French Christmas

Just Wait

My new rule: when things are really bad, I'm going to tell myself not to freak out for at least 24 hours. It seems that a solution, or good news, or some other sort of deliverance, will often present itself if we can avoid losing it.

The Plan

If I could just figure out a way to sell time, I'd be a millionaire. Sort of like those commercials about the rollover minutes; I'd sell them in cute little increments. Five minute blocks would be green, ten minute blocks would be purple, twenty minute blocks could be bought in bundles of three with one five minute block thrown in, sort of like a baker's dozen. Along with that there would be an available upgrade to the premium package, which would also allow you to stop or rewind time, with nationwide coverage in a variety of time zones.

Now if I could just figure out how . . .

Tastes of Home

Maybe I'm hungry a lot this week, because this will be day two of food posts. But WHATEVER--the fact that they're putting in a CONEY ISLAND over on Southport Avenue definitely deserves a blog mention. For those of you Michiganders who live in Chicago, you feel my pain. There is nowhere else in the world you can get that hearty chili with beans, that perfectly tangy Greek dressing on a salad, that delicious crunchy chicken that comes in a Hanni than at a Coney Island. While Chicago is bursting at the seams with good sushi, tapas and pizza joints, it is sadly, sadly missing the Coney Island institution.

Happily, this will all be remedied sometime this fall. To all you non-Michigan people, mark your calendars. Make a reservation. And be sure to try the original Coney dog with the cheese fries. Personally, the founders of the Southport Coney Island should be on notice that they've filled part of the mitten-shaped hole in my heart.

Ingredients

What do you want to put in your life? Do you want a steady diet of vanilla--soothing and predictable, but ultimately routine? Or do you want to take a risk, order something off the menu that you can't pronounce, knowing it could be horrid or delightful?

Bittersweet

I visited with an old friend this weekend. It was surreal, because the last time I saw her, I was in such a different place in my life. Seeing her reminded me of tastes and smells, colors and sounds, that seem like part of an existence that happened to someone else.  The first feelings were almost bitter, to think that that part of me is long gone, that the places where I once lived and moved aren't mine anymore. We can't make the sands in the hourglass move backwards. But then, thinking about all I have now, would I really want to? 

This is the end

Long week. Hard work. I'm not telling you anything you don't know, or haven't been through yourself. It's good, though. I always think the weekend is that much more delicious when you feel like you've really earned those 48 hours of freedom.

Enjoy!

Mistakes

The dilemma for today: is a mistake a 50 caliber bullet, or a level for straightening things out?

And the second thought . . .

I blame it on the pilgrims. Those crazy, hard-working founding fathers, with their wacky hats and giant belt buckles, are getting to me. I can't shake that Protestant work ethic, ingrained into all of us Americans like baseball and apple pie. I get into work mode, and I think about work ALL the time. And not just work as in what-I-get-paid-to-do-for-a bare-minimum-of-40-hours-a-week work, but general overall productiveness: cleaning out closets, filing old receipts, organizing things that really don't need to be organized, planning my social calendar, creating a spreadsheet of upcoming weddings . . . When life gets busy, I get productive. My problem is I can't seem to climb out of those shoes when the time comes. I keep trying to be productive, because my little productive gears are churning away, which in turn leads to MASSIVE system-wide failure, aka unproductivity. And I think that if I can just work a little harder, the unproductivity will go away . . . when what I really need to do is stop being such a martyr and drink a margarita in the sun.

Two for One

Yuck, I didn't get a chance to post yesterday, so I'm going for broke today. Remember when you were in high school and you couldn't wait to be a grown up and  drink wine coolers in your own cool apartment, which TOTALLY looked just like Rachel and Monica's on "Friends"? Well, I guess I missed the memo about how there's not  going to be any money to buy wine coolers when they economy's in the pooper, and even if you had the money to buy them, between trying to keep up with the exponentially-growing laundry pile, the exponentially-growing work project list, and the exponentially-growing list of other adult responsibilities that no one warned you about, like fixing leaky shower heads and buying baby shower presents, there isn't really time. Much less time to keep up with the daily blog entry.

But I'm trying.

In the details

You are who you are in everything you do.

Before yoga started tonight, I could tell who was who in the room, even though I was laying on my back with my eyes closed. The two girls behind me, whispering, were new girls, nervous and excited and eager to start. The guy next to me was clearly someone VERY IMPORTANT, he wanted every to know he was there. You could tell from the way he slammed his mat on the floor and dropped his water bottle. The girl kitty corner from me was a seasoned yogi, she came in quiet like a cat and set her stuff up methodically, enjoying the ritual. 

If you listen, people will reveal who they are in everything they do. Right down to the little details.