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The Goddess Speaks
FOR one entire week, I did nothing but lie in bed all day, every day. My feet were propped up on several fluffy pillows with an ice pack delicately draped over each one. Every meal and snack was prepared and served to me by my husband. He never left the room without asking, "Is there anything I can do for you?" Woe is the
reluctant goddessWith a lifestyle like that, I must have been a goddess, right? Then allow me to share some of the most hidden secrets of the pampered life.
BEING A GODDESS ISN'T ALL IT'S CRACKED UP TO BE. Some women are born to be goddesses. But, for me to gain entrance to The Lifestyle of the Waited-on and Spoiled, I had to have surgery on both of my feet. My toes hurt, I was cranky and bored. It was a high price to pay.
Although we seem to have millions of cable channels now, there were spans of time when there was nothing to watch on TV. After several viewings, I was tired of even my most favorite videos. I had a couple of terrific books to read, but it didn't take long before they couldn't hold my interest.
Funny thing, as soon as I had no choice but to stay in bed, I suddenly yearned to be cleaning the house, working at the computer or watering the yard. My everyday life as a writer and housewife definitely isn't exciting, but it sure beat my stint as goddess.
BEHIND EVERY GODDESS IS A HUSBAND WHO'S FULL OF SURPRISES. My husband is a macho, somewhat old-fashioned, Italian man who now had to wait on me literally hand and feet. Tony cheerfully brought me fresh ice packs, fixed my meals and warmed-up homemade chocolate-chip cookies in the microwave. All I had to do was raise my empty glass and he'd fill it with cool water flavored by a hint of lemon. He was good-natured, thoughtful and exhausted.
Without Tony's tender loving care I never would have been able to experience the lifestyle of a goddess.
REAL GODDESSES WASH DISHES. One day during my convalescence, I made the mistake of peeking into the kitchen. It was a horrifying sight, even worse than the mess Ricky and Fred made while Lucy and Ethel worked in the candy factory.
DISHES, clean and dirty, filled the sink and flowed onto the surrounding counter tops; crumpled cloth napkins and place mats were strewn over the dining room table; unopened bags of groceries covered the burners on the stove; and, there was a strange odor soiling the air. It was enough to make me run back to my bed and hide under the comforter.
Thankfully, my doctor soon gave me permission to move around. I hobbled into the kitchen and it only took me three hours to restore it to a condition that wouldn't warrant a visit from the board of health.
Free of his duties, my husband shot his lowest-ever round of golf. That night he whispered, "You're my darling angel, and I'm so glad I have you."
This was a bit much, even from an Italian. I was surprised, flattered and soaring toward a romantic high.
"Why?" I murmured, wanting to hear even more terms of endearment before he was out of the mood.
"Because you can do dishes now," he said with obvious gratitude.
What a shock to realize that I felt most like a goddess when my husband appreciated the work I do in the kitchen.
Michelle Calabro Hubbard's first book, "Sour Notes"
(Bess Press), is about a local girl who goes to drastic
measures to lose weight only to learn to accept herself as she is.
The Goddess Speaks runs every Tuesday
and is a column by and about women, our strengths, weaknesses,
quirks and quandaries. If you have something to say, write it and
send it to: The Goddess Speaks, the Honolulu Star-Bulletin, P.O.
Box 3080, Honolulu, 96802, or send e-mail
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