Thanks.

Always during Thanksgiving, it seems appropriate to consider what you are thankful for.

This year, I am thankful for: (a) age—both my boss and Ammiel once simultaneously told me (to my face) I was old but more so because with age seems to come, well, wisdom; (b) persons—specifically a special desert (or is it dessert?) person, close friends, virtual ones (even pseudo-virtual, ahem, Tiffany), coworkers (Nades, you belong in the close friends category; check), family; and (c) my mother whom already belongs in the last category so must-go-without-saying but deserves a mention all to her own.

These last few days (or weeks, really), I have been pondering ideas of hope, desire, fulfillment, love, purpose and the likes. After some good home cooked grub (courtesy of chef Anna) and Kung Fu Panda (courtesy of entertainer Anna), my mother offers advice to a question I posed after my drive to their home on Wednesday. I did find it odd she did not offer any immediate thoughts to my mulls. But I am glad she held off until the physical and mental fills of today.

Mother reasons with me that life is, at best, limited to about eighty or so years. She empowers me to go after dreams with responsibility—to self—and faithfulness—to God. Because a life of I-tried is better than a life of what-ifs. And putting yourself out there builds self and faith. And failure is not a done deal. You can always fail again.

That last sentence was meant to be funny.

Anyway, I like where I am right now. In therapy sessions, this would be called a break.

I needed a break.

In both a therapeutic and absence-of-work sense.

Thank goodness...

Cousin’s

Before Ellen went across the giant pond (for hitch purposes), we had a chance to play in the city. I meant to blog about this experience a while back, but perhaps now is better than never...

Nunz won tickets to a Christian Finnegan show; it was genius times, for sure. He spoke well aware of his audience, grand. But beforehand, we went to a Mediterranean eatery called Cousin’s on Broadway:

Please excuse the shoddy stitch job. You get the idea.

Hurrah to meeting Jae for the first time.

I thought the hanging tapestries were, well (to use an Ellen word), bangin’ as was the seamless pattern on the tables you eat on (and sit around, this is key).


The winner and the mooch. To more fun times, I salute.

I want to try Etheopian food, yes.

Everything sounds better in...

I haven’t blogged in ages, I know.

I need more than encouragement or incentive. Purpose perhaps and more.

This reminded me of Tommy.

Upgrade update...

Readers,

There once was a boy who was abandoned.
There once was a boy who was abandoned by she-who-must-not-be-named.

However, this mysterious she left behind a mysterious box.
And within said mysterious box were gifts abound.

And his pain was eased.
And his heart was ceased.

Observe:

Clockwise from bottom left: candied/dried cantaloupe, thank you card, box, spaghetti cooker thinger/strainer thinger/kitchen utensil holder thinger, can opener, pot, chocolate covered sunflower seeds, massive big o’ thing of olive oil

But his heart still ached often so...

However, all was not lost for this mysterious she taught him how to make spa-ghet-ti (that rhymed!).

But he got creative. Observe:

Ingredients: Piccolini mini farfalle, garlic salt, pepper, dried basil, basil-basil (aka, Martha) olive oil, grape tomatoes, feta cheese

In order to squelch pain forevermore, he replaced her with another he:



A boy that knew how to feed, for eating was his destiny.

And so concludes the saga of the TAWN-TAWN-Y-Y-Y upgrade!

Bam.

FIN

In other news, Nunz was here this weekend. I think I got whatever Ammiel has/had, because my throat hurts.

Push Pops are genius. Dirty.

I should have bought that hat from New York on our road trip! The way her dreads meld together reminds me of Diane Pernet.

Nunz at Caffe Tosi

I scream for ice cream.

I probably got AmmiLOVE-cooties from this pumpkin deliciousness.

It hailed today.
It snowed today.
What will tomorrow bring?

I need me some gloves.

End.

Really? Eat you up?

For some reason, I am reminded of Jae when BoA sings: so yum, yum. That girl can put down some Mediterranean food...

And, of course, Daul with her craze forkin’ ways.

Death by laughter

I almost died at work today.

Tawny triple whams me with a blog comment sandwiched in between two email messages.

The latter email message had to do with a certain, shall we say, proclivity I have in my choice of words, especially in front of certain persons. I do not tell people what they want to hear. I just sensor myself and let them think what they want without correcting them, well, sometimes—or ever.



You know you miss your PC. I understand.

In other news, I downloaded CameraBag for my 3G. I should stop calling it that. 3G is a network/portal/service/whatever. It means nothing to me here in southwest Michigan. I reasoned it would make-me-take-more-pictures which would translate into more visuals which would encourage me to blog more. And it was temporarily on sale for $2.99 USD! I love me some sales.



I think I like it. I have yet to determine if it drains my battery. Anyway, that slight green thing is not a burn on your monitor nor is it mold. It is Martha, the basil plant (amidst mini farfalle) Tawny brought me from California! She purchased an extra coach seat beside her and brought me some true Californian basil/weed/magic. It makes everything taste better. Baking some brownies? Pluck in some Martha. Not a fan of Brussels? Toss in some Martha!

Yeah, I water her (almost) every day.
And then I pluck her.
And eat her.

At this rate, she just may expire all her leafy green-ness before the end of her official stint. You know, like another certain green, ahem, she.

But I digress. I mean, I support love.

And all that jazz.

Sugar

Tawny says I have until midnight (EST) to blog a new entry.

Melanie, I dedicate this to you: