First, I have to admit that I have a degree in English, and I've never read A Tale of Two Cities. It's shameful, I know, but it's the truth.
Second, I got on a hot little blogging streak (for me anyway) there for a little bit, and I know all you precious fans of the blog were giddy with anticipation at my opinionated renaissance, and then I went and abandoned you again. Sorry. Life (and death unfortunately) intervened as it is wont to do.
Third, I have to say that I have the best real-life friends and family in the world who have covered me up with love and kind thoughts and prayers in the passing of my sweet Grams last week. Many of those friends are readers here, so thanks again for all that you have done and are doing for me.
Fourth, in the midst of a grief-filled week or so, I got some really good news on other fronts including a bit of a promotion and pay increase at work and acceptance into graduate school. I'm not exactly excited about library school itself, but I'm excited about what it represents, namely getting a piece of paper that will mean that I'm worth more money and qualified to boss more people and do less work. The promotion-y thing has so far been really interesting and time-consuming, and it's sort of just the thing I needed to get me out of my work rut.
Fifth, although the occasion for our gathering was solemn, I had the most spectacular time with my family over the past week or so. We talked and laughed and ate and remembered and cried and hugged and didn't take each other for granted. One of the best moments was when the eight grandkids--four cousins, three siblings, and me--gathered at Grams's house to pick out a memento or two to take home and treasure. It could have been morbid or mean, full of selfishness or jealousy, but it was perfect. We relived little pieces of our childhoods together and cared about each other's feelings more than our own and came away with just the perfect things to remind us.
Sixth, my moma has had a hard time lately, and you know that doesn't sit well with me. She was diagnosed on Wednesday with a hiatal hernia, which is actually kind of good news as she finally has a medical explanation for how badly she's been feeling. Thursday morning she was going work for the first time in over a week, and she fell coming off our back steps. She has distal fibula fractures in both legs. One's quite a bit worse than the other, and she's banged and bruised and beat up besides. Bless her poor old heart. I'm going to have to head back to my old Kentucky home tonight to see about her. For those keeping score, yes--I have been back in Arkansas for less than 48 hours.
I wanted to end on a happier one, but I ran out of thoughts. Shocking, I know. Still, it's nice to be back to a blogging normal, even if I'm not up to my usual standard of excellence. Thanks for coming, imaginary readers. I miss you when we're apart.
Showing posts with label gratitude. Show all posts
Showing posts with label gratitude. Show all posts
Friday, July 29, 2011
Saturday, July 16, 2011
last chance to make me a millionaire
Last month I got a notice from amazon that they were breaking up with me. Seems the Wal-Mart State has made a new online tax law, and amazon is dumping all of its Arkie associates as a result. I'm disappointed, but the world won't end. I'm not going to starve or anything from the loss of that income. I've made a couple hundred dollars from them (well, really from the imaginary readers who followed links from this site and bought stuff from amazon) in the past year, and I'd be lying if that wasn't nice (especially the $130 I got all at once for the December referrals). Gosh, isn't it tacky to talk about money? Sorry.
I really am thankful to those of you who've indulged my little money-making scheme for the past year or so. You're nice people, and as a result, I know you'll want to do me one last favor:
My last day as an amazon associate is next Saturday the 23rd, so if you're planning a major purchase in the near future, why not get it done this week, so I can rake in one last fat check?
And if you're not planning on a major purchase in the near future, maybe you'll want to buy me something as a consolation gesture for my impending lack of completely unearned and undeserved income. Might I suggest:
I really am thankful to those of you who've indulged my little money-making scheme for the past year or so. You're nice people, and as a result, I know you'll want to do me one last favor:
My last day as an amazon associate is next Saturday the 23rd, so if you're planning a major purchase in the near future, why not get it done this week, so I can rake in one last fat check?
And if you're not planning on a major purchase in the near future, maybe you'll want to buy me something as a consolation gesture for my impending lack of completely unearned and undeserved income. Might I suggest:
or
or
or
or even
Even if you're not generous enough to reward me for doing nothing, you can follow those links to get to amazon and get your own junk, and I'll settle for my measly 4-15%.
Sunday, May 8, 2011
"i am her child and that is better than being the child of anyone else in the world” maya angelou
Seriously, I'm writing about her again. Are you tired of hearing about my sainted moma, imaginary readers? I'm afraid I can't stop, and in any case, it's at least seasonally appropriate that I write about her today. Indulge me?
I realized long ago that the unintended lesson I was learning in being my moma's child was about the kind of mother I wanted to be. This is probably true of most everyone. Even if the lesson is learned negatively ("I'll never say/do that to my children"), we learn about the ways we do and don't want to parent from our parents. I know you'll be surprised to hear that I think my moma is the last word in good examples of mothering. You know, because I never talk about her amazingness or how crazy I am about her. I'm not a mother, and maybe I never will be, but if I ever am, and if as a mother I ever get anything right, we'll all know it's because of her.
