“For a tall person the world is a very dirty place because no one bothers to clean above 6’2”.” — Arianne Cohen
I was born tall. Peeking into the bassinet, adoring family and relatives did not coo over a round-faced cherub. They looked down upon a lanky, skinned squirrel.
Meander through the memories in my scrapbook and there I am in the back row of every pasted-up photo, my tin grin and Toni-twisted hair bobbing above the photo line, like the sun setting on the horizon.
Glance through the faded newspaper clippings and theater programs and you will uncover my acting career: second grade, a green bean in “Peter Rabbit”; fifth grade, the wicked witch in “Hansel and Gretel”; ninth grade, a gypsy dancer in “The Fortune Teller.”
Tall girls get all the juicy character parts in plays. Tall girls even get to play tall boys when the male supply is low. Tall girls are the pivot for all chorus lines. Tall girls can be seen in every back row of every vocal chorus on stage.
I was never destined to play the romantic lead in a drama or musical. How could I recite a soliloquy or warble a love song to the top of someone’s head while their nose was buried in my waist?
I even have tall feet (size 12), tall legs, and tall fingers. Crochet hooks and quilting needles come in all the wrong sizes.
My tall feet have always tripped over the cracks in sidewalks and on the white lines of tennis courts.
I learned at an early age that I would never be a star athlete. Tall girls know they are destined to play left field in softball and they will forever be chosen as an alternate cheerleader. Cheerleaders come packaged five foot two with eyes of blue.
I blame my father for my six-foot frame. I inherited all the stretch in his Danish genes. We have been the same height since I was 15.
You might say I have adjusted to my height over the years, that I have found my niche in life. With a six-foot-six-inch tall husband, I can dance cheek to cheek. I have a son I can look up to, literally; he is six feet, nine inches tall. And I have short friends who admire my ability to reach top cupboard shelves and dust the top of their refrigerators.
In the book, “Land Girls,” by Angela Huth, Joe says, “Pity there’s no fanfare of trumpets. Really, you need trumpets.” And I say, “Pity there’s no fanfare when a tall girl hits the six-foot mark. She needs trumpets. She really needs trumpets!”
Spring asparagus supreme
2 tbsp. butter; 2 tbsp. flour; ¾ cup milk; 1 tsp. chopped onion; ½ cup grated sharp cheddar cheese; 3 egg yolks, beaten; 1 ½ cup cooked asparagus; 3 egg whites, beaten stiff; salt and pepper.
Make white sauce of first three ingredients. Add egg yolks, onion, and cheese. Stir until cheese is melted. Add cut cooked asparagus and season to taste. Fold in beaten egg whites. Pour into buttered casserole and bake at 350 degrees for about 45 minutes until center is slightly firm.
