Oct. 18, 2008

Fine. I am back.

Several friends have been asking me when I was going to post again. While I cannot say the writing bug has officially returned I have noticed that I am having more of those "you should write that down" experiences lately. One popular doctrine taught at church is that we can either choose to be humble or the Lord will compel us to be so. Apparently he works the same way with writing. I can either choose to write, or be compelled to write. This is also where I would link to a scripture about God having a sense of humor if I knew where to find one.On Monday night I was making dinner for a friend who is moving back to Utah. It wasn't going to be a tender sappy dinner of goodbyes, but one that was most likely going to illicit some rather intense conversation, awkward pauses, and tearful regrets. You know, cause that is the way I roll. Due to the nature of said dinner I had been obsessing over the menu for nearly a week. I finally decided on the America's Test Kitchen skillet beef stroganoff and the Fall Issue of Cook's Illustrated pan roasted broccoli with browned lemon butter. The previous sentence doesn't really have relevance to the story as much as just a chance to say -- these recipes are keepers. If you haven't discovered them for yourself, they are 5 fork recipes in my book.

However, because I was making a fancy dinner I had planned to leave work a bit early so not to rush the cooking and still have time to clean up a bit before my guest arrived. Not clean up as to be HAWT, but as in when you work with infants and toddlers all day it's not every dinner guest that appreciates the faint smell of reflux, wipes, and playdough. Also, while I really didn't want to be HAWT I did secretly hope that my guest would leave with one of those feelings of "Dang, I really screwed that up." even though I would have the continued feeling of "Dang, I totally dodged that bullet!". I however did not make it out of the office as early as I anticipated and I still needed to pick up fresh thyme and a lemon. My mind was racing; timing everything out in my head, when to start each dish, would I still have time to run the vacuum, change clothes, add a dessert or just eat ice cream as I dashed into Trader Joe's. Only instead of dashing in, I crashed in. It all happened so fast I don't know if I missed the curb all together or if I just didn't step up all the way. All I know is that in a matter of seconds my keys, purse, and sunglasses from my left hand were flying in the air and the drink I was holding in my right hand was smashed completely against my chest as I hit the ground full force. Did I mention this was in front of Trader Joe's? Around 4:30 in the afternoon, prime just after work shopping time? Seriously, probably 25 people outside the store. First, kudos to whatever angel sealed my lips because surprisingly not a single four letter word spilled out. There were tons of kids out front of the store so that could have been bad. So there I was flat on the concrete wondering why I couldn't have waited to fall when Ann was in town so I could blame her for pushing me down. Because she totally does. When a kind soul came and offered his help.

That's right, 25 people saw me fly through the air and only one person even acknowledged the fall. An adult man much like unto my beloved Vin Diesel. What kinda crappy luck is that? A tall, thick necked, bald, tattooed man comes and helps me to my feet. Ohhh heaven forbid, I just meet this guy in the aisle of TJ's where he could ask me a question about the "Pirates Booty" and I would charmingly answer and he would respond with some lame pirate joke, and then I would smile and blush slightly, and then he would say he had one more question, and I would say of course you can have my number, and he would say Happily. Ever. After. Oh no, heaven forbid that happen. Instead my dead on real life dream man, lifts my fat rump off the sidewalk and said "Don't worry it happens to all of us" as he helps me gather my scattered belongings. Sigh.Better yet? Trader Joe's was out of fresh thyme and only had limes. On the at least my glass isn't empty side of things, I luckily walked away with only scrapped palms and minimally scrapped knees. The next day though I was so stinking sore.So there you have it. Next time your friends encourage you to update your blog, just do it. Don't wait to be compelled to write. Also, when you are pretending to be nice by having a dinner guest over but secretly hope to send someone away with regrets, it's not really a secret because you will end up humbled.