The thing I'm learning lately, the idea that sprang into my head and said "write me" this week, is that besides that showing-me-how-to-be-a-moma example that I've noticed and cherished and taken for granted for the past thirty years, my moma's been teaching me by example all along how to be a daughter. And since there's no someday or maybe attached to that one, it's what I should have been noticing and cultivating and praying would take root in my grown-up daughter self.
I've always known that my moma loved and was close to her parents. Gramps and Grams were a part of our daily lives. We saw them all the time, and it wasn't just because we were adorable and charming grandchildren (though we were) or because my moma sometimes needed free baby-sitting (though she did). We went to their house every Sunday and Wednesday night after church of my life and most of the Sunday afternoons too. We went with them--or at least met up with them there--to visit my great-grandmother every week when I was little (wonder where my moma learned about being a good child?). When my moma started working at Garan, she went to their house every day for lunch and every day after work, to drink coffee and visit. She spent time with them because it was what she wanted and needed and what they wanted and needed too, because family is her happy place. Is it any wonder I adore her and the Popster the way that I do having watched her adore her own olds all my life?
My moma remembers and tells stories about Gramps and Grams all the time. She knows stuff about them as children and recounts details of their lives from before she was born in addition to all the memories from her own life that are wrapped up in G & G. She knows these stories because she's listened and asked and committed to her heart details, the snippets and vignettes that add up to who her parents are. Without ever realizing who I was imitating, I can do the same. When the Handful ask for stories from when I was a little girl, I quickly run out of entertaining or memorable (non-frightening) stories, so I tell stories about Nana (that's what the Handful call my moma). Her stories are my best ones. And in the same way we pass along stories about our beloved Gramps, whom the Handful never knew, I want to believe that someday Pointer, Bird, Ring, Pinkie, and Thumb will be telling their own kiddos (or grandkiddos) about Nana and the escaped panther or all the dog stories or how she and the Popster first met as little neighbor children (to be honest, I make this one more romantic than it actually is, but it makes up in charm and good storytelling what it lacks in truth).
But being a daughter isn't all sweetness and perfection and heart-warming anecdotes, and my moma (and her sisters to share the love and appropriate credit where it's due) shows me that too, the bravery and heartache and sacrifice of being a daughter. Right now we're living through a time of concern and uncertainty and prayerful worry for Grams, my moma's moma. It's not been easy on any of us, but the truth is that she's been slowing and weakening at varying rates of speed for a long time now. Nothing about that changes the love and devotion and joy that my moma has in Grams, but it does, I think, complicate it.
It's that role reversal common to most families, where the person who has always taken care of you starts requiring care. I've watched my moma do this for years, even before Gramps died. She sorted out their medicines and drove them to the doctor and came and drank coffee with them every day so they wouldn't be bored or lonely, and it's only gotten bigger since Gramps died and Grams aged. It was such a natural progression in our lives that I didn't always realize how it might sometimes be inconvenient or how it must hurt her to have to become the strong one, the caregiver. I didn't know it was brave or difficult or a sacrifice because it just looked like love. It didn't look like a choice because to a daughter who has always cherished her moma and daddy it was the only choice.
That's the lesson she's teaching me these days: an example that's declaring war on my selfish nature and a love that is patient and kind, that always protects and always perseveres, that never fails.
Happy Mother's Day to my moma and her moma. May I someday be a daughter worthy of them.
I realized long ago that the unintended lesson I was learning in being my moma's child was about the kind of mother I wanted to be. This is probably true of most everyone. Even if the lesson is learned negatively ("I'll never say/do that to my children"), we learn about the ways we do and don't want to parent from our parents. I know you'll be surprised to hear that I think my moma is the last word in good examples of mothering. You know, because I never talk about her amazingness or how crazy I am about her. I'm not a mother, and maybe I never will be, but if I ever am, and if as a mother I ever get anything right, we'll all know it's because of her.
The thing I'm learning lately, the idea that sprang into my head and said "write me" this week, is that besides that showing-me-how-to-be-a-moma example that I've noticed and cherished and taken for granted for the past thirty years, my moma's been teaching me by example all along how to be a daughter. And since there's no someday or maybe attached to that one, it's what I should have been noticing and cultivating and praying would take root in my grown-up daughter self.
