Push Thru It! - Paella

 

My happy hour "treat" turned to trepidation when my colleague exclaimed, "It's Paella Night!" upon my arrival to the quaint, neighborhood restaurant where we would cap off her successful career. I knew Paella must be expensive given the name extended beyond my meat and potatoes vernacular and capable spelling skills (yes, I looked up "paella" for this blog). And, after the waiter presented the special edition, elegantly-printed menu, I promptly gulped my wine and pride and suggested I pay for the drinks and we go "Dutch treat" for the meal. Gracious, sophisticated and unassuming, she said yes.       

Shifting from ruminations to libations following her unreserved acceptance, I opened my palate and mind to delicious servings of fine wine, learnings about the exquisite dish and my friend and "ewws and aaas," as wide eyes and mouths ushered in two pristinely clad bearers of the multi-colored and textured dining experience. Our small talk and social pleasantries progressed to poignant life lessons, touching stories and hearty laughs with each savory, rich course. And after toasts to "getting what we want and having what we need," we focused on "abundance" with bottomless flan and future possibilities.  

"I am paying for this!" I declared as I digested the expansiveness of an evening that far exceeded my financial woes and served as a delicious reminder that openness, beyond perceived or real limitations, is the true path to abundance. And while she told me I didn't have to pay, I knew, for me, that I did.  May I have the check, please? 


Dedicated to K. To reiterate a wise, hip, soon-to-be-former colleague - You are f-ing fabulous!   

Where can you focus on abundance in your life? 

            





      

Push Thru It! - Peter Rabbit and Poor Impulse Control

I have self-medicated my restless soul with poor impulse control this week with evidence to prove it: four, credit card-purchased Peter Rabbit wood-framed pictures I bought at an estate sale to flip, an empty chocolate fudge pie box I hid in the bottom of my trash can and now a bad haircut, that I hoped would be my new beginning when my hair salon had an unexpected opening today. Instead, I have scant eBay views and no bids, $100.00 extra on my credit card, a post-pie undo of a killer spin class I took and the same me in the mirror - still disappointed with diffused, slightly gelled hair. 

My impulsive acts pole vault me from pitfalls to possibilities though my soar through the air quickly becomes crash and burn when I hit bottom.  No safety net or soft mat there, only harsher scrutiny and familiar wounds.    

Next time, I will make fulfillment and not fix decisions. I will reflect and not react. I will accept my strength for sweet attempted solutions. How bad is chocolate fudge pie after all?   And, I will embrace the moment to broaden my horizons rather than hamper my hopes. I will also freeze my credit card, return to my former hair stylist and donate those Peter Rabbit pictures to Goodwill.   Remind me of this blog next time I head for a pie.         

Filling Holes

My co-worker buried his 21 year-old son today while I drove to Lowe's for foam sealant to deter the mice that have been invading our home.  Lowe's was on my "to do" list following the overflowing, black-clad gathering that witnessed a mother saying  goodbye to her only son and tearful eulogies that inspired each of us to be a "true friend."  On the meandering country roads, my thoughts fixated on how nothing would ever be the same for this family whose world was decimated in an instant.  A Sunday errand.  A song.  A haircut.   A meal.  A smell.  A breeze.  A drive.  A breath.  A smile.         

My fleeting, flitting nuisances juxtaposed a family's worst nightmare that trampled on their lives and left a gaping hole that no foam can repair.  I searched for sealant amidst others eager to patch, paint, hang or scrub to remedy or remodel where life goes on for them.  Clothed in funeral attire with a can of foam spray, I was humbled by the meagerness of my circumstances and filled with perspective and compassion that will live with me long beyond the mice.     

 Dedicated to Tracy Jr., a true friend to all.     

 

Pull the Plugs!

I am tangled in and strangled by cords, self-indulgent, first-world stressors, equipment life
sustaining devices that squeeze the true life out of me with every amp. 

Laptop.  Desktop.  Tablet.  Indoor Christmas tree lights.  Outdoor Christmas tree lights.  Mouse.  Android.  iPod.  Camera charger.  A PetSafe rechargeable bark control collar.  Extension cords.  Work cell phone.  DVD player.  Coffee grinder.  Car charger.  Each with its own brand, style, precise, non-negotiable fit.  Most recently, I was unstrung and undone by 100 feet of colored lights, only half of them lighting following a solo game of Ring around the Rosie with our freshly cut tree.   

It didn't start off this way.  It has been a slow-building, vain (yes, vain!)  attempt to keep up, stay wired, portable and freshly ground, while this time of year, being a Norman Rockwell mom and friend to neighbors that comes with mounting cords and costs.  I am unplugged and disconnected, knotted and bound by my choices to seamlessly fit in.     

Perhaps, I will label my cords and create a special drawer for them.  They will be at my fingertips, color-coded, helping my world to turn on quicker without my fumbling for the right one.  Or, maybe, I will pull the plugs and get back to  authentically living, charged and connected, hands-free and grounded only by simplicity, eye contact with my child, a liberated dog, the smell of Fraser fir and the richness of life around me.  

How many cords do you have?  
Do feel more or less connected as a result?
Where do you want to unplug?                 
                                 
Dedicated to Marie, who connected with Push Thru It! as my first unprompted follower.  Thank you!   

What Do You Bring to the Table?

 

"I love the smell of mothballs!" exclaimed the classy Thanksgiving guest donned in her Alfred Dunner "old lady" sweater, after I shared charcoal as a tip to dilute the smell from an old dresser I have.      

"How did you get between his legs?" said my quick, off-color uncle.    

