Managing expectations

Every so often, Marge and I like to eat at the Nutrition Center in Chaffee, Missouri. We were there the other day and got to visiting with a woman close to where we sat. She asked us about our garden, whether it was done or still going? Marge said most of it was done but we had planted a few new fall crops, so the lady then asked if we'd planted turnips, which we have. She commented that she liked turnips raw with a touch of salt. I like them raw as well. But also like turnip greens, boiled turnips and fried turnips. We just like turnips, or, I should say, I do.

When it gets fallish, I expect there will be turnips as well as buttercup squash and acorn squash and pumpkins and the like in the stores and markets. Marge and I both like buttercup squash and acorn squash. Either bake them or nuke them, add some butter and enjoy. Some put all kinds of seasoning on them, but we like them with just butter. I have never cared for pumpkins no matter how they are fixed. I enjoy carving one every year, but that's it, and I'm done with pumpkins. Right at the end of summer when it's hot, I expect there will be watermelons. Don't really have a time period for cantaloupe though. I kind of expect them all year around. When spring comes, say June or July, I expect there will be tomatoes and BLTs. Can't hardly wait until the tomatoes bloom and then the tomatoes turn color. But a close second is cucumbers.

Growing up, come March or April, one expects ranchers in the Sandhills of Nebraska to be calving. Then in June or so ,everyone will be gathering up the cows and calves and branding them and giving them shots and castrating the bull calves. But come September or October, it was time to sell the calves. Most everyone will be cutting hay in late June or July.

Come spring ,Mom and Dad and us boys would be thinking of bullheads. Couldn't hardly wait until the ice melted and we could start fishing for bullheads, and we expected to catch a mess every time we went. There just isn't much better than a yellow bullhead out of a spring-fed lake in the spring. Skin them and leave whole. Dip them in flower and fry in lard. Darn good. But when the mud hens came to the Sandhills, it was time to fish for largemouth bass. Usually around the end of March into April, the walleyes would congregate along the face of the dam amidst the rocks. I expected to catch one with a doll fly jig fished slow off the rocks.

But we have expectations about hundreds of other things. When a woman and a man get about 24 to 30 years old, people expect them to find a soul mate and get married. When the guy or gal gets up in their 40s and never married, people begin to wonder. Back in my early days when a guy or gal graduated from high school, there was the expectation to get a job and move out or go to college. You didn't live with your parents. This was the expectation. A newly married couple should have their first child in a few years. Grandparents and parents were expecting this.

I have expectations, but you do, too, and so does she, and so does he, and the guy next door. You may expect the neighbor to keep his grass mowed fairly short, while he expects you to mow it taller. When I stop at a joint and get a cup of coffee, I expect fresh coffee and not hours old, burned coffee. When I have biscuits and gravy, I expect there will be real sausage in the gravy. I expect the preacher to close at noon sharp.

Our personal expectations are our own expectations. We need to chill out and give others some grace and forgiveness. For 50 some years, I've expected an outstanding breakfast every morning, but I've learned that many times it's just breakfast. Sometimes the preacher runs over!