Whales, Fires, Public Restrooms & Other Fears

Quinoa and kale breakfast, topped with a poached egg. This recipe comes from Gwyneth Paltrow’s It’s All Good cookbook, which I rather like. It’s simple and tasty, and perfect for those times when you have leftover quinoa (but good enough to make with fresh quinoa too). You can find the recipe here. Have a good weekend and see you again on Monday!

My son, who is seven-and-a-half, has exhibited a lot of fears lately. He’s afraid of the mother of another kid, because she once screamed out loud, he’s afraid of police officers, he’s afraid of going into the kitchen alone at night.

The other day I asked my husband:
“What’s up with all these fears? I was never afraid as a kid!”

As if my son’s fears surely had been passed down from my husband’s side of the family, not mine. I tend to think of myself as pretty fearless, but a deeper examination of my own childhood and youth, revealed quite a few fears, some of which were almost compulsive in nature and a few of which lasted until I was a grown-up.

Two major fears are connected to this one summer, when I was 8 or 9. First, it was this whale, which had gotten lost and was “stuck” in the shallow strait located between the island of Öland and the town of Kalmar on the mainland, where we lived. Because of this whale, I refused to put my foot in the sea all summer for fear my foot would touch the back of this great big Leviathan. I imagined the feel of it: Slimy, bumpy, and worst of all alive.

That same summer there was a fire in a nearby school. Everyone talked about it and I couldn’t sleep at night, imagining our house, too, might burn down.

“Our house is made of stone,” said my mother. “Stone houses rarely burn.”

Yet in my dreams I saw firefighters and police and a curious crowd of people poking in the remains of our house and our furniture all covered in heaps of black ash. And our bodies, blackened and burnt, found amidst it all.

Traveling alone was another fear. I was terrified of being alone on a train in my younger teens. I was afraid of having to change trains, actually my heart started to race every time the conductor announced that Alvesta Station was next. Alvesta was a busy railway junction, with tracks and platforms forming a difficult, snaky grid. I always knew the platform from which my next train would leave, but one little hick-up, one small delay, could easily change track 3b to track 5a and that would produce an hitherto unknown terror in my heart.

Public restrooms were also extremely scary. It began with the restrooms at school, where the older students held court and terrorized those who were younger. And the public restrooms were even worse! Who knew what one would find in there? I always opened the doors to the stalls very quickly. I imagined half-naked; half-dead bodies slumped in there, in a sea of urine. The stalls back then were always covered in vulgar graffiti and veiled in a nasty stench. I always wondered who in this world could stay in there long enough to write and draw all those things.

I still try to avoid public restrooms. The good thing is, that in New York City there’s a whole bunch of really nice ones: The ones in Bryant Park are the best, followed by the ones in the lobby of the Renaissance hotel at Times Square. Most Barnes and Noble restrooms are OK. I’m not as picky as when I was younger, but if you are in New York and you are picky, there’s a book out there for you.