Fluid Pudding

This morning I walked the mall with a friend I’ve known for a little more than a year, and I love her because she’s like a walking creative deep thought provoker. For the sake of convenience, I’m going to refer to her as Easy-E—not because she resembles the godfather of gangsta rap, but because her first name starts with an E and I’m always looking for ways to reference N.W.A.

Easy-E: So, I’m reading a book and I’m not even three chapters in and the author has asked “If God were to meet you on your worst day, what are you afraid He might name you?” Also, “If God were to meet you on your best day, what do you hope He would name you?”

Me: On my worst day, I’m afraid He might call me Impatient Doubter. On my best day, I really hope He would just call me Kind and a good representative of Team Christian.

We then talked about how our families would name us if they had to name us today.

Me: I think my parents would name my sister Headstrong Hero. I think they would name me Quirky Weirdo.

We then talked about how our kids would think we would name them today, and because I’m currently on Lexapro I’ve become a bit of an emotionless robot BUT if I wasn’t medicated, this would have been the part of the conversation that brought tears to my eyes.

Me: I hope they wouldn’t choose something like Rackety Annoyance because I’m sure that’s how I make them feel sometimes. I really hope they would say something like Captain Confident Creativepants or  General Genuine Generous. I hope they wouldn’t say Lazy Screen Lover or Damn Picky Eater.

Easy-E: How do you think they would name you?

Me: I would probably be Bipolar Migraine Crank, but I really want to be Reluctantly Brave Animal-Loving Best-Mom-Ever Yoga Hero.

This conversation has been on my mind all afternoon. Just out of curiosity, how would you want to be named today? (And don’t say something like Samantha, because that’s just sort of a given.) ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

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I’ve been going through a thing lately where it’s becoming obvious (to me) that I’m not getting any smarter. I’m sure it just sort of happens when you reach a certain age (maybe?) and become content with your surroundings (maybe?), but it’s making me very uncomfortable because I don’t like being the only person in the room who can’t work the Roku remote. (Not that the working of a remote control indicates a respectable level of intelligence. It doesn’t.) ((I can do Sudoku.)) (((I’ve been known to complete the Wednesday NYT crossword puzzle.)))

Anyway. I’m currently rubbing apple cider vinegar on my neck and rolling around in this book.

The vinegar is helping me smell like a hardboiled egg in the midst of a fancypantsing, and the book is teaching me Italian. Ms. Lahiri wrote the (autobiographical) book in Italian (because she is currently writing EVERYTHING in Italian, which is explained in the book) and then had it translated into English by the woman who translated The Complete Works of Primo Levi. (Although I haven’t read the complete works of Levi, I have read The Periodic Table and it’s one of my favorites. If you were here, we would be drinking coffee and talking about books. But you’re not here. It’s just me with the coffee.)

When you open In Other Words, the verso side of each page spread contains the chapter as written in Italian. The recto side holds the English translation. I started the book by focusing on the translation, but now I’m finding that I’m skipping back and forth and am able to occasionally decipher Italian phrases and the experience is boosting my confidence more than any witch hazel/tea tree oil mask ever could.

(Look how long my hair is! It’s been actively growing since 9:19CST on December 21, 2015.) ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Today I made some Leap Day pinto beans in the pressure cooker for our Leap Day taco salad and I took a Leap Day walk before I demanded some Leap Day satisfaction at the groomer.

I then cast on a Leap Day hat.

I realize that NaBloPoLenta hasn’t been a thrilling adventure. I have a project that has prevented me from leaving the house. But! Wait! Sometime in the next week or so I’ll be making a spray for my yoga mat and hosting a giveaway! (I’m sometimes contacted by companies who want me to give away weird things that I would never use. Last week I was contacted by a company that jazzes me. It’s going to be good.) ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Today I met a friend for walking and lunch and praline lattes at a place that looks exactly like this:

While there, we pulled out some coloring books and did a little of this:

As I was shooting breezes, Jeff was walking down the street to an estate sale, where he scored this for a dollar:

Also, I spun, I did yoga, I picked up sticks and branches in the front yard, and I smelled like a bowl of Fruity Pebbles. I almost feel like life is MC Honky-ing me today…

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It’s 9:30 and I was already in bed.
(I know.)

This morning I picked up doughnuts for Harper and her friend.

I then made out with Henry.

Afterwards, I counted my orchids. (Five.)

In three minutes I’ll be back upstairs reading my book.

Also, I practiced yoga, I chose a hat to knit, I finished a freelance project, and I supported my Always Smell Good habit by purchasing something that supposedly helps you break habits so I really have no idea what’s going to happen tomorrow. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

26. I’m a much happier person when I’m not eating a bunch of buttered Ritz crackers for lunch. (Buttered Ritz crackers are my go-to stress food.)

27. Our television is on more often than it’s off, but I can’t name three shows that I watch with any sort of regularity.

28. I know all of the words to the Beastie Boys “Licensed to Ill” album.

29. My perfect day would involve snow, Mary Janes, veggie sushi, a silk knitting project,  The Night Circus audiobook, and a caramel macchiato with extra caramel.

