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Uh oh. Only 20 minutes to write this time. In 22 I need to eat dinner, then jet out the door to my new-w-w JOB! Which I am officially hired for, by the way. Tonight I’m on for four some hours of register training with Sean. Phew.
I’m squeezing in this blog post because I was asked if I forgot to blog last night. I was just that touched that I decided to alter my plan to fully recharge my battery and only half refuel for the sake of keeping ya’ll informed (well, Mom informed. She’s the one who asked :} ). So now I’m lying on my back in the ever so elegant “legs up the wall” position, typing with Mom’s laptop perched atop my belly, leaning against my thighs. Now that’s what I call dedication!
Dad is cooking spaghetti in the background. Probably, since he’s rushing around to get it done while I still have time to eat it, I should be helping. Or at least keeping him company with some pleasant chitchat. But after a day of training my replacement at the gallery and a night of being trained ahead of me, I feel I must eek out my energy wisely.
And again I find myself worrying that I’m going to bore my reader by going on about the same topics. How to reconcile this dilemma? Anyone?
Oh well, here I go about dancing again: I found a restaurant an hour and fifteen minutes away that has a Salsa band and dancing on Saturday nights! I used to drive an hour every weekend for church; now instead I’m off in high heels to wiggle in the dark to Latin beats . . . and I somehow don’t think God would mind. You see, when I dance I truly connect to deeper parts of my being and to the Divine, and that’s about the point, in’t it?
Joseph Villaseñor and I will be going to Tabú, the blessed restaurant, together this weekend. Last Saturday we had a rather in depth conversation about the nature of our relationship (status: dance partners in crime). We discussed jealousy, commitment and the potential that having a basically platonic yet spicy partnership could have for our fun on the floor. I also promised Joe there would be little danger of me getting mad at anything he might do–other than leave me sitting in the wings at Tabú if the ratio of male to female dancers turns out to be typical. My hopes are set higher!
He and I concluded with a promise to maintain direct and open lines of communication; and I’d say that’s a good policy to apply to all relationships, be they muy picante or not.
Adios, mis amores!
OMG, 6 views today and they weren’t my mother; I just asked her. Woohoo and thank you all!
We just arrived home from yet another of Mom’s birthday celebrations this evening. It was dinner with Terry and Happ, Mona and Bruce, Mom, Dad and myself. For a few of these birthday gatherings I had a date to bring along, but tonight we’re back to the good ol’ norm: three wise couples and . . . me. I tolerated it in good taste anyhow, comforting myself by sitting prettily in my green dress between Savannah and Shasta, the dogs. . .
Today is Sunday. I spent the early morning sipping coffee and making my Slovakian grandmother’s award winning pastry, “cheesies,” for dessert at the party. The experience was lovely and nostaligic, bittersweet only in that the gooey bites of deliciousness are prepared with premade Pillsbury dinner roll dough and therefore gave me no opportunity to show off my baking skills. Alas, I tolerated the convenience and popped the golden puffs in the oven with expectant glee anyway.
I spent most of the afternoon trying not to eat the cheesies. Thankfully, my friend Amy came over later and “Mmm’d” and ate some for me and then kept me good company. We talked about school and shopping and food and God.
The last fellow I dated nicknamed Amy “Bible Amy” for her love of the good Word. Although I think his intention in coining the nickname might have been slightly less than pure, it really is fitting. Amy is a “Good Christian” in every of the phrase. She does just what Jesus would and doesn’t what he wouldn’t; she’s never judged me even though I used to babble church like a brook in the Garden of Eden and now I burble enneagram instead and have nothing to say about church anymore because I haven’t been going . . .
For nearly an entire year I was infatuated with a church called Bethel. Each week, I drove 60 miles there and back, and sometimes attended three two-plus hour services in one day! But the year before that, it was the Buddhist Abbey that had my heart. I guess if I had to categorize myself, I’d say I was a Buddhist-Christian-Yogini . . .
. . . which is a musing I will have to indulge another day. For now, as first the Abbey’s and now Bethel’s tugs on me wane, I am simply grateful to be gifted again with the quiet pleasures of Sunday mornings unplanned.
