It happened like this… I was standing on the northeast corner of Broadway and whatever street waiting to cross. I was running to shop or cook or finish some errand that must must must get done quickly so everything else can be done quickly so that I can get on to the next thing and then the next and then fall asleep so that more stuff can get done tomorrow. I was staring at a pick-up truck heading in my direction. It was the only car on the road for that moment, the only thing halting my progress, and right before it got to me it suddenly made a turn WITHOUT ITS TURN SIGNAL ON. I could have gone! I was waiting for seconds for this fucking truck to pass when it wasn’t even passing!!! My life is disappearing before my very eyes and this selfish asshat doesn’t even care.
The injustice. The indignity. The NERVE.
I made a sound in response, alone on that street corner, like a groan/ moan/ wail of agony so dramatic you would have thought my child was being ripped from my breast.
But then I stopped. And I heard myself. And I was ashamed. There is a possibility I’ve let this season get the best of me.
Growing up, summer time meant spending time on Balboa Island. Some summers, we would rent a house. Sometimes with another family, yet most summer’s we just rented our own home. We participated in many daily activities; fishing in the bay, riding around the island in a small motor boat, and riding our bikes until the moon was our only light source.
Levi woke up a few mornings ago and the first thing he said to me was, “I really want you to make chocolate chip cookies”. I asked him what kind, what did he want in them, did he want them cakey or chewy? He looked at me as if I was speaking a foreign language. And then he looked at me and said, “just a plain and simple chocolate chip cookie – and mom, fill up the cookie jar with them!”.
I am a popcorn monster. During the cold winter months in northern Minnesota when it gets dark early, there’s nothing like curling up in front of the fire with a bowl of popcorn. I don’t eat the popcorn from a bag that is prepared in the microwave — too much sodium. The kind I eat is prepared the old-fashioned way in a pot on the stove, then drizzled with just the right amount of melted butter and sprinkled with salt. Napkins are a must.
We love chili. Enough said, really.