I had been from the start physically attracted to J, that is, once I got over resisting how large he was, both vertically and horizontally. Sometimes I would be reminded of this more than at other times, and certainly flying made it very evident. Coach seats on airplanes are unbelievably tight, both in regards to the amount of butt and thigh room there is, but also in the amount leg space between the seats and the amount of room between your meal tray, once you let it down, and your waist! I was already feeling irritatingly cramped, yet we still had another seven hours of flight time left before we would land in Jordan. Never mind that J was completely miserable!
J had a very healthy appetite for all sorts of activities, and eating was definitely one of them! I think that might have also played a big part in how I won him over. If "the way to a man's heart is through his stomach," then that could be how I clenched getting his (both stomach and heart)! While eating did eventually win out in our marriage over any other activity (read into this
sex), from the beginning I was enamored by him enough to turn myself into a combination Julia Child and Betty Crocker. My mother had made cetain that I knew how to replicate everything she knew how to cook, teaching me the art of baking, but mostly
frying, a variety of different cuts of beef and chicken, demonstrating how to overcook vegetables, whip up some creamy, buttery mashed potatoes, and make delicious casseroles and baked beans, how to cut, chop, and mix together a mean garden salad, and even how to concoct a variety of beverages (namely, sweet tea!). She also instructed me on how to bake loaves of yeast bread and pans of corn bread, and how to bake a whole array of cakes and cookies and other desserts from scratch! All this I knew fairly well by the age of fifteen when she divorced Dad, leaving me to be the cook for him, my brother, and myself. By then I already owned several heavily soiled cookbooks that I had either inherited from Mom or that my grandmother had given me. I loved to cook, especially when I had someone to cook for who loved to eat! And so I cooked large, and I cooked fat! Both before and after we were married I would make
J huge breakfasts, to be followed up only a few hours later with lunch, which would often be fast food, followed sometime during the evening with an enormous dinner. On top of that, most every night around midnight he would get a craving for something sweet, and I'd oblige him with whatever I could make quickly, often throwing together something like rice crispy treats or brownies or chocolate chip cookies. And so, surprise of all surprises, this did nothing to help him control his weight or me mine. Never mind that we both had hit the age of 30 something when one does not burn off fat like one used to! And now here we were trying to sit comfortably in these stupid airplane seats! Arrrgh!
I was already glad that we had come prepared to supplement the dig food with our own snacks from America, but I was wondering how closely the food on the plane would resemble what we would have to eat once we were landed in Jordan, and it wouldn't be too much longer before I would find out. Finally, after lunch and another movie, we began our flight over Jordan. Jordan is actually about the size of Indiana, and we would shortly be flying into its capital city of Amman. As I excitedly looked out the window (peering over my seat mate), my heart almost stopped beating. All I could see literally was desert! Brown, sandy, rocky, wind blown desert. I strained to see in every direction even one tree or bush. Nothing! People on the plane started cheering even before we began our descent, happy to be back over their beloved homeland. Me, I started crying! I couldn't help myself; the tears just came, and they wouldn't stop. All I could think about was that I had signed up for eight weeks of this! I get mad if somebody cuts down a tree in the US. Probably because I know what could happen: this! What I was viewing now through the window truly scared me. Suddenly all the stories I'd read in the Bible of people roaming in the desert came flooding (oh, and there was no water in sight either) into my mind. I did not want to roam the desert. I did not want to go on an archaeological dig in the Middle East. Somebody, please, save me! My husband took one look at my face and knew instantly that he was in for one long summer.
