I have observed before how quickly I can go from zero to sniffly. To wit, this morning Spangles and I got coffee and a croissant and strolled down to Clark Park, which on Saturday mornings is a quintessential West Philly scene and one of the main reasons I'm planning to move there. Every Saturday there's a big farmer's market, people, children, picnic blankets, dogs, and when the sun is out and the people are spring feverish there's not a more festive place on the planet. Today there was a large choir of Mennonites in the square, singing some gorgeous hymns - practicing, perhaps, for Palm Sunday tomorrow.
I looked forward to the time when Spangles and I will live close by together, able to roll out of bed and ramble down there as frequently as we like. If we get the apartment we applied for, we will live but two blocks away.
As I chewed a big buttery mouthful of croissant, I was overwhelmed with one of those "isn't life grand" feelings, and looked up at Spangles, and up at the trees, goofy with pleasure.
Less than an hour later, as I headed back to my apartment while Spangles headed off on a bike ride with his dad, the morning's glow had evaporated. I felt kind of anxious and off, some rocks in the stomach, un-pin-point-able dread. Was it just self-flagellation about my messy, gloomy apartment and the plants I've been neglecting? Have I been spending so much time in the company of Spangles that, pathetically, I can no longer enjoy the company of just myself?
When I got in, I found that MamaBear had sent me an article she thought I would like. It's a woman describing her struggle with losing her job and deciding to move and trying to slow down to appreciate the little things - except much more eloquent. And as MamaBear rightly assumed, there's nothing I love more than a good story about a sleepless, heart-wrenched woman whose pain slowly gives way to hope and gratitude, and I read it greedily.
One part in particular struck a gong, as she was describing her decision to move, and I found that I had burst into tears. But at the same time, the clouds suddenly parted, and I had the realization "Oh, you're sad about moving away!"
Not sad about leaving the tiny galley kitchen or or the lady who yells her conversations in the laundromat below at 8am on Saturday mornings, or about the awkard backwards-hung front doors or the occasional rodent roommate or the dropped ceiling that collapsed on us last summer. And most definitely not sad about moving to an apartment (I hope I hope) with hardwood floors and a little grassy patch outside and an actual dishwasher that is an actual machine and not Spangles in rubber gloves.
But it will be the end of an era. This is and will be "my first apartment." This is where I grew from a bewildered, wide-eyed recent college graduate into a bewildered but increasingly cynical cosmopolitan city girl. This is where I had friends over, sometimes, where my sisters slept over on the couch, but more often where I was alone. This is where I first encountered that "real world" they so often talked about, with its electric bills and errands to run and groceries to buy.
This is where I learned all of my most painful lessons of adulthood - where I learned about loneliness, unemployment, increases in insurance premiums. This is where I first felt the strange floatiness when friends announced they were engaged and I realized that we were now at that age where we do that kind of thing. This is where I learned that people you know can die in tragic, unfair ways. This is where I learned that there can be times when bad news just keeps washing in from all sides and it feels like the only option is to crawl into a bomb shelter with some canned goods and wait for Armageddon. This is where I sat curled in pain before I knew the name for what I had. And this is where I cried about it, logging long hours of tears.
There were good times, too. Bottles of wine and rambling conversations, nights we climbed out the window on the the roof, hours I spent talking on the the phone with The Twin, gabbing and wandering in circles through the apartment. The time Steph and I melted a patch of carpet while conducting an ad-hoc ceremony to release negative vibes and boys who didn't love us. I remember painting the walls with T-bone when I first moved in, the care he took in teaching me how to do it right, like passing down a family tradition, the way he bought me all the paint but didn't say a word, even about the bright tangerine orange color. I remember the first time Spangles came over, for spaghetti, when we were both kinda realizing that we both kinda liked each other.
This is the apartment that got me where I am today. Who was it that said, praise the bridge that carried you over?
And even though I'm ready for greener pastures, preferably pastures to which I have exclusive access through a back door, I'm realizing that old truth about how beginnings and ends are hopelessly intertwined. I'm realizing that I do keep getting older, and even though I'm still young, I'm not that young, I'm not the child that I once was. I can rent a car without the extra fee, I can apply for an apartment without a co-signer, I can roast a chicken and serve it to guests. I'm remembering that this, right here, is my life, in which I'm in the process of writing the story of my twenties. The stories which, when my elders told me theirs, seemed so set in stone, so final, as if they had simply been the decree of the Fates from the very beginning, not an uncertain present with an uncertain outcome.
