I am a creature of habit. I think a lot of us are. I have my likes, my dislikes, and — for better or for worse — I react to things in a way that causes me the least amount of stress, feather-ruffling and angst. My way may not be the fan favorite, but overall I sleep quite well at night.

I used to think that if someone didn’t like something I was doing, something I said or my general way of being, well, “there’s the door.” Perhaps a bit abrupt, yes. But sometimes I wonder how much less drama there’d be if more people felt this way.

Then again, maybe it’s nothing more than a means of fostering intolerance. I suppose it could be construed that way, but I don’t take it as such. If someone’s bummed that I’m not upholding my end of a bargain, so to speak, I wouldn’t blame them one bit for heading towards the door. Similarly, nor should they blame me, take things personally or get all bent out of shape.

One of my favorite (sarcasm) memories involved a dude I dated during grad school. As I’m burning the midnight oil the week my thesis is due, he has a man-fit (more unbecoming than a chick-fit, lemme tell ya) and starts whining about how he doesn’t feel important, needed, blah blah blah. Seriously? At that time, no — my degree was far more important than he was. But since he didn’t realize that, well, he was shown the door shortly thereafter.

We all go through things at times when not everything fits. Places may not fit, situations may no longer fit, people don’t get it and therefore they no longer fit. But the ones who get it seem to get it for life. The others, well…it just wasn’t a true fit from the beginning.

Tonight I am thankful for my true fits, for “the door” that many have exited through, and for the door that many more will enter. Life isn’t a perfect fit at all times, and while cleaning house can be painful in the short run, it makes the long run that much better.

I sigh. A lot. Apparently I do it so often that I don’t even realize it.

A number of years back, I was hanging out with someone who had obviously had enough of it, because one evening while we were driving somewhere, he snapped at me and asked, “What’s wrong with you? Why are you always doing that?”

Sheesh. Chill, man. I mean, let’s be honest: there are a lot of things wrong with me. But after that line of questioning, my problem at that very moment was him.

Kidding. OK, not really.

Anywho, there are sighs, and then there are siiiiighs. The latter refers to the ones that bubble up from inside of you from way, way down low. If I don’t let them out, I feel as though a kink in my neck or a leg cramp may take over. The chest pains might even start, and if there’s no sigh in my immediate future, don’t blame me if my head starts spinning. When the relief valve — my RV — needs to do its thing, it just needs to do its thing. Yes, I go RV-ing daily. Sometimes I don’t know I do, and I can only hope — for as often as I have been told that I do it — that others don’t notice, either.
But even if they do notice, the important thing is that all is well with the world once I humor the RV. My sighs are on par with the feeling I get from a great glass of wine, a few hours of uninterrupted gardening, a productive session of music composition or a delicious feast from Del Taco.

Tonight I am thankful for my relief valve and the balance it brings, and for the clearly patient people around me who let my RV take a spin whenever it needs to. Here’s to always taking time to de-stress, no matter what your style.

Do you ever have times in your life where you feel like you’re on the verge of something that you can’t put your finger on? I do.

Sometimes the way the light looks in the afternoon sky inspires the feeling. Sometimes it’s the stillness in the air. Sometimes it’s the tint that the evening takes on as the sun is setting. Sometimes it’s the traffic and the pace at which it’s moving. Sometimes it’s a random feeling as you’re doing dishes, sitting at your desk, watching TV or grocery shopping. Sometimes it’s a cool draft of air that brushes across my legs while I have my feet up during some serious TV viewing, and there’s no fan or A/C on in the house. It’s something in the neighborhood of unsettling. This morning it felt darker than usual when I awoke, more gray than usual and more still than usual. There wasn’t the same heat in the air at 5:45 as what has been, but it wasn’t officially “cool,” either. It was an odd feeling that stuck with me for most of the morning until the sun came out and the breeze picked up. And then another headache paid me a visit for the latter part of the day.

I’ve felt for a while like I’ve had a key stuck in a lock, and that something is about to make it turn. I can’t tell you whether the turn will reveal something good, bad or something life-changing. Sometimes when I’ve had a few days of good momentum, I think it might be good. Other times when I’ve been in a bit of a rut, I feel like the key will turn and things will be upside down…and then I imagine myself thinking, “Well, what did I expect? I had the signs all along.”

Sometimes I just feel like something’s in the air. And I sort of feel that way now. In a way, I suppose it’s a good thing — if anything, whatever I’m feeling is that little thing that reminds me to not get too comfy, to stay on my toes or to be ready for the unimaginable — in either direction.

Tonight’s odd post leaves me feeling thankful for that little part inside me that generally always has an ear to the ground. It reminds me that we’re not invincible, we’re not untouchable and that we should be thankful for every minute that we have — for change inevitably comes.

Earlier this year, I bought two small creeping fig plants for the garden and, while they took a while to feel at home in their new environment, they’ve since started taking off.

