Busy week this. Sometimes I feel I need a keeper. Today I should walk with the new group I’ve hooked up with. My mind is willing but my feet are sending signals they’d rather perch atop my ottoman tucked in nicely in a pair of warm fuzzy socks. It’s an argument I often have with myself when facing exercise. Once out-of-doors and mobile walking is cathartic for me. Moving along briskly in the fresh air envigorating and mind clearing. However, putting on my running shoes and walking through the door appears to be at the root of the problem in getting out the door in the first place.
I didn’t sleep well last night, which doesn’t help. Each hour’s passing was noted by a glance at the clock. Even Miss Boo abandoned her usual spot at my feet due to the constant tossing and rearranging going on on my side of the bed. Rick refers to this flipping and flopping about as “breaching” which I find a less than a flattering description. While I “breached”, he slept on in blissful oblivion looking for all the world like a Star Wars extra with his Bi-Pap headpiece and attached tubing in place. Certainly this odd contraption has improved our lives. With the excessive snoring abated, his sleep apnea is vastly improved and the likelihood of my doing time for placing a pillow over his mouth and nose in the wee hours of the morning greatly reduced. I say reduced because unless he wore it in his waking hours as well, his mouth still functions properly. Snoring really doesn’t adequately describe the plethora of noises this man was capable of achieving with only the original breathing apparatus assigned to him when he shot through the birth canal at his disposal. For the first seven years we shared quarters, once he fell asleep I began a choreographed ballet of bed bouncing, gentle prodding, clearing my throat, and toe nudging. Apnea is the worst type of snoring. Putting aside the annoyance factor, it is dangerous. Struggling for each breath taxes the sufferer’s heart, and is frightening for their sleep partner waiting for the person to finally inhale. In the beginning it was a source of amazement for me. Never had I heard a sleeping human create such a cacophony of sounds. Once, while on a long return flight from Paris to New York, the entire cabin actually broke into applause when he awoke from an extended nap ceasing his loud accompaniment to the in-flight movie in progress. I can’t swear to it, but I believe straws were being drawn among the passengers in the rows closest to us to see who would slip a parachute on him and toss him out over the gray Atlantic. No one but I would have testified on his behalf. Poor guy.
Truthfully, we all have annoying little habits we bring to the table in a relationship. I, naturally, have none. Well, aside from being plagued with restless leg syndrome from time to time resulting in my entire lower body vibrating like a hyperactive chihuahua, or my obsessive need to line the cans up in the pantry with those of their own kind, all labels facing forward. I could continue, but I’m working on loving myself and this would be two steps backward. Rarely do we see our own true image in the mirror. It is so much easier to point out other people’s faults then identify our own, don’t you think? My grandmother used to say when you point a finger, four others are pointed back at you. There is probably deep message buried in that statement, but being anal all I can think of is actually it would be three fingers and one thumb. Sorry, Gam.
People who have children who misbehave are often the first in line to point out the poor parenting tactics of others in their peer group, all the while holding firm to the belief their little juvenile delinquent in training to be the best of the lot. Individuals who constantly talk on their cell phones within range of those of us not interested in participating in their conversations are often the first to jump on the bandwagon to comment on the bad manners of a shopper who cuts in line. It’s seems so easy to find fault in someone else and so difficult to identify flaws in ourselves.
Rick says I think everybody is nice or people are inherently good. I would prefer to think a person is going to do the right thing and be proved wrong, then to assume all people are going to do the wrong thing and bide my time waiting for them to make a mistake. People are going to screw up. If you’ve read my blogs to any extent you will attest to the fact I do with nearly every move I make. Even the people we most revere, are likely to spill mustard on their shirts from time to time. It’s a human trait, sometimes even endearing.
This brought my mind some colossal messes I’ve gotten myself into during my lifetime. There isn’t enough storage space in the entire WordPress cache to hold the words necessary to list them all. On one of my many moves my son, about sixteen at the time, and I were dispersed to pick up a U-Haul truck at the local moving company and return to house. In its entirety it was about a 15 mile drive. The men needed to stay behind to dismantle beds and pack the garage. A little unsure about driving a truck, my husband at the time assured me it was as easy as driving a car. Easy peasey. Right. I should have those words tattooed somewhere to remind myself of how many time they’ve gotten me in trouble.
After filling out the necessary paperwork in the rental office, I was asked if I knew how to double clutch. Uhhhhh, that would be a negative. For the second time that day a male told me driving the truck would be no problem. Looking doubtful, the employee behind the desk walked me to the vehicle, sat inside, rattled off a few instructions, smiled and handed me the keys. Easy peasey. My son piled into the passenger seat and loudly clicked his seat belt. This was not his first rodeo. After some minutes of struggling I miraculously shifted into reverse. Grinding enough metal off the gear to glue together to make another vehicle we somehow inched backward. Concentrating on trying to drive the bucking beast I neglected to check my rear view mirror. A bank of tall propane tanks, probably rented for industrial use, were lined up like soldiers along a center island. Interesting fact to note, if you hit one of those babies they will take each others down like a cleverly lined up group of dominoes, one, after another, after another. Hitting the ground they rolled across the parking lot. Some rolled out the driveway and continued on out into the flow of traffic. The U-Haul man, now running about yelling and scratching his head, waved me on.
Unable to ever figure out how to get the damn thing passed second gear it took us nearly an hour and a half to go 15 miles at about 10 miles an hour. I was never asked to pick up the truck again and I wouldn’t be surprised to see my picture pinned to the U-Haul bulletin board saying “Do not rent to this woman – Approach with caution.” Ah well.
I love the simplicity of these muffins. They disappear at our house and are a great accompaniment to eggs.
Orange Honey Muffins
2 cups all-purpose flour
1/2 cup granulated sugar
3 tsp. baking powder
1/2 tsp. salt
1 cup low-fat milk
1 Tbsp. orange juice
1 Tbsp. orange zest
1/4 cup honey
1/4 cup butter, melted
Combine flour, sugar, baking powder, and salt in a large bowl. Whisk to blend. In a small bowl combine egg, milk, orange juice, zest, honey and butter. Fold into dry ingredients until moistened.
Fill greased muffin cups 3/4 full. Bake 15 mins. or until toothpick inserted in center comes out.
Makes 1 dozen