The Apple and the Wine

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One of the great things about working late — for me, anyway — is that it takes the guesswork out of dinner.

What do I turn to? Fast food. The original fast food, as my mom likes to say: fruit.

Tonight it was an apple. It was well beyond dinnertime, so anything probably would’ve tasted great — but this apple was especially delicious. At the 9pm hour, I’d prefer to be at home vegging instead of dinnering at work. But if it has to be a late feast, I shall make it a light one.

Apple aside, I got home and decided wine was in order. One, it was a heck of a long day — although not my longest ever. Two, it’s Friday. Three, I just felt like it. What more reason do I need?

[Shameless plug for Pine Ridge’s 2011 Chenin Blanc/Viognier blend.]

The awesome thing about an apple and wine for dinner is that the pairing is akin to the naughty and nice combo.

Good cop/bad cop.

Sugar and spice.

I feel guilty, but not really — because I just ate an apple.

I feel semi-smug and über-healthy — but not really, because I just washed that all away with wine.

A perfect culinary dichotomy…minus any cooking in my apple and wine meal. So I guess “culinary” is misplaced. Drat.

It may not be a meal of champions, but it made me feel like I came out victorious after the day I had. And sometimes before you tumble into bed, that’s all you really need. For that, I am thankful.

Zzz.

Clean Hands

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I was in the middle of working on four PowerPoint decks and just finished stress-chowing on a few pieces of chocolate. My hands felt tired and filthy — it might’ve been the slightly humid day, or maybe they were just overworked. I just knew I had to take a break and wash them.

At the sink, the water was refreshing, renewing. The restroom was empty, and my mind started to wander. The motion-activated soap dispenser and faucet made me realize how many hands in this world are filthy with few opportunities to get clean. I felt spoiled. Spoiled because of clean hands.

I have a habit of wiping down the counter before throwing my hand towels away. This afternoon, the shimmering granite countertop stood out as a luxury. We have a taste for nice things in this country. But not everyone will see a granite countertop, and certainly not the majority of those in third world countries. Not even those in more developed countries.

I thought of the bloodshed and people in Egypt. I thought of their hands, then my thoughts switched to the figurative washing of hands.

I thought of our own citizens in need.

I thought of children who may never know cleanliness or a restroom they can use without having to fight for their time in it.

My hands were clean but my heart was heavy.

It all made me so thankful for the things we take for granted every day. Automatic faucets. Water on demand. Cleanliness on demand. We are privileged and blessed to have the things we have. We are lucky to have regular access to those things. May we appreciate them fully, honor the resources and waste not out of respect for those who have not.

One Tile

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Have you ever looked at the events in your life and wondered where they’re all going, where they’re leading you?

One moment isn’t a lot, neither is one memorable day, one vacation nor one life event. As they add up, however, a mosaic is created — a patchwork quilt of blues and grays for the struggles, while pastels and primary colors illustrate the joys and love in our lives.

It’s not unlike one tile in an entire backsplash. On its own, it is beautiful but incomplete. All together, its presence, purpose and beauty is undeniable.

But a backsplash doesn’t go up in the blink of an eye. Nothing makes full sense until it’s complete, so along the way our job is to enjoy the process, make sure were doing things correctly, taking care, keeping our eye on the prize and looking forward to being able to reflect on a job well done.

A life well-lived.

A world respected and loved.

Tonight I am thankful for my constant diet of home renovation shows on HGTV and an unintentional lesson in life thanks to a kitchen makeover. Some tiles may take a bit of finessing to fit, but at the end of it all, looking back across our tiles will be a moment we’ve worked hard for.

Peace and Plenty

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If the sky wasn’t clear and the moon wasn’t shining brightly in the west, I’d probably tell you it’s raining.

I stepped outside this evening and there was a cool breeze dancing high in the treetops — palm tops, to be exact. Firm leaves shushing against each other could easily be mistaken for the sound of raindrops falling on a roof, a patio overhead or a car. It was calming, peaceful. Inside the house, I could almost imagine sprinkles giving way to a brief summer storm.

In keeping with the year thus far, today saw yet another significant expense make its way into my life. And at this point, I kind of give up. I’ve said it before: if it’s not one thing, it’s another. I know things sort themselves out in time with patience and continued attention given to them, but this year feels like I’ve been trying to climb a mountain. I start, get a good distance up, enjoy the view briefly, then slide down again. Lather, rinse, repeat. My hands are a little scraped up and my knees are bloody, but they’ll heal. I will press on.

Despite the burdens of life, the moon, the sound of imaginary rain and the palms reminded me of three things.

