Today, We Walk

I was feeling worn down by the day-to-day, and I needed to get out of my head.
One hopeful stare from Charlie, and I read his mind.
Or, maybe it was he who read mine.

We were both longing for an adventure.  

  "Let's go," I said, as I grabbed his leash, and the two of us hopped in the car.

Sunroof open.
Windows down.
Charlie, with his face to the wind.

As we turned down the familiar drive, Charlie could barely contain himself.

  "Easy, Charlie," I said, as I pulled the car into park, and hooked his leash to his collar.

Together, we stepped out into the day, and I was immediately consumed.

The blue of the sky,
   the green of the trees,
the stark white of the clouds -

FILLING ME WITH VIBRANCE.  

Charlie was eager to experience all that awaited him.
As we stepped out onto the dirt-covered path, he pulled against his leash.
He was expecting to walk at our normal, fast pace.

But, today, I was not in a hurry. 

Charlie looked back at me with anticipation.

   "Come on!" he seemed to say.  "What are you waiting for?"

Today, Charlie, we are taking it slow.  

After a few gentle tugs on the leash, he seemed to understand.

Today, we walk.
Not for exercise, or to work up a sweat.
Not to see how fast we can make it around the lake.
Today we walk to relax, to be in the moment, to clear our minds.

Disappointed at first, Charlie settled into the slower pace.
Now, we were in sync.
And, my mind was in a quiet enough place to notice.

I noticed the gravel, loose and shifting beneath my feet.
I noticed the sun, warm and soothing against my face.
I noticed the clouds, softly floating across the sky.
I noticed the lake - glistening reflections, rippling across the water.      
And, the fragrance of the flowers, softly carried on a breeze.

I noticed all of these things.  

And, OH, THE CHILD-LIKE JOY!
   of walking up and over each small trestle.
That marvelous archway raised above the trickling and tranquil sounds of the creek.
With each strong step, the familiar awareness of the worn, wooden planks, underneath.

Yes.

Today, Charlie, on this GLORIOUS DAY, we walk.
We walk to appreciate.
We walk to renew.
So that when we return to the day-to-day, the weight of our troubles is not so much.
Today, we just . . . walk.  

Don't Leave Your Knives on the Stove

It was a normal morning.

I came downstairs, let Charlie outside, and filled his bowls with fresh water and food.
I filled my Moka pot with fresh water, as well, and freshly ground coffee, placed it on the stove, and turned on the burner.

It was a normal morning, except . . .

Normally, as I would wait for my little espresso maker to perform its magic,
   I would sit at the kitchen counter and check my e-mails on my laptop.
This particular day, however,
I went into the next room to use my desktop computer.

A good amount of time had gone by.

I am not sure how long.
And, I heard a strange noise.
I walked into the kitchen,
   turned the corner,
and to my surprise . . .

THE ENTIRE TOP OF THE STOVE WAS IN FLAMES.

I was extremely calm, considering.

I stood and assessed the situation.
The flames were well contained on top of the stove.
I cleared the area around it, and turned off the electric burner.
As the burner began to cool down, the flames began to dissipate,
   only burning on top of the burner that had been turned on . . .

   the burner that was SUPPOSED to be the burner where my coffee pot stood . . .

   the burner where, INSTEAD, all of my good knives had been laying out to dry,
      from when I washed them, the night before.

I have never watched knives burn, before.

It does not smell good.

It does not look good.

And, it creates a thick, gray smoke that makes your eyes burn.

I sprinkled a little water on the flame, to see how it would react.
Then, I sprinkled a little more.
Until, finally, I poured water from a glass, until the flame was gone,
   leaving only the remnants of knives,
their rubber handles melted into the glass-topped stove.

Then, began the mad rush . . .
opening every window and door;
grabbing chairs from random rooms to reach the smoke detectors
that were blaring out my stupidity to the world.

I have never liked the smell of air freshener.

But, if anytime there was a need for one, it was now.
I remembered my daughter, and her love for Febreze.
She used to spray it around the house, to everyone's displeasure.
I grabbed the blue bottle from the closet, and began spraying it around the house,
   running away from the fragrance, as I sprayed.  
All the while, I held my breath, until I felt I had thoroughly deodorized the entire house,
whence upon I made a mad rush to the fresh air, outdoors.

EXHALE.

Sirens in the distance.

SHIT.

INHALE.

Closer, CLOSER, CLOSER, FARTHER, FARTHER, Farther . . . gone.

EXHALE.

It was a normal morning.

I grabbed Charlie, jumped in the car, and drove to Starbucks.

Don't leave your knives on the stove.

Broken Glass

I had a dream.
Not the kind that delivers meaningful and powerful words of wisdom, inspiration, and hope.
But, I am searching for its message, nonetheless.

I don't remember the details, but I do remember that I broke not one,
   NOT two, but THREE glass vessels.
I say "vessels" because their uses cannot be narrowed down.

A bowl, a glass, a vase?

A candle place?  

They did not break completely.
There were no broken pieces on the floor.
Cracked and damaged - yes.
But, not completely undone.

Still, the jagged, fractured lines caught me off guard.
Once strong and seemingly unbreakable pieces,
   suddenly fragile and frail; exposed.

