Sunday, March 14, 2010
The Danger Factor...and Pizza
Here's the skinny on Dominican pizza. There are three categories - edible, awful and disgusting. Given the situation, I have become a bit of a pizza making fool, but my ambition (and lack of proper tools) caught up with me and Friday night resulted in an epic pizza fail.
I don't really want to talk about the pizza fail itself - it involved a 500 degree oven full of dripping pizza, a broken pizza stone, pizza that resembled a crime scene and a handful of words I should not have been saying in front of my children. You can imagine.
What you might be surprised to hear is that at the end of this craziness - and trust me, it was madness around here - my four year old sat down to his tumor-esque glob of cheese and pasta sauce and said, "What a fun night!" When I called my mom to recount the adventure she replied, "Why didn't you just get delivery?" It's all perspective I guess, but it got me thinking about choices.
Sometimes I remember out of the blue, that not everyone would choose the life that we've chosen. In fact, obviously, most people wouldn't. My pizza fail was in part an issue of the fact that I cannot get the proper pizza making supplies here. I have to order them from home. I miss being able to just go to Target. I bought a "stone" at a home supply store here - obviously it was the wrong kind…or something. And, another part of my pizza problem was the fact that there was no way I was going to get delivery. A Friday night in becomes a production when you're doing everything from scratch. I don't mind it…but, you know, it would be easier to call up our local pizzeria. And yet, and yet, this is what we choose.
But, many State Department employees sacrifice much more than pizza. People die doing this job. Why would we choose this? I don't know. At what point would the sacrifice become too great. I can choose to tolerate cooking disasters, but natural disasters? War? Death? Do we become addicted to this life? Does it become the only thing we know? I had a great life back in Austin, but I can say with all honesty the idea of returning to my old life pretty much scares the crap out of me - it was so set, so planned, so predictable. I love this new life. I choose to love it. Yes, we live on a Caribbean island, a paradise, but it's not always perfect. I choose to love what I love about it and just move on from the stuff I don't. I choose to go ahead and order those supplies from Amazon and hope that next time I don't almost burn the house down. But, here's what I'm left wondering on the eve of a tragedy in a town where I have close FS friends, at what point would I choose to say "never mind" and how will I know when I get there?