Coo Coo for Co – CoVid

Last night he leaned in for a kiss and I screeched “Social distancing!!” without thinking and then coughed for good measure. He hasn’t tried since and my growing list of things that annoy me pretty much assures I won’t feel his lips on mine again for a decade  (unless of course I am forced to attempt resuscitation

 

I was intending to write about the grief of distancing but I think we have had enough of the sadness that is surrounding these current times.  The grief aspect is something I am well tuned into but that will be for another place in another time.  I believe that laughter is the better option to get us through.  In my connections to the spirit side this past few weeks I have met with great resistance to my questions about how long this may last. I have finally come to the understanding that this is another of the lessons that they can only be witness to yet the experience is ours alone. They are here for us only to bring comfort but beyond this, we are to learn to be better humans.  It’s really just that simple. We come out of this better humans.  We find more consideration for the lives around us, we put more thought into how they may feel and we understand individual fears in a way we couldn’t before.  And we learn to roll with the punches in the very best way we can.  I choose to laugh as I roll. I invite you to do the same.  

Today I spent twenty minutes of my life admonishing my spouse for his incorrect pairing of chips and dips.  I caught him dipping MY Tostitos Scoops into the Helluva Good Dip. He still seems to be struggling with the logic that HIS Ruffles goes with Helluva. And salsa and cheese goes with MY scoops.  He is banned from all pairings from this moment forward.

Last night he leaned in for a kiss and I screeched “Social distancing!!” without thinking and then coughed for good measure. He hasn’t tried since and my growing list of things that annoy me pretty much assures I won’t feel his lips on mine again for a decade  (unless of course I am forced to attempt resuscitation due to unexpected accidents that might include a flying salsa jar.)

I am the very definition of introvert and despite that today I messaged my best pal that I was almost prepared to risk arrest just to run up to people outside and touch them.  Appropriately of course.   But then, I suppose being touched by a complete stranger might be considered inappropriate.  Another month of social isolation and we might just find out for sure…

So how is your social isolation going?  Mine’s going wonderful as you can see.

I’ve eaten about four hundred mini eggs, my bra isn’t fitting properly and my eyelashes have fallen off.  I’ve discovered a taste for wine where a taste for wine never did exist before this and I’ve cooked everything I learned to cook in my first 40 years of life.  The remaining dog in our home is eyeing me suspiciously because I am here ALL of the time now and I swear he is now wondering if my guest status has changed to permanent resident.  He isn’t liking this much because I am the “snack limiter” of the family.  If I am making a sandwich for lunch, the other half always orders two and I immediately go into my rant about the second one is for the dog. My husband argues with me every single time this happens and as I make the second one I mutter about him thinking I must be stupid. So when he does in fact attempt to give the dog the second one, the dog stares at me in anticipation of my certain meltdown.  Our much loved Molly was 45 pounds overweight the week before we lost her.  Hubby says it was all muscle and I am mean.  The dog just looks at me like he can’t wait for me to pack and fly away again.

So in my desire to find some balance….

I’ve made several attempts at solitude and mediation.  I get all comfortable, feet flat to the floor, eyes closed and palms up to receive all that spirit can provide me. I fail the minute I hear a voice in the parking lot outside of my window and jump up to look in my excitement of another human being within twenty feet of me.  The picture I chose for the blog is a fairly true representation of what they see when I pull the curtains back.  Many haven’t been back since. I have no idea why, I am clearly just trying to be friendly.  On this note, grandparents please stop before you lean into the window separating you from your grand babies..because you just can’t be sure that this isn’t what they see.  It’s cute when they do it….us not so much.  Stop and think before you press your wrinkles people. Therapy is going to be hard to find and expensive once this is all said and done.  Plan ahead and stay three inches from the glass please.

I’ve watched every episode of nearly every Netflix series made since 2015.  With the exception of the guy that plays with big cats. His face annoys me and therefore I shall not delve into any episode that features it, so please stop telling me I should. It is not happening. The man has a face that only his mother could love.

This morning I actually woke to fantasies about learning to bake. Things are bad when I start considering this. To save myself from attempting butter tarts  I went for a walk instead in the graveyard, made friends with a squirrel and talked him into posing for me. The photo below. I think he resembles a furry Burt Reynolds.  Let me know what you think.   On my next visit I might take him a sandwich.  😉

 

squirrel
My new friend Burt

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

French Toast And Erma

The other day during a reading I was talking to a client about intimacy in the face of physical challenges….

**Permission was granted for the postscript at the end**

I’m sitting here staring at a blank page and to my right a reminder keeps blinking that I haven’t written anything yet. With a (!) to drive it home in case I didn’t understand the gravity of it all.

I guess, given that my last blog post about eggs garnered more than a dozen new followers, the “blogasphere” is impatient to see what I can do to glean interest today.  I’ll admit to some mild surprise about that surge. It was eggs for heavens sake. We like our yolk I guess. Who knew.

