Today is the Day

The title of this post is inspired by the marvellous Meghan Telpner. She has recently shared her creed with her readers, and is challenging us to share how we are "Living the Creed". I don't know if I'll share this with her readers, but I'm comfortable sharing it with mine. Sort of. 


This post is very rough. I realize there are things won't be clear to anyone but me, and I'm sure there are mistakes. I'm a bit pressed for time, so I'm going to post anyway. I feel the need to get this out now.  Today is the day...


Once upon a time, back in the olden days when Brambles still existed, I wrote about duck eggs. I fretted about my inability to decide what to do with the eggs. Rose-Anne, from Life, Love and Food commented with excellent advice. In her comment she also mentioned a book. I immediately hopped over to my library's website and put my name on the wait-list for the book. (I'm a nerdy book-girl that way.) If it prompted such solid, useful advice, I wanted to read it too.   


It took months, but eventually I received a copy of Gretchen Ruben's "The Happiness Project". I read the book with great excitement. There was so much I could apply to my life. The first chapter alone confirmed things I already knew, but wasn't necessarily practising.  I was drawn to the connections between exercise, organization, procrastination and happiness. If I could work on those things, I too could amplify my happiness. I was stoked.


Coincidentally, or possibly conveniently, the book arrived just prior to Hubby going out of town for a week. I was sure this was the perfect opportunity to get my stuff organized. I had visions of surprising him with all I accomplished in his absence. (Note that I had no intention of organizing his stuff. That route leads to madness, and divorce court. I'm always shocked when friends tell me that they cleaned out their Hubby's closet. That just seems wrong.) 


I made a list of all the things I was going to do.  High on my list of priorities was dealing with all the recipes I had clipped, printed and copied. I had a binder where I had been storing them, but it was full to bursting. There were several months worth of collected recipes in a messy stack on my kitchen counter. 


I chose to start with this project as it was something I could do while I watched chick-flicks, and it allowed me to make a trip to the stationery store. I *heart* shopping for stationery. (All part of the nerdy book-girl thing.)  I came home with binders and binder dividers and plastic page protectors. I was so going to organize the heck out of my recipes. 


The recipes did get organized, in spite of the fact that I had completely underestimated how many I had. It required a second trip to the stationery store for further supplies in spite of my culling old recipes as I went. My one-evening project spread out though the week. With my on-call job, and my attempts to keep up with the few household chores I do regularly, this was the only project that was crossed off the list. I was completely discouraged. 


In spite of this, I still found the book intriguing. I ordered it from the library again and again, but I just couldn't motivate myself to act. Small attempts would be made, some with lasting results, but overall not much got accomplished. I found ways to excuse myself. Ms. Rubin lives in a New York City apartment. I'm assuming it's much smaller than my small-town house. She isn't likely to have yard work, and on and on and on. There was always some "good reason" why I couldn't make this work. 


But I know I can. In fact, I was able to keep up with the basics for several weeks late last year when there was a steady stream of painters and heat-pump installers and energy advisers through the house. It felt so good to get up and get things accomplished before workers started arriving. Somehow, I keep meaning to get back to that routine, and that feeling...


Today is the day that I do it. I'm starting small. This is a pathetic admission, but I rarely make my bed or wash the breakfast dishes. Silly, small things I know, but I feel better when they are done, yet most mornings I choose not to do them.  Today they are done. My goal is to do them every morning this week, then add something new next week. I think this is the only way I can manage without feeling overwhelmed and giving up.  My plan is to organize my household chores and routines then move on to larger projects. It's all a part of a bigger picture to create conditions that are inviting to contentment. 


I'll report back occasionally and let you know how it's going. I hope you put up with me as I muddle through this. It can't always be balls and pineapple p*nis pops, though one can dream...




* Yes, sadly, Brambles is gone. It closed well over a year ago, and I have yet to write about it here.  I'm still in denial.

Pink Pineapple P*nis Pops

The Story Before the Story...

Hubby and I went for a walk shortly after I snapped the photos for this post.  As we walked, we chatted about my plans for the pictures. Hubby wasn't too excited about my intended title. He thought it would attract unwanted readers, and he figured I could get grief from the makers of the product pictured below. He also thought that the people of Moosewood, and the makers of the original P*nis Pops, might take offense.  (Is there such a thing as a P*nis Pop? I’m afraid to look.)