It's just the passage of time, the most dependable thing on the block, and yet it's always finding new ways to sneak up on you. Surprise!!! You are older. Surprise!!! You are moving in. Surprise!!! You are moving out.
What can you do but shake your head, after the shock wears off, and say "You again. You get me every time." And try to smile, and try to be grateful that you will be allowed to move again, move anywhere at all.
Here is my send-off, from Dominique Brown's article:
I settle into my new home; its healing balm has been there all along, nestled in a sofa that beckons me to pick up a book, hovering outside the window inviting me to take a walk. I find room in my life again for love of the world, let the quiet of solitary moments steal over me, give myself over to joy. What a surprise! That I can cook a meal for my children, or take a long walk on the beach, or watch an osprey wheel through the sky, or set down a page of thoughts — these are moments of grace. Old Testament loving-kindness, the stuff of everyday life.
One adventure is over; it is time for another. I have a different kind of work to do now.
Showing posts with label breakfast-based happiness. Show all posts
Showing posts with label breakfast-based happiness. Show all posts
Saturday, March 27, 2010
Sunday, March 14, 2010
You're Gonna Miss This
Life continues. I find myself at Sunday again, preparing for the week ahead. Ideally this is a day of return for me, a chance to pause and reflect on how things are going, how I want my life to be, and do some tinkering. The same stuff comes up - money, food, reading and writing, free time, cleaning, things to look forward to. Last week was such a whirlwind and I didn't get much of a chance to do the things I know I want to be doing.
Yesterday as Spangles and I were walking home through the rain, I found myself eager to get there, and also to Get There. Gretchen Rubin's blog mentioned the arrival fallacy the other day - the idea that we'll be happy and everything will be perfect just as soon as we Get There Of course, once we do, something else is always on the horizon. We think our way full-speed through life only to realize that um, it's over.
Trace Adkins has a song called "You're Gonna Miss This". The chorus goes like this:
You're gonna miss this
you're gonna want this back
you're gonna wish these days
hadn't gone by so fast
these are some good times
so take a good look around
you may not know it now
but you're gonna miss this
I tried to keep these lyrics in mind as we traipsed down 23rd street. This was that that weekend when we shared a meal with friends, and found our way over to their friend's ironworking studio, where the fires were burning and people stood around drinking beers and making stuff out of metal and a shop cat slept beneath the furnace. The weekend the streets were full of St. Patty's revelers dressed in green t-shirts and plastic beads and soaked to the bone. That weekend we had breakfast at Local 44 with toddlers at the tables on both sides who meandered over and inspected us wordlessly. The one where I lingered in the thrift shop and bought sweaters and an old-fashionedy suitcase, we had fondue at Bren-bren's, where Spangles and I dreamed and planned for the apartment we're going to share. When I had a full delicious Sunday completely to myself, to do whatever I want to with it.
These are some good times, so take a good look around.
Yesterday as Spangles and I were walking home through the rain, I found myself eager to get there, and also to Get There. Gretchen Rubin's blog mentioned the arrival fallacy the other day - the idea that we'll be happy and everything will be perfect just as soon as we Get There Of course, once we do, something else is always on the horizon. We think our way full-speed through life only to realize that um, it's over.
Trace Adkins has a song called "You're Gonna Miss This". The chorus goes like this:
You're gonna miss this
you're gonna want this back
you're gonna wish these days
hadn't gone by so fast
these are some good times
so take a good look around
you may not know it now
but you're gonna miss this
I tried to keep these lyrics in mind as we traipsed down 23rd street. This was that that weekend when we shared a meal with friends, and found our way over to their friend's ironworking studio, where the fires were burning and people stood around drinking beers and making stuff out of metal and a shop cat slept beneath the furnace. The weekend the streets were full of St. Patty's revelers dressed in green t-shirts and plastic beads and soaked to the bone. That weekend we had breakfast at Local 44 with toddlers at the tables on both sides who meandered over and inspected us wordlessly. The one where I lingered in the thrift shop and bought sweaters and an old-fashionedy suitcase, we had fondue at Bren-bren's, where Spangles and I dreamed and planned for the apartment we're going to share. When I had a full delicious Sunday completely to myself, to do whatever I want to with it.
