Toast and Coffee

Read a great article over the week-end that a friend sent me (thank you Sharon H.!) about the artisanal toast craze that has swept San Francisco ( http://www.psmag.com/navigation/health-and-behavior/toast-story-latest-artisanal-food-craze-72676/ ) and it got me thinking . . . about lots of things.  Like, ohhh, Nashville doesn’t have a place that does great toast . . . hmmmm, maybe I bring that to Nashville.  Toast & Coffee.  Now I know nothing about owning a coffeeshop.  I’m only a so-so cook (my husband’s killer, thank goodness!), but I can make a darn good piece of cinnamon toast.  That’s a start isn’t it??  My secret is all in the butter – organic, mind you (and never, ever margarine – yuck! All those trans fats - so bad for you . . . and now they are saying organic butter is good in moderate doses – good fats, I love you!).  I’m not skimpy with the butter (hey, it’s like health food these days, right??).  And you have to butter the toast while it’s hot so it soaks in, then just as quickly, dust on a thin layer of the cinnamon (also good for us! Keeps the blood sugar stable).  Lastly, the sugar (or Stevia in the Raw if you want to keep it a bit healthier) – a few pinches – sprinkled on to lightly cover the canvas of your toast. Cut in triangles. And serve : ) Voila! 

Not sure it’s a strong enough foundation to open a restaurant/coffee shop on, so my wheels keep turning.  Boy, can my mom make some great homemade bread (beer bread, english muffin bread, dill bread, pistachio bread . . .).  We’ll need homemade bread, right? So I’m thinking she can be our bread maker (coming from a long line of bread makers, Lib will have truly come full circle – Wonder bread, are your ears burning?? Don’t be scared, we’ll keep it small batch!).  Not sure how the bread making will affect my mom’s retirement or many travels but we’ll figure that out later . . . see how these ideas have a life all their own? And they take no prisoners – anyone’s fair game in helping make this nascent dream a reality (not sure it’s my dream yet either, but we’ll keep playing this thing out, just to see . . . ).

Then, I think, oh crap, everybody’s all carb conscious these days.  Will they still want toast? Eat it? I’m a big believer in moderation in all things so I still have my cake, er toast (or bagel), and eat it too . . . but others, they are much more restrictive (and I hate restrictions or anyone telling me I can’t have something because for me, I just want it that much more!).  I just heard about someone who has completely cut out all carbs indefinitely and I am honestly sad for that person.  Because carbs make me happy and given that I’m a pescatarian and lactose intolerant, some good carbs can take me a long way! Oh, and then there’s the gluten issue – we’d have to offer a gluten-free version of our artisanal bread . . . And, use non-GM (genetically modified) sources for our bread because the GM stuff is awful and they don’t want us to know how insidious and rampant it is in most of our conventional foods these days . . .

Well, I was having fun with this idea in my head and now I’m getting tired and a little less excited because this idea is starting to feel like a whole lotta work.  And it’s not that I’m not good with that. Willing to put in the work. But the bigger question is, could I be sustainably passionate about this through all the hard work it would take to make it really take off and thrive??  Is it something I would even want to do?  It COULD be.  But I don’t know.  I’m still trying to live into that next big thing and it’s hard when you are committed to following the energy, wherever it takes you (and it seems to be taking me all over the place!).

My husband asks, “Have you decided when you’ll go to MI this summer?” since I typically take the kids for the month of July and with my former teaching schedule, that worked wonderfully.  Well, given that I am unemployed right now, I said I wasn’t sure but threw out a tentative window of three and a half weeks I was considering. And to him, that answered his real question of: When do you think you might be gainfully employed again?  To which my answer underneath the vacation timeframe question would be: When I find that next right thing.  It takes time. And I am thankful that I have that right now.  I’m also thankful to get to be one of those parents who can be truly involved in the daily “stuff” of my kids’ lives – that I have the time and attention to really be present for them. That, and the chance for me to dream and write a bit each day, is the biggest gift in my life right now.  In this chapter of mid-life, with school-age kids, in a twelve-year old marriage . . . I can’t say for certain what the next chapter will look like – as much as anyone else might wish it to be so.  Like good artisanal bread dough, I’m making sure all the right ingredients go in, and I’m trying to let the dough of my life rise all on its own.  No amount of prodding or peeking or pushing or cajoling makes it rise faster.  Just time and patience and the knowing: that it will come.

