Cherry Pie & Whipped Cream

On Sunday I had cherry pie and whipped cream for breakfast!

Why is this important enough to write a blog post about?

Oh, my dear, wonderful friends and followers, what follows is a tale of woe!  A tale of gastronomic deficiency. Of a shortfall of flavor. A gluten-free, sugar-free spiral into a reactive hypoglycemic's worst nightmare!

Well, it's not really all as bad as that. I am being somewhat dramatic about it. It is, in fact, more a love story than anything, albeit the love story is not my own.

It all started two years ago... Well, that's not, strictly speaking, true. It really started about eight years ago when it was determined that my grandson has turret syndrome. In an effort not to succumb to any pressure to medicate him, my daughter explored dietary options as a way to help him. She, in turn, determined that a gluten-free/sugar-free diet was the way to go and, in all fairness, there was a sharp and positive change evident in his behavior after she implemented the change.

Fast forward to May 29, 2016 when she and I blended our lives and moved in together.

Even before I arrived, we both knew that food was going to be an issue. My philosophy when it comes to eating is simple: Eat what you enjoy and enjoy what you eat! I pay no attention whatsoever to all the freaky-deaky trends and unending debate about what is good for you and what is not and how anything affects anything. I'm a  consummate pasta-phile. I love pasta. I love chocolate. I love potato chips. I love bread and cheese and pizza and ice cream and pretty much everything that my beloved grandson isn't supposed to eat.

It's not that I'm not supportive. I see and acknowledge the benefit the gluten and sugar-free diet has provided for the lad. When he does eat gluten and sugar in any appreciable quantity he turns into what we have affectionately come to call a gluten asshole. (We don't say that to his face!) He becomes a surly, argumentative, uncooperative and crazy-making beast child. It's rather unpleasant. So I have a vested interest in ensuring that his intake of the Mr. Hyde food is as close to nil as possible. Thus, I hide my food as best I can.

I know, I know... You're probably thinking: Why don't you just change your diet? And my simple answer is: Because that crap tastes awful! And I don't enjoy the attacks of low blood sugar when they happen.

I did try going gluten-free some years ago. It was so... tasteless! Not to mention expensive! You need to take out a loan just to buy a loaf of decent-tasting gluten-free bread. You can, of course, settle for the normal gluten-free bread that tastes like granulated paste and is still ridiculously over-priced.

But let's not get caught up in that aspect of things. Judge me if you want. I'm a wheat junkie and we have managed - for the most part - to keep things relatively gluten and sugar-free for the kids. They still get lots of that kind of thing when they are at friends' houses and at school.

My daughter does 99% of the grocery shopping. We both know full well what I will come home with if that particular task is left up to me. Besides, she is the one with the vehicle and, while I have done it a time or two, schlepping home a week's worth of groceries on the bus is neither easy, nor particularly pleasant. Now that I have Luther Pen-draggin', my new trusty shopping cart on wheels, however, I may just take it on more often.

Again, I digress...

It's time to introduce the love story portion of this post.

Recently, my daughter has taken up with a delightful young man from Grand Prairie. This long-distance relationship, though new and fresh, appears to be unfolding in a positive direction. For purposes of privacy, I shall henceforth refer to my daughter's beau as Darth Vader.

If you are thinking this is a sobriquet of disapproval based on a negative interpretation of his personality, I assure you it is nothing of the sort. For Darth Vader is friendly, kind and possessive of great good humor. He is a self-proclaimed sci-fi/fantasy geek and the real reason I have chosen to refer to him as I have is that he is a member of the 501st Legion - Badlands Garrison and appears in the guise of the great Sith Lord himself.

This past weekend, Darth Vader graced our home with his esteemed presence. While visiting, he participated in the annual Pride Parade along with his fellow Legion members, sporting a rainbow breastplate that stood out in "proud" contrast to the basic black he normally wears.

He also went grocery shopping with my daughter!

