Making a List: Checking it once, twice....and once more

Let’s see, I have flour, bread crumbs, pecans crumbled….My checklist runs through my head over and over again.

Did I miss anything? Pork tenderloin, sliced in two centimeter slices. I need red wine vinegar, seedless black berry jam – where is that sauce pan?

Bread – what kind of bread? What kind of bread do you serve with pecan crusted pork tenderloin over baby spinach drizzled with a berry/wine reduction? Could I fry up some cornbread? Should it be toasted ciabatta bread? Should it be warm or cold? Definitely plain…Ciabatta it is. Hmmm…do I need to go to the store? I wonder if we’ll have guests. Should I call someone? Aaugh – WINE?!!

Welcome to five seconds inside my head. It’s the run of the mill moment of my obsessive compulsive disorder. If you add anything to my list, I have to start over. I have to reorder my list; check it once more and then restart execution mode.

There is something else you should know – as I feel compelled to share too much information into the inner-workings of my simple mind.

You see, as much as I think of my friends and family – as much as I love them – they never know it during the holidays. You see, part of my disorder is my inability to put something in the mail.

The CHECKING and the LISTS: It happens when I’m awake. It happens while I sleep. It’s not as exhausting as it may sound. I’ve been like this all my life. While much of my methodical mental state is something I’ve grown to accept, there is a weak little side of me trying to defeat the cumbersome load of lists.

SHE is the one seeking normalcy. SHE is the one who steps up to face fear: stepping on stage to sing, to the podium to speak and in the center of the room dancing like only SHE knows how.

SHE only accepts defeat when the shy beast overtakes all heart and lung functions leveling her with some sort of the massive anxiety attack -- and always at the most inopportune and embarrassing time.

This year, like the last 7 years, SHE is the one who purchased a massive quantity of Christmas cards, writing personal messages to the ones she loves. SHE addresses and stamps them with the intent of mailing them. That is when the “checker” comes out and seals them, unseals them – double checks the right people are receiving their own personal message, updates the messages, reseals them, checks the addresses on the outside, reseals them…sets them aside in case something is forgotten…(DRAW DEEP BREATH) Recycle and repeat.

Fast forward and check the calendar – It’s Valentine’s Day and the cards with their full addresses, stamps and envelopes make the eventful move to a box, sealed and stored in the attic.

This happens every year SHE attempts to overcome the inevitable. There exists the full intent of wishing you a happy holiday. It just never makes it to you via the postman.

This year, SHE showed up AGAIN. SHE purchased a bundle of gifts for an adoring nephew. The unwrapped beautiful shiny new things are sitting -- unaddressed, unposted and not even going to make it with the rest of Santa's gifts!

SHE even started on the special written communications before Trick or Treater’s came knocking on all hallow’s eve.

Resigned to the perpetual reality I can do the one thing that comes easy to me --
And so, I cook – dredging the tenderloin – dipping in egg and then pecan crumbs. The oil is just the right temperature….but I can only flip these once. I must remember to time this right. The best part of cooking with wine is the recipe gets a little and my glass – well, who wants to reseal this bottle? Let’s pour what’s left into an ona to breathe!

The blackberry and wine reduction is now on low as I prepare the spinach. If only everything came as easily as cooking dinner.

In the next room, the warm light of a lamp glows over a cascading stack of envelopes spilling to the floor below. Across the most visible address, a spectral shadow of light glimmers from a blinking string of Christmas lights – a baptism of cheer as though it’s part of an intentional décor.

If you don’t receive a card from my address – please know I AM thinking of you – and wish you the very best holiday season! May all your wishes and dreams be fulfilled – that your heart is full of love, your home full of happiness…To my family, I miss you more than you know. To my friends, I wish I could stretch the seconds, minutes and hours on the clock so I could spend more time.

As for now, I’m skipping my cosmos…sipping a decadent residual: making my next list…clean out the attic.

They call me Lucky?

Seat heaters. Seat heaters on a cold day -- make it easier for someone like myself to bear the unmoving traffic.