These are some good times, so take a good look around.
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
Recipe for Happiness- Double Feature
Sea Food for the Soul:
1. Acknowledge to yourself and/or your traveling companion that you are damn tired.
2. On your way home, plan a small detour to a spot by the water (Kiptopeke State Park in Virginia is nice, but anything local and in season will do)
3. Get out the car, take a deep breath, gaze out onto the sparkling water ripples. (Sunny days are best for this; even more delicious if you are incredibly sick of winter and it's just starting to be spring.) Keep breathing throughout.
4. Go down to the shoreline; remove shoes and socks.
5. Dig your toes into the sand, walk along the edge of the water, observe the doggy footprints, listen to the waves lapping and the birds chirping. Admire the way the sun clings to everything and makes it lovely.
6.Keep walking until your brain mellows out and starts to match the rhythm of the waves and the sunlight and quiet soaks in.
This recipe makes a happiness with a mild, relaxed flavor which can be enjoyed even if you're tired. It can be ready in fifteen to twenty minutes if the ingredients are already on hand.
Breakfast of Champions
1. The night before, come home to your sweetheart. If you've been apart for a few days, this recipe can be particularly fresh. Enjoy each other's company.
2. Sleep until you wake up. Be sure to plan in advance that both of you have nowhere to be in the morning. Add some lazing or lolling about if desired.
3. While your sweetie sleeps in, work on downloading songs for your happiness playlist. (I'm into India Arie lately, but season to taste.)
4. When your sweetie wakes up, go together to the coffee shop around the corner. Order a large coffee with cream and a healthy muffin.
5. Sit outside and watch the neighborhood go by: dogs, bicycles, people, cars. If a sparrow or other bird approaches fearlessly close, feel free to toss it breadcrumbs - harbingers of spring are especially nice this time of year.
6. Enjoy the burgeoning hint of warmth in the air and soak in subdued morning sunlight.
7. Linger as long as you feel like it.
1. Acknowledge to yourself and/or your traveling companion that you are damn tired.
2. On your way home, plan a small detour to a spot by the water (Kiptopeke State Park in Virginia is nice, but anything local and in season will do)
3. Get out the car, take a deep breath, gaze out onto the sparkling water ripples. (Sunny days are best for this; even more delicious if you are incredibly sick of winter and it's just starting to be spring.) Keep breathing throughout.
4. Go down to the shoreline; remove shoes and socks.
5. Dig your toes into the sand, walk along the edge of the water, observe the doggy footprints, listen to the waves lapping and the birds chirping. Admire the way the sun clings to everything and makes it lovely.
6.Keep walking until your brain mellows out and starts to match the rhythm of the waves and the sunlight and quiet soaks in.
This recipe makes a happiness with a mild, relaxed flavor which can be enjoyed even if you're tired. It can be ready in fifteen to twenty minutes if the ingredients are already on hand.
Breakfast of Champions
1. The night before, come home to your sweetheart. If you've been apart for a few days, this recipe can be particularly fresh. Enjoy each other's company.
2. Sleep until you wake up. Be sure to plan in advance that both of you have nowhere to be in the morning. Add some lazing or lolling about if desired.
3. While your sweetie sleeps in, work on downloading songs for your happiness playlist. (I'm into India Arie lately, but season to taste.)
4. When your sweetie wakes up, go together to the coffee shop around the corner. Order a large coffee with cream and a healthy muffin.
5. Sit outside and watch the neighborhood go by: dogs, bicycles, people, cars. If a sparrow or other bird approaches fearlessly close, feel free to toss it breadcrumbs - harbingers of spring are especially nice this time of year.
6. Enjoy the burgeoning hint of warmth in the air and soak in subdued morning sunlight.
7. Linger as long as you feel like it.
Monday, March 8, 2010
A Postcard from Petulance
Greetings from the middle of Travelapalooza with The Parent Company. In many ways I have been dreading this week for a long time: a presentation to make to people I'd never met about a topic I don't know much about; two important deadlines in addition, and not a lot of time to work on them; early mornings (never a strength for me) that include a weekend day (a personal blasphemy); being away from my routine and my plants and rituals; wearing control-top hose; and I'll be honest, Bossman? He snores. Loud.