I've always known that my moma loved and was close to her parents. Gramps and Grams were a part of our daily lives. We saw them all the time, and it wasn't just because we were adorable and charming grandchildren (though we were) or because my moma sometimes needed free baby-sitting (though she did). We went to their house every Sunday and Wednesday night after church of my life and most of the Sunday afternoons too. We went with them--or at least met up with them there--to visit my great-grandmother every week when I was little (wonder where my moma learned about being a good child?). When my moma started working at Garan, she went to their house every day for lunch and every day after work, to drink coffee and visit. She spent time with them because it was what she wanted and needed and what they wanted and needed too, because family is her happy place. Is it any wonder I adore her and the Popster the way that I do having watched her adore her own olds all my life?
My moma remembers and tells stories about Gramps and Grams all the time. She knows stuff about them as children and recounts details of their lives from before she was born in addition to all the memories from her own life that are wrapped up in G & G. She knows these stories because she's listened and asked and committed to her heart details, the snippets and vignettes that add up to who her parents are. Without ever realizing who I was imitating, I can do the same. When the Handful ask for stories from when I was a little girl, I quickly run out of entertaining or memorable (non-frightening) stories, so I tell stories about Nana (that's what the Handful call my moma). Her stories are my best ones. And in the same way we pass along stories about our beloved Gramps, whom the Handful never knew, I want to believe that someday Pointer, Bird, Ring, Pinkie, and Thumb will be telling their own kiddos (or grandkiddos) about Nana and the escaped panther or all the dog stories or how she and the Popster first met as little neighbor children (to be honest, I make this one more romantic than it actually is, but it makes up in charm and good storytelling what it lacks in truth).
But being a daughter isn't all sweetness and perfection and heart-warming anecdotes, and my moma (and her sisters to share the love and appropriate credit where it's due) shows me that too, the bravery and heartache and sacrifice of being a daughter. Right now we're living through a time of concern and uncertainty and prayerful worry for Grams, my moma's moma. It's not been easy on any of us, but the truth is that she's been slowing and weakening at varying rates of speed for a long time now. Nothing about that changes the love and devotion and joy that my moma has in Grams, but it does, I think, complicate it.
It's that role reversal common to most families, where the person who has always taken care of you starts requiring care. I've watched my moma do this for years, even before Gramps died. She sorted out their medicines and drove them to the doctor and came and drank coffee with them every day so they wouldn't be bored or lonely, and it's only gotten bigger since Gramps died and Grams aged. It was such a natural progression in our lives that I didn't always realize how it might sometimes be inconvenient or how it must hurt her to have to become the strong one, the caregiver. I didn't know it was brave or difficult or a sacrifice because it just looked like love. It didn't look like a choice because to a daughter who has always cherished her moma and daddy it was the only choice.
That's the lesson she's teaching me these days: an example that's declaring war on my selfish nature and a love that is patient and kind, that always protects and always perseveres, that never fails.
Happy Mother's Day to my moma and her moma. May I someday be a daughter worthy of them.
Friday, December 10, 2010
happy birthday, blog o' mine
Has it really only been a year since my extreme hubris got the better of me, convincing me that people cared about reading my opinions? Some days it feels like I've been doing this--or not doing this--forever.
And I know it's only been seven or eight posts since I took my imaginary readers down memory lane in my 100th post haikus, but milestones are important. I'm a girl who loves traditions and nostalgia, and I'm not sure if the term nostalgia can really be applied to such recent events, but it's my party and I'll cry if I want to.
Fans of the blog may be aware that I occasionally post birthday blogs in honor of a random sampling of my friends and family. There's very little rhyme or reason to who gets picked and who doesn't, which is a pretty shoddy way to do business. Sorry about that, people who feel left out.
But in true birthday fashion, I'm going to tell you my five favorite things about the blog. I considered doing my five favorite posts or something commemorating favorite comments, but the five general favorite things fits the birthday blog tradition more fully. So here you go.
5. I love the little monetary surprise that comes along with the blog's participation in the amazon associates program. Faithful fans (or anyone who follows that link) will recall that I enrolled in the program in March, just because I'm greedy, and I think it's been fairly painless for us all. Several of you, who I assume were going to shop at amazon anyway, follow links from my blog to the amazon site to place your orders. When you do that, I get anywhere from 4-15% of your purchase price, just for referring you there. Plus it's one more statistical report for me to pore over on a monthly basis. In the seven months or so since I put the ads up on my site, I've probably made between $30 and $40 dollars, which seems ridiculously wonderful to me for the tiny amount of work that went into setting it up. I'm banned from looking at my full Associate report right now because word on the street is that someone bought me a Christmas present from amazon through my site, but I can still go to the general account page to check on my balance for the month. So far in December alone, I've earned $72 in referral fees. Thank you! I'm blown away by that amount, and I promise to do something ever so nice with my windfall in your honor.