Oysters, and Mussels, and Peppers . . . OH my.

I used to love Oysters. 

AND, Mussels. 

And, PEPPERS of every kind.

I remember being younger, wondering . . .
          why do old(er) people always carry a stash of Tums?

“Need a Tums?” one would ask, as if offering up a treat.

“Sure!” one would say.  

“Pass one my way,” would say another.

Recently, I went to the beach with my 
partner/love interest/boyfriend.

[Sidebar:  My next story should be “what to call your mate when you’re over forty”.]

We treated ourselves to some oysters. 

Mmmmmm, with just a dash of horseradish.  

And, of course, a nice cold beer to wash them down.  

Not long after, however, I had this uncomfortable feeling in my stomach. 

Uncomfortable in a knotted up, twisted up, menstrual cramps (except, not), sort of way.

We stopped at a gas (station) for some Zantec. 

Fortunately, that seemed to relieve the discomfort.

I haven’t had oysters, since.

On a separate beach trip, with my girlfriend . . . 

[a girlfriend is a girlfriend, at any age]

we ordered some mussels (not to be confused with muscles).

And, of course, a nice cold beer to wash them down.  

They were delicious. 

But, similar to the experience with the oysters,
   my stomach started to turn before I was even able to finish my meal.

This time, I went home and took a Tagamet. 

I haven’t had mussels, since. 

Maybe I’m developing an allergy to shellfish, I thought. 

But, then there were the peppers. 

I was not convinced the first time (and probably in denial),   

but it was after the experience with my favorite Greek salad,

   loaded with Kalamata olives, pickled turnips, diced cucumbers,

GREEN AND BANANA PEPPERS;
topped with juicy, grilled chicken,
   and sprinkled with feta cheese . . .
             [Sigh]
that I knew.    

   

So, good-bye, peppers.  

Farewell, oysters, and mussels, too.     

How I will miss you.

I guess I AM getting old(er).

Tums, anyone???

The Turnstile

It hit me like a 2 x 4,
although, the mark it left was measured at 2 1/2 x 1 1/2 (inches).
I was convinced it was the BIGGEST, most GNARLY bruise EVER.
Not to mention, it was MOST impressive in both shape and color.

Were it entered as an Olympic event,
it would have scored GOLD for "good form".

Westminster contender?

"Best In Show", for sure.  

It happened at the ice rink.

Though, I was not on the ice when it happened.

I was not even wearing skates.

I was on a mission - to pick up my son's hockey blades.
All I had to do was walk in, go to the counter,
   hand over my claim ticket, pick up the blades,
and walk out.

But, I walked in the wrong way.  

I walked in on the OTHER side of where I was supposed to be -
   the opposite of where everyone else was going.

   I don't know why.

And, there was one of those THINGS.

You know . . .
   about waist high, with metal bars that move FORWARD when you walk into them,
frequently seen at sporting events, metro stations, amusement parks, and . . .
ice skating rinks.

And, if you walk into one from the wrong SIDE
(much like slamming into a defensive hockey player),

     YOU do not move IT.

     IT moves YOU.
 
And, people who witness it may laugh.

But, the humiliation is not nearly as bad as the physical pain.

I told my son about it.

I had to share my humiliation with someone,
   otherwise, besides for the battle wound on my right thigh,
it would be a wasted opportunity.

   "Oh, I do that all the time," was his response.

Apparently, the "apple" does not know how to walk through a turnstile any better
   than the "tree".

http://monkeypickles.com/2014/02/21/adventures-in-walking-through-a-turnstile-and-the-olympic-sized-bruise/

You May Think It's Funny, but It's Snot (and It's Frozen)!

The text came in at 4:30 a.m. :

TWO HOUR DELAY

Several hours later . . .

   "Mom, can you drive me to school?" asked Sam.  

Charlie:  Drive?  Drive?  Did someone say, "Drive"?
                 Can I go?  Can I come?
                 Please, please, PLEASE let me come!

   "Charlie, you want to come?" I asked.  

Charlie:  Yes, yes, YES I want to come!
                 Thank you, thank you, THANK YOU!
                 I get to go!  I get to come!

Charlie nestled into Sam's lap, in the front seat of the car,
   pressing his cold, black nose against the hard, glass surface -
his favorite spot to view the outside world.

The temperature on the car thermometer 
   read 7 degrees.

"Mom," said Sam, "Charlie's snot just froze to the window."

Wha-at?

http://monkeypickles.com/2014/01/31/you-may-think-its-funny-but-its-snot-and-its-frozen/

Post-Tonsillectomy Party Update - BYOP

Due to the "polar vortex" . . .  

I can now say WITH CONFIDENCE
that the beers (in the cooler)
   are "ice-cold".

In fact, the cooler, itself, is FROZEN SOLID.  

Please bring your own ice pick (BYOP).

And, no worries . . .  

There are still plenty of
POPSICLES and Italian Ice
   in the freezer.

There is still plenty of
JELLO and PUDDING
   in the fridge.

You won't need an ice pick for those,
   though the little foil covers
on the JELLO and PUDDING cups can be tricky ;-)  

http://monkeypickles.com/2014/01/27/post-tonsillectomy-party-update-byop/