Those who take suitable precautions are those who, according to the risk-takers, miss out on the joys of spontaneity. That's what they say. It all depends, of course, on your definition of "suitable." One person's suitable precaution is another person's fussing over details.
As I write these words, the concrete images I come up with are travel images—no surprise I'm sure to those of you who have been paying attention. Just because I no longer travel doesn't mean I have become oblivious to what it entails. Were we to travel, for example, I can tell you for sure that my husband would have every road charted, every lodging booked well in advance, every scenic overlook graphed and figured into the day's timetable. His suitable precautions are even more obsessive than my own. Let me re-phrase. Because I recognize, at some level of my mind, the ludicrousness of restricting one's possibilities so severely, I back off completely from the idea of travel in the first place. There is, I am sure, a middle ground between the footloose, play-it-as-you-go kind of traveller and the obsessive scheduler. But I lack the ability to find and walk that middle ground, so my choice is to avoid entering the arena in the first place.
Suitable precautions: carry your umbrella because a 70 percent chance of rain was forecast and you will find (is this magic realism?) that the very act of lugging around that extra two pounds will be enough to move the clouds along without dispensing their moisture on the local gardens. Wearing your rain boots all day will bring about the same lack of rain. In such cases, have suitable precautions then become unsuitable, since no rain fell?
I believe that each of us has areas where we take "suitable precautions" to an extreme, and other areas where we don't bother with any precautions at all. Oh, brother! The lies embedded in that sentence are so obvious. Does the suitable precaution really vary from individual to individual, or is it only me? Does it vary according to circumstances or only according to mood? Or time of day? How can I say I believe that "each of us" does anything at all? I, who flee generalizations, having noticed that even within my own self they simply don't pertain?
So forget that business about each of us having areas where anything can be predicted. It's just not true.
I—and this is all I can speak for—vary. A suitable precaution in the kitchen might involve—for a special dinner party—a thorough advance reading of all the chosen recipes. So do I, an experienced amateur cook, check through each recipe in advance? Not on your life. This is why, on a Saturday afternoon, I suddenly realize that the main dish I've chosen for that night's dinner party calls for two cups of chicken stock—and we have none left in the freezer nor any boxed in foil on the pantry shelf.
Such lack of suitable precaution leads me often to the position of any quarterback when it's fourth down and ten: I punt. And that, I can assure you, I do very well. In fact, the thrill I get from a successful punt is exactly why, in the kitchen, I take risks instead of suitable precautions.
Copyright © 2016 Ann Tudor
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