Belated Valentines

Did it pass you by too soon?  Or are you glad it's over?  True it's argued to be too commercialized, too unimaginative, too trite, too  shallow, too "single-awareness" of a holiday celebrating romance.  But, you know, that is said about every holiday. Maybe not the single-awareness part. To all the holiday scrooges, I offer this counter:  It's a holiday for a reason. You don't have to celebrate anything that irks you. But allow others to enjoy their celebration of something good without spreading the gripes.

This year I've taken a pledge.  I, too, sometimes feel that holidays are advertised to the extreme.  But I decide to approach it from the angle of what can I do to make it matter, and better, not what can I do to gripe.   In my effort to make it matter, I'm trying to do gifts of thought, not price. Not to demean the value of chocolate or flowers: I admit those have a special place in my heart, and I am shallow or typical enough that I do enjoy those standard gifts.  (Standards are also standards for a reason).  So, what does I mean by gifts of thought, not price? Mostly, handmade or thought-full gifts.  These include gifts of my time instead of my money.  And I think that most people try very hard to spend their thought as well as their money on their gifts for others.  And I like to encourage that. 

I am lucky enough to have a Valentine in my life, and for the Romance day this year I wrote him a book.  It's simple.  It's made of cardstock and a manilla folder I had in my house. Only 9 pages in big print, each page with a different kind of fabric heart in the center. And it is the best valentine I've given.  What a reward for me to see his face as he recognized the silly, sometimes cheesy, but specific reasons of why he is special to me.  And he's not the cheesy type.  But it mattered to him.  And it was better than anything I could have bought because it was so personal.  So what about the pledge, you say?   It's this:  I pledge this year to spend more giving of my self, not my money, on the people that matter most to me.  Not only will it be healthy for the wallet, it's healthy for the heart.

New Year's tents

I've been thinking.  A dangerous pastime, you say.  But, nonetheless, it happens.  And it's happening to me.  And tonight, I am actually going to tell you what I am thinking about, and not get lost in the running and rising stream of consciousness that often jumps the banks and floods my writing. I am thinking of New Year's goals.  Isn't everyone?  After all, it is the very first day of the very first month of the very brand new year.  And it's nice to have a mark that says, "this is the beginning," (that kind of beginning would be a birthday, literally.) And it's also nice to have a mark that says, "let's start over," the kind of mark that today would be to anyone already arrived on earth.  And I love start overs, or fresh starts.  That's why I love moving (my dh thinks I'm crazy.) Yet, the beginning of a new adventure in a new place is extremely attractive to me.  My grandma would say "You gotta keep 'em building their tents," when my mom would wonder how to keep us kids from getting bored.  (You know, the kind of tents that put the broom up on phone books and drapes sheets across the top for the roof.)  It's sort of manifest destiny. "Every living thing is under that necessity for continuous advancement."  

Okay, but back to the beginning:  with a beautiful fresh start, which I love having those, I am choosing to make my year's goals in short terms.  For example, this month, I am finishing my started projects.  And I am letting new ideas wait.  I will write them down, hold on to them, but they will wait patiently until all the old are cleaned up, finished up, used up, and put up.  This is my fresh start.  By clearing away all the old things, getting them done, like all my sewing that I've begun and never finished.  That's January.  I will have all my started sewing done by the end of January.  (See the purse, I did that tonight.  So far, so good!) And when February comes, it's on to a fresh new goal.  I don't know what that is yet, but that's alright. The beauty of my new year's goal is that it is to make a goal every month, and accomplish that goal in that month.  So, I have the flexibility to make adjustments and new pursuits without feeling like I let myself down for not accomplishing a long term goal.  I keep my advancements in short increments of time, so they are easier to measure.  And I feel like I am advancing at a faster pace.  Or at least continually advancing, moving on to new goals, new places, new tents, and new beginnings. And with those beautiful, progressive thoughts, I wish you a Happy New Beautiful Year.