My role in the grocery shopping duty is to unpack and put away the food when it has been brought home. It's kind of like Yule for me. Or an Ostara egg hunt. I get to rummage through the bags and discover the goodies that are hidden among the gluten and sugar-free stuff. It's usually just potato chips and normal pasta, but sometimes it's Campbell's Chicken Noodle Soup and soda crackers. Or a ring of garlic sausage. Or a tempting wedge of Gouda!

So you can imagine the joy I felt when I reached into a bag and pulled out a cherry pie and a can of whipped cream! The heavens opened up and the angels trumpeted the advent of this rare and much coveted treat and I knew, with absolute certainty, that this was love. Not love for pie and whipped cream; love between my daughter and a Sith Lord.

Yes, I took advantage of the opportunity to tease my daughter a little by declaring my approval of this relationship based on my getting cherry pie and whipped cream! But the true source of my happiness is seeing the happiness that my daughter and Darth Vader are bringing into each other's life.

The cherry pie and whipped cream are just a delicious bonus for me.  Best breakfast I've had in a while!

Four Times a Chime at 4:44: Twice

So... I'm taking a course on blogging for profit and the first thing the instructor instructed was to turn off all notifications on all devices and unfollow (not unfriend) everyone and everything on every social media platform. I was dubious, but she's the expert, right!? It took a good deal of time. She assured me that the the lack of distractions would help me be more productive.

Yesterday, I was so distracted by the lack of distractions I was unable to focus on the next instruction and have no idea what that is even though I watched the video twice. And then I was just annoyed at how aware I was of the lack of pings and dings and vibrations that indicate someone has shared something that they think might be of interest to the world.

Determined to get through this disconnection phase and become super productive, I steadfastly returned my focus - over and over - to being productive. I did a little writing. I did a little painting. I did the dishes. I went for a walk. I listened to music. I read a couple of chapters in my book. I puttered. I watched the second lesson video for my course. Then I watched it again. I watched The Staircase. I watched an episode of Midsomer Murders. I watched a movie and ate cherry pie with whip cream! (which will be the topic of my next blog post!) And then I went to bed.

My normal routine when I retire for the night is to read for a while and then meditate. My intention is to end my day focusing on good things, fun things, happy things, anything that isn't/wasn't a "problem" during the day. Since I don't have a partner not to go to bed mad at, I try to go to bed not mad at the rest of the world. (Ha-ha.) Last night my normal routine unfolded quite normally and I drifted off to sleep around midnight.

All was going well. I was sleeping, which was the goal at the time, so I think that is a reasonable assumption to make. I recall dreaming, but not the dream itself. As far as I know, the night was progressing perfectly and I was contentedly resting up, getting ready for my first truly full day of being super productive.

At 4:44 a.m. a faint, yet pleasant chime split the cone of silent sleep I was ensconced within with the force of a bomb and I was launched from my peaceful slumber like I was being shot from a canon. The sensation was visceral (god, I love that word!). I felt like I was being hurled through space and time from the edge of an event horizon back to this space and this time. Heart racing, sweat beading and with a white-knuckle grip on the sheets, I met consciousness in a similar fashion to the way a car moving at full speed meets a brick wall.

My first thought was that I had been dreaming. I released the sheets and reached for my phone, noting the time and collapsing back onto my pillow. "Okay, that was weird," I thought and may even have said out loud. And then I heard the faint, yet pleasant chime again.

It was not coming from my phone. How could it? I had turned off all auditory notifications as per my instructors instructions. It was coming from... Everywhere!

Straining to hear it again and to identify a more precise point of origin, I laid still, barely breathing, tense and focused. The hum of the fan gently rumbling in the corner filled the entire airspace. Beyond that, there was no noise whatsoever.

As time is wont to do, it passed. My muscles relaxed and my vigilance waned as the blissful oblivion of sleep reclaimed me. I remember rolling over to adopt my go-to sleep position, a semi-fetal, right-knee-bent-left-leg-straight-hands-tucked-under-my-cheek left-side repose.

I'm not sure how one knows how long one has slept other than to note the time difference between falling asleep and waking up again, but, if I were to estimate, I would say that I slept for about an hour before... you guessed it!... that faint, yet pleasant chime woke me up again.