"What?" shirked the woman.   

"Get between the moth's legs so you could smell his balls."        

This was one of the many sidebars beyond pecan, brown sugar-covered sweet potatoes and gooey macaroni side dishes as we digested our Thanksgiving feast over football.  This followed dinner small talk over meticulously made and decorated nutter butter turkey chocolate cupcakes, eyes literally glued to the rich assortment of 15-20 guests spread across three rooms.

I strategically sat next to my cousin, on the fringes of the formal dining room, heeding the potato-scooping caution of a relative about who might talk too much (no offense  - I tend to be more quiet).  There, he and I could compare notes over dodged bullets of ill-fated relationships after previous Thanksgiving licks of fresh wounds and feign deep conversation as the introverts of the bunch.  As the seats filled at our maverick table, flavorful talk sprinkled like seasoning to include warnings about farm-raised, human feces-fed Tilapia, aversion to chicken after a headless chicken chased one guest around the house as a child, a daughter's glimmering $78,000 smile built from 12 teeth, a touching Vietnam veteran's tribute to 76 squadron members at an annual reunion and the history of the first stealth aircraft that crashed.                                                               

Beyond plates that quickly emptied, we each brought lasting contributions to the table this Thanksgiving (and who knows what happened at the other tables!).  The food and conversation were rich and diverse, raunchy and sophisticated, plates, pants and personalities overflowing.  We were far more colorful and diverse than the nutter butter turkey chocolate cupcakes, though thankfully not so refined.  I will surely take any leftovers home.       
 
What do you bring to the table? 
How are your contributions unique?   

Dedicated to D., who made those lovely cupcakes.  They were almost as delicious as our time together this year.   Thanks to my uncle and aunt for providing a wonderful occasion where we could be together and be ourselves.    

Push Thru It! Pet Peeves

Our peaceful abode was hijacked by the licks and frantic scratches of our dog Emmet over the past couple weeks.  He licks himself like a soft serve ice cream cone in places that surely don't taste as sweet.  He jerks to frantically scratch himself or chew a chunk of black fur from his back, nose diving for the target with great precision and frenzy.  He is without social graces, an unwelcome guest of licks and scratches during dinner, and consideration, a slurping 2A wake-up call from my slumber.  

I am grossed out!  My bionic ear hones in on the slow "nkluuuupppp, nkluuuupppp"  of his spit.  His paw unpredictably ricochetes at 50 times a minute behind his ear startling me beyond my riveting book.  Our home is a war zone, shrapnel of black fur mounting on our carpet, and my more frequently emptying the fur-filled vacuum canister and likely inhalation of dust mites.  I put a pink fuzzy, band aid measure blanket over the carpet hoping salmon treats will train Emmet to lick and scratch in a smaller perimeter of our house.      

"EMMET.  STOP IT!" from me begins to rival the frequency of his slurps and jerks.    I have lost my ability to be empathetic.   My daughter remarks on my growing impatience;  she gently scratches her arm and says "Mommy, if I did this would it bother you?" knowing that I am typically quick with TLC, band aids and hydrocortisone cream.  My Mom reminds me to think about how "the poor dog feels."  This from the woman who still won't call him by name after he threw up green organic dog bone on her new carpet several years ago.  Clearly, I am now more consumed than Emmet by what is under my skin.  Realizing the insensitivity of my ways, I schedule the first appointment I can with the vet.                     

What is your pet peeve?
What gets in your way of compassion? 
How can greater empathy help others in your life? 

P.S. Dedicated to Dr. Tucker who combed 6 fleas from Emmet, educated me that 1 flea lays 12 eggs a day, saved us a from a "flea disaster"and trimmed Emmet's nails.  I am comforted by my happier, calmer dog, monthly Trifexis and my ability (a bit late) to step outside of myself to help our buddy, who was far more inconvenienced than me.         

Push Thru It! Two Turns and a Hill

"Just two turns and a hill" were the words of a fellow runner as she breezed by me near the completion of our 8-mile training run.  I run like the last grimy bit of water draining from a bath, soap scum residue lagging to the exit. This was not the first bit of encouragement I had heard along my heavy-breathing trek, the course of my seasonal self-improvement - the half marathon.  It followed light-footed pass-her (yes, me!)-bys with "you are doing great!" and "lookin' good!" and a coach slowing to share that it is about completion rather than speed - i.e., "It's okay to be sllllloooooowwwww.  Just don't die before the finish line, or you won't get a shiny medal." 

Feeling self-conscious and singled-out, I pondered if there were words of wisdom beyond louder awe for the swanlike, soaring runners, whose sleek attire was without the ring of glistening sweat beads that draped my neck.  I also wondered if the runner who just tried to help me, should I accept, had been in my shaky shoes before, struggling to keep up and in need of support.  In response, I held my chin higher, unwedged my inched-up shorts from raw, chafing thighs and lengthened my stride for the final stretch.              

Encouragement is the action of giving someone support, confidence, or hope.  It is a win-win "reach and lift" for the giver who shares their faith and the recipient who receives a invitation to  possibilities beyond distress or self-doubt.  It is outstretched, open arms that can raise slumped shoulders.  It is a moment of being in it together despite different routes, turns and paces (and styles of moisture-wick shirts).  Encouragement helps us to both move forward on lighter footing and reach the finish line victoriously.   I will expect more hills ahead and welcome encouragement along the way.    

How do you respond to encouragement?   
When did you last encourage someone else?  

P.S. Dedicated to the fellow runner who completed "two turns and a hill" ahead of me without leaving me behind.