Oops! That wasn’t supposed to publish.
I’m blogging from iPhone for the first time and I’m not very tech-savvy. Anyways, Ali made quinoa, butternut squash and tempeh. For dessert, homemade pumpkin frozen yogurt with chocolate chips. Hello heaven.
Can anyone explain why my
iPhone takes such crappy pictures?
We’re going to a music festival tonight to see Grace Potter. I kinda want to marry her. She’s an incredible Vermont born artist, sings like a champion and plays all her own instruments. Just sick. And girlfriend has legs like you read about.
Enough about her. Al and I are headed out for a six mile run now, then checking out the local farmers market for tonight’s dinner. I ❤ this place.
VERMONT!!! My mind and body are in relaxation mode here in my favorite place on earth. My girl Ali takes care of me.
Last night I arrived to a beautiful home cooked meal.
From an early age, I’ve been lucky enough to see the world through empathetic and caring eyes. Sometimes I’m too idealistic and this becomes a fault. Sometimes my kindness gets taken for weakness. Still, I never want to harden or lose that part of myself. I make an effort almost daily to practice an act of kindness. Sometimes it’s appreciated, sometimes it’s not. Sometimes it goes unnoticed, perhaps I’ll never know if it gets noticed. But being noticed or appreciated isn’t the point.
There’s a main street by work where all the pan handlers hang out. If you get stuck at the light, which is ALWAYS the case, its only a matter of seconds before some pathetic looking soul with puppy dog eyes approaches the car window. Sometimes, depending on my level of road rage, I’m already annoyed at the situation so I say “sorry” quite firmly then pretend to be busy looking at the radio or phone. Other times, my empathetic side wins and I can’t help but empty my purse into the rusty tin can held out at arm’s length.
We all know that giving money to panhandlers isn’t the best idea because it’s likely being used for drugs or alcohol. To remedy that, I started carrying granola bars in my car to pass out as treats. (Halloween came early, bitches.) I was now well-equipped to handle the street corners so when the next homeless man approached, I quite proudly offered him a bar. He looked at it hesitantly and with disgust said, “What kind is it?” “Are you serious dude?” I thought to myself. “If you’re really that hungry you’d eat a granola bar made of pubic hair and ants.” Sure enough he passed on the damn bar.
Last night I had a much better experience. Before going home after work, I stopped at the gas station for a treat. (Ended up with a shit load of donuts that I ate RIGHT before bed but that’s neither here nor there.) Outside the station was a younger guy shivering, he was clearly homeless. As I was leaving he asked me for some change. I said no but offered him something to eat. “I’ll take anything.” So he and I went inside for a little Super Market Sweep action. “Get whatever you want I said.” He picked up a measly Little Debbie snack but I insisted he get something more to hold him over. (He and I share the same love of Swiss Rolls and Zebra Cakes.) As he roamed around the store, reluctantly picking out food items, he repeated “No one’s ever done this before, no one’s ever done this before.” Finally with a bag of donuts, 2 Little Debbie snacks and a vitamin water we made our way to the register. As I was paying I could see that he was in tears, so gracious and appreciative. What a beautiful moment that I will always remember.
Be kind to someone tomorrow without expecting anything in return. We never know the impact it will create.
Amen and goodnight.
Well Hello There!
I started this blog about three years ago and for the first 1.5 years I was pretty consistent with it. It’s been about three months since I last blogged…….. what a dead beat. I’ve definitely had some things to share but the question of what’s appropriate always remains. Yes I know, many of the things I say are not exactly ‘lady like’, however I still struggle with certain topics. When I first started writing Goodies Galore, I didn’t really think about who was reading so I lacked a filter. Then Len and I split and for the first time I started writing in a censored way. After that, I had concerns about co-workers and clients reading my stuff. Writing became less fun because I felt stifled and was worried about being judged and/or hurting feelings. Part of having a blog is putting yourself out there, being vulnerable, and risking what comes along with that. That’s the place I’m trying to get back to.
Let’s laugh. One of the greatest pleasures in life is seeing people trip. Even better, trip then fall. (Don’t pretend you don’t find humor in this as well.) When I was younger, my father fell down the stairs stomach down and I swear, the length of his body took up the entire stairwell. I can remember running into my room as it happened because it was impossible not to laugh. The image still kills me to this day. In 7th grade, a classmate tipped over in her chair and farted at the same time. Priceless. Five years ago, Len tried to sneak up on me as I was getting washed up in the bathroom. As he was quietly tiptoeing in my direction, he stubbed his toe on a stair and starting hopping on one foot yelling “oww, oww, ow.” Events like these play in my mind like a movie reel and will forever make me chuckle.
The bad news about finding joy in people’s embarrassment is that KARMA’S a bitch. Last week, I was walking down the hall at work and my ankle rolled. Before I knew it, I was going down in split position. (In a dress.) When my legs couldn’t spread any more, my back leg folded into itself and there I was on the floor- front leg out split style, back leg tucked under my butt. From there I toppled over onto my side like a floundering fish and was spotted by staff and a client. Despite their bulging eyes and concerned “Are you okay”, their facial expressions were all-too familiar and I just know they had a good laugh. As did I. If you can’t laugh at yourself in life, you’re screwed.
My weekend was spent with this little hooker.
Tell me a funny story.