4. And since I mentioned statistics, I'll proclaim Google Analytics and its various measures of site traffic as another blogging favorite. I know I've said this before, but it's insane how much satisfaction I get from knowing how many people come to the site and where they're from, what pages bring in the most visitors, the methods that folks use to find me, and the keywords searched that lead people to the opinions. In the past few months, the keyword stats have been compromised because after I mentioned things that people googled to find me in a conversation, a couple of avid readers started testing what they could search to bring up the blog. But Google Analytics fills up a very nerdy place in my heart.
3. I love how the blog has often given me a sense of purpose and direction this year. There have been countless ways in which I've come up short from the big resolutions to missed deadlines to time wasted on frivolities to the general disorganization of my life, but there have also been moments and instances when I've followed through and gotten some crap done just so I could share it here. In a life severely lacking in motivation, I never guessed that this forum would provide a sense of accountability. But it has. I hope that this unexpected blessing continues to push me in the next year as well. Feel free to help in that regard, imaginary readers. Speaking of which . . .
2. You. Of course, I'm thankful, for you, not-so-imaginary readers, from the loyal fans to the casual readers who pass this way. Without you, I'd have no Google Analytics to study. I'd have no comments to read and enjoy and hold to my heart. Without you, I'd just be talking to myself, and as much as I have and will continue to profess all sorts of self-love, if you weren't here reading what I'm writing, I'd be every kind of a loser. I love that you're here reading these words, and I love that several of you will post a comment and encourage me to keep doing this. I can say without hesitation that if my precious family and several close friends hadn't come along and created my little fan-base, I would have hung up my blogging hat months ago. (Hmmm . . . now I want a blogging hat--maybe I'll use my $72 on that.) And though I don't really think that any of my repeat readers are strangers, it's been nice for those who don't know me in real life to stop by and stay for a while too. I feel like most of the time the ellen portrayed here in the blog falls into a neighborhood several miles south of likeable, so the fact that anyone sticks around is amazing and special to me. My cup is full and running over from the blessing that is your presence here, dear readers. Thank you.
1. I love having a collection of my writing from the past year. I know I've been spotty at times in keeping up with things, and in some ways, I thought that I'd have done something more or different. But overall, I'm just thrilled that I've stuck around at all--that there are at least a few posts from each of the past twelve months. I should be embarrassed to admit how often I got back and read older posts, but I feel no shame. I love having a way to go back and review what's been going on in my life. Often when I need to find an old post to link to something new I'm doing, I get caught up in reading old favorites. I know it's painfully and ashamedly obvious that I'm completely self-absorbed already, so I'll go ahead and admit to you, that I think I'm a pretty great writer. I don't love everything I've written here, and occasionally I'm shocked at how mundane the writing can be, but when I'm firing on all cylinders, I'm witty and eloquent and, dare I say, readable. I never gave any thought to reading my own blog, but as it turns out, it's kind of a lot of fun.
Happy Birthday, ellen has an opinion! Your name is still ridiculous, but I love you anyway.
And I know it's only been seven or eight posts since I took my imaginary readers down memory lane in my 100th post haikus, but milestones are important. I'm a girl who loves traditions and nostalgia, and I'm not sure if the term nostalgia can really be applied to such recent events, but it's my party and I'll cry if I want to.
Fans of the blog may be aware that I occasionally post birthday blogs in honor of a random sampling of my friends and family. There's very little rhyme or reason to who gets picked and who doesn't, which is a pretty shoddy way to do business. Sorry about that, people who feel left out.
But in true birthday fashion, I'm going to tell you my five favorite things about the blog. I considered doing my five favorite posts or something commemorating favorite comments, but the five general favorite things fits the birthday blog tradition more fully. So here you go.
5. I love the little monetary surprise that comes along with the blog's participation in the amazon associates program. Faithful fans (or anyone who follows that link) will recall that I enrolled in the program in March, just because I'm greedy, and I think it's been fairly painless for us all. Several of you, who I assume were going to shop at amazon anyway, follow links from my blog to the amazon site to place your orders. When you do that, I get anywhere from 4-15% of your purchase price, just for referring you there. Plus it's one more statistical report for me to pore over on a monthly basis. In the seven months or so since I put the ads up on my site, I've probably made between $30 and $40 dollars, which seems ridiculously wonderful to me for the tiny amount of work that went into setting it up. I'm banned from looking at my full Associate report right now because word on the street is that someone bought me a Christmas present from amazon through my site, but I can still go to the general account page to check on my balance for the month. So far in December alone, I've earned $72 in referral fees. Thank you! I'm blown away by that amount, and I promise to do something ever so nice with my windfall in your honor.