The tricky part of working for the Parent Company is that it's no trouble at all to stick me in a hotel room with them, thereby forcing 24-7 togetherness, which can be lovely, like the dinner and conversation I had with Bossman, or it can be, frankly, a little cramped (e.g. Bossman's choice of the infomercial for "Celtic Woman" as background music at this moment, which as far as I can tell is a lot of really perky women, presumably Celtic, dancing around in prom dresses while playing the violin?) . I'm not hatin' on the choice for his particular life's situation, I'm just saying that a supertogetherness trip such as this doesn't really give me as much of a chance to get away to do my own thang, as it were. And let's be honest, you can have a lot in common with anyone and still not want to do the exact same thing at the exact same time as them at all times for three days straight. The possible exception here is the Twin.)
This trip is something I've been fretting over for the last few days. Naturally, I couldn't just leave it at dread, I needed to add a little soupcon of guilt on top for color. I live in fear of being held ungrateful; the threat of being told I'm acting like a spoiled brat is the kind of epithet that has keeps me suffering in silence for many moons. I have a hard time complaining; I have a hard time not complaining.
So I will disclaim with the following: it's a good job; I like the (usually) flexible hours; it's interesting work and I don't spend my days feeling like I'm wasting away in margaritaville; i've been given a lot of trust/responsibility which it normally takes much longer to earn in a professional setting except that I kind of have a long-standing relationship with the Bosses, what with them also being my parents; also, it's a recession, I'm lucky to have a job at all, etc. etc.
That said... I'm having a hard time admitting that I'm dissatisfied with the current status of things. Which is, whirlwind pace, 6am wakeups, long hours over the powerpoint, short turnarounds, tight deadlines, pressure, stress.
I'll be honest wich'a , this job appealed to me on the grounds that it would be...um, the opposites of those things. Make some copies, schedule some appointments, write up some reports, then go home and live your life.
It almost feels like sacrilege to say that. I am the daughter-slash-employee of two very committed, passionate, motivated, hard-working, hard-driving, high-expecting, high-achieving, long-distance sprinting people. In one sense you could say they are now living out their life's aspirations, making the most of careers they have worked hard in and sacrificed for most of their lives, paths and lives which they have chosen for themselves. So if homies are doing the all-night transatlantic consultant shimmy in the pursuit of achieving their career ambitions, it makes sense.
But pour moi? It's not, you know, like that. And I hear them, I already hear all the arguments in favor of said business trip: that it needs to be done, it's good experience, it's seafood dinner, it's travel, it's the opportunity to see knew places and get paid, work is work that's why they call it work. I hear all this, and none of it's untrue.
Buh like...I'm sorry, it's still not my jam. It's as if my momployer and dadployer are really accomplished collectors of an incredibly rare and well-regarded collection of, I don't know, bird's nests, and I totally respect that and I can groove with that. But they're all "Isn't this great? Don't you want to see a whole 'nother building full of these totally different bird's nests? Don't you want to drive all night to go to this really important nest-collecting area and then hang around with bird's nest collectors for three days talking shop? Isn't this rad?"
It's like, uh, homies? Again, much respect for your passion and for the importance of bird's nests, and I am genuinely glad that you have something with which you are like a pig in mud, but the answer to those questions? Is nooottt reaaallllly.
Look, part of it is generational. The babyboomers are all about work, it's what gives life meaning and pizazz. But how to explain that for me, it's non-work that gives life meaning and pizzaz. It's not that I have something so all-fired important to do that I can't suck it up and go live in a hotel for two nights. But for me, this stuff like mucking around with blogs, and listening to music, and having farting contests with Spangles, and eating sushi with friends, and sleeping and walking around watching the city and reading stuff, is what's important to me. Life, man! The good life! Fun, pleasure, meaning!
I found this web site over the weekend with links to all these articles about "my generation," (that is, Generation Y), and apparently one of our main characteristics is a commitment to "work/life balance" and having fun. I'll say that I highly doubt those articles were written by a Gen Y member, because I hafta say some of them sounded a little...judge-y.
It's about preference, people, it's about lifestyle. I will reserve judgment about what might look to me, frankly, to be a busy, stress-y, crazy choice of life, if you reserve judgment about what might look to you like a life a shirking responsibility, entitlement, unwillingness to do the hard work that's required.
