tollipop

there's the sweetest little old man behind this corner, i'm telling you

This afternoon I popped into Trader Joe's to grab a few things before picking up Caroline from school.  The store was busy and I immediately encountered a gaggle of shoppers in gridlock, each one staring at the selection of olive oils or simply trying to decide which way to go.  

Ahead of me, in the direction I wanted to go, was a little old man.  He wore a fisherman's hat, glasses, a faded short sleeve shirt, shorts, socks, and sandals. He looked a bit like Henry Fonda in On Golden Pond, only smaller and sweeter.  
We regarded one another and I smiled, because my day had just been made. He raised his eyebrows and it almost looked as if he had to remind himself how to smile back.  But then he did and in the midst of the bustle, the world stood still. 

Have you ever shared a smile like that?  

Of course we both yielded the right of way and laughed, then he insisted I go first, and I practically skipped off to the bananas.

Later on, as I rounded the last corner of the store, there he was again, perusing almonds.  He looked up at me and I said, "I'm following you!"

He laughed and reached out and touched my shoulder. 

He touched my shoulder!

"You're sweet," he said.  

And I had this crazy moment, like when I tell Caroline what a good girl she is and she sort of pretends she didn't hear properly so I repeat myself and I can practically see the happiness travel through her body, wherein I wanted to make him say it twice.  

But luckily I pulled myself together, said thank you, and kept going with a ridiculous grin plastered across my face.  

To have lingered in the moment might have ended up with him inadvertently having to adopt me.  

Then I wondered, would it be okay to take his picture?  Like, surreptitiously?  Unfortunately there was no one accompanying me who could frown and state what a breach of etiquette and possibly the law that would be.  

Not to mention creepy.    

To my credit, I exercised restraint and merely took the above shot as a reminder of this moment: how the kindness of a stranger may touch one deeply, how it can seem like a gift, how the feeling it creates will stay long after the almonds have been eaten and the bananas peeled, because most things cannot last forever but the things which do are the very most important of all.

one person's treasure...

It is so hot, dear reader.  So utterly and completely sweltistering.  Is that a word?  It should be.  Just as the Eskimos have a zillion adjectives to describe the snow, I feel entitled to a whole new vocabulary to address the heat.  

Just elbow me if I mix in any swears.   

At this point, I'm not sure what the true degree of temperature is anymore.  It's immaterial. It doesn't matter.  Heat has broken me psychologically; he has stripped me of all independent thought. I just shuffle around muttering his creed, which is: everything is hot, always and forever.  If he handed me an ice cube, I'd probably wince and blister.

But that didn't stop me from standing in the middle of the Trader Joe's parking lot yesterday, staring into the sky to take pictures of these glorious clouds. Who cares if my face liquified?  The heavens were calling to my soul.

I didn't even think to register how totally bizarre I must have appeared, puddling there like a human crayon, until I noticed a man watching me in utter confusion.  He kept squinting at me, up at the sky, and back to me, over and over again.  

I suddenly realized he had no idea what I was looking at, and that in his mind braving the death rays of the sun must indicate something really good was up there.  Like a monster truck, raining lingerie, or free beers.

How, then, could I help him understand the fleeting yet exquisite delight of a cloud shaped like a jovial snapping turtle?? 

making me happy (and a winner!)

By gum, it's gum!  Trader Joe's gum!  Did I squeal when I saw it?  Hard to say, but I do know I stuck my old piece behind my ear and started chewing the new gum immediately.  The three course meal which ensued was simply marvelous!  

Plus the directions on the back and the fact it hails from Tunisia?  

What could be more delightful? 

Having Sophie home!  And seeing her at the piano!  That's beyond happy.  That's ecstatic.

Beets make me happy.  Even if they make everyone else unhappy.  

Happily, I ate them all by myself.

Sleepovers with friends who think it's fun to fill our home with beautiful music well into the night.

Cleaning the house.  Does it make me happy?  Not really, I suppose.  But a pretty collage of displaced objects while dusting does.  