4. And since I mentioned statistics, I'll proclaim Google Analytics and its various measures of site traffic as another blogging favorite. I know I've said this before, but it's insane how much satisfaction I get from knowing how many people come to the site and where they're from, what pages bring in the most visitors, the methods that folks use to find me, and the keywords searched that lead people to the opinions. In the past few months, the keyword stats have been compromised because after I mentioned things that people googled to find me in a conversation, a couple of avid readers started testing what they could search to bring up the blog. But Google Analytics fills up a very nerdy place in my heart.
3. I love how the blog has often given me a sense of purpose and direction this year. There have been countless ways in which I've come up short from the big resolutions to missed deadlines to time wasted on frivolities to the general disorganization of my life, but there have also been moments and instances when I've followed through and gotten some crap done just so I could share it here. In a life severely lacking in motivation, I never guessed that this forum would provide a sense of accountability. But it has. I hope that this unexpected blessing continues to push me in the next year as well. Feel free to help in that regard, imaginary readers. Speaking of which . . .
2. You. Of course, I'm thankful, for you, not-so-imaginary readers, from the loyal fans to the casual readers who pass this way. Without you, I'd have no Google Analytics to study. I'd have no comments to read and enjoy and hold to my heart. Without you, I'd just be talking to myself, and as much as I have and will continue to profess all sorts of self-love, if you weren't here reading what I'm writing, I'd be every kind of a loser. I love that you're here reading these words, and I love that several of you will post a comment and encourage me to keep doing this. I can say without hesitation that if my precious family and several close friends hadn't come along and created my little fan-base, I would have hung up my blogging hat months ago. (Hmmm . . . now I want a blogging hat--maybe I'll use my $72 on that.) And though I don't really think that any of my repeat readers are strangers, it's been nice for those who don't know me in real life to stop by and stay for a while too. I feel like most of the time the ellen portrayed here in the blog falls into a neighborhood several miles south of likeable, so the fact that anyone sticks around is amazing and special to me. My cup is full and running over from the blessing that is your presence here, dear readers. Thank you.
1. I love having a collection of my writing from the past year. I know I've been spotty at times in keeping up with things, and in some ways, I thought that I'd have done something more or different. But overall, I'm just thrilled that I've stuck around at all--that there are at least a few posts from each of the past twelve months. I should be embarrassed to admit how often I got back and read older posts, but I feel no shame. I love having a way to go back and review what's been going on in my life. Often when I need to find an old post to link to something new I'm doing, I get caught up in reading old favorites. I know it's painfully and ashamedly obvious that I'm completely self-absorbed already, so I'll go ahead and admit to you, that I think I'm a pretty great writer. I don't love everything I've written here, and occasionally I'm shocked at how mundane the writing can be, but when I'm firing on all cylinders, I'm witty and eloquent and, dare I say, readable. I never gave any thought to reading my own blog, but as it turns out, it's kind of a lot of fun.
Happy Birthday, ellen has an opinion! Your name is still ridiculous, but I love you anyway.
Thursday, December 2, 2010
an open letter to flying burrito
Dear Flying Burrito,
I can still remember our first encounter back in May of 2007. It was a Wednesday, and Lisa bought my lunch as a bribe for doing something I wanted to do anyway. Even on our first meeting, I was wise enough to choose the chicken nachos, and it was the beginning of a beautiful relationship.
Do you remember those early days when Lisa liked to go and flirt with "the burrito boys" none of whom were actually flirt-worthy? Remember the nicknames we had for the boys? I still miss JT and Original Hat, and though I love Normal Guy, he still can't make up for the loss of them. Remember how Mouth-Breather used to be such a dud then turned fun for about a week and then went right back to his old dud ways? Why did he have to be the one who worked there the whole time I've been in love with you?
Flying Burrito, you ruined me for any other pick-your-toppings type Mexican food. Whenever anyone starts singing the praises of Moe's, I gag. I still believe that anyone who truly likes Moe's has never been to the Burrito. There's just no way you could experience the perfection of you and ever be content with Moe and his nasty cheese dip.
I always loved that I could come for a visit anytime of day. On Mondays when I like to eat lunch late, the River Market vendors are always closed, but you're there for me. I'll never forget that about you. Your presence in my life enriched my relationships with coworkers. Imagine my surprise when I discovered that Mattie and Amelia had an entirely different set of nicknames for the boys. Our Burrito-love and friendly debate over the best foods there brought us closer together. Mattie's in London this semester, and I know she's devastated that she'll never get one last burrito when she gets home.