One, we’re always being watched over, even if our path and bumps in the road aren’t as clear as the night sky.

Two, rain renews. It may not be time for it to come just yet, but it will. It always does. Patience.

Three, the palm is a long-standing symbol of, among other things, peace and plenty. I would like to know the latter — primarily in the sense of having my bills take a hike, but the former was a gift from the evening to me tonight. And in reality, we do have plenty. All of us. It’s just easy to forget sometimes.

For peace and plenty, rain and shine, the moon and its watchful gaze, I am thankful. I am reminded to breathe in and out, focus on the light at the end of the tunnel and to be at peace in the meantime.

Peace to you, as well.

One moment.

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Have you ever looked back at an event or series of events in your life and realized how horribly wrong it could have gone?

Earlier today, I watched a short film about texting and driving. Werner Herzog’s “From One Second to the Next” was influential, chilling and effective. Even though I know it shouldn’t be done, I do it anyway. I tell myself that I’ll do it only while I’m at a red light, but I also do it when I’m moving. I tell myself that it’s not wrong to text people if I’m on my way but running late, or to say thanks. I rationalize my actions by thinking that I’m a great driver; I clearly assume that I’m exempt from the law and that it will never catch up to me, but one second can change the rest of your life. And someone else’s. And their family, their friends, my family and my friends.

I watched people talk about the people they lost; I watched others talk about the people they killed. My life isn’t perfect and I wouldn’t say it could ever have been considered a charmed life. It’s seen a lot of screw ups, a lot of course correcting, a lot of regret and a lot of stuff people probably wouldn’t expect of me. I’d like to think that a lot of that stuff is in the rear view mirror, but when something I do on a daily basis has the potential to take a life — maybe more — and turn other lives upside down like nothing before ever has, it’s like I haven’t learned anything.

At all.

It’s like I’m tempting fate, and maybe — just maybe — when I’m in a jail cell after having killed someone because I was texting while driving will things sink in. I will be wishing for my uncharmed life that I would only then consider charmed.

Nice to know that 36 years of life have imparted so much wisdom. But better late than never, I suppose.

If everything happens for a reason, it is nothing short of heartbreaking that lives were taken, that a film was made and that its message is only now sinking in. But it won’t be in vain — at least for me.

Tonight I am not thankful that people were killed and that lives were permanently altered as a result of texting while driving, but I am thankful for the awareness and resolution the film has given me to change my bad habit.

The Pink Flower

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I’ve been trying to figure out what kind it was since I got home, but I’m having a hard time locating anything online that resembles it.

I was midway through my evening walk when I started noticing some flower beds in desperate need of attention. Some were overgrown with tall weeds, while others were just soil littered with dead remnants of what used to be alive and green.

In the middle of one especially depressing patch of dirt was a wonderfully beautiful flower rising up and out of its surroundings. It was strong; it was intent on being amazing.

I’m assuming its origin was a bulb deep beneath the surface. Its stem was more of a stalk; its flower was trumpet-shaped and bubble gum pink. It was a lily of some sort, I think. Must continue my sleuthing.

I’ve been appalled at the news lately which, sadly, is why I often choose to avoid it entirely. Terrible, I know. But watching it is depressing, disheartening and it makes me question humanity. Sometimes, however, we hear a story that gives us hope, or reminds us that there’s still beauty out there.

That’s what the flower was — a reminder of the good, of the perseverance that’s necessary to rise above and beyond one’s surroundings.

Tonight I am thankful for the reminder that the pink flower provided, and for its determination to not let the world around it bring it down. It may not be an easy process, but it just goes to show that focusing on the beautiful parts of life helps to spread the beauty around to others. And, these days, I feel like we can all use more of it.

Respond and ignore.

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Sometimes the best efforts go unreturned. Is it worth it to chase them?

Sometimes they intentionally turn us down.

Sometimes they think we feel a certain way, but the reason for their silence is all in their head — and it’s theirs alone.

Sometimes they think we’re totally in the know and they think we’re hearing their point of view. In reality, we are none the wiser and the unknown is held against us.

We are not always in the loop, even though others think we are. We are not always tuned in, and nor should we be. We have our own things going on, and our own lives to lead. For this I am thankful. Shouldn’t others be, too?

It stands to reason that others see our focus and dedication, and that our attention is on what matters most to us — often when it doesn’t include them. For those who stand true to the things that bolster us and not break us down, I am also thankful.

Some respond, while others ignore. Either is fine, both can be fitting. Only one is the most truthful.

Go with the most truthful.

Reason in Chaos

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When you least expect it, the tide can change — in either direction.