Watching the Olympics while Izzy braids Caroline's hair.  Cozy, late, we should be in bed.

But this is way better.

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In other news, I did not completely forget about the stitching giveaway.  We drew a winner and it was Chiska!  Chiska, darling--congratulations!  We are thrilled for you!  We are simply over the moon.

Let's get in touch and exchange mailing information soon.

To everyone else, thank you again for the lovely and thought provoking comments you left.  I have been thinking about them.  It makes me feel good to think my writing could speak to someone's soul or lift someone's spirits.  Sometimes I do wonder at the value of this blog, if it is a worthy use of time. I suppose I will always wonder and shift and try to keep things in balance with our changing lives, like some whimsical daily dance. 

Isn't that how it is for you, too?

In lieu of the prize, I wish for you a beehive in shades of summer sorbets.  The bees inside are fuzzy and pink, like puffs of velvet cotton candy.  Some are minty green.  When they hum, the air fills with faint, familiar music.  The honey they make is like nectar and they never, ever sting.

the company i keep

Dear reader, I walked into Trader Joe's this morning and for five minutes had the entire place to myself.  In practically any other setting I'd congratulate myself on such good fortune, but not at Trader Joe's.

At Trader Joe's I come for the company.

I come for all the tiny old couples, with the wife dressed in cropped pants and a crisp white blouse and the husband with hair combed back, tortoise shell glasses, a patrician air.  

I come for the zen types with their casual coolness and organic ways.

I come for the lady who told me how to make yogurt and her husband who insisted she jot the recipe down because he gazed into my eyes and saw the information was in peril of fading.  

I come for the little old men who stand around talking about things which happened long ago.  

I come for the people who work there and know me and ask about my girls.

It's good company. 

In other news, the season of music camps is upon us.  

I love the company here, as well.  I hope my girls will have these friends for a lifetime.

Happily, I feel the same way about their parents.  One of my friends came from Korea when she was a young girl, her parents making major sacrifices to start a new life in the United States.  Another came from Vietnam with much the same story.  There are two from Japan.  It's a wonderful mix of culture and personality, and even though we come from different corners of the earth, the greatest bond between us is our common ground.  
Having a chance to sit and visit together results in feeling understood, encouraged, and inspired.  Also, amused: heavy on that.  Just a lovely feeling, all the way around.

Plus, if we happen to be at a Vietamese restaurant, I always order the drink at the bottom of this picture, which is filled with so many delightful, unusual treats it makes me feel as if I have a bit of Wonka's factory in my cup.  

I hope you are enjoying good company these days.

karma chowder

The other day I finally got around to making my New Year's clam chowder.  You know--the one I was supposed to make for New Year's Eve which got downgraded to spaghetti when I realized just how many youngsters would be coming over and how awful it would be to confront their mutinous glares once they were apprised of the menu.

As it was, my own girls took one look at the chowder and promptly fished out their clams.  

Can you imagine?

Perhaps it had something to do with the fact I used whole clams.  Have you ever seen a whole clam, dear reader?  It looks like Gollum is floating around in your soup. 

I didn't use whole clams on purpose, mind you.  In case you didn't know, there's a rare strain of beings out there who are literate yet completely capable of ignoring labels.  Yes, it's true.  And they correlate closely with the demographic who'll open a can and dump its contents into their dinner without inspection.

Watching one's children fish the signature ingredient from a slaved-over chowder while trying to control their gag reflexes does not exactly make for a magical evening, dear reader.  It doesn't feel like a home run.  

I wonder if it has anything to do with all the bad energy I've been putting into the universe lately?

I wonder if it's in response to my attempt to paint every nuance in the spectrum of taupe on the walls of our new home and then ask my husband to tell me what he thinks.  

Incidentally, I suspect he thinks a lot more than what he's telling me.

I wonder if it's in response to giving my daughter super hard words on Hanging with Friends and not feeling even a twinge of remorse when her mascot plummets into a live volcano?

