The Grateful Dead sang, “I can tell your future, just look what’s in your hand”. Last night in my hands were slimy, raw chicken parts.
As I tugged and twisted the raw chicken skin to rip it off the meat, my 10-year-old child looked up from her homework to announce, “I’m never going to do that.”
“Do what?” I asked.
“What you’re doing.”
“You’re never going to cook a chicken?” I asked with skepticism.
“No. I won’t,” she definitively replied.
“So, you’re telling me that in the future you will never eat chicken?” I pressed.
“I’ll eat it in restaurants.”
That would be expensive I silently mused, then added, “But you’ll never eat chicken in your future home?”
“Well, I’ll eat rotisserie chicken,” she conceded.
“You’ll cook rotisserie chicken?” even more skeptical. Myself, I can’t cook rotisserie chicken.
“No. I’ll buy it and bring it home.” Ah yes, I know where she learned that quick-dinner trick. The certainty of my child’s future forecast reminded me of Oprah’s story about foretelling her own future when she was a child living with her grandmother in a Southern, wood cabin. For Oprah’s story and the chicken marinade recipe my mother dictated to my father who passed it on to me, keep reading.