favorites.

There were these two people that I happened to come upon. One was drinking coffee, and the other was making it.

Funny thing about life; we just never know. We can pray, fervently. We can hope, or expect the worst, but we just never know.

I had been gone for a short season and had returned to the same place a different person, sort of. Not different, as in not the same, but maybe just more.

So there was coffee, being drunk and made, and then there became friendship, and the sharing of lives.

There are some days, or some moments, when really, I think I know. It won't be this way, or that can't happen. I so easily forget the times things have. Happened, I mean.

So these two people, they are two of my favorites. Not in a color sort of way, like blue. Blue used to be my favorite. Now it's orange. They are my favorite in an unchanging sort of way, regardless of my favorite color.

One of my other favorites: the donut. The round fried pastries, sometimes filled and sometimes iced. They are delicious to me. These people I mentioned before invited me to share their delicious donuts this evening. When I got home, I painted my toe nails red, and thought of how I never expected these exceptional two to so fully invite me into their lives. I am reminded to be thankful for the not knowing.

hungry.

It has recently been brought to my attention that I might possibly, on some days in some temperatures, suffer from low self-esteem. If you fell out of your chair just then, dust yourself off, and sit right back down so you can finish reading this blog.

I also - this is going to blow your socks off too - think incessantly about things, until they have been thunk to their death, and driven deep into the ground to rest with those that have passed. By the time I am done thinking about them, even if the things I am thinking are shiny in the beginning, by the time they have made their cycle through my head, THE LUSTER IS GONE! Gone, I tell you. Gone.

So naturally, I have been thinking today about this notion that I mention was mentioned to me, the whole low self-esteem thing. Gross, right?

It's time to bring in another guest to the dinner table of low-self esteem and over thinking. The third course will be dancing. If you fell again, just get back into the chair. Unless you got out of it to dance. Then you can finish this post later, after you've finished dancing. Dancing is the dessert.

Anyway, back to wherever I was. The task in my life that seems to be the most gratifying as of late: dancing. I can be having the shittiest of shitty days, the kind I put down in the record book of my life. And then I will eat dinner, and maybe have an americano or a glass of wine. The day is still sucking at this point. Stick with me. After dinner I may take a nap, or read something online. This may be followed by conversation with friends. Day is still at a low point here, too. And then I will happen upon a place with a DJ, or in some cases, just a set of drums. And then, I will dance.

Sounds so cliche. I know. But think back to the dinner table. While I am dancing, low self-esteem is no where to be found. Nor is the over thinking course I documented earlier. At this point, when I finish the dancing and head back home, let's pretend I pass someone on their way to my car. This is a friendly person. They mean me no harm. They are your typical Oklahoma friendly, and so they smile and say something along the lines of, "how are you doing?" My answer, at this point, without any hesitation whatsoever, would be, "I am so fantastic! Thank you for asking!" Had he asked me a few hours sooner, he would have heard a different response. The dancing turns the horrible day upside down. I've almost no recollection that the day was even a bad one.

Let's wrap this up, shall we? Right. OK. So the most recent thought: Instead of purchasing a book out of the self-help section, instead of looking myself in the mirror and saying each morning, "I am good enough, I am smart enough, and doggone it, I am worth it", what if I tackle my low self-esteem with...dancing? Right. Seeing that typed there, now, I see that it sounds ridiculous. I think that's appropriate.

So new scenario. I am at work, where it's inappropriate to dance in front of customers. But, I'm feeling pretty down, and a cycle of unhealthy thoughts enters my head, such as "No one will ever be interested in me, I am a failure, I am a horrible driver and am incapable of taking responsibility for my life", etc. I step away for two seconds, go into the pink striped bathroom, and do a little dance to the music that's somewhere in my head. Then the music and the moves overshadow the negativity, overshadowing the low-self esteem. Before you know it, I may be healed by dancing.

It's just a thought.

new wardrobe.