This morning I was sprayed in the chest by my motion sensor air freshener.  I’ve had cinnamon french toast wafting into my nostrils ever since. It’s not bad actually; providing me the relaxing sensation of my grandma’s kitchen. It’s also much cheaper than my usual fragrance, so I think I might be onto something.

Erma Bombeck is my literary idol. Have I ever mentioned that before? Some might have believed that I poured over spiritual sonnets on my journey to here, but in truth, I chose to follow the real life adventures of a middle aged woman with a snappy sense of humor and a common sense approach to living.

“When I stand before God at the end of my life, I would hope that I would not have a single bit of talent left and could say “I used everything you gave me”  Erma

My “eau du french toast” shower today reminded me that sometimes you can smell delicious for only 9.99.  A big lesson for someone like me, prone to overthinking and over trying, over compensating and over achieving.  And a damn sight less stressful than driving across a city congested with construction to purchase the aroma that I believe makes me happiest.  Oddly that fragrance is aptly called Happy Heart. But to be truthful I am happier right now sharing the morning humor that is making my chest bone glow. There must be shellac in this.

I’ve been struggling lately with what else I can share with those looking for my “wise” words. I feel like I have shared it all, tried to comfort the masses with the usual vocabulary and what I call “psychic fluffy”. I felt like I hadn’t shared all of the talents that I possess.   I reached out to the spirit side last night for some guidance. And this morning got sprayed by Grandma’s kitchen. It wasn’t profound at all but it certainly got my attention.

“Wake up and smell the cinnamon stupid”

Sometimes the simpler words smell better.

Real life will hurt. Death will hurt. Relationships will fail, good things will go, bad things will come. Balance is struck in every facet of the journey. Grieving is the most powerful reminder of all that we cannot control.

What we can control is how we choose to smell to others. Strong and musky and powerful or soft and gentle like a warm plate of french toast.

I am voting up french toast.

I’ll take that over sex any day.

Postscript:

The other day during a reading I was talking to a client about intimacy in the face of physical challenges.  She apologized for her honesty and remarked that with her severe arthritis that even self pleasure was impossible because her fingers would freeze for hours in that position. I laughed harder than I have laughed in forever. And she laughed with me.

And that my friends…

Is pure Erma power.

Let’s get back to basics. We will die to be sure. But let’s live until we have to.

 

In love and light and truth.

Tania

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Three Eggs And Toast

The moment that the food arrives to my impatient soul, I morph. It’s rather incredible really. I stop spinning my head and the angel of love and light appears. I call it the “three eggs and toast exorcism”….

I get downright horrible in the absence of breakfast. It doesn’t matter if I have pulled an all night writing marathon and stuffed my face with cold pizza and Doritos; if I don’t get my breakfast I turn into an absolute bear.  My husband has been the recipient of many less than attractive moments as we’ve torn up the highway in search of something to fill my scowling face. It’s always his fault if we didn’t take up accommodation close to a coffee shop, his fault that I am angry and his fault of course that I just threatened to chew off his right ear.

I’ll scrummage through the glove box hoping for something to sate me.  Then finding nothing lean over the back seat and start foraging for the left overs from last nights gas bar stop. My husband simply stares straight ahead, I can see his last nerve clicking at his jaw junction but I persist regardless. There is no question by this point that the potential for spouseacide ( it’s not a word but you understand)  exists as his fingers more tightly grip the wheel.

I am an incredibly demanding person to survive life with.

The moment that the food arrives to my impatient soul, I morph. It’s rather incredible really.  I stop spinning my head and the angel of love and light appears. I call it the “three eggs and toast exorcism”. My other half just stares at me with the most incredulous expression.  As we exit the building that created this transformation, I will smile happily, wave goodbye to the food fairies and express what a beautiful day it is.

He follows behind burning holes into the back of my head. I know it.

We climb back into the SUV, I adjust my sunglasses and turn to grin at him.  He responds with a simple suspicious glance and replies “Ok Sybil. If only those people that think you are so wonderful knew what I just witnessed”

I embrace the mornings that start in my own home. Where I can be in control of my own demon and fry my own eggs. It is not without it’s slight tension of course. Standing at the stove I call out to the other half that I am making some breakfast and would he like to join me.  And every time without fail, he doesn’t hear me. I call it louder.  He still doesn’t respond. By this point the danger of a flying fry pan is imminent as I draw a big breath and wrestle with the inner Linda Blair.

“Are you deaf or something!!??” inevitably hisses from my lips like a snake that suddenly attacks from the bushes.  He turns, lowers his glasses and says…

“No I heard you the first time”

I break his second yolk as a means of revenge.

“Sorry about that one dear. It’s a bit rubbery”

Grin.

If you see my spouse at an event and you speak with him, please know that he is biting through his tongue as you express to him how very lucky he is to be married to someone like me.  If you pay close attention to his pursed up smile or his quick eye movement you will see that this morning he had breakfast with the truth.

Everything in life demands balance. Right?

What I love the most is that it is often something so simple that creates the shift from dark to light. Something as simple as three eggs and toast.

Stay real. Stay human.

I do.

In love…in light…three eggs over easy.

Tania