Stacks of Gratitude, Day 2

It’s November. I’m grateful. And yes, I’m recycling Facebook posts. With photos.

I am grateful for sunshine, sidewalks, Saturdays, and a silly excuse to wander around town with Dan for a little while. 

My feet. Green grass.

Stacks of Gratitude, Day 1

It’s November. I’m grateful. 

Sitting here plotting in our pretend graveyard on this gorgeous morning, I am grateful for all of my Creative Instigators and the cool stuff they inspire and enable me to do. And also for butterflies. There’s another one! And another!

The pretend graveyard in glorious sunshine.

Weird Competitive Urges

At the grocery store I saw a trim lady in exercise gear. She was annoyed that there were no boxes of pre-washed baby spinach on the shelf, and decried this lack to the produce manager. She clearly exercises a lot (suggested in something about her jaw and in her jaunty cap made of moisture-wicking tech fabric, in a muted pastel color). In her cart she has a lot of Greek yogurt (single-serving containers) and a twelve-pack of Fresca. But no containers of pre-washed baby spinach. I am also wearing athletic shorts, so I feel unexpectedly competitive when I see her in the produce department and again in frozen foods. I buy more vegetables than I planned. 

Mandolins! Movies! Misdirection!

Brainstorm for a story: The lead singer of a commercially successful folk band is married to a time-travelling video store clerk. Hilarity ensues. 

Not believable though. Commercially successful folk singers don’t exist. 

You may place all groans in the comments below.  

Dinner with the Chef

I dreamt last night that Partner and I were on vacation with Tony Bourdain. We were floating in a giant swimming pool, full of other vacationers, including the kids, and presumably Tony Bourdain’s family. Tony Bourdain invited us to dinner, but Partner had some work to do, so he encouraged Tony Bourdain and I to go out to dinner without him. We had appetizers at one place. Dinner at another place. Cocktails at yet another, after being toured through the fancy new kitchen. And at each place, Tony Bourdain knew people.

It was neither obviously a sex dream or a food dream, but managed to suggest both. We debated politics and philosophy over tapas and tequila, alone and with acquaintances. The evening was full of flirtatious innuendo, but never crossed over into vulgarity or transgression. His friends made a few inappropriate comments, but I fought my own banter battles and managed to have a charming time with the notorious chef-traveller. Until I woke up.

All this is to say what you may have guessed, that he works too hard, but I have my own version of the tall, sexy chef. Flirty without being vulgar, intellectually challenging and funny without being tedious, and who isn’t afraid to spontaneously make fresh mayonnaise at a party.