In my defense, this is because of the karma of her messy room.

I wonder if it's because I went running with the death squad yesterday, left them in the dust, and didn't say anything gracious or sporting when they straggled across the finish line?

Listen, it gets tricky with those guys.  Karma works in reverse for them.  Being gracious and sporting is actually a sign of weakness, which is the last thing you'd want to reveal in their midst.  

In wolf talk, that's like saying: hey, look at my broken paw!  I'm too old to hunt!  You better kick me out of the pack.

rule of thumb

This morning I went grocery shopping.  Unless I'm at Trader Joe's or an international market, grocery shopping doesn't exactly knock my socks off.  If anything, it hammers my soul to smithereens.  Something about huge buildings, industrial lighting, vast quantities of food shrink-wrapped together, people pushing pallets stacked with frozen waffles, shrimp platters, gallons of dip.  It goes down like rain at a picnic and mud all over my new party dress.  

At any rate, I parked as far away from the store as I possibly could, since I read somewhere this is the French woman's secret to staying slim and fabulous.  

Was there perhaps more to that article?  Did someone rip out the second page which divulged even better secrets?  Maybe so. Because I've been parking light years away from stores for ages now and I have yet to waltz through a room and hear people whisper, "Fabulous. How does she do it?!"

As I walked across the parking lot, I noticed a trail of raspberries along the way, some no more than a smear, others sadly tattered, a few still plump and luscious.  And for some reason it was all I could do not to pick up the good ones and pop them in my mouth.  They looked so tempting!  

The only thing stopping me was a small litmus test I often apply to such situations wherein I ask: Would a mother scold her toddler if he did what I'm about to do?

If the answer is yes, I generally reconsider my plan of action. Unless I don't care about getting scolded.

So I went inside and purchased some raspberries of my own. That was the better choice, right?

But I still think it such a shame--so many pretty, ruined berries! Perhaps I should have eaten them, after all.

I hope whoever dropped them went on to have a vastly better day.

trader joe's: a tale of innocence lost

Dear reader, have you been to Trader Joe's lately?  Because holiday season is right around the corner so if you go, don't think it'll be a quick trip to granny's house.  You'll be off the path in NO TIME, wandering through the forest and meeting all kinds of dark, nefarious characters.

To wit: the first bad influence to greet me as I entered the store was a cluster of these hooligans.  I drew nearer, fascinated, whispering their name aloud:

milk chocolate covered potato chips.

Someone gasped and recoiled as if I'd said a dirty word. A mother covered her child's ears and hurried away.  I flushed, feeling both revolted and strangely curious at once.  

I managed to tear myself away and go about my regular business.  But when it came time to pay for my groceries, I noticed the chocolate potato chips were also loitering at the check out stand.  

What is that?  Is that like, even legal?  To mix together two highly addictive subtances in the first place, and then to stash them all over one's store until a shopper finally wears down and succumbs to the madness?

Because as the TJ's associate was checking out my groceries, she noticed me moving toward the potato chips like a moth to the flame.  

"Do you wanna try those?," she asked.

"What?  ME?!  No.  Noooooooo.," I said, shaking my head and pretending to examine my fingernails.  

"Here, give me a bag," she said, reaching for one from the display.

And just like that, she tore it open and waved a milk chocolate covered potato chip not five inches from my nose!  And I blushed madly while everyone else in the checkout line began to chant:  Do it!  Do it!  Do it!

I don't even remember what happened next, how many standards of ethical marketing were violated, how many pagan rites were resurrected, but the next thing I knew I was back home unpacking groceries, chocolate smeared all over my face, discovering I'd come away from the store with much more than I'd bargained for.  

So just a word of warning, dear reader.  You can be the most innocent, pink cheeked lass in the entire world, but the next time you stray into Trader Joe's you better strap on some street smarts, fast.