Fear is the only thing that makes traffic unbearable.
You see, I think the hasty reactions, the mean faces, the waving of fists...are all derived from the emotion of fear. For some reason, something made them scared and not knowing how to relieve themselves of the fear, the knee jerk reaction goes out....in form of a bird, a shout....and so on and so forth.

I catch myself quietly chanting, "please don't pull out in front of me...please don't pull out in front of me...", as I watch car after car zip into the 1/2 length I've left between me and the back bumper of the car ahead.

I've spent one hour watching the blood disappear from my knuckles as I grip the steering wheel ahead of me. I had chosen miles ago to get in the correct lane but really haven't budged much since coming to a stop. The generous people ahead of me are apparently working on their karma points before hitting the mall -- they're letting the cheaters in!

Good for them I say. I'm safer here right? Safe and toasty with my seat warmers...just a creeeping a long.

This I can appreciate. My memory falls to a time 14 years ago. I was a freshman in Fayetteville, driving my Honda Accord. At the time, I felt like my weekend was the most tragic weekend ever! I'd just dumped a guy for being an unscrupulous idiot. I'd found my best friend was moving to Mexico. I couldn't go to sorority formal. My friends thought it was a GREAT idea to put me up for bid on a fundraiser date auction -- only to be bought by my stalker. It was a weekend where I needed to cook.

Cooking is my therapeutic holiday. It always has been! It is my way of letting go stress -- for example -- recipes involving chopping are typically my favorite as I love knives.

I went to the massive chain retailer there in the little college town to pick up the ingredients for a banana bread.

Outside, there was an older Native American man selling wares off of a rug by the front door. No one was stopping by his table. Before I entered the automatic doors, I stopped and looked at each silver peice. Every item was hand made in some fashion. They seemed to all be priced fair. Before I could truly focus in on his merchandise, I found myself being squeezed out by other interested buyers.

I eventually stepped back to watch as he sold item after item. He seemed very happy. Not seeing it slow, I chose to return later to get another look at his beautiful craftsmanship.

I spent more than my share of time inside that store...had loaded my cart down with FAR more than I needed -- Got to the register...and that poor cashier, rang and bagged each item. When she hit total, I began digging into my purse. I checked my jacket, my pockets....my purse again. I had forgotten my wallet. I did not even have a check book. I cancelled my purchase and tearfully walked away. This was a first. Never had I been more embarrassed. It just added to that 'most tragic week ever' my college aged brain had pegged.

I stopped by the vending machine outside, inserting the coins I'd found in the bottom of my purse and purchased a cold carbonated drink. It was nice...as I walked to the car. I was not in a hurry. In fact, I couldn't even remember when I had even arrived. What I did know, is nothing looked the same and I did not know WHERE my car was. I walked aisle by aisle. I finished my cola by aisle two. I kept walking digging for my keys in the meantime. By aisle six, I still had not found my car and had discovered, I'd lost my keys too. By aisle eight, I was resolved to find the keys before continuing my search for the car.

Returning inside the mega store, I spoke with management. An all staff bulletin went out and they combed the store as though they were looking for a kidnapped child.

After about an hour, they gave up. Resigned to the idea that rough patches don't just happen in groups of threes...I went back outside to the old man and his hand made silver. No one was near him again. His face was wrinkled and very tan. He wore a cliche' of leather and denim. His eyes appeared to have no color too them. They flickered haunting and blank. His face didn't seem to break a smile even though the wrinkles allowed me to imagine it. Before I could step forward to look at anything, he again was flooded with potential buyers. This time, he was nearly cleared out.

I sat back on the other side of the entrance and simply watched. After all, what else did I have to do -- I couldn't find my car and I couldn't find the keys to my car -- which makes the car pretty useless. When the people finally lost interest the old man waved me over. He called me "child of spirits" and indicated I had brought him good "luck".

I couldn't help but imagine the army of guardian angels it takes to follow me around daily and all the events of the last week happened...what on earth could they be fighting off. Me? Lucky?

He gave me a beautiful silver thread dream catcher about the size of a silver dollar. It had one tiny turquoise bead on it and dangling from it's center circle was a very delicate silver carved feather.