One moment it all seems so daunting; it all seems so endless. There’s a mountain before you — maybe even an entire range — and you wonder how you’ll ever move it.

Truth: It’s not meant to be moved.

It’s there to challenge you. And if not to challenge, to teach. If not to teach, to simply make you take pause.

Maybe the pause is literally to make you slow down. Maybe it’s meant to cause inward reflection. Maybe it’s intended to open your eyes as to how good you really have it. If you want to focus on the obstacles, go right ahead. But what about your cheering section in the stands? Don’t forget about them.

The good thing about a mountain is that, in time, it gives way to calm; calm creates rest. Every season comes to an end; every storm passes.

Every burden is lifted, every worry dissolved. Every ounce of desperation is released, every neverending list does, in fact, come to a close.

Some say that it’s not the destination, it’s the journey. I agree. You may not get to that place you see so clearly in your mind’s eye, but maybe you were meant to make a difference along the way. This is where the road of life comes into play.

Along it, we can do any number of things: speed, careen out of control, motor along politely, be helpful and give directions, wreck, be filled with rage, obey the rules or even pull over for a spell.

The choice is ours. Every day.

Tonight, for events that always have meaning and lessons always there to be learned, for the changing tide that’s on its own schedule and not ours, I am thankful. We may get caught up in the chaos, but everything is for a reason.

Fasten your seat belt.

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While seated.

At first glance, you’d think it’s a curse. A near-death sentence. After all, you’re on a plane. There’s already a ton that we can’t do, but then they make us immobilize ourselves while doing nothing.

Fasten seat belt.

OK, fair enough. Will do. But, frankly, I can see telling someone to sit down if they’re standing. But to seatbelt yourself in if you’re already seated seems a bit overkill.

At least that’s what I heard a fellow passenger say.

I disagree with said fellow passenger, for the record.

Years ago, my brother — who’s a pilot — took the plane he and another pilot managed out for a spin after some maintenance was done on it. Somehow I ended up being a passenger, presumably because I thought it would be fun to go along for the ride.

False.

The plane –a Citation jet of some sort — was performing beautifully — but then we had to either go up really quickly or down. I can’t remember why, but the powers that be wanted us to out of the way of another aircraft. Fast. I remember what my brother and the other pilot chose: they went down. And out of my seat I [nearly] slid, save for the fact that I was loosely seat-belted in.

Had I been merely sitting, I’d have ended up on the floor. Since I was belted in, I didn’t. Having a seatbelt on seems like the least we can do for our friends who fly the usually-friendly skies and get us from point A to point B. It’s good to be prepared.

Do you seatbelt yourself in during the everyday? Is there something that has caught you off-guard and made you wonder where your safety net was?

To the former, my answer is no. To the latter, my answer is yes. Perhaps it’s time to take a bit more caution when I’m seemingly in the middle of smooth-sailing, since we can anyways use a helping hand now and again — even when the skies are clear.

Tonight I am thankful for knowing the value of safety even while seated, and for the available safety nets that we can always make use of.

12B

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There’s nothing I enjoy doing more on an airplane than taking advantage of a cheese and fruit plate, accompanied by a glass of wine or cocktail. The elements may not be of the highest quality, but…hello — I’m on a plane. In the air. Watching the world go by. And there are delicious delights resting lazily on the tray table before me, waiting to be consumed.

It’s all but mandatory, having put up with TSA antics, crowds, traffic, and after setting my alarm for zero dark thirty. If a fuselage can’t provide respite from all that, I might as well throw in the towel now.

But it can. And it does.

Today I was especially lucky. While there was no window to lean against, I was blessed with an aisle — and nobody in the middle seat next to me. My window neighbor and I enjoyed the extra room, both taking up our half of 12B.

Another confession: I like to over-order. As I write, a box full of goodies is staring me in the face. Hummus is on deck for later, as are the pita chips, Nutella and honey-graham sticks. I’m not quite in the mood for them yet, but air travel has an odd way of seemingly kicking my metabolism into high gear. Not that my taste buds are complaining, however. They reap the benefits.

37,000 feet in the air affords me time to think about things that I’m often sidetracked from during the course of a day or evening. A glass of wine is great, but being interrupted from it by a phone call at home is not ideal. No calls on a plane means nothing can detract from my zen-like state today. And I rarely take advantage of WiFi on a plane, as I prefer to just sit. And think. And watch the moving map inch along…so the whole routine is really quite pleasant.

Tomorrow I’ll be back at it again, but for now I’ll be thankful for having arrived at the airport and boarded the plane intact — as well as for a nonexistent body in 12B. Such luck may not come around again, but the fact that it did today made my picnic routine that much more enjoyable.