What I'm saying is, required for effing what? I won't even indulge in the ranting rave about what can we really believe in in this bankrupt world of unethical corporations that are constantly looking for ways to dick you over for fun and profit and terrorist attacks and joblessness and politicians who can't keep it n their pants etc. etc. I mean honestly society, what have you done for me lately? Why should I feel any kind of allegiance to you? Doesn't it make perfect sense for me to be looking out for number one, in particular my brunch preferences? As one of these articles pointed out, my formative years had a big old flaming set of towers hanging over them, and all I know is that what we reached for at a time like that was not our WidgetCorp key cards. It was each other.
What all of this might just be a roundabout way of saying, and then I swear I'll let it go, is I wish the Bosses would acknowledge that this trip, perks though there may be, is not how, if given the choice, I would spend my time. And that for them, it kinda is.
Long story long, I felt I did a solid presentation today that still allowed me to be honest about my level of expertise (or lack thereof.) I just kinda decided a) as an experienced tour guide, if there's one thing I can do it's speak publicly, and 2) all I can do is go out there and speak my truth, such as it is. And now I've got the headphones in with the inspirational music playing, jammies on, broiled seafood combo platter in the belly, and I'm just riffin' out in blogworld, so it appears I'm going to make it to another day.
I just have to remind myself that it's a work in progress, and I'm just going to keep working on some of these HR aspects until we have all reached a situation of mutual satisfaction. For one thing I already talked about "working from home" more.
To conclude, I decided that I should sharpen my skills as an optimist by starting a new feature on the blog called The Twist o' Optimist - or maybe The Upshot - wherein, after a long, winding and whiny post like this one I try to sprinkle a little fairy dust on it, and see, if not perhaps the best in things, the better.
So, for example: this hotel mattress is durned fluffy; Brandi Carlile is rocking my world right now with her lyrics about have you ever wandered lonely through the woods; I'm typing this on my brand new computer that's all mine and I'm not even plugged into a power source!; I got to wear my big-girl pin striped skirt; I got some new decorating ideas from the hotel; and at least tomorrow I don't have to wake up at 6am.
It's something, my friends. It's something.
The tricky part of working for the Parent Company is that it's no trouble at all to stick me in a hotel room with them, thereby forcing 24-7 togetherness, which can be lovely, like the dinner and conversation I had with Bossman, or it can be, frankly, a little cramped (e.g. Bossman's choice of the infomercial for "Celtic Woman" as background music at this moment, which as far as I can tell is a lot of really perky women, presumably Celtic, dancing around in prom dresses while playing the violin?) . I'm not hatin' on the choice for his particular life's situation, I'm just saying that a supertogetherness trip such as this doesn't really give me as much of a chance to get away to do my own thang, as it were. And let's be honest, you can have a lot in common with anyone and still not want to do the exact same thing at the exact same time as them at all times for three days straight. The possible exception here is the Twin.)
This trip is something I've been fretting over for the last few days. Naturally, I couldn't just leave it at dread, I needed to add a little soupcon of guilt on top for color. I live in fear of being held ungrateful; the threat of being told I'm acting like a spoiled brat is the kind of epithet that has keeps me suffering in silence for many moons. I have a hard time complaining; I have a hard time not complaining.
So I will disclaim with the following: it's a good job; I like the (usually) flexible hours; it's interesting work and I don't spend my days feeling like I'm wasting away in margaritaville; i've been given a lot of trust/responsibility which it normally takes much longer to earn in a professional setting except that I kind of have a long-standing relationship with the Bosses, what with them also being my parents; also, it's a recession, I'm lucky to have a job at all, etc. etc.
That said... I'm having a hard time admitting that I'm dissatisfied with the current status of things. Which is, whirlwind pace, 6am wakeups, long hours over the powerpoint, short turnarounds, tight deadlines, pressure, stress.
I'll be honest wich'a , this job appealed to me on the grounds that it would be...um, the opposites of those things. Make some copies, schedule some appointments, write up some reports, then go home and live your life.
