Raspberry Zinger in Haiku

 Image from: The Savvy Shopper

Hot tea. Burns. Hurts. Ick.
Illness. Sore throat. Pain. Rasp. Cough.
Lozenges don't work.

Hot tea brings healing.
Raspberry Tea with honey.
Throat says, "Thank you, tea."

*Polite golf clap.*

Slight bow.

I have a new appreciation for the stuff, I tell ya!

This Post Will Never Work

 Hope is not one of my stronger virtues.

I'm a pessimist, you see. Added to my perfectionism, it can be rather paralyzing at times.

As everyone knows, pessimists enjoy being pessimists because we are constantly in a win-win situation. We  suspect the worst will happen in any given situation. If the worst happens, we have the satisfaction of being right. If it doesn't, we have the joy of having things turn out well. Hedging our bets we live in the safe and cozy, though shallow and dim, world of doubt.

Almost three weeks ago I planted 72 green bean seeds. I know, because I counted them. The package said they should germinate within 5-14 days.

On day 2 I began declaring, "They'll never come up. I'm a failure as a gardener." I repeated this melancholic mutter each day as I went out to check their (lack of) progress.

My husband, the eternal optimist, would cheerfully and consistently respond, "Just wait, you'll see. They'll be fine."

Unconvinced, I would pout and shake my head, "I have a black thumb."

This morning, after 21 days of waiting, I went out and counted 71 beautiful spring green bean sprouts.

Success!

But I've deprived myself the joy of hope these last three weeks. Yes, I am happy now that they are up, but I wasted three weeks' opportunity for hope, trust, peace, patience, and joy... and we're only talking about green beans!

It has made me seriously reflect: is being a pessimist really a win-win?

Consider this...

With optimism:

(beans don't come up) three weeks hope + 1 day sadness = 21 days happiness.
(beans come up) three weeks hope + 1 day happiness = 22 days happiness.

With pessimism:

(beans don't come up) three weeks doubt + 1 day vindication = 1 day bitter joy.
(beans come up) three weeks doubt + 1 day surprise joy = 1 day surprise joy.

I'm no math major, but there appears to be a lot more happiness on the side of the optimist.

Being an optimist requires vulnerability. Your hope just might be in vain. You might be crushed. You could be setting yourself up for failure. But to live without bitterness, doubt, frumpiness? It just might be worth the risk.
 
There's one more seed that hasn't come up yet...

... it's probably a dud.

Are you an optimist or a pessimist? Do you think it's possible to change from one to the other? Would you want to?

Tis the Season...

One of the most expensive items my husband and I have ever bought (besides the pending piece of property, of course) was a four burner gas grill.

It cost us a whopping $179 +tax, but was paid for entirely by a thick stack of wedding gift cards. We hung onto those plastic cash-replacers for over a year before deciding exactly what we should purchase. I wanted lace curtains, he wanted a cordless drill. The gas grill was something we could both agree on.

It looks so pretty and it works so beautifully. We use it all the time.

Now that it's finally warm enough to walk outside barefoot without dancing on the frozen concrete, I've declared the grilling season to be OPEN!!

So far this week we've had grilled steaks, pork chops, pearl onions, zucchini, mushrooms, bell peppers and asparagus. Tonight I'm grilling chili lime marinated flank steaks, bell peppers, onions and jalapenos for some smoky fajitas. Cheese will not be necessary, and the first beer of the year is chilling in the fridge right now.

The best part is, every time I crank on the propane, I say a little prayer for the dozen or so generous wedding gifters who made this dinner possible.

Amen.

What's the best (tangible) gift you've ever received?

Our Love Story, Part XV

It's been a long time since the last Love Story installment. Now would be a great time to reread the other parts, or at least the last episode...

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We retreated like whipped dogs to the wall. Mr. Amazing was shaking his head in disgust, and I was just trying to avoid eye contact. I did, however, staunchly refuse to bear the burden of the conversation. My mantra all along had been "if he doesn't pursue me, he's not worth having" and now, at last, came a moment of truth. What would he say?!

"Gosh darnit! Why did they go and play this song?" he grumbled.

"Hm... hardly Cyrano," I thought, "but it's a conversation starter."

"Oh, they have to. I suspect Cotton Eye Joe, the Chicken Dance, and the Electric Slide will be next," I said -- trying to appear well versed in the popular dance culture.

He nodded in resigned agreement, but didn't really look impressed. Drat.

