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What are you waiting for?
Say… hypothetically speaking… you have six dollars in your wallet and very close to zero dollars in your bank account and you need to make something for lunchdinner.
Also… you have a very daunting blank Word document in front of you that you’re supposed to fill with words and pictures and recipes and more words.
You’ve run out of people to text message as a distraction.
You can’t waste another minute of time on Twitter… you’ve tried… seriously.
You’ve exhausted your brain by imagining every combination of human and animal body part…. your favorite being a chubby, blue-eyed toddler with cocker spaniel ears. huh!?
Oh! And you found one lonely egg in your fridge. Hypothetically speaking of course.
So.
Q: What would you do with yourself?
A: Make cookies.
I mean… come on… it’s the only logical/delicious option.
Whatever medical science may profess, there is a difference between Life and survival. There is more to being alive than just having a heartbeat and brain activity. Being alive, really alive, is something much subtler and more magnificent. Their instruments measure blood pressure and temperature, but overlook joy, passion, love, all the things that make life really matter. To make our lives matter again, to really get the most out of them, we will have to redefine life itself. We have to dispense with their merely clinical definitions, in favor of ones which have more to do with what we actually feel.
As it stands, how much living do we have in our lives? How many mornings do you wake up feeling truly free, thrilled to be alive, breathlessly anticipating the experiences of a new day? How many nights do you fall asleep feeling fulfilled, going over the events of the past day with satisfaction? Most of us feel as though everything has already been decided without us, as if living is not a creative activity but rather something that happens to us. That's not being alive, that's just surviving: being undead. We have undertakers, but their services are not usually required; we have morgues, but we spend most of our time in office cubicles and video arcades, in shopping malls, in front of televisions. Of course suburban housewives and petty executives are terrified of risk and change; they can't imagine that there is anything more valuable than physical safety. Their hearts may be beating, but they no longer believe in their dreams, let alone chase after them.
But this is how the revolution begins: a few of us start chasing our dreams, breaking our old patterns, embracing what we love (and in the process discovering what we hate), daydreaming, questioning, acting outside the boundaries of routine and regularity. Others see us doing this, see people daring to be more creative and more adventurous, more generous and more ambitious than they had imagined possible, and join us one by one. Once enough people embrace this new way of living, a point of critical mass is finally reached, and society itself begins to change. From that moment, the world will start to undergo a transformation: from the frightening, alien place that it is, into a place ripe with possibility, where our lives are in our own hands and any dream can come true.
So do what you want with your life, whatever it is! But to be sure you do get what you want, think carefully about what it really is, first, and how to go about getting it. Analyze the world around you, so you'll know which people and forces are working against your desires, and which ones are on your side... and how you can work together with us. We're out here, living life to the fullest, waiting for you-hopping trains across the United States, organizing political protests in French public schools, writing beautiful letters at sunrise in Bangkok. We just finished making love in the corporate washroom a minute before you walked in on your half hour lunchbreak. And Life is waiting for you with us, on the peaks of unclimbed mountains, in the smoke of campfires and burning buildings, in the arms of lovers who will turn your world upside down. Come join us!
Sometimes I have imaginary phone conversations. Ok… this happens a lot. They go a little something like this:
Hello..? Yes, hi. I’d like to speak with the person in charge of making up all these clever food holidays like Bacon Day. Oh, that’s you? Excellent. I have a few additional food holidays I thought you might like to add to your calender.
How about a pizza and beer holiday every Friday of the month. I mean… it’d just be really great if my calender could justify my food choices. No? You know, you don’t have to decide so quickly. Maybe think it over a bit. Still no? Ok… lemme run another idea by you.
Can we make everyday at 3:30 in the afternoon National-Go-Ahead-And-Eat-A-Brownie Moment? What? That’s too specific? I see. You might reconsider this one… the people are really calling for it.
No?
Ok…. I’ll just stick to Bacon Day. Thanks for that one.
I gotta run. I have to tell all my friends about these Peanut Butter Bacon Cookies I just made! Laaaater!
Dear Future Husband and Future Children,
While it’s clear that the universe hasn’t yet pressed us together into a family mold, I think it prudent to get a few things about our life out in the open. You know, for the sake of transparency.
