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