Because holiday season is on its way, and if you're not careful you're going to walk out of there feeling as if you'd been sprinkled with salt and dipped in chocolate, and that your once wide-eyed wonder over such treats has been forever replaced by a jaded barfly who wouldn't think twice before consuming an entire trough of those things.  

evening run

The desert has been unseasonably temperate this year, dear reader.  

That's weatherman talk for saying the desert has been lax in gaping wide its molten, seething maw and consuming me in the furnace of its discontent.

Who knows?  Maybe it has better things to do.  Maybe it fell in love.

No kidding, that's how the desert feels these days.

Lately, when I've gone for a run, it's been in the mood to set the mood, if you know what I'm saying.

The air is dulcet, caressing, sweet.  The light is low.  And I blush madly, because the desert always drops what it's doing when I come onto the scene and fixes me with one of those long, appraising stares, like a thirsty man who just found water.

Of course I start talking like a nervous auctioneer, humiliated by my slipshod appearance, my botched ponytail, but the desert moves in, shushing me, never breaking eye contact, speaking in low, exotic tones which is probably a fake accent but works wonders on me in the moment.

Then it surprises me with a gesture that shows just how much the desert truly gets me: tadpoles!

If you know anything about me, anything at all, you'll know that gesture went straight to my heart.  

I am smitten by tadpoles, as it happens.

Love comes in all shapes and sizes, dear reader.  You are lucky if you have a dog.  You are lucky if you have a friend.  You are lucky if you have a child.  You are lucky if you have a bar of chocolate, a yellow cardigan, a good book, a Trader Joe's.  You are exceedingly lucky if you come across your own Mr. Darcy.  

But in the midst of all that love, there is always room for more, and hopefully this summer you will have the living daylights wooed out of you by the mesmerizing and seductive, great outdoors.

in other news, i hope i can keep this fern alive

 
Dear reader, how was your weekend?  Ours was busy, fun, uplifting, and filled with family.  Pretty much one of my favorite weekends so far this year.

And it continues to be busy.  My little brother is here visiting for the week.  He is moving to Washington, D.C., to begin a new job and I am going to miss him like crazy. 

At any rate, I bet you are wondering who takes pictures of her groceries as she is in the process of checking them out?  Honestly, I can't really say why I did it.  Perhaps because this is the first houseplant I've purchased in ages (not counting the Trader Joe's orchids I sometimes get and then reluctantly allow to wane), and I'm wondering if I can keep it alive. 

It's a fern, and something about it touched my heart.  I remember my grandmother had a fern in the corner of her living room and it was enormous, practically insatiable.  I think we lost a tiny cousin in there once and she was never heard from again. 

 
This dear fern has prettier manners.  It is now sitting in a birdcage and every time I pass by, I stop and gaze at it awhile, feeling deeply satisfied.  I think my scattered brain thrives upon scenes of balance and simplicity.  Needless to say, I subject myself to the girls' closets the very least amount of time necessary.

The fern did not come with a list of instructions, not that it would have made a great deal of difference if it had.  The orchids come with copious rules~you practically have to sign a mandate to buy one~and yet they still don't last more than a few months under my care. 

 
But I'm wondering if anyone out there knows anything about keeping ferns alive in the world's dryest climate, and if so, can you distill the information down to the level of a very small and easily distracted child?

Trust me, it will be in the fern's best interest if you do.

serendipity

 
Yesterday the world's cutest pitcher came to my door.

 
He brought me a treat his mother had made.

 
It was a delicious avocado smoothie, her favorite childhood drink from the Phillipines.

 
Which was funny, since I had just gotten home from a trip to Trader Joe's and was about to go across the street myself to give her an (unopened) sample of my latest candy crush.

 
Isn't it wonderful when karma is on such a roll it actually color coordinates and beats you to the punch?

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p.s.  my friend was kind enough to share her recipe...please enjoy!

In the blender:

2 ripe avocados
1 can evaporated milk
handful of ice cubes
**mix until creamy**
add sugar to taste
add milk to dilute consistency (she adds about 1/4 cup)