Future Husband! In all likelihood, I think you’re the coolest guy around. You’re awesome. While I’m certain there are things you do that drive me a little mad, the fact that you help me with the dishes and make me tea in the morning just makes me swoon. I’m a little quirky. You’re probably a little nutty too. That’s only fair. You should know that I sometimes show my love in… pancakes, piles and piles of warm pancakes. Pancakes for breakfast. Pancakes for a snack. Pancakes for dinner. Pancakes. It’s important that you like, no, loooove pancakes and understand that when I make giant plates of them for breakfast, I’m just trying to show you how much I love you. Deal?
Future Children! You’re super cute. You must be just adorable. You should know that I want to squeeze you constantly. When I mix up your names, you should know that it’s not that I don’t know your names… it’s just that things get a little complicated when I’m trying to wrangle you. Eat your broccoli. It will make you beautiful, or at least that’s what my Mom used to tell me. When you feel mortified by my very presence in your teenage years, just realize that that’s all part of the game. I’m actually not that uncool and you’ll realize that at some point.
Also, like I told your father, I’m going to make you piles and piles of pancakes some mornings. Eat them, because I love you and you love me, and we love pancakes.
Thanks Future Husband. Thanks Future Children. I love you like crazy. K. Thanks. Bye.
Future Wife/Future Mother,
C
Can you do me a favor?
I cringe any time someone asks me if I can do them a favor. I always want to say… sure, yes, of course… only to be asked to do something like… I dunno… be a bridesmaid in their wedding and wear lavender and ruffles. Ok… so that hasn’t been a favor asked of me just yet. The thought obviously terrifies me.
I hope when I ask you to do me this favor you won’t completely cringe.
Do me a favor and make this popcorn this week.
I wouldn’t ask unless it was totally important, and totally delicious.
Believe me. If you’ve never believed me before, now would be the time to start. Make this popcorn. It’s perfectly sweet and perfectly salty. Make it for dinner. Make it and sneak it into the movie theater in your giant purse. Make it and sit out on your patio with a glass of cheap wine. Find the time. Find a way. Just do me a favor and enjoy this popcorn as soon as possible.
It’s that good.
I know what you’re thinking. Geez C… it’s just kettle corn. What’s the big deal?
This popcorn will sneak up on you. You’ll have one bite and think… meh, sweet and salty… so what!? You’ll have another bite and think… yea, it’s pretty good. You’ll have a third bite and realize I’ve introduced you to some sort of drug-like substance. And then… you’ll have eaten the whole batch in a cool 15 minutes.
If it can happen to me. It can happen to you.
Homemade Kettle Corn
1/2 cup popcorn
1/4 cup vegetable or grapeseed oil
3 tablespoons sugar
Salt to taste. I think I used between 1/2 and 1 teaspoon.
You know that team building exercise you might play at sleep-away camp that requires you to fall backwards into the waiting arms of a fellow camper? The Trust Fall? The basic idea is that you completely let yourself fall backwards, trusting that the person behind you has arms outstretched to catch you before you hit the ground. It’s a very literal way of saying “Hey! I’ve got your back!” or “Don’t worry, I’ll catch you if you fall.” If the person you’ve entrusted to catch you is not paying attention and flirting with her sleep-away boyfriend as you fall… well, you might have trust issues for life. Not cool.
I bring up the old Trust Fall because we’re talking about sandwiches. Sandwiches are serious business. I feel like I need to do a good round of Trust Falling with someone before we’re allowed to make each other sandwiches. Like I said… sandwiches are serious.
I need to know that someone has got my back when they make me a sandwich. Who’s making me a sandwich? No one… that’s not the point. It’s all about trust, and care and attention. Like… which slices of bread they choose from the loaf, and how the mayonnaise doesn’t sneak over the edges, and how the tomato slices are just thin enough, and the lettuce is mostly dry from the washing. Sandwiches have a lot of details. There’s a lot going on. I need to trust that my sandwich maker can handle these details… you know?
What? Too much? It’s just a sandwich? Yea… a sandwich. I take my sandwiches to heart. I haven’t done the old Trust Fall with the young gentlemen at my local sandwich shop, so frankly, I don’t know if I can trust them to make me a sandwich… ridiculous, but true.
Let’s play a game called What’s on Your Nightstand?. What? Too personal? Oooh come on! We’re all friends here. Let’s try to figure out what our night stands say about the state of our lives.
On my night stand is:
1 Ikea lamp.
A water color painting made by my aunt in the 80’s.
