Monday, July 9, 2012

Why I Hate Orville Redenbacher


I hate Orville Redenbacher.  I know that’s not something a Christian woman should say.  But I do!  I started hating Orville Redenbacher a few days ago, when I began packing for our vacation to Florida.  After nearly standing on my head, digging shorts and swimsuits out of the deep recesses of my closet, I could have cried when I discovered that nearly none of my shorts and swimsuits from years past would fit!   And all the blame can be placed squarely upon the shoulders of Orville Redenbacher.

Some of my best memories revolve around popping popcorn.  Either my mom or dad would rummage through the cabinets until they found our special popcorn pot, then they would heat the oil while I measured out the popcorn kernels.  My favorite part of the process involved shaking the pot back and forth, back and forth, over that stovetop burner, making sure that each kernel rotated numerous times in order to avoid being scorched by the hot oil.  The treat of popcorn consisted of a lot more than simply eating it.  The whole process became an art.  An art that I grew to love.  A couple of years ago, my mother found and gave me that old, battered pot, an heirloom that I now display proudly in my kitchen. 



Now for the “why I hate Orville Redenbacher” and how my wardrobe dilemma can be attributed to him.  I’m not going to pretend to be an expert on the origins of microwave popcorn.  I don’t exactly know who invented it, nor do I know what brands were the first on the shelves.  What I do know is that Orville Redenbacher was the first brand of microwave popcorn that I had ever seen and after having made that discovery, the art of popping popcorn in that special pot was lost.

Last week, as I shimmied into my clothes that no longer fit, I tried to rational WHY they no longer fit.  I wish I could have blamed it on the fact that I am in the middle of writing a doctoral dissertation.  I wish that I could have blamed it on working two full-time jobs over the past year.  I wish I could have blamed it on the stress caused by parenting teens in this crazy world.  I wish I could have blamed it on a lethargic thyroid.  Ultimately, I knew those reasons were all unfounded.

After thinking long and hard, I reasoned that, if I were truly being honest with myself, I could only blame it on one thing.  I had grown lazy over the past year.  Just like the easier choice of microwave popcorn, I too had opted for the “easies” of life.  Oh sure, I have done my share of Zumba classes and elliptical sessions, but they often were negated when I would swing through the drive thru of whatever restaurant I would be taking home for supper. 

Ephesians 5:31 tells us that, in marriage, “. . . a man will leave his father and mother and be united to his wife, and the two will become one flesh.”  Well, my husband has been faithfully hitting the gym for seven months straight.  I’m still waiting for MY metabolism to benefit from that, since we are of one flesh!

When I return from Florida, I’m getting serious about my health. I will no longer choose the microwave popcorn version of life’s everyday tasks.  I will plan our meals.  I will cook.  I will opt to go to the YMCA rather than sit on the couch and watch Good Morning Virginia. 

If you see me at Cook Out in either Farmville and/or Lynchburg, please . . . feel free to take . . . the cheeseburger and fries.  (If you try to take the milkshake, I just might have to fight you for it!)





1 comment:

  1. Those popcorn memories bring tears to my eyes. Granny had a special pot and a special bowl. It was a thin aluminum pan with a mismatched copper lid. The bowl a big, amber glass mixing bowl. I'd love to have that bowl. I can smell that popping corn and hear it and see Granny standing there at the stove shaking that pan. Life just hasn't been the same without her. Thanks for the good memory. Love you!

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