There’s a basic block wall that separates my yard from the neighbors’ property, and I thought it would be nice for it to take on a delicate, green leafy look instead of the salmon-colored concrete I’ve seen my whole life.

Sure enough, judging by the progress it’s made so far, it will be lovely. I may get two more and give them some Miracle-Gro love in the hopes they catch up.

It’s funny. At first I was very impatient with them. I purchased the plant because it was touted as being a fast-growing vine, and I had visions of it covering the wall in a few months’ time. Wasn’t the case.

Over the last few months, I’ve made sure to soak the flowerbeds a few times a week, and that seems to have done the trick. One particular vine grew a foot in just under two weeks’ time. It was as though I could see it growing before my eyes; a few times I wondered if I should mark it when I went to bed, then re-mark it the next morning to see how much it grew overnight. Yep, I’m a wild one in my free time.

The creeping fig is one of those quiet things in life that has a lesson to teach if we’re open to learning. Its truth? True beauty doesn’t happen overnight, and getting there takes nurturing your inherent talents, patiently letting them evolve into their own display of magnificence.

Tonight I am thankful for the beauty of the creeping fig, its silent lessons which speak truths about so many things in life, and for its reminder to appreciate the little steps as much as the big milestones.

Tonight on That Metal Show, Michael Anthony was talking about why Chickenfoot works. “Comfortable, easy and fun,” is what he said.

Chickenfoot, for those who don’t know, is a rock “supergroup.” They’re dudes known for their time(s) in other bands, but who are now part of a different band.

Joe Satriani, Chad Smith, Michael Anthony and Sammy Hagar make up the band, and this simple Comfortable/Easy/Fun line reminds us to do what whatever is defined by these three words.

If you’re not doing it, ask yourself why.

If you’re on the road to doing it, keep going.

If you’re exhausted from trying to get there, stay focused.

Sometimes the funniest part is that the most wise advice comes from those guys who have lived through it all and come out the other side alive.

Tonight I am simply thankful for the reminder to do what we love. Do what makes you feel great about doing it, do what makes you want to get up tomorrow to do it all over again, and do what makes you want to tell stories decades from today — stories that start out, “Twenty years ago, I did _____…and I loved every minute of it.”

There’s a BevMo just up the street from my office, and I heard there might’ve been a little five-cent wine sale going on.

While I’ve been to a BevMo before, I’d never checked one out before for their wine sale, believe it or not; today was that day. My stash at home was all but depleted, and my palate needed new fruits of the vine to taste.

I wandered inside and was immediately excited at my new playground. But wait – what’s against the back wall? A large display that said “Tasting,” and there were people gathered around it. I scooted over to see what was up.

Jackpot: beer tasting in effect – and all for the hefty sum of $1. One.

Dollar.

I knew their tastings were cheap, but if that wasn’t a happy hour, I don’t know what would’ve made it happier.

Or maybe I do.

I buzzed the mall and paid a visit to the salon for my biweekly pedi, then might’ve also buzzed a Del Taco on my final leg home.

Yep, even happier.

Tonight I am thankful for my trifecta of happiness after an emotionally draining week, a week plagued by a migraine and a week of nights full of broken sleep. Here’s to finding more simple joys throughout the weekend.

One of the more horrifying memories from my elementary school years involves a kid named Darrell.
He was “that boy” who liked to express his affection for girls by being obnoxious. In this case, obnoxious can be defined as kicking people, attempting to cause wardrobe malfunctions and saying foul things to them.

When I was six, I used to wear dresses that tied in back; long frilly pieces of fabric were sewn to the sides of the dress, then came together and culminated in a big bow right above my butt…because that’s exactly what every girl needs to draw attention to at such a young age. (Who designed those things, anyway?)

One day in first grade while I was minding my own business and sitting under a tree on the playground, Darrell approached. Without warning, I felt a boot slam into the middle of my back and send me shooting face-first into the dirt. “Someday,” he proclaimed loudly to the mortified people around me, “we’re gonna get married,” he told me. “And when we do, the first thing we’re gonna do is hump.”

Now, I’ve met a number of dudes in my day who have been less than charming, but this kid takes the cake.

Onlookers quietly skulked away, presumably happy that they weren’t the target of this mini-Romeo. Meanwhile, I tried to catch my breath, wipe my tears away, clear the grit out of my teeth and dust myself off, so as not to appear as though we’d just consummated our relationship right then and there during recess.

Not long after this, he approached me again on the playground and gave me a rock without saying a word. He walked away, and I remember wondering if it was an apology for the foot I took to my back, the verbal assault, both, or neither.

I don’t know what happened to him, but I do know that thanks to him, I have an internal alarm that likes to go off at the first sight of a poop-kicking boot, as well as at those small white rocks that sparkle and which are often seen in planters and flowerbeds.

I haven’t heard the word “hump” used in that particular context since then. In fact, the only times I’ve heard it are from people recalling their weekend trip to the zoo, or their travels overseas where they rode a camel.