A cup of what once was hot lemon water with honey, now just a mass of lemon seeds at the bottom of a mug.
A glass bowl with a ring and a business card for a French bed and breakfast.
Two books: unaccustomed earth and Sieze the Day
My credit card, and a small bowl with cookie crumbs in it… Lemon Rosemary Palmier cookie crumbs.
What might my night stand contents say about me? I love a home furnishing bargain. When I run out of tea I make do with lemons. I can’t sleep in jewelry and I like to daydream about vacationing in the French countryside. I either read a book or go internet shopping before I fall asleep, and I eat cookies in bed. All things considered, it seems like a pretty cushy and self indulgent life…. plus, cookies!
You know what? You deserve a break. Seriously. It’s Saturday. Let’s take it easy.
I know… I know. You have that whole list of things to do. Sure, you need to get the car washed. Yes, there’s that thing about going to the pet store, and getting a present for your mother-in-law’s church friend’s niece. You’ve got a lot on your plate. I know. But… well what would happen, if for today, you kicked the list to the curb and kicked you feet up on the couch?
I’ll tell you what would happen. The car would stay dirty, the pet store would miss you, and your mother-in-law’s church friend’s niece would have one less present at her party. She’ll have enough presents. Go on… take a break.
Now… if you’re anything like me, you have a list and you can’t stand not to start crossing tasks off. Here’s my tip: make a new list. I’ll help. On our new list are these things: go to the farmer’s market and buy the prettiest cherries you can get your hands on, treat yourself to frozen yogurt, call that friend you’ve been meaning to call, watch at least three hours of a Law and Order marathon, and have two glasses of wine with dinner… dinner out.
See? Better list. It’s the list you should be working on this Saturday.
Aaaaand, if you wanted to add the makingf sugar cookies to the list… forget about it. These can go on your Sunday to-do list. Yea. Sunday that's when I'll be making them :D
I made rolls, of the cinnamon variety.
I use cinnamon rolls as a sort of… well, anxiety calming drug. I don’t pop pills, I definitely pop cinnamon rolls.
See… there was this thing invented a good long while ago called the 10 Year Class Reunion. It’s where you get together with all the people that made fun of you during your painfully awkward teenage years. Yea. Why? Why do I have to do this? Can’t we all just become friends on Facebook and twitter and consider ourselves properly reunited!?
Seriously. The future is now!
Since I think I’m going to gracefully bow out of the reunion festivities, here’s the CliffsNotes of what I might have said to my old classmates.
Hi. Yea, it’s me C. I sat behind you in.. a bunch of classes probably. Here’s the update. I went to college. I read a lot of books. I have almost graduated. I traveled around some. I got married didnt get pregnant yet. Yea.. I’m prettier now, but that’s mostly because I was actually really ugly when you knew me. I’m a baker. I think it’s the most awesome thing ever. I know a crap ton about food. Would you like to discuss French cheeses at all? Sure, I’d like to meet your boyfriend Steve. I recognize him from your Facebook photos. Your relationship status is “complicated” though… care to discuss? No? Hm… well, sure I’d like to see pictures of your kids. Would you like to see pictures of my cinnamon rolls? It’s only fair.
Don’t make me go to this thing. It will be awkward. Awkward. Awkward. Awkward!
I need counsel and another cinnamon roll.
Dear Girl (that sat next to me on the plane),
Hi. How are you? This is just a quick note to let you know that you sat on my glasses. I know that you know that you sat on my glasses. You did, after all, hand them back to me crazy mangled. I trust that you know what shape glasses generally assume.
I understand that there are two active parties in this tragedy. There’s the person that accidentally left her glasses in the middle seat next to her while she properly stowed her purse under the seat in from of her…. that’s me. There’s also the person that was in such a hurry to get into that second row middle seat, that didn’t let the girl with the glasses on the aisle properly acclimate before barging in… that’s you. So, you sat on my glasses.
My favorite part about you sitting on my glasses, was how you showed exactly zero remorse for the damage you caused. That was awesome. Hey… remember that part when I was very obviously trying to bend them back in shape in front of you? Yea… that was pretty fun too. That was me being passive aggressive. I bet that was your favorite part.
Oh well, they’re just glasses, right? Next time, I’ll watch where I put my glasses if you watch where you put your ass. Deal?
Sincerely,
C
