One of my favorite poems is "Gretel" by..(I'll think of the name and edit it in) that explores Gretel's world after she and Hansel emerge victorious from the forest. As you remember, Gretel is the active agent in the demise of the witch and the freeing of her brother. Anyway, the line of the poem that always gets to me is "'Ever after' was the size of a kitchen.."
I think of that line often when I'm cooking dinner because sometimes, it does seem that that's the only important thing I do out of the day's activities. Sure, most of my errands are useful, but the world wouldn't come to an end if I didn't get to Target or the cleaners or the bank or the drugstore or the grocery. They hardly measure up to an 'ever after'.
From Martha in the New Testament on through 2000 years of pots and pans and utensils and inevitable, inescapable, relentless meals to prepare, 'ever after' has meant KP for most women. I'd hate to think that my happiness was defined by eternal meal preparation, however. There's so much more out there, and while some creativity is demanded (what's for dinner when you have tomatoes, onions and maybe a little cheese?) I am no culinary Michaelangelo or Shakespeare, worthy of commendation for the mundane stuff that issues from my kitchen most nights. "Ever after"? I think not.
So what do I pin my hopes of immortality on? What is it that I expect out of life, out of marriage, out of my personal fairy tale? Surely something better than Gretel's oaf of a husband. Surely a prince (whom I have, even though he might be in disguise). Surely some breath of wonder, of triumph, of larger-than-life experience. No matter what that is, there is definitely a page from Gretel's book that we all need to tear out and remember. There is no husband, no prince, no fleeting triumph out there that can give any of us what we want. It's a DIY world, ladies. We are responsible for making our own ever afters.
GRETEL
said she didn’t know anything about ovens
so the witch crawled in to show her
and Bam! Went the big door!
Then she strolled out to the shed where
her brother was fattening, knocked down
a wall and lifted him high in the air.
Not long after the adventure in the forest
Gretel married so she could live happily.
Her husband was soft as Hansel. Her
husband liked to eat. He liked to see
her in the oven with the pies and cakes.
Ever after was the size of a kitchen.
Gretel remembered when times were better.
She laughed out loud when the witch
popped like a weenie.
“Gretel! Stop fooling around and fix
my dinner.”
“There’s something wrong with this oven,”
she says, her eyes bright as treasure.
“Can you come here a minute?”
--Ronald Koertge