Over the years I've shared our love with countless friends. Jess and I had our first date there back in August of 2008. I took Justin there. Sam the page and I have lunched there together. I think I introduced Shane to your delightfulness. You were the setting for a short-lived run of weekly lunches with a few downtown-working church friends. When Martha moved back and we instated downtown lunches, you were the first place I took her. And that doesn't even take into account all the lunches I've had there with Lisa or Bob and Philip and lately with the babies Beck. So many memories with folks from all over my life. Thank you for those memories.
Sometimes I've tried to stay away, bring my lunch, and save my pennies, but even when I was being sensible, you were my splurge place. If I was going to go eat anywhere, I would come to you, especially on Tuesdays. Your double-punch lunch card special ensured that though I was paying for lunch then, there was a free treat in my future. Thanks for all those double-punches. And thanks to Normal Guy who on a few occasions gave me extra punches after I lost my punch card. I'm going to miss that Normal Guy.
I had heard mutterings that you were closing, but I refused to believe them until that Thursday a few weeks ago when I read your closing signs for myself. I couldn't believe it. I resolved then to make the most of our time together. I even had a punch-card schedule worked out so that I could fill my card one last time before you were gone forever. When I fell a bit off-schedule, Normal Guy came to my rescue again and finished my card for me on Monday, so it was free-lunch ready on Tuesday, our last day together. I actually made plans over the weekend to introduce one more person to you before you were gone for good. Lacey was going to meet me after work on Tuesday night for one last hurrah. I still came to see you for lunch on Tuesday though--and waited in line for over thirty minutes. I'm not sure how you're not managing to stay in business with crowds like that. I'll never regret coming at lunch-time that day because when Lacey and I walked over after work, you were already closed for good. It hurt.
There's still an ache there. Never again will one of the burrito boys know I want nachos to go before I even say it. Never again will I taste the joy of all my favorites piled just the way I want them. I've tasted my last chipotle sour cream. I'll never have to explain the recycling system to Bob again or find myself involved in random line conversations. No matter what other Mexican restaurant reopens there in the spring, it will never be the same. It won't be you, and without you, we won't be us. I'm sorry for all the times that I took you for granted, for all the times I didn't ask for guacamole just because it cost extra. I'm sorry for not savoring each lunch with the knowledge that they would someday end. I've seen some cheery, feel-good quotation somewhere that advises, "Don't cry because it's over. Smile because it happened." I think I'll get there someday, Flying Burrito. Someday I'll look back with nostalgia and fondness for all the good times you provided, but for today, I'm still going to cry.
You'll always be in my heart.
Yours,
Ellen
I can still remember our first encounter back in May of 2007. It was a Wednesday, and Lisa bought my lunch as a bribe for doing something I wanted to do anyway. Even on our first meeting, I was wise enough to choose the chicken nachos, and it was the beginning of a beautiful relationship.
Do you remember those early days when Lisa liked to go and flirt with "the burrito boys" none of whom were actually flirt-worthy? Remember the nicknames we had for the boys? I still miss JT and Original Hat, and though I love Normal Guy, he still can't make up for the loss of them. Remember how Mouth-Breather used to be such a dud then turned fun for about a week and then went right back to his old dud ways? Why did he have to be the one who worked there the whole time I've been in love with you?
Flying Burrito, you ruined me for any other pick-your-toppings type Mexican food. Whenever anyone starts singing the praises of Moe's, I gag. I still believe that anyone who truly likes Moe's has never been to the Burrito. There's just no way you could experience the perfection of you and ever be content with Moe and his nasty cheese dip.
I always loved that I could come for a visit anytime of day. On Mondays when I like to eat lunch late, the River Market vendors are always closed, but you're there for me. I'll never forget that about you. Your presence in my life enriched my relationships with coworkers. Imagine my surprise when I discovered that Mattie and Amelia had an entirely different set of nicknames for the boys. Our Burrito-love and friendly debate over the best foods there brought us closer together. Mattie's in London this semester, and I know she's devastated that she'll never get one last burrito when she gets home.
Over the years I've shared our love with countless friends. Jess and I had our first date there back in August of 2008. I took Justin there. Sam the page and I have lunched there together. I think I introduced Shane to your delightfulness. You were the setting for a short-lived run of weekly lunches with a few downtown-working church friends. When Martha moved back and we instated downtown lunches, you were the first place I took her. And that doesn't even take into account all the lunches I've had there with Lisa or Bob and Philip and lately with the babies Beck. So many memories with folks from all over my life. Thank you for those memories.
Sometimes I've tried to stay away, bring my lunch, and save my pennies, but even when I was being sensible, you were my splurge place. If I was going to go eat anywhere, I would come to you, especially on Tuesdays. Your double-punch lunch card special ensured that though I was paying for lunch then, there was a free treat in my future. Thanks for all those double-punches. And thanks to Normal Guy who on a few occasions gave me extra punches after I lost my punch card. I'm going to miss that Normal Guy.