I barely was able to thank him when the manager walked out and handed me my keys. I apparently found something fascinating and laid the keys down on a shelf as I picked up whatever merchandise it was up...to look at it. Anyhow, with key in hand, I turned and walked straight to my car. Lucky, I am.

So, here I am...appreciating my seat warmers. The traffic is not so bad. The evil cheaters are racking up good karma points. While all I wanted was a salad for lunch. Eventually, I'll get there. Eventually, I'll get it. AND somewhere along the way, I'll remind myself I'm Lucky.

Get Trunk'd

A lump locks my throat preventing most precious air from passing through to my lungs. My heart races erratically just like every other time I anticipate talking in front of people.

While I hold this in common with millions of people I would venture to say I am the biggest masochist of all. My chosen profession for at least ten years of my life has been in television. So, professionally, I have put myself in front of anyone flipping the channel and decides to stop.

But I adamantly admit I would rather hide under a rock for a week than stand in front of people and talk.

I gaze quietly at the panel in the front of the room as they methodically question the leadership team pitching a small business idea. I itemize the details of my teams plan in my head -- finding no answer to the questions the astute men are pressing on its current victims. I tap my pen...bleeding the ink into an unformulated stain before me. The panel -- CEOs and Executives. Black suits, Blue suites -- power ties and un-scuffed shoes tied with precision. Their faces look worn and their voices unwavering. Their body language is closed and reserved. They are very hard to read.

Chairs screech -- they're dismissed. "Number Three, Group Three!" Can a heartbeat sound like techno on crack? Two of my peers get up and advanced to a forward standing position. Unlike the other presenters and their professional presentations, our unrehearsed skit begins to unfold...

The panel -- is now relaxed -- their faces gleam with laughter. The room is filled with quiet disbelief and an uplifting melody of relief.

The idea of this exercise -- to present a small business idea. Not a full game plan of execution but just an idea. SURELY we can handle that right?

Get Trunk'd -- It is a questionable title but fun just the same. There is a need to Get Trunk'd!!

Are you one of millions of men or women for that matter who are exasperated by the pain it takes to shop for men's swimming trunks?

Men's swimming trunks are the hardest item to shop for.

There I said it -- But I still do not feel any better! This idea stems from an eight year old memory that is painfully held in my brain.

I do not like failure -- even the smallest of smallest ones. I've on occasion tried to redeem myself to no satisfaction. You see, unless you are an average male or shopping for an average male...I would think you share the same dissatisfaction. Men's swimming attire varies for professional swimmers to only minor degrees as most of the form fitting pieces are team spirited by color and design. But who makes swim trunks for say the: short men? heavy men? short waisted? long waisted? Tall skinny? Non-athletic?

Here is the other problem -- You find some swim trunks that suit the need. They are not the fashion statement you hoped for. They don't match the cute bikini that you hoped to wear next to your man...OR (guys) it's a floral print -- and YOU just don't feel quite right about the Hawaiian daisy sprouting from your rear end...and wrapping around your knee....

Or what about that moment you walk up to the man in the Hawaiian daisy butted shorts, order a drink...and begin slathering sun block on him...only to find yourself speechless when your husband walks up...

Thank you -- thank you very much! My point exactly!

So why isn't there a website out there that -- you can type "men's swim trunks" into Google -- pull up an all-around hub and locate the fit, style and brand you are seeking?

WHY don't designers spend MORE time on men's swim trunks?

WHY isn't there any men out there irritated by the lack of selection of swimming attire?

Could someone save me some time and create a custom website allowing measurements and color or fabric interests to be entered for a customized final product?

The presentation goes as well as it can. The true success -- is the laughter and cheer. Though, I was asked at one point WHAT was I "smoking"...The men in suits agreed they would purchase a customized product if it were readily available.

Another day, another unusual idea....there ya go --

So, this is my blog. This is the first posting on Sipping Cosmos. Here you will find musings and questions. You will rarely find proper grammar or anything too profound. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoy writing.