Can we talk about the fact that my baby is no longer a baby? She is eight years old and as confident and fearless as she wants to be. She is everything her mother dreamt of being and more. She is my dream personified.
My mom says I have a black thumb. Not a green thumb, but a black one. Any and every plant-like thing I touch, pretty much dies. Imagine her surprise when I told her I was creating a balcony garden.
I’m like 99% sure that my mom doesn’t mean anything by it when she talks about how terrible I am at taking care of stuff and keeping things alive. Thankfully, J is the exception to the rule and has done pretty well over the years, but almost everything else has gone to shit. So, honestly she has a point. It is very, very hard for me to keep things like herbs, flowers, and animals (RIP Charlie the Guinea Pig) alive. It’s never intentional, but their care just kinda falls through the cracks. Well, in the case of Charlie, I solemnly believe that he had an undiagnosed medical condition that hastened his death, but that’s neither here nor there. He’s in a better place.
Back to the balcony garden.
I love, love, looovve, the farmer’s market. It used to be what motivated me to get up on Sundays until I started back going to church. Now it’s my Saturday morning addiction.
The city of Omaha has some great farmer’s markets with even better prices and people. I always feel so at home when we go. Like I’m some kinda “one with the earth” type chick. It’s all cliches and stereotypes, I know. But I am here for it! Usually when we go, we end up grabbing some baked goods, three lemonades–strawberry, mango, and regular, and some vegetables just to say we didn’t come only for the lemonade and baked goods.
Right now, I’m going through this really awkward stage where I think I can make anything. Every time I look at something, I’m mentally taking it apart. From furniture (because we finally moved!) to food, my mind is constantly disassembling things.
I’ll give you a perfect example of what I mean. Just recently, I decided to try to Denny’s new pancakes because 1) I’m an ambassador and wouldn’t be doing my job if I didn’t let my readers know about them and 2) I felt that their regular pancakes were amazing, so I was definitely ready and willing to taste these new pancakes said to be tastier and flufflier than the ones before. Aight, Denny’s, you’ve got my attention.
My first thought after taking a bite was, “Hmm, these are really good.” My second thought, however, and going back to this deconstructing thing I’m doing, was, “I wonder what’s all in these?” Vanilla? Yes. Fresh buttermilk? Yes. Fresh eggs? Yes. Flour? Of course.
I think Denny’s may have hit that mark they were going for…because my pancakes don’t taste this good. And I’m not mad about it. It’s just the truth. I’ve been outdone by Denny’s.
According to my Goodreads account, I started reading What I Know for Sure by Oprah on August 10, 2015. I finished on June 6, 2016.
That’s almost an entire year of reading the same book. Admittedly, there were some months that I didn’t pick the book up at all. I would think about it and immediately push the thought from my mind. It wasn’t that I didn’t like the book; I actually loved it. It just felt so heavy and I didn’t feel like I was in a good place to actually accept and internalize the lessons that I knew were forthcoming.
What I Know For Sure is a guide; Oprah is a teacher
I haven’t always been a fan of Oprah’s. For some time, I regarded Oprah as someone I couldn’t relate to. She was far more enlightened than I and she had so. much. more than me. Those things are still true (I certainly don’t have “Oprah money”) but there’s still so much I can and did learn from her while reading What I Know for Sure.
Things. Right now, I’m surrounded by things. There are things everywhere. Things that I didn’t even know I had. Things that I thought I got rid of. Things. Just things.
One of the best things about moving is that you get to see all the stuff you’ve accumulated over the years. And if you’re anything like me, it’s a slap in the face. How can I believe I have nothing when I have so much? Why am I constantly buying shit that’s probably unwanted, and obviously unneeded, when I already have so much? Shame, man. Lots of shame.