pirate and the Pagan (both by Virginia Henley).
And let's not forget my favorite, The French Teacher and the Girl with Braces and Long Hair Parted in the Middle Who Liked to Bake (okay, my memory may be a bit fuzzy on that one--high school was a long time ago).
Well, given our combined paucity of feminine wiles flirting ability lacy lingerie boyfriend-attracting attributes, we eventually decided to woo our guys with food (the way to a man's heart, and all that). So Sterlin developed “First Date Pasta” as her staple, while I attempted to perfect an ideal chocolate cheesecake, or brownie, or even muffin (since, you know, I had high hopes of my French teacher imaginary beau staying for breakfast).
Those erstwhile romantic efforts came back to me in a flash after I'd been browsing through some old cookbooks. I decided to show some love to the otherwise neglected tomes (you know, those cookbooks you buy but no longer really use, or ones that contain only one or two recipes still in your current meal rotation).
One such volume in my collection is called The Breakfast Book by Diana Terry. Though I’ve owned this book for decades, I hadn’t noticed until last week that it was published in Australia--which, way back when, was the land of my dreams, with its picturesque vistas, lush wilderness, stunning cities, enviable weather, and dashing, rakish Aussie gentlemen--all of whom just happen to speak with that sexy Australian accent.
Ah, yes, well. *Sigh.* Pardon me: back to the book.
Terry offers a sample menu for brunch with a decidedly orange theme. The lucky boyfriend guest is treated to Champagne with Grand Marnier, Scrambled Eggs with Wholemeal Brioches, Fresh Fruit with Ricotta-Orange Dip, and Viennese-Style Coffee. Of course, none of the recipes would suit me in its present form, but that certainly didn't stop this spunky gal.
After reading about the citrus-suffused eggs that were then gingerly ladled over a split brioche, its top placed rakishly askew, I asked myself: "Who said tofu scrambles should be savory, anyway? Why not sweet? And why must they always be one shade shy of neon yellow? And couldn't my own, homemade, biscuits stand in for a brioche? And just what does "rakishly" actually mean, anyway?"
So I created my own scramble, which is slightly sweet and not too yellow. And it's very creamy. And it has orange zest and juice in it. And you ladle it gingerly over the bottom of a carob and raisin biscuit, the top of which is placed rakishly askew over it.
And may I just say--I ended up loving this dish. In fact, our affair bordered on the torrid. Who needs a boyfriend? I'd rather eat this*. But if you're feeling generous, go ahead and share it with your wolf, or your flame, or your rake.
*Okay, not really. If I had to choose between a sweet tofu scramble and my sweet HH, of course the HH would win out. But just barely.
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