I truly feel like I am growing out of this season of life. Literally, even physically. I feel like a child, whose toes have begun to just touch the tips of her shoes.... Inching toward thirty, it's like the reality that we grow older, and live with our choices, weighs much more heavily on me now than it did back when...when I wasn't inching toward thirty.

It was okay to piddle through things before. That shoe fit. But I don't feel like piddling anymore.

I gave my notice to the coffee shop a few weeks ago. That's the first part of my wardrobe that really started to feel like it shrank in the dryer. I faced the truth that it's not what I wanted to be doing, though I am thankful for the time I spent learning more about coffee, baking, and people and also, that I don't want to make my living from food, like I once suspected.

My current position fits for now; It's more like the act of taking the hem out of my pants. They are as long as they can be, still not quite long enough, thought they'll help me make it to the next pair. In my hemmed up pants, I will be serving delicious and expensive food, in hopes that the people I serve it to reward me for the attentiveness I give their dining experience.

And then, if it all goes as planned, I will hop on a plane in the summer. It is my hope that where I land, there will be much more room to grow.

for hire.

The following is what I do in my spare time, when it's the holiday's, and many of my friends have left town.

I highly recommend creating a fictitious resume. In those moments of boredom, make one of these, instead of privately stalking a practical stranger via facebook. The resume will have a more positive effect on your morale, and your inner creative spirit.

And though I sat down to do this as a joke to a friend, it was actually a fun writing exercise, which is why I decided to share it with you, dear readers.

Click on the image to be taken to it's readable size!

holiday bliss.

Hustle and bustle, Holiday rush, traffic and sales, red tag, hurry! Last minute gift ideas, we've sold out but we will have more in...check the back room, I thought it was on sale, I am sorry - it's the sweaters to the left that are on sale...sneaky sale price marking, clearly trying to fool your customers...red in the bank account...but enough gifts beneath the tree, no time left to rest...must begin the celebration, plan, pre-heat the oven, can I put the cookies in with the ham? Will they burn...ding dong, they're here...oh no! I'm not ready! The tree isn't decorated, and the ceramic elves have not been set out...here...give them some wine while they wait...careful! careful! Don't spill it! I just bought that white tablecloth! Hurry! Lift the plates! I must wash it right away! Just take the wine! I can't depend on anyone.

Last night my computer was not charging. I didn't like the prospect. I don't have many nice things. I don't spend much on toys. My computer is likely the nicest item I own, and may be worth more than my bumper car. When it's not working, I don't fall apart; I am unnerved. My work experience with Apple told me I needed an appointment, and the people I know working there now made me think that I could possibly get a little help on the sly, without an appointment, if I was kind enough. The latter was true.

I drove there at eight-forty-five in the evening, and I met a kind woman named Tammy. She located a kind fellow named Rob, and within ten or so minutes, I had a brand-new-from-the-box charger in my computer case, free of charge. My computer was on, charging, and I quickly went from unnerved to happy. While I was in the store, however, looking around, it was no longer my computer that was unnerving, but my accidental presence in the midst of all of the holiday madness.

I had worked in the midst of this madness, going against every grain of my being, for the past two holiday seasons; this had left me with so much disdain for this time of year. Being in "the holiday spirit" became a foreign concept to my retailed mind. And there I was, standing next to the couple thinking of purchasing macbook pros for their niece and nephew. The Mac specialist to my left asked them if they would rather go with the basic macbook option, as it was a little less expensive. Their response.."but isn't this one better?" "It's got more bells and whistles, yeah, but do they need more bells and whistles?" he responded. "Oh, they love the bells and whistles. Their six and eight."

Had I been holding my now working computer, I likely would have dropped it on the hard as hell concrete floor covering the apple store.

I realized it was all still happening...the excess, the rush and stress, the macbook pros being purchased for almost-toddlers.

This morning, however, when picking up my coffee, one of my favorite people in the world recounted the gift he made last night for his brother, and the help that one of his best friends offered him. He said it's the best Christmas present, in the world, for the year two-thousand-and-nine. I believe him.