I had heard mutterings that you were closing, but I refused to believe them until that Thursday a few weeks ago when I read your closing signs for myself. I couldn't believe it. I resolved then to make the most of our time together. I even had a punch-card schedule worked out so that I could fill my card one last time before you were gone forever. When I fell a bit off-schedule, Normal Guy came to my rescue again and finished my card for me on Monday, so it was free-lunch ready on Tuesday, our last day together. I actually made plans over the weekend to introduce one more person to you before you were gone for good. Lacey was going to meet me after work on Tuesday night for one last hurrah. I still came to see you for lunch on Tuesday though--and waited in line for over thirty minutes. I'm not sure how you're not managing to stay in business with crowds like that. I'll never regret coming at lunch-time that day because when Lacey and I walked over after work, you were already closed for good. It hurt.
There's still an ache there. Never again will one of the burrito boys know I want nachos to go before I even say it. Never again will I taste the joy of all my favorites piled just the way I want them. I've tasted my last chipotle sour cream. I'll never have to explain the recycling system to Bob again or find myself involved in random line conversations. No matter what other Mexican restaurant reopens there in the spring, it will never be the same. It won't be you, and without you, we won't be us. I'm sorry for all the times that I took you for granted, for all the times I didn't ask for guacamole just because it cost extra. I'm sorry for not savoring each lunch with the knowledge that they would someday end. I've seen some cheery, feel-good quotation somewhere that advises, "Don't cry because it's over. Smile because it happened." I think I'll get there someday, Flying Burrito. Someday I'll look back with nostalgia and fondness for all the good times you provided, but for today, I'm still going to cry.
You'll always be in my heart.
Yours,
Ellen
Thursday, November 25, 2010
silent gratitude isn't much use to anyone
I'd like to take credit for the title of this post, but I stole it from G.B. Stern. Thanks, Gladys, for letting me borrow your words.
But in the spirit of being useful and because I complain way too much, it seems like an appropriate moment to proclaim some thankfulness. Lots of my facebook friends have been doing daily thankfulness statuses for the whole month. I didn't, not because I'm ungrateful but because I'm lazy. I did quite by accident mention something for which I was thankful on Monday morning, so I've followed up with that the past couple of days. Let's start there, shall we? Please pardon the third person pronouns. It's facebook's fault.
Ellen is thankful . . .
" . . .for her Monday mornings which ease her back into work mode as gently as possible." I don't have to go to work until 11 on Mondays because it's my late night. I love that schedule of getting to sleep a bit late or having time to get some other things done in the mornings. Plus it gets my late night out of the way early in the week, so it's not hanging over my head. Of course, I'm usually so grouchy about having to go back to work, I don't fully appreciate these benefits, but this week I did.
" . . . that the zombies in her dream weren't too aggressive." Okay, that one's just silly, but when I woke up from a rather unsettling dream Tuesday morning and hopped right on the internet as is my custom, the lingering creepiness of the dream was soon overshadowed by the relief that it hadn't been grosser or more horrifying.
" . . . that she gets to spend a few nights away from the yippy dog next door." Poor yippy dog next door. How I hate her. Apparently Mr. Next Door rescued her from some terrible treatment, and he had her for months before she could make sound. I felt all sorts of sadness for her when she was an abused dog who couldn't bark. Such a tragic little figure, she was. And then her comfort and confidence grew, and she was healed enough to bark. every. morning.of. my. life. Now I feel all sorts of sadness for myself. But I'll be spending the next four nights at Shane's, so her yippiness will be someone else's Thanksgiving blessing.
And now for some previously unpublished thoughts on gratitude:
I'm thankful . . .
. . . for a ten day free preview of the HBO channels going on now. I've filled our DVR with movies, watched a couple on demand, and have done a bit of work to catch up on all the past year or more of not watching movies. For the holiday weekend, we are actually getting a free preview of the top tier package which includes access to all the premium channels, but the DVR is full, and I'll be a bit too busy basking in the warm bosom of my family to worry about it.
. . . for the interwebs. I will proclaim, with no concern for how lame it makes me, that the internet makes my life better in countless ways. And since my infrequent and often unreadable posts come to you via internet, imaginary readers, I'm sure you join me in my gratitude.
. . . for my four-year-old Bible class. My little children are precious and funny and even the ones who don't listen and make me work up a sweat are so sweet and charming. I could tell you loads of stories that seem hilarious and special to me but would probably just bore you and go nowhere. But trust me that the dozen and a half or so preschoolers who hang out with me on Sundays are the best part of most of my weeks.