This time was not such a shocking and violent return to consciousness. My eyes popped open and I tuned my awareness to my surroundings. The sound of rain falling blended with the hum of the fan, but otherwise there was only the quite of the night.

(Cue the theme from The Twilight Zone, for this is where my tale turns truly strange....)

I reached for my phone to check the time.

It was 4:44 a.m.

Was this just a dream? Did I even actually wake up the first time? My left brain wants to declare it a strange and slightly disturbing dream and put paid to the whole incident. If not for the intriguing, and as of yet unexplained, repetition of the faint, yet pleasant chime sounding for a fourth and final time after I abandoned any notion of going back to sleep and was in kitchen pouring my first coffee of the day, I might accept that.

Was it a notification on someone else's device? There are four other people in the house and they all have phones. Again, in lieu of the dream theory, my left brain likes this explanation. Our ears are designed to not only hear sounds, but to determine from which direction they are coming, though. The faint, yet pleasant chime I heard in the wee hours came from no discernible direction. Like some cosmic surround-sound system the chime came from everywhere all at once.

I have purposely described it as faint because it was not loud. But it was clear and it was, as I have also described it, really pleasant. Comforting. It was neither a bell nor a gong. Chime is the closest word I can find to recount what I heard, but I cannot recall hearing a sound exactly like it ever before.

I have been, however, compelled to re-follow everyone on every social media platform and to re-instate some of the audible notifications (though not all) on my devices and am in the productive (?) process of getting that crossed off its priority position on my to-do list. (Hmmmm... Prioritizing tasks might be the subject of the second lesson...) I shall return to that after I complete this missive. My productivity will just have to be fit in around the potential distractions they may present.

I have been internally debating whether or not to explore the metaphysical/esoteric connotations that could be subscribed to in relation to this (sorry, I can't resist) case. Particularly those surrounding the meaning of 444 as a sign from the Universe. But I think I will leave all that to your own imaginations as I allow this to filter and become fully processed in my own mind. I think I prefer to wallow in the mystery of it. It was oddly uplifting (except for the hurtling through space and time and meeting consciousness so abruptly part) and has left me feeling somewhat contented and feeling inwardly peaceful. It seems prudent to just go with that for now.

Besides, there is cherry pie and whip cream for breakfast!

Blessings, Everyone.

Pissed off and happy to be so

WARNING: strong language.  (In other words there is a lot of swearing in this post and if you read on and still choose to be offended... Well, damn. Sucks to be you.)

It's been over a year since I've posted anything here. Sheesh!  Where does the time go? Where does the motivation, the inspiration and the desire go?

Well, it seems that it gets bottled up until it explodes in a fit of pique!

Today I exploded in frustration and anger and resentment and all sorts of other horrid things. In short, I lost my shit!

While I tend to lose that on a regular basis, it's most often a case of quickly passing irritation at something and blows over in a relatively short amount of time. I swear and stomp about a bit. Then I move on.

Today was different, though. Today I thoroughly and completely lost my shit. Told the Universe to fuck right off, I did! There really isn't any finer point to put on that.

Two hours of shit-losing, Universe fuck-off-telling, exploding.

Through the tears and the fears, and a good deal of spittle spraying, I raged on, hurtling every perceived injustice I could think of having befallen me back at the world. Scared the bejesus out of the dogs, each of which sat wide-eyed and shivering in their kennels or cowering under the bed as the verbal storm I let loose pelleted the house with expletives that would make a sailor blush. It wasn't pretty by any means. But it was kind of cathartic.

The reason for the shit storm was simple. I felt myself capitulating to the wishes of others once again. And it pissed me off.

Oh, it's pissed me off  before. And there have been other equally loud and dog-scaring shit storms as a result. They have all passed as did this one.

But how many times do I have to beat myself up about my propensity to give in and give up before I decide, with finality, to stop doing this to myself? How many?

I could hear Dr. Phil asking, "How's that working for ya?" (Meaning the giving in and giving up? Not the fits of pique.)