It's my exit from the retail world, my homemade and undecorated Christmas tree, the gingerbread cookies we made and decorated on Saturday evening, and the homemade gifts being crafted as I type this, that have brought "the holiday spirit" back to my retail retired being.

continue stirring.

Sunday mornings are usually spent with my family, at the breakfast table eating pancakes and straining to listen to one of the stories that I have already heard my grandpa tell a dozen times. Though I have likely already heard it, I strain to listen because of the look on his face when he is recounting how funny it is. It's that genuine smile, or laugh, that I don't see as often, now that his body is failing him, and his memory; Since purpose is something he strains to find, I can at least strain to listen.

It's harder, though, when my grandma is talking, and he isn't aware, as his hearing has almost completely failed him. That's when he starts talking over her, and when she huffs, and when I scramble to figure out which grandparent to give my attention.

I haven't been able to follow through with this weekly ritual the past few weeks, as the new job I have beckons me on Sunday mornings. I know my grandparents miss my presence at the table, but I have to be away, to serve the well to do, the families that go out to eat their french toast, eggs benedict, omelets, etc. After work this past Sunday, in lieu of breakfast conversation, my mom and I had phone conversation instead. The subject of work came up, and money, and she questioned my hesitancy to take a job that would suck the life out of me. She didn't say it like that, but more like, "You and your brother are so against doing something you don't want to do, but sometimes I think that it would be worth it if you didn't have to worry so much about money". I think that may be exactly what she said.

So here I sit this morning, with $7.50 left on my person, until tomorrow, when I get paid. I am switching jobs because I have this hunch that I can make more money doing almost the exact same thing that I have been, only a little less work at a nicer place. But it's still not what I want to be doing. The decision to work where I am is not ripe with integrity. It's ripe with necessity. The answer I have formulated for my mother is this: I don't ever expect to love fully anything that I do. There will always be days that I don't want to go in to work, regardless of the occupation. Teachers love being teachers but hate grading papers. Business owners love running a business but hate calculating payroll, etc. It's the idealist in me that isn't pursuing a job I LOVE, as I can find things to enjoy about whatever job I have, but rather, a job that I can believe in. I just look forward to the day that begins with me, smiling, because the work that awaits me is worthwhile, and full of more meaning that making sure someone's water glass never goes below the half-full mark.

In the meantime, I will be here serving, and scrambling to figure out what it could be.

ginger and peppermint in my nostrils.

It a merry time of year. My neighbors have their trees and homes lit up. As of yesterday, it's officially cold, wintry weather. I actually drove over a patch of ice on my way to get coffee this morning. AND, the scent of ginger has begun to fill the air, as people scramble over one another on the candy isle in search of the perfect decorations for their made-from-scratch gingerbread houses!

Not.

I was just scrambling over myself on the candy isle, and it was my apartment (that's close in size to a gingerbread house), not the world's air, that smelled of ginger baking. Each time I sit down to complete the delightful task, I go back about a little scant of twenty years to elementary school, and the feeling I had when we stopped learning stuff and started craft time. I wasn't getting high on the glue, like my classmates. I was getting high on the experience. And the past few days, I have been getting high on peppermint lane.

Some of you may not have read my blog last year, so I will repost a picture of last year's gingerbread house creation, that took place in the kitchen and dining room of my dear friend Chris. This is a messy process, even when "I clean as I go", like my mom tells me. I was without a kitchen, so she let me make a mess of hers for a few days...that's her butt to the left of the gingerbread house beginnings.

I decided to veer away from multi-colored madness for this years creation, and instead go for a classy red and white theme like the candy-canes of my childhood. I made "the cottage on the corner of peppermint lane" for my grandmother. She is a professional volunteer, and one of her causes is the Domestic Abuse Shelter in Claremore. They have something called a "Festival of Trees" every year, and various people decorate and donate gingerbread houses, which are placed staggeringly atop a white table cloth, on display. Various other people walk around this festival thing, and bid on the confectionary creations.