Hubby has such faith in the popularity of my humble blog. There are times when I'm not sure there are any readers other than Hubby and Dad. I'd be surprised if the legal departments of any of the fine companies mentioned here found me. I wasn’t too keen on changing my planned title. I thought it was funny, and I had seen far more provocative things on other blogs.

When we returned from our walk, I logged into my email. Instead of the expected list of ads, offers and forwarded crap I got a message that my Google Account had been cancelled.  Whaaaaat?!?!?  I hadn’t knowingly done anything to offend the great Google Gods. There was a moment of puzzled panic before I did the reasonable thing and tried logging in again. Presto! I was in!

I don’t know what glitch caused the original login failure, but that brief moment of confusion was enough to make me alter the title. Thus the “*” you see there and throughout this post. I think of that cancellation message as a warning shot; I’d better behave myself if I want to continue here.

Hubby is right. This is a public blog, and I never really know who is looking. I need to be mindful of what I post here. I just didn’t realize that the keepers of cyberspace could act on my planned, as well as my published, posts. The interwebs is a spooky place for imaginative, and slightly paranoid people. Like me.

Now on to our regularly scheduled story.

Pink Pineapple P*nis Pops

On Christmas morning I opened a package from Hubby that contained this innocent-looking cardboard box:

Inside the box I found what appeared to be six silver schl*ngs.

Only five pictured here. One is in the freezer!

I was baffled. One silver schl*ng would be an unlikely gift from Hubby. Six seemed excessive and completely out of character. Then I realized what the gift actually was. It was a set of stainless steel popsicle molds. I had, in fact, not only suggested these to Hubby, I had helpfully sent him a link.  Somehow, the picture of the fully assembled set didn't quite capture the p*nile quality of the individual molds. 

Snap to a few weeks later. Every so often I meet with a group of friends to share a meal. Sometimes we write. More often we just talk about what we've been up to since we last met. We each contribute something to a pot-luck supper. For this first meeting of 2012 I struggled to think of something that would satisfy everyone's New Year's resolutions and their dietary requirements.  I was lucky to find a recipe in Moosewood Restaurant Cooking for Health that would meet everyone's needs: Pineapple-Cinnamon Popsicles. The recipe had only three all-natural ingredients, and it allowed me to break out my new popsicle molds. 


By this point I had pretty much gotten over my initial surprise at the shape of the popsicle molds.  I merrily went about preparing frozen treats for the group, happy that I had found something everyone could eat.  Of course, I couldn't just stick to the recipe.  Even though there were only three ingredients (pineapple, orange juice, cinnamon) I had to mix it up a little. Instead of the wee bit of orange juice the recipe called for, I used the juice of an entire blood orange. The resulting purée was a delightful shade of grapefruit-pink. 


The popsicle molds inspired giggles and slightly off-colour comments from the moment I unpacked them at the pot-luck. Things got really silly after dinner when we popped the pops from the molds. Somehow, in spite of the pink purée, I didn't anticipate the end result:

I had accidentally created a rude, but very tasty, dessert. I'll post the recipe below. Consider it my Valentine's Day gift to you!

Pink Pineapple P*nis Pops 

Adapted somewhat from Moosewood Restaurant Cooking for Health

(I struggled with calling this one an "adaptation". I've only changed one ingredient slightly, but as that ingredient represents 1/3 of the recipe I'm going for it!)

3 cups pineapple

juice of one blood orange

1/2 tsp cinnamon

Blend all ingredients in a food processor until smooth, then whiz on high until frothy. Pour into popsicle molds and freeze immediately.  Serve and enjoy the giggles!

Contentment Challenge

When I wrote about Sankalpa a couple of weeks ago, I knew that my new-found ability to invite content would eventually be tried.  Somehow I thought I'd have more time to practice before things went awry.  It was a rude awakening when challenges came just days after that post. 

I don't often write about work. I get the feeling my employer would be less than happy with work-related sharing, and if possible I'd prefer to choose when I leave my job. I don't want to be forced out the door as the result of a stray comment here.  Because of this I'm going to be vague with the details, but there was an incident at work. 


It was the kind of incident that involved the police. It involved paperwork. It involved reporting not only to my immediate manager, but to management outside the workplace as well. I'm never confident that I'm acting correctly in these situations. I worried. I second-guessed my actions. I was angry with the people involved in the incident, then I was angry with myself for my lack of compassion.  I worried some more.


The situation left me so rattled that I woke several times that night to worry, rage and beat myself up. I knew it wasn't helpful, but I couldn't work with that knowledge when all I wanted to do was go back to sleep.