That’s where I am today and trying to remain: content in my belief that right now, in this very moment, I am rising.  Slowly but surely – into my next big thing.  Perhaps it’s getting to write for a living or raising chickens in the backyard or becoming a bona fide beekeeper.  Or perhaps it’s something else entirely.  Or all of these ideas in some crazy combination. Like my most recent batch of banana bread made with organic coconut sugar, coconut oil, gluten free flour, flax seed, and a small dose of dark chocolate chips (just to keep it real!), the kids said it was the best I ever made – who knew???

Follow the energy . . . wherever it takes you.  It will lead you exactly where you need to go.

Kindling For Your Fire

In the car a few weeks ago, Taggart was lamenting something he could have done differently in his final basketball game. Something he thought would have changed the course of the game and potentially helped his team win.  And with very little thought, I replied, “Shoulda, Woulda, Coulda.” And he looked at me like, “Huhhhh? What the heck does that mean?”

So I explained that big life lesson to him.  That one about regret and guilt. And learning to simply let it go.  That we can look back on any situation and make ourselves feel bad or less-than because we screwed up and didn’t do “something” exactly as we should have so it absolutely wrecked “everything”.  It’s a “fun” game we play with ourselves and a total waste of time.

But damn, if those life lessons sometimes just have to be learned the hard way. Maybe that little bit of guilt is good?  Pushes them to try a bit harder next time or practice a bit more leading up to their next big “something”.  As long as they don’t live in the guilt.  If it can be used as a pacer, to help them learn and grow and become better, then I think there’s a place for it (and boy, is that balancing act tricky!).  But if there’s any wallowing and clamping down on the guilt and getting stuck there, it serves absolutely no purpose but to punish whomever is holding on – Rottweillian style – to their penance.  Which only serves to hurt them and ultimately does NOTHING to improve their own and other’s lives.

So I tell Taggart: In any situation in life, you can always look back, a minute, an hour, a day later, and say, “I should have made sure my toes were behind the three point line – that extra point might have made all the difference.  Or, if only I would have made those two free throws, then we would be the champions.  Or, I could have done a reverse lay-up and then I would have made the winning basket . . .This is all shoulda, woulda, coulda reasoning. Good to think about.  Good to realize what you might do differently next time and how you will use any mistakes or missed opportunities to improve in the future.  Good to use as kindling for your fire.  But then, that’s that.  Don’t dwell. Move forward. Learn from it and let it go.”

Here’s the deal, and it’s much harder for him to get it at the ripe ole age of 11, when you still feel immortal and invincible.  Life is short; we only have a finite time on this Earthly plane. We can spend time feeling guilty or bad or less-than and if that’s how someone chooses to use their given time, that is their choice.  But wouldn’t a better, more productive way to spend our time here be to focus on what we can do better, differently, more beautifully or creatively or thoughtfully, and then DO THAT.  Who knows what great contribution we can make or what legacy we might leave behind?  But if you are stuck in coulda, woulda, shoulda, all you get is muddy tires spinning in the same, tired place. And feeling frustrated, angry, depressed, down. Getting you nowhere but more stuck and dirty.

So get out of that rut.  If you are sitting in your car, spinning your wheels, grab your sneakers or your flip-flops or hop out barefoot, and get muddy! Feel the certainty of the Earth under your feet. Leave your footprints as you go. Find a new way. A different road. Forge a new path. Leave whatever is holding you back behind and go forth.

Today is your day. A new day. The first day of the rest of your life.  What happened yesterday or last week or last year doesn’t matter today.  What matters is what you do with today.  Use all you know and all you have. Use this day –this gift – well.

Make it great.

Perfectly Imperfect

Prayer For All The Women 

(But Especially My Daughter)

I pray that you always feel comfortable in your own skin – at home wherever you are.