It almost feels like sacrilege to say that. I am the daughter-slash-employee of two very committed, passionate, motivated, hard-working, hard-driving, high-expecting, high-achieving, long-distance sprinting people. In one sense you could say they are now living out their life's aspirations, making the most of careers they have worked hard in and sacrificed for most of their lives, paths and lives which they have chosen for themselves. So if homies are doing the all-night transatlantic consultant shimmy in the pursuit of achieving their career ambitions, it makes sense.
But pour moi? It's not, you know, like that. And I hear them, I already hear all the arguments in favor of said business trip: that it needs to be done, it's good experience, it's seafood dinner, it's travel, it's the opportunity to see knew places and get paid, work is work that's why they call it work. I hear all this, and none of it's untrue.
Buh like...I'm sorry, it's still not my jam. It's as if my momployer and dadployer are really accomplished collectors of an incredibly rare and well-regarded collection of, I don't know, bird's nests, and I totally respect that and I can groove with that. But they're all "Isn't this great? Don't you want to see a whole 'nother building full of these totally different bird's nests? Don't you want to drive all night to go to this really important nest-collecting area and then hang around with bird's nest collectors for three days talking shop? Isn't this rad?"
It's like, uh, homies? Again, much respect for your passion and for the importance of bird's nests, and I am genuinely glad that you have something with which you are like a pig in mud, but the answer to those questions? Is nooottt reaaallllly.
Look, part of it is generational. The babyboomers are all about work, it's what gives life meaning and pizazz. But how to explain that for me, it's non-work that gives life meaning and pizzaz. It's not that I have something so all-fired important to do that I can't suck it up and go live in a hotel for two nights. But for me, this stuff like mucking around with blogs, and listening to music, and having farting contests with Spangles, and eating sushi with friends, and sleeping and walking around watching the city and reading stuff, is what's important to me. Life, man! The good life! Fun, pleasure, meaning!
I found this web site over the weekend with links to all these articles about "my generation," (that is, Generation Y), and apparently one of our main characteristics is a commitment to "work/life balance" and having fun. I'll say that I highly doubt those articles were written by a Gen Y member, because I hafta say some of them sounded a little...judge-y.
It's about preference, people, it's about lifestyle. I will reserve judgment about what might look to me, frankly, to be a busy, stress-y, crazy choice of life, if you reserve judgment about what might look to you like a life a shirking responsibility, entitlement, unwillingness to do the hard work that's required.
What I'm saying is, required for effing what? I won't even indulge in the ranting rave about what can we really believe in in this bankrupt world of unethical corporations that are constantly looking for ways to dick you over for fun and profit and terrorist attacks and joblessness and politicians who can't keep it n their pants etc. etc. I mean honestly society, what have you done for me lately? Why should I feel any kind of allegiance to you? Doesn't it make perfect sense for me to be looking out for number one, in particular my brunch preferences? As one of these articles pointed out, my formative years had a big old flaming set of towers hanging over them, and all I know is that what we reached for at a time like that was not our WidgetCorp key cards. It was each other.
What all of this might just be a roundabout way of saying, and then I swear I'll let it go, is I wish the Bosses would acknowledge that this trip, perks though there may be, is not how, if given the choice, I would spend my time. And that for them, it kinda is.
Long story long, I felt I did a solid presentation today that still allowed me to be honest about my level of expertise (or lack thereof.) I just kinda decided a) as an experienced tour guide, if there's one thing I can do it's speak publicly, and 2) all I can do is go out there and speak my truth, such as it is. And now I've got the headphones in with the inspirational music playing, jammies on, broiled seafood combo platter in the belly, and I'm just riffin' out in blogworld, so it appears I'm going to make it to another day.
I just have to remind myself that it's a work in progress, and I'm just going to keep working on some of these HR aspects until we have all reached a situation of mutual satisfaction. For one thing I already talked about "working from home" more.
To conclude, I decided that I should sharpen my skills as an optimist by starting a new feature on the blog called The Twist o' Optimist - or maybe The Upshot - wherein, after a long, winding and whiny post like this one I try to sprinkle a little fairy dust on it, and see, if not perhaps the best in things, the better.
So, for example: this hotel mattress is durned fluffy; Brandi Carlile is rocking my world right now with her lyrics about have you ever wandered lonely through the woods; I'm typing this on my brand new computer that's all mine and I'm not even plugged into a power source!; I got to wear my big-girl pin striped skirt; I got some new decorating ideas from the hotel; and at least tomorrow I don't have to wake up at 6am.