30. I moisturize my face at night with oil. I’ve used olive oil, jojoba oil, and most recently a blend that Tempe created of grapeseed and evening primrose oils.

31. After spending years actively searching out some sort of exercise that I might enjoy, I started practicing yoga on January 3, 2016. I’m hooked.

32. I own the greatest punch bowl ever. It has never been used. It is so hip and lovely that it scares the crap out of me.

33. I used to have a birthmark on my leg that looked exactly like Africa. It disappeared and I have no idea where it went.

34. The second best decision I made to improve my health was having a hysterectomy in May of 2014. Everything is gone except for Lefty the Ovary.

35. The best decision I made to improve my health was signing on to work with Kathy in May of 2015. Food and I are no longer in a complicated relationship and that might sound weird to you, but it sounds crazy glorious to me.

36. I often ask myself what Amélie would do.

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I have finally found my volunteer gig at the new school.

When you say Coffee Cart, I say “I’ll send in homemade biscotti.”

Homemade biscotti requires no eye contact. No small talk. No chance of spilling something or falling down.

Homemade biscotti gives me face time without Face Time.

Because of that, homemade biscotti is Perfection.

Edited to add:
Because it came up on Facebook…
CHOCOLATE CHIP BISCOTTI
2 cups all-purpose flour
1 tsp baking powder
1/2 tsp salt
3 T mini chocolate chips
1 cup sugar
2 large eggs
1 T canola oil
1 tsp vanilla extract (I use almond instead)

1. Heat oven to 325. Spray a large baking sheet with cooking spray.
2. In a medium bowl whisk flour, baking powder, and salt until combined. Stir in chocolate chips and set aside.
3. With electric mixer beat sugar, eggs, oil, and vanilla until frothy; about 2 minutes. Make a well in the center of the dry ingredients and pour in egg mixture. Stir until just moistened and dough forms. Shape the dough into a 13 by 3 inch log on the baking sheet.
4. Bake log 30 minutes and set aside for 10 minutes to cool. Reduce oven temp to 300 degrees.
5. Cut warm log crosswise on a slight diagonal into 1/2 inch slices. Stand slices about an inch apart on baking sheet and return to oven for 12 minutes. The centers will be soft, but biscotti will be crisp when cooled. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

School was canceled early this morning because the northern portion of our district had snowy roads. Our roads were completely clear by 9:00, which meant this guy and I were able to keep our 10:50 vet appointment.

When we arrived, Graham popped out of his crate and immediately began rubbing himself all over everyone in the room which caused the vet tech to drop everything in order to organize a Graham Cracker Fan Club. (Graham is definitely a charmer.)

Final diagnosis? Colitis and what may or may not be (but probably is) ringworm. And that means the weird rash on my neck is also ringworm. And it’s almost like I’m trying to turn you away by telling you a foot story one day and a ringworm story the next. God only knows what I’ll show you tomorrow.

Graham is no longer allowed to eat Greenies, and he and I are now sharing a bottle of topical medication along with a set of nail clippers and my pillow. It won’t be long before he starts wearing my clothes, and now that I typed that out loud I have to wonder if he is the one who misplaced my Barack O’Llama pajama pants. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Last night Tempe and I hit the streets for Mediterranean food. (I’ve had February falafels for the past two years, and I can’t let 2016 bump my streak.) Afterwards, we jumped over to the mall because off-season pedicures are never a bad idea.

The pedicure place was being manned by a woman and a boy child. The woman filled a tub for Tempe. Boy Child filled my tub. Tempe chose a bright green sparkly polish because she’s edgy and brave. I went with a pearlized white because I’m really stressed out about the election, you guys.

I hate talking about feet, so let’s step this up a bit.

Boy Child (weirding me out by massaging my feet after being reprimanded by the woman for not giving me my money’s worth, when I was totally fine without any sort of creepy foot massage): SomethingSomethingBigToe?

Me: I’m sorry?

Boy Child: SomethingSomethingBigToe?

Me: No, no, no.

Boy Child gets up and walks away.

Me: What did he say?

Tempe: I don’t know, but I think he’s mad at you for having such hairy legs.

Me: Ack!

Boy Child then returned, applied the pearlized white, and then grabbed a black brush and started painting a stripe on my left big toe and DEAR LORD I know this is a story about a pedicure but I really do hate talking about my feet and he just kept painting with the black and then he grabbed opaque white and started drawing something and Tempe and I kept making hilarious and frightened eye contact because What In The Hell Is Happening Right Now? I clearly said No to SomethingSomethingBigToe!

Boy Child: You like it?

Me: Um, YES!

Boy Child: I’ll do the other one.

Me: No. NO! I really think I just want to keep it on one side. Asymmetry!

Boy Child: You don’t like it.

Me: I do! I do!

Before leaving the pedicure place, I purchased a bottle of the pearlized white because that’s what you do when you’ve been given an unexpected sloppy love toe that will need fairly immediate removal and reworking.

(Yes. That is a gigantic photo of my love toe. I cropped it and blew it up and filtered the heck out of it so it didn’t scream TOE! because that’s really not who I am, you know? That’s not who I am at all.) ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>