The week held a plethora of diversions, and yet there’s nothing much to report . . .
I was randomly selected for drug testing. In the words of my honey, they are barking up the wrong tree. All the same, I nearly blew my eyeballs out trying to get the breathalyzer to beep; and it was somewhat appalling to know a stranger stood guard right outside the restroom, and I couldn’t flush the toilet or wash my hands immediately following. Eew.
On a brighter note, I was able to “collect a sample” on demand (something of a miracle, that); and the elevator didn’t fail me on the way down to the basement (equally impressive).
Of course, to recover, I had to make tacos for dinner–Double Decker tacos, no less, with all the fixings . . . including green onions.
I’ve not had a raw green onion for quite some time. It took me right back to my childhood.
You see, my dad had two great aunts: spinster sisters, they had carved out a comfortable life for themselves–laughing, reading, doing as they pleased. Every so often we’d go over for dinner. Mom and dad would sit with them around the table and talk for hours; I’d lounge about on the sofa, playing with my dolls, perusing books and magazines, watching television.
And the food! If food truly is the way to a man’s heart, I’m amazed there wasn’t a line a hundred miles long. No matter the menu, it was always delectable; and there was always enough to feed an army. Platters and bowls covered every inch of the table. And without fail, there were green onions.
Those ladies loved their onions. And it tickled them pink that a little girl with strawberry blond hair loved them too. Here’s our onions, Amy, they’d cheerfully announce. They’d hand me the bowl and I’d dutifully place them on the table. Then they’d chortle with glee as I spooned a helping onto my plate. You like onions; that’s a good sign, they’d say. You’re obviously destined for greatness. Then they’d throw their heads back in a fit of hilarity.
Funny how a taste (or scent or sound) can take you right back . . .
With that, I wish you a happy weekend. May your days be full of small blessings and the simplest of pleasures . . . plenty to make you smile.
I’ll be heading to the office today. Seems a bit melancholy, that.
You see, last Friday my love and I played hooky (I feel compelled to add that we did so quite legally, in full, grow-up fashion, with approved time off) . . .
We slept in; we sipped coffee and tea and nibbled freshly baked biscuits; we played a rousing game (or two) of cribbage; we meandered a museum;
we read a bit, lounged a bit; we discussed story ideas, and holiday ideas; we ate by candlelight, with music to soothe the soul.
Of course, right on the heels of such delightful nothingness came the usual flurry of activity. We finally took down the tree (all other Christmas decorations had been safely tucked away, mind you, but the tree remained). There were chores to do, clothes to wash, meals to plan, groceries to buy–another hurried week for which to prepare.
But Friday? Pure bliss.
Needless to say, I highly recommend. Even if you’re unable to take a workday, find time that’s all your own; no plans: nothing you have to do, nowhere you have to be . . . just wide open hours with which to kick back, relax, catch your breath, dream, maybe stumble upon an adventure or two . . .
You just never know where it will lead you.
PS. I don’t do well with electronic organizers (I’m sure that comes as a shock). This year, I’m trying something new: a Day Designer. One, it’s adorable; two, it has a full-month calendar + a day-by-day breakdown for the week (including Today’s Top Three). I don’t know; the year’s but a babe, but so far I think it a brilliant idea.