. . . for pajama pants. I'm thankful for the rest of my clothes too, most of the time, but I'm always overwhelmed with gratitude when I can put on my pajama pants.
. . . for Peeps and Meeps and Weeps. Friends so precious and dear that miles and years cannot ease the hold they have on my heart.
. . . for cell-phone alarm clock capabilities that allow me to never have to wake up to a blaring alarm again. Nothing ruins a morning like a startlingly loud honking noise. "Linus and Lucy" is ever so much nicer.
. . . for chocolate-covered pretzels. How they complete my life.
. . . for her. And him.
Seriously. Don't they look like the sweetest, best parents anywhere ever? They so are.
. . . and for her (and her again) and her and her and her and her
. . . and for him and her and her and her and him and her (and for the her inside that striped sweater that we wouldn't meet for another five months) and him and her and him and her and him.
. . . for traditions that hold on even when they become crowded and noisy and logistically unsound. And for the love and understanding that allow those traditions to be reevaluated and adapted into ever more good times. For last times and first times. For nostalgia and anticipation. For family and every special thing that the word evokes.
. . . for you, dear readers. For being here and reading this and making all my Google Analytics dreams come true.
Love & stuff,
ellen
But in the spirit of being useful and because I complain way too much, it seems like an appropriate moment to proclaim some thankfulness. Lots of my facebook friends have been doing daily thankfulness statuses for the whole month. I didn't, not because I'm ungrateful but because I'm lazy. I did quite by accident mention something for which I was thankful on Monday morning, so I've followed up with that the past couple of days. Let's start there, shall we? Please pardon the third person pronouns. It's facebook's fault.
Ellen is thankful . . .
" . . .for her Monday mornings which ease her back into work mode as gently as possible." I don't have to go to work until 11 on Mondays because it's my late night. I love that schedule of getting to sleep a bit late or having time to get some other things done in the mornings. Plus it gets my late night out of the way early in the week, so it's not hanging over my head. Of course, I'm usually so grouchy about having to go back to work, I don't fully appreciate these benefits, but this week I did.
" . . . that the zombies in her dream weren't too aggressive." Okay, that one's just silly, but when I woke up from a rather unsettling dream Tuesday morning and hopped right on the internet as is my custom, the lingering creepiness of the dream was soon overshadowed by the relief that it hadn't been grosser or more horrifying.
" . . . that she gets to spend a few nights away from the yippy dog next door." Poor yippy dog next door. How I hate her. Apparently Mr. Next Door rescued her from some terrible treatment, and he had her for months before she could make sound. I felt all sorts of sadness for her when she was an abused dog who couldn't bark. Such a tragic little figure, she was. And then her comfort and confidence grew, and she was healed enough to bark. every. morning.of. my. life. Now I feel all sorts of sadness for myself. But I'll be spending the next four nights at Shane's, so her yippiness will be someone else's Thanksgiving blessing.
And now for some previously unpublished thoughts on gratitude:
I'm thankful . . .
. . . for a ten day free preview of the HBO channels going on now. I've filled our DVR with movies, watched a couple on demand, and have done a bit of work to catch up on all the past year or more of not watching movies. For the holiday weekend, we are actually getting a free preview of the top tier package which includes access to all the premium channels, but the DVR is full, and I'll be a bit too busy basking in the warm bosom of my family to worry about it.
. . . for the interwebs. I will proclaim, with no concern for how lame it makes me, that the internet makes my life better in countless ways. And since my infrequent and often unreadable posts come to you via internet, imaginary readers, I'm sure you join me in my gratitude.
. . . for my four-year-old Bible class. My little children are precious and funny and even the ones who don't listen and make me work up a sweat are so sweet and charming. I could tell you loads of stories that seem hilarious and special to me but would probably just bore you and go nowhere. But trust me that the dozen and a half or so preschoolers who hang out with me on Sundays are the best part of most of my weeks.
. . . for pajama pants. I'm thankful for the rest of my clothes too, most of the time, but I'm always overwhelmed with gratitude when I can put on my pajama pants.
. . . for Peeps and Meeps and Weeps. Friends so precious and dear that miles and years cannot ease the hold they have on my heart.
. . . for cell-phone alarm clock capabilities that allow me to never have to wake up to a blaring alarm again. Nothing ruins a morning like a startlingly loud honking noise. "Linus and Lucy" is ever so much nicer.
. . . for chocolate-covered pretzels. How they complete my life.
. . . for her. And him.
. . . and for her (and her again) and her and her and her and her
. . . and for him and him and him (and him again even with that face) and her
. . . and for him and him and him and her and him and him and him
. . . for you, dear readers. For being here and reading this and making all my Google Analytics dreams come true.
Love & stuff,
ellen
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