The next day should have allowed me to put the incident behind me. My manager had no complaints about my handling of the situation, and there seemed to be no fall-out from the higher-ups. The people involved didn't return.  It should have been a good day, but lack of sleep made even the small things horribly difficult. That night my sleep was interrupted again. This time  petty irritations of the day kept me awake. 


This went on for about a week. Each night my sleep was disturbed, and each day smaller and smaller things bothered me. Thoughts of contentment were lost in the sleep-deprived turmoil of my mind. I need my sleep.


(I'm not alone in recognizing the connection between sleep and contentment. Sleep is the first topic Gretchen Rubin tackles in her book "The Happiness Project".  More about the book another day.) 


My attempts at writing suffered as a result of my lack of sleep. I wrote pieces that were meant to be light and humourous. I knew I fell short of my mark when I got comments back from my most-excellent writing buddy. (Hi E!) She had awesome suggestions on how to further my social commentary.  I was trying to be funny. 


Nothing got posted here as I worked through my sleepless slump. I struggled to get anything down on paper. If it weren't for my regularly scheduled appointments with E, I probably would have given up.  (As I write this I realize that "E" can also mean "Ecstasy". Gives the previous sentence a completely different meaning. I must be recovering my sense of humour.) 


I'm grateful that, because of the commitment to my writing buddy, once a week I had to sit down and write. If nothing else, it made me realize I could write about the incident at work and its impact on my contentment. Hopefully I can now put the whole mess behind me and move on to more fun topics. Like pink pineapple p*nis pops!

Gluten Intolerant?

The bread delivery truck was arriving just as I left the grocery store yesterday. It sped through the parking lot at what I thought was a rather alarming rate. Though I was at safe distance, I was concerned for some of the other shoppers. There was one elderly couple in particular that I felt had a rather narrow escape. 


Once I recovered from the mild outrage I felt at the irresponsibility of the truck driver, my mind started to wander down less emotionally-charged paths. I wondered, if you are flattened by the bread delivery truck, is it a case of vehicular manslaughter, or are you suffering from extreme gluten-intolerance? Leave it to me to find dark humour in what could have been a serious situation.

New Word for a New Year

 Last Thursday I attended my first yoga class of the New Year. At the beginning of class our teacher talked briefly about intentions and resolutions. I’m not much for resolutions. I find them stressful. I tend to be too hard on myself as it is. Resolutions just give that irritating inner voice something else to nag me about.

I was relieved when our instructor explained that, in spite of the New Year, we were going to skip the traditional setting of goals. Instead she asked us to invite a mood or a feeling to our practice. The word she used to describe this act was Sankalpa.

Content leapt immediately to mind. I would like to be more content. Funnily enough, as soon I as thought it, I felt it. It’s like contentment was there all along just waiting for me to ask it in. Of course, as soon as our teacher started giving examples of other feelings we could work with, I doubted my choice. Maybe peace would be a more worthy guest. Or perhaps patience. Too late. Contentment had entered, poured itself a drink, kicked off its shoes and put up its feet. Peace and Patience would have to stop by another time.

The feeling of contentment continued through the class, though there were a few thigh-quiveringly tough moments that sent it edging toward the door. In those instances all I had to do was gently re-invite the feeling and it was back. Who knew it could be so easy?

Though it was surprisingly effortless to experience contentment in class, I wasn’t sure that I would have the same results off the mat. The idea that inviting a mood could result in experiencing the mood was intriguing. I decided to experiment with Sankalpa (or my version of it) in the real world. I was stunned to find how often it worked. In the past week contentment has agreed to join me at the strangest times. It’s been there while grocery shopping, brushing my teeth, standing in line, walking, washing dishes and writing. In most cases when I’ve invited content it’s been there.  There have been a few times when it’s refused to join me, or worse yet, where it’s been replaced by its evil twin, discontent. Those instances were, thankfully, rare.

If I have any resolutions for 2012 I imagine they will involve working with contentment. I can explore what brings it. I can work to create inner and outer environments that welcome it. I can try to figure out what the heck I mean by contentment anyway. Far more satisfying than striving to be skinny, friendly and sober. If working with contentment doesn’t bring contentment, I can always invite a different mood. It should be an interesting year.

For a much more thorough discussion of Sankalpa check out this article. I found the following quote to be most similar to my current understanding of the concept.

“In Sanskrit, the word for intention is Sankalpa, and it’s a representation of a desire or positive thought that you want to manifest in the world, a promise you make to yourself.”