That you are valued, not for your appearance, but for your gifts and abilities.

That you view your uniqueness as exactly that, and nothing less.

That you not judge yourself harshly, but meet yourself with kindness and compassion – wherever you are.

I pray that you know that you are whole and complete and that you don’t have to do anything to be more perfectly imperfect than you are right now. 

I pray that you know you always have a choice to see or define something differently.

That you boldly choose and create your reality every day.

I pray that you use your powers for good and share your gifts with the world as only you can do.

I pray you learn to love yourself and others unconditionally – no matter the size of your thighs, the color of your hair, or the sag of your breasts.

I pray you do as I say and not as I do.

That you love and hold me as whole while I continue to struggle against my own deeply ingrained messages and beliefs about my body and self-worth. 

That you fight the good fight – trading any old, worn-out beliefs for stronger, truer, soul-affirming beliefs that build you up and don’t leave you feeling less than or not enough.

I pray you don’t waste time dwelling on what isn’t “perfect” and instead live your life whole-ly, fully, inhabiting each corner of your world with light, laughter, and great joy.

I pray your armor is never so heavy that you can’t easily discard it to fully embrace the good that is your birthright.

I pray for you all good things.

And, the wisdom to know the difference.

The wisdom to learn your lessons well and the courage to be open to trying a new way – even when it’s hard or scary or uncertain.

I pray for you the appreciation that in any dark chrysalis, the outcome is a beautiful butterfly.

May you always know and believe this.

May you remind yourself, others, me of this truth.

May you go forth in love, wholeness, and radical self-acceptance every day of the rest of your life.

This is my wish for you, sweet girl.

And my wish for every woman.

You are whole. 

You are perfect. 

You are enough.

(Never forget this.)

Amen.

Because I Said So

Kids ask questions.  Lots of them.  Hopefully.  If you are lucky and they are curious and inquisitive and sometimes just to see if you are listening:

“Can I have ice cream for breakfast?”

“Can I play X-box for three hours?”

“Can I print out 100 pictures of the cute kitties I found on the internet?”

And the answers, they usually go something like this:

1.) Ice cream is not the breakfast of champions – way too much sugar to start off your day . . . you’ll crash before you can spell “moderation“ on your test during second period.

2.) Too much X-box (or TV or media period) makes you not-so-smart; let’s find other ways to stimulate that big ole brain muscle for a bit.

3.)  You’ll use up all our ink (and four trees in the process) on pictures we will recycle in a week . . .

To these answers, sometimes more questions.  Some good (“How does it waste trees?”), some redundant with a twist (“How about strawberry ice cream? It’s got fruit in it” . . .good try, I have to admit!), some that require you to have to think more than you’d like to (If I play X box for an hour and then walk the dog, unload the dishwasher and fold the laundry, can I play one more hour?).  On good days, I tackle each question as it comes, trying to answer each to the best of my ability so that I am modeling and teaching patience, respect, wisdom, good judgment.  Other days, I am tired and my answers are less charitable and inspired.  And there’s much less tolerance for the piggyback questions!  I take a deep breath and pause before giving my thoughtful answer.  But, if I have to do this more than three times when I am at my exhausted and frustrated threshold? Out comes the age-old, dreaded parental stand-by: “Because I said so!” 

There - you did it.  Exactly what you promised yourself you wouldn’t do.  Because your parents did it.  And it drove you crazy.  And now you are driving your kids crazy.  Because you’ve become your parents.  And you don’t know how or when or what has come over you but you are standing there and you realize you have more in common with your parents than you ever thought you would.  You “get” it.  They were smart (so are you – if only your stinkin’ kids would “get” it!).  They had answers.  Sometimes you could hear them.  Other times you couldn’t or wouldn’t.  We’ve all been there right? Both asking the questions and giving the answers (or the “because I said so”).

It’s all part and parcel of this crazy thing called life.  This carousel of lessons we get to learn from both sides.  That God, she’s pretty crafty!  Giving us similar experiences at different life points so that we can see things from every angle. 