Every body's waiting for the man with the bag

And I would be too, but it depends on the bag.  If it's from Anthropologie or Ann Taylor, I'm on the doorstep.  If it's from the diaper pail, it's on the doorstep.  So, what kind of bag are we really talking about here.  Does this mean he got left holding the bag?  And wasn't that supposed to be a bad thing at one time?  So, then if everyone is waiting for the man with the bag, why did they leave him holding it in the first place?  They should've just gone out, paid the waiter, or whoever it was that needs the bag, and then the waiting would be over.  See, what good is it to give someone a bag to hold, leave them there, then wait.  Go get it yourself! It'll be faster.  I hate waiting.  And, yet, it is one of life's eternal lessons that really turns into a lecture from the dark side that you wish you could just skip out of, but you already came to class, and now you're stuck listening to a lecture on patience that you've heard umpteen million times before, and it really isn't doing any good but to make you more impatient to get the lecture or lesson over with.  And even when you have learned the lesson, it still shows up, reminding you that the waiting game never ends.  You will be forever stuck in the perpetual patient zone, lessons learned or not, waiting for a man with a bag, whose bag it is or what is in it we don't really know, unless we take it.  But this bag scenario, the man with it anyway, he's really just a hypothetical type, who in reality has already left us, waiting, (while he is happily in fiction-ville), to decide what goes in the bag, then acquire the contents of the bag, then distribute the contents to the rightful recipients.  Talk about delegation.  Good plan.  And we take that delegated role, year after year, and happy to do it (myself included), and perpetuate the wait over and over again.   And since I really did all the work, why does the man with the bag get all the credit? Oh wait, (I hate waiting), looks like we really got left holding the bag. 

I break (brake) for brownies

And it shows. Right around the hip and tummy area. See, here's the issue: I brake for brownies meaning that they stop me, I would like to pause and eat one, or two or three. But then here comes the conflict. If I brake for the brownie(s), then I will end up wearing it (them) around my hips for the next 10 years. And so I have to use this horrible thing called self-denial and refuse the beautiful brownie bites in order to not break my size. Causing me heart-break. Hence, both I brake and break for brownies because of the inner conflict of wanting yet not wanting to have this lovely taste of decadence. This struggle arrests me daily. It is relentless because it doesn't stop at brownies. Anything sweet and chocolatey tempts and tries my greatest self-restraint. I confess I give in more than I should, but not more than I want. I play tug-of-war with my tastebuds constantly. And I am often losing the battle. Yet, with what is left of my broken-down will power, I rise again the next day attempting to resist this most pleasurable of tasting sensations. What a pleasant, yet trying problem to have. I am a tortured soul. I need a break.

Waxing philosophical in the front seat

well, really in the seat in front of the computer. But the thought came to me in the front seat of the car. Passenger side. Not on cell phone. No distracted driving here. Just in case you were wondering.

So, what's the philosophical part? Actually, it's tragic to mention, but all too typical due to mothering mania, I can't remember the philosophy. Besides, that word is hard to type. My fingers type it so unceremoniously! So, if you were expecting some great philsophiclllall (spelling?) insight this morning, I'm afraid I've misplaced it. Maybe you could offer one since, phyllosaughphiickallie (spelling???) speaking, I'm needing simplified spelling.

But back to the phyllahsoph...-the thought. I really did have one. Now what was it? You know when I'll remember? It's after I post this. Isn't that how it always happens? You can't remember something until after you need it. You can't find something until you ask someone for it, then just as you ask, you find it yourself.

So, for the sake of my waning memory and phillasohooey--oh you know what I mean, I will leave you with the wisest words that I never created: Use the force, Luke!

