Thursday, April 16, 2015

or maybe...a pizza!

It could be cheesy
It could be un-cheesy
It could be both cheesy and un-cheesy
It could be neither cheesy nor un-cheesy

and it could be the best most delicious thought I've had all day.  I love it when I do something smart like make pizza dough in the morning, and then totally forget about it until I'm burnt out on work. Day made!

maybe a mantra

I learned a little something this morning, from a friend of a friend (of a friend), on a popular anti-social media site.

It can be true
It can be untrue
It can be both true and untrue
It can be neither true nor untrue

I'm going to think about this today, until I get my work done.




Monday, April 6, 2015

Nothing doing

Epiphany is not part of the Easter holiday (which does continue for the next several days, according to some tradition) but it was an element of my day today...

I suddenly realized, this afternoon, that something fairly important that I had been attempting to communicate (rather more than poorly, I now see) was quite possibly completely misunderstood if not totally lost on the recipient of said communication, due to a variety of factors over which I had a significant amount of control which I did not perceive, or effectively assert. Ironically, and somewhat strangely, the lack of clarity with which I expressed my thoughts on this matter--which has been troubling me since late last week--actually brought to light, today, what was perhaps the real reason for my distress, in a manner I could not have conceived, if I had tried. There's a story in every story, and sometimes it's hard to tell what's being told. Riddle me this...

Enough of that.

Obviously, despite the abundance of hard-boiled ideas I might crack and peel, my thoughts are scrambled today. With that in mind, I can't offer much literate inspiration here but I would like to put down a few thoughts and recollections, nonetheless.

There's nothing really wrong with my black wagon that a little elbow grease can't fix. Or maybe there is, or there will be, but for the time being I'm happy to know that its needs--however costly and time-consuming--have been and will be more than adequately addressed, for the foreseeable future. I've nothing to worry or complain about in that regard. But I'm still inexplicably leery of its transmission, and that's a pretty important aspect of any set of wheels sporting a motor. I don't know if it's because I'm inherently untrusting, or if it's because my intuition is stronger than both my common sense and my intelligence, and I'm not sure if that's even saying all that much, but then again there's a story...

Easter weekend was fine and a sweet one, and I had no real reason to return home feeling broken-hearted. I had fine time and a pleasant evening chatting a circle around the dining room table on Saturday evening, enjoying my dad's fine black currant wines, and partaking of my family's particular humor, wit, compassion, smarts, and care. Sunday was a pleasure as well, colored by many moments of joy and togetherness. Among them, and one my favorites of the day, was singing "All The Time" by Bahamas with my niece, who was right there to support my melody with her sweet soprano on the backup vocals. She's got some pipes, for such a pipsqueak.

I came home with a bag of goods from my folks...onions, potatoes, beets, homemade apple cider vinegar...and as always, there's more where that came from... I'm still working on a jar of maple syrup from last year, but they boiled down to five full gallons (or more) this year of that rich amber goodness, and I'll be looking forward to replenishing my supply when the time comes. I was lucky enough to make it up north last weekend to observe the sugar shack in full boil, and to lend a hand in (very) small part to what turned out to be quite the operation this year. One hundred seventy gallons or more, gathered over the course of eighteen days, and boiled to perfection during a long and blustery weekend-plus-some. It's a lot of effort but such a sweet endeavor to undertake, and I'm glad my folks have added it to their homesteading repertoire.

At work today, I had a not terrible and possibly positive first "one on one" with my new boss--or should I say manager--and I'm feeling a little better than I did last week, about how things might be shaping for me in that regard. At least, lines of communication are open. She's one those people that does that whole "so what I hear you saying is" thing, and I have to say, it's not the worst way to make sure you have an understanding with someone. I'm sure there will be situations where that approach might fall short, but for now, it's nice just to know that someone is listening.

And of course there was Maui, but that's another story, of a story, once upon a time, called Island Time, which is another time...and that is all for today.








Sunday, April 5, 2015

Passover

I drove the red wagon home today, from across town where'd I left it for the weekend. I love that car. The black one is nice, but it's really nothing I'd ever miss. It's already had more put into it than it it's even worth and it was probably a mistake I should have known better than to make. I don't trust it, it doesn't feel right, and it's not going to last... I'd still fix the red one if knew how, but I know I can't, and I doubt whether anyone ever will. I'll miss that stick. Driving it is like looking at a photograph of me as a little girl...

I missed a few good shots today--or rather, I got some really great ones, only to discover that I had no memory present--and although what was lost was only the image of what was there, just an impression of light, it was something I wanted to hold and to remember, and share. It seems like forever since I've taken any good photos, and I didn't take any after that. I know that every day is lesson and I have much to learn, and we did play and laugh and run and hug and sing together, and the sun was shining and we all ate well.

On the home stretch I watched the odometer, with it's trip numbers just slightly out of sync... confused and waiting, I drove my past my turn, and right at the moment that I would have been turning down the alley to my house, I saw it roll over to 167,000. She's parked out in front of the garage now, covering the stains on the asphalt.

It's strange, how a heart can be broken. You wouldn't think it could be so easy.