Well, it’s official. I’m addicted to coffee. Addiction might too strong a word to describe my relationship with coffee. Maybe in love would be more fitting. I remember from one of my grad school classes some nugget about addicts needing ever-increasing amounts of their substance of choice to achieve the desired effect. Numbness. Euphoria. High. I’ve heard from heroin addicts that they never reach that same first-time euphoria, and that is what they are always trying to replicate. Chasing the dragon. One night, Brad and I were listening to 70’s hits on Pandora, and I kept googling what the songs were about. Almost all of them were about heroin. Even James Taylor (Fire and Rain). I know, right? He seemed like the boy next door with that sweet voice. I’m way off topic. This isn’t about heroin. It’s just about my one delightful cup of coffee. No more. And I feel like myself again not some evil-spirit-possessed-vile-mean-nasty version of myself. Phew…
1. Another snow day. I didn’t even set my alarm, but I did wake up at a reasonable hour grateful for the usual warm bed, happy healthy kids, amazingly wonderful husband (I really miss him on Thursdays), and great friends who love and support me and are always ready and willing to offer an encouraging word, or a beer, or coffee or all three.
2. My back was really super-achy the last two days, so I spent a lot of time sitting up against a heating pad. I think that may also have been the universe’s way of reminding me to be more compassionate to my bony little mom. Today, I decided that I wasn’t going to let my back dictate my day. Okay, so I’m reading Anne Lamott’s Small Victories–I told you that already–but there is an essay about her dying dog. I also have a dying dog, and I’m not nearly as nice to her as Annie is to her dying dog. I mostly get really irritated with my dying dog. She can barely walk. She has limited control of her…uh…functions anymore, so I’m always cleaning up messes. She bites me really hard if I forget and try to give her a treat out of my hand. She wants to go outside 57 times a day, which means I have to go outside 57 times a day, and she doesn’t seem to care that it’s really effing cold.
I promise I’m getting to the meaningful part.
Reading this essay today about how Anne refused to euthanize her dog and tried to make the end of her life as comfortable as possible by maximizing the things she, the dog, enjoyed softened my heart. Our dog fumbles and stumbles around in the house, but outside–especially in the snow–she runs and bounds like a gazelle. So, Lily and I bundled up and took her outside so she could race around and bury her snout in the snow and nearly rip my arm off because I wasn’t going fast enough to keep up with her. She sniffed out where the groundhogs live. She trailed after some random scent like a bloodhound. She was happy. She was young. She was energetic. For about 10 minutes. Then she was exhausted, and I practically had to carry her back into the house, where she has been sleeping for the last several hours. It was 10 minutes of putting another’s happiness above my own, and that felt really good after having been so angry the last few days. Lily had a good time too because little kids never seem to get cold even though one trip down the slide into a snow drift sent snow up both legs of her snow pants.
3. I haven’t the foggiest idea who I’m going to write to yet. I have prayed that God will bring someone to mind soon.
On a Daniel Fast note, I made these awesome little energy balls today minus the orange zest and cardamom and plus vanilla, chia, and sesame seeds. I was contemplating getting out my food processor–which I really didn’t want to do because it takes forever to drag down, assemble, and then clean up–when I thought, well, maybe this will work in the blender. Voila. Seriously. In about 15 seconds everything was perfectly blended to the most amazing consistency, and I did a big happy dance the kind that makes my kids come in the kitchen and say, “What the…” before joining in (Lily) or rolling their eyes and retreating to their bedroom (P). And it was okay because I was in my kitchen not the library. Rock on, you amazing little Kitchen-Aid blender. You’re a shining star.
How are you guys? Did you make anything fabulous today? Or do you have a super meaningful story to tell? Gosh, I’m so much happier with coffee.
xoxo
maryswanbelldotcom.wordpress.com 