Oh, you guys. What a topsy-turvy week this has been and we’re only half-way through. I’m reminded everyday that you, me, we should all always be braced for the unexpected. Some of it is exhilarating, some of it is exhausting and all of it is part of this crazy-ass, beautiful dance of life. It’s like The Waltz. No! Actually, it’s more like The Smurf! A sloppy, last-call, last-person-on-the-dance-floor-at-closing-time-working-it-OUT-til-the-lights-come-on Smurf. Hmmm.
Anyway, I’ve been having loads of scintillating conversations with one of my sistah SOULjahs (Hi Megs!) and the theme of (one of) our ongoing analysis is that there’s something so gorgeous about the daunting process of finding out what your something is. Just like there’s beauty in the struggle that’s sometimes hard to see, we agree that we always want to be self-aware and in discovery of what our talents and energies—both innate and cultivated—are so that there’s always some sort of evolution. I think Megan's something is her artful eye and her keen ability to make things beautiful. A lot of the time, they’re simple. For instance, one of mine is
(SIDEBAR! I’m writing this at the café [natch!] and there is so much going on I don’t even know what to do. There’s a guy here who I always think is Steve Edwards--you LA people (Brian) know who that is--but it isn’t him. He doesn’t look like him…I just think that’s his name, but it isn’t him. He kind of looks like Charles Gibson from GMA. He is/was a morning personality from when we were little and I think he was teamed up with Christina Ferraro? [Not like, with her…it isn’t Lee Iacocca.] But it's that guy for sure. What’s his name?! It’s driving me bonkers. I see him cattin’ around town all of the damn time. Monday I saw him at Trader Joe’s, yesterday I saw him here and now he’s here again. Yes, I am too…don’t judge. I was hoping he’d log in to Facebook so my nosy ass could spy over his shoulder at his MAC and catch his name, but he isn’t cooperating. Probably because he’s like a grown grandpa man and has better things to do. I tried Googling him, but nothing. He’s very tall, and very dashing and very nice, but I still can’t bring myself to dork-out enough to be all, “Heyyyyyy, you’re from…” and hope that he fills in the blank before it gets awkward. Oh! His cell just rang and it’s Earth, Wind & Fire! Awww. I kind of wish he was my dad. I wonder if he wishes the smokers would just freakin’ stop already with the grody stank out here, too. Also, I keep getting distracted because someone named hott__naughtee__wett__tshirt keeps trying to IM me. What?! No. Not interested in your situation, hott__naughtee. And you need spell check. Ignore! There’s also some guy who’s whistling like it’s his damn job. Sir! Please! Enough with the chipper. And they’re playing epic Christmas music right now, too, which I happen to adore. I’m over-stimulated, y’all. Back to the regularly scheduled program.)
that I will always want to feed you. I think there’s nothing better than caring for your people so much that you want to stuff their gaping maws with delicious and delightful delicacies. I devour cookbooks, food books and cooking shows. I love a clever just-because dinner party! You just had a baby? Here’s a lasagna! Your Pop died? Sounds like you need some pumpkin bread! It’s Monday? I’m coming over to make polenta! I love it. Food and it’s rituals are something that I have always associated with love and nurturing and memories. (Oh! Café fake-Dad is leaving. Bye, not-Steve Edwards!) I’m sure it gets old sometimes for the people near to me, but by now I think they know that it’s one of my non-negotiable somethings. I embrace it and hope that it never goes away.
What’s your something? I’m sure it’s good.