At the time, I had nothing to be thankful for — except perhaps for the fact that, for some reason, the dude felt obligated to wait until marriage before humping. How gentlemanly.

In the last 30-ish years, or so, I realize that my antenna goes up whenever I even remotely feel like I’m in the presence of a dude who has Darrell-tendencies. Unfortunately, there have been many. And if a girl can’t have that little voice in the back of her head warning her of people every now and again, the world can end up being a pretty crazy, distasteful place.

Tonight I am thankful for my antenna, and for its work over the years in keeping me [mostly] in the clear when it comes to Darrell’s kind. Sometimes it’s been a little bent and I’ve been led astray, but overall, its transmissions have been received loud and clear. Gracias, dear antenna.

All day long, a muscle just above my left eye has been twitching.

Remember Disney’s adorable little rabbit, Thumper? Feels like I have a miniature version of that little ball of fur burrowed under my brow bone.

I was convinced that everyone I talked to was able to see it. I imagined them wondering what my deal was…well, I think they do that normally. But I imagined them thinking I was getting agitated or, worse, maybe that I was getting the urge to wink at them.

Really, who winks anymore? And why is it that whenever you rush to look in a mirror to see a twitching muscle in action, it always seems to get stage fright and freezes?

I figured it was just worn out from my steady string of nights plagued by broken, fitful sleep, or perhaps it thought I did a poor job at shading my brow bone during this morning’s makeup routine and was asking for more shadow.

Regardless, it kept its antics up all day, even making me trip up here and there on a conference call. A conference call, man. Such nerve.

Finally, though, it seems to have calmed down. What did the trick? It might’ve been tonight’s Nadia G episodes. Perhaps it was a glass of Leoness Cellars’ Melange de Rêves. Either way, I’m not complaining. The twitch has quieted down, and my tastebuds are now the ones getting excited.

Tonight I am thankful for a calming prescription guaranteed to do the trick, for a day that allowed for recovery from yesterday’s migraine and for an evening of rest. My brow muscle seems to have caught on quite nicely.

Cheers.

A bean and cheese burrito, a quart of milk, a dark room and about ten hours of uninterrupted sleep. That was my migraine remedy when I was in college, and it was a remedy I had to seek out a few times a month. These days, the migraines are far less frequent, but they still happen.
I started to get one on my drive home tonight. First my vision starts to go — always a great thing when you’re motoring down the road in rush-hour traffic. Then my vision improves, but the nausea starts. After the nausea, the pain comes flooding in, and then I’m just plain ravenous and drained for hours on end.

When I was finished worrying about making it home safely, my thoughts turned to…where else? Del Taco. I needed a bean and cheese vessel — desperately. And, frankly, why stop at just one? I might as well get many, especially since I prefer the smaller ones to the half-pounders. The latter has a ratio of bean to cheese to tortilla to sauce that’s a bit overwhelming, so the baby ones are definitely where it’s at for me.

As fate would have it, I showed up on taco night. Sheesh. And since $1.09 is a bargain for three scrawny tacos, I certainly couldn’t pass those up, either.

While I sometimes get migraines because of bright light or glare, I generally get them when I’m under a lot of stress, overly tired or when I’m emotionally drained. In this case, it’s the last two.

But in the spirit of thanky, what good can come from a migraine? A lot. And I’ll play its game.

Although not sleeping well these days, I fall into a bed every night. Many curl up under a bridge or in a dark corner on cold pavement when darkness falls.

When emotions are to blame, I am grateful to feel and not walk through life numb or apathetic.

And if work stress is ever the cause, I am fortunate to have a job.

Tonight, while I am not thankful at all for the migraine itself, I am grateful for all it reminds me that I’m fortunate to have.

It’s easy to see the bad everywhere. All we have to do is look around — at him or her, at this situation or that situation, at what they have and we don’t, at where they’re going and we’re not.

It’s easy to think that someone must live a charmed life, that someone doesn’t know anything about our own burdens. It’s easy to feel robbed of opportunity, or like they were stolen by someone — maybe even someone close to us. It’s easy to feel as though we carry the weight of the world on our shoulders, and that everyone else, at most, will only carry an ounce here or there.

The truth is that our burdens are, yes, our own and ours to deal with. But everyone has their own, and the upside of a burden is the lesson it can teach, the path it can reveal and the errors that we can make right. And if there isn’t beauty in that, then we may all need to have our vision checked.

Beyond the beauty of a burden, there’s good around the opposite corner from where bad resides. There’s good from the moment we wake up each morning until the hour we go to bed. There’s good in the traffic jam that may keep you from ultimate danger. There can be good in tragedy, and in the warnings we can share with others; with the lessons we can teach our loved ones still with us.

It’s all in how we look at it. It’s all in how we choose to see it.

Tonight I am thankful for the amount of good in this world, even though we may not see it right away. I am thankful for good’s patience, and I’m grateful that it’s usually right there staring back at us just as soon as we’re ready to see it.