Well, it hasn't. I have given up every single dream I have ever dreamed because 1) someone else didn't think it would work; or 2) someone else said it was too risky and they didn't want to have to bale me out when it failed; or 3) someone else thought that everyone else would think I'm weird or think that they were weird for supporting me; or 4) someone else was afraid they wouldn't get what they wanted; or 5) someone else had a plan for themselves and figured that I should be more supportive...

Wait! What!?

I moved to Edmonton with the thrilling and (I thought) focused intention, after all the years - nay, decades! - of trying and failing to make my dreams come true due to some misplaced ideology that dictated keeping the peace in order to belong and be accepted as a pathway to happiness, of finally carving out the life that I have longed for for as long as I can remember.  I was going to write and paint and do Tarot readings. I was going to have a garden and go to events and meet amazing people and do amazing things. While some of that has indeed unfolded, I still keep allowing myself to be dragged back into that fearful place of doing what I don't want to do so that I don't let anyone else down while I watch my dreams crumble like stale crackers and get crushed into the carpet of forgotten bliss under the heavy boots of my own stupid weakness.

It's odd. I have often been told by others that they think I am strong. Well, if strong means that I keep letting myself down, I don't want to be strong. Strong completely and totally sucks. Fuck strong. Fuck nice. Fuck polite. Fuck all that mamby-pamby boulder snot! I'm not strong! I'm wrong!

I'm wrong for giving in and giving up. I'm wrong for taking the easy path. I'm wrong for settling for crappy jobs with crappy wages and crappy rules. I'm wrong for settling for less than I deserve, which is to do and be and have everything I want. And I want to be a Tarot Reader, an artist and a writer. I want an amazing house filled with cool and amazing things. I want a relationship with a fantastic guy who loves me for who I am and not for who he thinks I should be. I don't give a damn about fame or even about (vast) fortune (well, maybe a little vast...). I just want to be ME! I just want to be the creative being that I know I AM.

I want to listen to old time rock 'n' roll. I want to dance. I want to wear tie-dye skirts and put flowers in my hair. I want to revel in the gloriousness of ME! Because I am glorious. I am bloody, freakin' spectacular! And I'm not going to dim my light or tow the line or bow down to the status quo. Why the hell should I?

It's the 21st century, for crying out loud. And still people are writing resumes and clocking in and selling out to the corporate gods. Be professional. Don't rock the boat...

Guess what!? The damn boat needs to be rocked! Hell, it needs to be flipped over and sunk to the bottom of this bloody ocean of insanity. You know what professional means? It means being controlled by a freaking paycheck and the corporate freaking asshole that signs it.

You should read my journal entry for today. It starts out: I give up! (That's how defeated I felt this morning.)

Ha!  I don't give up. I won't give up. I deserve the best of everything. As does everyone. And that doesn't mean doing shit that makes me anything less than outrageously happy.

Joseph Campbell advised us to: Follow your bliss.

Follow it!? No! I'm going to envelope myself in it until it consumes me!

Does this mean I won't do the dishes or sweep the floor or pay my bills? Not at all. While these things can be tiresome, they are also wonderful blessings. Dishes mean I have good food to eat. Sweeping the floor means I have a damn floor to dance on! Bills mean that I have electricity and heat and a roof over my head. I am grateful for all these things and I am happy to show my appreciation for them through the exchange of digits. Yes, I want more digits than the bills ask for in appreciation and I deserve more digits than I'm currently accumulating. There is more than enough for everyone and I intend to get my share.

And when it makes me happy to do so, I will share my share, because I know that I can always get more.

But I won't give up my dreams. EVER AGAIN! I won't trade my bliss for anything. I won't settle. I won't be a drone in this world. 'Cause that just sounds boring. And I'm not boring.

I won't sell my "skills" to make someone else rich. I won't punch a time clock or check my schedule or wear a uniform. I won't drink from the soul-sucking fountain of indifference just to make ends meet.

Image borrowed from : 
https://www.ericsturtevant.com/products/tambourines-and-elephants

Come with me and look out my back door where tambourines and elephants are playin' in the band! And let magic (and maybe a little mayhem) bring nothing but bliss our way.

Blessings, Everyone!