Take this week, for instance. All week long I’ve been doing this dance with Taggart around school assignments.  He doesn’t stay on top of his due dates – they sneak up fast.  It’s the night before some big art project is due and he's only just told me about it the night before . . . (driving this recovering perfectionist mad, I tell you!).  This has happened, not once, but twice this week.  And the craziest thing, it’s never his fault.  The teacher didn’t remind him.  It wasn’t listed on the homework website. They just assigned it last Friday.  All to which I respond, “What responsibility do you have in all of this?”  and “Now that you’ve waited until the very last minute, how do you want to handle this?”

I’m ticked off, don’t get me wrong.  But I know the full force of my wrath and frustration will only dig us a deeper hole.  It certainly won’t get us where we need to be getting.  I say, “Taggart I am frustrated that you leave this until the last minute.  And then, you want me to help you.  There’s a saying I think about in situations like this:  A lack of planning on your part does not constitute an emergency on mine.”  And still, he has excuses.  Won’t take any responsibility (whose kid is this, I wonder??).

So, I try and pace him.  Enough to get him going but not trying to take this on for him.  I say, “Well, as a teacher, I would expect a student to talk to me about this beforehand.  Could you try and talk to your teacher.  Perhaps, ask for an extra day and take a late penalty, if need be?”  Tears, hair pulling, pencils being thrown.  No, no, no, he says. I can’t do that.  Alrighty then, what do you want to do?

He’s headstrong and, according to him, I know absolutely nothing.  Which really makes me feel even more magnanimous toward him – sure hope he gets this problem solved!  I’m counting and doing deep breathing.  He’s full of attitude and treating me like an idiot.  I calmly say, “No iPad for the rest of the day” to which he puffs up, scowls at me, and says, “That’s bull crap.”  To which I reply, “No iPad for tomorrow either – care to keep going?”  (This parenting thing? It’s a blast at times like this.)

But as I’m watching Taggart - beyond the problematic issue of his procrastination - I see a bent for perfectionism that I wholeheartedly recognize and fear I’ve bequeathed him. (Shit. Shit. Shit.)  So, yeah, my empathy’s got me holding it together and thinking, “Teachable moment. Teachable moment. Teachable moment.”  All the while wondering if I really can help him navigate around this vise-like need for perfection and all-or-nothing thinking at this juncture. Or, if I’ve already drawn irreversible, perfectionistic tattoos on this sweet boy’s psyche. 

My need to help him and show him support has less to do with any due date and everything to do with seeing myself in him and striving to give him the support and unconditional love he needs to feel safe and whole – despite his imperfections, fears, and self-doubts.  So, we got down to work.  His assignment was to do a pencil drawing of an African American leader.  He said he was terrible at art, couldn’t draw, had never been taught.  Oh well.  If any of that is true, you have to still do the assignment. Come on already.

He wasn’t prepared. Didn’t have the pencils or paper or eraser he needed.  We made do.  We’re not only doing Drawing 101 here. I’m teaching resourcefulness, patience, trust in the process, being kind to yourself . . . this is Life 101.  I see myself and my best friend Terri back in Mr. LaFreniere’s art class in 9^th grade.  Terri hated art class; I loved it.  We did the same assignment Taggart is doing – minus the African American leader.  I remember wanting my drawing to look just like the picture. I remember having to erase one whole eye and start over.  I remember it taking way longer than I ever thought a drawing should take.  I pull from this memory and use it as I work with Taggart.  As I tell him, this won’t be done in an hour. Just work each square and the picture will emerge. No, that right eye is off.  Sometimes you have to start a section over. No worries, we got this, just keep at it. (He did too – 4 and a half hours later and a little help from me – but his sense of pride and accomplishment: priceless!)

My job – same as any parent’s – is to guard and to guide him.  Just like my parents did for me through my questions, assignments, and life lessons.  Just like Taggart will do for his kids someday.  We think our story is unique and in lots of ways it is; and in lots of ways it isn’t.  We are all human. We are all here to learn and to grow.  We are mirrors for each other. We are each individual reflections of God. May we learn – and teach – our lessons well.