Till next time...

cheesecake

can bring world peace. I've said that for years. Think about it. A piece of Dulce de Leche Caramel Cheesecake can soften the hardest of hearts. Oh, oh, and who's the kid with the Oreo Cheesecake? Or the Cookie Dough Cheesecake? Desires for a second childhood find fulfillment there. Life is so much smoother through Chocolate Mousse cheesecake, and we'd all be richer from Godiva Chocolate Cheesecake. Maybe even choruses of "Pineapple Upside Down Cheesecake is the thing to do" to the tune of Mele Kaliki Maka or Chocolate Coconut Cream Cheesecake for the financially free feelings of tropical delights. Chocolate Tuxedo Cream Cheesecake for nights out, Mixed Berry Custard Almond Crunch Cheesecake for nights in. Tiramisu for the daring, Key Lime for the coconuts (and mix them both up), Vanilla Bean for the standards, and 6 carb original for the guilt free! Not to mention the Lemon Rasberry for summer, Chocolate Raspberry Truffle for winter. What could possibly go wrong with any of these options? Surely solutions can be found in the thoughts evoked from tasting wonder and divinity. Yes, cheesecake could very well be ambrosia. I believe that if we could all sit down and share a beautiful cheesecake, instant harmony would arise. I know it works for me.

So I believe the Cheesecake Factory owes it to the world to hand out free cheesecake in the name of world peace. And we owe it to ourselves to support the cause and serve cheesecake at all board meetings, work functions, special or unspecial events, school lunches, bah mitvahs, church dances, book clubs, hoa meetings, birthdays (those two should never be adjacent, in the name of peace, of course) and seminars. And we could finally experience a taste of world peace. But don't go to their website unless you are going to act on your impulses. Because looking at the cheesecake doesn't do anything for the cause of peace. In fact, looking only creates longing, and just as we long for cheesecake and peace, alas eyes never could lift a finger. It's only the eating, the tasting, the actual action that brings the feelings of euphoria, a willingness to collaborate, to cooperate, to hug, dance, sing choruses of kum ba ya. So don't look at their website unless you are willing to do and going to do something about world peace. Like eat. Cheesecake.

110 degrees in the truck will melt chocolate

And why am I in here? That's what I thought when I drove the hour communte from Mesa to Phoenix for about 6 months during my first pregnancy. And the truck had no ac. I had a good hour to wrestle with heat invoked dry heaving while maintaining a clutch in stop and go traffic. And that was one way. It makes me nauseaus to write about it. Sympathy pains for myself. But I had a craving one day for peanut m&m's. As I was sitting at my very grey and uninspiring cubicle, a sudden panic hit for the chocolate wonders with a very pleasant crunch. And there was no free agency left. Mission: I must obtain peanut m&m's or I shall go mad. And pursuit began. With a wrist flick, unsuspecting coins resting peacefully at the bottom of my desk drawer were suddenly clawed up for active duty, and within moments my coin-filled fist fired at at the innocent vending machine. It instantly surrendered the yellow booty bag, and I had my satiation satisfied. And it was just a small bag, maybe what 7 oz. or whatever that size was. I thought I was being entirely unrestrained and gluttonous when I ate that bag in two bites. I was ravenous. But it worked and I craved no more that day. I had no real idea what real craving was, until I had two children. Then I realized that severe cravings come after pregnancy. One day -two children later- I ate an entire family size bag of the candy endorphins by myself. And that day, I earned it. But this day, I'm paying for it with 20 lbs that refuse to leave me alone. Yes, I have a food storage. It's on the middle shelf right under the rib cage. Okay, maybe not food storage, but definitely left overs.

Lesson: leaving yourself unsatisfied only causes binging. But unrestraint inevitably brings remorse. You must fill yourself with good things so there is no craving for the bad.

It's been a long August

Busy, but well worth the effort. With school begun and routines in check, I'm back. Full of interruptions and ideas. And while we're on the interruptions idea, that's what my afternoon was sparkled with. Little ideas that interrupt regular routines that require immediate action. So that's what I did. I interrupted my layer 1 (dishes) with a sparkling new thought of a song. I haven't written a song since college. I've tried, but the right brain connection is often unhooked since the left brain is in such strong demand. And if the right brain ever does get hooked back on the train, there's static and stones on the tracks. Dizzying thoughts, yes? Or just more static electricity that needs good channelling, really. And no, this does not follow normal trains of thoughts, if you are asking yourself why you are reading this and if it should make sense. It makes sense to me on my train of thought, but my stream of consciousness thought train often derails and lands just there, in the stream. It feels great to get all refreshed from the dip, though. So, could I offer you a lift?