It's something, my friends. It's something.
Friday, February 19, 2010
Recipe for Happiness
Dear Diary,
I couldn't wipe the grin off my face this morning, so I thought I'd write down the ingredients in case I want to try this dish again!
1. Obtain a new toy that you've wanted desperately for a long time. (In this case, a new Macbook![acbook...acbook...acbook!]. It was courtesy of the Parent Company, and like many things T-bone and Mama Citta Aperta have given me over the years, how do you ever say thank you for something like that, which they really didn't have to do but they did? As another example, giving me life.)
Enjoy it with the awareness that new-toy-based happiness can be fleeting and furnishes diminishing returns as the body adapts to the gadget high, so be sure to really relish in it while you can. Really get up in there and roll around. Marvel at the simple, unspoiled beauty. Hold it in your hands, caress it, feel the possibilities shoot through your veins like lightning bolts.
2. Before you go to bed, ask your sweetheart to help you get up in the morning, no matter how much you resist. Human intervention wake-up (even tickling) is head and shoulders better than electronic beeping wake-up.
3. The next morning, if possible, have this sweetheart make a pot of coffee just because you ask.
4. Take a warm shower in a sunlit bathroom.
5. Have a job that is flexible enough that you don't have to rush out the door. Drink your coffee while lounging on the bed with aforementioned sweetheart. Include tasty breakfast.
6. If at all possible, let it be a Friday, and let the weekend be full of a variety of pleasant plans, but not so many that there won't be time to relax and do nothing in particular. (These activities include making gumbo and watching a movie about summer camp; wine and sandwiches; a housewarming party with long-lost but well-loved friends; and trying, as you do most weekends, to convince F-Money to make biscuits and gravy for Sunday breakfast.)
7. Borrow an album of music that you haven't heard before but that the lender is pretty sure you'll like based on your music preferences. (I used M.Ward, but adjust to taste.)
8.Let it be a sunny, mild day with a nice tender blue sky. This is most potent after a string of gray and wintry days in which you began to despair that the sun even existed.
9. Get in the car, put in the CD.
10. Drive. Savor. Reflect on the notion that this is it. This moment is your life.
I couldn't wipe the grin off my face this morning, so I thought I'd write down the ingredients in case I want to try this dish again!
1. Obtain a new toy that you've wanted desperately for a long time. (In this case, a new Macbook![acbook...acbook...acbook!]. It was courtesy of the Parent Company, and like many things T-bone and Mama Citta Aperta have given me over the years, how do you ever say thank you for something like that, which they really didn't have to do but they did? As another example, giving me life.)
Enjoy it with the awareness that new-toy-based happiness can be fleeting and furnishes diminishing returns as the body adapts to the gadget high, so be sure to really relish in it while you can. Really get up in there and roll around. Marvel at the simple, unspoiled beauty. Hold it in your hands, caress it, feel the possibilities shoot through your veins like lightning bolts.
2. Before you go to bed, ask your sweetheart to help you get up in the morning, no matter how much you resist. Human intervention wake-up (even tickling) is head and shoulders better than electronic beeping wake-up.
3. The next morning, if possible, have this sweetheart make a pot of coffee just because you ask.
4. Take a warm shower in a sunlit bathroom.
5. Have a job that is flexible enough that you don't have to rush out the door. Drink your coffee while lounging on the bed with aforementioned sweetheart. Include tasty breakfast.
6. If at all possible, let it be a Friday, and let the weekend be full of a variety of pleasant plans, but not so many that there won't be time to relax and do nothing in particular. (These activities include making gumbo and watching a movie about summer camp; wine and sandwiches; a housewarming party with long-lost but well-loved friends; and trying, as you do most weekends, to convince F-Money to make biscuits and gravy for Sunday breakfast.)
7. Borrow an album of music that you haven't heard before but that the lender is pretty sure you'll like based on your music preferences. (I used M.Ward, but adjust to taste.)
8.Let it be a sunny, mild day with a nice tender blue sky. This is most potent after a string of gray and wintry days in which you began to despair that the sun even existed.
9. Get in the car, put in the CD.
10. Drive. Savor. Reflect on the notion that this is it. This moment is your life.
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