Thinking back to all of the names of dances I knew and trying to deliver a cooth zinger, I backed myself into a sentence I couldn't get out of: "I wish we could dance a...," but in the heat of the moment I couldn't remember if it was "Fox Trot" or "Box Trot," so, after a pregnant pause, I finished, "...waltz."

I could feel the beads of perspiration forming on my forehead.

Again, I waited for him to resume the dialogue.

"Nice turnout tonight."

"Mm hm." "Oh no," I thought, "if the next topic is the weather we'll have nothing left to talk about!"

But the tune was droning its last insipid notes, thus ending our small talk as we nervously awaited the first tones of the next track.

Four clear saxophone notes rang out before the classic was recognized, but suddenly Mr. Amazing swooped down, did a fist pump and hollered "Yes!" Booming in surround sound was Glenn Miller's big band swing song, In the Mood.

He firmly grabbed my hand and back we went.

If you'll remember, I'd taken swing lessons for months and had been dreaming of this moment for a full year, since I'd seen him gliding effortlessly around the dance floor at Meg and Tim's wedding. This was going to be PERFECT, I tell you, PERFECT (by golly).

Right away I noticed something was wrong. We were out of sync. I tried to follow his lead but we were dancing at different tempos. Count four beats and try again. Still off. Wait another four beats. Nothin' doing. It took twenty beats for it to sink in -- he has NO RHYTHM!!

"Oh blast," I thought, "this is a really long song. I'll never make it through alive!

Of course at that moment I saw Meg and Miriam on the sidelines, Meg quietly beaming and Miriam all smiles and making wild "VICTORY!!" gestures.

Oh how I wished I could join them, but at the moment there was nothing I could do but concentrate on tactical maneuvers and try to figure out where and when he would strike step next.

Mr. Amazing is a full 10" taller than me, and has an Albatrossian wingspan, so when he leaned in and said "Wanna do the Pretzel?" I started praying an Act of Contrition.

I closed my eyes (which was a big mistake) and when I emerged from the 1st half of the twisting twirling dance move, I was missing my left shoe. "Be calm, act normal, keep dancing," I coached myself. "Deep breath!" We finished the second half and I went sailing out of the orbit -- we missed the last connection and I kept spinning (sans left shoe) toward the wall.

I was relieved to have a breather. "At least I can retrieve my shoe," I thought.

As I picked up my black pump I finally hollered over my shoulder, "You're not dancing to the BEAT!"

He smiled and shrugged, oblivious and unconcerned.

I braced myself for the next round and went back into the ring to be jostled and spun.

"This is actually kinda fun," I tried to convince myself.

In one of the song's many interludes I repeated, "You don't dance to the beat. I can't possibly follow you." But the man was in denial.

The song ended at last: the bell rang, the match was over. He tried to dip me dramatically, but I didn't trust him and stiffened my back. "Denied," I thought, and I fear my eyes betrayed as my willful eyebrows arched defiantly.

It was over.

We departed the dance floor laughing, but I've never been more relieved than when he didn't ask me for the next dance.

To be continued...

Monday Musings

Right now... I'm preparing study sheets for my nieces. It's intense.

This weekend... was quite productive.

My husband and I are sticking to a new resolution for a half hour of Adoration a day, and with God's grace I've kept my spiritual reading resolution. Daily Mass is back on the schedule as well. The Spring cleaning around the house has kick-started a spiritual Spring cleaning. Lotta cobwebs to get rid of there!

The garden is (mostly) planted and staked, and I (mostly) painted and reupholstered one of the four ugly chairs we own. It was the first time I've ever done anything like this, and the first time in about 8 or 10 years that I used my sewing machine. Once I quieted my inner perfectionist, it was really quite fun. Fear of failure has kept me from doing this since we first got the chairs almost three years ago, but more on that later this week.

Some plans for this week:  finish painting the chair. Plant some herbs and golden wax beans, and get my nieces prepared for their finals. Grind some grain and make whole wheat sandwich bread.

If I find some time for myself, I would like to... type up the next part of The Love Story. I got it written over the weekend but need to type and revise.

Prayer intentions for this week: for my baby nephew who is back in the hospital. For Miriam, in the hospital on bedrest in her 35th week of pregnancy. For my green beans to come up. It's been two weeks and they haven't peeped through the soil yet. I have a hard time with hope.

Something that makes me smile: My husband in his new shirt. Actually it's not new, I just found it during Spring cleaning. Both of these things make me smile.

Monday Musings are hosted at Patch O' Dirt Farm.